Category: English

It wasn’t a holiday splurge or an extravagant purchase that tipped me off. It was a charge on the Visa statement, a recurring monthly payment I didn’t recognize. The recipient was The Briarwood Academy, the most exclusive bilingual preschool in Boston. But our son, Leo, was in the second grade at the public school down the street. I didn’t hesitate. I drove straight to Briarwood, posing as a prospective parent. The admissions director was effusive, eager to sell me on their program. “You should look at one of our star kindergarteners, Noah Hayes,” she gushed. “His father, Michael Hayes, is our Parent-Teacher Association’s most distinguished representative.” My husband’s name is Michael Hayes. I waited in my car across the street, a knot of ice forming in my stomach. Soon enough, I saw him—my Michael—walking out, holding the hand of a small boy. A woman with a radiant smile stood beside them, handing the boy a snack. My hand was steady as I picked up my phone and dialed his number. My voice, when I spoke, betrayed nothing. “Hey, are you at the office?” He paused for a beat before answering. “Just got in. It’s a crazy day, a big meeting. I’ll call you later.” I disconnected the call without another word. I raised my phone, zoomed in, and let the camera capture the perfect, happy little family in crystal-clear focus. “Michael,” I whispered to the screen. “Your distinguished life is officially over.” 1 Michael came home after midnight. He stepped into the living room, and his stride faltered for a fraction of a second when he saw me sitting there in the dark. He recovered instantly, pasting a weary smile on his face as he loosened his tie. “Olivia, honey. Why are you still up?” He came over and sat beside me on the sofa, his arm draping naturally over my shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep. I was just going through some old things.” I opened my hand. Lying in my palm was the simple silver band he’d given me when we had nothing—our first ring. “Remember this?” His eyes fell to the ring, and his whole body went rigid. “Of course, I do,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, sentimental register. “We… we had it so tough back then.” He launched into the well-worn story of our scrappy beginnings, a narrative of shared struggle and eventual triumph. It was a beautiful story. If I hadn’t driven to Briarwood today, it might have even moved me to tears. After laying a sufficient foundation of nostalgic emotion, he finally made his pivot. “Thinking about the old days… it makes me think of Rick.” Rick was his buddy from the army, who’d died in a car crash years ago. “That tuition payment,” he began, his tone confessional. “I never told you. I’ve been paying for his kid’s school, anonymously. I set it up under Rick’s name so it wouldn’t be traced back to me.” He sighed, a masterful performance of weary nobility, and took my hand. “He went so suddenly, Olivia. Left his wife and kid with nothing. I couldn’t just stand by.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s a delicate situation. I didn’t want to make them feel like a charity case, so I kept it from you. I didn’t want them to feel any pressure.” He looked at me, his eyes brimming with a sincerity that was almost flawless. I just watched him, silent. He must have mistaken my silence for stunned acceptance, or maybe he felt his performance needed an encore. He actually pulled out his phone and played a video. “Look, this was last week. I took his son, little Danny, to the hospital for a check-up.” On the screen, a frail-looking boy with a pale face sat on an examination table. Michael was kneeling in front of him, gently fixing the collar of his shirt. A shard of ice pierced my heart. He wasn’t just betraying me. He was using a sick child as a prop to weave an unbreakable lie. He turned off the phone and reached up to stroke my cheek. The hand that had once been my greatest comfort now sent a wave of physical revulsion through me. “Olivia, I know how soft your heart is. I didn’t want you to carry this burden with me.” His voice was a gentle murmur. “All you need to do is relax. Just be the happy, carefree Mrs. Hayes.” The happy, carefree Mrs. Hayes. He had stripped me of the right to my own reality, caging me in a life of blissful ignorance, expecting me to sing for him. That single sentence cauterized the last remnant of love I had for him. I looked up and managed a smile. “You carry so much, my love. Thank you.” Satisfied, he kissed my forehead and headed for the shower. The moment I heard the water running, I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Maya. My voice was shaking, but every word was laced with venom. “Maya, I need you to find out everything you can about a woman named Chloe Sterling.” I took a breath. “He wants me to be a fool for the rest of my life. Fine. I’m going to show him exactly how a fool can drag a king to hell.” 2 Maya was faster than I ever could have imagined. The next morning, a single text from her lit up my phone. Be careful, Liv. This isn’t just an affair. He’s liquidating your assets. My heart hammered against my ribs. I rushed to my laptop, trying to log into my personal investment account. A cold, sterile pop-up box appeared on the screen: [ACCOUNT ACCESS DENIED. ADMINISTRATIVE HOLD.] Every bank account, every stock, every mutual fund held in my name—frozen. I stormed into his home office. Michael was sitting at his desk, a complex spreadsheet glowing on the monitor. He heard me enter but showed no flicker of panic, calmly closing the window. He swiveled in his chair, his face a mask of gentle concern. “Olivia? What’s wrong?” “My accounts. What the hell is going on?” I shoved my phone in his face, showing him the error message. He glanced at it, his expression placid. “Oh, that. It’s just a temporary measure. The company is undergoing its annual financial audit, and regulations are tight this year.” He explained it with the practiced ease of a CEO addressing a clueless subordinate. “To avoid any risk of insider trading, they’ve placed a temporary hold on all accounts linked to senior executives and their immediate families. It’s standard procedure.” It was a perfect explanation. Plausible. Airtight. He then pulled a credit card from his wallet and handed it to me. “You can use this supplementary card in the meantime. It only has a five-thousand-dollar limit, so you might have to cut back a little. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” He was using corporate policy as a shield while systematically cutting off my financial lifeline. “Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” I demanded. Michael stood up and walked toward me, letting out a soft, pitying sigh. He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. It was an appointment confirmation for a “Comprehensive Psychiatric Evaluation.” The patient’s name was Olivia Hayes. He spoke in a tone dripping with sorrow and feigned helplessness. “Olivia, you haven’t been yourself lately. You’re emotional, paranoid… I’m worried about you.” He gestured to the paper. “I’ve made an appointment for you with Dr. Albright. He’s the best in his field.” His eyes met mine, filled with a chillingly false compassion. “Once you’re feeling more stable, we’ll sort out the account situation. I promise.” I finally understood. He was going to have me declared mentally unstable. He was forging a weapon out of love and concern, an invisible cage that would render all my protests, all my accusations, the meaningless ramblings of a madwoman. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Just then, the doorbell rang. Michael went to answer it, his expression shifting instantly into one of profound grief and exhaustion. Two men in neat, professional attire—not white coats, but something far more unnerving in their quiet authority—stood on the doorstep. Michael spoke to them, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Thank you for coming. My wife… she’s been in a very bad way. She needs help.” This wasn’t an appointment. It was an involuntary commitment. He was going to brand me as insane in front of the world, so that every truth I spoke would be dismissed as delusion. The two men flanked me, their hands gently but firmly on my arms, guiding me toward the door. As I passed Michael, he gave me a small, reassuring smile. His lips formed the silent words: “It’s for the best.” But his eyes told a different story. In their depths, I saw the cold, triumphant truth he didn’t dare speak aloud: with me declared mentally incompetent, he would gain uncontested control of the controlling shares in the company I had inherited from my father. It was a checkmate. Just before they led me into the waiting car, I summoned every ounce of my strength and twisted free from their grasp. I looked at Michael’s suddenly alarmed face and spoke in a low, clear voice, using a code only he would understand. “Michael, you seem to have forgotten something,” I said, my words a stiletto’s point. “You never learned how to play the game my father left me.” I saw his pupils contract in a flash of pure shock. The car door closed, sealing me in. I immediately activated the emergency beacon on my watch, a direct line to Maya. “Execute Plan B,” I whispered. “He wants to put me in a madhouse? Fine. Let’s show him what a public crucifixion looks like first.”

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My husband, Ethan, told me to give blood to his childhood best friend. She had a bleeding ulcer, he said. He completely ignored the fact that I was two months pregnant. [“Chloe is in surgery, Eva! It’s just some blood. Why are you making this so difficult? Stop being so selfish. Is being pregnant that big of a deal?”] My husband’s friends all chimed in, accusing me. He just stood there, silent. He let them ignore my protests, my struggles, as they physically pushed me toward the donation room. My heart finally died. A single tear escaped and slid down my temple. After the transfusion, I dragged my weak body to the OB/GYN wing. Ethan, a man like you doesn’t deserve to be my child’s father. 1. I stayed in the hospital for three days after the D&C. Ethan, meanwhile, never left Chloe’s side. My stomach was empty. But it was my heart that ached. When I was discharged, I ran into them. Chloe and Ethan, surrounded by their entire group of friends. I was alone, just holding my small overnight bag. Chloe was leaning on Ethan, as if she could barely walk. When Ethan’s eyes met mine, he froze for a second. [“You’re still here?”] [“It was nothing.”] I didn’t tell him about the miscarriage. I just turned my pale face toward the exit. [“We’ll go together.”] Ethan grabbed my arm. His tone left no room for argument. When we got to the car, Chloe immediately slid into the front passenger seat. She looked at me, her eyes watery and innocent. [“Eva, I get carsick so easily, especially after my surgery.”] [“You don’t mind, do you?”] I wasn’t in the mood to fight. I opened the back door. But Ethan’s friends, three large men, piled in, filling the entire back seat. They stared at me, their hostility obvious. [“Sorry, Eva,” one of them, Shawn, said. “Chloe’s still really weak. We’re all going to your place to help take care of her.”] I looked at Ethan in the driver’s seat. His jaw was tight, but he said nothing. I laughed, a dry, soundless thing. The summer cicadas outside seemed to be mocking me. How could I still expect anything from this man? Ethan’s friends had never liked me. In their eyes, he and Chloe were the ones who were meant to be. I was just the evil, gold-digging witch who’d split them up. Whenever they came over, they treated me like the hired help. Ethan never said a word in my defense. Even when I was pregnant with his child, I still had to give blood to Chloe. And I never even got a “thank you.” All they said was: [“You should be honored.”] This wasn’t the first time I’d been humiliated. It was just the first time I chose to accept it quietly. [“Okay. I’ll get home on my own.”] I shut the car door and walked away. It was rush hour. I couldn’t even get a rideshare. I had just had surgery. It was the peak of a brutal summer, and I had to walk for an hour under the blazing sun to get home. The moment I opened the door, I was hit with a wave of accusations. [“Eva, what took you so long? We’ve been here forever!”] [“We’re starving. Go make us something to eat.”] My gaze fell on Ethan and Chloe. It was sweltering, but the air conditioning was off. They were afraid the ‘frail’ Chloe would catch a chill. So Ethan sat next to her, fanning her with a magazine. His own forehead was beaded with sweat, but he ignored it, his eyes fixed on her. I stayed silent. Shawn nudged Ethan. [“Come on, man. We’re hungry. Tell your wife to get in the kitchen.”] Only then did Ethan look up. He completely missed my ghostly pale face. His voice was casual, entitled. [“Eva, be good. Go make us all a simple meal.”] [“And make some extra soup for Chloe. It’ll help her recover.”] The dull ache in my heart sharpened, twisting like a knife. I could barely breathe. I walked into the kitchen, closing the door on their happy chatter and laughter. I was the outsider. I was the one who didn’t belong. In the past, I would have screamed. I would have fought. I thought that would save my dignity. But all it ever did was make them double down. Compared to my “hysterical” rants, Chloe always looked so sweet and understanding. But now… I was done fighting. A man like this, a group of people like this… they weren’t worth it. By the time I brought the food out, I was drenched in sweat. Chloe offered to “help,” taking the heavy tureen of chicken soup from me. The second I let go, her hands “slipped.” The tureen crashed to the floor, shattering. Boiling soup splashed everywhere. [“Watch out!”] Ethan dove, shielding Chloe, who didn’t have a single drop on her. My bare legs, however, were instantly scalded, a blistering red. [“Eva! I know you don’t like me, but you can’t just throw things!”] Chloe burst into tears, burrowing into Ethan’s chest as if she was the one who’d been hurt. [“What the hell, Eva?”] [“We know you hate her, but this is too much!”] [“She didn’t even do anything!”] [“She’s my best friend, that’s it! Why are you so crazy?”] [“She let go first.”] My voice was dead calm as I stared at the people yelling at me. They started to argue again, but Ethan cut them off. [“Eva. Apologize.”] His voice was like steel. [“You’ve gone too far. She just got out of the hospital. You scared her.”] In the middle of a blazing hot summer, I was shaking, frozen. The burning, blistering pain on my shins was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I looked at the man who I once thought was my protector, my safe place. He was my executioner. Something inside me snapped. [“Okay. I’m sorry.”] I smiled, a horrible, broken smile. The tears just started falling. Ethan flinched, as if he was surprised. He reached for me, but I pulled away. [“The food is ready. The apology is done. Can I please go bandage my legs now?”] I gestured to my skin, which was already blistering. Without waiting for an answer, I turned my back on the mess and walked to our room. I could hear Chloe’s ‘wounded’ voice from the living room. [“I’m so sorry… It’s all my fault Eva’s so angry…”] [“I’m just a burden. I’ll go…”] I heard the front door slam. She had run out. And, of course, the whole pack of them ran after her. I thought Ethan had gone, too. But then, my bedroom door opened. He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His large hand came to rest on my stomach. [“Eva, why can’t you just be patient with her? She’s like a kid. She needs us to look out for her.”] [“Besides,” he whispered, his voice suddenly tender, “we have our own baby now. As soon as I get this next project sorted, I’ll get you that wedding. Just stop being angry, okay?”] [“So you do remember I’m pregnant.”] I pushed his hand away. The sarcasm in my voice was sharp. His smile froze. Just then, his phone rang. He picked it up. Shawn’s voice was loud in the quiet room. [“Man, you gotta get over here! Chloe fainted on the street! We’re at the ER, and they need a card for admission.”] Ethan didn’t hesitate. He went straight to the nightstand and pulled out the bank card from the drawer. The card with all the money we’d been saving for the baby. [“Are you insane, Ethan?”] I blocked his path. [“You’re taking the money we saved for our child… for her?”] Ethan’s face darkened. He tried to push past me. [“That’s enough, Eva.”] [“This is life and death. And you’re only thinking about yourself. Why are you so selfish?”] I snapped. I started hitting his chest. [“I’m selfish? She’s your friend, not mine! You can’t take my money for her!”] Something in my words triggered him. He roared, shoving me with all his strength. I flew backward, falling hard onto the floor. Onto the pile of broken ceramic and spilled soup that no one had cleaned up. A searing pain shot through my back and arms. I looked at my hands. They were covered in blood. Ethan was already gone. He hadn’t even looked back. As I started to black out, I managed to dial 911. In the haze, I dreamed of a younger Ethan. We were at the lake overlook. He had his hands clasped together, his face serious. [“I swear I will love and protect Eva for my entire life.”] [“If I ever break this promise, I hope I die a miserable death.”]

