Category: English

Three years ago,at our engagement party at the Plaza Hotel,my future sister-in-law,Scarlett,made a flippant bet.She dared her godfather—my fiancé,Julian Thorne—to give me an unforgettable“surprise”in front of all of New York’s high society. To make his precious goddaughter laugh,Julian walked out in the middle of my speech.He chuckled to his friends: “She’s a pushover.Let her cool off for a few days,buy her a bag,and she’ll get over it.” His friends whistled and jeered,mocking me as just another gold digger trying to marry into a rich family,claiming I could never survive without the Thorne family’s protection. Scarlett even walked onto the stage and“accidentally”spilled red wine on my white Vera Wang gown,then exchanged a knowing smile with Julian across the room. Amidst countless looks of pity and contempt,I was unnaturally calm. From a distance,Julian raised his glass and mouthed to me: “That’s the kind of poise a Thorne matriarch should have.Wait for my call at home.” Hearing that,I just felt a sense of absurdity. Poise? No.I was just numb. Three years later,Julian blocked the street in front of my art gallery with a fleet of black Cadillacs and a massive yellow diamond,staging a grand,dramatic proposal: “Are you done being angry,darling?I’m here to keep my promise.” I didn’t even spare him a glance,carefully shielding my very pregnant belly. “Excuse me,please move.My husband is waiting for me at my prenatal appointment.” … “Hiring someone to make a custom silicone belly for this act?Is this really necessary,Evelyn?” Julian Thorne stood with one hand in his trouser pocket,his gaze casually sweeping over my swollen abdomen. His tone was full of certainty and the kind of innate arrogance that came with being a Wall Street titan. I met his gaze without flinching. “Mr.Thorne,please move.” The entrance to the Sotheby’s building,where I worked,was completely blocked by his six gleaming black Cadillacs. Drones flew overhead,holding a giant banner that read“Evelyn,Marry Me Again”in a fancy script. A crowd of office workers and tourists was gathering,their whispers reaching my ears. Julian didn’t care.He stepped forward,holding out a bouquet of Ecuadorian red roses. “It’s been three years.Your cooling-off period should be over.” He stared at me.“You know I hate it when women make a scene,but for you,I’ve already made an exception and given you three years.”

I looked at the vibrant roses. Three years ago,when I was at a private clinic getting an IV for a pollen allergy,he had his assistant send me the exact same flowers. He’d said on the phone that Scarlett picked them out and told me not to be ungrateful. I didn’t reach for them. I just placed a hand on my belly and took a small step back. “Julian,I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I looked him in the eyes,my voice soft. “I’m married.And I’m five months pregnant.” Julian let out a short laugh. He casually tossed the bouquet to his assistant. “You’d even make up a lie like this just to get me to bow down?” He took a blue Tiffany box from his suit pocket and snapped it open. Inside was a yellow diamond ring worth an estimated ten million dollars. “I owe you a ceremony from the engagement party three years ago.I’m making it up to you today.” He didn’t even get on one knee.He just held the box out. “Put it on.My assistant will take you to pick out a wedding dress tomorrow.This time,I promise I’ll see it through to the end.” He said it so matter-of-factly,as if he were doing me a huge favor. I looked at the brilliant diamond,feeling nothing. At the party three years ago,he abandoned me on stage for Scarlett’s childish bet,in front of all our business partners and the city’s elite. His goddaughter,Scarlett,had stepped on my gown with her high heel,leaving a clear footprint. What did he say then? He said I had poise and told me to wait for him at home. That night,I took off the dress alone,cut off the stained hem,and threw it,along with the engagement ring,into the Hudson River. From that moment on,the name Julian Thorne was dead to me. “I don’t need it.” I walked around him,heading for the street.

Julian’s brow finally furrowed. He reached out to grab my wrist. I sidestepped,and his hand met empty air. “That’s enough,Evelyn.” His voice grew heavy with a warning tone. “My patience is limited.Who are you putting on this act for?” Just then,his phone rang. It was a special ringtone.A girl’s saccharine voice whined,“Julian,did you get Evelyn?I think I have a fever,I feel so dizzy…” It was Scarlett. Julian’s expression softened instantly. He replied with a voice message. “Sweetie,take some medicine.I’ll bring her back to see you soon.” After sending the message,he looked back at me. “Scarlett is sick,and she’s still worried about you.You shouldn’t be so hostile towards her.” His tone was chiding. “What happened three years ago was just a joke.She’s young and doesn’t know any better.As her sister-in-law,are you really going to hold a grudge this long?” I looked at his self-righteous expression and suddenly felt a wave of nausea. It was a normal part of pregnancy,but this man’s presence made it worse. I took a deep breath,trying to calm my stomach. “Julian,do you not understand English?” I pointed to a Lincoln sedan waiting for a passenger by the curb. “My husband is waiting for me at the clinic.Get out of my way.” Julian’s face turned to ice as he stared at my stomach. “Evelyn,are you ever going to stop?Do you have to use such cheap tricks to humiliate me?”

“Cheap tricks?” I repeated the words,finding them laughable. “Think whatever you want.” I was done arguing with him.I walked straight to the Lincoln. I opened the door and eased myself in,protecting my belly. Julian quickly slammed his hand on the door to stop it from closing. “Which clinic?I’ll take you.” He looked down at me. “I want to see for myself which bum you hired to play this part with you.” I stared coldly at his hand on the car door. “Let go.” “Evelyn,don’t push it.” His patience seemed to have run out.He opened the passenger door and sat down. Defeated,I gave the driver the name of a top-tier private OB-GYN clinic on the Upper East Side. The driver glanced at me,then at the imposing figure of Julian,and hesitated. Julian pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and tossed them on the dashboard. “Drive.” The car pulled smoothly into the Manhattan traffic. The silence in the car was suffocating. Julian leaned back,turning his head to look at me. “You used to be afraid of needles.Now you’re wearing a fake belly just to spite me?” His gaze scrutinized my abdomen. “Take it off.Aren’t you hot in that thing?” I zipped my coat up to the collar and closed my eyes,ignoring him.

Half an hour later,the car stopped in front of the clinic. I got out,and Julian followed close behind. The private clinic’s lobby was quiet and luxurious. I went to the front desk and gave them my appointment information. Julian stood behind me,watching as the nurse handed me my maternity chart. His eye twitched,but he quickly regained his composure. “You’ve really committed to the act.” He sneered. I took the chart and walked to the elevator.He followed me,step for step. On the third floor,in the VIP waiting area,I found an empty seat. Just as I sat down,the elevator doors opened again. Scarlett emerged,wearing Jimmy Choos and carrying a bouquet of white lilies. She spotted us immediately and hurried over. “Julian,Evelyn.” She held the bouquet of white lilies—the flowers of mourning—in front of me,a look of innocent delight on her face. “I heard you were pregnant,so I came to congratulate you.” The strong scent of the lilies hit me,and I couldn’t help but sneeze. Julian immediately frowned at Scarlett. “She’s allergic to pollen.Get those away from her.” Scarlett bit her lip,looking hurt. “Oh,I’m so sorry,Evelyn.I forgot.I was just so happy for you.” She placed the flowers on the empty seat next to her and sat down beside Julian. “But Evelyn,getting married so quickly?” Scarlett eyed my stomach. “The baby’s already so big.You didn’t just marry some random guy to get back at Julian,did you?” She giggled,covering her mouth. “And for such an important appointment,why isn’t your husband here with you?” “He didn’t just leave you here all alone,did he?How irresponsible.”

Julian listened without saying a word. Instead,he looked at me,as if waiting for my reaction. “Her husband’s busy.He doesn’t have time for her,”Julian answered for me,his voice dripping with mockery. “How dedicated can you expect a hired actor to be?” I watched them,their words a coordinated attack,and felt surprisingly calm. This was the man I had loved for seven years. He watched as others humiliated me,not only refusing to help but joining in. “Is there an Evelyn Reed here?”a nurse called out,holding a chart. “Here,”I said,standing up. The nurse looked at me,then at Julian and Scarlett behind me. “A family member needs to be present to sign some forms.Who is the patient’s family?” Julian instinctively stepped forward. “I am.” I turned and cut him off coldly. “He’s not.”

The nurse paused,her eyes darting between Julian and me. Julian’s hand,which had been reaching for the chart,froze in mid-air. His face darkened. “Evelyn,stop it.” He lowered his voice,a clear warning in his tone. “This is a hospital,not a place for you to throw a fit.” I didn’t look at him.I addressed the nurse. “I don’t know them.They’re just strangers.My husband is on his way.” The nurse nodded and took the chart back. “Okay,then please wait out here for your husband.Some of these documents must be signed by your spouse.” The nurse turned and went back into the exam room. Julian slowly lowered his hand,jamming it into his pocket. He looked at me,his eyes turning dangerous. “Strangers?” He let out a cold laugh. “Three years and you’ve grown bold.Now I’m not even allowed to be your family?” Scarlett saw his anger and quickly stood up,grabbing his arm. “Julian,don’t be mad.” She turned to me,her eyes instantly welling up with tears. “Evelyn,are you still upset about that joke from three years ago?” She sniffled,her voice full of grievance. “I just made a little bet with Julian that day to liven things up.” “Who knew you couldn’t take a joke and would just run away from home.” She called his abandonment a joke,and my heartbreak an inability to take one.

I looked at her pitiful face and found it absurd. “Using an engagement party for a bet was a joke?” I looked at Julian. “Leaving me alone on stage in front of all of New York’s high society and the media was a joke?” I turned back to Scarlett. “Staining my dress,pulling off my veil,and mocking me for being a social climber was also a joke?” Scarlett flinched and hid behind Julian. Julian’s brow was tight as he protectively shielded her. “That’s enough,”he snapped. “Scarlett was spoiled growing up;she can be thoughtless.You’re older than her.Can’t you be a little more generous?” He looked at me with disapproval. “It was a small thing,and you’ve held a grudge for three years.Evelyn,you were never this petty.” Never this petty?I stared at him. I had spent two weeks working sleepless nights to plan that engagement party,personally overseeing every detail. I waited until two in the morning for him to try on his suit,only to be told he was“too busy.” I thought our engagement was the start of our happiness.Instead,it was a cup of poison he handed me himself. “Julian.” I said his name softly. “Do you really think that all you have to do is snap your fingers,and I’ll come crawling back with no self-respect?” Julian’s gaze flickered. “I never said that.I just don’t think you needed to marry some random guy to spite me.” He paused,his tone softening slightly. “This supposed husband of yours can’t even show up for a prenatal appointment.Does he really know you better than I do?” He even remembered my old habits. “You’re afraid of getting your blood drawn;you always needed someone to coax you.Does he know that?” I looked at his self-proclaimed deep affection and found it pathetic. “He doesn’t need to know.” I touched my belly. “Because he would never make me face these things alone.” The exam room door opened again. The nurse came out with a stack of papers. “Ms.Reed,this is your initial intake report.Please confirm the information.” She handed the file to me. Julian,using his height advantage,glanced over the report. His eyes suddenly froze on the signature line for the spouse. A name was signed there in a strong,confident script. It was undeniably a man’s name.

The color drained from Julian’s face. “You’d even forge medical records to trick me?” He looked up,his eyes filled with disbelief and rage. “Forging medical documents is a felony,Evelyn.Have you gone insane?” He reached out,trying to snatch the report from my hands. I turned,protecting the documents against my chest. “Mr.Thorne,have some self-respect.” I looked at him coldly. “This is my private information.It has nothing to do with you.” Julian’s hand hung in the air,his fingers twitching slightly. He gritted his teeth,his chest heaving. “Fine.Great.” He laughed coldly again and again. “I’m going to see for myself what kind of coward this is,who doesn’t even dare to show his face.” At that moment,Scarlett,who was standing nearby,suddenly cried out,“Oh!”and stumbled towards me. “I twisted my ankle!” She yelled,her arms flailing as she fell directly at me. The waiting area hallway wasn’t wide. Behind me was a row of hard,wooden chairs. Seeing her fall towards me,I instinctively wrapped my arms around my protruding belly and tried to back away. With a dull thud,my lower back slammed hard against a chair’s metal armrest. A searing pain shot through me.

