Category: English

On the set of the talk show, the host asked, “Who’s the most two-faced person you know?” I pointed right at the movie star next to me. “Kian Chen. Total ice king in public, but his ‘Close Friends’ story is nothing but thirst traps.” The host blinked. “I’m serious,” I said. “It’s so narcissistic. Every day, it’s either a professional headshot or some ‘steamy’ bathroom mirror selfie. You know, the kind where the towel is barely hanging on? “Everyone here has seen it, right?” The other guests just shook their heads, wide-eyed. The live comments exploded. [So that’s why Kian Chen has been dyeing his hair a new color every week. He’s like a peacock trying to get her attention.] [Is this woman for real? He’s clearly in love with her. It’s targeted seduction!] [He has his Insta set to ‘Close Friends’ with ONE person. And she’s dragging him for it on live TV. This is hilarious.] 1 My villain role in our new show had just made me… complicated. Other actors get “buzz.” I get trending topics like: #ChloeBaiIsAVillainInRealLife [VIRAL] #ChloeBaiIsAToxicManipulator [VIRAL] A few “classmates” crawled out of the woodwork to claim I was a bully, “toxic and manipulative to my core.” I was, in industry terms, “infamous.” I wasn’t even supposed to be on this press junket. My agent had to move heaven and earth to get me a slot. “You’re on the panel with Kian Chen and Nina Li. You need this. Create some buzz.” Ugh. Kian Chen was the male lead, an Oscar winner, a notorious “ice king” who never smiled. Nina Li was the female lead, the new “it girl.” The show wanted us to perform a special segment. Two would dance, two would sing. I’m a Z-lister, but I’m a scrappy Z-lister. I can sing, dance, rap, whatever. Before I could choose, Nina Li slid into my DMs. “Chloe, I’m a terrible singer. Can I please do the dance segment?” I knew her game. Kian, despite being an actor, was a Julliard-trained dancer. He’d obviously choose dance. Nina was just trying to lock in her on-screen ship. Ever since the show, “Ki-Ni” was all anyone talked about. He was the unattainable star who’d suddenly signed on to a cheesy streaming drama, and she was the co-star he was supposedly seen smiling at. Fine. I went to the group chat and picked “singing.” Nina immediately picked “dancing.” And then, Kian Chen—the dance prodigy—picked “singing.” With me. I frowned. Can he even sing? He’d better not be tone-deaf and drag me down. 2 The day of the show, the third male lead canceled. They brought in a last-minute guest, a director just back from the States who was “jet-lagged.” So, Nina had to do a solo dance. And I was stuck in a duet with Kian. With the other male actors gone, it was just me, the female villain, in a white, high-slit dress, standing next to Kian in a black suit. I braced myself. The live chat was going to be a sewer. [Why is Chloe Bai so desperate? That slit is up to her ribs.] [How did she get a duet with Kian? That manipulative bitch probably stole Nina’s spot!] [Wait… is Kian into Chloe?] [If Kian likes Chloe, I will eat my own shoes.] [The leads are here to promote their romance, why is the villain even on stage?] [She’s wearing white to match his suit. Disgusting.] The host, trying to build hype, wanted us to re-enact a “famous scene.” Kian and Nina’s was the “choke-kiss.” The host conveniently stood in front of them, giving the audience a perfect, obscured view. The comments went insane. [THEY’RE DOING IT! HE’S KISSING HER! I AM DEAD! MY SHIP!] [This is it! They’re official!] When it was my turn, I hesitated. “Are you sure?” The chat filled with hate. I sighed, and began. I went into full-on “creepy stalker” mode, peering at them from behind a potted plant. I spied. I obsessed. Then, I did a perfect imitation of a 1950s housewife having a nervous breakdown, complete with fake-smashing a prop vase. It’s what my character did. All the time. The host stared. Kian stared. Nina stared. The chat went silent. “What?” I said. “That’s the character.” The atmosphere was weird. Nina forced a laugh. “Wow, Chloe. You’re such a good actress. I could never act like that.” The comments loved it. [Chloe, did you hear that? Nina just called you out. ‘Method acting.’] [I mean… I don’t think Chloe’s that good an actress. She’s just playing herself.] I just nodded earnestly at Nina. “Really? Well, if you can’t do it, you just need more practice.” Nina’s smile froze. 3 The host, panicking, moved us to a game. Eating watermelon, in pairs. The fastest pair gets to make the losers play “Truth or Dare.” Everyone expected Kian to pick Nina. He walked straight to me. “Ms. Bai. Be my partner?” I paused. “Open your mouth. Let me see your teeth.” I’m not losing because he has sensitive molars. The chat exploded. [KIAN, NO! WHY HER?] [Is she for real? She’s inspecting his teeth? Is she his dentist?] [Does Chloe Bai know what ‘manners’ are?] [NGL, that’s kind of hilarious. She’s so weird.] I agreed. I was paired with Nina. Kian was against the host. I got a hair tie, planted my feet in a solid horse stance, and held the melon. The second the buzzer went off, I went full human woodchipper. Two seconds, nothing left but rind. Nina had barely taken a bite. I held the rind aloft. American woman. We get it done. When Kian was up, I warned him, “You saw that, right? That’s the standard.” He nodded, dead serious. And then his veneer popped off. Me: “…” We lost. Kian chose “Truth.” His question: “How many letters are in the first name of the person you like?” He smiled, a tiny, private smile. “Four.” Beside me, Nina blushed and giggled. The chat was a nuclear meltdown. [I’M SCREAMING. N-I-N-A. FOUR LETTERS. IT’S NINA!] [MY SHIP! MY SHIP! I’M CRYING!] [I knew it! He picked Chloe to lose on purpose, just so he could get this question and confess to Nina! KIAN YOU SLY DOG!] Then it was my turn. Truth. “Who’s the most ‘two-faced’ person you know?” I was still mad about the tooth. “Kian Chen,” I said instantly. “Total ice king, right? But his ‘Close Friends’ story on Instagram is nothing but thirst traps. He posts every day. “It’s all professional-grade half-nudes. Bathroom mirror selfies, the towel’s about to fall off. ‘Wet look’ photos. Pool photos. Gym photos. “You’ve all seen them, right?” I’d added him on Insta after we were cast. I had to. It was polite. So I invented a system: I “like” every odd-numbered photo, and ignore the even ones. It was fair. I finished my rant. The host was just shaking his head. Nina looked furious. The chat… the chat was broken. [What is she… what? Thirst traps? What is she talking about?] [Wait. KIAN LIKES HER? CHLOE? C-H-L-O-E? THAT’S… not four letters.] [Oh my god. I just checked. Her name in Chinese… 白岫 (Bai Xiu)… IS TWO CHARACTERS. The host asked the question in Chinese first. He said two. NINA LI (李妮) IS ALSO TWO. KIAN MEANT HER. HE MEANT CHLOE BAI.] [He’s been thirst-trapping her this whole time?] [And she has no idea. He’s been agonizing over why she only ‘likes’ half his photos, and she just thinks he’s a narcissist. This is gold.] [The ‘ice king’ is trying to seduce her, and he’s failing. I’m dead.] [All those rumors about her being a slut… she seems completely clueless about men.] [Kian’s ‘Close Friends’ is set to ONE PERSON. HER. And she’s dragging him on TV for it!] [This is too good. It’s a tragedy. He’s playing chess, she’s eating the pieces.] The host turned to Kian. “Kian… is that… true?” Before Kian could speak, a producer ran on stage and whispered to the host. At the same time, our phones buzzed. Kian’s publicity team had just posted a statement. His social media accounts had been “hacked” a month ago. The posts weren’t his. And the “Close Friends” list was a “glitch.” The chat flipped. [I KNEW IT! My Kian would never!] [Damn hackers! So disgusting!] … I don’t know why, but when they said it wasn’t him… my stomach felt… sour. 4 After the game, the host announced the guest. “Chloe. Long time no see.” I froze. “Evan?” Evan Xie. My childhood best friend. When I was a kid, I said I wanted to be an actress. He said, “Okay, I’ll be a director.” His parents divorced. He moved to the US. We lost touch. And now he was here. He smiled at me, then took the mic. “Hi, everyone. I’m Evan Xie. I’m a director, and Chloe Bai’s childhood best friend.” The chat erupted again. [THE Evan Xie? The one who just graduated from USC and won at Cannes?] [HE’S HER BEST FRIEND? The way he looks at her…] [Did you catch that? ‘Chloe Bai’s best friend.’ He’s marking his territory. I love it.] Evan sat right next to me. Kian Chen looked like he’d just swallowed a rock. The host asked, “Evan, you’ve been in the ‘States for a long time. Why come back now?” Evan paused. “It wasn’t sudden. I’ve wanted to come back every day since I left. As for why… I came back for a person. “My best friend, Chloe.” I was so touched. I just smacked his shoulder. “Aww, Evan! You didn’t forget me!” The chat was screaming. [SHE IS SO DENSE. IT HURTS.] [Evan, you sweet, beautiful, lovesick fool. She has no idea.] [Is it just me or does Kian Chen look like he’s about to commit a felony?] I was ignoring all of it, catching up with Evan. “How was the food? All just sad desk salads?” “Worse.” “That explains it. You’re so thin your face is a hatchet.” Nina Li forced a laugh. “Wow, Chloe, you two are so close. You’re like a couple.” I just shook my head. “You really need to get your eyes checked, Nina.” She huffed. We wrapped the show. 5 We were booked at the show’s hotel. One room each. I’d just gotten out of the shower when someone knocked. It was Kian. Wearing nothing but a towel. “My shower’s broken,” he said. “Can I use yours?” My eyes… locked onto his abs. The water droplets. It was… just like the pictures. But… in 3D. I couldn’t look away. I swallowed. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.” This floor was all crew. It was fine. After he left, I was scrolling through Instagram. A new post from Kian. Two minutes ago. A close-up selfie. His hair was damp. I laughed. This “hacker” was so persistent. Thinking about how he’d embarrassed me with the tooth, I decided to mess with him. I commented: [Omg Kian so hot, I love it. Your abs are amazing. Why did you stop posting the other pics? I miss the towel ones.] I sent it and went to sleep. I woke up to my agent screaming my name. “CHLOE. WHAT DID YOU DO. CHECK YOUR PHONE.” I was trending. #ChloeBaiLovesKiansAbs #KianChenGotHisAccountBack #ChloeAndKian #KianChenSorry The most fatal one: Kian’s reply to my comment. [Sorry.] Me… what? I checked the comments. [LMAOOOOO CHLOE IS THE FUNNIEST PERSON ALIVE.] [Kian, you liar. ‘Hacked.’ Suuuure. You’ve been thirst-trapping her, and she’s been calling you on it!] [He’s just saying ‘Sorry’ ’cause he got caught! He’s definitely been laughing all night!] [She must have thought his account was still hacked! This is my new favorite ship!]