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Seven years after my divorce from Ethan Blackwood, we met again in the drop-off line for a middle school summer camp. He was there for his stepson. I was the teacher in charge of the trip. I went through the checklist with him, my voice professional and clipped. He listened intently, playing the part of a competent parent. The only crack in the facade was a flicker of confusion in his eyes when I called him “Mr. Blackwood.” “Audrey,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “You’ve… changed.” I kept my head down, fussing with the faulty speaker on my megaphone. I didn’t answer. If he wanted to talk about change, we’d be here all day. At the very least, I no longer wasted my time waiting for him. 1 “Ms. Shaw! There you are. We were about to leave without you.” Nina, my class president, a bright girl with a perpetually high ponytail, jogged over. She was one of the campers. “Just confirming some parent details,” I said with a smile. “I’ll be right there.” Nina’s gaze followed mine and landed on Ethan. A look of pure admiration dawned on her face. “Oh! You must be Leo’s dad. I’ve seen your picture in Forbes.” Her voice was full of teenage reverence. “Everyone says you’re one of the most brilliant entrepreneurs in Crestwood. And that you’re an amazing father to him. We all think that’s so incredible.” Leo. That was the name of Ethan’s stepson. The child he had sworn to protect at all costs. Ethan managed a tight, polite smile, his eyes darting instinctively toward me. “He calls me Dad. It’s my job to be there for him.” The paperwork was done. I organized the forms and tucked them away. The old zipper on my tote bag, corroded from years of use, snagged on the fabric. I pulled out a small pair of scissors to free it and, in my haste, sliced my finger open. A perfect bead of blood welled up and dropped onto the asphalt. Ethan’s brow furrowed. He grabbed my wrist, a surprising urgency in his voice. “Don’t move. Let me see that.” I met his gaze for a second before carefully withdrawing my hand from his grip. “No, thank you. That’s not appropriate.” He paused, recalibrating. “Then wait here. I’ll get you a first-aid kit from my car.” I flicked the blood from my finger onto the ground and shook my head, my voice calm. “Really, it’s fine. I have to go.” As I turned, a single leaf spiraled down, landing at Ethan’s feet. The heavy door of the charter bus hissed shut between us. I settled into the front passenger seat and pulled a wet wipe from my bag, methodically cleaning the spot on my wrist where his fingers had been. The driver, a veteran with a love for gossip, chuckled as he pulled away from the curb. “That guy in the tailored suit must be some big shot. The woman who landed him is one lucky lady.” I smiled faintly but said nothing. This was the seventh year since my divorce from Ethan Blackwood. Seeing him again, I felt a placid stillness in my heart. I had accepted that our lives were two parallel lines, never destined to cross again. He could chase his great love story; I would guard my hard-won peace. It was almost possible to forget. To forget that I had once given him everything. And that he, in return, had cost me child after child, before personally shoving me into the abyss. 2 In the rearview mirror, the school drop-off point shrank until it was just a speck. It struck me then that this was the very place we had first met. Back then, he had nothing. He stood on that same patch of pavement, shivering and filthy, looking like a stray dog begging for scraps. The winter wind whipped around him as he kept his head bowed, his voice cracking as he pleaded with the staff coming and going. “My mom’s sick. Please, if you’ll just help her, I’ll do anything.” People walked past as if he were invisible. Only my father, a doctor at the city hospital, stopped. He not only got Ethan’s mother admitted, but he also pulled strings to get her into a charity care program and even paid for a significant portion of her treatment out of his own pocket. A few weeks later, when her condition had stabilized, my dad brought Ethan home. “Audrey,” he announced. “I’ve found you a tutor.” Ethan stood there, all six-foot-two of him, hands clasped nervously in front of him, the tips of his ears burning red. “I… I’m consistently in the top ten of my class. I’m decent at every subject.” That was an understatement. He wasn’t just “decent”; he was one of those effortless, incandescent geniuses teachers talk about for years. With the burden of his mother’s illness lifted, he shone even brighter. It was no surprise when he got a full scholarship to Crestwood University’s elite finance program. And I, as my father liked to joke, rode his coattails, scraping by with the bare minimum grades to get into the same university. But life is unpredictable. During Ethan’s freshman year, his mother’s illness returned. This time, she didn’t recover. My dad, a man with a deeply compassionate heart, felt a strange sense of responsibility. He told Ethan that the debt was paid, that he’d more than earned his keep by tutoring me. He was free now; he didn’t have to feel tied to us. But Ethan shook his head. “Dr. Shaw, this is a debt I can never repay. You saved my mother’s life. In return, I’ll take care of Audrey for the rest of mine.” I traced the faint white line of the scar on my finger. The sting was long gone, but a phantom ache remained. We were so young then. He said it, and I believed it. I clung to him like a burr, shamelessly, refusing to let go. We made plans. We’d make some money, buy a small house in Crestwood, and get married right after graduation. We would live a normal, happy life, just like everyone else. But as much as Ethan cared for me, his ambition burned hotter. The year we graduated, he threw himself into a project a thousand miles away in Riverton. All our promises evaporated like mist. He was consumed by his work, unreachable for weeks at a time. On the rare occasion I got him on the phone, before the thrill of hearing his voice could even settle, he dropped a bomb. “Audrey,” he said, his voice distant. “I think I’m going to stay here.” No apology. No “we should break up.” Not a single word of explanation. Around that time, my father retired. He couldn’t bear to see me crying day after day. “You can’t force love, honey,” he’d say gently. “Sometimes you just have to let go.” But four years of my life… I couldn’t accept it. That same day, I packed a suitcase and bought a ticket for the next train south. I messaged him the whole way, a long, rambling monologue. Ethan, I’m on my way to you. It doesn’t matter if you stay there. We don’t have to break up. I sent him the train number, the arrival time. I wanted him to be there. I needed him to meet me. He wasn’t. A torrential rain was falling in Riverton that day. I dragged my suitcase through the downpour, unable to find a single cab. I finally collapsed onto a bus stop bench and cried for three hours. A sharp, cramping pain seized my abdomen, and I felt a horrifying warmth spread down my legs. I looked down. It wasn’t my period. It was our baby. A baby I never even knew existed, arriving and leaving in secret. Panicked, I looked up, searching for anyone, for help. And then I saw him, walking toward me under a large black umbrella. He was wearing a dark gray trench coat and gold-rimmed glasses, looking so polished and successful it felt unreal. My hands were covered in blood. My legs were covered in blood. I scrambled toward him, grabbing the sleeve of his coat. “Our baby… the baby’s gone.” His expression was flat, but a flicker of anger burned in his eyes. “Who told you to come here?” The rain fell in sheets around us. Ethan’s face was a mask of cold fury. He asked me again, his voice like ice. “Audrey, who the hell told you to follow me?” 3 The bus arrived at the campsite. I pushed the memories away and stepped out into the fresh air. The camp had its own counselors waiting, which meant my main duties were over. I was free to explore the small resort town for a few days. My friend Maya picked me up. Her eyes immediately landed on a boy with a basketball tucked under his arm—Leo. “That’s her kid, isn’t it?” she said, her lip curling slightly. “He’s got her eyes.” I gave a small nod. Seeing my detached calm seemed to infuriate her. The anger simmered for a moment before she started railing against Ethan. “How could you have ever agreed to marry that heartless bastard after everything?” It wasn’t that complicated, really. After the miscarriage, I ended up in a Riverton hospital. I was young and terrified, grieving my first child, a thousand miles from home. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell my parents. Just when I was at my most helpless, my most desperate for an anchor, Ethan proposed. I clung to the idea like a drowning woman. He didn’t mean for it to happen, I told myself. It wasn’t his fault. So I married him. After the wedding, Ethan was always busy. An endless parade of networking dinners and business trips. Night after night, I waited for him, the food growing cold on the table. The daily corrosion of loneliness wore me down. When I unexpectedly became pregnant again, my emotions became a tangled, fragile mess. I was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. And that was when Ethan had his affair. Her name was Isabel. She wasn’t a business partner or a socialite. She was a widow with a child. Their meeting was sordid—in the private room of an upscale club. Ethan was instantly captivated. He told me later that when she pleaded with him for help, her eight-year-old son hiding behind her, he saw a reflection of his own desperate youth. He became obsessed, determined to be her savior. He brought the boy, Leo, to our home. “He’s the son of a friend,” he lied. “He’s been ill, and he just needs a quiet place to recover.” I believed him. I was even happy. Because of Leo, Ethan started coming home more often. Sometimes, Isabel was with him. “This is Leo’s mother,” he introduced her. “Her husband was abusive. It’s a miracle she got out with the boy. They’ve been through so much.” A knot of unease tightened in my stomach, but I pushed it down and poured my energy into caring for Leo. When he had a fever, I sat by his bed all night. When he had a craving for a specific snack, I dragged my swollen, exhausted body out to a 24-hour store to buy it for him. But my kindness was not returned. When I was seven months pregnant, Leo threw a tantrum because he didn’t like the dinner I’d made. He picked up a heavy wooden dining chair and heaved it, with all his strength, straight into my stomach. Blood gushed out, staining the pale tile floor a deep crimson. Frantic, I called Ethan. A woman’s voice answered. Isabel. “Your husband is with me,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “He’s in the shower.” I froze, a chill spreading through my veins that had nothing to do with the blood loss. My strength evaporated. Seeing the horror he’d caused, Leo bolted out the front door. It was a neighbor passing by who found me and called an ambulance. Unsurprisingly, the baby was gone. My son, beaten out of me by Isabel’s son. And what was Ethan doing while his own child’s life bled away? He was in bed with Isabel. I clawed my way back from the brink of death and woke up a madwoman. I smashed everything in my hospital room I could reach. I ripped out my IV, tore up my own charts, and knocked over a medicine cart. With dark circles under my eyes and my hair a tangled mess, I ran through the halls, screaming for Leo. I shrieked that he had to pay, that he had to give me my baby back. Doctors and nurses tried to restrain me. Other patients scurried out of my way. Then Ethan appeared. He seized my wrists, his grip merciless, and pinned me against the wall. His voice was cold and hard. “Audrey,” he hissed. “Have you made enough of a scene?”