Immediately after,my abdomen began to tighten. I gasped,a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Clutching the chair,I slowly slid to the floor. “Evelyn!” Julian cried out. He didn’t move to help me first. Instead,he instinctively caught the falling Scarlett,holding her securely in his arms. “Julian,it hurts so much…”Scarlett whimpered in his embrace,tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t mean to.I just lost my balance.” Julian soothed Scarlett while frowning at me. “Evelyn,you knew she twisted her ankle.Why didn’t you help her?” His voice was thick with blame. “Why did you dodge?So what if you got bumped?Did you have to sit on the floor and be so dramatic?” I clutched my stomach,too much in pain to even speak. The tightening in my abdomen grew more intense,and a terrible sense of foreboding washed over me. The nurse heard the commotion and rushed over. “What happened?Why is the patient on the floor?” Seeing my pale face,the nurse immediately hit the emergency button on the wall. “We need help in here!Get a gurney!The patient is showing signs of premature labor!” The hallway instantly descended into chaos.

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The day my mother was wheeled into the ICU, Ethan Sinclair didn’t lend me a single cent. He said:”My money is for venture capital, not for throwing money into a black hole.” “I sent you those personal loan platforms with low interest rates. Figure it out yourself.” I crouched in the hospital corridor clutching the insurance denial letter, but I could hear him standing by the window on a phone call. “The five million in seed funding has already been wired to your account.” “Even if it’s a loss, it’s on me. Consider it a learning experience for you.” That was his company’s fresh-out-of-college management trainee. I gripped the letter so tight my nails dug into my palms. Ethan turned around and saw me standing there calmly. No crying, no scene, no more begging. He nodded approvingly: “That’s more like it. Stop acting like a child running to someone else every time something goes wrong.” “Learning to be independent is being responsible for yourself.” I said a quiet “mm.” He didn’t look at me again. He turned and left. In that moment, I finally understood. When someone truly gives up, they don’t cry. They don’t scream. They don’t even have the strength to demand answers. I reached into my bag and pulled out the divorce papers I’d prepared long ago. Stroke by stroke, I signed my name. From now on, he was him. And I was me. …… By the time Ethan came home, it was nearly one in the morning. I sat in the living room. In front of me were the hospital bills, the critical condition notice. And the signed divorce agreement. He walked in, saw me, and only frowned. “Why are you still up this late?” I looked up at him. “My mother is still in the ICU.” He hung up his coat and walked to the bar counter to pour water. “I know.” His tone was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. “But proper rest can help you solve the problem better.” I stared at the glass in his hand, and suddenly thought of that afternoon in the hospital corridor. The way I’d looked when I begged him for money. I’d said: “Ethan, thirty thousand dollars. Just to save her life.” He’d said: “Amber, people have to learn to accept reality.” Then he’d turned around and wired five million to Nora Chase. I thought I was already numb, but seeing him come home as if nothing had happened— something still slammed hard against my chest. Ethan finished his water. His gaze fell on the table. “What’s all this?” “Divorce papers.” His movements froze. A few seconds later, he looked as if he’d heard some absurd joke. “Amber, what are you throwing a fit about now?” I pushed the papers toward him. “I’ve already signed.” He didn’t pick them up. He just looked down at the words, his eyes going cold by degrees. “Because I didn’t lend you money?” “No.” My voice was very soft. “It’s because I finally realized today—you’re not broke, and you’re not incapable of helping people.” “You just won’t help me.” Ethan’s expression darkened. “The Nora project is a company investment. It’s not personal.” “I’ve seen the contract.” I looked at him. “Wired from a personal account. Personal guarantee. You cover the losses.” “You call that a company investment?” A flash of impatience crossed his eyes. “You went through my things?” I smiled. So his first reaction wasn’t to explain. It was to blame me for finding out. Ethan set the glass down hard on the table. “Amber, you’re out of control right now. I’m not discussing this with you.” “Your mother’s situation—I understand. But you can’t take your stress out on me just because you’re under pressure.” I looked at him. “She’s the woman you called ‘Mom’ for six years.” Ethan looked away. “I never said I wouldn’t help.” “I just don’t think we should throw money into something with no foreseeable outcome.” After he said it, as if realizing how harsh it sounded, he added: “I can help you find specialists. Help you ask around for resources.” “But the money—you need to figure that out yourself.” I suddenly felt my stomach lurch. I stood up, picked up the divorce papers, and slid them into the folder. “Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Your attorney’s office. We sign together and file uncontested.” Ethan stared at me for a long time. “Amber, if you leave me, how will you pay for your mother’s treatment?” The moment those words landed, my fingers clenched hard. He knew exactly what I feared most. And exactly what I needed most. So he used it to force me to submit. I looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out myself.” Ethan seemed stung by my resolve. His expression turned even colder. “Then don’t come crawling back to me.” I said nothing more. I turned and went to the bedroom. Before I closed the door, I heard him answer a call in the living room. His voice dropped much lower. “Nora, I’ve read through the materials.” “Don’t worry. I’ll be there with you for tomorrow’s pitch.” I shut the door, leaned against it, and slowly sank to the floor. A dull ache pulsed in my lower abdomen. I’d been so consumed with my mother these past few days, I never went back for the follow-up. A reminder from the hospital still sat unread in my phone. [Ms. Thorne, you are currently 7 weeks pregnant. Please schedule your prenatal checkup.] I stared at that line for a long time. Then I pressed the screen dark.

The next day, Ethan didn’t show up at his attorney’s office. I waited for him two hours. I called. He didn’t answer. It wasn’t until eleven-thirty that he finally sent a message. [Nora has her investor pitch today. Can’t step away.] The next one popped up right after. [If you really want this divorce, file a petition yourself.] I stood outside the attorney’s building, still holding the unsigned papers. Wind swept up from the street below, stinging my eyes. I didn’t reply. I went to the hospital. The doctor said my mother’s condition had worsened. Insurance had denied coverage for the experimental treatment she needed, and the out-of-pocket cost was crushing. Without it, they could only keep her on the basic protocol. “The family really needs to sort out the funding for the advanced treatment. The longer you wait, the greater the risk.” I looked down and said okay. I listed my premarital studio apartment for an emergency sale and maxed out my credit cards. The realtor went quiet for a few seconds when he heard my asking price. “Ms. Thorne, this is way below market value.” “Can it close today?” “It can, but—are you sure?” I said: “I’m sure.” After I hung up, I crouched in the hospital stairwell, palms slick with cold sweat. A notification popped up on my phone. Nora Chase had posted something new on Instagram. In the photo, she stood on the pitch stage in a white blazer. Ethan sat in the front row, looking up at her with a patience I hadn’t seen from him in a very long time. The caption read: [Starting my first venture with someone who has my back. So this is what it feels like to be chosen.] Someone commented below: [Mr. Sinclair is so generous.] Nora replied: [He just said he didn’t want to see me lose too badly.] I stared at those words, my fingertips going cold inch by inch. That afternoon, Ethan came to the hospital. He stood in the corridor, suit impeccably pressed, holding a stack of papers. “My assistant put this together. Loan platforms.” “A few of them have decent limits. Should help you bridge the gap.” I stared at the papers. I didn’t take them. He pressed them into my hands. “The money situation—that’s your call.” Then he turned and left. I looked down at the loan application forms in my hands, tore them up one by one, and dropped the pieces into the trash. A few minutes later, a nurse came running. “Ms. Thorne, your mother’s blood pressure is dropping. The doctor needs you to sign off immediately.” My legs buckled. I grabbed the wall just in time to keep from falling. The pain in my lower abdomen flared again. This time, sharper than last night.

They worked on my mother for four hours. When the doctor came out, his mask was still on. “She’s stable for now.” “But she needs the advanced treatment protocol. Without it, we can only do so much.” I nodded. My throat was too dry to speak. The apartment sale closed that same evening. Fire-sale price. The buyer barely hesitated. The moment the funds hit my account, I called the hospital’s financial counselor to authorize the treatment. She glanced up at me from her desk. “Just you, then? No other family?” I said mm. “Your husband?” I didn’t answer. In that moment, I felt a sudden, sharp humiliation. I was married. Yet I was like a person with no one in the world. That night, I went back to the house to get my documents. The moment I pushed open the door, I heard a woman’s laughter in the living room. Nora Chase was sitting on the sofa. In front of her was a celebration cake. Ethan was cutting her a slice. When she saw me, Nora jumped to her feet immediately. “Amber! You’re back.” She said it sweetly. But around her neck hung a diamond pendant. I recognized that pendant. Last month, on my birthday, I’d lingered at the jewelry counter for a moment too long. Ethan had said: “The markup on those things is ridiculous. That’s not your style.” Now it was on Nora’s neck. Ethan frowned at me. “Why are you back?” I looked at him. “This is my home.” Nora’s expression froze for a second. Ethan set the cake knife down. “Nora’s pitch went well today. I brought her back to grab some files.” “And to celebrate, while we’re at it.” While we’re at it. My mother lay in the hospital with tubes in her body. I’d sold my apartment to scrape together the money. And he was here, in our home, celebrating with another woman. Nora ducked her head, voice soft. “Amber, please don’t misunderstand.” “Mr. Sinclair was just worried I’d be nervous for my first fundraise, so he encouraged me.” She touched the pendant at her throat. “This was a team reward. It’s not what you think.” I walked over and looked at the writing on the cake box. It read: [To Nora — First victory down, limitless future ahead.] The handwriting was Ethan’s. He’d once told me even a birthday cake was an unnecessary expense. Said that kind of sentimentality was pointless. I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I just went to the bedroom, opened the drawer, and collected my documents. Ethan followed me in. “Who exactly are you putting on this face for?” I gathered my passport, my Social Security card, and my important papers into my bag. “Move.” He blocked the doorway. “Amber, you’re becoming completely unreasonable.” “Nora is so much younger than you. She’s out here in this city with no one. As her superior, is it so wrong for me to look after her?” I looked up at him. “My mother is alone in the ICU too.” “Have you looked after her?” He was caught short. His expression quickly turned cold again. “Your mother’s situation is different from hers.” “How is it different?” “Nora still has a future.” After those words left his mouth, the room went silent. Ethan seemed to realize it himself. But he didn’t apologize. He just turned his face away and said quietly: “What I mean is—investment has to factor in return.” I looked at him. My chest felt as though something had been carved out of it with a blade. My mother had no future. So she wasn’t worth it. I had no future either. So I didn’t deserve it. I picked up my bag and walked past him. In the living room, Nora was eating cake with a fork. Seeing me, she seemed to gather her courage and said softly: “Amber, honestly? A woman really should be more independent.” “You can’t rely on a man for everything.” I stopped. Ethan stood behind me. He said nothing to stop her. I looked at Nora, and I actually laughed. “Did he teach you that line?” Her face flushed. I nodded. “Then remember it well.” “The day he decides you have no return on investment either, you’ll hear that exact same speech.” Nora’s smile froze. Ethan’s voice cut in, cold: “Amber. That’s enough.” I didn’t look back. On my way downstairs, a sharp, dragging pain pulled through my lower abdomen. I braced myself against the elevator wall and stayed there a long time. My palms were drenched in sweat. My phone rang. It was the hospital. “Ms. Thorne, your mother’s condition has deteriorated again. Please come back immediately.” My vision went black. I nearly collapsed right there in the elevator.