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1 Over six hundred miles away, the earth shook, and my hometown crumbled. My grandma was buried in the rubble. I had to get home, to save her. But I couldn’t drive. My only hope was to beg Ken Vance to take me. Half an hour before we were supposed to leave, he bailed. A sudden press junket for the studio, he said. The world turned to ice around me. My hometown, Ridgefall, was a speck on the map. No airport. No easy way in. Booking a ticket now meant a two-day journey, at best. My voice was practically a whisper, stripped of all pride. “Ken, Grandma’s in real danger. Can’t you postpone it? Please.” Silence stretched on the other end of the line. I waited, my heart hammering against my ribs, only to hear the lilting voice of another woman cut through the static. “Ken, darling, come help me with this clasp!” It was Maya. His co-star. “Coming.” The line went dead. So much for a press junket. He was with her. In my moment of absolute desperation, he’d abandoned me for Maya. After he hung up, I stumbled out onto the highway, frantically trying to flag down a cab. But driver after driver heard my destination and just shook their heads, speeding away. “Lady, that’s an 8.0 earthquake in Ridgefall,” one of them finally told me, his face grim. “Who’d drive into a death trap?” Night had fallen completely. I was a ghost on the shoulder of the highway, watching the river of headlights flow past, lost in a fog of despair. I tried calling Ken again. The call went straight to a cold, robotic voice: The number you have dialed is not available. I should have known. It was his signature move. Whenever I needed him for something serious and he said no, any further attempt to reach him was met with a wall of silence. He’d just turn off his phone. When did we become this? In the end, I booked a series of bus and train tickets. From the moment I booked them to the transfers and the agonizingly slow journey, it took me three whole days. By the time I got back, the earthquake was a memory. Ridgefall was nothing but a landscape of shattered homes and broken lives. They’d pulled Grandma’s body from the debris. She was crushed beyond recognition by stone and earth. I couldn’t even make out her face. The only thing left was the photograph clutched tight in her hand. A picture of the three of us. It was from the first time I brought Ken home to meet her. She’d been so proud, she hired a professional photographer just for the occasion. My eyes were raw and dry. I’d already cried all my tears on the journey home. The house was gone, so a proper funeral was impossible. I forced my broken body to move, carrying her to the nearest crematorium. She was ash, sealed in a small, neat box. A staff member was handing her to me when my phone finally rang. It was Ken. “Clara, why haven’t you been answering my texts?” I looked at my phone. He’d sent a single message. We’re still tweaking the promotional shots for me and Maya. Stop bugging me. I’ll take you back when I have time. The timestamp was from three days ago. I was already on the first bus by then. As if on cue, a notification popped up. His latest Instagram post. It was the photo he’d been talking about. He held Maya in a fiercely possessive embrace, his arms a cage around her. The comments were a firestorm of fans shipping them. Ken Vance, the award-winning actor, and Maya, his on-screen partner for countless projects. In the eyes of the world, they were a match made in heaven, just waiting for the wedding announcement. No one would ever guess that his quiet, unassuming personal assistant was his actual girlfriend. But right now, I didn’t want to be his assistant anymore. And I damn well didn’t want to be his girlfriend. I typed a flat, emotionless reply. “Ken, I quit. And we’re done.” I hung up before he could speak and blocked his number, his social media, everything. When I came back to myself, a fresh wave of pain seared my eyes. It was a lie to say it didn’t hurt. We’d been together for nearly a decade. The government provided a small compensation fund. I took it, and with Grandma’s ashes in my arms, I moved to the coastal city of Bayside, into the little house she’d owned there. She always said she was a Bayside girl at heart. If anything ever happened to her, she wanted to come home. To return to her roots. The last thing I expected was to find Ken and Maya standing inside it. Maya was clinging to his arm, swaying playfully. “Oh, Ken, you’re too good to me! I can’t believe you’re giving me this house.” “It’s a little old,” she continued, “but the air is amazing, and you can see the ocean right from the porch. We’ll renovate it, of course. It’ll be our perfect little getaway whenever I want to see the sea…” A soft smile touched Ken’s lips. “Whatever you want.” I couldn’t believe it. He was giving her the house. I had told him, explicitly, that this place belonged to my grandmother. His careless, dismissive words—Whatever you want—shattered the last thread of my sanity. A raw scream tore from my throat. “KEN! This is my GRANDMA’S house! What right do you have to give it to someone else?” They both spun around, startled by my furious voice. He looked genuinely surprised to see me there. Maya’s lips curved into a saccharine smile. “Clara, dear. Weren’t you supposed to be visiting your grandmother? What are you doing here?” Her words were poison, and they worked instantly. Ken’s face hardened. “Clara, is lying some kind of game to you? We’ll deal with this later.” Of course. He thought my plea to see my dying grandmother was just a lie. A manipulative trick. That I was just throwing a tantrum and had followed him here because I couldn’t stand to be away from him. My face must have been a mask of devastation. Ken’s tone softened slightly, as if speaking to a difficult child. “Look, since you’re here, I might as well tell you. It’s Maya’s birthday, and she fell in love with this place. I need you to talk to your grandma. I’m buying it.” He wasn’t asking. He was informing me. But why? Why did he get to decide? This was the last thing on earth my grandmother had left behind. A dull, crushing ache spread through my chest. Oh, Grandma, I thought. Look at us. We were both fooled by his act. I forced the rage down, my voice tight. “Impossible.” Maya’s smile widened, though she feigned an apologetic tone. “Don’t be upset, Clara. It’s just a house.” “I know you’re still mad that Ken had to cancel on you to be with me at the studio,” she cooed. “I’m so, so sorry about that.” “But it wasn’t his fault. I accidentally got hurt by a prop, and he was taking care of me for hours. He was exhausted, that’s why he…” Ken jumped in to defend her. “Exactly. She was hurt. She’s my co-star. What’s wrong with me looking after her?” Maya was the industry’s new darling, a rising star who had captivated everyone with her doe-eyed, vulnerable-yet-resilient persona. She’d caught Ken’s eye during a film they did together, and he’d been obsessed ever since. He championed her, funneling prime resources and roles her way. When she was bullied on set, he was the first to rush to her defense. A video once went viral of him scooping her up into his arms in the middle of the set and storming off, his face a thundercloud of protective rage. After that, everyone knew she was under the golden boy’s protection. Somewhere along the line, the days he spent with her had started to outnumber the days he spent with me. I’d fought with him about it. But he always had an excuse. He just felt sorry for her, he’d say. She was so fragile, so much like me. He couldn’t help but look out for her. That’s all it was. Thinking back on it now, I had to laugh at my own foolishness. Look at that. I wasn’t even dead yet, and he’d already found my replacement. “Since you care about her so much,” I sneered, “why don’t you two just get married? But right now, I need you to get the hell out of my house.” Ken’s voice turned cold with anger. “Clara! How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing is going on between me and Maya!” “This is a professional obligation! Why are you being so petty and insecure?” “If you keep this up, I think… I think I’m going to have to fire you.” The threat of firing me hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. I met his gaze, my own eyes like chips of ice. “You don’t have to, Ken. I already quit.” “And if you two aren’t gone in the next ten seconds, I’m calling the police.” His face was a dark mask of fury, but he didn’t say anything else. After a long moment, he rubbed his temples, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his features. “Clara, does it really have to be like this?” I spotted a bucket of water by the door. Without a second thought, I grabbed it and hurled its contents at him. “You think?” I screamed, the words finally pouring out. “Ken, you have no idea what it feels like to watch the man you love build a world with another woman, all under the guise of ‘work.’” “You never once considered my feelings. I was just a toy to you. Something to pick up when you were happy and toss aside when you were bored.” “The moment you walked in here with her and said you were giving her my grandmother’s house… that’s when I knew I wanted to do this.” “You’re pathetic.” Water dripped from his hair, his expensive clothes soaked through. He wiped his face, his eyes blazing with incandescent rage. “Clara! This is not the time or place for your tantrums! Have I spoiled you rotten?” A flash of malicious glee crossed Maya’s face, but she quickly hid it behind a pained smile. “Ken, I’m so sorry I’ve caused this between you and Clara. Really. And Clara… please, don’t worry. This is the last project Ken and I will do together. After this, I’m going to announce my retirement. I won’t get in your way anymore.” Ken whipped his head toward her, his expression a mixture of anger and raw concern. “What are you apologizing to her for? Your mother is sick! How are you supposed to pay her medical bills if you retire?” He turned back to me, his gaze glacial. “Clara. Apologize to Maya. Now.” A hysterical giggle escaped my lips. “Ken, I haven’t even done anything yet. You want an apology for nothing? Fine. Get on your knees and beg me.” Maya’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Clara, I already said I was sorry. Why do you have to be so cruel?” “Clara, don’t push me into breaking up with you!” Ken roared. I took a step forward. “Go ahead. Didn’t we already?” He instinctively pulled Maya behind him, as if I were some kind of monster about to attack. “Clara, I’m warning you. If you dare lay a hand on Maya, I will never—” I cut him off, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re overthinking it. With Hollywood’s shining knight here to protect her, what could I possibly do? I was just reaching for the broom.” My bitter tone clearly irritated him, but he also seemed to relax slightly. “Alright, Clara. Stop being jealous. I’ll make it up to you later, but right now, we—” It was always the same script. He knew. He knew every time he was with Maya, it twisted a knife in my gut. But he would never change. He would just offer up a series of flimsy excuses like this, sidestepping the real issue. He knew I was easy to please, easy to pacify. If that didn’t work, he’d just give me the silent treatment. Eventually, I’d always break. I’d be the one to crawl back to him. Because I was terrified that if I pushed too hard, I’d lose him. My surrender was his free pass to let the whole thing blow over. What Ken didn’t know was that this time, watching his lips move, hearing the same old empty words, only filled me with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. “Shut up,” I said, my voice flat with revulsion. “Kiss her. Sleep with her. I don’t care anymore. It has nothing to do with me.” “Now take your little project and get out.” He seemed to finally see the genuine disgust in my eyes, and he froze. It was as if he’d never considered that my patience had a limit. Then, as if remembering something, his posture shifted, becoming softer. “Clara, how is your grandma doing?” I nodded slowly. “She’s fine.” She’s waiting for me on the other side. My placid response seemed to ease his tension. “See? I told you she was tough. She’ll pull through. Just tell her to hang on for a few more days. I’ll take you back on a private jet to get her.” “Now, stop making a scene.” Tough. The word was a slap in the face. He saw my lack of reaction. “Well?” “Are you going to get out, or do I have to call the police?” I asked calmly. His face darkened instantly. He wrapped a protective arm around Maya’s shoulders and turned to leave. “Let’s see how long you can keep this up, Clara.” As the door closed behind them, I let out a shaky breath, my back sliding down the wall until I was huddled on the floor. The emotional storm had drained every last ounce of my strength. I couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes as he left. Suddenly, I was thrown back to the day I first met him. I was interviewing for a job as an actor’s assistant. Ken had a reputation for being difficult. He’d already chewed through a dozen assistants before me. They gave me the job simply because I looked like a pushover. But I was observant and efficient, and I quickly learned to anticipate his needs. I made his life easier, and in turn, my life became easier. No more yelling. He even praised me once. “Clara, you’re a hell of a lot more useful than those other idiots.” The truth was, I worked my ass off because I couldn’t afford to lose a job that paid so well. Everything changed after he wrapped a movie one year. At the cast party, a drunk producer started getting handsy with me. Ken saw it. Without a word, he grabbed a platter of food from the table and smashed it over the man’s face. The fallout was catastrophic. The studio shelved the film, and he was hit with a massive breach of contract fine. But he didn’t seem to care about any of that. He just turned to me, his eyes full of regret, and apologized. “Clara, I’m so sorry. I should have protected you.” In that instant, my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Tears streamed down my face. It was the first time in my life anyone had ever stood up for me. I never knew my parents. My grandma found me, abandoned, and raised me as her own. But the world is not kind to the weak. If you’re vulnerable, people will find a way to hurt you. As much as my grandma loved me, I couldn’t escape the other kids in town, their taunts of “bastard” and “orphan” following me everywhere.