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When I discovered Richard was cheating, both of us remained incredibly calm. Richard shielded the girl behind him, his voice flat. “Don’t blame her. It was a moment of passion. She’s innocent.” I nodded. “I understand.” That night, Richard came home and handed me a divorce agreement. “I’ve made concessions financially. Look it over. If there are no issues, sign it.” I tossed the agreement into the trash can, smiling with boundless tolerance. “Relax. I won’t make a fuss over something so trivial.” It’s just an affair. In this age of fast love, who hasn’t faced temptation? I couldn’t even control myself; how could I blame Richard? 1 Richard paused just as he was about to light a cigarette. He looked up at me, surprised. I knew why he was shocked. In the past, I was the kind of person who couldn’t tolerate a speck of dust in my eye. Richard had always been popular with women. Back when we were madly in love, he tried hard to keep himself clean for me. But some women just threw themselves at him. We used to fight about it constantly. But over the years, maybe because we’d been together too long and the passion faded, or maybe just because we got older and lost the energy to argue, our marriage became like stagnant water. Not a ripple in sight. When life gets too bland, people crave excitement. “Richard, we’ve known each other for twenty years. Married for almost ten. The company is thriving. Our parents get along great.” “Do you know what it means if we divorce?” It means assets need to be divided. The stock price will tank. It means major upheavals for both families. Our parents are old, they have health issues; they might not survive the shock. Richard was silent for a long time. finally, he said, “I’m doing this out of respect for you.” “Your respect for me is finding a mistress and cuckolding me?” Richard frowned, disapproving. “She’s not a mistress! I told you, I was shameless. She knew I had a family and kept rejecting me.” “I get it. You don’t need to explain. Love is hard to control with reason.” I laid it all out. “You’re just afraid I’ll use my status as your wife to bully her, right? Don’t worry. I, Sarah Vance, might have many flaws, but I am generous.” Richard looked at me tentatively. “You really don’t mind?” “To say I don’t mind at all would be a lie, but you two are true love,” I sighed softly. “True love is rare these days. I always respect and bless it.” 2 Richard wasn’t swayed by my sweet talk, but he knew I was stating facts. So he said he’d reconsider the divorce. For several days, he came home on time. Occasionally his phone would ring. He’d glance at me, then hang up. I said generously, “Was that her? Answer it. Don’t make her sad. You can’t give her a legitimate status, so don’t let her suffer in other ways.” Richard endured it for a moment, then got up and went into the study. The door closed tight, just like his heart, which hadn’t been open to me for a long time. Actually, I understood him. People are very tolerant of those they love deeply or don’t love at all. They are only harsh toward those they once loved deeply but no longer do. Richard probably detested me right now. Detested me so much that breathing the same air in the living room felt unbearable. Yet, because he was afraid I’d hurt his lover, he had to come home every day and pretend with me. It must be hard for him. At night, as usual, I slept alone. I can’t remember how long it’s been since Richard and I had a normal married life. At first, I tried to seduce him. But he always used “tired” as an excuse. But men are creatures who can impregnate women at eighty and try to grope nurses while paralyzed in bed. I knew then that Richard wasn’t tired. He had just been satisfied by another woman. But a thirty-year-old woman has needs. I was in my prime. With no other choice, I found a clean man. Before sleeping, I received a message. [When are you getting a divorce?] [I told you, I won’t be a homewrecker! If you don’t divorce him, don’t contact me again!] I thought of his eight-pack abs and licked my lips with regret. Divorce was impossible. But since he was so firm, I couldn’t force him. So I moved my finger and deleted him. Luckily, three-legged frogs are hard to find, but two-legged men are everywhere. Goodbye is just a chance to say hello to the next one. 3 Monday. Shareholders’ meeting. Ever since I had a miscarriage from overwork two years ago, I stopped going to the office. I stayed home, rested, and collected dividends. But I still attended the quarterly meetings. Compared to the last time I was here, there were new faces. I immediately spotted the woman in the corner taking notes. Seeing me, she panicked, looking left and right before shrinking back and lowering her head. I didn’t feel any hostility toward her, just a bit of pity. She was the first woman Richard had brought in front of me. But she wasn’t the first woman Richard had cheated with during our marriage. Richard was someone who separated public and private life. He never brought his past flings to the company. Thinking of how Richard defended her, I thought, maybe this really was true love. At ten o’clock, Richard walked into the conference room on time. But he didn’t start the meeting. After a while, there was noise outside. The heavy doors opened, and a man in a dark grey suit walked in. “Sorry, I’m late.” He apologized verbally, but his face showed zero remorse. He sat down next to Richard. Seeming to sense my gaze, he looked over indifferently, then looked away expressionlessly. I clicked my tongue. This guy has a poker face. Especially in bed—the more intense the desire, the colder he looks. But I might be a bit masochistic. The colder he is, the more excited I get. “Director Vance, who is this?” the shareholder next to me whispered, surprised. “Caleb Sterling. Our angel investor,” I explained softly. “Without him, the company wouldn’t exist.” “But I’ve never seen him before?” “He has a lot of assets. We invite him to every meeting, but he always declines.” “Why did he come this time?” I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s bored?” 4 The meeting ended near noon. I didn’t rush to leave, planning to have lunch with Richard. When I came out of the restroom after washing my hands, Richard’s lover walked in. Seeing me, her instinct was to run. But after a moment, she shuffled over, head down, voice like a mosquito: “Director Vance.” I washed my hands slowly, pulled a paper towel, and dried them. Receiving no response, she started crying from the grievance. Her shoulders shook, looking pitiful. “Director Vance, I really didn’t mean to ruin your marriage. I… I didn’t know he was married…” She sobbed, starting to defend herself: “I thought about leaving him, but, but…” “But you love him too much,” I took out a handkerchief, lifted the girl’s chin, and wiped her tears with pity, speaking for her. “The thought of leaving Richard breaks your heart.” “So you had to stay entangled with him. Later, he got you a job at the company so you could be together day and night, right?” I finished her lines. She was stunned, forgetting to cry. “Do you have something to say to me?” I asked her. The company is huge. If she really wanted to avoid me, it would be easy. Her intentions were too obvious. She was too weak. So weak that I found her somewhat cute. “Director Vance, you’re so capable, beautiful, and rich. So, so… could you please divorce him…” Knowing she was in the wrong, she started crying again. “I really have no choice. I… I’m pregnant…” “Does Richard know?” I asked calmly. She nodded. “But he says you won’t divorce. But Director Vance, the child is innocent… I came from a broken home. I really want to give my child a complete family!” “You can call me shameless, but for my child, I’ll do anything!” I smiled slightly and nodded. “I understand. Stop crying. You’re pregnant; be careful.” “Thank you for your blessing.” Saying that, she tried to kneel. But realizing I wasn’t stopping her, her knees hovered awkwardly in mid-air. I checked the time on my watch. It was late. No wonder I was hungry. “I’ll discuss the divorce with Richard again.” I patted her shoulder and floated away. Richard’s office was large. When I pushed the door open, he was chatting with Caleb. Seeing me, Richard smiled and stood up. “Just in time. Caleb, you haven’t seen Sarah in a long time, right? Lunch together?” Not that long. We slept together last week. Caleb glanced at me and nodded slightly. “It has been a while. I was planning to message you guys for dinner today, but Sarah seems to have deleted me?” “Impossible.” Richard picked up my phone and scrolled through it. He really didn’t see Caleb’s name. “Must be accidental,” Richard explained immediately. “Sarah never deletes people.” “It’s fine. Just add me back.” Caleb held out his QR code, personally watching Richard scan it and send the request. I rolled my eyes internally. Who was the one last night swearing never to contact me again?

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My boyfriend and I were supposed to go skiing. He bailed. He booked an entire ski resort for her, his old flame. She sent me a video from the slopes, her voice all soft and breathy. “I had no idea Alex would ditch you for me… I’ll make him make it up to you next time, okay?” I replied calmly: “Have a great time. Don’t worry about the money.” Oh. She probably doesn’t know that the resort Alex booked? I own it. 1 When Alex got home, I was reviewing the quarterly profits for that exact resort. He walked in and handed me a gift box. “Stella, a present for you.” A green box. The complimentary gift for guests who spend over ten thousand dollars. I didn’t even have to open it. I knew it was a green, Christmas-themed snow globe. I looked up. “Have fun with Chloe?” He flinched—just for a second—then sighed, as if he was relieved. “So you found out. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to overthink it. “Chloe’s going through a nasty divorce, she’s in a bad place. I was just keeping her company. It’s not a big deal.” “Oh.” I nodded, my eyes still on my laptop. He stared at me, frowning. “Are you mad? Over this?” His voice was getting impatient. “Stella, that’s enough. I just got back. I’m tired.” He went to the bathroom to shower. His phone, left on the coffee table, lit up. A new message from Chloe. [Alex, is Stella mad? Should I explain it to her?] [But what if she gets even angrier seeing me?] For the first time, I saw the contact name he had for her: Little Miss Drama. Unlike me. In his phone, I was, and always had been, Stella. My full name. 2 I was the one who replied to Chloe. [No need to explain. Just apologize.] I sent it as a voice memo. [A wire transfer is the most sincere way.] Another voice memo. Chloe didn’t reply for a long time. And she definitely didn’t send any money. Alex came out of the shower, toweling his hair, and glanced at his phone. Then he looked up at me. Just then, Chloe’s reply finally came. Timid. [Stella? Why are you answering?] [Did you and Alex fight because of me? Please… please don’t fight. I’m the one who asked him to come…] Alex listened to hers, then played mine. [No need to explain. Just apologize.] [A wire transfer is the most sincere way.] He listened to mine twice. His face darkened. “Stella, is money all you care about?” “What else?” I asked, surprised. “You?” I opened the green box he’d given me, running a finger over the green, glittery peak of the globe. “And get a freebie from your spending on another woman?” Alex froze. The anger on his face turned into awkwardness. “The flight was a last-minute thing. I didn’t have time to get you a real gift. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” “Oh,” I nodded. “Cash is fine.” “Stella!” he snapped. I just looked at him, confused. I had no idea what he was so angry about now. We stared at each other for a long time. Finally, he gritted out, “You’re unbelievable.” He stormed off toward the guest room. SLAM. “…” Psycho. 3 Early the next morning, I was in the bedroom packing for a business trip. The second Alex opened the guest room door, his face went dark. “Stella, what are you doing? “Are you seriously running away from home this early? Is this ever going to end?” I frowned. “I have a business trip.” His expression softened slightly. He didn’t say anything. He just went to the bathroom. By the time he was done, I was dressed and ready. “Let’s go.” He blinked. “Go where?” “Your office. I need to pick up the proposal.” He finally remembered. The whole reason for the ski trip was that I was heading to Colorado to bid on the new mountain resort development. Halfway there, Alex turned the steering wheel. The car’s display lit up. Incoming call: Little Miss Drama. He instinctively glanced at me. I looked up. “Can’t answer?” He scowled. “Don’t be passive-aggressive.” He hit “accept.” Her voice chirped, “Alex, where are you? I’m all dressed and waiting!” Alex cleared his throat. “You should just grab an Uber. It’s not a good time for me.” Her voice faltered, then turned worried. “Alex, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” The car was silent. I laughed, softly. “Something did. His wife is in the car.” The other end went quiet for a long time. Then Chloe’s panicked voice came through. “Stella! I’m so sorry, I’m just causing trouble, I really didn’t mean anything, please don’t misunderstand…” “That’s enough.” Alex cut her off, frowning. He paused, and his voice softened. “Just get a car. I’ll see you at the office.” He hung up. He glanced at me while waiting at a red light. He hesitated. Then he explained: “Chloe’s living in a new place, it’s remote. It’s hard to get a car.” I almost laughed. “Are you looking for a ‘World’s Most Thoughtful Husband’ award?” Alex’s face instantly went blank. He stopped talking. 4 I printed a few extra copies of the proposal at his office. While I was having some tea, the office door was thrown open. Chloe stood there, her eyes red. “Alex, I still couldn’t get a car.” She was on the verge of tears, her wide, wet eyes fixed on him. “Is Stella still mad…? “So… can you still come pick me up…?” She looked devastated. “Does this mean… I can’t work at your company anymore?” I was sitting on the sofa, facing away from the door. I set my teacup down on the table with a clink. “Good tea,” I said, loud enough to be heard. Chloe’s face went white. She looked desperately at Alex. “Stella.” Alex’s voice was heavy, displeased. “You’re taking this too far.” In front of me, he buzzed his secretary. He had Chloe settled in a conference room first. Then he came back, locked his office door, and rubbed his temples. “Stop seeing her as a threat. She’s going through a divorce, she’s got no job, nowhere to live. I’m just… helping her out.” He made me laugh. “Just helping her out? “Helping her out so much she can just burst into your office without knocking? “Are the security and receptionists at your company dead? They just let strangers come right up?!” Alex’s expression cracked. “That’s enough, Alex. Stop being disgusting.” I sneered, grabbed the proposals, and walked out. Chloe was standing by the secretary’s empty desk. Our eyes met. She gave me a small, triumphant smirk. It was a look only another woman would understand. See? I’m taking your man. I stopped. I raised my voice. “Ms. Yao, what are you smiling at? Are you proud of yourself?” Her expression immediately shifted to panic. Alex pulled his door open. Chloe tugged nervously at her clothes. “I… I wasn’t smiling…” 5 Before boarding, I saw Chloe’s new Instagram story. A shot from the passenger seat. She was holding a bubble tea. One cup, two straws. A couple’s drink. The driver’s hand was in the shot, wearing an expensive watch. Instantly recognizable. Her caption: [It’s only good tea when you’re drinking it with the right person.] I liked it. Then I screenshotted it and forwarded it to Alex. He replied almost immediately. A voice memo. “Stella, Chloe’s place is far, I’m just dropping her home.” In the background, I could faintly hear Chloe’s panicked voice, “Oh no, I forgot to hide my story from Stella…” My voice was flat. “Next time you two get a room, tell her to hide that from me, too. Otherwise, it’s so hard for you to explain.” Alex’s call came in immediately. I looked at it. Declined. Airplane mode. It was snowing in Aspen. The flight was delayed. By the time I landed, it was night. My potential partner, Ethan Chen, picked me up himself and hosted a dinner. We talked about the resort development until midnight. My phone had been vibrating for ages. I finally picked it up. Alex’s voice was exhausted. “Why are you just answering now?” “Busy.” I kept it short. The dinner wasn’t over. Just before I hung up, a woman’s crying came from Alex’s end. “It’s so late… and I heard a man’s voice on Stella’s end… what if she’s in trouble… “Did you two fight again because of me…” She was sobbing. Alex, however, sounded panicked. “The construction on Chloe’s street… they blocked the road. I can’t leave. I just… came upstairs for a minute…” I paused. “No need to explain. You two spent seven days and seven nights at the resort together. This is nothing.” Alex was stunned. He couldn’t find a word to say. At the table, Ethan’s young assistant, already drunk, slurred, “Ms. Yu, taking a call means a penalty drink!” I smiled apologetically. “Alright.” Before I could hang up, Alex’s voice exploded from the phone. “You’re drinking? “With men?! “Stella, where are you?! Send me your location! I’ll come get you!” The strong liquor burned my throat. These mountain guys could really drink. I held up the phone, screen bright. I laughed. “Road’s blocked, remember? You can’t get out. You forgot?” Alex choked. I just hung up. Phone off. The assistant was already coming at me with another glass. Ethan blocked him. His voice was calm. “That’s enough. Easy on the drinks.” The drunk assistant sobered up instantly. He sat straight down. Ethan pushed a glass of fresh-squeezed juice in front of me. “Try this.” I don’t like orange juice. But I took a sip. “Not bad.”