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This was my eighteenth wedding rehearsal with Damian Blackwood,and once again,the spotlight was stolen by my adopted sister,Seraphina. My parents called,their voices tight with anxiety. “Aurora,Sera’s having an anxiety attack.We have to take her to the retreat in the Hamptons.You handle the wedding stuff.You’re experienced with this,seeing as it’s been postponed so many times.” My childhood best friend,Hollywood superstar Giselle,clicked her tongue as if watching a soap opera. “Darling,is your wedding more important than Seraphina’s health?She was about to pass out from the pain,and you wouldn’t even let us help her.When did you become so cold-hearted?” And my fiancé,the Wall Street tech giant,couldn’t even be bothered to call. He just sent a cold text:【Wedding’s off.We’ll talk later.】 Talk later. He’d dismissed me like an unimportant subordinate with those words eighteen times. Suddenly,the whole situation felt absurd. “Guardian Spirit,”I called out in my mind,“sever the blessing contracts between me and them.All of them.” A familiar,ethereal voice echoed in my head:“Command received.All connections to the Darling of Fate,Aurora Sterling,have been severed.” “Countdown:72 hours.They will lose everything they gained through you,including their lives.” … Watching the countdown timer appear in my mind’s eye,I grabbed a microphone and walked onto the wedding stage,which was covered in purple irises. My wedding,decorated with Seraphina’s favorite flower.The irony was perfect. “I’m very sorry,everyone,but today’s wedding is canceled.” The socialites in the audience exchanged knowing glances.No one was surprised. “I knew it.A Sterling wedding never actually happens.If I were her,I’d hide my face in shame.” “The whole Sterling family dotes on the adopted one.If I were Aurora,I’d just give up.Let the sister have him.At least she’d look graceful instead of being the laughingstock of New York.” “You don’t get it.This heiress is something else.They say if Damian Blackwood even slightly upsets her,the Blackwood Group’s stock plummets the next day.He tried a few times,lost billions,and finally agreed to the engagement.” I turned and walked away,feeling their pity and scorn on my back. Hearing their whispers,a cold smirk touched my lips. This time,it would be much more than just a stock plunge…

I changed out of my gown and headed back to the Sterlings’penthouse on Park Avenue,planning only to grab a few belongings before leaving for good. But the second I reached the front door,I ran into a crowd escorting Seraphina back inside,chatting and laughing cheerfully. All their smiles froze the moment they laid eyes on me. Fire flared in Damian’s gaze,his tone sharp with reproach. “Aurora Sterling,why didn’t you issue a statement to the press after calling off the wedding?If you don’t take responsibility publicly,everyone’s just going to pin the blame on Sera again.” My father,Richard Sterling,curled his lip and spoke in a commanding tone. “Aurora,your crisis management is abysmal this time.We’ve never had to clean up messes from your canceled weddings before.You’ve let me down badly.Draft a formal announcement right away admitting you called everything off on a reckless whim.” My supposed best friend Giselle immediately pulled out her phone. “I’ll have my agent reach out to every major outlet.We can still spin this if Aurora posts the statement now.I’ll also pay online trolls to drag her name through the mud so no one speculates anything bad about Sera…” I said nothing in response to their unearned,self-righteous accusations. I simply stared at the countdown ticking away in my head. Two days and eighteen hours remained. Then every last one of them would plunge straight into ruin. “What are you zoning out for,Aurora Sterling?”Damian stepped up to me,his voice laced with a clear warning.“Fix this mess properly,or I make no promises about when we’ll ever reschedule our wedding.” Seraphina piped up in her usual frail,simpering voice. “It’s all my fault for holding Damian and my sister’s wedding up.This is entirely on me.There are plenty of auspicious dates left this month—please don’t postpone it any further…” Her sentence cut short as she broke into a harsh coughing fit. Damian rushed to her side in an instant,rubbing her back soothingly. “This isn’t your fault at all,don’t beat yourself up over it.Your sister’s never going anywhere without me;our wedding can happen whenever.” “I wouldn’t count on that.” I finally broke my silence with a cold retort. Every single person in the room went rigid with shock. I lifted the duffel bag in my hand.“I’m leaving.” The words had barely left my mouth when— SLAP! A crisp,echoing smack rang out across the lavish living room.

My cheek stung,but I just wanted to laugh. My mother,Eleanor,her hand still trembling with rage,screamed at me. “How dare you make a scene?!We’ve spoiled you rotten!You were a debutante,how did you become so selfish and difficult?” “You’re leaving?Where are you going to go?Are you trying to make sure the whole city knows how we’mistreated’you?Aurora,when will you ever learn?How could I have a daughter like you?You’re not even half the woman Seraphina is!” I tasted blood in my mouth. Yes,I used to throw a tantrum every single time. Because I didn’t understand why they’d insist I broke my father’s antique vase when Seraphina did it. I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t believe the security footage that showed I never pushed Seraphina down the stairs. Even buying a bouquet of lilies was twisted into’proof’that I was intentionally triggering Seraphina’s allergies. This wasn’t the first time my mother had hit me. Just two days ago,I refused to let Seraphina try on my custom Vera Wang wedding dress. Then,she“coincidentally”fainted. My mother rushed in,pushed me to the ground,and took a pair of scissors to the dress I had waited six months for. We were practically enemies because of Seraphina. So I used to make a scene.I wanted someone,anyone,to see the truth. But this time,I was done.I wasn’t going to make a scene anymore.

In the story of this world,I am the one kissed by fate.The chosen one. The rule is simple:only by forming a deep connection with me can the other characters receive their good fortune. The day after I was born,the Sterling Group,which had been on the brink of bankruptcy,miraculously received a massive investment and became one of New York’s top firms.My father’s stage-two cancer vanished without a trace. My best friend Giselle,who was always by my side,had a charmed career in Hollywood,winning an Oscar and becoming a global superstar. And Damian Blackwood. He was just a poor kid from Brooklyn,getting beat up by street thugs. Until he saved me from getting lost on a rainy night,and I fell for him. From that moment on,he founded his tech company and,as if guided by a divine hand,never lost a single battle in the business world,eventually taking his company public on Nasdaq and becoming a tech legend. They all worshiped me for over twenty years. Damian treated me like the most precious thing in the world. And because of me,they got everything they ever dreamed of. But then,they brought Seraphina home. And everything changed.

My father spoke to the butler in a grim voice. “Pack up her things.She won’t take a single thing from the Sterling family with her.” “Aurora Sterling,you can leave.But this time,none of us are coming to get you.If you walk out that door,we’ll hold a press conference and disown you.You will no longer be a Sterling!” They pushed me out the door without letting me take so much as a change of clothes. Damian sighed and discreetly slipped me a key. “You can stay at this apartment.Aurora,we’re just tired.We don’t want to play these games with you anymore.” Then he added,“I wish it had been Seraphina I saved that night.” I laughed coldly.“You can marry her now,for all I care.” Damian sighed again,frustrated.“There you go again.Aurora,you know I promised to marry you,and I won’t go back on my word.” “Seraphina is a sweet,innocent girl.I will not allow you to speak of her as if she’s some object to be traded.Don’t let me hear you say that again.” He turned and walked back up the steps. I threw the key on the ground.As I was about to leave,Seraphina rushed out and grabbed my sleeve.“Sister,don’t go!It’s my fault,I shouldn’t have wished for a warmth that wasn’t mine…I don’t deserve it…” “Don’t leave,I should be the one to go!I’ll leave the Sterling house right now…”

I knew what game she was playing. So I just stood there and let her hold onto me,performing her masterful crying act. But when I didn’t push her away like I usually did,she suddenly gasped,“I can’t breathe,”and collapsed in a soft heap at my feet. “Sera!” “Get the family doctor,now!Seraphina,my daughter!” Everyone rushed over,surrounding her in a panic. Damian’s eyes were bloodshot with fury.He grabbed me by the neck.“Aurora Sterling,you dare to touch Seraphina again?Did you think I’d never lay a hand on you?!” I realized that when you’re truly speechless,you just laugh. I didn’t even bother to touch her. And yet,I was still the one who“hurt”her. “Damian,I hope you all don’t regret this one day.” “Guards!”my father roared,pointing at me.“Lock her in the wine cellar!Let her think about what she’s done!”

This is the second time I’ve been locked in here. The first time is still fresh in my mind. It happened because I caught Sera sneaking into Damian’s bedroom in the middle of the night. I lost it on the spot.I caught her red-handed in Damian’s bed! But then she tearfully claimed it was due to sleepwalking caused by childhood trauma—she said she didn’t even know why she went into Damian’s room,only that she felt safe there. She didn’t mean to do it. My parents and Damian bought that explanation completely. Damian even told her gently that if she was afraid,she could come to him anytime. Back then,my feelings for Damian were at their peak. I couldn’t even stand a female assistant near him—aside from the cleaning ladies,no women were allowed in the entire executive office. So,I slapped Sera right then and there. And for that,my parents locked me in this wine cellar for seven days,with only a slice of bread and a cup of water each day. They only let me out when I was nearly out of my mind with hunger and agreed to apologize to Sera. But this time,they clearly don’t intend to just starve me for a few days. When my father walked in holding a horsewhip,Damian followed behind him. “According to family rules,you deserve a real lesson.But Sera felt sorry for you and begged me on her knees to go easy on you.So you’ll get just five lashes.” *Crack!* Halfway through,my father hesitated,unable to go on.“Apologize to your sister!” “Are you going to apologize or not?!” But I never gave him the answer he wanted.The more he demanded,the angrier he became. By the time the five lashes were done,my entire back was a bloody mess. I was already numb from the pain,curled up in the corner,gasping for air. My father threw down the whip and left without another word. His final words lingered in the air: “Incorrigible!”

Damian crouched down in front of me. “Here’s some medicine and clean clothes from Seraphina.Aurora,Seraphina has always respected you.As her older sister,and as my future wife,you should take care of her.Why are you so petty?Why do you always assume the worst in people?” “When you’ve thought it through,apologize.Stop making us all angry.” He unfolded the clothes Seraphina had“prepared”for me—a coarse burlap shirt—and“thoughtfully”draped it over my back. The rough fabric scraped against my raw wounds.It felt like being dunked in salt water. I curled into a ball,shaking from the agony. “So dramatic.Seraphina has her attacks,turns pale from pain,but she never makes a scene like you do.” Damian rolled his eyes,stood up,and left. It took me a long time to catch my breath. “Guardian Spirit…” “Host,shall I activate the pain-blocking function?” “No.I want to accelerate the end of the contract.” “Understood.Acceleration initiated.Tomorrow at noon,all characters will face the consequences.”

As dawn broke,I was roughly dragged to my feet. Someone took me somewhere,and I fell onto a cold tile floor. The next second,a blast of icy water from a showerhead jolted me awake. I was fully conscious now,and I saw Seraphina holding a pressure washer. Her eyes were filled with undisguised contempt and mockery,a triumphant smile on her face. She had the water on its coldest setting,standing far away,spraying me down like a stray dog. “Sister,Mom and Dad said they’re holding a press conference at the New York Stock Exchange today.To announce to the whole world that you’ve been kicked out of the Sterling family.” “They’re going to publicly declare that I am the only daughter of the Sterling family,and Damian’s only bride.” “With the Blackwood and Sterling merger,I’ll be the jewel of two great families.And you?You’ll be sent back to the countryside.A dirt-poor peasant,married off to some disgusting pig farmer.” I glared at Seraphina. Yes,this was her true self. She never bothered to hide her ambition from me. From the very first day she came to the Sterling house and insisted on sharing my room,she told me she was here to replace me. But back then,I thought I had the“blessing contract.”I thought,how could they ever leave me? Reality slapped me hard in the face. The icy water had made my limbs numb. Then suddenly,Seraphina switched the water from cold to scalding hot. The boiling water poured over my back,instantly re-opening the wounds that had just started to scab over. Blood mixed with water,swirling down the drain. The bathroom filled with steam.I was red and swollen,the pain in my back so intense it felt like it wasn’t even part of my body anymore. Seraphina laughed.“Mom and Dad told me to wash you up.I have to be thorough.” Then,she poured a large bucket of what looked like red wine mixed with something else all over me.

