Category: English

My college roommates and I decided to go to Thailand for winter break. One of them, Mia, said her boyfriend, Leo, was a travel agent. He could hook us up with a “boutique” private tour. Easy and comfortable. We all thought it was a great idea. We were wrong. The second we got off the plane, a tour guide hustled us to a high-end luxury mall and told us to start shopping. He said if we didn’t buy anything, he’d tear up our passports. Forced consumerism? Not a chance. I refused. And for that, the guide sold me to a boiler room. 1 I was dragged into a dark, windowless room. The guide pointed a fat finger in my face. “You don’t want to spend money? Fine. You can stay here and make money. You hit your quota, you go home. You don’t? You’ll work here until you die.” A few huge guys were standing around, cracking their knuckles. I noticed a logo on their shirts—a stylized mountain and sea. It looked so familiar… Wait. This was the insignia of the Aegis Group. Marcus Thorne’s company. Marcus. The guy who had been completely obsessed with me, the guy I’d finally managed to dump. And I was right back in his territory. This was a wolf’s den. This was a scam tour. That “boutique” package was a one-way ticket. “My friends,” I demanded, “where are my roommates?” “Don’t you worry about them. You just worry about yourself.” “My roommate’s boyfriend, Leo! He works for you! He’s in on this, isn’t he?” “Yeah, he is,” the guide sneered. “Told us you were the ‘rich one.’ I haven’t even gotten to him yet. What good is a rich friend who won’t spend a dime?” He tossed a stack of papers at my feet. “You don’t want to shop, you can learn to sell. Or rather, scam.” A guy threw two binders at me. “Scripts and call lists. You follow the script, you make the calls. You make money, you get to eat.” “This is a boiler room,” I spat. “It’s fraud. I won’t do it.” The man slapped me, so hard my ears rang. “You don’t have a choice. You do it, or we make you do it.” Another one kicked me in the stomach. I crumpled, gasping. “Okay, okay!” I scrambled back, clutching my side. “How much? How much do you want? I’ll pay you. Just let me go.” “Let you go? So you can run to the cops? No one walks out of here without paying, one way or another.” As I clutched my stomach, my eyes fixed on that logo again. The Aegis Group. Marcus’s family business, with fingers in every pie, legal and… not. The last I heard, he’d gone legitimate, but clearly, he’d lied. “You’re Aegis Group,” I said. The man smirked. “Smart girl. You recognize the brand.” “Your boss,” I bluffed, “Marcus Thorne. He’s my fiancé. If he finds out what you’re doing, you’re all dead.” They burst out laughing. “Our boss’s fiancée? You? Don’t make me laugh. We all know the boss is engaged to Ms. Arianna. Who the hell are you?” “I am Arianna!” One of them had my bag. He pulled out my passport. “It says right here… ‘Ava.’ Ava Reed. You’re a liar.” “That’s my new name!” I protested. “Arianna is my old name! If you don’t believe me, call him! Call Marcus!” “You really want to see the boss?” The main guy grabbed my hair, yanking me to my feet. “In this place, ‘disobedient’ only gets you one thing.” He dragged me to another, smaller room. He picked up an iron chain from the floor. “Let’s see how tough you are.” He whipped the chain across my back. I screamed. “I’m warning you!” I shrieked, tears and snot mixing with the blood from my split lip. “You will die for this! I want Marcus!” He hit me again. “Shut up! Shut up about the boss!” He beat me until I was a whimpering, broken mess on the concrete. I couldn’t move. He crouched, grabbing my chin. “She’s pretty, though. Wasting her on the phones. Let’s send her to the VIP lounge. She can work the poker tables.” “No,” I whispered. “I’ll do the calls. I’ll work. Please…” The VIP lounge. That sounded a thousand times worse. “It’s not your choice anymore.” He snapped his fingers. “Get her cleaned up.” They hauled me to my feet. As they dragged me out, I heard a familiar, terrified whimper from another room. “Leo, please… I don’t… I don’t know…” “Mia!” I screamed. “Is that you, Mia?” “You brought my friends here? You sold her out, too? Even when her boyfriend is one of you?” If Mia was here, we were all doomed. She was my only hope of getting the police. They ignored me, just kept dragging. Suddenly, a voice shouted from the main floor. “He’s here! The boss is on his way up! Clean this place up, now!” The men holding me panicked. “We can’t take her out there. He’ll see her. Take her back to the cell. We’ll deal with her after he’s gone.” The boss. Marcus. This was my only chance. I bit down, hard, on the arm of the man holding me. He yelled, and as he let go, I kicked the other one as hard as I could between the legs. I scrambled and ran. I saw it. A long, black Lincoln, pulling up to the building. It was him. “Marcus!” My scream was cut off. A hand clamped over my mouth from behind, dragging me back into the shadows. “You bitch! You can still run? Guess we didn’t hit you hard enough!” I jammed my fingernails into his hand. He grunted, and I bit his arm. “You’re dead!” he roared. He grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from a nearby desk and brought it down on my head. My world exploded, then went dark. … When I came to, I was blind. My eyes were caked shut with dried blood. I was back in the small, dark room. It was quiet. They must have all gone to meet Marcus. I crawled to the door, pounding on it with what little strength I had. “Help! Marcus! Help me!” I heard his voice. That voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “What’s that noise?” “Just… just one of the company ‘dogs,’ sir. Got a bit rowdy. We locked it up so it wouldn’t bother you.” The door flew open. A boot connected with my chest. “I told you to shut up!” The guard grabbed my jaw, pried my mouth open, and poured scorching hot water down my throat. My vocal cords, my entire esophagus, felt like they were on fire. I couldn’t scream. I could only make a horrible, gurgling sound. Tears streamed down, carving clean paths through the grime and blood. I curled into a ball, shaking. The man saw I was “tamed” and turned to leave. I saw my chance. I grabbed the iron chain from the floor. I lunged, wrapping it around his neck and pulling. He choked, falling backward. I scrambled over him and ran out the door. I tried to scream, but only a wet, rasping noise came out. He couldn’t hear me. I saw a vase on a table. I grabbed it and hurled it to the floor. It shattered. Marcus, surrounded by men in black suits, stopped. He turned. The man I’d choked was already up, staggering out of the room. “The bitch is out! Grab her!” Before I could take another step, a burlap sack was thrown over my head. I was so close. “You’re dead, you hear me? Dead!” Fists and feet rained down on me. I felt the metallic taste of blood fill my mouth, soaking the inside of the sack. “Who are you hitting?” The voice was cold. It was Marcus. “Boss! This… this is a spy. From a rival. We caught her stealing data.” “Just… don’t kill her.” I’m not a spy! I’m Ari! I tried to speak, but I just choked on blood. “She’s a mute, too? Disgusting. Get her out of my sight.” I was being dragged away again. One of the men stepped on my hand, grinding his heel into my knuckles. “If I didn’t need these hands for the poker tables, I’d break every bone in them.” As I was losing consciousness, I heard a woman’s voice. A voice I knew. “You did this to her? She looks half-dead.” I froze. It couldn’t be. “She was disobedient, ma’am. Wouldn’t do the calls, wouldn’t go to the lounge. Kept screaming she was the boss’s fiancée.” A foot kicked me in the ribs. “You? His fiancée? In your dreams.” “Is she… dead?” “No. Still breathing.” “Good. Don’t kill her. It’s better this way. Let the little princess work here until she rots.” Footsteps. “Everyone, back to the conference room! The boss has questions!” They all left. I was blind, mute, but I could hear. I heard Marcus’s voice, cold and sharp. “This passport. Where did it come from?” My heart leaped. He’d found it. “I… I found it on the floor, boss. By the door. Just… picked it up.” “You ‘found’ it? Are you sure? Lying to me… has consequences.” “I… yes, I found it.” “I want to see the person who belongs to this. Do you know where she is?” “No, boss! She… she probably just dropped it. A tourist, maybe.” A long, tense silence. “The woman you were beating in the hall,” Marcus said. “The ‘spy.’ Where is she?” “She’s… in the storage closet, boss.” Footsteps. Coming closer. “Boss, she’s… she’s filth. Not worth your time…”

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My husband’s latest investment went belly-up, and the debt collectors were circling. I gathered the gold jewelry he’d given me for every anniversary, planning to sell it to help pay down what he owed. I was told it was all fake. I went to get our condo appraised. The real estate agent pulled up the county records right in front of me. The deed was a forgery. But the condo—a five-million-dollar property on the lakefront—was a wedding gift from Ethan. He’d promised it was in my name, and my name alone. Was anything real? With trembling hands, I snapped a picture of our marriage certificate and sent it to my best friend, Chloe, who works at the County Clerk’s office. Her reply came back a minute later: “Fake.” I looked at the crimson-bordered document, the elegant script, and a laugh escaped my lips. A dry, brittle sound. “Thank God,” I whispered. “It’s fake.” 1 Waiting for Chloe’s text, my stomach had been a knot of acid. In the five years I’d been married to Ethan, I had never once doubted his love for me. His work was demanding, and he was almost never with me on our actual anniversary. But he always made up for it with extravagant gifts and, in the days that followed, a smothering, apologetic affection that I soaked up like a dry sponge. I never questioned the authenticity of those gifts. He was my husband. I loved him unconditionally. That was the beginning and end of it. I spent an entire day, from sunrise to sunset, clutching the velvet boxes he’d given me, visiting every high-end jeweler in the city. At each stop, I endured the same gentle, pitying looks. With every polite rejection, another layer of my decade-long belief in him was stripped away. The final, killing blow came at a small downtown shop. To prove his point, the jeweler heated one of the gold bangles over a flame until it blackened and crumbled into ash. The blade I’d felt hanging over my head all day finally fell. I steadied myself against the glass counter. “But how could it be fake?” I asked, my voice thin. “I have the receipt from your store.” The clerk checked the sales record. “Ma’am, the receipt is real. But this bracelet wasn’t sold with it.” The meaning was clear: Ethan had purchased the genuine pieces. He just hadn’t given them to me. My hands were shaking as I clutched the equally fake property deed. I called the County Recorder’s Office. “I’d like to confirm the owner of the property at 101 Lakeshore Grand,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Of course, one moment please,” the voice on the other end replied. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Chloe, delivering the final verdict on my marriage. “Audrey, your certificate is a forgery. But I ran Ethan’s name. He has an active marriage license on file. The woman’s name is Aria James.” The voice from the Recorder’s Office returned. “Ma’am? The registered owner of that property is Ms. Aria James.” Ten years ago, I had defied my parents, packed up my savings, and moved from the warmth of Savannah to the biting winds of Chicago to be with him. Ethan’s business was just a fledgling startup then, and he worked brutal hours, entertaining clients late into the night. I’d wait up for him, a pot of soup ready on the stove to ease his hangovers, never once failing in my duty. I was grateful for how hard he worked, so I took on everything else. I managed the household, I did the cooking, I did the cleaning. He never once set foot in the kitchen. His business flourished. I, meanwhile, wilted under the endless haze of domesticity, my reflection slowly morphing into the kind of tired, faded woman he clearly disdained. The constant work left me with a chronic ache in my lower back; if I bent over for too long, I could barely straighten up. He’d say he didn’t mind, that I was beautiful to him, but whenever I caught his eye, I saw the flicker of avoidance, the subtle recoil. I told myself it didn’t matter. As long as we were together, that was enough. But all along, the husband I thought loved me to the bone was sharing a life, a real life, with someone else. Aria James. The girl he never got over from high school. Now, she was a wildly popular influencer, a social media star. She’d built her brand on a risqué, flirty persona in the beginning, but had since pivoted to a philosophy of “female singledom is the ultimate luxury.” She preached to her legions of devoted followers that she was a proud, unmarried woman, dedicated to living life on her own terms. Just last week, she was trending for an interview she gave about her empowering, marriage-free lifestyle. 2 I opened TikTok and found Aria James’s profile. A single account had liked every single one of her videos, every day, without fail. A quick search confirmed it. The account was registered to Ethan’s phone number. Their profile pictures were a matching set. I sometimes made silly videos myself, goofy little clips of my day. I’d nudge him, asking him for a like the way I saw other couples do online. He wouldn’t even look at the screen. “Audrey, look at that filter. It’s embarrassing. Besides, I don’t even have a TikTok account.” But on Aria’s very first video, there he was, the first comment: “Beautiful.” I stared at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone. The woman looking back was a stranger, a ghost of the girl I’d been ten years ago. I thought my devotion, my sacrifice, would be seen. I never imagined he couldn’t even stand to look. Just then, the front door opened. Ethan was home. He dropped his briefcase and sat on the sofa in silence, expecting me to come to him with a warm drink, as I always did. When I didn’t move, he got up with a sigh. He fumbled through the kitchen cabinets for a moment before shouting, his voice thick with irritation, “Where are the glasses?” Of course. After all these years, he didn’t even know where we kept the glasses. This man, who had never lifted a finger in our home, had meticulously planned and executed a decade of deception, commissioning fake jewelry, fake documents, a fake life. What was I to him? An unpaid housekeeper? A warm body? I walked over and tossed my phone onto the coffee table in front of him. “You told me you didn’t have a TikTok account, Ethan. Then why have you liked every single one of Aria James’s videos? I checked. The account is linked to your number.” He looked genuinely shocked, as if it had never occurred to him that I might check. That I might ever stop simply believing. He stalled for a long moment before finally muttering, “It’s for networking.” “Networking? You’re too busy to look at your phone for days when I text you, but you have time for this… networking?” “Will you give it a rest?” he snapped. “Her entire career is based on engagement! What’s the big deal if I give her a like?” It was just like before we were married. Aria was a constant, haunting presence. Ethan would remember that she was afraid of thunderstorms and would video call her during every storm, even though I’d told him, quietly, that I was scared of them too. He knew all her favorite foods, and over time, they somehow became his favorite foods. After a few explosive fights early in our “marriage,” he’d become more discreet. I thought I had won. I thought his heart was finally mine. I was wrong. They had just found a different way to be together. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavern. I turned without another word and went to the bedroom to pack. 3 “Sweetheart, the wire transfer to Ethan’s company is all queued up. I’ve gone through most of the paperwork on my end. Just waiting for your final go-ahead.” It was my father on the phone. I was in the bedroom, folding sweaters into a suitcase. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Dad, pull it. We’re not investing.” “What happened? I thought he was out of capital. Tell me, did that boy do something to hurt you? I told you moving all the way up there by yourself was a mistake, with no one to lean on…” “No, it’s not that. I’m just… tired.” “My dear girl, if you’re tired, you come home. Your father will always take care of you.” Before I moved to Chicago, I had tested the waters with Ethan, suggesting he come visit my parents. He always had an excuse—a big meeting, a deadline. He never once met them. When my parents and I had our falling out over my decision to move, they didn’t come to the wedding. As far as Ethan knew, I was completely alone in the world, utterly dependent on him. But the rift between a father and daughter can only last so long. Years ago, my dad had secretly flown up to see me. We’d reconciled completely. When I learned about the depth of Ethan’s financial trouble, I had prepared a two-pronged solution. First, I would liquidate my own assets—the jewelry and the condo. Second, I would have my father’s firm inject the capital his company so desperately needed to survive. Just a few days ago, Ethan had come home ecstatic, telling me a major investor from the South had contacted him, that the company was saved. I had smiled and congratulated him, genuinely happy, believing I was about to see the ambitious, brilliant man I fell in love with again. I never imagined that in the grand production of his life, I was cast as the most insignificant extra. When I emerged from the bedroom with my suitcase, Ethan looked up from the sofa, bewildered. “What is this? Are you really leaving over a TikTok account? Are you serious? Besides, you don’t know anyone in this city. Where are you even going to go?” I didn’t answer. I just walked out the door and didn’t look back.