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One in the morning, and a sobbing voice message from my best friend popped up on my phone. “Ella, his parents are forcing him to go on a blind date! He’s in so much pain. Can you please pretend to be his girlfriend and scare the other woman away?” I was in the middle of a game. “Mia, seriously? I have work tomorrow. I don’t have time for your melodrama.” A few minutes later, a video call came through. “He’s locked himself in his room, won’t eat or drink. He says you’re the only one who can talk him down. Please, you have to come.” My team was on the verge of winning. I hung up, annoyed. An hour after that, she showed up at my door, her boyfriend in tow. “We can’t do this without you, Ella! How about the three of us get together? That way his parents can’t force him to do anything!” I fought the urge to slap her. “Mia, have you completely lost your mind? I’m your best friend, not your romantic rival! And besides, I have a boyfriend!” I slammed the door shut, figuring they’d give up once they’d exhausted their crazy. The next morning, I turned on my phone to find a gallery of them in bed together and over 99 messages, all variations of the same thing: “Just waiting for you to join us.” 1 A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. Worried about what these two lunatics might do next, I took a deep breath and called Mia. She picked up instantly. Her shrieking, tear-filled voice exploded in my ear. “Ella! Why did you shut the door on me yesterday? Why didn’t you answer my calls or texts this morning?” “How could you be so heartless! You just want to see us break up, don’t you? You want to see Nathan driven to his death!” I held the phone away from my ear, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Mia, I pulled an all-nighter gaming. It’s normal for me to turn my phone off to catch up on sleep.” “Normal? Nathan is on a hunger strike for me! He was in agony all night, couldn’t sleep a wink, and you were just sleeping?” Nathan again. Ever since she’d started dating this guy six months ago, my life had known no peace. Her voice turned demanding. “You need to come to my place. Right now. Nathan said he only wants to see you. If you talk to him, he’ll eat!” I sighed, exasperated. “Mia, I’ve told you a million times, I have a boyfriend. It is not appropriate for me to go comfort your boyfriend who threatens to die every five minutes.” I couldn’t stand the guy. Nathan always had this perpetually melancholic look on his face, and the way his eyes lingered on me was slimy. It made my skin crawl. “What damn boyfriend?” Mia’s tone turned vicious. “A project manager who’s out of town all the time? How many times a year do you even see him?” “What can a guy like that give you? Does he get you? Does he love you half as much as Nathan does? I’m telling you, Ella, I’m doing this for your own good. Don’t be so ungrateful!” “Have you forgotten? We used to shower together in college, we even scrubbed each other’s backs! Why can’t we share a man?” “Nathan genuinely sees you as one of us! We’re facing a huge crisis, and all you have to do is join us. If the three of us are together forever, his parents will have no excuse to force him into anything!” Her logic was so outrageously warped it made my head spin. “My relationship is my business. If you keep spewing this nonsense, I’m blocking you.” “You wouldn’t dare—” I was already late for work. I hung up and rushed to the office. I’d just reached the entrance when my phone vibrated violently again. I answered, my patience gone. “Mia, I am at work. Whatever it is, it can wait until I’m off!” But the voice on the other end was familiar, and laced with smug satisfaction. “Hello, Ella. It’s Mark Harris, our old class president.” “A few of us from college are having a reunion nearby. Mia’s here with us, and she’s… very upset. She’s telling everyone you’re trying to steal her boyfriend and that you’ve been manipulating her, treating her like your personal servant.” “You should probably get over here. Everyone’s waiting for an explanation.” My head was pounding. I had no choice but to take the day off and rush to the restaurant. The door to the private room was slightly ajar. Before I even entered, I could hear Mia’s heart-wrenching sobs. “Sob… You guys have no idea how horrible she’s been to me!” “I treated her like a sister, I thought of her in everything I did, but her? She’s jealous of me! She can’t stand to see me happy!” “She saw how good my boyfriend Nathan was to me, and she decided she had to steal him! She sends him suggestive texts every day, hotel room numbers… she even said… she said she wants to be with him and that I should just let them be together!” She was twisting the truth, painting me as a conniving homewrecker. Mark Harris, the class president, was putting on a show of consoling her. “Mia, don’t cry. We believe you. Ella wouldn’t do something like that, right? There must be some misunderstanding.” “I don’t care! She’s blinded by jealousy!” Mia slammed her hand on the table, throwing a full-blown tantrum. “If you all don’t help me get justice today, if you don’t make her stay away from my boyfriend, I’ll… I’ll die right here!” The room swam before my eyes. I leaned against the cool wall to steady myself. I pushed the door open, forcing a stiff smile onto my face. “Mia, stop it. When did I ever say I wanted to steal your boyfriend? Why don’t you show everyone our group chat history, if you’re so sure?” I turned to Mark and the others apologetically. “Sorry to drag you all into this. Mia just loves her boyfriend a little too much and her imagination is running wild…” As I was trying to explain, Mia lunged at me like a wild animal and snatched my phone. “See! Look at her! She’s guilty! She’s trying to delete the evidence!” “Mia! Give that back!” I was furious, scrambling to get it back from her. She dodged me, her fingers flying across the screen—she had tricked me into giving her all my passwords ages ago. She opened my messaging app. Pinned to the top was my chat with my boyfriend, Liam. All our sweet, private nicknames and intimate conversations were suddenly on display for everyone to see. “Well, well, Ella. Didn’t know you had it in you,” one of the guys snickered. “Ugh, so gross. No shame,” a girl muttered. The next second, Mia tapped on Liam’s profile picture and hit the video call button. He answered. Mia shoved her face up to the camera. “Hey! You must be Liam, right? Stop bothering our Ella! The person she loves is Nathan! The three of us have been together for a while now! A broke-ass project manager like you doesn’t deserve her!” “You’re insane!” I shrieked, humiliation overwhelming all reason. I lunged forward and finally, with all my strength, wrestled the phone back. The call had already ended. I stared at her, my entire body shaking with rage, tears streaming down my face. “Why? Why would you do this to me? I thought we were best friends!” Mia’s eyes were red too, but her justification was bizarre. “I just love Nathan so much! I can’t live without him! I’ll do anything to make him happy and keep him by my side!” There it was again. That damned, selfish, twisted definition of “love.” It reminded me of college. I had saved up my scholarship money for six months to pay for a crucial certification exam. Mia came to me in tears, saying she’d fallen in love with a limited-edition handbag but couldn’t afford it. “Ella, you’re the best,” she’d pleaded, clinging to my arm. “Just lend me the money. I’ll pay you back next month, I promise.” My heart softened, and I lent her my exam fee. She carried the bag for less than a week before tossing it aside. She never mentioned the money again. Later, my father got seriously ill and needed money for an emergency surgery. Desperate, I had to swallow my pride and ask her for the money back. She looked troubled. “Geez, it’s just a few thousand bucks, do you have to be so pushy? I’m a little tight on cash myself right now. Maybe you can figure something else out?” In the end, my father missed the optimal window for treatment and was left with permanent health complications. His illness became a thorn in my heart that I could never remove. My hands trembled as I tried to call Liam back to explain. The phone rang and rang. He didn’t pick up. Looking at this unreasonable woman, so lost in her own self-righteous drama, my heart felt like a dead, empty space. My voice was almost numb. “Mia, you need to calm down. Let me… let me think about it.” For days, I was a nervous wreck. Liam never returned my call. He didn’t reply to any of my texts. Filled with a gnawing dread, I dragged myself through the work week. When I got back to my apartment building after work, I glanced up and my heart stopped. The light in my kitchen was on. I tiptoed up the stairs and took out my key, only to find the door was unlocked, just slightly ajar. I pushed it open. The scene inside made me gasp. Mia was in my kitchen, wearing my apron, bustling around my stove. And sitting at my dining table, playing the game I was halfway through on my Switch, was that gloomy bastard, Nathan. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. Mia saw me and, without a trace of guilt, beamed. “You’re back! Perfect timing. Go wash up, I made your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs.” “I asked you,” my voice trembled, “how you got a key to my apartment!” “We’re best friends, silly,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I just quietly made a copy last time I was here.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Even if you wanted to come over, you should have called first!” “Oh, I wanted to surprise you.” Mia came out of the kitchen with a platter of food and linked her arm through mine. “See? Don’t the three of us look like a perfect little family?” Her face was glowing with a deranged, saintly light. “Nathan gets into his head when he’s alone. I figured you have a spare room here, so I had him move in with you. You can help cheer him up.” “Besides,” she added, “we’re going to be a family sooner or later anyway.” Just then, Nathan put down the game console. He turned, and his dark, predatory eyes scanned me from head to toe, like I was a prize he was about to claim. A chill ran down my spine. I vaguely remembered Mia’s family being a normal, working-class household. I couldn’t fathom how they had raised a daughter so clueless, so utterly insane. I fought back the fear and disgust. “I said I’d think about it. I never agreed! Now, I want both of you out of my apartment. Immediately!” Mia’s face fell. “What is wrong with you?” “I’ve already made the decision for you! Don’t be so ungrateful! The three of us, together, taking care of each other. And he has a lot of energy, neither of us will ever be neglected! Why can’t you just accept it? Are you still thinking about that Liam guy?” “You don’t get to make decisions for me! I am your best friend, not your property!” My emotions finally exploded. “Get your man and your stuff and get out! If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!” “You wouldn’t dare!” she shrieked, pointing a finger at my nose. “You’d call the cops on your best friend for some guy you barely know? Ella, have you no conscience?” “That’s right! I have no conscience! I’m not as ‘selfless’ as you!” I screamed back, pulling out my phone and dialing 911 without a second of hesitation. Mia froze, shocked that I’d actually done it. The police arrived quickly. After getting the story, even they were speechless at the sheer insanity of this forced “family unit.” They gave Mia and Nathan a stern lecture. Under the officers’ supervision, they grudgingly began to pack their things. As she was leaving, Mia stood at the door and screamed at me, calling me an ungrateful, heartless snake. And Nathan, as he passed me, paused and leaned in close, his voice a low, chilling whisper in my ear. “You’re hot when you’re angry. I’m getting hard.” His voice was cold and slimy, like a caterpillar crawling into my ear. I flinched back, horrified. He just smiled, a cruel, confident smirk that promised this wasn’t over. I collapsed to the floor after they left, drenched in a cold sweat. I couldn’t stay here. I had to move, immediately. I had to get as far away from those two psychos as possible. I found a new place at lightning speed, packed through the night, and was gone the next day. For two weeks, there was silence. Mia didn’t find me. Nathan seemed to have vanished from my life. And Liam finally called back. After I tearfully explained everything, his voice was gentle. “You silly girl, why would I ever believe that stuff? I just had something important I had to take care of, that’s all.” What could be so important that he couldn’t even take a call? A seed of doubt was planted, but I chose to trust him. Friday afternoon, I was in the middle of a presentation for a VIP client. Halfway through, the conference room door was thrown open with a loud bang. Mia stood there, dragging Nathan behind her. Everyone in the room stared, stunned. The moment I saw them, my mind went blank, my blood ran cold. “Ella!” Mia’s voice boomed, capturing everyone’s attention. She pointed at me, her voice breaking with crocodile tears. “Everyone, take a good look! This is my ‘best friend’!” “She wishes me well to my face, but behind my back, she’s seducing my boyfriend, trying to destroy our relationship! And now she’s thrown us out on the street, leaving us homeless!” Nathan stood beside her, perfectly playing the part of the tragic, tormented hero caught between two women. Homeless? The room erupted in whispers. Everyone, including the incredibly important client sitting across from me, was staring with a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. I stood up, shaking with rage. “Mia! What are you talking about? When did I ever make you homeless?” “I’m not lying!” Mia milked the attention for all it was worth. “She promised she would be with us! The three of us were supposed to start a new family together! But now she’s latched onto someone better and wants to kick us to the curb!” “I had no other choice! I’m begging you all, please, help me get justice!” “If a person can’t even keep a simple promise, if her character is this corrupt, can you really trust her with your business?” I never imagined that the person I had called my best friend for over a decade would slander me so viciously in front of my boss and my clients. She wasn’t just trying to ruin my reputation. She was trying to ruin my entire future. Nathan stood behind her, head bowed, the picture of misery, playing his part to perfection. “Oh my god, a threesome? Kids these days are wild.” “You can’t judge a book by its cover. She seemed so professional.” “Yeah, I wouldn’t trust someone with such a chaotic personal life. Who knows what other secrets she’s keeping.” Mia turned to my boss. “Sir, I came here today to ask the company to make Ella honor her promise and come back to us! If she refuses, you should fire her! We can’t have our family’s name dragged through the mud like this!” The room was spinning. I thought I was going to faint. “Ella, care to explain?” My boss’s face was as dark as thunder. Just as I was about to be swallowed by the crushing weight of humiliation, a familiar voice cut through the chaos from the doorway. “This family you’re trying to build… it’s not going to happen.”