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1 My sister, Stella, discovered she had a five-point resemblance to the beloved wife of a corporate titan. To take her place, Stella arranged a meeting, planning to stage a car crash and kill the woman. I got there just in time to stop her. On the way back, I tried to reason with her. “Liam Bright built his empire from nothing. He’s ruthless, sharp as a whip, and hides a knife behind his smile. He’ll see through your little tricks in a heartbeat, and when he does, he’ll drag our whole family down with you.” Stella nodded, seemingly agreeing with me. But when we got home, she slipped a lethal dose of weed killer into my glass of water. As I lay dying, she whispered in my ear, “You’re just jealous. Jealous that I have a face that can marry into a dynasty. You destroyed my dream, so I’m destroying you.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my sister planned to meet the CEO’s wife. … The deafening crunch of metal on metal ripped through the air, and Stella bolted from her hiding spot. She scrambled to the person lying motionless on the pavement, her voice a theatrical shriek. “Forget the car! Someone call 911, now!” With a face of perfectly applied makeup, Stella began performing CPR, not even hesitating to press her mouth to the stranger’s for rescue breaths. Blood bloomed on her pristine white dress, a macabre flower that would make any onlooker praise her selfless bravery. The ambulance arrived, and with it, the reporters. Stella whirled on the cameras, her face a mask of righteous fury. “Have you no decency? What are you filming at a time like this? A life is on the line!” She turned back, her voice thick with urgency as she relayed the CPR details to the paramedics. “Doctor,” she pleaded, “you have to save her. She’s so beautiful… it would be such a tragedy if she died.” The doctor, moved by her passion, reassured her. “We’ll do everything we can, miss. Do you know her family?” Stella shook her head, the perfect picture of a concerned stranger. “I’m just a passerby. But I’ll go with you. I can cover her medical expenses.” The doctor praised her kindness and ushered her onto the ambulance. As Stella turned, she deftly slipped the victim’s phone into her own pocket, a movement so swift it was almost invisible. I watched the ambulance speed away, its sirens wailing into the distance. Half an hour later, a sleek, black luxury sedan pulled up to the curb. A man in a sharp grey suit jumped out. I recognized him instantly—Liam Bright’s assistant. He surveyed the scene before approaching the police to discuss the incident. I pulled out my phone and sent Stella a text. [Stella, I just saw you on the news. What did you do?] Her reply was instantaneous. [None of your business.] A slow smile spread across my face. My sister had read one too many billionaire romance novels, convinced that all powerful men were idiots. After a chance encounter with Liam Bright, all it took was a single offhand comment—”You look a lot like my wife when she was younger”—for her to start dreaming of a life of unimaginable wealth. In my last life, I had pleaded with her, begged her to see reason, and it got me a horrific death. This time, my first priority was to cut myself out of her mess, so that when Liam Bright’s vengeance came for her, I wouldn’t be caught in the blast zone. I was about to head home when my phone rang. It was the hospital’s blood bank. A patient was in critical need of a rare blood type, and they were asking if I was available to donate. Both Stella and I had this rare blood type; our numbers were on file at the regional blood center. Without a second thought, I went. I never imagined the patient in need would be Liam Bright’s wife. After donating, I went to the waiting room to recover. Stella was there. She froze when she saw me. “What are you doing here?” “I got a call,” I said, settling into a chair. “Someone needed my blood type, so I came.” I glanced at her, my voice casual. “What about you? What were you doing at the scene of the accident?” When I’d first heard about her plan, I’d tried everything to stop her, even threatening to report her to the police. She eyed me, wary of my suspicion. “Just a coincidence. I was just passing by.” “Ah,” I said, letting the matter drop. I closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion. But Stella couldn’t resist the urge to gloat. “Luna,” she began, her voice dripping with triumph, “do you know who that woman is? She’s the wife of the richest man in the city, Liam Bright. Liam told me I look just like she did when she was young. Once she’s dead, I’ll be the next Mrs. Bright.” Before, I would have told her to stop dreaming. This time, I played along. “Wow, congratulations! When you’re rich and famous, do you think you could get me a job at Bright Corp?” My fawning praise visibly pleased her. She scoffed. “Mom and Dad were right about you. You were born to be a worker bee. I’m about to have all the money in the world, and all you can think about is a job.” Just then, Liam Bright’s voice echoed from the hallway. Stella’s eyes lit up. She shot to her feet, ready to go make an impression. “Get out of sight,” she hissed at me. “And don’t you dare ruin this for me.” We were twins. She was terrified I’d steal Liam’s attention. She really didn’t need to worry. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to be as far away from her as possible. When the axe fell, I didn’t want to be spattered with her blood. But then, a sly, cruel smile touched her lips. “Then again,” she mused, “with a face like yours, it probably wouldn’t matter if he saw you.” Her meaning was crystal clear. We were twins, yes, but not identical. The same features that made her stunning were merely plain on me. It was as if my face was the original photo, and hers had been run through a beauty filter set to max. She was the masterpiece; I was the rough sketch. Stella sashayed out of the room. A moment later, I could hear her voice, cooing and consoling Liam, pitched so high and sweet it was almost sickening. The blood donation had left me weak, so I curled up in the chair and drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, the hallway was silent. I checked the time and decided to head home. The elevator was taking forever, so I took the stairs. The moment I pushed open the stairwell door, I heard voices. It was Liam Bright and his assistant. “Mr. Bright, we tracked Mrs. Bright’s phone. The last signal was here at the hospital, but it’s gone now.” I froze, not daring to breathe. Thankfully, neither of them noticed me. Liam’s voice was ice. “Investigate it quietly. Don’t involve the police.” “Sera would never go to a neighborhood like that. Something’s wrong. That girl, Stella… she’s suspicious. We start with her.” “And Mark,” Liam added, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper, “if I find out who did this to my Sera, I swear to God, I’ll make their entire family pay.” A cold shiver snaked down my spine. The rumors were true. Before Liam Bright became a CEO, he was a notorious street fighter who had even done time. Terrified, I scurried home. The sound of my sister and parents laughing greeted me as I walked in. Mom was fussing over Stella, lamenting how much she’d sacrificed—donating blood, paying the hospital bills—and had bought her a pile of iron supplements. Stella waved her off dismissively. “You have to spend money to make money. Paying her bills is the only way I can keep in touch with Liam.” Dad sighed. “You could have just given them the money. Why did you have to donate blood? You have a rare type; it’ll take ages for you to recover.” “And how else was she supposed to die?” Stella said with a cunning grin. “I did my research. Seraphina Bright is severely allergic to mangoes. I ate three of them right before I donated. She doesn’t stand a chance.” The three of them launched into a giddy fantasy about their new life of luxury once Stella married into the Bright family. I chose that moment to step out. “How could you do something like that?” I stared at Stella, my voice trembling with manufactured disbelief. The room fell silent. I grabbed Stella’s arm, pretending to pull her toward the door. “It’s not too late. We can go to the police and confess.” Stella shoved me away. “Are you insane, Luna? My plan was flawless. That part of town is a dead zone—no security cameras. The car’s already been disposed of. As long as you keep your mouth shut, no one will ever suspect a thing.” I narrowed my eyes. “Do you really think all rich people are as stupid as you are? Why would a woman like Seraphina Bright be in a rundown neighborhood like that? No cameras doesn’t mean no witnesses. And you even got reporters involved! You’re an absolute idiot!” Stella faltered for a second, then her confidence returned. “They won’t suspect me. Luna, why are you so worked up? Are you just jealous?” “I’m scared you’re going to ruin this entire family! If you don’t turn yourself in, I’ll call the police myself.” The words were barely out of my mouth before a hand tangled violently in my hair. Dad yanked me back and kicked me hard in the leg. The pain sent me crumpling to my knees, but he wasn’t finished. He slapped me twice across the face, his rings cutting my cheek. “Your sister is doing this for our family, and you want to call the cops? If I’d known you were this venomous, I would have strangled you in your crib!” “Hit her! Hit her!” Mom chimed in. “She’s a worthless brat who only learns the hard way.” Stella stood with her arms crossed, a cold smirk on her face. “Harder, Dad. Make sure she can’t ruin our big chance.” I endured the storm of kicks and punches, a grim sense of déjà vu washing over me. It was just like the last time. After Stella poisoned me, I had begged them to take me to the hospital. Instead, they locked me in my room and watched impassively as my life faded away. I could never understand it. Why did they love her and hate me? We were twins. But she got new clothes and a good school, while I wore rags and was treated like her servant. The pain intensified, and I screamed, silently counting down the seconds. A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. It was our neighbor, asking about the noise. Dad stopped, his voice instantly changing to something calm and pleasant. “It’s nothing, just our clumsy older daughter took a little fall.” He shut the door and kicked me one last time. “Have you learned your lesson?” In the past, I would have stayed defiant, even after a beating like this. This time, I was a terrified rabbit. “I was wrong, Dad, I was wrong,” I whimpered. “I shouldn’t have said those things about Stella.” He was still angry. “Are you still going to the police?” “No! Never! I won’t!” After I begged and pleaded for forgiveness from him, Mom, and Stella, Dad’s rage finally subsided. “Stop your blubbering,” Mom snapped, her face a cold mask. “Go make dinner. We’re starving.” I obediently got up, put on an apron, and went to the kitchen. Just then, Stella’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it and let out a piercing shriek. “She’s dead! Seraphina Bright is dead! I have to get to the hospital. I need to be there to comfort Liam!” She scrambled to her room, throwing on a new outfit, redoing her makeup, and stepping into a pair of impossibly high heels. Worried about her going out so late, Mom and Dad grabbed the car keys to drive her. Once they were gone, I packed my things. It was time to leave this house for good. On my way out, I ran into the neighbor again. He frowned when he saw my bruised face. “They did it again, didn’t they?” His eyes fell to the suitcase in my hand. He clicked his tongue. “Good for you. Get out of here. If you stay in this house any longer, they’re going to be the death of you.” I thanked him and hailed a cab. The radio was buzzing with the news: the wife of the city’s richest man had died in a tragic hit-and-run. Liam Bright was offering a one million dollar reward for any information leading to the driver. The cabbie whistled. “This driver’s got some nerve, hitting a Bright and then running. A guy with that much money will find him like it’s a game.” “Mmm,” I murmured. “I heard that Liam Bright used to be a real gangster,” the driver continued. “Met his wife and cleaned up his act. Now that she’s gone… I feel sorry for whoever’s in his way.” I nodded again in agreement. The person who was about to be the most unlucky of all had no idea what was coming. For the next few days, the internet was flooded with two stories: Liam Bright’s heartbroken plea for information about his wife’s death, and the heroic actions of my sister. A photo of her, dress stained red, kneeling on the pavement performing CPR, went viral. Millions shared it, calling her a goddess, an angel. Another video surfaced of Stella at the hospital, silently weeping. “I’m so sorry,” she told a reporter, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t save Mrs. Bright. I just didn’t try hard enough.” In the background, Liam Bright stared at her, his expression unreadable, intense. Stella forwarded this video to our family group chat. [Look at the way Liam’s looking at me. He’s totally falling for me.] Mom and Dad chimed in with their enthusiastic agreement, the three of them lost once more in their delusional fantasy. I typed out a single reply. [He’s definitely moved. Looks like he’s moved to kill.] My message, as expected, sent Stella into a rage. She fired back a series of screenshots of her conversations with Liam. They had exchanged hundreds of messages over the past few days. Stella offered him comfort; Liam responded, telling her that her words had been a great source of solace. The tone was bordering on intimate. [Still think he doesn’t have feelings for me?] she texted, smugly. I couldn’t help myself. [Or maybe he’s just playing you to get information. Liam Bright can have any woman in the world. Why would he be interested in you?] Stella exploded. [Luna, I haven’t forgotten what you tried to do. Are you asking for another beating?] Dad replied: [Where have you been hiding? Don’t think for a second we can’t find you.] They tore into me again, ending with a final warning: if I went to the police, they would kill me. I put my phone away and looked out the window. After leaving home, I’d found a small apartment to rent. It was all I could afford—a tiny place in the same rundown industrial district where Seraphina Bright had been hit. Every day on my way home from my new job, I saw Liam’s assistant, Mark, going from shop to shop, asking questions, collecting security footage. A couple of days later, Stella posted another screenshot in the group chat. It was an invitation from Liam Bright for her and our parents to be his guests at his private estate. He wanted to thank her properly. Stella tagged me. [See, Luna? Now do you understand how charming I am? This isn’t just a thank you dinner. He’s introducing me to his life!] I didn’t reply. Stella was so wrapped up in her seduction plot that she failed to notice a few crucial details. All news reports about Seraphina Bright’s death had been scrubbed from the internet. The police were no longer investigating. And Liam’s assistant hadn’t been seen in the neighborhood for two days. This wasn’t a dinner party. It was an execution. They had finally sealed their own fate. I sighed, ready to head back to my apartment and treat myself to a decent meal. Just then, a black luxury car glided to a stop in front of me. Liam Bright’s assistant, Mark, stepped out. “Miss Luna, I presume?” he said, his smile polite but unreadable. “Mr. Bright would like to see you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386072”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I woke up in a hospital, staring at a handsome stranger. He was rattling on about something, a stream of words that made no sense. My mind was a fog. It wasn’t until he said we’d have to postpone getting the license that my brain finally clicked back online. “What license?” I asked, my voice raspy. “The marriage license, Nora. Did you hit your head that hard?” He reached out to touch my forehead, the gesture unnervingly natural. Was he kidding me? I was a girl fresh out of high school, basking in the glory of my college acceptance letters. I wasn’t even old enough to legally marry. Who was this con artist? 1 “Doctor!” I shoved him away and craned my neck, shouting. “Doctor, help! There’s a creep in here!” A doctor rushed in, flanked by two nurses. Their presence was a shield. I ducked behind the kindly, white-haired doctor and pointed an accusing finger. “I don’t know this man! He’s trying to trick me into marrying him! He’s a kidnapper!” The handsome stranger just looked exasperated. “Nora, I know you’re upset. We’re just delaying the license, not canceling it. Isabella didn’t mean to hurt you, don’t hold it against her—” “My phone,” I cut him off, looking at the doctor. “I need to call my parents.” “Your parents?” The man frowned. “It’s not that serious. No need to worry them. It’s a long way from Riverbend, it’s not an easy trip for them.” My world tilted. “This… this isn’t Riverbend?” Now he looked as stunned as I felt. The doctor cleared his throat. “I was about to explain. The fall didn’t cause any serious external injuries, but she did hit her head. There’s some bruising that can affect memory.” “Affect memory?” I whispered. “Are you saying… I have amnesia?” The doctor nodded. “Yes. But don’t worry. As the bruising subsides, your memories should gradually return.” “How long will that take?” the stranger asked. “It’s hard to say. It could be a few months, or it could be a year or two.” I noticed the handsome stranger let out a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. After the doctor left, he picked up a woman’s handbag from a nearby chair, pulled out a phone, and handed it to me. “Since you’ve lost your memory, we can put the wedding on hold. But I really am your boyfriend. See for yourself. Check the photos on your phone.” I lit up the screen. The first thing I saw was the date, blazing in the center. 2025. My last memory was the dizzying excitement of checking my final grades after graduation. Six years had passed. 