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I married into one of New York’s oldest families with a terrible command of their native tongue: French. So, naturally, on our honeymoon in the South of France, I had to show off on Instagram. [Photo: A sun-drenched selfie, me beaming, my handsome husband Leo in the background on his phone, a turquoise sea behind him.] Caption: The way my husband speaks French should be illegal! So incredibly hot! The thing is, I’d accidentally posted it as a Live Photo. In the three-second clip, you could see Leo turn to the camera, a slow, devastating smile spreading across his lips. You could also hear every word of his phone call. The comments started rolling in almost immediately. The first was from a French friend from college. 【Hot? Hannah, are you kidding me?】 Then another. 【OMG, he’s literally flirting with someone else on the phone while you’re grinning like an idiot!】 1 I stared at the comments, my heart giving a painful lurch. Live Photo. I’d completely forgotten. Another friend, ever so “helpful,” posted a translation in the comments: 【He’s telling her not to call during the honeymoon. He also said the takeout she ordered doesn’t hold a candle to your cooking, but since you’re from the Midwest, you don’t know how to make a proper bouillabaisse. He said if her skills are any good, maybe he’ll stop by her place for a taste when they get back.】 A cold knot formed in my stomach. I looked over at Leo. He did always rave about my cooking. He hung up the phone, that same smile from the video still playing on his lips—seductive, intoxicating. He took my hand, raising it to his mouth to press a soft kiss against my knuckles. “What’s wrong?” His tone was completely normal. I hesitated for a beat, then asked, “Who was that?” “Just a friend,” he said, the words light as air. He offered no further explanation. I didn’t feel like I had the right to press him. But as I looked back down at my phone, at the stream of likes and comments pouring in from friends, family, and Leo’s entire social circle, my face burned with a humiliating heat. My hands trembling, I deleted the post. 2 My mind was still racing. Leo was already on his feet, sliding his hands into the pockets of his linen trousers. “You handle the check-out. I’ll wait for you in the lobby.” I mumbled an agreement. He must have sensed my distraction. He paused. “Still thinking about that call?” he asked, his voice laced with a gentle, weary amusement. “It was really just a friend. A guy friend. I’ll introduce you when we get back.” A real smile finally broke through my anxiety. “I wasn’t worried.” But it felt like a ten-ton weight had been lifted from my chest. Leo just shook his head, a fond smile on his face, and headed downstairs. After I finished packing, I wrestled our two enormous suitcases out of the room. Down at the front desk, I switched effortlessly into French to settle the bill. “Madame, your French is excellent,” the concierge noted, impressed. “Thank you,” I said with a small, proud smile. I’d minored in French in college; languages always came easily to me. Everything except the specific, old-world dialect Leo’s family spoke amongst themselves. It was my one great failure, the one area where I couldn’t seem to keep up. Leo had insisted I not even try. He’d once whispered against my earlobe, his voice a low murmur, “You’re my wife, Hannah. I’m the one who should adapt to you. Besides, I’m opening a new branch in Chicago this year. You should be teaching me proper American idioms. For instance, how do you say, ‘I want you again, baby’?” … The memory of his words sent a flush of heat creeping up my neck. But when I finally dragged the suitcases into the lobby, sweating and flustered, the memory evaporated. I found him laughing with a stunning woman—a willowy brunette with sharp, model-esque features. “Leo?” I called out. He and the woman turned in unison. Her face was bright and beautiful, but her eyes, when they landed on me for interrupting, were sharp with annoyance. I froze, asking, “Who’s this?” Leo leaned back against the concierge desk, crossing his arms with an air of relaxed amusement. “She was hitting on me. Aren’t you going to assert your claim?” I felt a surge of awkward panic. I had never been in a situation like this in my life. I looked at him, utterly lost. “What am I supposed to do?” And then— One of Leo’s hands cupped the back of my neck, pulling me in for a deep, possessive kiss. With his other hand, he theatrically covered the brunette’s eyes, which were practically shooting flames. His voice was a playful, seductive purr. “Isn’t this enough?” I melted into the kiss, my head spinning. Through the haze, I heard the brunette let out a short, sharp gasp. 3 It wasn’t until we were in the taxi heading to the airport that the wrongness of it all started to crystallize. His movements… it was like he was performing for both of us. Seducing two women at once. I was about to say something when my mother’s call came through. She wanted to know why I hadn’t posted any honeymoon pictures today. I stammered something about being busy with travel. Her voice immediately hardened. “You need to post, Hannah. You’re a Davenport now. Your social media presence is part of the package. This isn’t your old life; you can’t afford to be so thoughtless.” I looked down at my hands, my voice barely a whisper. “Okay.” After I hung up, I re-uploaded the photo, making sure this time that the Live Photo feature was off. A moment later, a sixty-second voice memo from my mother buzzed through. 【…What is going on with your hair! Those bangs are all stringy, couldn’t you have brushed them before taking a picture? And those denim shorts are far too short, you don’t look like a lady at all! You look so… unpolished! How do you expect the Davenports to ever respect you if you present yourself like this!…】 A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me, extinguishing any desire to fight back. It was like being the stepsister trying to cram her foot into Cinderella’s slipper. If a part didn’t fit, you just had to slice it off. Eventually, it’s easier to just curl your toes, to surrender to the shape of the unyielding glass. I sighed and typed back: 【I know, Mom. I’ll be more careful next time.】 After that, I lost the heart to question Leo about anything. 4 “Why the long face?” Leo squeezed my cheek gently. “How about I take you skydiving for our next stop?” “Skydiving?” My eyes widened, a spark of excitement cutting through the gloom. Our honeymoon had only been twenty days, but in that time, I’d done more than in all my twenty-two years. Rock climbing sheer cliffs. Surfing in Biarritz. Getting deliciously drunk in a smoky jazz club in Paris. I even learned to play Texas Hold’em. And won a few thousand dollars. It wasn’t a lot of money, but the thrill of it kept me awake all night. I looked at everything with wide-eyed wonder, and Leo seemed to look at me with even more. “Hannah,” he’d say, laughing, “you’re something else.” At first, I’d been resistant. Extreme sports, bars, casinos—they were all on the long list of things my mother had strictly forbidden. When I told Leo this, he threw his back his head and laughed. “Hannah, how old are you? You still listen to your mother?” I just looked at him, feeling lost. He pulled me onto his lap, his smile wicked. “Well, you’re married now. Doesn’t that mean you should listen to your husband? And your husband wants you to have fun with him. Trust me, it’s incredible. Besides, your mom isn’t here. You don’t have to tell her everything.” Hesitantly, I tried. And it was more than fun. It was freedom. For the first time in my life, I tasted what it was like to be truly free. Leo was so, so good to me. And I loved him so, so much. He never forced me to do anything. When we got back to New York after the honeymoon, he even deleted the Rosetta Stone app for French from my laptop. “Why work so hard? It hurts me to see you stress over it. All our staff speaks English, and most of my business is stateside anyway. You just stay home, relax, and enjoy yourself.” I was so moved at the time, I nearly cried. But it was the one thing I didn’t listen to him about. I kept studying in secret. I was a language major, after all. I knew that a person’s deepest thoughts and feelings are intrinsically tied to their mother tongue. Even though Leo’s English was perfect, we still had moments of being lost in translation. I was learning because I wanted to understand him. All of him. 5 Thankfully, I was a fast learner. Within a few months, I could understand most of what people were saying. My own speech was still clumsy, but I was getting there. I wanted to wait until I was fluent to surprise Leo. He, however, surprised me first. One evening, his closest friends came over to our penthouse for drinks. “To Leo Davenport, married off at twenty-six! We had to come celebrate the end of an era,” one of them toasted. “Seriously, man, why get married so young? Did you finally decide to settle down, or did something… stop working?” Another one shot a suggestive look at Leo’s tailored trousers. Their crass, frat-boy energy made my cheeks burn. Leo just smiled, ruffling my hair. “Don’t be nervous. They’re my best friends.” He introduced them. They were all tall and impossibly handsome, like a casting call for a luxury watch ad. Even the ones who weren’t conventionally attractive were polished to a high shine by expensive suits and ridiculously opulent watches. But the way they looked at me was anything but polished. It was critical, appraising. One of them made a soft tsk sound. “Couldn’t really tell under all that wedding makeup, but she’s actually pretty average. Her legs aren’t as long as Chantal’s, and her skin’s not as pale as Cherry’s. And that body is…” Rage, hot and sharp, flared in my chest. Did he have any idea what he was saying? Leo stepped in front of me, planting a light kick on the guy’s shin. “Say one more word,” he said, his voice low and angry. “…” The friend took a half-step back, a flicker of surprise on his face. 6 The mood in the room turned heavy. I used making tea as an excuse to escape to the kitchen. As I left, I heard Leo sit down, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smirk. “It was just a joke, man. Don’t be so serious.” By the time I returned with the tea tray, the boisterous atmosphere had returned. His best friend, a guy named Grant, asked, “So your wife doesn’t speak French?” I blinked, saying nothing. Leo looked over at me, a smile playing in his eyes. “Nope,” he confirmed. Grant raised an eyebrow. “Then why’d you marry her? As a decoration? I thought your father had a whole lineup of eligible French heiresses for you.” Leo leaned back into the plush sofa, looking impossibly relaxed. “Because she’s sweet.” He paused, a memory seeming to cross his mind, and a slow grin spread across his face. “So damn sweet.” My face felt like it was on fire. I knew instantly what he was thinking of. Our wedding night. I had been so nervous. His hands had moved over my body like a slow burn, his voice full of genuine wonder. “You’re twenty-two and you’ve never even had a boyfriend?” I trembled under his touch, mortified, and shot back, “Who says I haven’t?” He just laughed, his arms tightening around my waist as his whole body shook with amusement. “Liar.” “You’re pure as the driven snow. Don’t pretend to be experienced, sweet girl.” I swatted at his chest in frustration. His only response was the arch of his back, crashing into me in waves, and the broken, breathless words he gasped out between thrusts: “So… damn… sweet.” … “You have to cleanse the palate after too much spicy food, right?” someone joked. Leo kicked out at him again, but this time he was laughing. “You asshole! That’s my wife you’re talking about. You can’t compare her to the girls on the outside.” Their crude talk made me frown. I tugged on Leo’s sleeve, but he didn’t seem to notice, just squeezed my hand and kept going. “For a wife, of course you choose the sweetest, most innocent one.” I didn’t feel complimented. A sick feeling was growing in my gut. I decided I’d wait until his friends left to tell him how I felt. But then Grant spoke again. “So, no more nights out for you? Chantal lives in the same building as that girl I’m seeing. She’s asked me a bunch of times why you don’t come around anymore. I heard she’s been taking cooking classes, learning all the French classics.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Leo didn’t deny it. He just gave a lazy, tired shrug. “We’ll see.” Then, his gaze fell on me, soft and possessive. He tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, his voice a gentle murmur. “I’m very happy with my wife now.” My heart stuttered. If I couldn’t understand what came next, I would have drowned in the warmth of his eyes. But his words, spoken in that fluid, aristocratic French, were like daggers, stabbing me over and over. “She’s sweet, she’s a great cook, and she takes such good care of me.” “The fact that she doesn’t speak French is a bonus, you know?” “She can’t read the gossip rags writing about my flings.” “She can’t send me angry texts in French demanding I come home.” “And even if she wants to start a fight, I can just pretend I don’t understand.” The room erupted in raucous laughter. “You’re a bastard, Davenport! Playing your own wife for a fool?” Leo laughed along with them, loud and unrestrained. Only I remained silent, my face ashen, my body starting to tremble as if struck by lightning. “Leo,” I said, my voice clear and steady. He turned to look at me, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Because I had said his name in perfect, unaccented French. I held his stunned gaze, and continued, enunciating every single syllable. “Je comprends tout.” (I understand everything.) Every grating laugh screeched to a halt. And the wicked, self-satisfied smile on Leo’s face instantly vanished.