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1 I was five months pregnant when my husband’s old flame set my house on fire. I didn’t call him. I just wet a towel, pressed it over my nose and mouth, and waited. I didn’t call him, because in my last life, I did. I screamed for him to save me. He was a fire captain. He came. He got me out, and the baby was saved. But Chloe—his “one that got away”—was still inside. By the time he went back for her, it was too late. She burned to death. He told me it wasn’t my fault. He told me to rest, to focus on the baby. He even took a leave of absence to take care of me. Then, the day I gave birth, he took me to Chloe’s grave. And right there, in the dirt, he cut our newborn son’s throat. The blood splattered his face. “Do you know what it feels like to burn alive, Elara?” he’d hissed, his eyes red. “I want you to feel everything she felt.” He doused me and the baby in gasoline and lit the match. As the flames ate me, I saw his face. “You set that fire,” he screamed. “You thought you could play the victim? You’re paying for what you did!” Now, I opened my eyes. The smoke was thick, and I was back. 2 The acrid smoke choked me, and the pain in my lungs snapped me back to the present. I grabbed my phone. This time, I didn’t call his personal number. I dialed 911. I heard the sirens. I saw his truck, Engine 12. I saw him, Owen, my husband, in full gear. He ran into the burning building. I watched as he carried Chloe out, bridal style. Only then, when she was safe, did I crawl to the hallway and call for help. His crew saw me. They thought I was joking. “Seriously, Mrs. Thorne?” one of them snapped. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” A piece of the ceiling, a heavy light fixture, broke free and slammed onto my stomach. I spat out a mouthful of blood. They just… watched. I gritted my teeth, dragging myself through the smoke and debris, and collapsed on the lawn. Every oxygen tank, every cold compress, every paramedic was focused on Chloe. Owen didn’t even look at me. “You got what you deserved,” he spat. I was soaked in sweat and blood. I could feel the baby… I could feel it slipping away. In the last life, Chloe and I had both called him. He chose me. He chose the baby. He went back for her, but the roof collapsed. He’d told me he was fine. He’d comforted me. And all of it, all that care, was just a long, slow-burning revenge. Now, he wouldn’t even give me a bottle of water. I saw the pool of blood forming beneath me. “Help… my baby…” I rasped. “Please…” The firefighter closest to me, his friend, finally turned. His face was a mask of contempt. He nudged me with his boot. “Stop faking, Elara. Everyone at the station knows you hate Chloe. Jesus, you’re pathetic. You set a fire while pregnant just to get his attention? Well, he’s busy. You’d better pray she’s okay, or he’ll divorce your crazy ass.” I knew Owen didn’t love me. I didn’t know his entire crew hated me, too. A violent contraction seized me. I couldn’t breathe. My skin was blistering from the heat. No one helped. Finally, I heard a different voice. “Hey… that’s… that’s a lot of blood. Is she… is she really hurt?” “Nah,” the first guy said. “It’s a prop. She’s just trying to get the Captain to look at her. Fine. I’ll get him.” I didn’t get his concern. I got his rage. His gloved hand cracked across my face. “Elara! Get up! Stop pretending!” “Are you insane?” he roared. “Setting a fire and getting yourself trapped in it? You’re pathetic!” I tried to explain. My throat was too dry. My stomach was cramping so hard I saw stars. I just grabbed his sleeve. Help me. He hesitated. For one second. Then he pressed his hand, hard, down onto my pregnant stomach. “Nice try. Chloe already told me you’d be hiding somewhere, pretending to be a victim. I believed her.” He turned to leave. “Captain!” one of his men yelled. “She’s… she’s really bleeding!” “It’s fake, dumbass,” Owen shouted back, not even turning. “She’s five months along. You can’t miscarry that easily. If she wants to play dead, let her.” The pain became a solid, black wall. I fell into it. I dreamed of him. The cold, brilliant guest lecturer I’d had a crush on. I’d pursued him relentlessly. Flowers, coffee, basketball games. He finally agreed. I thought it was the start of my life. It was the start of my nightmare. The dates he’d cancel. The “emergency calls” that pulled him away. I found out the truth on our wedding day. An anonymous email. A ten-year email chain between him and Chloe. He’d been with her the whole time. I was… I was the other woman. And I’d won. I was so afraid of losing him, I never even confronted him. When Chloe “died” in the first life, I was… relieved. He’d been so kind. He’d bought out every baby store in the city. All of it… all that “love”… was just a performance. To make sure I was happy and healthy, right up until the moment he could destroy me. 3 When I woke up, I wasn’t in the flames. I was in a hospital. It wasn’t Owen. It was a man I didn’t know. “You’re awake? I’m your downstairs neighbor. I ran up to check the smoke, found you on the floor. I… I’m so sorry. The doctors… they said the baby…” I managed a smile. “It’s… not your fault. I know. Thank you.” A stranger. A stranger saw I was dying, and my own husband… “What is wrong with those firefighters?” the neighbor fumed. “They just left you! I already filed a formal complaint. It’s all over the neighborhood forums.” I shook my head. “My… husband… he’s dead.” The look of pity on his face was all I needed. I paid him back for the hospital fees and sent him on his way. The “forums” were more than I expected. #FireCaptainLetsPregnantWifeBurn. It was on Twitter. It was on TikTok. The video my neighbor took of me, bloody and unconscious on the lawn, was everywhere. The department was in full-blown crisis mode. I was about to text Owen the divorce papers when a message from Chloe came through. She was in the same hospital. Two floors down. It was a picture of Owen, spoon-feeding her broth. I closed the app and called him. It took five tries. “What?” he snarled. “Do you want? To see if Chloe’s dead? Sorry to disappoint you. I saved her. She’s fine.” “Elara, I can’t believe what you did. You tried to kill her. You have one hour to get down to her room and apologize. Or we’re done.” Before I could speak, I heard her whimpering. “Owen, no… don’t be mad at her. It’s my fault… If she says I set the fire, just… just agree with her. A pregnant woman can’t be stressed…” “See?” he barked into the phone. “She’s a saint, and you’re a monster. I’m handling this.” “Fine,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce. I’ll email the papers.” I hung up. The texts started instantly. [Where are you? Are you crazy?] [You think I’m scared to divorce you? You’re pregnant! You’ll be on your knees begging me to sign that birth certificate!] [Get that shit offline, Elara. NOW. Don’t make me tell the world what you really are.] I blocked his number. The nurses on my floor were all whispering. “Did you see the guy in 305? So hot. And he’s so devoted to his girlfriend.” “I heard he’s cooking for her. In the hospital cafeteria! He rented out a kitchen!” I just stared at my IV. That night, the doctor told me the smoke inhalation and the blunt-force trauma to my abdomen had scarred my uterus. I would never be able to have another child. My first reaction… was relief. 4 The backlash was so bad the Fire Commissioner had to give a press conference. He threw me under the bus. “This fire was the result of a tragic domestic dispute,” he said, reading from a script. “The arsonist, Mrs. Elara Thorne, acted out of jealousy.” To “prove” it, Owen’s personal account posted a photo of our marriage license. The narrative flipped. Instantly. My name, my face, my old social media accounts were everywhere. #ArsonistWife. #ElaraThePsycho. My phone was just a stream of death threats. The hospital staff started treating me like a prisoner. I didn’t say a word. I just waited. The day I was discharged, I sent Owen one text from a new number. “Tomorrow. 9 AM. Courthouse. Be there.” He called immediately. “Finally,” he sneered. “Decided to crawl out of your hole? I gave you a chance. You didn’t take it. You want a divorce? Fine. But don’t think you’re getting the kid. You’re an unfit, psychotic mother!” I hung up. I opened the home security app on my phone. And I downloaded the footage from the living room camera, two days before the fire. The footage of Chloe, walking in with a can of gasoline.

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The day after my mom’s latest marriage ultimatum, I dumped my boyfriend of five years and, armed with my resume, stormed the park’s matchmaking corner. My best friend was baffled. “I thought you said Alex was your rock? Why wouldn’t you marry him?” I scanned the single men’s profiles, not even looking up. “That rock is only steady for the new girl. As his ex, I’m just old news.” A second later, Alex caught up to me, his voice tight with anger. “I told you I just see her as a little sister. You’re breaking up with me over this?” 1 I ignored him, reaching for the resume in his hand. It was the only “normal” one I’d found after two hours of searching. 32 years old, university professor, no bad habits, stable family, and most importantly: an only child. No little sister in need of constant emotional support. Alex lifted his hand just out of my reach. The silver cufflinks on his wrist were a birthday gift from me last year. “Nora, stop messing around.” His jaw was clenched, a clear sign he was reining in his temper. I smiled, pointing to the park’s entrance sign. “Mr. Hayes, this is a matchmaking event. It’s all about first impressions and efficiency. You’re scaring off my future husband.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the thin sheet of paper. “You’d throw away five years for a man you don’t even know?” “It’s not for him. It’s for me.” My smile vanished. I looked at him calmly. “Alex, I’m done getting 3 AM calls because Kathy got harassed at a bar again and needs you to come ‘rescue’ her.” “I’m done with you ditching me at a restaurant on our anniversary to go comfort a heartbroken Kathy.” “And I’m especially done hearing you say, over and over, that she’s just a sister, that she’s fragile, that you’re all she has.” The color drained from Alex’s face. He opened his mouth, his throat working, but no words came out. A few of the older folks nearby had already pulled out their phones, whispering amongst themselves. “Such a handsome young man. What’s wrong with him that his girlfriend is leaving?” “Girls these days have such high standards.” Alex’s fist tightened. He valued his reputation above all else. And I wanted him to taste what it felt like to lose it, right here, where it mattered most to him. “Nora, let’s talk about this at home.” He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. I didn’t fight him. I just looked past him. A girl in a white dress was running toward us, her eyes red and puffy with tears. “Alex, don’t be mad at Nora! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have called you again!” Kathy had arrived. The switch for Alex’s “emotional stability” was flipped. He let go of me instantly, turning to steady her. “What’s wrong? I told you to wait for me at home.” “I was worried you and Nora would fight.” Kathy lowered her head, her voice choked with sobs, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all my fault.” As she spoke, she shot a glance at me from the corner of her eye. There was no apology in it. Only victory. I crossed my arms, a cold spectator to this masterclass in manipulative sisterly affection. Alex didn’t disappoint. He patted Kathy’s back gently, his voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it in five years. “It has nothing to do with you. This is between her and me.” He didn’t even look at me again before turning and leading Kathy away. The resume of the “normal man” was crumpled in his fist and tossed into a nearby trash can. Just like our five years together. 2 My best friend’s call came while I was supervising a locksmith. “You’re seriously changing the locks? Aren’t you afraid Alex’s going to lose his mind when he gets back?” “He has a home, and a sister who needs her emotions stabilized. Why would he come back here?” I said into the phone, then to the locksmith, “Change everything—the keypad, the deadbolt, the whole system. I don’t want so much as a fly getting in here from now on.” The line was silent for a moment. “Nora, are you sure about this? It’s been five years…” I watched the locksmith remove the old cylinder, a sense of calm settling over me. Five years? What finally broke me wasn’t the length of our relationship. It was a night two weeks ago when my fever hit 102 degrees. I’d gotten food poisoning from some bad takeout. I was completely drained, vomiting, and felt like my brain was boiling. Shaking, I called Alex, my voice trembling. “Alex, I feel awful. I have a fever. Can you please take me to the hospital?” He was quick to agree. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there. Leave the door unlocked for me.” I used my last ounce of strength to wait for him on the sofa. Just as I was about to pass out, my phone rang. It was Alex. Thinking he had arrived, I answered eagerly, only to be met with his apologetic tone. “Nora, listen… something’s come up with Kathy. She was watching a horror movie alone and got terrified. There’s a thunderstorm, and she called me, crying so hard she could barely breathe. You know how scared she gets.” In that moment, my heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water, freezing over inch by inch. “And?” I heard myself ask, my voice eerily calm and foreign. “I have to go check on her. I can’t leave her alone like that.” He paused, then said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “You need to be strong. Can you just grab a cab to the ER and check in? I’ll come find you as soon as she’s settled.” Be strong. Those two words were like a poisoned dagger, twisting deep into my heart. I hung up without another word. That night, I took a cab to the hospital alone, waited in line to register alone, and sat in the cold, sterile infusion room alone, watching the IV fluid drip, drip, drip. I was surrounded by patients with family and friends. I was the only one on my own. Alex never showed up. The next morning, a text finally arrived, accompanied by a picture of Kathy, sleeping peacefully. “Hey babe, Kathy was a wreck last night. I stayed with her to calm her down, just got her to sleep. How are you? Still at the hospital?” Staring at the screen, a new kind of clarity washed over me. Five years, and I was the one who always had to “be strong.” Kathy, on the other hand, was the fragile one who deserved unconditional comfort and care. My mother’s pressure to get married was just the spark. The bomb that obliterated every last fantasy and lingering attachment was that long, cold, six-hour night I spent alone in the hospital. “Nora? Are you still there?” my friend’s voice pulled me back. I snapped a picture of the old lock cylinder, posted it online with the caption: Out with the old, in with the new. Then I spoke into the phone. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I put the phone on speaker and started gathering Alex’s things: his toothbrush, his towel, a few changes of clothes, and the cufflinks he was wearing yesterday. I stuffed everything into a black trash bag. Whether he did it on purpose or not didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that I had chosen myself. That was enough. The doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. Alex was standing there, with a tear-streaked Kathy by his side. I didn’t open the door. Alex started punching in the passcode. The electronic lock beeped, “INCORRECT CODE,” over and over. His face grew darker with each failed attempt. Finally, he started pounding on the door. “Nora! Open the door! What the hell did you do to the lock?” I started recording a video through the peephole. Kathy pulled at his arm, crying. “Alex, don’t do this! She’s just angry. Let’s go for now.” “Go? She threw my stuff out! She’s trying to cut me off for good?” Alex kicked the door, the sound echoing through the hall. I calmly walked to the door and spoke through it. “Mr. Hayes, one more kick and I’m sending this video to your company’s HR department. I’ve even thought of a title: Rising Star Throws Public Tantrum. What’s the Story?” He froze. Silence. A few seconds later, Kathy’s tearful voice came through. “Nora, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at Alex. He just cares about you so much. I… I made you some homemade soup. I’ll just leave it here for you.” Their footsteps faded away. I opened the door. A thermos sat on the mat with a sticky note attached. Nora, five years is a long time. Don’t give up so easily. —Kathy Her handwriting was delicate, radiating a sweet, cloying scent of manipulation. I picked up the thermos, walked to the window, and opened it. I aimed for the dumpster below and let go. It soared in a perfect arc. Bullseye. Done. I dusted off my hands and went to take a shower. As the hot water washed over me, my phone buzzed incessantly on the counter. I didn’t need to look to know it was Alex. I let it ring. When I came out, toweling my hair, there were over twenty missed calls. The latest message was from Kathy. “Nora, how could you throw out the soup? It took me three hours to make. I know you don’t like me, but you can’t just trample on my feelings like that. Alex saw, and he’s really upset.” I stared at the message and laughed. Of course he was upset. I’d just destroyed the evidence he was going to use to prove his “innocence.” I didn’t reply. I just blocked both of them. And just like that, the world was quiet again. 3 The next day, with an updated personal profile in hand, I returned to the matchmaking corner. Alex had destroyed the professor’s resume, so today, I had to find someone even better. A man with gold-rimmed glasses and a gentle demeanor stopped me. “Excuse me, are you Nora Croft?” I nodded. “Hello, my name is Miles Archer. I was the, uh… the university professor whose resume was destroyed yesterday.” He gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “After I left, I got your number from Mrs. Gable, the event organizer, but my calls wouldn’t go through.” I remembered then that in my effort to avoid Alex, I had blocked all unknown numbers. “Oh, I’m sorry about that.” “It’s alright.” Miles’s gaze fell to the paper in my hand. “Back for another try?” I waved the sheet. “Looking for an efficient exit from singledom. Serious inquiries only.” He laughed. “Funny, so am I.” He gestured to a nearby café. “Would you mind talking in there? I have to admit, standing out here is making me a little nervous.” I saw the tips of his ears turn red and smiled. “Sure.” Miles was fascinating. He taught classical literature and spoke with a calm, measured cadence, but he had a way of saying things that hit my funny bone perfectly. We talked about everything from poetry to the philosophy of life, and it wasn’t awkward at all. “I get it, you know,” he said with a sigh when we got on the topic of the matchmaking event. “My family’s been pushing me too. Coming here myself is just more efficient.” He continued with a self-deprecating smile, “The last woman my mother set me up with insisted she was a ‘demure, traditional lady.’ When we met, she brought her entire extended family to ‘interview’ me.” “We’d barely spoken for two minutes before her aunt asked if I’d be willing to hand over my paycheck, and her cousin asked where I was planning to buy a house in the best school district.” “It felt like an interrogation. At the end, the ‘demure lady’ concluded that I was a nice guy, but my only flaw was that I seemed too quiet, and she was worried I wouldn’t be able to ‘keep her troublemaker brother in line’.” He mimicked their tones perfectly, making me laugh out loud. His story made him feel less like a set of qualifications on paper and more like a real person. We were both just two people, worn down by the bizarre logic of the modern dating world, trying to find a kindred spirit in the most direct way possible. My phone vibrated. I glanced at it. It was a picture message from an unknown number. It was a photo of Alex in a hospital bed, his left arm in a cast, his face pale. Kathy was sitting beside him, dutifully peeling an apple. A picture of domestic harmony. Beneath it was a line of text. “Nora, Alex was distracted looking for you and got into a car accident. The doctor said his arm is broken. Can you please come see him?” My face remained blank as I placed the phone screen-down on the table. Miles noticed the change in my expression. “Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing. Just spam.” I took a sip of my coffee, hiding the cold fury in my eyes. Alex, you really outdid yourself. You’d resort to faking an injury just to guilt me into coming back. “Miss Croft,” Miles said suddenly. “This may be forward of me, but I get the sense that you’re under a dark cloud right now.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I can see you’re not happy.” His gaze was sincere. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.” A warmth spread through my chest. Unlike Alex’s overbearing “I’ll fix this for you” attitude, Miles offered respect and equality. “Thank you, Miles,” I said, and I meant it. “But don’t worry. That cloud is about to disappear.” I was going to rip it apart myself. We talked until the café was about to close. Miles walked me to the entrance of my apartment complex. “I had a really wonderful time talking with you today,” he said, his figure elongated by the streetlight. “Me too.” “So… could we perhaps see each other again tomorrow?” he asked, a hopeful hesitation in his voice. I nodded. “Of course.” After saying goodbye, I turned and walked into the complex. Just as I reached my building, a dark figure lunged from the shadows and grabbed my arm. It was Alex. His right hand gripped me tightly, while his left was, indeed, in a cast, held in a sling around his neck. “Nora, you’ve really grown some claws,” he hissed, his eyes bloodshot. “I get in a car crash for you, and you’re out on a date with another man?”

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I’m a B-list actress with a benefactor. And recently, my benefactor ran into a little trouble. He was outed as the wrong baby, swapped at birth—a fake heir to a fortune. The day the news broke, his adoptive parents kicked him out. He had to move in with his biological family. Seeing him so lost, I couldn’t stand it. In a moment of grand, heartfelt impulse, I threw my arms wide and declared, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Later, after I’d graduated from benefactor-protégée to actual girlfriend, I went with him to meet his parents. That’s when I finally understood what “moving” meant for him. It meant leaving his adoptive father’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills… for his biological parents’ sprawling, gated estate in Montecito. That son of a bitch. He played me. 1 I first saw the news about Ethan being switched at birth where everyone sees everything: online. The gossip blogs were ruthless, claiming in breathless, self-assured posts that Ethan Prescott, the “fake heir,” had been cast out of the family, left with nothing. I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But I waited at home until late, and when Ethan finally walked through the door, the exhaustion was written all over him. He moved like a man carrying an invisible weight, his usual confidence replaced by a hollowed-out look in his eyes. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I softened my voice. “What’s wrong? Rough day?” He folded onto the couch beside me and leaned his head on my shoulder. It was a gesture of pure vulnerability, a silent plea for support I had never, not once, seen from him before. “I moved,” he said, his voice flat. Those two words were all the confirmation I needed. The tabloid headlines flashed in my mind. “Is it true?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What they’re saying online… about the mix-up at the hospital?” “Yeah,” he murmured into my shoulder. “I guess my last name is Hayes now.” His voice was so deflated, so unlike him. I could feel the blow this had dealt to his entire world. And who could blame him? The people who had raised you for over two decades suddenly weren’t your parents. It was a seismic shift that would shatter anyone. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, trying to offer some small comfort. “You know,” I said, forcing a light tone, “Ethan Hayes has a nice ring to it. Maybe even better than Ethan Prescott.” He managed a weak, fleeting smile. “Maybe.” Seeing him struggle to keep it together, I swallowed the hundred other questions I wanted to ask. It wasn’t the time. “Go get some sleep,” I said softly. “Try not to think about it too much.” Ethan nodded and pushed himself up, heading for the bedroom. But after a few steps, he stopped and looked back at me, his eyes full of a raw uncertainty. “Chloe,” he said. “Can you… stay with me?” “Of course.” I crossed the room in a heartbeat. He took my hand, his fingers lacing tightly with mine, and led me into the bedroom. 2 Ethan likes to hold me when he sleeps. Tonight was no different. Except it was. Tonight, he held me tighter, with a desperation that felt like he was trying to meld me into his own body, as if he were trying to anchor himself to the only solid thing in a world that had turned to liquid. My face was pressed against his chest, the familiar scent of him all around me. On any other night, I would have been blissfully nuzzling into him, drunk on the closeness. But tonight, I just wrapped my arms around his waist and gently patted his back, trying to soothe him into sleep. I understood. His life had been upended. He needed comfort, a pillar to lean on. And seeing him in so much pain made my own heart ache. Which was a problem. He was my benefactor, not my boyfriend. He was now the “fake heir.” The smart thing to do would be to worry about my career in this cutthroat town, not his emotional state. My future in Hollywood, which he had so carefully paved, was now a dead end. That’s what I should have been thinking. But instead, I found myself gently smoothing the frown lines from his forehead with my thumb. My career was built on Ethan’s influence—I’ll be the first to admit it. Yes, I worked hard. I’m tenacious and I don’t give up. But Hollywood is a place where hard work alone gets you nowhere. You need opportunities. You need luck. And if you don’t have those, you need a powerful patron. When I started, I had nothing but raw energy and a burning ambition. Then, at the wrap party for some forgettable film, someone with a grudge slipped something into my drink. The next thing I knew, I was being led into the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel—Ethan’s suite. I was dizzy, my limbs felt like lead. A single, foggy thought, It’s over, drifted through my mind, but I was powerless to fight it. Sometime later, Ethan came back to his room. As fate would have it, he was drunk too. He apparently mistook me for a body pillow and slept soundly, holding me all night. The next morning, I woke up in the arms of a strange man and nearly screamed the hotel down. But before the scream could escape, I was struck by the impossibly handsome face just inches from mine. Well… damn. It wasn’t that I was opposed to him, specifically. I was just, you know, morally against the whole predatory casting-couch culture of the industry. I studied his face. His eyes were closed, framed by impossibly long lashes. That strong jawline, that perfect nose… how did all the best features end up on one person? As I was lost in my critical analysis, his eyelashes fluttered. A moment later, his eyes opened, meeting mine directly. My heart stopped. 3 Ethan sat up, rubbing his temples. He seemed to be replaying the night, and after a moment, he said with absolute certainty, “I was drunk. I wouldn’t have… done anything.” I looked at his wrinkled shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth skin of his chest and the faint outline of abs beneath. I nodded. “I know. You just held me all night.” We showered separately and then sat on opposite ends of the sofa, observing each other in the quiet morning light. With his hair still damp and dressed in fresh clothes, he looked sharp and serious. He broke the silence. “I’ll find out who was behind last night. As for us… I’m sorry. I’d like to offer you some form of compensation for the trouble.” “It’s okay if it’s not long,” I blurted out. Ethan just stared at me. “?” My brain caught up with my mouth. “Oh! Compensation. Right.” To be fair, Ethan was blameless in this. He was just a drunk guy who came back to his own room to sleep. I was the one who shouldn’t have been there, even if it wasn’t my choice. But he felt he had wronged me and wanted to make it right. Who was I to refuse a helping hand? Sometimes, the right stepping stone is worth more than a thousand steps taken on your own. I thought for a moment. “There’s a TV series I want to audition for.” 4 I told him the name of the show and the director. Ethan was efficient. “That’s easy. I’ll call the director.” And just like that, I was on the cast list. I wasn’t even a top-three character, but I was ecstatic. I packed my bags and moved onto the set, ready to work. Ethan, probably worried I was just some freeloader wasting his recommendation, started showing up on set to “supervise.” He’d ask the director how my performance was, if I was being cooperative. He’d ask me if I was surviving the director’s notoriously tough style. Terrified he’d change his mind and have me replaced, my answers were always a variation of, “The set is great, the director is great, and the director says I’m great, too!” I’d put extra emphasis on that last part. Ethan would just give a little “hmph” and say, “Keep it up.” It was only later that I found out he was the show’s executive producer. During that shoot, Ethan’s visits became more frequent, and his attitude toward me softened. He started asking about my day, sent flowers and a gift for my birthday, and even started driving me home after late-night shoots. I knew this wasn’t just about making sure I was working hard. He wanted to make me his mistress. His kept woman. So, being me, I decided to just ask him. Ethan was silent for a long time, then looked at me with a baffled expression. “Is that what you think this is?” “Just tell me if I’m right or wrong.” I was so sure of my own deduction that I didn’t even wait for his answer. “Look, I’m not that kind of girl… unless you let me feel them first.” Ethan looked completely lost. “?” He smirked, a real smile finally breaking through his serious exterior. “Feel what?” “Your abs, obviously. Got to inspect the goods first.” He actually laughed, a real, throaty laugh. “I have to say, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a benefactor having to pass a physical inspection.” But even as he said it, he took my hand and guided it to his stomach, pressing it against his shirt. The sudden warmth and hardness of the muscle beneath the fabric made my hand tremble. I was all talk; when it came to actually doing anything, I was a complete coward. He took a slow breath, his voice dropping low. “Well? Are you satisfied?” I gave a tentative press and nodded wildly. “Very satisfied. We’re good.” I mean, look, I’m a person of principle. I can’t be bought with money or swayed by power. But. Everyone has their exceptions. And apparently, mine were a killer set of abs and a handsome face. 5 Ethan was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. He meticulously planned my career path, guiding me from an unknown nobody to a solid B-lister. I wasn’t a viral sensation, but I was a working actress who never lacked for quality roles. It was only after I was with him that I realized what it was like to be treated fairly, to not have to constantly fight off petty attacks or backhanded sabotage. For the first time, I was filled with a genuine confidence, a hope for the future. I even started to believe I could make a real run for an Oscar someday. And then, just as I was getting ready to really hit my stride, my foundation crumbled. My Oscar dream shattered with a silent, sickening crack. 