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The year my boyfriend was framed by a rival family and fled to Porto Nero, I followed without looking back. I lived with him in a three-hundred-dollar basement, lost two children working back-to-back shifts day and night. When I took a knife for him and nearly lost my life, Dante Morano’s tears were scalding. I gently wiped them away, with only one request. “When you rise again, will you come to my family and ask for my hand?” He promised. Over six years, Dante rebuilt his strength and took down every rival family. He rose to become the undisputed boss of Porto Nero’s waterfront operations. And I, for the eighty-ninth time, begged his right-hand man to get a message through. “Are we still getting married?” He was busy rotating through one sit-down and back-room meeting after another, and gave the same answer: “Just wait a little longer.” I said fine. I wouldn’t distract him anymore. Until the day I stepped out and ran into a couple of local reporters who’d been sniffing around the family. They barely glanced at me before bolting in another direction. “That woman’s a fraud—the real Mrs. Morano just checked into the OB-GYN clinic.” Stunned, I followed them. Outside the private hospital that charged a hundred thousand a night, Dante had his arm around my foster sister, her belly slightly swollen. Behind them stood my parents, whom I hadn’t seen in six years, and my best friend. Looking at those familiar faces one by one— I felt nothing but distance. So he had gone to my family to propose after all. Just not for me. Fine. I’d grown sick of the wind off the docks anyway. …… The camera flashes were blinding. The crowd shoved me to the outer edge. I accidentally hit a metal railing, and the old wound at my waist ached deep in the bone. My best friend, Camille, was the first to spot me. Her voice caught. “Vivian—why are you… here?” Just last week she’d been on the phone with me, pitying my six years of waiting. Hearing the commotion, Dante turned and saw me in the distance. Panic flashed across his face. “Vivian, don’t misunderstand—I’ll explain everything when we get home!” He said this, but the hand resting on Sienna’s waist didn’t loosen one bit. And my own parents, whom I hadn’t seen in years, opened their mouths several times before finally saying: “Vivian, Sienna is pregnant. Don’t make a scene.” But when I’d had my miscarriage, they couldn’t even be bothered to make the trip to Porto Nero. Silence filled my ears. My name had been called three times, but not a single person actually cared about me. My knuckles turned white from clenching. Then, suddenly, I smiled. “There’s a happy occasion in the family—how come nobody told me?” It was Sienna who answered. “The first three months the baby isn’t stable. We had to keep it secret.” “But sister, you’ve been pregnant twice yourself. You should have more experience than me.” Around her neck hung the Cuore Rosso—a legendary ruby worth a hundred million. Dante had won it at a charity auction on the Amalfi Coast. I’d seen it on the news and assumed it was meant for me. Dante murmured from beside her, “That’s enough. Stop.” Those two children—lost on the road while I was working extra jobs to expand Dante’s network and buy gifts for his associates. They were twins. I still remember the wind off the harbor that December. Bitterly cold. I pressed my hand against my empty belly, and my heart felt like it had a gaping hole, cold wind howling through. Before me, I looked at the five people across the street. One road between us, yet it felt as vast as a galaxy. “Dante Morano, can you look me in the eye and say you’ve done right by me?” The moment I finished, my parents were the first to scold me. “How dare you speak to Dante that way! He’s taken care of our family all these years—how has he wronged you?” Even my best friend Camille frowned. “Vivian, that was uncalled for.” “You’ve been frail all these years, oversensitive and paranoid. Dante is a normal man—he gets tired too!” Only Dante flinched, singed by the grief in my eyes. He moved to come closer. But Sienna let out a soft gasp, and his feet stopped. “Vivian, people are watching. Making a scene would be ugly.” Dante said I looked ugly like this. But was what he’d done behind my back any prettier? Sienna nestled into his arms, whispering softly. “Sister, please don’t make things difficult for Dante.” “It wasn’t easy for him to claw his way back to this position. Surely you don’t want him to suffer alongside you again?” My chest ached so badly I could taste blood at the back of my throat. “Fine. I won’t make things difficult for any of you.” But as I turned to leave, Dante ordered his bodyguards to restrain me. He rubbed his temples, as though I were being impossibly childish. “Take her back to the villa. She doesn’t leave without my permission.” As I was shoved into the car, Sienna flashed me a triumphant smile. A smile that said: you’ve lost everything. Back at the villa, I locked myself in my room. The housekeeper knocked again and again, pleading with me to come out and eat. I stared at the things scattered across the floor. The photographs—every memory Dante and I had shared over the years. The receipts—monthly expense statements I’d faithfully sent home. The matching friendship bracelet—a token of the sisterhood Camille and I once shared. After I burned the last one, my tears had dried too. Finally, I dialed a number. “Six years ago you asked me to marry you. Does the offer still stand?” Silence for a few seconds, then a restrained but unmistakably elated male voice. “Three days. I’ll come for you.”

After all that, I opened the locked door. Sat quietly at the dining table. “Lombardi, would you make me a bowl of soup?” The housekeeper happily walked into the kitchen and made a call. “Mr. Morano, Miss Thornton is out and eating.” Looking up, I saw the pile of gift boxes his man had dropped off in the living room. This was always how Dante tried to placate me—it required no thought and no effort. In the Instagram, Sienna posted a video. “Dante is so wonderful—he pushed back work to stay home and help me knit baby clothes. He’s going to be such a good father.” In the video, he was bent over, carefully stitching a small piece of fabric. His profile gentle, his gaze focused. My eyes burned watching it. I suddenly remembered those days when we were on the run, hiding from one safe house to the next. Dante couldn’t afford anything nice. So he’d braided me a cord bracelet by hand. It was crooked and rough, but I wore it like a treasure for six years. Later he got busier, and richer again. But the companionship—he gave that to someone else. A new comment popped up under that Instagram video. My parents and Camille. “My little grandchild is so blessed to have such loving parents.” “Sienna, I can’t wait to be the godmother! I’ll keep Dante in line for you!” I pulled out the cord bracelet I still carried. The color had long since faded. Time to throw it away. The bodyguards outside the villa kept tight watch, convinced I’d tear the place apart. But I went to the garden as usual to water the flowers. The orchids were delicate—I’d been growing them for half a year. They were about to bloom. I wouldn’t be here to see it. So I had them boxed up and sent to the neighbors in three days. In my messages, Dr. Ferrara, who managed my old injury, reminded me about next week’s appointment. I declined the six-year routine follow-up and withdrew the remaining funds from my medical account. Because there was no point anymore. At the same time, a truck arrived. Furniture was carried in piece by piece. “Be careful—these were all personally selected by Mr. Morano for Miss Thornton. Very expensive!” A maternity mattress, a Baroque vanity, designer lounge chairs. And this villa—I’d only lived here two years. Dante once told me this would be our home for the rest of our lives. Now this home was no longer a home. Sienna walked in, my parents on either side of her, Camille close behind. “Sister, you don’t mind me moving in, do you?” My parents soothed her. “Mind what? You two sisters used to share a room all the time.” We did share a room once. But then they made me move into the storage closet. Because Sienna had a sweeter tongue and a more fragile air. Camille walked right past me and poured Sienna a glass of water. “Sienna, don’t bother with petty people. Think of the baby.” I didn’t say a word. But then—my parents leaned in and whispered: “If you could move out, that would help. Don’t disturb Sienna’s rest. Seeing you puts her in a bad mood.” I stared at my own flesh and blood standing before me, incredulous. “In your eyes, who exactly is the real daughter?” They kept their voices down, terrified Sienna might hear. “Sienna has been with our family so many years, she’s as good as our own. You’ve always been the strong one—what’s wrong with letting her have this?” I could never understand my parents’ favoritism. But today, I suddenly no longer cared to. Camille chimed in: “Sienna’s love for Dante is no less than yours. Six years and nothing to show for it—why not step aside gracefully?” She seemed to have forgotten who stood up for her and fought back against the bullies. Who spent their savings funding her education all those years. A whole heart, fed to the dogs. After saying their piece, the three of them went to help Sienna settle her room. Dante came back soon after. The moment he walked in, he cupped my bare, sockless feet. “Vivian, give me some time. I’ll sort everything out.” His arms were warm—but they’d already held another woman. On his tanned forearm were crescent-shaped nail marks from Sienna. “Sort it out how? Make me the other woman? Watch your happy family from the sidelines?” “Vivian!” Dante’s face hardened. “Do you have any idea who Sienna really is? She’s been claimed by the Constantino family—she can give me enormous leverage!” So that was it. The Constantinos were Porto Nero’s most powerful family. Four generations of empire. “These years I’ve been building my position step by step. Nobody knows what it’s cost me.” But Dante—these six years have cost me too. In the end, I simply couldn’t compete with Sienna’s noble bloodline. Dante softened his voice again. “I haven’t forgotten the promise I made six years ago. I will marry you.” “No need. I’m moving out.”

When I said those words, I thought Dante would at least try to stop me. But he only pressed his lips into a thin line. “Once Sienna’s condition stabilizes, I’ll bring you back.” He thought I was throwing a tantrum. Thought I was competing for attention. I ignored his last sentence entirely. Under the white light, my face was pale. “Before I go—give me back the card I gave you.” When I’d followed him to Porto Nero six years ago, I’d sold everything I owned and walked away from a promising career. One card. Seven hundred and fifty thousand. It was everything I had. And now it was my resolve to sever this relationship for good. All warmth drained from Dante’s eyes. His voice turned cold. “Vivian Thornton, I’ve never shortchanged you. You know what asking for that card means.” Past betrayals had made Dante deeply suspicious. He could spend millions on me without blinking. But if I asked for it—that carried a different meaning entirely. Back in those basement days, Dante would hold me and ask the same question over and over. “Vivian, will you ever be like the others—choose money over me?” “Never. Not in this lifetime.” Now, my smile was exactly the same as back then. “One knife scar. Two children.” “Dante Morano, my youth wasn’t cheap either.” The rainy season had arrived, and my old wound ached terribly. The words had barely settled when Sienna appeared from nowhere. “You really love money that much? I truly feel sorry for Dante!” She gently took Dante’s hand, tenderly smoothing the crease between his brows. My parents slapped me across the face and pointed at my nose: “Vivian Thornton, how did we raise such an ungrateful wretch? Begging for money without a shred of shame!” Camille jumped in too: “I really misjudged you. I thought you were just foolish—turns out you’re vicious. Ask yourself what Dante has done for you!” In the end, Dante threw the bank card on the floor. “Take it and get out. This house has nothing to do with you anymore.” I picked it up without looking at any of them. Because they weren’t worth it. The wind in Porto Nero blew hard at night. Dante wouldn’t let the driver take me. Years of neglect had wrecked my health—problems everywhere. He used to never let me go out alone. Even a scraped knee would distress him. Halfway down the hillside road, the rain began to pour. Icy, wild raindrops lashed my face. I clutched that bank card until its edge cut my palm and blood ran. Before I blacked out, a message came through: “Two more days. Wait for me.” When I woke, I was lying in a house in the outskirts. Mrs. Lombardi changed the towel on my forehead and whispered: “Miss Thornton, Mr. Morano does care about you. Please take care of yourself.” For six years, there had always been people acting as Dante’s advocates. I used to listen. But now I only wanted to leave. My fingertip hovered over the screen. Below that text were a few more messages. “The weather in Ashford has been lovely. You’ll like it.” “Eat well, Vivian.” Inexplicably, something warm stirred in my battered heart. I remembered there was one last thing I hadn’t finished. When I arrived at the orphanage, I was stopped at the gate. “Miss Thornton, we no longer need your sponsorship.” The card I’d demanded back from Dante the night before had been snapped in two. My voice was dry. “Director, what do you mean?” Inside, the children who’d once received my donations kept their distance, wary and hostile. A stack of newspapers was thrown in my face. I unfolded them with trembling hands. “‘Morano Boss Weds Constantino Heiress in Alliance of the Century—Other Woman Cast Out in Disgrace.” The cover showed my rain-soaked, wretched silhouette leaving the night before. Beside it, a spread of Dante and Sienna’s newly shot engagement photos. Picture-perfect bliss. “Our orphanage doesn’t accept dirty money. Please leave.” People came and went, casting countless looks of contempt. I stood in the sun, my vision going black, drenched in cold sweat. Someone’s shoulder knocked into mine, and I fell unguarded to the ground. Sienna’s beaming face appeared above me. “Sister, I’ll be sponsoring this orphanage from now on. Consider it good karma for the baby.” Behind her, the director ushered her in with utmost courtesy. Dante’s tone was stiff. “The papers were to let Sienna save face. The Constantinos wouldn’t agree otherwise.” “Go home. It’s windy here.” I looked at his familiar brow and eyes, and suddenly remembered lying in the hospital. Dante too afraid to close his eyes all night. “Vivian, I swear no one will ever hurt you again.” Now the person hurting me was him. I laughed and laughed until the tears fell. Sienna laced her fingers through his, staking her claim. “Sister, tomorrow is our engagement banquet. Will you come?”