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After a fight with my husband, I went to my boyfriend for comfort. We were, unfortunately, discovered. My boyfriend stepped in front of me, glaring at my husband. “The one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel.” I hissed, “Keep your voice down. Is this something to be proud of?” 1 Three years after I broke up with Leo, he texted me. “Still mad?” “Holding a grudge this long is childish, don’t you think?” “If you wait any longer, I might not give you another chance.” I stared at the messages, my thumb hovering over the ‘block’ button, as I was literally walking out the door to celebrate my second wedding anniversary. 2 I had no intention of replying to Leo. But that was before my dead-inside husband, Julian, bailed on our anniversary dinner, sending me a text after I’d already been waiting at the restaurant for two hours. He seemed to have just remembered. The message was brief and cold: “Sorry. A deal in Chicago hit a snag.” I stared at the screen. Leo’s texts kept buzzing. “Did you not get my message?” “It’s Leo. Hello?” “Fine. I’m sorry, okay? Was that what you wanted?” “…Please? I was wrong.” Zero f*cks given. Still, it was the first time Leo had ever apologized for anything. I toggled back to my chat with Julian. Our conversation history looked like it was generated by a bot. This merger-marriage was really the deal of a lifetime. I forwarded the restaurant’s address to Leo. He replied instantly: “Heh. What’s this?” “Asking me to dinner?” “Playing hard to get all this time, and now you’re this eager?” “I’ll see if I’m free in an hour.” I texted back: “10 minutes.” Leo: “?” “Is that your attitude?” “Don’t think I’m desperate to see you.” “Answer me.” Me: “Not coming. I’m leaving.” Leo: “…Can you do 20?” “15?” “…On my way. Don’t move.” 3 Leo slid into the booth at the eleven-minute mark, panting. He hadn’t changed much. Still had that entitled, arrogant air, but there was a new caution in his eyes when he looked at me. For someone who couldn’t shut up via text, he was surprisingly silent through the meal. Until the waiter brought out the cake I’d pre-ordered for the anniversary. Leo stared at the chocolate script: “Happy 2nd Anniversary.” His eyes filled with a dawning, horrified understanding. I just stared back, waiting. This was it. The fatal blow I’d waited three years to deliver. A perfect revenge for how he’d ended things. He finally spoke. “Wow, this place gives out free cake for their second anniversary? Nice gimmick.” I… I felt that specific, soul-crushing exhaustion of having to explain a punchline to a brick wall. 4 Fine. I’d just have to say it. As I opened my mouth, my phone rang. It was my best friend, Mia. “Sienna,” she yelled, “you will not believe what that bastard Julian is doing!” “He flew to Chicago on your anniversary to see his old flame!” “Get yourself to The Gilded Lily right now. I’m ordering eight escorts.” “My girl is not sitting at home feeling sorry for herself. Not on my watch.” She immediately sent a photo to prove it. Julian and some woman, standing side-by-side, perfectly framed. Damn. They looked good together. As for the escorts… I glanced at Leo, who was now eyeing the cake with suspicion. “No need,” I told Mia. “I’ve got a premium version right here.” 5 I had Leo drive me home. The second the door closed, I pushed him against it. Just as things were getting interesting, he actually pushed me away. His ears were red. “I didn’t come here for this.” “Sienna, these three years… did you ever miss me?” I brushed his hair back. “Yes. Are we doing this or not?” Leo’s eyes lit up. “It was all my fault before… Can we start over? For real?” I nodded. “Good. Are we doing this or not?” He gritted his teeth. “Is that seriously all you can think about?” “Yes,” I said. “Are we doing this or not?” “…Fine.” 6 And so, Leo and I became… well, cheaters. At first, I felt a flicker of guilt. But Julian was spending half his time in Chicago, so I figured the guilt in this marriage was pretty evenly distributed. Until two months later. Julian came home, looking exhausted but… content. He pulled me into a hug. “It’s done. I’m finished with the Chicago trips for a while.” What, you two break up? When I didn’t respond, he sighed. “I know I’ve been absent. This deal to acquire Étoile Jewelers… it was complicated.” I froze. “Étoile Jewelers?” That was only my favorite jewelry brand on the planet. Julian tucked my hair behind my ear. “Mhm. I’m having them design a custom piece for you. It should be ready next month.” “The shares are being transferred to your name. You’re the new majority stockholder.” “Consider it a late anniversary present.” I was reeling. “But… what about your old flame? Eliza?” Julian frowned. “What old flame? Who’s been feeding you gossip?” “Eliza is Étoile’s chief designer. She’s the one who brokered the deal for me. I couldn’t have done it without her.” Oh, crap. Then what did that make my last two months of adultery? 7 Tough luck for him, I guess. Now that the deal was done, Julian seemed intent on making up for his absence. He was suddenly… around. A lot. I tried to be the understanding wife. “You should get back to work. I’m fine, really. I’m happy.” He stroked my cheek. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ all the time.” Wait, who was this? This wasn’t the Julian I married. I prodded, “You seem… different.” His eyes were warmer than I’d ever seen them. “Yeah. I… I wasn’t good at expressing things before. I know I let you down.” He paused. “Eliza told me something. That love isn’t real unless the other person can see it and feel it.” Eliza, you are screwing me right now.

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My son’s new teacher wanted to move the annual field trip from the Botanical Institute to Blackwood Forest. In my last life, I’d argued until I had to threaten to report her. An influencer obsessed with her “Brave Little Lamb” image, she finally gave in. Just as I’d predicted, a landslide hit the forest on the planned trip day. But two days earlier, she’d filmed a fake class adventure there—it went viral. Parents who’d thanked me now sent hate, wanting fame. She made students bully my son Leo, then pushed him down the stairs, whispering, “Blame your meddling mother.” They framed his death as suicide. Before his body was cold, an online mob came for me. I took my own life. Now, I’ve woken up at that parent-teacher meeting again. This time, when she proposes the trip, I’m the first to agree. “Only true wilderness unlocks a child’s potential,” I say, smiling. “I fully support it!” 1 In my past life, when I arrived at the school, my son’s body was already covered by a white sheet. Everyone said he had jumped. But I knew the truth. I screamed and lunged for the real killer. The teacher, Ms. Finch, feigned terror, but as they pulled me away, she leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You exposed my video as a fake. I killed your son. Seems fair, don’t you think?” I clawed at her face, a desperate, wild animal, but they just called me a hysterical woman having a breakdown. Ms. Finch’s saccharine voice yanks me from the memory. “Mrs. Reed, don’t you think you’re overreacting?” “It’s just a landslide warning. Is that really more important than building character in our children?” My son, Leo, senses my detachment. He nudges my leg gently, his eyes wide with concern. The other parents start to murmur in agreement. “She’s right. The weather service is always so dramatic, aren’t they? They issue warnings every day, and nothing ever happens.” “This is about shaping our kids’ futures. What’s one little warning compared to that?” I dig my nails into my palm. The sharp sting of pain is a welcome anchor, proof that this is real. I am back. I look at Ms. Finch’s deceptively sweet smile at the front of the room, and I have to grind my teeth to keep from screaming. I want nothing more than to destroy her right here, right now. Seeing my silence, she taps her pen on the lectern impatiently. “Mrs. Reed, we need to think this through.” “The weather service issues dozens of warnings a week. But an educational opportunity like this comes once in a lifetime.” Her most loyal sycophant, a woman named Karen, chimes in immediately. “Exactly!” “Mrs. Reed, just because your Leo is a little timid, you can’t hold back the entire class from this amazing experience.” “We’re not all renowned scientists like you. We don’t have special connections. Are you really going to ruin this for everyone else? Can you take responsibility for that?” Her words ignite the room. One by one, other parents join her crusade. “Blackwood Forest has been there for decades. A sudden landslide? It seems a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?” “Ms. Finch fought hard to get this opportunity for our kids. What right do you have to stand in her way?” “My son says Leo’s always been a scaredy-cat. He’s probably just trying to drag everyone else down with him…” Leo’s face pales, the accusations landing like physical blows. He opens his mouth, his voice trembling. “Mom, I’m not—” I clench my fists, my knuckles white. For a split second, I consider trying to warn them one last time. To do the right thing. But then I remember. I remember the sincerity in their eyes when they thanked me, and the venom in their words when they cursed me. I remember how they fanned the flames online, pushing me toward the edge of a cliff until I finally fell. No one in this room is innocent. I look out the window at the fine, misty rain and offer an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Finch. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I stand up abruptly, and the chatter in the room dies down. “I was the one being alarmist. I nearly jeopardized our children’s future.” “Ms. Finch is so thoughtful to arrange this. Of course, she has my full support.” 2 As my words hang in the air, the classroom falls into a dead silence. Leo’s hand, clutching mine, is ice-cold. I give him a reassuring glance, a silent promise. “Are you… are you serious, Mrs. Reed?” A flicker of confusion crosses Ms. Finch’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by a triumphant gleam. “Of course,” I say, nodding earnestly. “I want what’s best for my son, just like everyone else.” “I was making a mountain out of a molehill. I nearly wasted all of your hard work, Ms. Finch. You’ve thought of everything. As parents, we can rest easy knowing our children are in your hands.” I put extra emphasis on the words rest easy. A low murmur ripples through the other parents. A satisfied smile spreads across Ms. Finch’s face. She claps her hands together and pulls a stack of A4 papers from her designer handbag. “Now that we’re all on the same page, just to avoid any… disagreements later on,” she says, shooting a pointed look in my direction, “I’ll need everyone to sign this safety waiver.” She hands me the form. It’s a liability waiver. By signing, parents agree to the field trip to Blackwood Forest and absolve Ms. Finch of any and all responsibility for any accidents. She raises her voice, beaming. “Oh, and one more thing. The fee for the trip has been increased to three hundred dollars. Please transfer the funds to Karen as soon as possible.” The other parents nod eagerly, scrambling for their phones. I look down at the paper and feel a cold, bitter laugh rise in my throat. I never saw this waiver in my past life. I had no idea she had planned to cover her tracks from the very beginning. “Evelyn, what are you waiting for?” Karen’s voice is sharp enough to cut glass. “Stop staring and sign it!” I set the waiver down on the desk. “Leo won’t be attending.” Ms. Finch’s smile instantly twists into a snarl. “But you just agreed!” The other parents, led by Karen, glare at me. “What are you trying to pull, Evelyn?” “Are you playing games with us? Do you think we’re fools?” I simply adjust my glasses. “I do support you, Ms. Finch. I think it’s a wonderful idea.” “It’s just that my Leo…” I let out a heavy sigh. “He has a severe case of acrophobia. Always has.” “He can’t even look down from a second-story window without getting dizzy.” I dab at the corners of my eyes with my sleeve, my voice thick with mock-sadness. “I’m just so worried about his health. What if something happens to him on the mountain?” “He’d disrupt your plans, the other students would have to look after him… it just wouldn’t be right.” “To make sure everyone else has the best possible experience, we’ve decided to sit this one out.” Understanding dawns on Leo’s face. He slowly hunches over, clutching his chest dramatically. “Mom,” he gasps, “I… I can’t breathe…” Ms. Finch stares at our performance, utterly dumbfounded. The room erupts in whispers again. “Mom, I don’t want to have to take care of that weakling…” “He’s how old and still afraid of heights? What a wimp.” “You know, my daughter is afraid of heights too. That mountain is pretty high, maybe…” A few other parents start to look hesitant. Karen sees the tide turning and slams her hand on a desk. “You’re undermining class unity!” “A fear of heights isn’t some terminal illness! Can’t he just try to be brave?” Her outburst backfires. The mother who had just spoken up retorts, “Are you going to be responsible if my daughter has a full-blown panic attack up there?” “You know what, we’re out too. I’ve never seen three red alerts issued for the same area before…” As the voices of dissent grow louder, Ms. Finch struggles to maintain her gentle facade. “Everyone, quiet!” Her hand, adorned with a dazzling diamond ring, smacks against the blackboard. “This is a class trip. No one is skipping!” “The entire point of this is to foster teamwork and cooperation! We need to be united!” She throws a contemptuous look my way. “Mrs. Reed, a little fear is something that can be overcome. Do you really want Leo to grow up to be an outcast?” “If this continues, his personality development could be severely stunted!” She tries to sound like a concerned educator, but her eyes are dancing with smug victory. “This is for the good of all the children. Every single student will be attending!” Her firm stance emboldens the others. They rush to agree, afraid of being left behind. “She’s right, Evelyn! This is a group activity. What does it look like if you don’t go?” “I bet she just thinks this school is beneath her son now!” Hearing the other parents turn on me, a smug, triumphant look spreads across Ms. Finch’s face. “Alright, settle down.” She scans the room like a queen surveying her court. “This trip will be incredibly beneficial for everyone.” “Not only will it teach the children independence, but I will also be livestreaming the entire event.” “I’ll even edit the footage into a professional video. Every child will have a chance to be on camera!” 