6 Mourning the death of my Oscar dream, I eventually drifted off to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, Ethan was already out of bed. He emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, another one ruffling his dark hair. God, he was beautiful. That body, that face. Lying there on my side, watching him, I realized with a jolt that I had no desire to cut him loose and save myself. So I said it. “Ethan… from now on, let me take care of you.” He froze, towel in hand. “What?” “I said, I’ll take care of you,” I repeated, sitting up and making a grand, sweeping gesture. “So what if you’re not a Prescott anymore? So what if you’re broke? Don’t be scared. I can make money. I’ll support you!” Ethan just stood there, silent. He was probably overwhelmed with emotion, touched by my loyalty. Finally, after a long moment, he raised an eyebrow. “You’ll support me?” he asked, a strange glint in his eye. “You’re sure you don’t want to break up with me? After all, I’m just your benefactor. Not your boyfriend.” My eyes darted away. Okay, so maybe the thought had crossed my mind for a second. To cover my guilt, I raised my voice. “What kind of question is that? I’ll have you know, Ethan Hayes, you are seriously underestimating me! I’m not the kind of person who only sticks around for the good times!” A slow smile spread across his face. “So?” “So! From now on, I’ll be out there making a living, and you can stay home and be beautiful!” He tossed the towel aside and walked toward me. In one smooth motion, he lifted me out of the bed and settled me onto his lap, so I was straddling him. He peppered my face with soft kisses—my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. “You’re really something,” he murmured against my skin. “Like a princess from a fairy tale. How could I ever repay you?” I was genuinely trying to think of what I wanted in return, but his lips found mine again, deep and consuming. He kissed my eyes, the tip of my nose, and returned to my mouth. His hand tangled in my hair, giving a gentle tug that made me tilt my head back, surrendering completely to the kiss. By the time he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my face flushed and my eyelashes damp with involuntary tears. Through the haze, I heard him whisper with a low chuckle. “My good, kind-hearted girl. How about I offer myself in return, hmm?” 7 After breakfast, I transferred one hundred thousand dollars to Ethan’s account. My heart ached with every zero. It wasn’t that I wanted to give him that much. But when I thought about everything he’d done for me—the roles, the jewelry, the designer dresses—it was the least I could do. He had been generous with me, and I couldn’t be stingy with him now. Still, it hurt. “You have to be careful with this,” I lectured, channeling my inner financial advisor. “You know I’m a very frugal person. From now on, we need to spend wisely.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “Those old friends of yours, the ones who still treat you like a brother? Take them out for a decent meal, keep those connections alive. You never know who might be able to help you down the line. But the ones who ghosted you, who kicked you when you were down? Forget them. You got that?” I was trying to think of what other sage advice I could offer when he leaned in and kissed me again, cutting me off mid-sentence. I went still, my brain short-circuiting. I pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Hey—mmph—you need to listen to me.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression utterly sincere. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you’re earnestly planning my future. I couldn’t help myself.” I… damn it. He was a cunning bastard. He knew I was a shallow creature, that a single piece of praise could turn my brain to mush. I tried to look stern. “Even if you say that, I’m still going to be a little bit mad at you.” A girl had to maintain her authority as head of the household, after all. 8 Even though I was pretending to be mad, seeing the familiar light back in Ethan’s eyes made me genuinely happy. With his mood lifted, I could head to work without worrying. I was currently filming a major historical drama. The director was a legend in his late fifties, at the peak of his creative powers. There are no secrets on a film set. Everyone more or less knew about my connection to Ethan. He’d never tried to hide it, visiting me openly on set before. But because he was so young and handsome, no one was quite sure what our relationship was. Some guessed we were dating, others thought we might be cousins. The ones who guessed correctly—that I was a gold-digger who’d landed a powerful benefactor—kept it to themselves. Whatever they thought, they had always treated me with a polite, professional distance. But now, with the scandal swirling around Ethan, the whispers were getting louder. As soon as I arrived on set, I heard them. “Is it really true? I saw the story trending and then it just… vanished.” “The Prescotts must have killed it. A family like that controls the narrative.” “I wonder what’s happening with Ethan now.” “It’s Ethan Hayes now. And what do you think is happening? He got kicked to the curb, obviously.” “My money’s on Chloe dumping him by the end of the week.” I pretended not to hear, walking past with my head held high. But inside, I was fuming. Why did everyone assume the worst of me? Not only had I not dumped him, I had pledged to support him! Ethan himself said I was like a fairy-tale princess! Just as I was mentally defending my honor, a particularly sharp voice cut through the chatter. “Well, well. So the golden boy of Hollywood turns out to be a cheap knock-off.” I stopped and looked up. Rick Donovan. In all my years in the industry, I’d lived by a simple code: don’t start trouble, and always be polite. I didn’t have many enemies. Except for one. Rick Donovan. 10 The year I broke into the business, I landed the fourth female lead in a fantasy series. “Fourth lead” was a generous title; I was basically a glorified extra. Rick, a veteran actor, was playing the main villain. He had a decent reputation—good actor, no scandals. Since we had scenes together, we got to know each other. At first, he was kind, like a mentor. He gave me tips on finding my light and connecting with the camera. I respected him and saw him as a kind-hearted senior colleague. Toward the end of the shoot, we had a stunt scene on wires. My character, a reformed demoness, was supposed to die with his villain. The script called for us to fall from a height onto a crash pad below. The visual effects team would handle the “souls dissipating” part in post. But as we fell, just as we hit the mat, Rick’s hands squeezed me. Twice. On my lower back, just above my ass. Our costumes were bulky, and he must have thought no one would see. But I felt it. Crystal clear. I’ve always had a short fuse, and back then, I was young and reckless. In a flash of pure humiliation and rage, I shot up from the mat and swung my arm, slapping him square across the face. The crack echoed through the suddenly silent set. Rick, utterly humiliated, has held a grudge against me ever since. Funny. I never even complained that he made me hurt my hand on his thick-skinned face. Later, I found out he was the one who had me drugged and sent to Ethan’s room. He probably thought someone of Ethan’s status would ruin me for the intrusion. He never imagined I’d grab onto that golden branch and soar. Instead, his own career nosedived. His roles dried up, his fame faded. Now, he was stuck taking bit parts in other people’s projects, like this one. I knew Ethan was behind it. He was a fiercely protective man. If someone tried to screw me over like that and he did nothing… he’d have to be possessed. 11 I hadn’t seen Rick in years before starting this film. It never even occurred to me we’d end up on the same set. Here, he was playing a minor character who gets killed off in a few episodes. I get it. Directors don’t usually care about actors’ personal beefs as long as they can do the job. And I didn’t care either. Now, my name carried more weight than his. I wasn’t afraid. And in our history, he was the one in the wrong. I had the moral high ground. If anyone was going to be forced out, it shouldn’t be me. He wasn’t scared, so why should I be? So we coexisted on set, ignoring each other. It was a kind of cold peace. But now he was insulting Ethan, and that, I could not tolerate. I stared him down, my voice laced with ice. “It’s always the dogs in the cheapest kennels that bark the loudest.” Rick blinked, then his face flushed with anger. “What did you just say?” I clicked my tongue. “I’m talking to you. Who else? Have you really fallen so far that the only way you can feel good about yourself is by mocking someone else? That’s just sad.” That shut him up. 12 Seeing Rick speechless put me in a great mood. I had a fantastic day of shooting, and even went out for amazing Korean barbecue with Ava, the actress playing the female lead. When I got home that night, Ethan had already cooked dinner. After washing my hands, I sat down at the table and saw all my favorite dishes laid out. I couldn’t help but tease him. “So this is the life of a kept man? Do you actually know how to cook all this? Or is it just fancy takeout? It’s not poisoned, is it?” Ethan placed a glass of warm milk in front of me. “One hundred percent homemade, organic, and gluten-free. Care to try?” I cautiously picked up a piece of slow-braised short rib. After a few chews, I gave him a big thumbs-up. “Delicious!” After a long day at work, coming home to a delicious meal served by a handsome man was exactly what I deserved. As I ate, I asked, “So, what did you do all day?” “Checking up on me?” Ethan smirked. It had been a casual question, but his response made me feel a flicker of benefactor-like power. “Yep!” I said, getting into the role. “I’m exercising my rights as your provider. Report on your daily activities, stat!” Ethan laughed. “Alright, here’s the summary. I met with Liam Prescott.” “Liam Prescott?” “The real Prescott son.” I immediately tensed up. “He asked to see you? What did you guys do? He didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” Ethan propped his chin on his hand, a playful smile on his lips. “And if he did? What would you do?” 12 I was baffled. What kind of question was that? “What else could I do? Swallow my pride and take it, of course.” Ethan just stared at me. “?” “I mean, we can’t afford to make enemies with people like that right now,” I explained reasonably. “If he looks down on you, you just have to… look down at the floor and walk away.” Not wanting to crush his spirit entirely, I added, “Revenge is a dish best served cold, you know.” Seeing the frustrated look on his face, I circled back to the original question. “So, what did you and Liam talk about?” “Just… family stuff,” Ethan said. “I wanted to get a better sense of my biological parents, to make it easier to fit in with the new family.” “And did you? Have you met them yet? What are they like? Are they easy to get along with?” Ethan seemed unsure. “They seem… okay? My father is very serious, doesn’t say much. My mother is more of a politician, very smooth. Every word is carefully chosen.” They both sounded like a handful. I couldn’t help but worry. “You need to be on your best behavior with them. Keep that temper of yours in check, you hear me? But if they’re not good to you, don’t force it. You still have me,” I said, patting my chest proudly. “If you get tired, you can always rest on my broad, supportive bosom.” 13 I finished my speech and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to praise my beautiful, kind soul. But that idiot Ethan completely missed the point. He raised an eyebrow. “Keep my temper in check? What temper, exactly?” I started to think. What temper did Ethan have? I honestly couldn’t think of anything. I chewed on my fork, racking my brain. The only scenarios that came to mind were the ones in bed where I’d end up cursing at him and kicking him away playfully. Or the countless nights he’d driven to pick me up from the airport or a remote set in the middle of the night. Or that one time I’d tried to cook for him and ended up breaking three plates and two bowls, and he just cleaned up the mess without a word of complaint. The more I thought about it, the more shocked I was. How was this possible? I couldn’t remember him having a temper, but I could suddenly recall plenty of instances of my own. This was not how the power dynamic was supposed to work! Feeling a wave of guilt, I shot him a few sheepish glances. “You know what? Let’s just drop it,” I said, my voice suddenly much smaller. “I’ll save you the embarrassment. Let’s just eat.” Ethan just smiled and, with a swift move of his fork, stole the last piece of my favorite short rib. 14 That weekend, I had to attend a gala hosted by my agency’s CEO. At these kinds of events, swarming with industry moguls and investors, actors and pop stars aren’t the main characters. We’re just part of the decor, adding a bit of color to an otherwise boring affair. As far as I could tell, I had about as much functional purpose as the floral arrangements at the entrance. I couldn’t participate in the conversations about investments, market trends, or IPOs, nor could I just relax and enjoy the food. All I could do was stand there, holding a glass of champagne with my back straight, drifting through the crowd and exchanging meaningless pleasantries with familiar faces. After a few rounds of forced small talk, I found a quiet corner to hide in and texted Ethan. “Everyone here is talking about such complicated stuff. I don’t get any of it, but I can’t leave. I’m so bored.” He replied almost instantly. “Seriously. Don’t they know that a princess has to shower, do her makeup, curl her hair, and pick out a gown? Such a boring party is hardly worth all of Princess Chloe’s effort.” I frowned at the screen. That was a weird thing to say. It felt… sarcastic. Was he making fun of me for being high-maintenance? I sent back a GIF of a cat throwing punches. “I’m docking your allowance!” Ethan: “?” Ethan: “What time can you leave? I’ll come pick you up.” I estimated the time. “Another hour, maybe.” 