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My husband, Dante—Don of the Marchetti family in New York—handed the lead investigative reporter position I’d spent five years chasing to Camilla Ricci, his “first love.” Four years into our secret marriage, my career and my feelings had always ranked below whatever counted as “more important.” When he embraced Camilla in front of everyone yet again, I ended it all with a divorce agreement disguised as a family authorization document. The next day, I boarded a plane bound for the war zone in Ukraine. Later, when he crossed half a war-torn world and found me in the ruins, my eyes held nothing but the stillness of a battlefield blizzard. … I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of the law office, fingertips grazing the edge of the document. “Mrs. Marchetti, are you certain you want to do this?” My attorney, Ashford, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “We’re talking about the Don of the Marchetti family.” I turned to look at him. “Ashford, the moment I sign this, I’ll be more clear-headed than I’ve been at any point in the last four years of marriage.” Beyond the window, the Manhattan skyline glittered. Four years ago, when I came to this city from Boston, I thought I would live a completely different life—a successful career in journalism, a marriage built on mutual respect. The second part, at least in theory, had been achieved. I had married Dante Marchetti, Don of the Marchetti family, though almost no one knew it. He had told me: “You understand what I am. Making our marriage public would turn you into a target for every enemy in the underworld. Once I’ve cleared away every threat, I’ll give you a title the entire world can see. Until then, secrecy is what keeps you alive.” Looking back now, that was probably the first warning. “He’ll sign it,” I said. “He never actually reads anything I hand him.” Ashford sighed. “You still have three days to change your mind.” “I don’t need three days.” I tucked the document away. “After he handed my exclusive—the one that should have been mine—to his first love, Camilla Ricci, I stopped needing them.” By the time I returned to the penthouse in Marchetti Tower, it was already evening. Dante being home at all was rare. Rarer still—Camilla was there too. Camilla Ricci, my colleague at the network, and Dante’s first love. She was seated across from my husband, holding the bone china tea set I’d brought back from Paris. “Elena.” Dante didn’t even look up, his eyes fixed on the tablet in his hand. “Camilla’s apartment is being renovated. She’ll be staying in the guest room for a few weeks.” Camilla smiled at me, a smile so flawless it seemed rehearsed. “I hope I’m not intruding. Dan said you have plenty of empty rooms here.” “Dan.” She always called him that—a childhood nickname she claimed she couldn’t shake. Their families had grown up in the same rooms, at the same dinner tables. Some habits, apparently, came more easily to her than to me, the so-called wife. “Of course not,” I said, so calm it frightened me. “Shall I have the housekeeper prepare anything?” “No need.” Dante finally lifted his eyes for a brief, familiar, assessing sweep. “Where were you?” “The station.” I headed for the study. “Some paperwork to handle.” “Still those reports?” Camilla’s voice carried just the right note of curiosity. “I really do admire how persistent you are. Though times have changed, haven’t they? Audiences prefer in-depth personality profiles now—business leaders, financiers. The Halston Capital CEO who’s been everywhere lately would be perfect.” I stopped at the study door. Dante’s voice came from behind me. “Camilla just landed the Halston Capital CEO exclusive. Her team did solid work, so I gave her a hand. Don’t read anything into it.” Halston Capital. The door I’d knocked on for three straight months without so much as a crack of light in return. Now Camilla had it. And my husband had used the Marchetti name to hand it to her. Three months ago, when I had swallowed my pride and asked Dante for help, he had said, plainly: “The Marchetti family’s influence isn’t for trivial things like this. If you really want to interview him, put in the work yourself.” “Congratulations,” I said, and closed the door. … I pulled out the divorce agreement and slipped it beside a blank quarterly authorization form from Marchetti Holdings. Ashford was right—it was madness. But sometimes a mad marriage requires a mad ending. When I walked out of the study with both documents in hand, Camilla was showing Dante her interview outline. They were sitting close; her hair was nearly brushing his shoulder. “Dante,” I cut in. “There’s a document I need you to sign.” He frowned. “Now?” “Holdings related-party transaction authorization. Legal needs it back tonight.” I handed him the divorce agreement, my finger landing precisely above the fine print reading *dissolution of marriage*. “Just sign on the dotted line.” Camilla laughed softly. “All this corporate paperwork is such a nuisance. Dan, you still haven’t looked at my sponsorship agreement—” “Soon,” Dante said. He took the pen without turning past the first page. His eyes were still on Camilla’s tablet. The pen moved across the paper with a smoothness that left a bitterness in my chest. Just like the last four years. Every single thing I ever placed in his hands—dinner invitations, anniversary reminders, conversations about my work—was always interrupted by something “more important.” And every single thing Camilla asked for was always handled “soon.” The pen stopped. He was done. “There.” He handed the document back and finally raised his head. “You don’t look well. Get some rest if you’re tired.” Camilla stood. “I’ll make coffee. Dan, I brought those beans you like—remember? You always said mine was the only kind that tasted right.” They walked into the kitchen together. I stood there, staring at the familiar signature on the last page. *Dante. Marchetti.* Four years ago, I had seen that same handwriting on our marriage certificate. Back then I had believed the name would be a sanctuary for the rest of my life. Now it read like the inscription on a headstone. “Dante,” I said. He paused at the kitchen door and looked back. “Nothing.” I held the document to my chest. “Good night.” “Good night, Elena.” The door closed. I slid down against the cold wall onto the carpet, tracing the grain of the paper with my fingertips. Step one, done—the easiest step, and the hardest one. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Nora—the only colleague at the station who knew I was married, and my closest friend. “How did it go?” she wrote. “Did he sign?” I stared at the light spilling through the crack of the kitchen door, listening to Camilla’s laughter. “He signed,” I replied. “I’ll file it in three days.” “Oh my God. Are you really doing this?” “Nora,” I typed slowly, “do you know what he did for Camilla today? He convinced the Halston Capital CEO to give her the exclusive. Three months ago, I asked him about the same thing. You know what he told me? ‘That kind of fluff interview is a waste of time. I’m not squandering family resources on it.’” The chat showed *typing…* for a long time. Finally, a message came through: “I’m downstairs. Do you need wine, or do you need someone to help you break things?” I laughed—for the first time in four years, a real laugh. “Both,” I replied. “But first, do me a favor—find out if the Eastern European conflict zone still needs war correspondents.”

I thought the moment he signed his name, I would feel relief. But life never follows the script. I locked the divorce agreement in the deepest corner of my locker at the station. Seventy-two hours until I could file it with the court. Those three days became a strange kind of suspended sentence… and Camilla Ricci, the family’s “houseguest,” became the shadow-close jailer. “Morning, Elena.” I’d barely stepped into the newsroom Tuesday when I heard her overly bright voice. She was leaning against the partition of my cubicle, holding a limited-edition mug stamped with the Marchetti Holdings logo. “That mug…” I couldn’t help it. “Oh, this?” She smiled without a trace of guilt. “I found it in Dan’s study yesterday. He said no one was using it, so I borrowed it for tea. You don’t mind, do you?” What could I say? That it belonged to my husband, that it belonged to my home, and she couldn’t just take it? My pride wouldn’t let me stake out territory like some resentful housewife. “Go ahead.” I sat down and opened my laptop. “By the way—” She showed no sign of leaving. “Dan said the pre-coverage for Marchetti Holdings’ quarterly investor summit can go to our network as an exclusive. He specifically asked for me to lead it. What do you think—traditional studio interview, or something more original, like an on-site feature at headquarters?” My fingers froze on the keyboard. Pre-coverage for the Marchetti Holdings investor summit was top-tier material—usually the chief business editor handled it personally. Even senior anchors didn’t touch it every time. “Dante ‘specifically’ asked for you?” My voice came out dry. “Mm-hmm.” She took a sip of tea, eyes crinkling. “He said my angle was ‘insightful.’ Oh, and the Halston Capital feature airs tonight at eight. Don’t forget to watch.” She finally left, trailing a faint scent of cedar—the same brand as the diffuser in Dante’s study. Nora leaned over from the next cubicle and lowered her voice. “My God. Is she reading you an inventory of her trophies?” “Pretty much.” I stared at my screen. The words on the document blurred into a smear. “You have to talk to Dante.” Nora’s tone was flat. “About what?” I twitched a corner of my mouth. “‘Hey, man who is technically still my husband—could you stop handing your family influence and business capital like candy to your first love while simultaneously trampling on my career?’” “Beats bottling it up.” I shook my head. I’d tried too many times—about respect, about boundaries, about my work, about the career he always deemed “not weighty enough.” His answer never changed: “Elena, don’t be dramatic. Camilla just got back. She needs to build a reputation in this industry. You still have time.” Was my time really cheaper than hers? That weekend, the station held a small celebration for the Halston Capital exclusive. Camilla was the star of the evening, surrounded by admirers on every side. “So, you and Mr. Marchetti really were college sweethearts?” a new entertainment reporter asked, wide-eyed. Camilla’s cheeks colored faintly, her gaze drifting toward me where I stood alone with a drink. “That was all in the past. Young love is beautiful… but fragile.” She paused, her voice carrying just the right measure of wistfulness. “We were too proud back then. We thought the future was endless.” A hush fell over the room for a beat. Then a low, familiar voice came from the doorway: “That was a long time ago.” Dante Marchetti walked in, in an impeccably tailored black suit. His eyes cut across the crowd with precision—falling first on Camilla, then, as if with belated hesitation, turning to me. Low murmurs rose up. “Wow… it’s Don Marchetti! So, Mr. Marchetti, you and Camilla really—” Dante stopped beside Camilla, letting his hand rest on the back of her chair with easy familiarity. He didn’t look at me. There was a softness at the corner of his mouth I had never seen before. “Yes,” he said. “She was the first person I ever truly loved.” Applause, whistles, and jeers erupted. Camilla lowered her head shyly and gave his arm a light tap. I stood frozen, my champagne glass cold as ice. Nora’s hand clamped down on my wrist, her nails almost breaking the skin. Dante finally looked at me. His expression was complicated—warning, apology, and something I couldn’t read, something close to a plea. Pleading for what? For me to play along? To stay silent? I tilted my head back and drained the entire glass of champagne. The bubbles burned down my throat. Then I set the glass down and, over all the noise, said clearly and calmly to Nora: “Let’s go. The air in here isn’t good.” I didn’t look at him again, nor at the woman soaking in everyone’s envy. Outside, the Manhattan wind slapped against my face. Nora was trembling with fury. “How could he? That bastard! Does he even know what he just said?” I knew. And so did he. He was drawing a line. In public, in the rules he understood and could control, he had chosen his past, his old debts, his… Camilla. And I was only the wife—the one “unsuited” for in-depth interviews, who needed to “change her approach,” who needed to “work harder on her own,” whose name wasn’t even worth saying aloud. Or rather: the one about to become an ex-wife. Back at the apartment, I locked the bedroom door. From the living room drifted the sound of Dante and Camilla arriving late and chatting, the bright clink of ice dropping into a bucket. I opened my laptop, logged into the station’s internal system, and pulled up the already-completed *High-Risk Region Foreign Assignment Application*. The cursor hovered over *Submit*. Outside the window, the city lights sparkled—countless cold, unreachable dreams. I clicked.

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I stood by Don Declan Marchetti through everything—from nothing to controlling New York’s underworld. And six months into our marriage, I asked for a divorce. The scholarship girl I’d personally funded was on her knees, sobbing, swearing she’d cut all ties. Declan sat motionless, his thumb tracing the edge of the divorce papers, jaw clenched tight. “I just thought Isabelle reminded me of who you used to be. I wanted to give her everything I couldn’t give you back then.” “I wanted to make it up to the girl who suffered beside me.” Make it up. Taking Isabelle to late-night diners on the Lower East Side. Carrying her shopping bags down Fifth Avenue. Flying her to Santa Fe to watch the sunset. Dropping six figures at Sotheby’s to win her the Moonlight Heart diamond. Sitting up with her until dawn. All of it—compensation. But that compensation belonged to me. And since he’d given it away, I didn’t want him anymore either. I smiled—just a ghost of one, edged with something cold. “Declan, am I dead?” I was standing right here. Breathing. Alive. So why was someone else collecting what was mine? He said nothing. Just pressed his lips together and stared at me with that infuriating silence. Isabelle’s face went sheet-white. She nearly crumpled to the floor. In the past, this was where I’d lose it—screaming, raging at his composure, hating how he could sit there like a marble saint while I burned. As if nothing he ever did was wrong. But today, I just laughed softly. I uncapped the Mont Blanc pen and tossed it in front of him. “Sign it. I’m only asking for half. That’s more than fair.” Ink splattered across his fingers. Maybe I imagined it, but his hand seemed to tremble. He picked up the pen. The trembling got worse. Three attempts. No signature. Then the pen hit the table with a sharp crack. “Sera, it’s not what you think. You’ve got this all wrong.” “Our marriage deserves more than this. I won’t agree to it.” Isabelle snapped awake then, tears glistening like crystal. She crawled toward me, clutching the hem of my dress, voice breaking. “I swear—there’s nothing between us. He treats me like a sister. He’s just projecting his guilt about you onto me.” “Please don’t fight because of me. I’ll leave. I’ll disappear right now. Just please don’t be angry anymore.” I exhaled slowly. Same question as before. Am I dead? If I’m not dead, why is someone else living my life? “She’s the scholarship student you chose to sponsor,” Declan said, an edge creeping into his voice. “You’re seriously jealous of a charity case?” “If I wanted a woman who reminded me of you, why wouldn’t I just keep a mistress outright?” “Isn’t that exactly what this is?” I asked quietly. Every bone in my body ached with exhaustion. No brother-in-law buys his little sister a diamond ring. No brother-in-law stays up all night talking to his sister. Once or twice might be concern. But twenty times in a single month? That’s not concern. That’s devotion. I used to think I was being paranoid. Now I realized I’d been blind. Stupid. “Seraphina! Have you lost your mind?” “She’s nineteen years old! You want to destroy her?” Declan’s face went dark, fury blazing behind his eyes. “She just started at Juilliard! She’s not like you—dropped out of high school and had two abortions over a man before you were twenty! Are you trying to ruin her life?” Three accusations, each one sharper than the last. He didn’t even hear himself. Didn’t realize what he’d just revealed—how deeply he cared about Isabelle Laurent. My eyes burned. The tears came before I could stop them. He was right. I wasn’t like Isabelle. I gave up my scholarship for him. Worked double shifts. Threw away my future—Harvard, the National Ballet Company, and even the two babies I lost to malnutrition without ever knowing I was carrying them. All of it—for him. He could forget all that if he wanted. But he had no right to weaponize it against me. I tilted my head back, swiping roughly at my face. It took everything I had to form a complete sentence. “Then sign the papers.” “Declan. Let’s end this cleanly.”