3 The room explodes. “Oh my god! Ms. Finch has over three million followers!” “If my kid gets famous, he could be an influencer! That’s way more money than he’ll ever make with a college degree!” The parents who were hesitating just moments ago are now overcome with a feverish excitement. They practically trample each other to transfer the money to Karen. Even the mother whose daughter had a fear of heights. I just shake my head, a bitter taste in my mouth. Ms. Finch’s smile grows wider. Karen looks like she’s just won the lottery. “Evelyn, aren’t you going to sign and pay?” “If she won’t sign, I will! Karen, check your account, the money’s there!” A mob of parents surges forward, shoving desks and chairs aside. I pull Leo close, a deep sense of irony washing over me. In my last life, Ms. Finch never had to use these elaborate excuses. This was never about the kids. It was a pre-planned script for her social media channel. The children were just props, a brief cameo in her show. The idea that any of them would become famous was a cruel joke. As if on cue, the drizzle outside intensifies, the rain now hammering against the windowpanes. But inside, the atmosphere is reaching a fever pitch. As a geologist specializing in mountain hazards, I know the conditions at Blackwood Forest better than anyone. The loose, saturated soil, combined with days of relentless rain… a landslide isn’t just a possibility, it’s an inevitability. While the classroom is in chaos, I take Leo’s hand and pull him toward the back door. “Stay close, Leo.” We crouch low, moving as quietly as we can. The back door is just inches away. My hand is reaching for the handle when— “They’re trying to run!” a sharp-eyed parent shrieks. The room falls silent. The only sound is the frantic drumming of rain against the roof. Ms. Finch slowly raises her head. Her eyes are filled with a cold, hard malice. “Evelyn,” she says, her voice low and dangerous, “have I been too nice to you?” Her crude language ignites a fire in my chest. “Ms. Finch, is that really something a teacher should be saying?” Leo, bristling with indignation, steps forward, but I pull him behind me. “I told you, Leo has a severe phobia. We are not participating.” “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t get to decide that!” Ms. Finch’s face is flushed with rage. She pounds her fist on the lectern. “This is a class-wide activity!” “Leo is already timid. If you don’t push him now, are you trying to raise a coward?” Her vulgar words make my blood boil. “The weather service has issued three consecutive red alerts! The park service has issued its own danger advisory!” “And field trips are voluntary. You can’t force us to go!” Ms. Finch scoffs. “I never said I was forcing you. You’re just trying to divide the class!” Karen points a finger in my face. “Listen here, Evelyn. Ms. Finch is being more than patient with you. Sign the damn paper and pay the money!” The room descends into chaos again, parents shouting accusations at me from all sides. Leo clenches his fists, but I pull him toward the door. “Let us through! What you’re doing is illegal!” A wall of parents blocks our path. I try to push through them, and the argument turns into a shoving match. Suddenly, I feel a sharp tug on my hair. A split second later, Karen’s hand cracks across my face. My vision explodes in a shower of stars. I stumble backward and fall to the floor. Someone’s foot comes down hard on my hand, and a bloom of pain radiates up my arm. “Mom! Are you okay?” Leo shoves the other parents aside and helps me to my feet. A fiery pain shoots through my knee as I stand. Karen takes a half-step back, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “Drama queen. It was just a little fall.” Ms. Finch watches, her expression cold, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. “This is what you get for disrupting the harmony of this class!” “If you don’t sign that paper and pay today, none of us are letting you leave!” Leo’s eyes are red with fury. He looks like he’s about to launch himself at her. “Leo, calm down,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We won’t stoop to their level.” “We’ll use the law to protect ourselves.” I hold up my swollen, bruised hand. My voice is like ice. “Your actions today constitute assault.” “This is the kind of class Ms. Finch runs, is it? So committed to ‘unity’ that you’re willing to break the law?” I scan the pale, shocked faces around me. “A class like this isn’t worthy of my son.” Ms. Finch is clearly unprepared for me to bring up the law. She stares at me for a second, then screeches, “What are you trying to do?” I lead Leo to the back door without a backward glance. “We are not going on the field trip.” “And right now, I’m going to find Principal Davies and arrange for a transfer.” The room is silent. Then Karen bursts out laughing as if she’s just heard the funniest joke in the world. She slaps her thigh, her body shaking with mirth. “Oh, ‘Principal Davies’! You really think you’re someone important, don’t you?” Ms. Finch crosses her arms, a smug look on her face. “Go ahead. The second you walk out that door, Leo is no longer a student in this class.” “And Principal Davies? He’s at a district conference today. Let’s see who’s going to sign your transfer papers now!” I take a deep breath. I pull out my phone, dial a number, and put it on speaker. A kind, familiar voice answers on the second ring. “Evelyn, what a surprise. Is something wrong? Is it about Leo?”

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After the lightning strike, my childhood best friend and I woke up. He was the obsessive psycho male side-character. I was the vicious, bitchy female side-character. We were, in short, the villains. In the original story, after failing to win the protagonists’ love, he frames the hero, and I torture the heroine. After waking up, we were both just… tired. We decided to take one for the team and just date each other. At our engagement party, the stoic hero and the sweet heroine cornered us, their eyes red. “Why?” they demanded. 1 Asher and I were your classic, bored rich kids. He was a Level-5 simp, hopelessly chasing Lily, the brilliant, broke scholarship student who wouldn’t give him the time of day. I was a Level-10 psycho, desperately obsessed with Connor, the ice-king CEO. I was so in love I’d actually tried to drug him. That night, a thunderstorm was rattling the city. I’d cornered Connor in his office. I was going in for a kiss. He was motionless, his perfect mouth an inch from mine. Just as I was about to make contact, he shoved me back. He actually brushed off his suit jacket, his face twisted in disgust. “You’re pathetic, Sloane. Get out.” I just stood there, stunned. Meanwhile, Asher had just been brutally rejected by Lily—again. His offer to pay her tuition had, apparently, wounded her pride. “Stop trying to buy me, Asher. I will never like you.” He was standing outside my condo, soaked to the bone, when I pulled up. He told me his sob story. It was the only thing that made me feel better. “God,” I sighed, “you look like a drowned rat.” He sneered. “And you look like the psycho they just kicked out of the party. We’re a matched set.” We stared at each other. A massive crack of thunder split the sky, and a bolt of lightning hit the sidewalk right between us. As we were thrown back, the last thing I remember was yelling: “What the hell did you do to piss off God? And why am I getting dragged down with you!” 2 When I woke up in the hospital, my head was full of a story that wasn’t mine. I was a character in a trashy romance novel. I was Sloane, the “vicious best friend,” whose job was to make the heroine’s life hell. Asher was the “psycho male friend,” who loved the heroine so much he eventually kidnapped her, only to be brutally murdered by the hero. My ending? Even worse. The hero, Connor, has me committed to a high-security asylum—even though I’m perfectly sane—where I eventually set fire to my own room and die. A chill went down my spine. Note to self: Stay away from Connor. I sat up. Asher was sleeping peacefully in the next bed. His face was angelic, his eyelashes ridiculously long. A total waste. He had the face of a K-Pop idol but the brain of a lemming, chasing a girl who hated him. I was about to sneak out when his eyes snapped open and he grabbed my wrist. “Sloane? But… you were supposed to burn to death.” My jaw dropped. “You know? You’re a ‘character’ too?” He looked around, confused. “Am I… did I get sent back?” We stared at each other. In that moment, we both had the exact same thought: What a dumbass. The door burst open. My father and his mother rushed in, both crying. His mom grabbed my dad’s arm. “I knew it, Robert! They’ve been best friends since birth! They were always meant for each other. Even a lightning strike couldn’t separate them!” My dad nodded, his eyes wet. “The psychic was right! It’s fate! The second we signed the engagement papers, they both stabilized! It’s a miracle!” I’m sorry, what? 3 Apparently, in the ICU, we were both circling the drain. Our parents, in a fit of rich-people desperation, had consulted their high-end spiritual guru. The guru told them our souls were “dangerously intertwined.” If we weren’t “bound” in this life, our “negative karma” would kill us both. So, while we were in comas, they had their lawyers draw up a marriage contract. And it worked. We woke up. Asher looked at me. “So. What now?” I looked at the diamond ring they’d put on my finger. I sighed. “What can we do? I’m the villain. No matter what I do, I lose.” Asher actually smirked. “You know… maybe we should just go through with it. Save ourselves the trouble of harassing the heroes. We can just… I don’t know… harass each other.” It was like a lightbulb went off. He was right. Connor already thought I was toxic. Why waste my energy? I could just stay here and “ruin” Asher. Maybe I’d even survive the final chapter. I grabbed his hand. “Asher, you’re a goddamn genius.” He immediately looked horrified. “Sloane, I was kidding. I think of you as my sister. I can’t… I don’t feel that way about you…” That pissed me off. I climbed onto his bed, straddled his hips, and pushed him back against the pillows. I leaned down until our noses were almost touching. “You don’t?” I whispered. “Are you sure?” My fingers traced the outline of his T-shirt, slowly sliding down his chest until they rested right above his jeans. His eyes went dark. His voice was a strained whisper. “Sloane. Stop playing.” I felt the unmistakable twitch under his waistband. I laughed and jumped off the bed. “See? You feel it.” 4 Asher went to the bathroom, presumably to take a cold shower. I immediately grabbed my phone and posted a picture of the ring. @Sloane_Official: Tomorrow, 6:40 PM. Marrying this idiot. @Asher_King My phone exploded. Congrats!!! Is this a joke? Wait… what? You two? Since WHEN? I was replying with smiley-face emojis when a new text popped up. From Connor. My “Do Not Answer” contact. ? A second later: Sloane, what game are you playing now? He was the hero. I probably shouldn’t piss him off. 🙂 Getting married tomorrow! You should come! He didn’t believe me. Is this fun for you, Sloane? I heard the bathroom door open. Asher came out, his hair wet. The water droplets on his chest made him look… sharp. Dangerous. I stared. I’d known him for twenty years. When did he get hot? He flicked my forehead. “What are you staring at?” My face felt warm. “Nothing. Just texting.” He saw the name on my screen. His face went dark. He snatched the phone out of my hand. “I thought we were getting married. Why are you texting him?” 5 He held the phone over his head. I jumped for it. “Give it back!” He just laughed, holding it further away. “Not until you kiss me.” “Asher, we’re friends! That’s weird!” Just then, the phone started ringing. Connor. He was actually calling me. Asher hit “Decline.” “Okay, fine!” I said. I lunged up to kiss his cheek. He turned his head at the last second. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision. His lip split. Blood welled up instantly. He just stared at me, then licked the blood off his lip. It was… surprisingly hot. “Sloane,” he said, “are you part-dog? Why do you always bite?” My heart was hammering. “I… I’m sorry.” I’d spent my whole life chasing Connor. I’d never actually kissed anyone. Asher, obsessed with Lily, was in the same boat. We were two 25-year-old disasters. How… how do you do it?