2 My gaze shifted to the lock screen photo. It was a close-up selfie of me and the stranger, our cheeks pressed together. I unlocked the phone and opened the photo gallery. It was filled with pictures of him. From the angles, most of them were candid shots, clearly taken without him knowing. There he was, mid-jump on a basketball court; his profile as he drank from a water bottle; his face peaceful as he slept, head down on a desk… “Wow, you took a lot of secret pictures of me,” he said, leaning over my shoulder with a smug tone. “See? Now do you believe we’re a couple?” I pushed him away, my face a blank mask. “I have zero memory of you. Stay away from me.” “Fine, let me introduce myself.” His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and a flicker of delight crossed his face. He started typing a reply, his attention glued to the screen as he spoke, his tone casual. “I’m Asher Vance. And you’re my girlfriend, the one who chased me relentlessly for a year before I finally gave in…” In a few short sentences, he painted a picture of my last few years. Apparently, the moment I stepped onto the campus of Northwood University, I’d set my sights on him, the resident rich boy, and became his pathetic shadow. I followed him everywhere, immune to his attempts to brush me off. I hung on his every word. My pursuit was loud, bold, and shameless. Everyone at Northwood knew who I was. After more than a year of this obsessive chase, it actually worked. Asher, the campus playboy, after a string of short-lived flings and a trail of broken hearts, had finally agreed to be my boyfriend. The entire student body placed bets on how long it would take for him to dump me. But a month passed. Then a year, and another. We graduated, and we were still together. In fact, just recently, after I’d finished my master’s degree, Asher had accepted my marriage proposal. He, who never posted anything personal, had made a grand announcement on his social media about us getting our marriage license. Yesterday, we’d gone to City Hall. Right at the entrance, someone had called his name. It was his childhood friend, Isabella, who had been studying abroad for years. She’d bitten her lip, tugging on his arm. “Asher, please, can you not get married?” I’d gotten angry. We argued. In the ensuing scuffle, she tripped me. My head slammed against the stone steps, and I blacked out. When I came to, I was this new, memory-wiped version of myself. Asher was still engrossed in his phone, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Isabella didn’t do it on purpose. And you’re fine, just a little amnesia. No need to be so dramatic.” “She’s coming to visit you later, so be nice. Try to be a bigger person.” “And for the record, we just grew up together. She’s like a sister to me, so stop being so jealous all the time.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Did you forget? I have amnesia.” “Right now, you’re a complete stranger to me. Why on earth would I be jealous?” Asher pocketed his phone and leaned in close, his eyes full of arrogant certainty. “You fell for me at first sight. You told me my face was sculpted exactly to your tastes.” “So don’t worry,” he whispered. “You’ll fall in love with me all over again.” 3 I stared at the face so close to mine. Sharp, almond-shaped eyes, a high-bridged nose, thin lips, and a jawline that could cut glass. A rebellious glint in his eyes. He looked like a bad boy straight out of a graphic novel. He was definitely handsome. But “sculpted exactly to my tastes”? That was a stretch. He fit my aesthetic, sure. He was a good-looking guy. But my taste in men wasn’t a monolith. I liked sharp eyes, but I also liked playful, fox-like eyes. Strong brows and big eyes were great, but so were the intense gazes of men with monolids. I found fair-skinned, boy-next-door types charming, but I also had a thing for rugged men with sun-kissed skin. There was no way I would become some obsessed fangirl just because of Asher’s looks. I knew, deep down, that his face alone wasn’t powerful enough to captivate me like that. As I was lost in thought, studying his features, a melodic voice floated from the doorway. “What are you two doing?” I snapped back to reality. Asher immediately straightened up, taking two quick steps back, putting a careful distance between us. He turned to the door. “Isabella! You’re here.” He took the fruit basket from her hands and placed it on the bedside table. “See, Nora? Isabella even brought you fruit. Stop being so petty.” The girl, Isabella, wore a floral sundress that highlighted her tall, slender frame. Her wavy hair cascaded down to her waist, her makeup was flawless, and a pair of rimless glasses gave her an air of elegant intelligence. “Nora, I’m so sorry. Yesterday was all my fault. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” She gracefully glided to my bedside on her stiletto heels. Before I could say a word, she continued, her voice a soft, concerned murmur. “I really didn’t mean to. I was just in a panic. I didn’t want to ruin your marriage, but my godmother specifically asked me to stop you.” “You have to understand her position. The Vance family is incredibly influential. There are always people trying to get close for the wrong reasons. She’s just worried you’re only with Asher for his money.” “I didn’t want you to get married yet either, but for a different reason,” she went on, a model of reason and grace. “Marriage is a serious commitment. At the very least, your parents should meet, don’t you think? Rushing off to City Hall without involving your families feels a bit… childish, doesn’t it?” “And Nora, I know his mother refuses to meet you, but for Asher’s sake, you should really try harder to win her approval. There’s no shame in humbling yourself for love, in trying to win over your future mother-in-law.” “How could you not even try, and just convince Asher to elope like that?” “And one more thing, I need to be clear. Even though my godmother has tried to set me up with Asher more than once, I only see him as a little brother. I have no other feelings for him.” I swallowed hard. Holy crap. That was a lot of information to unpack. 4 My mind raced, filtering through the layers of Isabella’s speech. First: Asher wasn’t just some rich kid. His family was loaded. Rich enough to create a class divide between them and my middle-class family. Second: Our relationship didn’t have the blessing of either set of parents. His mother, in particular, suspected I was a gold digger and had actively refused to meet me. Finally: Isabella was subtly flaunting her special connection to the Vance family. She and Asher were childhood friends, likely from similar, wealthy backgrounds. Most importantly, Asher’s mother was her godmother. They were close. Mrs. Vance had always wanted Isabella for a daughter-in-law. In just a few sentences, she’d managed to issue a challenge and broadcast her superiority. This Isabella was no simple girl. “Don’t worry, Isabella. She has amnesia now. She doesn’t even remember who I am. We won’t be getting married anytime soon,” Asher said, his eyes fixed on Isabella, drinking her in as if he couldn’t get enough. Isabella shot him a playful glare. “I’ve told you a million times, call me Bella. I’m older than you!” “By a few months, who cares?” Asher grinned. “I’m gonna call you Isabella. What are you gonna do about it?” It was like watching a puppy fawning over its owner. Usually, I loved watching couples flirt, but this just made my skin crawl. Right now, all I wanted was for both of them to get out of my sight. “I need to rest. You should both go,” I said, making it clear they should leave. Isabella’s lip trembled. “Nora, do you dislike me? If you do, I’ll leave right now.” Asher grabbed her arm as she turned. “You’re overthinking it. She’s probably just tired. We’ll let her sleep.” Without another word to me, his supposed girlfriend, he led his childhood friend out of the room. As if I could possibly sleep after being unconscious for over ten hours. Still, their departure was exactly what I wanted. I picked up my phone, determined to figure out what was really going on. Because I didn’t believe a single word Asher had said. I’d quickly scrolled through the photos earlier. Most were pictures I’d taken of him, but there were a few of us together. In every single one, including the selfie on the lock screen, I was smiling. And that was the problem. I never just smiled for photos. I grinned. A wide, toothy, unapologetic grin. The one person who knew me best was myself. And looking at those photos, I could see it. Those smiles weren’t real. They were forced. I was putting on a performance. I was acting happy for someone else’s benefit. 5 And there was one more thing. The most important thing. I was already in love with someone. Asher had his childhood friend, Isabella. And I had my own. Justin Hayes. He was the boy I grew up with. My partner-in-crime, my big brother, my best friend. My entire life was woven with threads of him. He was the genius, the straight-A student, the kid all the parents compared theirs to. He was the star that shone brightly wherever he went, the one you could spot instantly in any crowd. He was the one who patiently tutored me until I aced my final exams. He was the boy I’d started falling for the moment my heart learned how. And he loved me back. We had a plan. We were going to the same university. The moment we got there, we would finally, freely, be together. With someone like him illuminating my entire youth, how could I possibly have fallen for anyone else? I took the phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. A recorded voice answered: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” Impossible. Like a madwoman, I dialed it again. And again. And again. Each time, the same mechanical voice met my frantic hope. How could it be? The number I’d called a thousand times, the number etched into my soul, was gone? I went back to the photo gallery, scrolling through every single picture from the past six years. Nothing but that stranger, Asher. I checked my notes, my calendar, the university network, every messaging app I could find. Starting from my freshman year, six years ago, my life was completely dominated by Asher Vance. There was no trace of Justin Hayes. It was as if my brilliant, wonderful Justin had simply vanished from existence. Right. My parents. I called my mom. “Nora? Honey, did you get all your graduation paperwork sorted? When are you coming home?” Thank god. It was her familiar, comforting voice. Before I could answer, she kept talking. “If you haven’t found a job yet, don’t rush it. Come home, relax for a while, then you can start looking.” “And that boyfriend of yours… you’ve been together a few years now, right? You should bring him home to meet us sometime.” “We’ve asked a few times, but you always have an excuse. What’s the deal? Is he not willing to come visit?” So, after years together, neither of us had met the other’s parents. His parents looked down on me, and either Asher didn’t want to meet mine, or… I didn’t want him to. My mom was still on the line, asking if I was okay, if I’d lost more weight, telling me to stop dieting. “Mom,” I interrupted suddenly. “Where did Justin go?” The chatter on the other end of the line stopped cold. 6 After a long pause, my mom finally seemed to place the name. “Justin? Why are you suddenly asking about him? Didn’t his whole family move abroad?” “The Hayes were always like that. They move overseas and it’s like they fell off the face of the earth. They haven’t been back to visit in years.” “We’ve completely lost touch.” “You know, when you were kids, you and Justin were inseparable. We all thought you two would end up together.” “Then you went off to college and fell for someone else, and the Hayes family just packed up and left.” “It’s such a shame. I always really liked Justin. If he were my son-in-law, I’d be a hundred percent happy.” So, my mom didn’t know what happened between us either. I mumbled a few absentminded words and hung up. Lying in the hospital bed, I tried to piece together the last few years. The day my final grades were posted, I was ecstatic. I ran to find Justin, to tell him we could go to the same university. My memory ends on the street leading to his house. The next thing I know, it’s six years later. I have a master’s degree. And apparently, from the moment I started college, I fell head over heels for a guy named Asher Vance, acting like a crazy person for him. I shamelessly chased him for a year until he became my boyfriend. Judging by Asher’s condescending tone, I was clearly the one in the subordinate position in our relationship. I couldn’t understand it. Even if I had moved on from Justin, my brain was still intact. Why would I do something so stupid? What happened six years ago to turn me into… this? Could someone have… body-swapped with me? No, that didn’t make sense. I’d seen handwritten class notes in my phone’s photo gallery. The handwriting was identical to mine. The way I used different colored highlighters for different topics—that was my habit. It was clear I’d taken my graduate studies seriously; I hadn’t let my supposed love life derail my education. My chat history with my thesis advisor was full of praise for my work. That, at least, was a relief. But if I ruled out something as absurd as a body-swap, how else could I explain the madness of the last six years? Just then, I needed to use the restroom. I got up and walked into the small bathroom. The first thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I froze. The face was mine, but why was I so thin? No wonder my mom had asked if I’d lost more weight. She used to be the one telling me to eat less, that I was getting chubby. I’d never been fat, but I was never skinny either. I had a round face with baby fat. My skin was fair, my cheeks rosy. Justin used to say my face looked like a peeled, hard-boiled egg—smooth and bouncy. But now? My cheeks were sunken. My arms were like twigs. Did Asher like skinny girls? Did I lose all this weight for him? The willpower that would have taken… I couldn’t imagine it. I’d always been a foodie. I loved snacks, barbecue, cake, desserts, and bubble tea. Could I really have given all that up for Asher? It was insane. I couldn’t believe I was capable of that. I walked over to the toilet and pulled down my pajama pants. Looking at my thighs, I froze again. This wasn’t just about weight loss. My thighs were a roadmap of scars, old and new, crisscrossing in a pattern of forgotten pain. I’d been self-harming. 7 “Miss Lynn, you can’t be discharged yet! You have an IV drip scheduled for this afternoon!” a young nurse called out, chasing after me. “I have something important to do, I’ll be back later!” I waved back at her as I ran. My phone’s shopping apps had my address saved. I’d been renting an apartment on the Northwood campus. Even though I’d graduated, a recent order was still being sent there, so I knew I hadn’t moved out yet. I hailed a cab and headed straight there. The keys were in my purse. The moment I walked in, I knew it was my place. The decor, the potted plants, the stuffed animals, the snacks in the fridge—they were all my favorites. The clothes in the closet were all styles I would choose. It was more proof. For the past six years, that person had been me. No body-swapping. I went to my desk and, following my old organizing habits, started searching through the drawers. Finally, inside a file folder, I found it: a stack of medical records. Over the past few years, I’d been seeing a therapist. More than one, actually. The diagnosis was moderate depression and self-harm tendencies. The doctor’s notes concluded: Patient is uncooperative and refuses to discuss the root of her issues, making a definitive cause for her condition impossible to determine. So, I was depressed, I was hurting myself, and I knew something was wrong enough to seek professional help. But when I was face-to-face with a doctor, I clammed up. I refused to talk, preventing them from diagnosing me properly, which meant they couldn’t treat me effectively. It was a contradiction. If I was going to a therapist, I must have wanted to save myself. Why wouldn’t I tell them everything? Was someone… or something… stopping me from talking? I had to find out what happened over these last six years. I called my mom and asked her to take pictures of every page of my high school yearbook and send them to me. Back at the hospital, I sat on my bed and started calling my old high school classmates, one by one. I asked if any of them were in touch with Justin Hayes. I even called my old homeroom teacher and all my other teachers. But it was a dead end. No one knew where he was. That evening, Asher called. He said he was busy but had arranged for his family’s housekeeper to bring me dinner. He didn’t show up for the next two days. But like clockwork, three meals a day were delivered to my room. By the time I was discharged, I still hadn’t seen him again. Back at my apartment near Northwood, I spent a whole day wandering the campus. This was the place Justin and I were supposed to come to together. We’d promised each other we’d both get in, and then we’d finally start our life as a couple. But in the end, I was the only one who came. Why didn’t he keep his promise? If he didn’t come to Northwood, why did he have to go abroad? Why did he just disappear? What had happened to him?