Declan’s fist tightened. He was about to speak when Isabelle lurched to her feet with a sob and threw herself headfirst into the marble fireplace mantel. Blood everywhere. Streaming down her face, soaking into the white silk of her blouse. And still—still—she was begging me. “If my dying is what it takes for you two to be happy again, then I’ll do it willingly.” “I never meant to come between you. I thought—I thought you wouldn’t mind, that we were family—” I went rigid. Frozen in place. Declan’s face drained of all color. His eyes turned crimson in an instant. He shoved me aside—and caught Isabelle in his arms, tears falling without warning or restraint. “Belle—Belle, wake up. Open your eyes.” She went limp against him. Declan looked up at me, red-eyed and shaking, disbelief carved into every feature. There was shock in that look. Rage. And accusation. He didn’t say a word to me. Not until the family doctor arrived and loaded her onto the stretcher. Not until he was following them out the door. Then he paused. Turned halfway. His voice like gravel. “Happy now, Sera?” The penthouse went silent. Cold drafts seemed to pour straight through my chest. Tears blurred everything. I slid down against the sofa until I was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around myself, aching in a way that had nothing to do with my body. I kept seeing it—the moment she hit the marble, the moment he wept. Declan Marchetti does not cry. When Declan was twenty-two, men from a rival family shattered his kneecap with an iron pipe. He never made a sound. And my two miscarriages, Declan held me and just said the same thing: “We’ll have more. Sera. I’ll make it up to you.” But tonight, he cried for Isabelle Laurent. In that instant, I understood exactly what she meant to him. And what our ten years together amounted to. I bit down hard, swallowed the copper taste of blood and bitterness, and sat there until the sky outside turned black. He came back well after midnight. Saw me still on the floor. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was pure ice. “Belle survived. but the blow had left a scar on her forehead.” “She’s the most promising student in her program at Juilliard. She shouldn’t let a scar ruin her career, the only option is a skin graft.” My eyelids felt like lead. My forehead burned. Every word reached me through a fog. Before I could respond, Declan steeled himself. “Sera, you and Belle are practically sisters. You’re the only possible donor.” “Besides—if you hadn’t pushed her to the edge, she never would have tried to prove her innocence that way.” Then, afraid I’d refuse, he exhaled and crouched in front of me. Drew me gently into his arms. “Think of it as one small cut. That’s all. Just one. Okay?” That sentence—I heard it clearly. My mind dragged me back ten years. Declan drowning in debt, fighting bare-knuckle in underground rings just to survive. The worst night, the other side demanded they break both his arms—shatter his pride permanently. I got on my knees and begged. Then I drove a knife into my own body. Seven times. Until they were satisfied. That night, Declan didn’t cry. But his eyes were blood-red. He swore against my ear: Never again. I will never let anyone hurt you again. Now he was telling me it was just one small cut. I was burning alive with fever, barely conscious, and somewhere in the delirium I was twenty-two again, my face pressed into his shoulder. “I don’t want to… I won’t…” “Declan, I don’t want to anymore… please, I really don’t want to…” Tears rolled down, soaking half his shirt. He closed his eyes. His nails dug crescents into his palms. Three minutes of silence. Then his voice, hoarse: “Be good, Sera. It won’t hurt. It’ll be over fast.” “Just get through this one thing, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened. We’ll go back to how things were.” “One cut. After that, I’ll never do anything you don’t like again.” Consciousness slipping, I only shook my head, murmuring the same words over and over. “I don’t want to anymore… I really don’t want to…”

I burned with fever for three days. When I finally opened my eyes, the skin below my collarbone screamed with pain. I tried to sit up, but a nurse caught me by the shoulders and pressed me back down. Only then did I realize I was in the family hospital. Her brow was furrowed, voice tight with concern. “You just had a skin graft procedure. The pain is normal—you were running a high fever during surgery. You’ve been unconscious for seventy-two hours.” She dabbed a wet cotton swab across my cracked lips as she spoke. “The Don Declan, though—so sweet to his wife. I never expected that. He stayed by her side for three straight days. Didn’t sleep. Eyes completely bloodshot. And assigned six bodyguards to guard her room closely.” “He was worried the skin on her forehead wouldn’t heal pretty enough, so he insisted we use the patch from just below your collarbone. We told him multiple times it would cause you excruciating pain, but he wouldn’t budge.” She glanced back at me. “You’re really selfless, though. Are you one of his subordinates?” The pain from the wound drilled straight into my chest. My fingers twisted into the sheets until my knuckles went white. “They’re… a couple?” My voice came out like sandpaper. The nurse nodded cheerfully. “Last night when the girl woke up, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him. If that’s not his woman, what is?” Something inside me cracked open. Declan has never been demonstrative. Public affection—kissing, hand-holding, embracing—he finds it undignified. In ten years, he never once kissed me where anyone could see. But Isabelle became the exception. After the nurse left, the tears finally came. I bit into my lip until I tasted iron, refusing to let a single sob escape. Everything Declan said that night while I was delirious came rushing back with brutal clarity. I’ll never do anything you don’t like again. I was the only one who believed it. I waited until well past midnight. Then Declan came in, startled to find me awake. Something guilty flickered across his face. “Family meeting ran late. Sorry I’m only just getting here—how do you feel? Still hurting?” The lie came so naturally. He even touched his nose—his tell. Always has been. I looked at him calmly and felt nothing but the absurdity of it all. This was the fourth lie this month. The first time: Working late at the office. Actually shopping for lingerie with Isabelle on Madison Avenue. The second: Drinks with Marcus. Actually fixing a leaking pipe in her apartment. The third: Business trip to Chicago. Actually flying to Palm Beach to buy her a bracelet she’d admired. Beneath the blanket, my nails carved half-moons into my palms. I couldn’t even feel it. I lowered my gaze, a bitter smile forming. “Declan. I never agreed to give Isabelle my skin.” The air crystallized. His guilt vanished, replaced by something harder. He studied me for a long moment, then rubbed his brow with weary exasperation. “Sera, how old are you? You’re a decade older than her. Are you really going to compete with a teenage girl?” “Her life is just beginning. You’re supposed to be sisters—not enemies.” “Another scar means nothing on you. But for Belle—one scar and her entire future is over. Her dream is Hollywood. Her face is everything.” He looked at me the way you’d look at a child throwing a tantrum. “When are you going to grow up?” I almost laughed—a broken, incredulous sound. Grow up? Wasn’t it him who promised, before we married, that I’d never have to? Another scar means nothing on me? Isabelle’s dream is to be an actress? What about my dream? What about the seven scars already carved into my body? Is that just my bad luck? He saw the tears and immediately softened—reached out to brush them away. I flinched back. His hand hung frozen in the air between us. “Declan… sometimes I really wish I’d never traded seven stab wounds for your hands.” He went silent. Something like panic flashed through his eyes. “Just let me go. Please.”

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Don Carlo was a dyed-in-the-wool conservative who despised violence. Me? I grew up with gunfire and bullets as my lullabies. The only reason he’d handed me divorce papers in the first place was because I’d dragged him along when we jumped from a shipping container down at the docks. But that was before I came across photos of him at the shooting range—with his female subordinate. An assassin. I had my people dig deeper. Hundreds of photos came back. Every single one of them featured the same woman: Valentina. On our anniversary, he said he was too swamped to come home and celebrate. Because Valentina’s mission had gone sideways that day, and he was busy comforting her. On Christmas, I asked him to make time to visit my parents with me. He begged off, saying he had urgent family matters to attend to. Because he felt bad for Valentina—alone in a foreign country with no one to spend the holidays with. I flipped through the photos, my fingers going numb. One intimate shot after another. There she was, leaning against his shoulder while eating cake. There he was, cleaning her gun for her. There they were, sitting side by side on the steps, sharing a cigarette. Then a hesitant voice cut through beside me. “Madam, Don Carlo might still be busy in there—today’s Valentina’s mission debriefing. Perhaps… you could wait a little longer?” I rose to my feet. “No need. Tell Don Carlo he’d better get ready to sign divorce papers.” Back at the apartment, I went straight to the master bedroom on the second floor and started packing. I set the signed divorce agreement on the nightstand—and looked up into a pair of jet-black eyes. Carlo’s gaze dropped to the two suitcases beside me, and his brow furrowed. “I had a debriefing with the men at noon. I had to be there. Couldn’t get away. And now you’re upset again?” I didn’t answer. I grabbed my suitcases and headed for the door. But he held them in place. “Isabella. Say something.” I stayed silent. He looked at me calmly, like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “When are you going to break that infuriating habit of going mute every time you get angry?” When I couldn’t tug the suitcases free, I let out a breath, straightened up, and said, “I want a divorce.” “On what grounds?” “You cheated on me. Isn’t that enough?” I brushed his hand aside and started for the door with my luggage. But he stopped me again. “Isabella, can we not do this? There’s only you. No one else.” “Oh, really?” I pulled out the stack of photos. “Then who’s this?” In the photos, they stood side by side at the shooting range, his hand over hers as he corrected her grip. Crystal clear. “You told me you were afraid of heights and hated guns. So how come that fear magically disappears when you’re with her?” “Tell me why.” I kept my voice as steady as I could. “Isabella. You had me investigated?” No apology. No admission. No explanation. Just an accusation. “Shouldn’t you start by explaining this?” He tugged at his tie, agitated, and let out a long breath. “Her name’s Valentina. She’s one of my soldiers. The kid’s last mission went sideways, she’s been in a bad place mentally, so I took her to the range.” “That’s all.” “Carlo. Do you even believe that yourself?” One photo could be written off. But a hundred of them? How was he going to talk his way out of that? He fell silent. I grabbed my suitcases again. He spoke. “Where are you going?” “To my parents’. For a while.” He said nothing. I’d reached the door when he finally said, “Give me some time. I’ll sort this out as soon as I can.” I didn’t look back. I walked out. When I got home, I didn’t tell my parents about the divorce. I just made up an excuse—said he’d been buried in work and I didn’t want to stay alone, so I’d come back to stay a while. Luckily, they didn’t press. The next day, I went to the family warehouse to take inventory as usual. But there was someone waiting at the entrance. Valentina. She looked exactly like she did in the photos. All in black. A little nervous. I walked past her and unlocked the door. She stopped me. “You must be Isabella.” I didn’t answer. She pressed on. “I need to talk to you about something. Can we?” She wore an innocent look. In the end, I let her in. She sat across from me, fidgeting, and started going on about Don Carlo. “Did he send you?” I asked. She lifted her chin, stubborn. “No. I came on my own.” “Leave. This is between him and me. I’ve got nothing to say to you.” I stood up to get back to work. She shot up too. “Miss Isabella, believe me or not—there’s nothing going on between Don Carlo and me. I was just upset that day and begged him to take me to the range. It was all a misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed. I pulled the stack of photos from the drawer and slapped them onto the table. “Are all these hundred-odd photos a misunderstanding too?” Valentina went speechless. I brushed past her hand. “If you’re here to be an assassin, then be an assassin. Don’t try sleazy backdoor tricks to climb the ladder.” Her face turned pale, her eyes glistening like she’d burst into tears any second. She spun around and ran out.