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The entire Gates family could hear my thoughts. On the first day they brought me to their estate, they wired their adopted son a thirty-thousand-dollar allowance. They sent me two hundred. I complained silently. Are you kidding me? Two hundred? I make more than that working the line at the plant. As they waited, expressions of disdain on their faces, expecting me to grovel and beg for more, they heard my next thought. So, the great Gates dynasty gives their son a grand total of thirty thousand and two hundred dollars a month? That won’t even cover a square foot of thermal shielding. What’s the point of fighting over this paltry inheritance? We still haven’t met our KPI of thirty rockets for the year at the plant. I don’t have time for this rich-family soap opera. I should be building more rockets to defend against the aliens. 1 The moment my biological parents and I stepped through the mansion’s grand entrance, a boy threw himself to his knees in front of me. I jumped back, startled. But he crawled forward on his knees, tears streaming down his face. “It’s all my fault. I stole the life that should have been yours, Leo.” “I’m on my knees begging for your forgiveness. If you can’t forgive me… I’ll leave the Gates family and go back to the slums where I belong!” “I’ll do anything, as long as you’re not angry anymore!” In the opulent living room, my wealthy parents and three biological sisters immediately rushed to his side. My mother helped the boy, Ray, to his feet, her tone sharp with disapproval. “Leo, that’s enough. How could you treat your brother like that?” My father’s face was grim, his eyes burning with condemnation. My eldest sister, Victoria, scoffed. “Figures. Dragged up from the middle of nowhere. All he knows is herding cattle and screwing bolts on an assembly line. Of course he’d resort to cheap tricks to get attention.” I was too busy marveling at the mansion’s interior to hear a word they were saying. The Gatess are at the top of the private sector for advanced materials, so it makes sense they’d use cutting-edge stuff for their own home. Their anger vanished, replaced by confusion. They exchanged glances, then stared at me in shock. Good thing I listened to the director and took leave to come meet them. With me as the inside man, the plant won’t have to worry about material supplies anymore. My father frowned slightly. Victoria let out a disgusted snort but said nothing. My second sister, Seraphina, shot me a look that was suddenly sharp and wary. My third sister, Isabelle, glared at me. “I’m warning you,” she snapped, “we only have one brother, and that’s Ray. Don’t even think about competing with him for our affection, or for the family company.” My father cleared his throat and addressed me in a patronizing tone. “Leo, you’ve been working at a plant for a long time. It must be difficult adjusting to the lifestyle of a family like ours.” He tapped a few times on his phone. A moment later, the ancient flip phone in my pocket blared out in a clunky, robotic voice, “TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS RECEIVED.” “Take this for now,” my father said. “Once you’ve settled in, I’ll send you more.” He then turned to the teary-eyed Ray, his voice dripping with affection. “Ray, we raised you. You will always be a Gates. Nothing will ever change that.” “I’m raising your monthly allowance to thirty thousand, starting now. Consider it compensation for all this.” He immediately pulled out his phone to make the transfer. Ray’s tears vanished, replaced by a triumphant smile. But he still had to put on a show, his gaze flicking toward me. “Oh, no, you can’t. You should give my allowance to Leo.” “After all, he’s had such a hard life, living in the countryside and working in a factory. He needs the money more than I do.” His gloating was obvious, but I just frowned. Is the Gates family this broke? Only thirty thousand for their son’s allowance? My father’s thumb froze over his phone screen. 2 Ray stared at him, confused. My eldest sister, Victoria, let out a cold laugh. “Forget thirty thousand. I doubt you’ve ever even seen ten thousand dollars in your life. Do you even understand the concept of money?” I was disappointed. Is thirty thousand a lot? It can’t even buy a square meter of thermal shielding. Our workshop’s weekly budget is more than that. The smile on Victoria’s face froze. Oh well. At least their family business is in advanced materials, even if they are a bit poor. I’ll ask Dad later if he can pull some strings and get his company to partner with our plant. They are my blood relatives, after all. Poor sales figures. Must save the Gates. After a long, awkward silence, the entire family, except for the oblivious Ray, had strange expressions on their faces. My father finished the transfer to Ray and stormed out of the living room, looking furious. After dinner, my mother led me to a small suite next to the first-floor dining room. “Leo,” she said coolly, “the upstairs bedrooms haven’t been prepared yet. You’ll have to make do with this for now.” Ray stood beside her, feigning concern. “Mom, this is the maid’s room. Is it really okay for Leo to stay here?” “Why don’t I give him my bedroom?” Before I could say anything, my mother shot that down. “Absolutely not! This cramped little room is for the lower class. I would never let you stay in a place like this.” I had to laugh. This family is something else. The maid’s room is too degrading for their precious adopted son, but it’s perfectly fine for their actual son. A flicker of embarrassment crossed my mother’s face. She shot me an angry look before turning back to Ray. “Leo grew up in the country. He’s used to dirt floors and no running water, or cramped factory dorms. The maid’s room is a huge step up for him.” “But you’re different, darling. You’ve had the best of everything your whole life. You wouldn’t last a night in here.” She was so moved by her own words she started to cry. Ray smiled magnanimously. “It’s okay, Mom. The bedroom was always meant to be his anyway.” Then his expression shifted to one of tragic self-pity. “I’ve been a usurper in this house for twenty years. It’s time I gave him back what’s rightfully his.” “Ray, don’t say that! You will always be my precious son…” The two of them went back and forth until they were clinging to each other, sobbing dramatically. 3 I surveyed the room meant for the “lower class.” You know, the soundproofing in here is pretty decent. Those two are wailing their hearts out, and I can’t hear a peep from Dad. It’s like he dropped dead out there. It is a little small, though. I won’t be able to move my equipment from the plant in here. Guess I’ll have to go back to the plant if I want to work overtime. What a pain. My mother’s crying stopped abruptly. Thinking about work made me anxious. I used my vacation days to come here. I’ve got a mountain of work piling up. I’ll have to work overtime for the next week straight, or I’ll never meet my KPI for the year. My mother was staring at me, the tears drying on her cheeks. She looked around the small room, a regretful expression on her face, lost in thought. The news that the Gates had found their long-lost son spread like wildfire through the city’s elite circles. Everyone was watching me and Ray, eager for the drama of the real and fake heirs tearing each other apart. To show that the family treated both sons equally, my father decided to throw a party in my honor. The funny thing was, nobody told me. That evening, after a long, hard day at the plant, I came home to a mansion transformed. The living room was filled with the city’s glamorous high society, all of whom turned to stare at me the moment I walked in. Their expressions ranged from surprise to pity to outright contempt. Ray’s voice boomed across the room. “Leo! Why on earth are you dressed like that for a party?” I looked over at him. He was styled to perfection, every hair in place, wearing a bespoke suit that made him stand out even among the well-dressed guests. He walked over to me, his voice laced with faux concern. “Didn’t you wear a suit? Don’t you like the one Mom and Dad picked out for you?” “If you want, you can borrow something from my closet.” His words were caring, but his eyes were overflowing with malicious glee. As expected, the guests started whispering. “So that’s the real Gates heir? He looks completely out of place.” “The Gates threw this party for him, and he shows up dressed like that? Is he trying to embarrass them on purpose?” I glanced around. My sister Isabelle was pretending not to know me, laughing with a group of guests. Seraphina stood a short distance away, watching the scene unfold without any intention of intervening. Victoria followed my parents as they approached, her expression thunderous. “Leo, what is wrong with you?” my mother hissed. “Look at what you’re wearing to an important event like this!” 4 I looked down at myself. The standard-issue shirt and cargo pants from the plant were durable and comfortable. I didn’t see a problem. So tired. So sleepy. I didn’t bust my ass all day screwing bolts together just to come home and act in their little play. The aliens are practically at our doorstep, and they’re still caught up in this family drama. I should have just stayed at the plant. With all the time they’re wasting on this charade, I could have run a few more simulations. My father forced a smile for the guests. “This is my son, Leo. We just brought him back from the country. He’s a bit naive. Please forgive him.” Ray quickly jumped in to “defend” me. “It’s my brother’s first time at a party like this. He doesn’t know any better. Please, don’t mind him.” But this only made the guests look at me with even more disdain. “I heard his adoptive parents were shepherds. He grew up with sheep. Looking at him now, it makes sense… he’s hardly suited for polite society.” “Not only that, I heard he’s just some factory worker with no education. Compared to him, Ray seems so much more like the real heir.” My parents’ faces grew darker with every whispered comment. Ray secretly smirked, then turned to my parents with a look of concern. “This party is for Leo. Mom, Dad, please don’t be mad at him.” Then, he deliberately changed the subject. “By the way, Leo, I heard you work at a big plant. Which one is it?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. “A lot of our friends are here tonight. Maybe your boss is even in the room!” Another wave of snickers went through the crowd. “He calls an electronics assembly line a ‘big plant’? Does this guy even know what a real corporation is?” “He’s from the country. It’s normal he wouldn’t know the difference.” “My company would never hire someone without even a high school diploma. It would tarnish our brand.” The whispers and laughter made my parents’ faces sink further. The entire family was glaring at me, blaming me for embarrassing them. Actually, Ray just gave me an idea. The Gates may be broke, but they’re well-connected. Satellite communications, remote sensing, new energy… if I could get the leaders of all these industries to partner with our plant, our production capacity would skyrocket. My KPI for the year would be saved. Our current planetary defense system isn’t strong enough. We need all the private sector support we can get. I looked around the room, my spirits lifting. I was about to introduce everyone to my work. 5 But Victoria rushed over and hissed at me, “Leo, stop making a fool of yourself and go change!” She grabbed my arm and practically dragged me toward the maid’s room, terrified I would do something else to tarnish the Gates name. At the door, she let go and warned me, “You stay in here and behave. Don’t you dare do anything else to embarrass this family!” “I’m going into politics someday. I can’t have any scandals.” “If you do anything that ruins my vetting process, I won’t be the only one you have to answer to. Mom and Dad will make you regret it.” I watched her frantic, angry display and thought to myself: This sister of mine has been trying to get into politics for seven years. At this point, a tortoise could’ve won an election. Surely the Gates aren’t so poor they can’t afford to get her a tutor? Victoria’s face went through several shades of red before she finally yelled, “You’re impossible! You know what? Just stay in here and think about what you’ve done. You’re not welcome at the party anyway!” She stormed out and locked the door from the outside. I had no idea what had set her off, but I was grateful for the quiet. It gave me time to review the day’s test data. But Ray, it seemed, was not done with his games. A few minutes later, I heard the lock click. He walked in, a cheerful smile on his face. “Leo, aren’t you changed yet? The guests are waiting for you.” With no one else around, the cunning in his eyes was on full display. He walked over to my desk and saw my data sheets. I instinctively tensed, covering the documents with my hands. This was classified information. Even a small leak could have serious consequences. “What’s all this, Leo?” he asked, reaching for the papers. I held them down firmly. “Are you hiding something you don’t want people to see?” Ray glanced toward the door, confirming something, and his expression hardened. The friendly act was over. He lunged for the papers on my desk. “Give them to me!” I reacted instantly, slamming my hands down on the stack of documents. He grabbed them, his eyes glinting with a sinister light. The papers crumpled in his grasp. My heart bled. You absolute moron, I cursed inwardly. “Ray, are you insane?” He was about to rip the papers from my grasp. I couldn’t stop myself—I kicked out, hard. But just as my foot made contact, he suddenly let go, allowing himself to be thrown backward by the force. I didn’t miss the strange, triumphant smirk on his face as he flew through the air. “Ray!” The moment I heard my mother’s shriek, I knew what his plan had been all along. Victoria, my parents, and a crowd of guests arrived just in time to see Ray go flying across the room. Victoria yelled, “Leo! What are you doing?!”