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My husband’s childhood sweetheart has “autumn melancholy syndrome.” Every year, when autumn arrives, she becomes despondent and suicidal. For her, he cancels three months of his life to travel abroad and keep her company. “Molly, she’s in a fragile state. Don’t overthink it.” I gradually grew accustomed to his annual three-month disappearance. Until, on a business trip to France, I saw him with a five-year-old girl by his side. “Daddy, why do you only spend three months with Mommy and me? I want you for longer, much longer.” My husband picked her up in a doting embrace, then took the hand of his childhood friend standing beside them. “Daddy’s situation is special, Aria. Be a good girl. When you turn eighteen, I’ll bring you home to meet Grandma and Grandpa.” In silence, I arranged everything, then left, pretending I knew nothing. Autumn faded into winter, and my husband called. “Serena’s condition has stabilized. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I looked at the coffin and the signed promissory note I had prepared, a cold smile touching my lips. “Good. I’ll throw you a welcome home party.” 1. It was an early autumn afternoon in Paris. I stared, frozen, at the three figures in the square. My husband, Jacob Thorne, was feeding pigeons with a little girl. “Daddy, why do you only spend three months with Mommy and me? I want you for longer, much longer.” A roar filled my head. Since when did Jacob have a child? I must have misheard. Or… he was so fond of Serena’s daughter that he’d made her his goddaughter, and the child, in her innocence, had simply misspoken. Serena leaned against Jacob’s shoulder, her voice a mixture of grievance and coquettishness. “Jacob, I’ve been with you for seven years without a name to my title. Aria is five years old now. Are you really going to make us wait another thirteen years?” Jacob sighed, a note of helplessness in his voice. “I have no choice, Serena. The Thornes and the Leroys have a generational marriage alliance. Marrying Molly was a duty. She will always be Mrs. Thorne in name. If she ever found out about you two, the Leroys would stop at nothing to harm you.” He paused, his tone becoming firm. “But don’t worry. According to Thorne family tradition, a child gains their inheritance rights at eighteen. As my blood, Aria will have the right to officially inherit the Thorne fortune. By then, it will be a done deal. Even if Molly finds out, she won’t be able to do anything.” Serena seemed convinced. She sighed softly and rested a hand on her stomach. “Alright. But you can’t have children with her. Otherwise, my Aria and the baby in my belly will be bullied in the future.” Jacob gently stroked Serena’s still-flat stomach. “Don’t worry. Aria and this son will be more than enough for me.” His voice dropped lower. “As for Molly, I’ve been secretly drugging her. She’ll never get pregnant. The Thorne family has no desire to be further entangled with the Leroys. This cursed bond ends with me.” Boom. The tightly wound string in my mind snapped. So that was it. Six years of a childless marriage. I had been checked by doctors; I was perfectly healthy, but I could never conceive. Jacob’s grandmother had even comforted me with kind words. “These things take time, my dear. A child is a gift of fate.” It turned out he was the one pulling the strings of my fate. Rage replaced the initial shock and heartache. My trembling hands clenched into fists as I pulled out my phone. “Aunt Genevieve, Jacob is cheating. I’m enacting the Leroy family code.” “And have a custom coffin made. One large enough for a family of three.” The next afternoon, I “coincidentally” appeared on the Champs-Élysées, a street they frequented. The moment Jacob saw me, the smile on his face froze, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic. “Molly? What are you doing here?” My own smile never wavered as I walked forward and linked my arm through his. “I’m in Paris on business. I knew you were here, so I thought I’d give you a little surprise.” Jacob forced a laugh. “It’s certainly a surprise…” Just then, a timid voice called out. “Honey…” Serena walked over, holding two ice cream cones. When she saw me, she froze, the color draining from her face. My gaze shifted to her, a playful smirk on my lips. “Who are you calling ‘honey’?” Serena flinched, shaking her head frantically, her eyes darting away. “No, Miss Leroy, you misheard. I was calling him by a nickname, ‘Jules’.” She was so flustered that a hint of a provincial accent slipped out. I chuckled, my eyes fixed on her rosy cheeks. “It seems Paris agrees with you, Miss Frost. You’re glowing. I take it your ‘autumn melancholy’ has greatly improved?” Serena gave a tight, awkward smile. “The weather has been lovely lately… my condition has stabilized.” At that moment, the little girl fluttered over like a butterfly and hugged Jacob’s leg, looking up and chirping, “Daddy!” That single word seemed to freeze the very air around us. Jacob’s face went pale. He quickly bent down. “Aria, you said it wrong. You’re supposed to call me ‘Godfather’!” The little girl pouted, about to argue, but Serena lunged forward and shoved one of the ice cream cones into her daughter’s mouth. “Here! Go eat this over there, don’t bother the grown-ups!” The girl winced from the cold. “Mommy, I don’t like vanilla! That’s Daddy’s favorite!” The last traces of color vanished from Serena’s face. She fumbled, trying to swap it with the chocolate cone. “Go, go, let’s eat over there…” “Stop.” My voice was quiet, but it halted them in their tracks. Serena’s back was trembling. I slowly walked towards them, unclasping the necklace from my own neck and offering it to the little girl. “It’s the first time we’ve met, Auntie didn’t bring a gift. This is for you.” The girl looked at the pendant curiously. “It looks like… a bullet.” “You have a good eye,” I said with a nod of approval, my voice calm. “That’s exactly what it is. Someone tried to rob your godfather once. I took a bullet for him. This was extracted from my arm.” The girl’s eyes widened with the kind of awe children reserve for heroes. “Wow, Auntie, you’re so cool! You can block bullets!” Hearing the story, a flicker of something—perhaps a distant memory of gratitude—crossed Jacob’s face. He finally spoke, his voice strained with forced composure. “Molly, that’s a keepsake between us. It has a special meaning. Giving it to a child… isn’t that inappropriate?” I turned to face him, my smile deepening. “What’s inappropriate about it? She calls you ‘Godfather,’ doesn’t she? By that logic, she should call me ‘Godmother.’ A gift for my goddaughter is perfectly reasonable, wouldn’t you say?” My gaze shifted to Serena, whose face was now ashen. “Right, Miss Frost?” Serena’s lips trembled as she forced a smile that was uglier than a grimace. Just then, the little girl rummaged in her small backpack and pulled out a bracelet, holding it out to me. “Auntie, this is for you!” My pupils contracted. My expression hardened instantly. It was a jade bracelet, inlaid with a small gold charm engraved with the secret Leroy family crest. It was one of my mother’s heirlooms, my dowry, passed down through generations of Leroy women. It had vanished without a trace last year. I had used all my connections, even filed a police report, but it was never found. And all this time, he had stolen it to give to his illegitimate daughter. The moment Jacob saw the bracelet, his face contorted. “Molly, listen to me, it’s a fake! It’s not the one you lost! I just liked the design, so I had a copy made for the kid to play with…” He shot Aria a venomous glare. “Aria, give that back! It’s not worth anything, Auntie won’t want it!” He reached out to snatch it back. I was faster. I grabbed the bracelet from the girl’s hand. “No, I love it.” Watching the color drain from both his and Serena’s faces, I added slowly, “The one my mother gave me is gone. This replica will be a nice memento, don’t you think?” I pretended to examine it closely, then let out a small laugh. “The color of this jade… it’s almost convincing. But the craftsmanship, the engraving is so blurred… a fake is a fake. It can never be the real thing.” Jacob’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly. He let out a quiet breath of relief. “Of course. It could never compare to yours.” Serena, however, looked ill. She pressed a hand to her forehead and swayed, collapsing weakly against Jacob. “Jules, I feel dizzy… so sick…” I watched her clumsy performance with cold, impassive eyes. Jacob, however, was a flurry of concern. He pushed me aside, scooped Serena into his arms, and shot me a reproachful look. “I’m taking Serena to rest. Her health is fragile! You… just stay away!” I stood motionless as the three of them hurried away and disappeared around the corner. I looked down at the bracelet in my palm. How many other secrets had Jacob kept from me all these years? I took out my phone and called a contact at a local French conglomerate. “Ethan, it’s me. Get me the best private investigator in Paris…” After securing the company’s contracts, I flew back home. That evening, Jacob’s video call came through right on schedule. Seeing me at home, he visibly relaxed. “Molly, Serena’s condition is getting worse. I really can’t leave… I’m so sorry you have to spend your birthday alone again.” I managed a “tolerant” smile. “It’s alright. Her health is what’s important. I understand.” “I had your gift sent over,” he said quickly, as if presenting a prize. “It should be there soon. I know you’ll love it.” I glanced at the trash can in the corner of the living room, stuffed with 999 red roses and a cloyingly sweet black truffle cake. The same as every other year. Utterly uninspired. I used jet lag as an excuse and ended the call. A message from the private investigator arrived. I opened it. It was a photo of Jacob, Serena, and Aria setting off fireworks, celebrating their “Happy 7th Anniversary.” A wave of nausea washed over me. Was I the other woman? They had been together for seven years. We had been married for six. For six years, I had spent every one of my birthdays alone. “Molly, Serena’s ‘autumn melancholy’ is very serious. She’s an orphan. If I don’t take care of her, no one will.” “Molly, you’re the most generous and kind person I know. Please, forgive her. She’s not well.” He had lied to me for six years while he was with her for six years. What a monumental fool I had been. My phone vibrated again. It was Ethan. “Molly, I’ve seen the ‘scenery’ here in France. Is there anything you need my people to do? Teach him a little lesson, or perhaps make Miss Frost…” He didn’t finish, but his meaning was clear. My eyes turned to ice. “No. When the time is right, I’ll buy you a drink.” Ethan chuckled softly. “What kind of drink?” “A drink at my husband’s funeral.” His laughter grew louder, but there was no surprise in it. “In that case, I’ll be there. And I’ll send the biggest wreath.” After hanging up, a sense of profound exhaustion and absurdity washed over me. I once thought Jacob and I were destined to be together. The Vance family had also proposed a marriage alliance back then, but I had refused without hesitation. All because of that day in America, when we were robbed at gunpoint. I took a bullet for him, and he took three knife wounds protecting me. In the hospital, he looked at my bandaged arm, I looked at his swaddled torso, and we both smiled. “Jacob Thorne,” I had said, “I think we can call this a bond forged in blood. It must be fate.” Now, it seemed it was just another one of life’s cruel jokes. Ding-dong. The doorbell rang. It was my aunt, Genevieve Leroy. After reviewing the investigator’s file, she frowned. “The Thornes and the Leroys. A generational alliance.” “I was married to Jacob’s uncle, Marcus Thorne, for ten years. In the end, it was nothing but a mess of broken pieces. I divorced him.” She looked at me, her gaze deep. “And now, you and Jacob… are no exception. Perhaps the Thorne family is rotten, from the roots to the leaves.” “But Molly, be sure. Once you make your move, there’s no turning back. Are you truly prepared to be this ruthless?” I lifted my head to meet her gaze and nodded firmly. “He wants to have it all, the wife and the mistress. He can’t have his cake and eat it too.” “When he married me, he knelt in the Leroy family chapel and swore an oath. If he ever betrayed Molly Leroy, he would suffer a terrible death and be subject to my judgment. The reckoning has come. If heaven won’t take him, I will.” My aunt studied me for a long moment, then clapped me firmly on the shoulder. “Alright. Since you’ve made up your mind, I’ll help you clean up the mess.” I knew she had the power to do it. Marcus Thorne had been a notorious womanizer. She had dealt with his first two mistresses quietly, without a trace. It was only the third time that she chose the most dramatic path. At a Thorne family banquet, she had publicly whipped him thirty times with a horsewhip, leaving him bloody and humiliated, and used the scandal to force the Thorne matriarch to strip him of his inheritance rights. Then, she had coolly returned to the Leroy family with her children, changing their surname to Leroy. My aunt gave Marcus three chances. I would not. In six years, Jacob had countless opportunities to turn back. He didn’t take a single one. My patience had run out. Forensic specialists turned our home upside down and finally found the substance Jacob had been using to poison me. I stared at the swapped-out vitamin bottle and gave a bitter laugh. For six years, except for the three months he was away, he would prepare my vitamins and a glass of warm water for me every single night. I used to think he was so thoughtful and considerate. It was all a lie. The consideration was fake; the poison was real. He had gone to such great lengths to ensure I would never get pregnant. Just then, another update came from the PI. Jacob and Serena had been spotted at a top-tier auction house in Paris. I glanced at the calendar. Today was Serena’s birthday. My birthday gifts were always roses and cake, but for Serena, he went to an auction house. Hah. Trying to win the lady’s favor? How could I not help him? I immediately contacted my art consultant in France. “Keep your eyes on Jacob Thorne. Whatever he bids on, you follow. The only goal is to drive the final price up to a level that will make him bleed.” “Understood, Ms. Leroy.” Serena had her eye on a piece of ancient jade, one that symbolized “eternal love.” Jacob raised his paddle again and again. My consultant shadowed his every move. The price skyrocketed. Jacob’s face grew darker and darker. Finally, after another bid, he could no longer contain himself. He turned and yelled at my consultant across the crowded room. “Sir, are you deliberately trying to cross me? Do you know who I am? I am Jacob Thorne, head of the Thorne family and son-in-law to the powerhouse Leroy family!” The consultant offered a professional, placid smile. “My apologies, sir. This is France. I don’t know you.” Jacob was visibly enraged. He gritted his teeth and, with a burst of reckless bravado, shouted a final, staggering bid. “Two hundred million!” The ancient jade was sold to Jacob Thorne for an astronomical price. I knew his personal liquid assets were nowhere near enough to cover that figure. Sure enough, my phone rang soon after. “Molly, we have an urgent project at the company that needs a bit of a cash injection for turnover. I was wondering…” I let out a silent, cold laugh, but my voice was full of concern. “How much do you need?” “One hundred and fifty million.” “Alright.” I agreed readily, then immediately changed my tune. “But I’ll need you to use your equivalent shares in the Thorne Group as collateral.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. After several seconds, he spoke, his voice laced with disbelief. “Molly? Do we… really need to do things this way between us?” His tone was that of a man who had been deeply wronged. I scoffed. “Fine, then. Go ask your parents for the money.” Sensing I wouldn’t budge, he immediately caved. “Alright. Fine.” I emailed him the digital collateral agreement and received his signed copy moments later. I was curious to see just how deep his love for Serena ran. When faced with a choice between power and love, between his status and his children, what would he choose? The show was about to begin. For over two months, the PI sent me a steady stream of information, enough to make a feature film. Autumn faded into winter, and Jacob called. “Molly, Serena’s condition has stabilized. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I looked at the coffin and the signed promissory note I had prepared, a cold smile touching my lips. “Good. I’ll throw you a welcome home party.”