It wasn’t long before I got a call from Don Carlo—calling me out for bullying Valentina. I was so furious I laughed, and went straight to his office. “Don Carlo, she came to me. And I’d love to know how she knew the location of my warehouse.” “Also—since you’ve got the time to come over and lay into me, why not just sign the divorce papers and go run off to your little girlfriend?” He was quiet. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Isabella, you’re not thinking straight right now. I’ll come by tonight and we’ll talk.” He turned and left. And that night, he did. The warehouse door swung open, and he stood in the doorway. I was seated at my desk, going over the family ledgers. I didn’t even look up, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What? Here to fight for your little girl’s honor?” He didn’t answer. Finally, he let out a sigh—helpless. “You are my wife, Isabella.” I ignored him. He went on. “I’m heading to Sicily this week for the elders’ meeting. I’ll be gone a week. When I get back, we’ll sort this out.” My hand paused on the ledger. He continued. “Since you don’t like Valentina, I’ll minimize contact with her from now on. I’m handing off all her missions to other capos. I won’t be directly involved anymore.” I kept flipping pages, saying nothing. He lingered at the door for a long time, then finally left. The next morning, a family messenger brought word that he’d set sail. For the next seven days, he sent me updates like clockwork. Sometimes it was about what was happening in his meetings. Sometimes it was a photo of his meal. Even though I never replied once. After seven days, he returned. The day he came back, he brought me a gift. A dagger, its hilt inlaid with a sapphire—exquisitely made. He took it out of the box and placed it gently in my palm. It fit perfectly in my grip. “Like it?” he asked. I didn’t answer, stubbornly turning my head away. He didn’t get upset. His tone was gentle. “I messed up this time. As long as you don’t divorce me, you can throw any tantrum you want, Isabella.” “As for moving back—stay here as long as you like. I’ll come see you every day.” With that, he left. That night, lying in bed, I studied the dagger in my hand. I decided to give him one more chance. Tomorrow was his birthday. I’d surprise him. The next afternoon, carrying the tiramisu I’d slaved over all morning, I returned to our apartment. I pushed open the door—and saw Valentina sitting at the dining table, urging Don Carlo to make a wish. Candlelight flickered across his face. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw me. I threw down the tiramisu and turned to walk out. “Isabella—” He caught up, grabbing my hand. “Isabella, let me explain. I didn’t expect you to come back. Valentina just came by to wish me a happy birthday.” “Didn’t expect me back? If I hadn’t shown up, what else would you two be doing behind my back?” He started to explain. Then, from inside, the sound of a glass shattering on the floor. Followed by Valentina’s startled cry. Don Carlo instinctively turned to check—then remembered me, and turned back. “Isabella, wait here. I’ll be right back.” I said nothing. I watched his back disappear, turned, and walked away.

The next day, he showed up outside my parents’ building, pleading. Luckily, my parents had left for Sicily two days earlier. They didn’t know. Which meant I could ignore him freely. He stood there for three full days. He sent word through someone, saying that day had truly been a misunderstanding—Valentina had come to him on her own. He couldn’t exactly turn her away. He said he’d transferred Valentina to another capo. That he’d never contact her again. He begged me for one more chance. I didn’t respond. On the fourth day, he didn’t show. He had business. I finally had a moment to myself, and went to the warehouse. I pushed open the door—and was met with chaos. Total devastation. Nearly half the family supplies—the ledgers I’d kept for years—were destroyed. Some torn to shreds. Some knocked to the ground. Everything in ruin. The lock hadn’t been forced. I checked the security logs. It turned out Valentina had used a key to get in and wreck the place. And there were only two keys to the warehouse: mine, and Don Carlo’s. I went straight to confront Valentina. Face to face. Her eyes were red, her hands clenched into fists, her expression pitiful. “Miss Isabella, I know you’ve been misunderstanding everything about Don Carlo and me, and you’re taking it out on me—even making him reassign me.” “But I already explained to you. There’s really nothing between Don Carlo and me.” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Don’t you think this is too much? Controlling Don Carlo every step of the way—do you really think that makes him happy?” “Or is it because of what happened to you in high school, Miss Isabella, that you’ve turned out this twisted?” “What did you say?” Instantly, the members of Valentina’s crew turned to stare at me. Whispers broke out. “Wait—really? She was assaulted back in high school?” “No wonder she’s so messed up. Guess that explains it. Poor Don Carlo—running the family and dealing with a broken wife.” “Picking on a young girl like that. Real classy.” I felt like I’d been dropped into an icy abyss. My grip on her wrist tightened. “Who told you that?” She didn’t answer. But I already knew. After all, the only person who knew and would tell her was Don Carlo. She leaned in, her lips curling upward—a world away from the fragile act she’d been putting on. “Don Carlo, of course. And that dagger he brought back from Sicily for you? I picked it out.” What…? I stood frozen. So Don Carlo had never actually cut ties with Valentina. Not only had he spent those seven days in Sicily—while messaging me every day—actually with her… The gift he gave me was chosen by her too. “The one who doesn’t deserve Don Carlo is you, Isabella.” Her eyes were venomous. Before I could react, a force shoved me aside. I stumbled, nearly falling. Don Carlo pushed through the crowd, shielding Valentina behind him. “Isabella, what exactly are you doing?” “I already did what you asked—transferred Valentina to another capo, cut contact. Why are you still going after her again and again?” Me, going after her? I laughed. I started to speak—but Don Carlo took Valentina’s hand and walked out of the warehouse without looking back. The others filed out too. Only a few scattered figures lingered nearby. Whispering. I left like a ghost.

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Seven days before the wedding, and my fiancé had gotten my name wrong on the invitations for the ninety-ninth time. Three hundred invitations had gone out. Every single one bore another woman’s name. Lily Hart. I brought a sample to him. Nathan’s brow creased with impatience. “Lily’s been in a bad place lately. Don’t upset her with something this petty. Besides, she saved my life. What’s wrong with giving her a little presence at the wedding?” I looked past him into the apartment that was supposed to be ours. My whole body was trembling. Lily Hart was wearing my pajamas, my engagement ring on her finger, sitting on the sofa I’d picked out myself, smiling at me. “Claire, you don’t mind, do you? Nathan said my back hurts, so he’s letting me sleep in the master bedroom tonight.” I set the invitation on the table. My finger pressed down on the line that read Lily Hart. “Fine.” I’d given up the master bedroom. I’d given up the name on the invitations. The wedding and the groom—I didn’t want those either. Lily snatched up the invitation faster than I could set it down. She flipped it open, and when she saw the line Bride: Lily Hart, her fingers lingered on the gold-foil lettering for two seconds. The wedding planner stood beside her, smiling cautiously. “Ms. Bennett, Mr. Whitmore confirmed it three times. Take another look, anything else you’d like changed?” Three times. Every letter on that cardstock was perfectly clear. No Claire Bennett. Only Lily Hart. Nathan came out of the kitchen carrying a warm glass of milk and handed it to Lily without thinking. “What are you doing here again?” I pushed the invitation in front of him. “You confirmed it three times.” He glanced down, annoyance creeping between his brows. “The wedding company made a mistake. Have them reprint it.” “They’ve already been sent out.” “Then send a correction email.” He said it so easily. Three hundred invitations with another woman’s name printed where the bride’s should be, and he spoke as if someone had gotten a dish wrong on the dinner menu. Just fix it. Lily cradled her mug, and her eyes reddened instantly, tears spilling on cue. “Nathan, it’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have helped you review the details. Is Claire… is she upset with me?” Nathan reached over and wiped the tear from the corner of her eye, his voice so gentle it was as though he feared she might shatter. “It’s not your fault. You were just trying to help. If she can’t even handle this without making a fuss, she’s the one being unreasonable.” I suddenly remembered last week. My stomach was cramping so badly I’d slid off the sofa onto the floor. I texted him to bring me a glass of warm water. He replied forty minutes later. “There’s water in the kitchen. Get it yourself.” But Lily mentions her back hurts once, and he gives up the master bedroom, heats her milk, drapes the robe I’d chosen over her shoulders. The wedding planner asked quietly: “Ms. Bennett, so are we making the change or…?” I said: “No changes.” Nathan looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I stood. I placed the invitation back in the center of the coffee table. “The entire wedding is canceled.” The living room went dead silent. Nathan’s hand froze mid-air, still holding the cup. His tone went cold. “Claire Bennett, are you done throwing a fit?” “The contracts are in my name. The money came from my account. I say it’s canceled—it’s canceled.” Lily bit her lip. Tears fell. “Claire, don’t do this. Nathan’s just been so busy. He didn’t mean to get your name wrong.” I looked at the ring on her hand. “Take it off.” She pulled her hand back. “It’s just the sample ring. Nathan said I should try it for sizing.” “My ring. You’re trying it on?” Nathan set down his cup. “Her fingers are about the same size as yours. She was just trying it on.” “And the master bedroom? Should she test the marriage bed for me too?” Nathan’s expression turned ugly. “Watch your mouth.” “Watch your behavior.” He stared at me. A few seconds passed, then he let out a cold laugh. “Fine. Make your scene. Your mother just sent invitations to all the relatives. Go ahead—cancel it. I dare you.” Before, when he used that tone to pin me down, I would panic. I would retreat. I would swallow my tears. Not this time. I took out my phone and called the wedding planner right in front of him. “Terminate everything. The dress, the hotel, the dinner, the invitations—all of it. Deduct the penalty from the deposit. Refund the balance to my account.” After I hung up, the smile was gone from Nathan’s face. Lily clutched the sash of the robe and lowered her head. That robe was a gift from my mother. She’d said it would be comfortable for the first morning as a newlywed—and would photograph beautifully too. I looked at it one last time, then turned toward the door. Nathan called after me: “If you walk out today, don’t bother coming back tomorrow!” I pulled the door open. “I won’t.” As the elevator doors closed, I heard Lily ask: “Nathan, she won’t really leave, will she?” Nathan’s answer: “She can’t live without me.” The elevator descended. I opened my phone and tapped on the email I’d just received. Westbridge General Hospital archive retrieval request—preliminary review approved. That rainy night seven years ago. Someone was finally willing to give me back the truth.

I returned to my rented apartment. The first thing I did was open my laptop. I canceled the banquet venue and the photographer. Returned the wedding gown. Withdrew the guest list. Every refund was routed back to my account. Nathan didn’t know that this entire wedding had been funded by me from start to finish. Mrs. Whitmore had said the family was tight on cash flow and asked me to cover things for now. “We’ll be family soon enough. What difference does it make whose name is on the bill?” Three million dollars. Thirty-six tables for the banquet, three wedding gowns, interior décor for the new apartment, honeymoon flights—even the gold-foil embossing on the invitations. All of it, my money. My father had asked me once: “Claire, is it really worth spending like this before you’re even married?” At the time, I’d said it was worth it. Because I loved Nathan Whitmore. Loved him enough that every time he put Lily ahead of me, I still made excuses for him. Loved him enough that when Mrs. Whitmore made me sign that nondisclosure agreement, I didn’t fight back. Looking back now, that wasn’t devotion. It was stupidity. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Claire, why is everyone in the family group chat saying the wedding’s off? What happened?” “Mom, I’m not getting married.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Did he hurt you?” My nose stung. “Yeah.” My mother said only one thing: “Come home.” The doorbell rang then. I opened the door. Nathan stood outside, holding a document envelope. “Reinstate the hotel.” I didn’t let him in. “That’s not possible.” “My mother’s blood pressure spiked.” “Then take her to a hospital. I’m not a doctor.” “Claire, don’t take your anger out on your elders.” “I paid for the wedding. I canceled the wedding. How is that taking anything out on anyone?” He held back his temper and thrust the envelope at me. “I’ll pay you back. Just sign this first.” I opened it and glanced inside. Property transfer documents for the new apartment. I’d put two million toward the down payment. On those documents, next to Claire Bennett, it clearly stated: voluntary full transfer of property rights to Lily Hart. I looked up at him. “What is this?” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Lily doesn’t have any property under her name. She needs it for a business license application. It’s just temporary—her name on the title. It won’t affect you living there.” “My money bought that apartment, and you want her name on it?” “Once we’re married, we’re all family. Stop drawing such hard lines.” “She and I are not family.” Nathan’s jaw was tight with anger. “Do you have to make everything this ugly? Who’s the one losing face here, you or me?” His phone rang. Lily was crying on the other end. “Nathan, did I cause a fight between you two? I’ll move out right now. I won’t let Claire misunderstand anymore.” Nathan’s tone shifted instantly. “Shh, you didn’t do anything wrong. Stay put. I’m coming right back.” After hanging up, he looked at me. “She’s already miserable enough. Do you have to push her?” I asked: “What about me?” He didn’t answer. I asked again: “Don’t I get to feel miserable?” He looked away. “Don’t compare yourself to her. You and she are different.” When those words landed, I actually laughed. Seven years. He’d been protecting Lily so long it had become reflex. Whether I was in pain, humiliated, or wronged—none of it even registered with him. He tossed out one last line before stepping into the elevator: “Go apologize to Lily tomorrow. The wedding is back on.” The elevator doors closed. I looked down at the property documents. At the bottom of the envelope was a screenshot. Mrs. Whitmore, texting Lily: “We’ll let her find out about the property after the wedding. Once a woman’s married into the family, she’ll behave.” Lily’s reply: “Don’t worry, Auntie. She can’t bear to lose Nathan.” Followed by a smiley face. I stared at that screenshot for a long time. So this wasn’t a wedding. It was a trap they’d dug for me.