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I always thought my A-list husband’s feelings for me were more about duty than desire. He was the stoic type, a man of few words who never whispered sweet nothings in my ear. Then, late one night, I was scrolling through Reddit and stumbled upon a post in r/relationships that was getting absolutely roasted, hundreds of comments deep, for the husband’s clingy, ridiculous complaints. I clicked on the user’s profile. And my blood ran cold. Wasn’t that our cat in the profile picture? 1 Title: [Help] I think my cat is manipulating my wife and I don’t know what to do. Post: So, my wife is a programmer, and I’m kind of a freelancer. We have a cat. Because my wife is a programmer, she makes a great salary, but she’s always busy and works late. The second she gets home, our cat is all over her, and then she only pets the cat. She doesn’t pet me. The cat sleeps all day while I’m home, but the moment my wife’s key is in the door, he’s wide awake and putting on a show. My wife is a programmer, so she’s incredibly smart and kind, and she can’t see the cat’s manipulative little games. Reading the post, I felt my brain physically unwrinkle. This guy was unhinged. Who gets into a turf war with a housecat? I glanced over at the living room, where Ethan Hayes, my husband, was gently combing the fur of our Maine Coon. See? My Ethan was different. He was cool, reserved. For the day-to-day grind of a marriage, that was perfectly fine. Good, even. I kept scrolling through the comments. As expected, the original poster was getting torn to shreds. And his replies were even more pathetic—and hilarious—than his original post. 2 Comment: Why do you keep repeating “my wife is a programmer”? OP’s Reply: I’m not trying to emphasize it, it’s just that I’m sensitive about it. I grew up going to school overseas, then went to drama school. My wife works in Big Tech and was the valedictorian of her university’s science program. My education isn’t on her level, but I know she loves me more than the cat. It’s just that this kind of dynamic probably makes the cat see me as a rival. This guy’s wife sounded a lot like me. But our husbands? Polar opposites. A wicked little laugh escaped my lips. Comment: Big Tech… programmer…? Dude, unless your wife is a C-suite executive, I don’t understand this superiority complex you’re projecting onto her. OP’s Reply: She’s an algorithm engineer. What’s wrong with being an algorithm engineer? That’s what I am. And I still spend my days debugging code and arguing with project managers. It seems we tech girls are finally moving up in the world. We’ve officially become the subject of our husbands’ insecure Reddit posts. I was cackling. Comment: For the last time, intelligence isn’t sexually transmitted. OP’s Reply: But we’re married. I knew people on Reddit would be jealous when I posted this. It’s just human nature. This dude was unbelievable. My head was spinning from laughter. I was about to lock my phone and go to sleep when, out of habit, I tapped on the user’s profile picture for a closer look. My breath caught in my throat. Why… why did that cat look exactly like our C++? 3 I met Ethan Hayes through a mutual friend. I was a coder. He was an Oscar-winning actor. Our worlds should have never collided. But the story I was told was that his family was putting immense pressure on him to get married, and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. That’s how it is when there’s a family empire to inherit, you know? After we signed the papers at City Hall, I made it a point to tell Ethan he should never feel obligated to make our marriage public. His career came first. His agent, Maria, had always been wonderfully warm to me because of that. And as for my A-lister husband? He might have been emotionally distant, but I was long past the age of needing fairytale romances. For a woman constantly exhausted by the corporate grind, Ethan was the perfect husband. He had a face that could make angels weep and a body that was pure, sculpted perfection. Just looking at him after a long day at work was enough to make my dinner taste better. On top of that, he was a neat freak who disliked strangers in our space, which meant he handled almost all the housework. My stress-induced bad eating habits from before we were married completely vanished. I was even losing less hair. Aside from his stamina in bed, which often left me completely wrecked, Ethan was flawless. The fact that he was quiet and a little cold? That wasn’t even a real problem. But I refused to believe, not for a second, that he would be the one posting that unhinged, needy screed on Reddit. Was I just mistaken about the cat? 4 I wanted to dig through the user’s profile for more clues, but just then, Ethan slid into bed, fresh from his shower. “Ethan, slow down… my back isn’t made for this. All I do is sit in a chair all day…” When we were like this, I was the vocal one, crying out his name. Ethan was different. He was always silent, save for the occasional, deep tremor of his breath. I used to wonder if, for him, this was just another marital duty he had to perform. Eventually, I stopped thinking about it. After all, it wasn’t like I wasn’t enjoying myself. He was at the top of every “Sexiest Actors Alive” list for a reason. By the time he was finished, my consciousness was usually floating somewhere near the ceiling. In that hazy state, I heard him mention that Noah wanted to come over tomorrow. He asked if that was okay with me. Noah was the friend who’d introduced us. “Sure,” I mumbled without thinking. “I shouldn’t have to work late tomorrow.” Ethan’s body went still for a second. Then he just nodded, his face as unreadable as ever. For some reason, that Reddit post drifted back into my mind. Even though I was sure it wasn’t him, I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in the warmth of his chest. “I saw this funny video today… a skit about a couple where the husband was jealous of their pet,” I murmured against his skin. “I’m glad you’re not like that.” I paused, then added, “But you know, even though I love C++, it’s… it’s a different kind of love than what I have for you.” “I love you the most.” His hand began to stroke my hair, a slow, steady rhythm. But he said nothing. I let out a breath, but the knot of anxiety in my chest didn’t loosen the way I’d hoped. Of course it wasn’t him. Ethan Hayes wasn’t the type to care about things like that. Love? He’d seen it all in Hollywood. He married me for stability, not for a grand romance. 5 The next day at noon, Ethan’s assistant showed up at my office like clockwork, carrying a thermal lunch container. When we first got married, I’d complained offhandedly that the company cafeteria food was too greasy. Ever since, for three years, rain or shine, his assistant had delivered my lunch, unless Ethan was on location for a film shoot. The professionalism was astounding. I never knew where the assistant bought the food, but it was always light, delicious, and exactly to my taste. I’d asked a few times, but he’d always just mumbled something and changed the subject. My coworker, Sarah, saw me return to my desk with the container and gave me a playful nudge. “Thea, your husband is just the sweetest. Having his assistant bring you lunch every day? Even the newlyweds in our department aren’t this doting.” She winked. “I’d almost believe he cooked it himself.” “Oh, stop,” I said, laughing. “My husband’s way too busy for that. He’d burn water.” While Ethan had scaled back to doing only one film a year, he’d pivoted to working behind the scenes in production and investment. A man like him was career-focused. I was sure I understood him perfectly. Ben, a junior dev who had just joined the team, chimed in. “Seriously, Thea, where does your husband order from? That looks amazing. I’d have so much more energy to argue with the product team if I ate like that.” But as we were laughing, a sharp voice cut through the air. “Thea, don’t tell me you’re being kept by some rich old man.” “You always talk about how wealthy and good to you your husband is, so how come we’ve never even seen a picture of him?” 6 The speaker was Jessica. We’d started at the company around the same time, but her career hadn’t progressed as quickly as mine. She had a habit of taking little jabs at me, but I rarely took the bait. Ben jumped to my defense. “Jessica, that’s a horrible thing to say. Thea’s posted her marriage certificate on Instagram. Maybe her husband just values his privacy.” Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Oh, right. The one where his face was conveniently blurred out. How ugly does he have to be?” I offered a serene smile. “He’s as handsome as the actor on your phone’s lock screen.” “There’s a limit to how much you can lie,” she sneered, rolling her eyes. “My lock screen is Ethan Hayes. No one is as handsome as Ethan Hayes.” She leaned back in her chair, triumphant. “You should stop pretending your sugar daddy is some great prize. If you ask me, love is more important in a marriage. There’s no way I could bring myself to kiss some rich old pig.” This was why I never argued with Jessica. She was, of all things, an Ethan Hayes superfan. The irony was so thick it was suffocating. But to be honest, a small part of what she said wasn’t entirely wrong. Ethan had never actually told me he loved me. Our marriage, it seemed, was indeed missing a little bit of love. 7 A sudden wave of melancholy washed over me. To distract myself, I opened Reddit. The first thing I saw in r/relationships was that familiar cat avatar. He’d posted again. The new post was already trending, sitting right at the top of the page. Title: [UPDATE] Misunderstanding cleared up. My wife told me she loves me the most, more than the cat! Post: I didn’t expect my last post to generate so much discussion. At first, I was a little angry, but only at the cat. Last night, after we, you know, did it, my wife held me and told me she loves me the mostest. We’re just that in love in real life. Turns out I was just overthinking things. My wife is super in love with me. Of course, the comment section was a fresh hellscape of people dragging him, intentionally picking at his insecurities. But the OP was completely lost in his own world. Comment: Maybe your technique is bad and she was just trying to soothe your fragile ego, bro. OP’s Reply: Not a chance~ I swim and work out every single day. My wife can’t get enough of my pecs. We’ve been married for three years and we still do it four times a week. Comment: This is all in your head. The reality is your wife is a slobby, straight-girl programmer who can’t be bothered with you. OP’s Reply: I know a lot of people are jealous because they don’t have what I have. The fact is, my wife is smart AND beautiful. She’s an amazing programmer. I had to pull out all the stops to win her over, and I still cook for her every day. I feel incredibly lucky. My face contorted. I felt like I was forgetting how to read. I clicked on his profile and saw that he’d made dozens of posts just like this, each one dripping with a desperate, show-offy neediness. Now that his post had gone viral, people were flooding his entire history to mock him. I was about to close the app when he posted a new update. Post: My wife said the cafeteria at her work is too greasy, so I’ve been making her lunch and having my assistant drop it off. She loves my cooking and keeps asking the assistant where he buys it from. She’s so cute~ A super smart and amazing programmer like my wife needs to eat healthy to stay at the top of her game. My hand trembled, and I scrolled down. The next image was a picture of a thermal lunch container. One that was intimately, terrifyingly familiar. It was the one I was eating out of right now.

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I am the gold-digging girlfriend in a story about a self-made man. The day my billionaire boyfriend’s empire crumbled, a voice in my head—let’s call it the System—gave me a mission: dump him. Brutally. So I left every diamond, every Birkin, every Cartier watch on the cold marble floor of our penthouse and told him, “You’re broke. And I don’t do broke.” He went on to claw his way back to the top with the kind of rabid fury only a man scorned can muster. I figured my story would end with him, newly powerful, grinding my life into dust as revenge. So you can imagine my surprise when I was suddenly abducted and woke up chained to a four-poster bed. This felt… off-brand. I frantically pinged the System. “I thought all I had to do was dump Grant Donovan! What the hell is this?” The System’s reply was a digital sneer. 【Dump him? Who told you to leave with nothing but the clothes on your back?】 【You didn’t just break his heart, you idiot. You became the ghost he’s chasing. You’re his goddamn white whale!】 1 It wasn’t until I was bound to the System that I understood my place in the universe: I was the bitchy, money-hungry side character in a novel. According to the script, my role was to be shallow and materialistic, to discard the hero, Grant, the moment his fortune vanished. Then, years later, once he’d rebuilt his kingdom bigger and better than before, I was supposed to crawl back, begging for a second chance. My grand finale? Utter ruin and a tragic, lonely death. “This seems a little harsh,” I murmured after downloading the plot summary. The System, assuming I was heartbroken about ditching the man who was destined for greatness, tried to console me. 【Don’t worry. The second you dump him, I’ll deposit one hundred million dollars into an account for you. Way better than kissing his ass for pocket change.】 I saw it had misunderstood. “That’s not it,” I said quietly. “It’s just… I was the one who chased Grant. I pursued him. To just throw him away the second he loses his money… it feels wrong.” The System went silent. For a long moment, there was nothing. Then, hesitantly: 【…You’re the gold-digging girlfriend. You don’t get a conscience.】 “Oh.” I nodded, as if that made any sense at all. My apparent compliance thrilled the System. Its voice buzzed with excitement. 【Okay, listen. When he gets home tonight, you need to humiliate him. Destroy him. I want to see him on his knees, begging you to stay.】 It was practically vibrating with glee. 【And of course, no matter what he says, no matter how much he pleads, you will turn your back and walk out that door without a second glance.】 “I get it.” 2 Two in the morning. The heavy sound of the front door closing announced Grant’s return. When I looked up, his gaze met mine for a split second before skittering away. His eyes were a roadmap of exhaustion, threaded with red. He hadn’t slept in days. Of course he hadn’t. His family’s company had imploded, and as CEO, the weight of that failure was his alone to carry. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words lost somewhere between his pride and his pain. 【Now! This is the moment!】 The System’s voice was a feverish whisper in my mind. 【Slap him. Go completely ballistic and demand to know why he’s home so late.】 “That doesn’t feel right,” I hesitated. Grant had been through hell for days, working himself to the bone. Even if we were breaking up, he deserved a shred of dignity, not a shrew screaming in his face. 【One hundred million dollars.】 “…” Okay, that was a pretty compelling counterargument. I met Grant’s eyes, took a deep breath, and swung at his face with both hands. Crack. The sound echoed in the cavernous, silent apartment. The sight of his reddening cheek made my own eyes sting with tears. It was his face, but it was my heart that ached. “Where—where have you been?” I tried to make my voice a furious roar, but it came out as a broken squeak. “Don’t you care about me anymore?” The second half of my line died in my throat. The look in his eyes—a glacial, bottomless despair—terrified me. If I wasn’t so hopelessly attracted to him, I never would have been brave enough to chase after a man like Grant Donovan in the first place. Even when he was rich, he was intimidating. Suddenly afraid he might hit me back, I threw myself forward, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate hug. My sobs were real now, my voice muffled against his chest. “Do you have any idea how scared I was, being here all alone?” The System: 【?】 【Ava, this is not in the script.】 Its voice was frantic. 【You’re supposed to be delivering your villain monologue. You’re supposed to be pushing him into his dark era!】 “…” I ignored it. The System tried again, its tone urgent. 【One. Hundred. Million.】 Right. The script. I pushed away from him, sniffing and wiping my eyes. Before I could speak, his arms shot out, pulling me back against him. It wasn’t a gentle embrace; it was the hug of a drowning man, fierce and possessive, as if he were trying to merge our bodies into one. His voice was a low, ragged whisper against my hair. “Never.” “The company… there are some problems,” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He finally let me go and reached for a shopping bag he’d left by the door. 【The breakup line! Now, Ava, say it!】 The System screamed. 【One hundred million!】 “You told me once you loved this style of bag,” Grant was saying, his voice strained with forced nonchalance. “I saw they released a new color—” “We need to break up.” His hand, holding the expensive leather bag, froze in mid-air. He lifted his gaze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Why?” I met his bloodshot stare, my own heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest. “You can stop pretending. I know you’re bankrupt.” His breath hitched. As he watched, paralyzed, I walked through our home. I opened velvet-lined drawers and glass display cases, pulling out every piece of jewelry, every designer handbag he’d ever bought me. I piled them all in the center of the living room, a glittering mountain of our shared history. “The life you can give me now isn’t the one I want.” “Is this just because I lost my money?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Yes.” With that single word hanging in the air, I grabbed the suitcase I’d packed earlier and walked to the door. “All of this—” Grant’s voice called after me, choked with pain. “I don’t want anything you gave me,” I said, delivering the final, killing blow. “It’s all tainted now.” 【Ava!】 The System shrieked in my ear. I braced myself for a lecture, but instead— 【You are, without a doubt, the most brilliant protégé I have ever had!】 3 To reward my stellar performance, the System immediately purchased a sprawling villa for me in the city’s most exclusive gated community. It was practically glowing with pride. 【I’ve worked with a lot of hosts, Ava. So many. But you… you follow directions perfectly. You’ve earned this.】 As a bonus, another ten million dollars appeared in my bank account. The System materialized a digital clipboard. 【Okay, phase two. Our objective now is to completely crush any lingering hope he has, forcing him to channel all that despair into his career.】 The second half of that sentence sent a chill down my spine. “Wait, this mission isn’t over?” 