15 I kept checking my phone, and after about an hour, people started to trickle out. Figuring Ethan must be close, I started walking toward the exit. Just as I neared the ballroom doors, a foot shot out from the side. My long dress blocked my view, and my high heels made me unsteady. Before I could even register what was happening, I was crashing to the ground. A sharp, searing pain shot through my knee and elbow. The only saving grace was the thin carpet covering the floor, which probably saved me from a broken bone. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain, but I looked up, my voice fierce. “Who the hell did that?” Rick and his manager, Angela, were standing over me, covering their mouths as they snickered. “Oh my, what a klutz,” Angela said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Did you hurt yourself?” Angela was a middle-aged woman who had been with Rick since the beginning of his career. I used to admire her loyalty for sticking with him through his decline. It’s easy to find people who will celebrate with you, but hard to find those who will weather the storm. But tonight, that same woman had just tripped me and was now taunting me. I blinked back the tears and spat back, “What bad luck. Feels like I just stepped in something nasty.” 16 Rick’s face contorted with rage. “What did you just say?” Angela put a restraining hand on his arm. In the process, her wine glass “accidentally” tilted, spilling red wine all over my dress. “Chloe, this isn’t the place for you to throw a tantrum,” she said coolly. “This may look like a big party, but there’s only one person who really matters here tonight: Liam Prescott.” She gestured around the room. “Since taking over the Prescott empire, he’s been managing some massive projects. Everyone here tonight is trying to get on his good side, hoping for a piece of the pie. And you, who’s been playing house with the fake heir, have the nerve to show your face here?” She looked down at my stained dress and laughed. “Look at her, Rick. She’s a mess.” I’m not a patient person by nature. I’m impulsive and I hold grudges. Being with Ethan, who constantly coddled and praised me, had only made my temper worse. And okay, maybe Ethan wasn’t a powerful heir anymore. But I was still a B-list actress, wasn’t I? Did they think they could humiliate me like this without consequences? Normally, after a fall like that, I would have just stayed on the floor and waited for Ethan to come rescue me. It really, really hurt. But I couldn’t let them get away with this. In my book, the headline “Actress Gets in Fight at Gala” was ten times better than “Actress Gets Bullied at Gala.” Fueled by pure rage, I forced myself to my feet. I walked right up to Rick and Angela and, with all my strength, slapped each of them across the face. “You’re nothing,” I seethed. “But you sure act like you’re something special. I was trying to ignore you, but you just had to push it. You’re trash. You should try being decent people for a change. You wouldn’t want your bad karma passed down to your kids, would you?” Angela, clutching her cheek, lunged at me. But Rick held her back, his face a mask of fury, his voice low and menacing. “Chloe, this is Liam Prescott’s event. Don’t push your luck. Get out of here while you still can, before Mr. Prescott has security throw you out.” His words grated on me. I opened my mouth to fire back, but a calm voice cut in from behind me. “I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

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I woke up as the villain in someone else’s love story. The plot was supposed to be simple, really. A tragedy wrapped in romance. The devoted husband, Ethan, loved his wife, my sister, Lydia. But Lydia was sick, a fragile beauty with a failing heart, and she wasn’t long for this world. This is where I, or rather, the original owner of this body, was supposed to make her grand, ruinous entrance. She was to crawl into her brother-in-law’s bed in a moment of weakness. And Lydia, ever the saint, wouldn’t just forgive her little sister. No, she would make Ethan promise to marry her after she was gone. A dying wish. An inescapable trap. Of course, all of that was just the prologue to the real story. The main event was a new woman arriving in Ethan’s life, a vibrant soul who would teach him to open his heart again, to heal from the grief. They would get their happy ending. As for the inconvenient placeholder wife? She would be driven to suicide by public humiliation and her husband’s cold shoulder, conveniently clearing the stage for the true heroine. 1 And the timing of my arrival? Just perfect. I came to consciousness on my sister and brother-in-law’s bed, arranged like a sacrifice waiting for the slaughter. But it was the fire raging under my skin, a thick, chemical heat, that told me this wasn’t part of the original script. I tried to push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the plush carpet, a jolt of something sharp and ugly shooting up my spine. My purse had been tossed near the bed. Inside, among the usual clutter, was my phone and, surprisingly, a digital voice recorder. Fighting the rising tide of heat and nausea, I flicked the recorder on, slid it under the lip of the nightstand, and stumbled toward the bathroom, my phone clutched in a sweaty palm. I locked the door behind me. A woman about to seduce her brother-in-law wouldn’t drug herself. She wouldn’t need to. This was sabotage. The question was, who was the saboteur? My fingers felt like sausages as I dialed. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Someone drugged me,” I rasped, my voice cracking. “I think… I think they’re going to try and rape me. Please, you have to get here. Now.” Next, my mother. “Mom,” I whispered, the effort immense. “Can you come get me? I feel… really sick. I don’t want to worry Lydia.” I hung up before she could ask too many questions. My consciousness was fraying at the edges. I turned on the tub, fumbling with the faucet, and collapsed into the basin before it was even a quarter full. The shock of the ice-cold water was a brutal, welcome relief, a temporary dam against the inferno inside me. God, this was a mess. My memory of what happened next is a collage of broken sounds. Someone shouting my name. “Audrey? Audrey, where are you?” The heavy thud of a shoulder hitting the bathroom door. Raised, frantic voices. And then, nothing. Just the silent, welcoming dark. 2 Things got interesting. Apparently, my picture-perfect sister and her doting husband had been invited downtown for a little chat with the police. Their story was smooth. After dinner, they realized I was missing. Worried, they started searching. They found my bedroom empty and their own master bathroom locked from the inside. They had no idea why I would be in their room, and fearing the worst, they tried to break down the door. A date-rape drug? What was that? They had no idea. With no cameras in the bedroom and no witnesses, it was their word against… well, no one’s. “We’re tracing the source of the drug,” the detective told me, his voice a low rumble. “You just rest. Don’t worry.” His name was Ryan, and he’d been here since I woke up. He watched me with a focused, analytical gaze that felt like it could see right through my skin. A cop’s sixth sense, maybe. “I left a voice recorder by the bed in the master bedroom,” I said, my own voice still hoarse. “Maybe it picked up something useful.” Ryan gave a curt nod. “Got it. I’ll have someone check.” He turned to my mother. “Ma’am, you should stay with Audrey. I’ll check back in later tonight.” “You go on, Ryan. You have work to do. I’ll be here with her. Don’t you worry.” After Ryan left, my mother’s face crumpled with anxiety. “Do you think he’s angry?” Oh, right. Ryan was my boyfriend. We were supposed to get married at the end of the year. I raised an eyebrow. “Angry? About what? That I was drugged?” “How could this happen?” she lamented, her hands twisting in her lap. “How could something like this happen?” “You should ask Lydia,” I said flatly. Her head snapped up, her expression instantly defensive. “That’s impossible. Your sister would never do something like that.” “The three of us ate the same dinner,” I reasoned, keeping my tone level. “The only difference was the glass of milk Lydia handed me afterward. Unless the milk itself was poisonous, that’s our variable.” I held up a hand to stop her protest. “Look, I’m not accusing her in a court of law. I don’t have proof. But some things are obvious to anyone who isn’t willfully blind. Even if Lydia didn’t physically put the pill in the glass, she knew about it.” My mother stared at me, her mind clearly reeling. “Then… why did you tell me you were just feeling sick? Why did you say you didn’t want to worry her?” I shrugged. “What was the alternative? Calling you and screaming that Lydia drugged me? What would have been the first thing you did?” Silence. I answered for her. “You would have called Lydia to ask if it was true. You would have walked me right into the fire. Sometimes, a well-placed lie is a lifeline.” My mother wasn’t the type to play favorites. Even with Lydia’s congenital heart condition, she had always been fair to her younger daughter. In the original story, my mother was one of the witnesses who found me in Ethan’s bed. She had slapped me, dragged me home, and only relented to the marriage because of Lydia’s tearful begging. When I—the original me—had finally jumped from that building, my mother’s grief was the most profound. As the shock began to subside, she reached out and brushed the hair from my forehead. Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a new, steely resolve. “I will not let you suffer this injustice, Audrey. I promise you.” 3 They found the recorder. The contents were, to put it mildly, explosive. Lydia: What happened? I put her on the bed. Where did she go? Ethan: Maybe she woke up and went back to her room. Lydia: I’ll go check. … Lydia: She’s not there. I’ve looked everywhere. She’s gone. Ethan: The bathroom. Lydia: It’s locked. A sharp rapping sound. Lydia: Audrey? Audrey, are you in there? Are you not feeling well? Open the door, sweetie. Let me in. Ethan: She must have passed out. Lydia: Break it down. Ethan: Lydia, let’s just stop. This is crazy. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Lydia: But I’m dying! What will you do when I’m gone? What about Leo? The only person in the world who could love Leo like her own son is Audrey. Ethan: But she clearly knows something’s wrong, or she wouldn’t have hidden. Lydia: It doesn’t matter. In the end, I’ll be the victim. Everyone will believe me. And Audrey… she’d never do anything to jeopardize my health. … Wow. That happy couple really showed me the sheer diversity of the human species. Ryan was watching me again, a deep frown line creasing his forehead. I cupped my face in my hands and gave him a small smile. “Like what you see?” His expression didn’t change as he dropped his gaze. My mother was the one who looked truly devastated. Her face was ashen, and she seemed to be swaying on her feet. “How could she?” she whispered. Whether she could or couldn’t, she did. “We’ve got a lead on the source of the drug,” Ryan said, his voice all business. “As it stands, this looks like a conspiracy between the two of them. Ethan’s lawyer wants to speak with you. He’s hoping you’ll sign a settlement agreement and drop the charges.” “Never!” my mother snapped. “I’ll do it,” I said. They both looked at me. My mother’s eyes filled with pain. “Audrey, you don’t have to consider my feelings. From this day forward, I don’t have that daughter.” I wasn’t planning on being a saint. Lydia was on death’s door, and Ethan’s family had deep pockets. He probably wouldn’t see much jail time anyway. Besides, for a crime like this, you don’t just want justice. You want to destroy the soul. “Is there really no cure for Lydia’s condition?” I asked. My mother shook her head. Her congenital heart disease meant she was never meant to live a long life. But she had tempted fate. Against all medical advice, she had insisted on having a child for the great love of her life. She’d barely survived giving birth to Leo, and her body had paid the price. For the last six months, her heart failure had been getting progressively worse. She was practically living at the hospital. Her doctors had already told her to get her affairs in order. She was dying. What a shame. If only she could live another couple of years, she could meet her husband’s real true love face-to-face. Now that would be a spectacle. I was genuinely disappointed to miss it. I turned back to Ryan. “I’m willing to drop the charges, but on one condition. They both have to get on their knees and apologize to me.” The woman whose life I now inhabited, Audrey, had been drowned in shame and abandoned by everyone she knew. She only survived a year after Lydia’s death. It was a year of pure, unadulterated agony that ended with a final, desperate leap. That couple owed her an apology. Ryan nodded once, his face unreadable. He turned and left without another word. Watching his strong, steady back, I remembered his fate in the original story. When the whole world had turned on Audrey, Ryan was the only one who believed her. But she, broken and ashamed, felt she was no longer worthy of him. She ended their engagement. A month later, Ryan died during a high-risk operation. Audrey secretly attended his funeral. She overheard his captain saying, “He wasn’t even supposed to be on that mission. He volunteered, insisted on it. He hadn’t been himself lately, so much anger bottled up inside him. It’s my fault. I never should have approved it.” Boom. Audrey’s world shattered. From that day on, she was just a walking corpse.

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