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My husband tricked me into a divorce because his little intern was pregnant. I stared at the papers in my hand—a liver cancer diagnosis and a positive pregnancy test—and finally, I could breathe. The cancer was my husband’s. The baby was his best friend’s. To make sure I wouldn’t suspect a thing, my husband, Liam, had given me the house and all our savings. I looked at him, my heart swelling with a strange, sharp pity. “Aren’t you worried I’ll take this for real, Liam?” He gave me that gentle smile, the one that used to make my knees weak. “Then I guess I’ll have to live with that.” I just shook my head. You poor, stupid man. The ink on our divorce papers was barely dry when I married his best friend. Liam’s disbelief was a sight to behold. “Audrey? Don’t you love me anymore?” I clutched my purse to my chest. “Let’s not get confused,” I said. “I’m not your wife. And I am definitely not your nurse.” 1 My husband, Liam, was the perfect man. Thoughtful, kind, and ridiculously good to me. That didn’t stop him from sleeping with Chloe, the fresh-out-of-college intern from his office. The moment I found out, my world tilted on its axis. But Liam worked in investment banking, pulling in over twenty grand a month. He was my winning lottery ticket. I couldn’t just throw him away. And then there was his best friend, Leo. A trust fund kid who’d slummed it in finance for fun. He was handsome, charming, with the kind of old-money politeness that felt like a weapon. I had a thing for him. A secret, stupid little crush. Being married to Liam, it was something I kept locked away. But after I found out about the affair? The lock didn’t feel so strong anymore. 2 Leo was Liam’s colleague. He was the one who always brought my husband home after a client dinner went too long or a celebration got out of hand. He was also the one who told me. He’d helped me get a dead-drunk Liam onto our bed one night. As he was leaving, he paused at the door, his expression unreadable. “You know, Audrey,” he said, his voice low and laced with something I couldn’t quite name. “You should really come out to these things more often. It’s hard to keep a man on a leash if you’re not holding it.” After settling Liam, I rushed back to the living room. “What is that supposed to mean? Tell me.” Leo looked almost pained. He pulled out his phone and, with a heavy sigh, showed me a picture. Liam, with his arm wrapped tight around a girl—Chloe. Her smile was pure poison. She was the same girl who’d been orbiting him since her university days, a classic office predator. Liam had always been so firm about us, so I’d never given her a second thought. 3 I went through Liam’s phone. His main account was clean, meticulously so. But he had a burner account, hidden deep within a folder of useless apps. It was a digital shrine to their affair. Explicit photos, secret messages. I screen-recorded everything. My first instinct was to build a magnificent PowerPoint presentation, a corporate-style takedown, and email it to his entire company. But that felt too easy. Too quick. And honestly, a man who could generate that much income was an asset I wasn’t ready to liquidate. That was two months ago. I’d been dragging my feet, marinating in my anger. In that time, Leo’s attention toward me had shifted from casual concern to something much more… focused. 4 One night, he brought Liam home again, completely wasted. We managed to haul him onto the bed, and I was struggling to unbutton his shirt when I felt it. A hand, warm and firm, on the small of my back. A moment later, a solid chest was pressed against me. I froze, my voice a strangled whisper. “What are you doing?” Leo’s arms wrapped around me. “Don’t you know, Audrey?” he murmured into my hair. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.” “Let go of me,” I hissed, trying to pull away. “Why are you still with him? He’s already checked out,” Leo’s voice was a low thrum against my back. “I’m younger. I have more money. And I wouldn’t cheat on you. Be with me, Audrey. I’ll treat you right. Better than him.” Just as I was about to refuse, he kissed me. 5 It had been three years. The number of times Liam and I had sex had dwindled to maybe once a month. Kissing was practically off the table. I used to think his high-stress job had drained him. Now I knew it was Chloe. Leo’s kiss was wet and hot and hungry, and it woke something up in me. With my husband passed out just inches away, the thrill of it was a jolt to my system. But I still found the strength to pull back and slap him. Hard. “Get. Out.” He touched his cheek, a flush creeping up his neck, and left without another word. 6 That weekend, someone new moved into the apartment upstairs. It was Leo. He came by, all bright smiles and neighborly charm, to let us know. Liam, oblivious as ever, saw nothing strange about it. A few minutes later, Liam announced he had to go back to the office to “handle some things.” The moment his car was out of the garage, there was a knock on my door. It was Leo. “He went to see Chloe,” he said, no preamble. “How do you know?” He made a tsking sound and showed me his phone. It was a screenshot of a text from Chloe herself. “Why would she text you?” “She invited me over for a drink. I said no,” he smirked. “So she had to prove she wasn’t lacking for male attention.” 7 I rolled my eyes and tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his foot and slipped inside, backing me against the wall. His arms came up on either side of my head, caging me in. My heart hammered against my ribs. “He betrayed you, Audrey,” he whispered, his face close to mine. “Why are you still playing the loyal wife?” “What do you want?” I said, my hands pressed against his chest. “I’ll call the cops.” “Don’t tell me you feel nothing. Why else have you been stealing glances at me for the past year?” I bit my lip. “How do I know this isn’t some twisted game? That Liam didn’t put you up to this, to catch me cheating so he could divorce me without losing a dime?” A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his handsome face, then he laughed, a low, throaty sound. “You think you’re in a movie, sweetheart?” 8 And then he was on me, lifting me up and carrying me to the sofa. He pinned my wrists above my head, his body a heavy, welcome weight. “How about this,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I’ll give you all the leverage. When we’re done, you can go to the police. Tell them I forced you. How does that sound?” He started kissing me again, and this time, my struggles were half-hearted at best. He paused, his breath hot on my neck. “You don’t have any security cameras in here, do you?” I shook my head. Probably not. Still, he got up, pulled out his phone, and used some app to sweep the room for listening devices. I just watched him, my clothes in disarray, my face flushed. I wanted this. It had been so long since I’d felt wanted. I was barely thirty, but I felt like I was living in a convent. The needs were still there. 9 The scan finished. He lunged. As his hands went to the waistband of my pants, I stopped him. He seemed to think it was part of the game. “Do you have your latest health records?” I asked. The mood shattered. He froze, then let out a sharp “Fuck.” He sat up, fumbled for his phone again, and pulled up a full medical report. It was a month old. I wasn’t convinced. He left, promising to go to a clinic first thing in the morning. He seemed more desperate to get laid than my husband ever had. 10 All I could think about was his face, the heat of his breath, the feel of his lips on my skin. I went and changed my underwear. I was starting to understand Liam. This felt good. After three years of passionless routine, this raw excitement was a drug. That afternoon, Leo returned, dressed in a sharp suit. As I reviewed the brand-new, time-stamped medical report, he casually loosened his tie, and before I knew it, he was using it to bind my wrists together. He kissed me, his voice a low growl. “Is this better, Audrey? Feel safe now?” My protest was a weak, breathy, “No…” His eyes went dark, like he’d just been shot up with adrenaline. 11 Afterward, he held me in our marital bed. “What if Liam comes back?” I whispered, a thread of panic weaving through my post-coital haze. He glanced at his phone. “He won’t. They’re at a spa upstate.” “Oh.” I started kissing him again. I wanted more. I’d been starving for too long. 12 When Liam finally came home, he looked exhausted. “You look awful, honey,” I said, all wifely concern. “Are you feeling okay?” I’d seen the texts Chloe had sent to Leo. To keep up with her, Liam had been relying on a steady diet of performance-enhancing drugs. That explained why he was useless at home, why our monthly encounters felt like a mandatory, joyless chore. His expression flickered. “Just… tired. A lot of late nights at the office.” “You need to rest.” I brought him a glass of water. Then I went to the laundry room and stripped the bed, tossing the evidence of my afternoon into the washing machine. You couldn’t be too careful. 13 Liam’s life fell back into its rhythm of work and client dinners. He was out drinking three, sometimes four nights a week, always coming home completely obliterated. And Leo was always the one to bring him. While I unbuttoned Liam’s shirt, Leo would be unbuttoning mine. Sometimes, I’d watch my husband’s sleeping face, my heart pounding with terror. The fear only seemed to make Leo more excited. I was developing a taste for it. Then, Liam announced he was going out of town for two weeks for a big project. This was normal. 14 The moment he was gone, I moved in with Leo. It was just an elevator ride away. During those two weeks, a strange thing happened. My rage at Liam began to cool. I had hated him for his betrayal, but now… now I understood. Marriage could be profoundly boring. And life is too short to be tied to one person. If I had a husband and a lover, my energy was divided. Liam would no longer suffocate under the weight of my undivided attention and love. It was a win-win-win situation. Liam probably felt the same way. After all, his paycheck was still direct-deposited into our joint account—an account that was solely in my name. 15 Another two months passed. Liam looked worse and worse, his skin sallow and his eyes hollow. It was like he was running himself into the ground for fun. My best friend, Maya, gave me a voucher for a full executive health screening. I figured even if we weren’t sleeping together, with the way he was playing around, it was better to be safe. I made him go. Before the results were even back, my phone buzzed. It was a screenshot from Leo. A text from Chloe: [Wanna see what it’s like with a pregnant woman? Because I am.] I started chewing on my thumbnail. She was pregnant? This complicated things. 16 A money tree like Liam was hard to find. A guy like Leo was fun, but he wasn’t the type to stick around. If Chloe was pregnant, would Liam actually divorce me? Before I could even start strategizing, the hospital called. Liam’s results were, in their words, “concerning.” I rushed over to pick them up. Suspected liver cancer. It needed more tests for a final confirmation, but as Maya said, it was almost certainly a done deal. Given his lifestyle—the constant drinking, the smoking, the stress—it made a grim kind of sense. 17 I looked at the report and felt a wave of nausea. Maya looked at me with pity. “God, Audrey. Don’t tell me he’s got cancer and you’re pregnant.” I frowned, then drove to a pharmacy and bought a test. Positive.

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I’ve been officially “dead” for five years. And Julian, the guy I grew up with, the boy I loved, has supposedly been visiting my grave every single year. Which is rich, considering he was the one who told me, five years ago, to get lost and never contact him again. Then I came home. We ran into each other at a club. Before I could even say hello, his bodyguards slammed me against the wall. Julian stared at me, his eyes colder than I’d ever seen them. “Who,” he whispered, “gave you permission to get her face?” He looked at his men. “Ruin her.” Seriously? Did everyone just forget how laws work while I was gone? 1 The second I cleared baggage claim, a black-clad missile hit me. “Zoe! I thought you’d never come back!” It was Maya, my best friend. After five years, I could barely breathe, and not just because she was squeezing my ribs. “Maya,” I gasped. “Air.” “Right. Sorry.” She pulled back, her eyes sparkling. “So, you’re back for good?” I nodded. “Back for good.” A wicked grin spread across her face. “Oh, I can’t wait to see Julian’s face. He’s going to think he’s seeing a ghost.” Julian. My childhood sweetheart. The only person I’d ever loved. Maya had kept me updated. He wasn’t the same guy I’d left. He’d finally taken his seat at the head of his family’s empire. And me? I’d spent five years in hiding, just trying to stay alive. “You didn’t tell him I was coming, did you?” I asked. “And spoil the fun?” Maya scoffed. “No way. Not after how he treated you.” Back then… My mind drifted. We were supposed to get married right after graduation. Then my father’s terminal diagnosis came, and with it, the vultures—the half-siblings I never even knew I had. They planned to cut me out of the inheritance, permanently. A “man-made” car accident left me clinging to life. That’s when my mom shipped me out of the country with Elena, her most trusted advisor. Right before I left, I called him. I told him I was leaving, but I was too scared to tell him about the crash. He didn’t take it well. “Why are you going? I told you I’d help you fight them!” “Or do you not think I can?” I never doubted him. But we were kids. We didn’t have the power. I couldn’t let him get caught in the crossfire. I didn’t even know if I’d survive. So I broke his heart. “My mind is made up.” His voice cracked. “Zoe. I’m begging you. Don’t do this.” I clutched the phone, my whole body aching. “I’m sorry, Julian.” He was quiet for a second. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. This is the first and last time I will ever beg anyone for anything. If you walk away, we’re strangers. Don’t ever contact me again.” He hung up. The second the call ended, the world went black. 2 I woke up twenty days later on a different continent. The first thing I learned was that, back home, I was dead. Elena explained it. “The moment our jet touched down, your father’s other children leaked the ‘news’ of your tragic death. They wanted to use the press to fast-track the inheritance.” “Your mother,” she said, “decided to let them. She confirmed the story. It’s the only way to keep them off your back while she cleans house.” I understood. But it meant I had to stay hidden. My injuries were… extensive. Especially my face. Mom hired the best surgical team in the world, but I’m not the girl I was. Maya only recognized me instantly because we’ve spent the last five years on FaceTime. I linked my arm through hers. “Good. Let him be surprised.” No one waits for five years. The past should stay buried. 3 First, Maya dragged me to the cemetery. She pointed to a pristine gravestone with my name on it. “He’s a real piece of work, this one,” she said, trying not to laugh. “He says he hates your guts, but he’s been here every year on your ‘anniversary,’ regular as clockwork.” She rolled her eyes. “And then he spends the other 364 days parading around with Claire Vanderbilt. Word is they’re engaged. Don’t worry, I’ll crash the wedding and get you some cake.” I didn’t say anything. I just stared at the bouquet of fresh hyacinths at the base of the stone. They used to be my favorite. This whole charade. The only person we’d fooled was him. What did he think, when he heard I’d died? I shook my head. He has a new life. A fiancée. Claire Vanderbilt. She’s probably perfect. “You’ve been out of the game for five years,” Maya said, pulling me into a cab. “Tonight, I’m finding you some high-quality eye candy.” I started to object. “Relax,” she said, seeing my face. “It’s just drinks. I’m not stupid enough to fall for that ‘true love’ crap anymore.” 4 Maya, true to her word, was an expert flirt. She had two guys wrapped around her finger in minutes. I was worried she’d get too drunk, so I kept my own intake low and made a quick run to the bathroom. Coming out, I was moving too fast and slammed right into a solid, human wall. “Oof. Sorry, man, your chest is like—” I looked up. And froze. Julian. He stared at me. His eyes went wide. He grabbed my wrist, his voice rough. “Zoe?” He recognized me. After all this time, all the surgery, he— THWACK. He shoved me so hard I hit the floor. The shock was colder than the tile. He looked down, his face a mask of pure ice. “Who gave you permission to get her face? Did Claire send you? Is this a test?” He snapped his fingers at the two bodyguards I hadn’t even noticed. “Ruin her.” One of the men pulled a small, gleaming knife. My blood ran cold. This wasn’t Julian. This was a monster. I couldn’t move. I just stared up at him. As the man with the knife reached for me, Julian’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes. “Stop.” The man froze. Julian opened his eyes, the coldness back, but now laced with something else. Disgust. “Get out of here,” he spat at me. “If I ever see your face again, you won’t be this lucky.” His crew swept past me and was gone. I sat there for a second, my heart hammering. Then I pulled out my phone. “911? Yes, I’d like to report an assault and a death threat.”