【Nope.】 The System sighed, a surprisingly human sound. 【Who knew the great Grant Donovan was such a romantic? It’s pathetic.】 But its mood brightened instantly. The little orb of light that represented it bounced in the air, its praise effusive. 【Then again, my host is a certified goddess. It’s only natural the male lead would be obsessed.】 It continued to flatter me, but I barely heard it. I took a bite of a crisp apple, my mind elsewhere. Grant Donovan was a lot of things, but a romantic fool wasn’t one of them. I remembered the time I’d been kidnapped—a botched ransom attempt. Grant had listened to the kidnappers’ threats with chilling indifference. If a couple of undercover cops hadn’t stumbled upon the scene, I would have been a headline. He was only with me because I’d been relentless. He was a man who operated on logic and power, not love. Any lingering feelings he had for me now weren’t love; they were just the bruised ego of an alpha male who couldn’t stand being the one who was left. He didn’t love me. But so what? My new goal was to become the one that got away. The perfect, tragic memory that would ache in his chest like a phantom limb for the rest of his life. 4 According to the System, Grant’s next public appearance would be at a high-profile charity gala. He would be a ghost at the feast. Bankrupt and stripped of his power, he’d be an object of pity and scorn. His former business rivals would circle like sharks, eager to humiliate him. My job was to be the shark with the biggest teeth. I embraced the role with gusto. As a reward for my enthusiasm, the System dropped another fifty million on jewelry for me to wear to the event. I wept with gratitude. “System, you’re too good to me.” Its reply was pure bravado. 【My host will be the most dazzling woman in the room. No exceptions.】 5 The System must have had absolute faith in me, because it went ahead and altered the memories of the event’s host, making me the woman who had once saved her life. This little bit of neuro-hacking landed me in a private second-floor box with a perfect bird’s-eye view of the ballroom below. It wasn’t long before a commotion near the entrance caught my attention. 【Showtime, Ava! He’s here!】 The System sounded more nervous than I was. I leaned forward, listening to the sneering voices float up from below. “Has the standard for this gala dropped so low? They’re letting just about anyone in off the street now, aren’t they?” “Seriously. The guy is bankrupt, but he shows up to a charity event to pretend he still matters? I bet he can’t even afford a glass of champagne.” A wave of cruel laughter followed. 【That’s your cue, Ava! Time to make your entrance!】 The script called for me to descend the grand staircase and deliver a verbal coup de grâce, humiliating Grant so thoroughly that he’d never be able to show his face in this town again. I stepped out of the box and saw him cornered by a group of men at the base of the stairs. I recognized the man leading the pack: Leo Wyatt. Back when Grant was on top, Leo was a world-class sycophant, constantly trying to curry favor for a business deal. Now that Grant had fallen, he was the first one there to kick him. Leo sneered, blocking Grant’s path. “Well, well. If it isn’t the great Grant Donovan, fallen all the way to the janitorial staff. How does it feel, buddy?” His smug gaze swept the area and landed on me. His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh, look! Ava’s here too. Did you also come to polish the silver?” I just stared at him. For a supposed villain, he was an idiot. A moron so blinded by his own arrogance that he couldn’t recognize the millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds sparkling around my neck. He was destined to be a footnote in someone else’s story. Grant’s head snapped up. He hadn’t expected to see me. His pupils contracted, a flicker of raw emotion crossing his face before he caught sight of my gown, my jewels. The flicker died, his expression shuttering as he looked away. I started down the stairs, my heels clicking softly on the marble. “Your breath stinks, Leo. Are you trying to get thrown out again?” Leo’s face flushed. He had a notorious habit of crashing high-end events he wasn’t invited to, often by bribing security or literally climbing over walls, only to be unceremoniously ejected. It was a sore spot. “Listen to you, Ava,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re just an orphan. Without Grant Donovan bankrolling you, you’re nothing. Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?” The charity gala wasn’t the most exclusive event, so the crowd around Leo was mostly his usual gang of hangers-on. One of them stepped forward, puffing out his chest. “Yeah, an orphan defending a janitor. Do you know who I am? I could have both of you thrown out on the street with one word.” “I don’t care who you are,” I said, spotting a flash of crimson across the ballroom. I raised my voice. “Sloane! He’s being mean to me!” 6 That’s right. I was now an adopted daughter of the Sinclair family. A heartfelt thank you to the System for rewriting the memories of Sloane Sinclair, the heiress to the Sinclair fortune, transforming me from a nobody into her beloved little sister. Hearing the commotion, Sloane made her way over, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “What’s going on here?” The guy who had just threatened me immediately started tattling. “Cousin, these two are crashing your party. They were being incredibly rude to me.” “Did I ask you?” Sloane shot him a look so cold it could freeze fire. Her gaze swept over Leo Wyatt, and her frown deepened. “And haven’t I told you to stop associating with trash like this?” “Ms. Sinclair, you misunderstand,” Leo stammered, thinking she was talking about me and Grant. “Arthur isn’t with them.” “I was talking about you,” Sloane said flatly. The color drained from Leo’s face. Sloane turned to her assistant. “The Sinclair family may not be royalty, but that doesn’t mean we allow any stray dog to wander into our home.” “But cousin, he’s not—” Arthur protested, desperate. “I’m not your cousin,” Sloane cut him off, drawing a clear line in the sand. “We’re not that close. If you can’t respect my wishes, then you will address me as Ms. Sinclair.” “Then what about her?” Arthur pointed an accusing finger at me. “She just called you her sister.” “Oh.” Sloane glanced at me, and I offered a small, apologetic smile. A corner of her mouth lifted, her eyes softening with genuine affection. “That’s because she is.” Arthur looked like he’d been slapped. Tonight’s gala was a Sinclair event, and Sloane was too busy playing host to linger. Before she left, she leaned in close to me. “Next time some nobody with a big mouth tries to bully you, get his name. I’ll deal with him later.” A shiver went down Leo Wyatt’s spine. As he tried to slip away unnoticed, Sloane’s assistant stepped in front of him, his smile polite but firm. “Mr. Wyatt, hello. I’d just like to inspect your invitation.” Leo looked horrified. “Are you accusing me of sneaking in?” The assistant just nodded honestly. 7 Sloane gave me a few more instructions before she was swept back into the crowd. The stage that was set for a grand, dramatic humiliation was now empty, save for two people: me and Grant. The System buzzed around my head, its confusion palpable. It was running diagnostics, trying to figure out where the script had gone so wrong. It knew something was off, but it couldn’t put its finger on it. 【Host,】 it prompted uncertainly, 【aren’t you supposed to be… you know… humiliating the male lead?】 Even though our audience was gone, the scene still had to be played. The mission was to make him give up on me completely. But before I could say a word, Grant spoke first, his voice low. “…I’m not a janitor.” … Did he really see me as that shallow? Okay, fine. I was. Leaning into the role, I looked him up and down with disdain. “What is someone like you even doing here?” 【Whoa, host! You’re amazing!】 The System’s confusion instantly vanished, replaced by a flurry of pink, heart-shaped bubbles. I gave an imperceptible wave, a silent command for it to be cool. Then I reached into my clutch, pulled out the bank card I’d prepared, and held it out to him. Grant didn’t take it. 【Host, why are you giving him money?】 The System’s confusion returned. It felt like its circuits were about to fry. 【Giving him money will just make him even more attached to you!】 【This is a power move,】 I sent back calmly. 【It’s a form of humiliation. You’re a System. You wouldn’t get it.】 【Oh, I see!】 It nodded, not seeing at all. Grant’s gaze dropped to the black card in my hand, then slowly traveled up to my face. “Ava, are you looking down on me? In your eyes, am I really so pathetic that I need your charity?” 8 The raw aggression in Grant’s voice was so intense that the System, floating in the air beside me, flinched and ducked behind my shoulder. “No,” I said softly. “In my heart, you’ve always been invincible.” In this context, the words sounded like a mockery. If he were truly invincible, his company wouldn’t have gone under. I wouldn’t have left him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he heard my next words, spoken so quietly they were almost lost in the ballroom’s distant murmur. It was a whisper, but it was loud enough for him to hear. “I just wanted to help you.” His breath caught. “If—and this is just a hypothetical,” he began, taking a deep, fortifying breath as if bracing for a blow. “If I made all my money back… would you come back to me?” See? Men are all the same. When I was throwing myself at him, he acted like he couldn’t care less. Now that I’ve walked away, he’s full of regret. But as the woman who was determined to become his eternal, untouchable memory, I couldn’t just say what I was thinking. Out of his line of sight, I dug my nails into my palm, the sharp pain bringing tears to my eyes. “No,” I whispered. I bit my lip, hesitating as if I wanted to say more. “The truth is, I…” But then I stopped, my expression falling as if remembering a terrible truth. My voice dropped, heavy with sorrow. “A gold digger like me could never deserve you.” 9 Grant didn’t take the bank card. I was back in my eight-thousand-square-foot villa, sobbing my heart out. “System, do you think he really doesn’t love me anymore?” 【Host, try not to think about it like that. You may have lost the man, but you gained a fortune!】 The System frantically searched its database for comforting phrases. I subtly angled the tablet on my lap so it would be in the System’s line of sight. The open web page was an article titled: “How to Comfort a Grieving Woman.” The most prominent suggestion, in a large, bold font, was: THROW MONEY AT THE PROBLEM. The System pondered this for a moment. 【Host, I know money can’t buy happiness, but… it’s all I have.】 【Ten million has been transferred to your account.】 “I don’t want money,” I wailed, turning my head away dramatically. “I just want love!” 【Fifty million.】 “Grant may be gone, but it’s okay.” My voice was filled with newfound, albeit shaky, resolve. “I’ll pull myself together. I’ll start sponsoring a whole stable of male models.” The System breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see I was finally moving on from my pity party. It floated closer and saw I was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. When it focused on the words, it let out a digital shriek. 【Host, you have cancer?!】 It immediately scanned my entire body. 【That can’t be right. My diagnostics are clean. Is my programming bugged?】 I finished writing the last sentence and looked up. “Can you forge a terminal diagnosis for me?” 【Host, what do you need that for?】 To become the beautiful, tragic memory he can never touch, of course. “I’m powerless now,” I said sadly. “If Grant holds a grudge and decides to come after me for revenge later, no amount of money will save me.” This part was true. According to the standard tropes of his genre, the hero always returns to crush those who wronged him. As the girlfriend who dumped him the second he went broke, I was first in line for the reckoning. 【But that’s why I arranged for the Sinclairs to take you in,】 the System said, confused. 【You’re actually their long-lost daughter. The real heiress.】 “Huh?” I was floored. 10 Unbelievable. This was so ridiculously cliché. “So, Sloane Sinclair is my actual sister?” 【Yep.】 The System nodded. 【You think just any orphan gets to date the male lead?】 “…” That was a surprisingly harsh way to put it. But, seeing as it had given me over a hundred million dollars, I decided to forgive its bluntness. 【As the chosen one of this world, everyone in Grant’s orbit, man or woman, has an extraordinary background. Especially his girlfriend.】 … And here I thought I was just some poor girl who got lucky. My mind immediately jumped to the practical implications. “Does this mean I get a piece of the Sinclair inheritance?” Even a small percentage would be life-changing. 【Oh, you’ll get it,】 the System confirmed. 【You’ll inherit the Sinclair Corporation’s massive, nine-figure debt, and then you’ll be hunted down by creditors and brutally murdered.】 “…” “Can I politely decline my birthright?” I asked weakly. 【No.】 The System’s refusal was polite but firm. 【It’s part of the mission. According to the script, as you lie dying, you will see Grant one last time. You will confess your regrets, prompting him to deliver his iconic line.】 “What line?” 【Never underestimate a man with nothing to lose.】 … Hold on. Grant was never the “underdog.” Even after his company went bankrupt, he still had all those assets I left behind—the jewelry, the bags. That alone was worth tens of millions. He wasn’t poor. I was. I felt tears of despair welling up. Before mailing the bank card to Grant, I added one last, handwritten note. If I hadn’t gotten sick, I think we would be married by now. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be by your side when you needed me most. If there’s a next life, I hope I can find you again. It was my last-ditch effort to save my own skin. After the courier picked up the package, I felt a sense of calm resignation. The System, seeing my stoic acceptance of fate, made a suggestion. 【Host, it will take the male lead three years to reach the pinnacle of his power. Why don’t we take a nice, long vacation in the meantime?】 “I’m not in the mood.” I stared out the window at a forty-five-degree angle, letting a single, perfect tear trace a path down my cheek. “Nothing interests me anymore.” 【Host, don’t give up,】 it said, trying to cheer me up. 【Once the mission is complete, you can fake your death and escape!】 “But I’ve lost the only man I’ll ever love,” I whispered. “All I want now is to be alone, to find some peace. I heard there’s a private island up for auction soon…” 【I’ll buy it for you!】 the System declared, seizing the opportunity. 【Host, will that make you feel a little better?】 I nodded, my expression a mask of beautiful sorrow. “Perhaps. A little.” 11 I have no idea what kind of budget the universe allocated to the System, but over the next year, I managed to swindle—I mean, receive—several hundred million dollars from it, far exceeding the original one-hundred-million-dollar reward. The System often felt like something was off, but it could never quite figure out what. It eventually concluded that it was just being overly sensitive. I was lounging on a beach chair, sunglasses on, lazily watching the seagulls glide over the turquoise water. Life was so peaceful, so idyllic, that it took me a moment to realize one of the seagulls was getting progressively larger and louder, its cry sounding suspiciously like rotor blades. As a helicopter descended onto my private beach, the System also registered the anomaly. 【I’m sensing a powerful alpha presence,】 it noted with awe. “What’s happening?” As far as I knew, the only people who knew the location of this island were Sloane and my estranged biological father, and that man couldn’t care less about me. Was Sloane visiting? I watched the helicopter warily. A second later, the System screamed. 【RUN, AVA! IT’S THE MALE LEAD!】 Oh, crap. The plan was three years! How did Grant find me after only one? I’d mapped it all out: in the final year, I’d fake a relapse, looking pale and fragile. Grant would find me on my “deathbed,” and his heart would fill with pity, not rage. Not like this. Not with me lounging on a private beach, sipping a piña colada and looking like a bronzed goddess of leisure. Even a blind man could see I’d been playing him. I am so screwed.

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I was just trying to be polite to my neighbor. “Oh, your grandson is adorable,” I said. “I’d love one just like him.” I came home from college for the summer, and my parents had taken that comment and run with it. They had a baby. “He’s only here because you wished for him, Sarah,” my mom said. “That means you have to take responsibility.” They checked out. Suddenly, my brother’s entire life was my problem. From his homework to his job, and eventually, to his down payment on a house. When I couldn’t afford the house, my brother killed me. I woke up, and I was back in that moment, in my parents’ living room. “Wow, Noah is just so cute,” I said, forcing a smile at our neighbor. “I’d love…” My parents’ eyes lit up. They leaned in, waiting for it. I paused, and smiled. “…I’d love a waterfront mansion.” “And a yacht!” “And to get my MBA at Harvard, all expenses paid!” “And about ten million dollars in a trust fund!” 1 Our neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, was visiting with her grandson, Noah. My mom kept glancing at me, then cleared her throat. “Sarah, honey,” she said, testing the waters. “Look how sweet he is. If you had a little brother that cute… well, I’d just be the happiest mom in the world.” I almost laughed. I knew the truth. It didn’t matter what I wanted; that “brother” was already on the way. This whole song and dance was just a performance to trap me, to pin the lifelong responsibility of a child on me. Last time, I fell for it. Because I said, “He’s adorable, I’d love one,” I became the default parent. As soon as my brother, Leo, was born, my parents became ghosts. They dumped him on me. When he got older, his problems were my problems. Bad grades? I wasn’t a good enough tutor. Couldn’t get a job? I didn’t have the right connections. Couldn’t afford a house? I wasn’t working hard enough. If I ever pushed back, they trotted out the same tired line. “He’s only here because you wished for him, Sarah! You have to be responsible for his life!” My wish could impregnate someone? Their excuse for wanting a son was more creative than my senior thesis. The worst part is, they repeated the lie so often that Leo actually believed it. He failed a test, he blamed me. He got fired, he blamed me. He couldn’t buy a house, he blamed me. The last time, when he came at me with the knife, he was screaming. “Why did you even wish me alive if you couldn’t pay for it?! It’s all your fault! You wanted me, so you pay! You can pay with your life!” The brother I raised. The brother who murdered me. And my parents? They signed a document, forgiving him. Asking the court for leniency. I was the only one who lost. This time, I wasn’t playing their game. Mrs. Peterson, oblivious, nudged her grandson. “Go on, Noah. Say hi to Sarah. Ask her to hold you.” The little boy just stared. “See, Sarah?” Mrs. Peterson cooed. “So sweet. You should tell your mom to get you one.” My mom was literally holding her breath, staring at my mouth. The anticipation was pathetic. I beamed. “Wow, he is adorable. I’d love…” My parents both leaned forward, their eyes wide with victory. “I’d love a waterfront mansion in the Hamptons!” “And a ninety-foot yacht!” “And to get my MBA at Harvard, all expenses paid!” “And about ten million dollars in a trust fund!” The living room went completely silent. Mrs. Peterson’s smile froze. My mom’s jaw dropped. My dad, who was pouring tea, missed the cup entirely, splashing hot water all over the coffee table. “Sarah, what on earth are you talking about?” My mom finally sputtered, her face burning with embarrassment. My dad’s face was dark red. He slammed the teapot down. “That’s not funny, Sarah. We’re talking about something serious.” “What’s serious?” I asked, all innocence. “Mrs. Peterson asked if you’d like a little brother. What do you think?” I widened my eyes. “You mean, if I want one, I can get one?” My parents nodded eagerly. “Of course. We’d do anything to make you happy.” “Awesome,” I said. “I’ll take the mansion first. Then the yacht. Then the Harvard MBA, and the ten million. Which one are you getting me first?” My parents just stared. I raised my voice. “I SAID, I want the MANSION! I want the YACHT—” “That’s enough!” my mom shrieked. The fake smiles were gone. 2 Mrs. Peterson mumbled an excuse and practically ran out of the house. The moment the door closed, my mom was in my face. “Sarah, be serious. Do you want a little brother or not?” “No,” I said, flatly. “I’m thinking of you,” she insisted. “You’ll have someone to look out for you!” “I have friends. I have a boyfriend. I don’t need a kid to take care of.” I crunched loudly on an apple. My dad jumped in, trying the “man of the house” routine. “You don’t know anything. When you’re married, you’ll be weak if you don’t have a brother at home to back you up.” “Oh, well. Then I just won’t get married,” I said around a mouthful of apple. “Date, sure. But marriage? No thanks. Too much paperwork.” “That’s even better!” my mom blurted out, forgetting her script. “Then your brother can take care of you when you’re old!” And there it was. The real reason. They didn’t care about me. They just wanted a son. “Rely on a brother to take care of me?” I laughed. “I’d rather just die now.” “You have to think about us,” my dad snapped. “We’ve been looked down on our whole lives for not having a son. It’s our turn to finally hold our heads high.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “By the time your ‘pride and joy’ is grown, you’ll be eighty. Nobody will be looking down on you. They won’t even see you. You could fall on the sidewalk, and people would walk right over you.” My dad’s face turned purple. He slammed his fist on the table. “You ungrateful brat! It’s our right to have a son! We’ve fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head! It’s not your place to question us!” Finally, the truth. I tossed my apple core into the trash. “Should have just said that from the beginning. Why’d you have to try and pin it on me? What…” I leaned in, staring right into their shifty eyes. “Were you planning on just having him and dumping him on me? Forcing me to be your free nanny and your family ATM for the rest of my life?” Their faces crumpled. I’d hit the nail on the head. “You… you… ungrateful…” My dad was sputtering, pointing a shaking finger at me. “I am the man of this house! I will have a son to carry on my name! And you’re the sister! It’s your duty to help him! That’s just the way it is!” I threw up my hands. “My only ‘duty’ is to stop him from being born. We’re already broke. You have no retirement savings. Why would you bring a kid into this mess?” My mom saw the direct approach was failing, so she switched tactics. She put both hands on her flat stomach, her eyes welling up with fake tears. “Sarah, I’m not young anymore. This baby… he’s already four months along. I can feel him kicking. An abortion… it’s so dangerous at my age. Can’t you just think about my health?” “Your health?” I laughed, but it was a cold, sharp sound. “Did you think about your ‘health’ when you were having unprotected sex? You didn’t bother with a two-dollar condom, but now that you’re in a jam, you want me to worry about your body? You made this mess. You clean it up. Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me.” Their faces were a masterpiece of shock and rage. My dad finally exploded. “We are HAVING this baby!” 3 There it was. The real, ugly truth. Seeing them, cornered and furious, I knew it was time. I whipped out my phone and hit ‘record,’ pointing the camera straight at their stunned faces. “See? That’s all you had to say. It was your idea, not mine.” “And future-baby,” I said, pointing the camera at my mom’s stomach. “You see this? I am 100% against you being born. Your parents are doing this against my advice. So when your life sucks, you go to them. Your sister has nothing to do with it.” “You’re not inheriting a throne, kid. You’re inheriting credit card debt and a broken-down Ford. You’re being born into a world that will chew you up… Good luck. We’re all just trying to survive out here.” I hit ‘stop’ and calmly saved the video. My parents’ faces were ashen. “You… you devil!” my dad finally choked out. “You won’t let us? Fine! We’ll have him just to spite you!” I shrugged. “Go for it. Just remember what I said.” I had my evidence. Last time, every time Leo’s life hit a snag, he’d take it out on me. My parents would just watch, or worse, egg him on. “You’re the big sister, Sarah. Be patient.” “If you hadn’t wished for him, he wouldn’t even be here.” “He’s just frustrated. You need to absorb that.” This time, when they became his punching bag, I wondered if they’d be so “patient.” When I got back to school, I started a new routine. I posted my workouts everywhere. I’d finish a three-mile run, sweat dripping, and snap a selfie. [Video: Sarah doing burpees] “Crushing that workout! Got to stay ready for finals!” [Photo: Sarah’s reflection in the gym mirror, showing off new abs] “Progress! #fitlife #junior-year” My roommates thought I was nuts. “Sarah, you’re already tiny. Who are you trying to impress?” They didn’t get it. This wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about creating an iron-clad, public alibi. Last time, my mom’s pregnancy was a “secret.” I came home for the summer and—surprise!—a baby. When I was sitting outside with him, an old high school friend walked by and stared. “Oh my god, Sarah… you had a baby?” My mom, who was right there, just smiled. “Oh, we just tell everyone it’s her little brother.” She wanted people to think he was mine. No one believed my denials. This time, I had a semester’s worth of digital receipts proving I was nowhere near pregnant. The semester ended. My abs looked great. My dad called the day after my last final. “It’s been two days. Why aren’t you home?” “I just wired you $100 for a bus ticket. I want you home tomorrow.” Right on cue. They needed their free nanny. I accepted the $100 and immediately booked a ticket south. [Text to Dad]: Got a summer job at an Amazon warehouse. It’s great! They provide housing. Can’t make it home, gotta save up for senior year! My parents were cheap. I knew they’d never pay for a nanny. And my dad? He couldn’t make toast without setting off the smoke alarm. This was going to be fun. 4 My phone rang instantly. I let it go to voicemail. A second later, it rang again. I answered, holding the phone an inch from my ear. “SARAH JENKINS! YOU GET YOUR BUTT ON A BUS RIGHT NOW! Your mother is about to POP! We need you here! What is this nonsense about a job?” I waited for him to take a breath. “Hi, Dad. The job’s great. Pays $18 an hour, and I don’t have to pay rent. I’m saving for tuition. Isn’t that what you always wanted? For me to be responsible?” “Responsible? Your mother is your responsibility! You can’t just abandon us! This is desertion!” “Dad, I’m not abandoning anyone. I’m being an adult. You’re the husband. You’re right there. It’s your job to take care of her. I’m sure there’s YouTube videos on how to change a diaper.” He was quiet for a second, probably from shock. I didn’t give him a chance to recover. “Anyway, I signed a contract. If I break it, I have to pay a penalty. Can’t talk, my shift’s starting.” I hung up and blocked his number. The warehouse was hot, the work was mind-numbing, but I’d never felt so free. I made friends, we’d go out for cheap beer and pizza after our shifts. I bought a new phone with my first paycheck and threw the old one in a dumpster. My mom tried texting me from my dad’s phone. [Mom]: Sarah, the baby is so big, I can’t sleep. Your father is useless. [Mom]: Sarah, I miss you. When are you coming home? [Mom]: The doctor said my blood pressure is high. I’m so scared… I read them, felt nothing, and deleted them. Sometime in late July, a number I didn’t recognize called me. I let it ring, but they called right back. I picked up. “Is this Sarah?” It was my dad, his voice cracking with a manic joy. “Your mom had the baby! A boy! Seven pounds, six ounces! Mother and son are perfectly healthy!” “Oh. Congrats,” I said, sorting packages. He was furious at my flat response. “Oh, congrats? That’s all you have to say? That’s your brother! Get home. Now! Your mom needs help, the house is a mess!” “Can’t. Busy.” “I don’t care! You get on a bus, or I’ll come to your school and tell everyone what a horrible daughter you are! I’ll get you kicked out!” Same old threat. “Go ahead,” I said, smiling. “Come to my university. I’d love for you to tell the Dean how you’re trying to ruin my future to force me to be a free nanny. Oh, and I’ll be sure to post that video I took—the one where you admit you were always planning to have him—to the school’s social media page. We can let the entire student body decide who’s the bad guy here.” “You… you wouldn’t!” “Try me. My life is my own now. I’m not paying for your mistakes. I’m not giving you a dime, and I’m not lifting a finger. Your son, your problem. Don’t call this number again.” I hung up and blocked that one, too. I made eight grand that summer. I used it to pay for my driving test and put the rest in a high-yield savings account. For the next two years, I was a ghost. I worked, I studied. I got straight A’s, won scholarships, did internships. I got into my school’s graduate program. And I met Mark. He was a law student, a few years ahead of me. He was kind, smart, and saw right through all my walls. When I finally told him the whole story, he didn’t judge me. He just held my hand. “Sarah, you did the right thing,” he said. “Your first duty is to yourself. You’re not responsible for them.” His validation was like oxygen. 5 I graduated with my Master’s and landed a great job at a tech firm in Seattle. Mark passed the bar and joined a good firm. We rented a small apartment downtown. Life was good. Until my phone rang. I was in a meeting, so I missed the call. But they kept calling. Fifteen missed calls from the same unknown number. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I stepped outside and called back. A shrill, unfamiliar voice answered. “Sarah Jenkins?” “Yes, who is this?” “This is your brother, Leo!” The voice was dripping with an arrogant, childish rage. “I’m warning you. You have one hour to send me $100,000. Or I’m coming up to your office and telling everyone what a psycho bitch you are.” Leo. My god. He’d be… seven. He was seven years old. “Where did you get this number? And why would I give you $100,000?” “Because you owe me!” he shrieked. “Mom and Dad told me everything! It’s your fault I was born! You wished for me, and then you abandoned me! You ruined our family! You owe me, and I’m here to collect!” The same lie. They had spent seven years poisoning him, turning me into the villain of his life. “Leo, listen to me,” I said, my voice ice. “One: I’m not your mother. Two: I don’t owe you anything. Three: If you come near my office, I will have you and your parents arrested for extortion.” “You can’t scare me! I’m right downstairs! You better pay up, or I’ll tell all your fancy coworkers that you abandon your own family!” I walked to the window. Sure enough, on the sidewalk below, a small, skinny kid in a dirty t-shirt was pacing back and forth, holding a phone to his ear. And behind a nearby oak tree, I saw them. My parents. Hiding, watching, like two pathetic stage directors. My blood boiled. I hung up on Leo and dialed my company’s security desk. “Hi, this is Sarah Jenkins in Marketing. There is a minor in front of the building who is being used by his parents to harass and extort me. He’s threatening to enter the building. Yes, the boy in the blue shirt. His accomplices, an adult male and female, are hiding behind the tree to the left. Please detain all three and call the police.” “Right away, Ms. Jenkins.” I hung up and watched the show. Two security guards came out and calmly surrounded Leo. He started screaming and kicking. My parents burst from their hiding spot, wailing. “What are you doing? Let go of our son! You can’t just grab a kid!” “We’re just here to see our daughter! Is that a crime?” The head of security, a no-nonsense guy named Mike, just pointed. “We’re holding you on suspicion of extortion at the request of Ms. Jenkins. The police are on their way.” “Extortion?!” My dad panicked. I sent a quick text to Mark. [Me]: They’re here. At my office. With the kid. I called security and 911. [Mark]: On my way.

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