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My boyfriend let his new ‘little sister’ submit an application to transfer me hundreds of miles away. He called it a prank. I called it a reason to leave. So I packed my bags, boarded the plane, and started a new life without him in it. 1 The day before the transfer deadline, I saw my name on the student exchange list for the university’s satellite campus, hundreds of miles away. The applicant was Liam, my boyfriend. My fingers trembled as I dialed his number. His voice was casual, light. “Oh, that? Maya submitted it for me. She said it would be a funny prank to play on you.” He added, “You just have to go in and withdraw the application. No big deal.” Maya. The freshman who had insisted on becoming Liam’s “little sister.” I held the phone, silent, for a full minute before hanging up. I realized then that the four years of my life, the future I had so carefully planned, was nothing more than a joke to him. I didn’t argue. I packed my books, my laptop, my life. And when the time came, I boarded the plane. Halfway through the flight, my phone vibrated. It was Liam, his voice frantic. “I told you to withdraw the application! You didn’t withdraw it, did you?” “No,” I said. When I first saw my name on that exchange list, I froze. I was staring at the laptop screen, but the words blurred into nonsense. Liam and I had a plan. We’d both agreed to stay at the main campus this semester, to focus on prepping for the national academic competition. It was a goal we’d set together two years ago. But now, the system showed I was slated to go alone to the southern campus. If I hadn’t checked it on a whim, I wouldn’t have even had the chance to withdraw. I took a deep breath and called him. He was so nonchalant, like he was talking about the weather. “Oh, that. Maya thought it would be funny, you know? A little prank to see if you’d notice before you got shipped off.” He laughed. A small, airy sound. “The deadline hasn’t passed yet. Just remember to go cancel it.” Liam’s words were light, but each one landed like a shard of ice in my chest. “So,” I began, my voice trembling with a weakness I hated, “you think this is… just a small thing?” “Here we go,” he sighed, the impatience sharp in his tone. “Are you really going to make a big deal out of this? Just withdraw it and it’s over. Maya’s just… energetic. She was playing around.” I stared at the transfer notification on my screen. My throat felt thick, clogged with wet cotton. It took me a moment to find my voice. “What if I hadn’t noticed in time? Maya used my student ID and password. I could report her to the dean’s office for this.” Liam’s voice went cold instantly. “Ava, you are becoming seriously unreasonable.” “It was a joke. And you want to report her? When are you going to cut her some slack?” He was getting worked up now, his voice rising. “I’ve told you a million times, she’s a freshman, she just transferred here, she doesn’t know anyone. I’m like her campus big brother. What’s wrong with me looking out for her?” He finished with a sharp, final blow. “You know what? If you report her, you might as well report me, too.” The line went dead. The dial tone was a high, piercing whine that drilled into my ear, pinning me to my chair. I held the phone, my own shocked face reflected in the dark screen. The sounds of the library around me faded into a distorted silence. High school to college. I’d known Liam for five years, dated him for four. He was my boyfriend, the upperclassman who had guided me through the confusing first days on campus. I thought back to freshman year of high school, when I’d hidden in a library carrel, crying because I was homesick. He’d found me, sat with me, and talked me through it with a gentleness that soothed the ache in my chest. I remembered the homecoming dance our sophomore year, when a senior girl wouldn’t leave him alone. I’d walked right up and looped my arm through his, claiming him. The way he’d looked down at me then, his eyes crinkling with a smile. After the dance, walking me back to my dorm, he’d asked me to be his girlfriend under a sliver of a moon. Five years had woven him into the very fabric of my life. Everyone said we were the campus golden couple, destined to walk the same path. We’d already planned it all out: after graduation, we’d stay in this city, get an apartment, adopt a cat. We were going to carefully transplant our student love into the real world and watch it grow. Everything was supposed to run on its designated track, smooth and steady, toward a bright future. But now, I was staring at a cold, digital notification that felt like a punchline to a joke I wasn’t in on. The mouse cursor hovered over the “Withdraw” button, separated from it by an invisible chasm. All it would take was one click. One tiny movement, and the turbulence would smooth out, life would return to its familiar orbit. But his voice echoed in my ears, light and dismissive. She was just playing around. Are you really going to make a big deal out of this? It was the straw that broke something deep inside me. A profound, bone-deep weariness washed up from the soles of my feet, drowning everything else. Suddenly, none of it seemed to matter anymore. I didn’t even have the strength to lift my finger and click the button that was right there, waiting. A soft tap on the glass of the study room door broke my trance. I looked up, dazed, to see Maya standing there. When she caught my eye, she tapped again, motioning for me to come out. I pushed the door open, a cool draft from the hallway hitting my face. She took a half-step toward me, her voice syrupy sweet. “Ava, hey! Hope I’m not bothering you?” She tilted her head, her expression a careful performance of innocence. “I was just talking to Liam about me joining the student government, and he seemed a little down. Said he needed to get some air.” She paused, watching my reaction, a subtle curve to her lips. Her voice grew even more earnest. “So I wanted to ask you… is it okay if I go with him?” She said it so directly, her words chosen to sound considerate and respectful, as if she were truly asking for my permission. But the triumphant glint in her eyes, a light she could barely contain, was a tiny needle that punctured the whole facade. For the past six months, it had always been like this. She’d wear this mask of innocence in front of me, acting out these little dramas, pretending to hide her intentions while letting her smug satisfaction leak out at the edges. I just stared at her, my gaze sweeping over her perfectly crafted innocent face. I felt a coldness spread through my chest, like I was slowly sinking into an icy lake. Liam. When did he change? Why would he fall for this girl, who was so transparently artificial? At first, Liam had been openly annoyed by Maya’s attention. He’d called her clingy and exhausting. That all changed after the inter-university basketball tournament. He’d gone up for a rebound and landed wrong, twisting his ankle. It swelled up instantly. I was out of town at a crucial, intensive training camp for the academic competition. We weren’t even allowed to have our phones on most of the time. Later, I heard that Maya, who had been watching from the sidelines, burst into tears on the spot. But she hadn’t just stood there crying. With red-rimmed eyes, she had scrambled to follow him to the campus clinic, handling his registration, getting his prescription, clumsily but persistently taking care of everything. Even more surprisingly, for the entire next week, she got up an hour early every single day to meet him at his dorm, letting him lean on her as they slowly made their way to class. At the end of the day, she would do the same thing in reverse. For seven whole days. After that, their relationship warmed at a speed visible to the naked eye. Maya started calling him her “Big Brother Liam,” a title she announced half-jokingly, half-seriously, at a crowded party. And Liam… he didn’t stop her. The story spread like wildfire across campus. The brilliant, kind-but-reserved Student Government President, Liam, had an inseparable “little sister.” And as his actual girlfriend, I was given a matching, painfully awkward nickname in all the whispers and jokes: the “Official Sister-in-Law.” Every time I heard it, my stomach would clench. It just felt… wrong. But Liam would just laugh and ruffle my hair. “Don’t listen to them. You know you’re the only one for me.” Now, looking at Maya’s triumphant smile, I wondered if he could still say that and mean it. I pulled the corner of my mouth into a sarcastic smile. She kept her sweet expression perfectly in place. “Ava, are you mad at me?” Before I could answer, Liam strode up behind her. “Maya, I told you to wait for me in the library. Why’d you come all the way over here?” “I… I wasn’t sure if I should say yes to going for a walk with you…” Maya twisted the hem of her shirt, feigning anxiety. “So I wanted to ask Ava’s opinion.” Liam’s expression softened immediately. “I want you to keep me company. Why would you need someone else’s permission for that?” “But…” Maya looked down, the corner of her mouth twitching into a fleeting smile, though she held her hesitant pose. Liam’s gaze snapped to me. His eyes were full of impatience. “Maya is being more than respectful, don’t you think? She’s coming to you for permission just to take a walk with me. And you? You can’t even take a simple joke.” He still thought it was a joke. A harmless, insignificant prank. And I was the one who was being difficult. But why? Why should I have to accept a joke like that? A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Respectful? Are you really so blind you can’t see the game she’s been playing with you for the last six months?” I turned my attention fully on him. “Leaving you breakfast with little notes in front of your whole class, clinging to you and playing cute… you think that’s respectful? Pestering you until you let her call you her ‘brother’? It’s not just awkward, it’s pathetic. Can’t you see how fake this all is?” The color drained from Maya’s face. Her shoulders started to tremble as tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Liam’s face hardened. “Ava, why are you being so cruel?” He let out a short, sharp laugh, full of scorn. “An attitude like that? You’re not just a bad girlfriend, you can’t even be a decent friend.” It felt like a pair of shears had been driven straight into my chest, a deep, dull ache spreading outward. I never thought Liam, my Liam, could say something so humiliating to me. What did he think I was? A disposable part of his life? A bad girlfriend? Was he breaking up with me? I stared at him, unblinking. For a second, his expression wavered, and he looked away. I knew he was thinking of our life together, just like I was. All those years, we had been each other’s rock. We had never tried to truly hurt one another. But he had changed. His loyalty, his heart… it had shifted completely to Maya. “Maya is a good person. She won’t take this to heart,” he said, his voice clipped. “Just apologize to her, and we can move on from this.” That one sentence. In that one moment, five years of trust and intimacy shattered. I shook my head calmly. “I’m not apologizing.” His tone turned menacing. “Ava, are you really going to be like this?” Like what? I didn’t understand. Everything he was saying felt absurd. Suddenly, the will to fight, to argue, to even speak, vanished. “This is who I’ve always been,” I said. Then I turned, walked back into the study room, and shut the door behind me with a decisive click. Back at my desk, I stared at the student exchange portal again. One hour left. In one hour, the application would be irreversible. I would be leaving the city I had lived in for years, heading for a new life at the southern campus. I still didn’t click “Withdraw.” I just looked at the screen for a long time. Then I started Googling the satellite campus, reading about its programs, its dorms, its weather. Time slipped by. The application deadline passed. The status on my screen changed from “Submitted” to “Confirmed.” I let out a slow breath. Leaving Liam… it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. In fact, what I felt most was a sense of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted. My phone screen lit up. It was my best friend, Jess. A string of furious texts appeared. “AVA! I’M AT O’MALLEY’S AND YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS.” “LIAM IS HERE! AND THAT MAYA GIRL! WITH A BUNCH OF PEOPLE FROM STUDENT GOVERNMENT.” “THEY’RE DOING KARAOKE AND EVERYONE IS CHEERING FOR HIM AND MAYA TO SING A DUET! MY GOD, SHE’S PRACTICALLY DRAPED OVER HIM!” A shaky video followed. The image was blurry, the bar lighting dim and intimate. Liam was in the center of a circle of people, his collar unbuttoned, a smile on his face. Maya was pressed up against his side, her cheeks flushed. She was looking down shyly as people hollered, but she made no move to pull away. A voice yelled over the noise, “Come on, Prez! You know the rules! You lose the drinking game, you either sing a love song with a partner of our choice, or you call Ava and have her come pick you up! Your choice!” “YEAH! Call her! Let’s see if Ava will grace us with her presence!” The energy in the room peaked. Everyone knew we were fighting. And nothing fuels a crowd like drama. At the suggestion, Maya looked up at Liam, her eyes full of hopeful expectation. Liam frowned, clearly annoyed by the spectacle. He was silent for a few seconds. Then he pulled out his phone. Maya’s face fell. The call connected. His voice was stiff. “I was out of line earlier. I’ve cooled down now.” A pause. “Come over to O’Malley’s. Apologize to Maya in person, and we’ll pretend today never happened.” I said nothing. His patience evaporated. “Did you hear me? Is it really that hard for you to just say you’re sorry?” “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “The only way I’m apologizing is if I’m dead.” “Fine! Ava, you want to be stubborn? Fine!” His anger exploded through the speaker. “Then you can stay on the line and listen to me sing a love song with someone else!” I hung up. Instantly, a new video from Jess came through. The scene was chaotic. Liam had thrown the microphone to the ground. Maya’s voice trembled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Liam, we don’t have to sing. Please don’t be angry…” “Who said I’m not singing?” Liam’s head snapped up, his eyes finding the camera, finding Jess. He knew she was filming. “What are you hiding for? Keep recording! Make sure your precious best friend gets a good look at who I’m with now!” He grabbed Maya’s hand. As their friends gasped and cheered, he laced his fingers through hers and began to sing. Seeing that, a sharp, involuntary pang went through my heart. But the pain was fleeting. It came and went in a flash. I closed the video. And I went back to packing my suitcase. A few minutes later, I sent a text to Jess. “Hey, can you help me shop for some summer clothes tomorrow? It’s warm down south.”

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It was Black Friday, the biggest livestream sales event of the year, and my husband’s bubble-headed secretary had eagerly volunteered for the most critical job. “Oh, Mr. Forrester, please trust me! I promise I can handle it this time!” My husband, completely charmed, insisted on putting her in the control room to manage the central console. Our team of seasoned hosts stood ready, their energy electric, each one poised to passionately pitch their products. The clock struck 11:11 PM. On cue, every host across every channel shouted in unison, “The deals are live!” A split second later, a product originally priced at $999 was listed at $9.99—and sold out a million times over. And just like that, I knew. My husband’s company was finished. 1 The last time this happened, I fought tooth and nail to keep Tina out of the control room. I ignored my husband Benjamin’s repeated warnings and threats, physically blocking her from the console. Our sales that night shattered records, topping a hundred million. But instead of celebrating, Benjamin furiously handed me divorce papers. “It was a perfect chance for a rookie to get some experience! Why did you have to stick your nose in it?” I tried to explain that I’d personally seen Tina change the price tag to $9.99, but he just shoved me to the floor. The company’s veteran hosts stood up for me, presenting a mountain of evidence of Tina’s past mistakes—wrong products, incorrect prices, botched links. The board of directors saw the proof and ordered the legal department to recoup the three million dollars in potential losses she had almost caused. Unable to pay it back, Tina leaped from the roof of the company building. To avenge her, Benjamin locked me in the warehouse’s walk-in freezer and left me to die. “Alice!” he’d screamed, his voice echoing in the frigid darkness. “It was only three million dollars! You used to burn through that much on fan giveaways without batting an eye, so why did you have to target her?” “Since you care so much about this merchandise, you can be buried with it! Let’s see who wants to buy products that have been sitting next to a corpse!” I froze to death in that dark, steel box, my body turning a bruised, ugly purple. My last breath was a vow: if I had another chance, I would never, ever stop Tina from changing that price. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the day of the Black Friday livestream. “Alice,” one of my senior managers whispered, her face tight with worry. “Mr. Forrester is insisting that Tina be on the console. We’re talking about billions in potential traffic today. Maybe you should be the one to make the call… and keep her out.” I glanced through the glass door of the control room. Tina was outside, peering in with wide, curious eyes. A tremor of ice-cold memory shot through me. Our eyes met. She beamed and pushed the door open. “Alice, I knew you wouldn’t defy Mr. Forrester! He said if I do a great job managing the console tonight, it’ll be amazing for my resume. A promotion and a raise could be right around the corner!” Before I could say a word, she held up her phone, which was on a video call. “Mr. Forrester! See? I told you Alice wasn’t as heartless as you said! I might be a little clumsy, but I’ll try my absolute best!” My colleague beside me winced. “Alice…” But Tina was already turning the phone around, shoving Benjamin’s furious face into my view. “Alice, drop the act,” he snarled through the speaker. “You’re not getting credit for this one. The rookies deserve a shot on Black Friday, and that’s final.” I stayed silent. Tina, however, leaned in close to the screen, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Mr. Forrester, you’re so right! You have to give us newbies a chance to shine! I know Alice has a habit of holding new talent down, but with you in charge, I’m sure she won’t dare.” Even some of the new hosts waiting in the wings nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Alice. Mr. Forrester said to give the new people a chance. Black Friday is the best time to rack up sales and build our careers. You can’t just give all the opportunities to your veteran crew!” Tina shot a playful little tongue-stick-out at the screen, and at that exact moment, a notification buzzed on everyone’s phone. It was a company-wide memo. Black Friday Livestream Host Changes. Of the twenty-seven concurrent streams, only the five run by my veteran team remained untouched. All the others had been replaced. The new hosts erupted in cheers. As they rushed to their respective studios, they shot Tina big, heart-shaped hand gestures. Tina smugly squeezed past my colleague, shrugging her shoulders as she settled into the chair in front of the master control console. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. But I forced myself to swallow the rage, saying nothing. I couldn’t wait to see if their smiles would still be so bright when a hundred-million-dollar profit turned into a billion-dollar loss. 2 When she noticed my silence, Tina pouted. “You know, Alice, you used to be so against me being in the control room. Every time I came near, you’d start shrieking like a banshee. It’s almost… weird without the noise today.” She propped her face in her hands, her elbow accidentally pressing the all-channel broadcast button. In the monitors, I could see hosts struggling to suppress their smirks on camera. But Tina, oblivious, just kept talking, her voice now piped into every host’s earpiece and broadcast live to millions. “I heard you got your start as a streamer, Alice! Mr. Forrester told me you used to do anything to go viral… like eating that cow-dung hotpot, and washing it down with surströmming soup!” She giggled. “Your mouth must have smelled like a sewer! I bet when you came home at night, Mr. Forrester slept on the other side of a king-sized bed, like, a mile away! Hahahaha!” “No wonder they say CEOs need huge beds! It was probably to get away from the stench of crap on you! But I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore, right? I mean, Mr. Forrester hasn’t been home in, what, six months?” She feigned a look of innocent realization, but on the monitors, a few of the rookie hosts were now openly howling with laughter in front of their live audiences. Benjamin hadn’t been home in six months. Tina had been hired six months ago. I had seen them flirting around the office, but I’d always bitten my tongue for the sake of the company’s reputation. I never imagined that the sacrifices I’d made—playing the clown to build this company from the ground up—had become nothing more than a punchline he shared with his new pet. The laughter from the earpiece grew louder. Tina finally noticed and jerked her arm off the console. “Oh, my gosh! Was that broadcasting to all channels?” she gasped with fake horror. “I’m so, so sorry! It’s just my first time handling a huge event like Black Friday!” My face was a mask of ice. I refused to give her the satisfaction of a response. A timer on the desk beeped, signaling the official start of the broadcast. Without a word of warning to the hosts, Tina slammed the master “Go Live” switch. My veteran hosts, though startled, scrambled to adjust and were professional within seconds. The rest of the newbies, however, continued to goof off, laughing and making silly faces at the camera before realizing they were live. I pulled out my phone. Staring at Benjamin’s staff reassignment memo, my fingers moved swiftly. I went into the HR portal and marked myself, and every single one of my veteran hosts, as “On Leave.” A moment later, a notification popped up. Benjamin had approved all the requests instantly. Then, in a final act of petty revenge, he changed my status from “On Leave” to “Absent,” screenshotted it, and posted it in the company-wide group chat. His message followed: “Behavior like Alice’s—throwing tantrums, shirking responsibility, and suppressing new talent—will be dealt with harshly. For the remainder of the Black Friday event, all control room decisions will be made by the acting director, Tina Vance.” Bestowed with this new power, Tina replied in the chat with a cloying, high-pitched tone. “Thank you for your trust, Mr. Forrester! I won’t let you down! I’ll do everything in my power to make lots and lots of money for you!” A wave of nausea washed over me. I glanced at my “Absent” status on my phone, then settled back into a chair in the corner of the control room. A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. The veteran hosts, now officially on leave, wasted no time. They walked out of their studios, their faces a mixture of relief and disbelief. “Alice, you’re a lifesaver!” one of them whispered as they gathered around me. “I don’t even care about missing the commission. If this night turns into a total train wreck, I can’t imagine how much we’d have to pay in damages!” I looked at the monitors, now filled exclusively with the new, inexperienced crew. A smirk played on my lips. Last time, my intervention prevented a three-million-dollar disaster. This time, without me in the way, Tina was on track to create a catastrophe worth billions. And I was dying to find out if Benjamin’s affection for her was strong enough to survive a billion-dollar debt. 3 As the minutes ticked by, the broadcast devolved into chaos. A product that was supposed to have a five-minute feature was still being stammered through fifteen minutes later. Meanwhile, a high-end item from a brand that had paid a fortune for a primetime slot was glossed over in a few mumbled sentences because the new host couldn’t remember the talking points. The viewer count in our main channel, once pre-hyped to over a hundred thousand, plummeted to less than ten thousand. The comment sections were a bloodbath. “LOL, he’s promoting paper towels by talking about how ancient paper was made from rotten fishing nets? Does this guy have a brain?” “Wow. He’s selling soda and then sneering that ‘fat people should drink less.’ Hey buddy, it’s our fat money paying your salary, you don’t get to lecture us!” I sat back and watched as Tina frantically tried to manage the disaster from the console. Her phone began ringing off the hook—furious calls from brand representatives. In a desperate bid to stabilize the viewership numbers, I watched her dump the entire promotional ad budget into the lowest-performing channels, a move akin to setting a pile of cash on fire. Benjamin tried calling her, but her line was busy. So he called me. Remembering his decree to give the rookies space to learn, I simply turned my phone off. Only after the viewer numbers had temporarily stabilized did Tina dare to pick up her phone. Faced with a screaming brand manager, she didn’t apologize or try to fix the situation. Instead, she burst into tears. “It’s not my fault!” she wailed into the phone. “I’m new at this! Can’t you people have a little more compassion for a rookie?” The manager on the other end exploded. “We spent tens of millions on this Black Friday campaign! We give you compassion, who gives us our money back? Are you going to cover our losses?” Offended by his tone, Tina simply hung up on him. She then tried to call Benjamin, but for some reason, her calls wouldn’t go through. Defeated, she slumped over the console and began to sob. Just then, one of my colleagues gasped. “They’re pulling out! Alice, brands are pulling their products! All the low-margin, high-volume items that were supposed to draw traffic… they’re all gone!” “She’s right,” another added, her face pale. “Alice, you should probably turn your phone on. Mr. Forrester is… he’s losing it in the group chat.” My team exchanged grim looks, but I just waved a dismissive hand. I didn’t care how vile Benjamin’s messages were. I’d heard far worse from him the last time, when I’d dared to save his company from Tina. I wrapped an arm around my veteran hosts’ shoulders, completely ignoring the sound of Tina’s escalating sobs. “Well, since our all-nighter just turned into a holiday, what do you say I treat you all to some coffee?” Our cheerful departure was a stark contrast to the misery in the control room. It was only after we were settled in a nearby café, bored, that I finally switched my phone back on. Benjamin had created a new group chat with all the brand representatives. Tina wasn’t in it. His first message was an @ to me. “Alice! As the head of the livestreaming department, you bear undeniable responsibility for this disaster! You need to give our brand partners a viable solution. Now!” 4 The brands, not caring about the internal politics, immediately piled on, all of them tagging me. “You’re the head of the department? Do you have any idea how important Black Friday is for us? You put a bunch of incompetent fools on screen who can’t even read a damn script. What did you do with our hundred-thousand-dollar placement fee, use it to pay for your staff’s lobotomies?” One particularly enraged manager sent a 60-second voice memo, his voice screaming through the phone’s tiny speaker. “What the hell is wrong with your company? Your host tells customers my $89 eyeliner isn’t expensive and then dares them to buy it if they can afford it! Are you people blind? Are you actively trying to sabotage us just to ruin our sales?!” Facing the barrage of messages, I, as a group administrator, simply enabled Mute All. Then, I posted the screenshot of Benjamin’s earlier announcement—the one where he’d stripped me of my authority. “My apologies,” I typed. “I actually have no idea what’s happening in the control room. Mr. Forrester, you personally put someone else in charge of tonight’s event. You can’t just shift the blame to me when things go wrong.” I paused, then added one more message. “And by the way, Benjamin, I don’t care if you want to burn down your own company for Tina. But the divorce papers are on your desk. I suggest you sign them.” I unmuted the chat. The group chat fell into a dead silence. Benjamin’s call came faster than I expected. I answered and immediately held the phone an arm’s length away from my ear. “ALICE! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?” he roared. “I just wanted you to cover for Tina for a bit! You’re the head of the department, she’s just a rookie! Are you telling me you have zero responsibility here?” “And what the hell is this about a divorce? You’re bringing this up now, in a chat full of our biggest partners? Are you trying to ruin me?” I waited until he’d sputtered to a stop before bringing the phone back to my ear. “Benjamin, I suggest you sign it. The terms are very favorable to you. All I want is the house in Aspen Hills. Sign it now, before I start revealing things that will make you wish this was all you had to worry about.”

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We were on the subway when four security guards carried a girl past us. They had her by the arms and legs, spread-eagled. Her skirt was thrown up over her face, and from the neck down, she was completely naked. They were dumping her out of the car. My boyfriend, Mark, shoved closer. He lifted his phone and started a TikTok Live. “Y’all, this is insane,” he narrated, his voice giddy. “Subway chick stripped bare. She’s got an amazing body, super pale, super smooth. You don’t want to miss this. Smash that follow button, show your boy some love…” The stream was blowing up. Ten thousand viewers. I finally snapped. “Are you insane? You can’t stream this!” I grabbed his phone, swiped the live feed off. As I was about to rush forward to help the girl, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back. “You’re the crazy one! That’s money! Give me back my phone!” I couldn’t break free. I could only watch as they threw her onto the platform. More people swarmed in. Mark slapped me, hard, across the face. “You bitch. And you’re crying? Do you have any idea how much money you just lost me?” I didn’t know how much he’d lost. But I knew that girl… she could have been his own sister, the one his family worshiped. 01 It was Thanksgiving weekend. After six months of him begging, I’d finally agreed to go home with him to meet his parents. It wasn’t even a big trip. Just a thirty-minute subway ride from my place to theirs. As we waited on the platform, Mark held my hand, lifting his phone for a selfie, looking smug. “Babe, that outfit is perfect for the camera. You look amazing,” he said. “How about we go live right now? With our looks? Total power couple. We’d go viral for sure.” I didn’t say no. I’d spent a lot of time on this outfit. My hair alone took four hours last night. The look was “gentle and smart,” but still “sweet and obedient.” Paired with my job as a college instructor, I was the perfect daughter-in-law package. Mark was a fitness coach, but his “real” job was his influencer brand. He was always editing workout videos, occasionally going live to shill some protein powder. He had just opened the TikTok app when the subway doors opened. A wave of chaos spilled out. Screaming, crying, laughing. It was a mess. 02 That’s when I saw her. Skirt over her face. Bra gone. Panties tangled around one ankle. Four guards carrying her, ready to toss her. The memory, the one I’d buried for four years, slammed into me. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I couldn’t breathe. My hand tightened on Mark’s, my last lifeline. But he pulled his hand away. My support was gone. My legs gave out and I crumpled to the ground, my knee cracking against the tile. A sharp pain shot up my leg. I just stared, numb, as Mark pushed right up to the girl’s legs, phone high, camera aimed directly at her private parts. “Guys, this is wild. Subway girl stripped bare. Amazing body, pale and smooth. Don’t miss this, smash that follow… Location is Northgate Station…” Rage flooded my system, clearing the fog. I staggered up, ignoring my knee, and lunged for his phone. The viewer count was already past ten thousand. “Are you crazy?” I screamed. “You’re livestreaming this?” 03 Before he could react, I killed the stream and stuffed his phone deep into my purse. The girl’s sobs were right there. “Please, stop… I won’t do it again… please, just give me a piece of clothing…” “Don’t look… please, don’t film me… please…” “Help… somebody, please help me…” Her screams were knives in my chest. Four years ago, I was her. Helpless. No one would help. Everyone just… watched. They wouldn’t let their entertainment be interrupted. I tried to push forward. “Claire, what the hell are you doing!” His voice was a snarl. My scalp exploded in pain. He had me by the hair, forcing my head back. “Mark, let go! Let go! I have to help her!” I clawed at his hands, trying to break his grip. But I stood no chance against his gym-built muscles. “Help her? Why? You know her? Everyone’s watching, what makes you so special? Stop being such a goddamn bleeding heart!” The pain in my scalp was blinding. “Let me go, please, Mark, I’m begging you… I have to help her…” He just sneered. “Give me back my phone!” I couldn’t get free. I fumbled in my bag, grabbed his phone, and threw it on the floor. “Take it! Just let me go!” He finally released me. But it was too late. The guards threw her, hard, onto the cold platform. A crowd instantly swarmed her. I couldn’t get through. Mark, enraged, slapped me across the face. “You bitch. And you’re crying? Do you know how much money you just lost me?” The force knocked me down again. I just lay there, my hand splayed out as people stepped on my fingers. Through a forest of legs, I saw her. Curled up, frantically trying to pull the skirt down from her face to cover herself. “Please, stop filming… please… Let me go, please… I’ll never refuse to give up my seat again, I promise…” She was on her knees, kowtowing to the crowd, her face a swollen, purple mess of finger marks. The four security guards stood over her, laughing. “Yeah, sorry now, aren’t you? You were pretty cocky in the car.” “What was it? Your period? Who gives a shit about your period? That man was seventy years old! He needed the seat more than you!” “A woman on her period should stay home, not be out here asking for it.” “Disrespectful bitch. You deserved it. Bet you’ll give up your seat next time.” Their eyes were glinting with a sick, ugly satisfaction. 04 My palm felt wet. I looked. Blood. Bright red. I looked back. A small, dark trail on the floor. Her period… A bitter wave of nausea hit me. The irony… this was the priority seating area. A girl, sick on her period, forced to give up her seat to an old man who looked healthier than most of the 9-to-5 zombies in the car. Just because he was old. And if she refused, she deserved… this. The world had gone completely insane. “Claire, are you coming or not?” Mark’s voice was sharp. I looked up. The light was behind him; I couldn’t see his face. Looking back at what just happened, I realized I’d never seen his face. Not really. I didn’t answer. He bent down, annoyed, to pull me up. I flinched away. His patience snapped. “What’s with the attitude? My parents are already texting. My sister, Maya, literally changed her travel plans just to come home and meet you. And now you’re covered in filth. We have to go buy you new clothes. More money. God, you’re annoying. Get up!” His complaints… My heart felt like a block of ice. This was the man I was going to marry? A family that raised this… was that a family I wanted to meet? I didn’t want to go anymore. I opened my mouth to tell him it was over, but I glanced back at the girl in the crowd. The dress. It was familiar. I looked closer. The swollen face… even distorted, it was familiar. I searched my memory. A flash. Oh, my God. That girl… was Mark’s sister. Maya. The one his family worshiped. The one who just got into Yale. That dress… I’d picked it out myself, had Mark mail it to her.

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