The next morning, Mrs. Whitmore showed up at my office. She hadn’t made an appointment. She was sitting by the front desk with a red gift bag in front of her. I’d just come out of a meeting. She pushed the bag toward me. “I’ve already called the wedding people. Everything that needs to be reinstated has been reinstated.” “That’s not possible.” The smile left her face. “Claire, a woman should know when to rein in her temper.” Inside the bag was a gold bracelet and a ledger. She tapped the ledger with her fingertip. “Everything Nathan has spent on you over the years—I haven’t tallied it precisely. The bracelet is a gesture from the Whitmore family.” I opened it. Seven years of dinners he’d treated me to, flowers he’d sent, holiday red envelopes, even cab fares—all itemized. Total: eighty-six thousand three hundred and twenty dollars. I asked her: “Would you like to itemize the three million I put toward the wedding too?” Mrs. Whitmore’s expression changed. “Child, why must everything with you come down to money?” “You’re the one who started keeping accounts.” She lifted her teacup and took a sip. “Nathan is a man. His career comes first. Once you marry in, stop fixating on these small sums.” “Three million is a small sum, but eighty-six thousand is a debt?” She was cornered. Her expression soured further. The receptionist and several colleagues had turned to look. Mrs. Whitmore lowered her voice. “Claire, some things cannot be made into a public scene. If you really tear off the Whitmore family’s face, don’t expect to ever walk through our door again.” “I have no intention of walking through it.” She set down her cup. “Think carefully. That agreement from seven years ago—you signed it.” I looked at her. “And?” “So there are things you cannot say. Things you cannot touch.” “What if I touch them?” She fixed her eyes on me. “The penalty is five million. Can you afford that?” I remembered that agreement. Seven years ago, I’d woken up with an IV still in my hand, and Mrs. Whitmore placed documents in front of me to sign. She said it was just to protect Nathan. She said as long as I was sensible, the Whitmore family would accept me as a daughter-in-law. I believed her then. Mrs. Whitmore pushed the gold bracelet closer. “The wedding continues. Sign the property transfer. And go apologize to Lily while you’re at it. Her health is fragile. She can’t handle you making trouble like this.” I took out my phone. “I’ll have a lawyer review that agreement.” “Claire Bennett, do you really think Nathan can’t live without you?” I looked at her. “You’re right. That’s why I don’t want him anymore.” Mrs. Whitmore stood, her face white with rage. “You’ll regret this.” “That’s my business.” After she left, a colleague from legal sent me a message. “Claire, that old agreement you mentioned—we’d need to check the medical records for the signing date. If you were still in post-operative recovery at the time, the document may not be enforceable.” I pulled up the hospital system. The records from seven years ago were locked. Access denied. That afternoon, an unfamiliar number called. The woman on the other end said her name was Parker. She’d worked in the emergency department at Westbridge General Hospital. “Ms. Bennett, I’m about to retire. While sorting through old files, I saw your name. There are some things I think should be returned to you.” I arranged to meet her across from the hospital. Nurse Parker sat by the window. Her hair had gone mostly gray. She slid an old USB drive across the table. “The surveillance footage from the ER corridor that night. Someone told me to delete it. I didn’t delete all of it.” I asked: “Who told you to delete it?” She didn’t answer. She just looked at me. “Watch it. You’ll understand.”

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I carried the Cartier ring box to Chloe’s place. My friend for ten years. In my haste,I had grabbed my fiancéJulian’s phone. I stepped into her Upper East Side apartment. A second later,the phone connected to her WiFi. I froze. Julian had never mentioned coming here. But the password was saved on his phone. Chloe’s eyes flickered to the phone in my hand. A triumphant smirk touched her lips. “Stop guessing,Ella.For the past three years,every time he said he was flying to Tokyo or London,he was here.In my bed.” I clutched the cold velvet box. Ten years of my life,a planned lie. She pulledan ultrasound scan from her Hermès bag and waved it in my face. “Eight weeks,”she said. “You can still marry Julian.My baby’s going to need a full-time nanny anyway.” The apartment’s smart lock clicked. Julian walked in,carrying takeout from a gourmet restaurant. Our eyes met. The smile on his face vanished. I quietly slipped the ring box back into my pocket. From that moment on,Chloe was out of my life. So was Julian Thorne. … “What are you doing with my phone?” Julian took off his Ferragamo shoes. He placed the takeout on the entryway console. His gaze swept from the report in Chloe’s hand to me. After a brief shock,he loosened his tie. He went to Chloe and wrapped his arms around her. “Well,you’ve seen it.No need to hide it.” He looked up at me,his voice calm. “The report is real.She’s carrying my child.The Thorne Group and my estate require an heir.” I clenched the ring box in my pocket. “So?”My voice was barely a whisper. Julian frowned,displeased with my response. “What’s with the attitude?I haven’t even called you out for invading my privacy and taking my phone.” He took a sip of Perrier from the table. He said it like it was nothing. “The doctors have made their assessment.After two miscarriages,another pregnancy would be too high-risk for you.” “I need an heir.Chloe is helping us.After the child is born,you—the future Mrs.Thorne—will raise it.You get a family heir without the risk.So what exactly is your problem?”

Ten years. From a nobody on Wall Street to the head of a financial empire—I was there for every step. Shielding him from rivals cost me two pregnancies. But in the end,he had an affair with my best friend. He called it a”solution”for my own good. Chloe nestled against Julian’s shoulder. She stroked her flat stomach. “Ella,we’ve been like sisters our whole lives.The three of us under one roof.My baby will be ours.You’ve always wanted a family.Now your wish is coming true.” Julian gently patted Chloe’s hair. “See?Chloe is so kind.But you’re always emotional.” He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it on the coffee table. “This is an addendum to the prenup.My legal team already drafted it.The wedding in the Hamptons next month is still on.You will still be Mrs.Thorne—in name.” “But Chloe has a high-risk pregnancy.The doctor ordered bed rest.I’m having her move into our home to recover.She’ll stay with us as my‘distant cousin.’” I stared at the paper. My lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. “Staying as your cousin?And what happens after the baby is born?” “We’ll have you legally adopt him.He will be the rightful Thorne heir.Chloe is young.She doesn’t want a child tying down her social life.” Julian took out a Montblanc pen. He held it out to me. “As compensation,I’ll double the limit on your black card.The money is for taking care of Chloe and the baby.Ella,don’t be greedy.I gave you the kind of life most women in this city would kill for.What else do you want?”

He looked at me with chilling sincerity. To him,I was nothing more than a career-less dependent—a shiny possession for him to manage. Chloe picked up the pen. She pressed it into my palm. “Sign it,Ella.You gave Julian your best ten years.You have no work history.You can’t make it in New York without him.” I placed the pen back on the table. “No.” Julian’s expression darkened. “Ella Vance,don’t push your luck.I regret what happened to those pregnancies.Think of this baby as compensation.” He stood up and looked down at me. “I’m giving you one last chance.Sign it.” I stood up and took out the Cartier ring box. Then I threw it straight into the trash. “I’ll think about it.” I turned and walked away. I heard him sit down behind me. Then Chloe spoke behind me. “I knew she would come around.Julian,let’s pick out rings on Fifth Avenue tomorrow.I like Argyle pink diamonds.”

Night fell. I returned to the penthouse on Central Park West. Julian and I had lived there for five years. I typed in the familiar code. The electronic lock beeped:”Incorrect.” I froze,tried again,but got the same result. I stood outside my own door. Two hours later,the private elevator opened. Julian stepped out,supporting Chloe. He frowned when he saw me. “What are you doing out here?Why aren’t you inside?” “The code was changed.” Julian slapped his forehead. “Oh,right.The old code was your birthday.Too simple,a security risk.I changed it to Chloe’s birthday.” He keyed in the new code and the door opened. In the entryway,my usual Manolo Blahnik slippers were gone. In their place sat a pair of non-slip maternity slippers. “Yours had hard soles,”Julian explained casually,helping Chloe toward the master bedroom. “Chloe could slip,so I had the housekeeper throw them out.” I followed them to the master bedroom door. My blood ran cold. My entire collection of La Mer and CPB skincare products was gone,thrown in the trash. In the walk-in closet,most of my Chanel and Dior couture gowns had been moved. The racks were full of Chloe’s maternity clothes. “Julian,what is this?” I pointed at the half-empty closet.

Julian was pouring Evian for Chloe. He didn’t turn around. “Chloe is sensitive to scents during her pregnancy.The doctor said to avoid all fragranced products.The housekeeper moved your things to the guest room.You’ll stay there for the next few months.” Chloe leaned against the headboard,rubbing her stomach. “Ella,you’re not mad,are you?The doctor said I have to stay in bed.The master bedroom has better light and air.We’re best friends.You’ll understand,right?” Seeing her hypocritical performance,I didn’t have the energy to argue. The next morning,I sat in the dining room eating oatmeal. Julian came out of the bedroom. He put his phone on speaker in front of me. “Hello,is this the Vera Wang bridal boutique?This is Julian Thorne.I need to change the bride’s name on the wedding invitations.Please replace it with Chloe Vale.” My grip on the spoon tightened until my knuckles turned white. The assistant on the other end sounded shocked. “Mr.Thorne,what about Ms.Vance…?” Julian pulled out a chair and sat. He glanced at me coolly. “Ella?She’ll be the maid of honor.” He hung up and took a sip of milk. “Chloe wants to be the bride.She’s pregnant.Don’t upset her.It’s only a wedding.” Chloe walked out of the bedroom in my silk robe. She wrapped her arms around Julian’s neck,then turned to me. Her smile was pure. “Ella,will you be my maid of honor?I want you to witness my happiness in person.” Julian tapped the table. “Chloe is talking to you.Don’t be so petty.It’s just a wedding.” I looked down at the thick oatmeal in my bowl. Ten years of devotion. In the end,even my place as the bride could be stripped away. I put down my spoon and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Okay.” Julian smiled in satisfaction. “We need to keep the peace.”

“The Met Gala is tonight.Wear something simple.Don’t outshine Chloe.” On the sofa was a gray,out-of-season gown. His assistant had prepared it for me. Nearby,Chloe wore a custom Oscar de la Renta maternity gown. She stood beside Julian. Around her neck was the Argyle pink diamond necklace. It was supposed to be mine. “Julian,do I look good?” He put an arm around her waist. “You look incredible,baby.All eyes will be on you tonight.” He turned to me,his brow furrowed. “What are you waiting for?Go get changed.Don’t keep everyone waiting.” I picked up the gray gown and went to the guest room. When I came out,Julian and Chloe were already gone. I had to take an Uber to the museum alone. I pushed open the doors to the banquet hall. Julian was laughing with business leaders,a champagne flute in hand. Chloe clung intimately to his arm. I walked toward them slowly. I was about to stand beside Julian. An executive from JPMorgan pointed at Chloe. “Julian,who is this beautiful lady?” Julian raised his glass. He smiled broadly as he announced to the room. “Everyone,I’d like you to meet my fiancée,Chloe.”

A chorus of compliments erupted. A Goldman Sachs partner I knew spotted me in the corner. He looked surprised. “And this is Ms.Vance?” The hall fell silent. All eyes turned to me. Their gazes were a mix of curiosity,pity,and scorn. Julian didn’t even look back. His tone was light. “She’s just a distant cousin.” Ten years together. He erased our past with one sentence. Now I was just a”distant cousin.” Halfway through dinner,Chloe walked toward me with a glass of red wine. She stumbled on purpose. The entire glass of wine spilled onto my gray gown. “Oops,I am so clumsy!My bad,Ella!” She covered her mouth,feigning shock. But her eyes held a triumphant glint. Julian rushed over. He shoved me aside and checked on Chloe. “Are you okay?Is the baby okay?” He snapped at me. “What are you doing standing here?You know her pregnancy is high-risk,and you still stood in her way?Go to the restroom and clean up.Stop embarrassing me.” The gala ended. I waited in the parking garage for the driver. Chloe cried out. “Julian,I twisted my ankle.It hurts.” Without a word,Julian crouched down. “Get on.I’ll carry you.” Chloe climbed onto his back. She looked at me over his shoulder. She silently mouthed the words: Ten years can’t compete with my three-month-old baby. I stopped walking. Julian turned back,his voice impatient. “Ella Vance,hurry!The Bentley key is in your bag!” I stopped dead in my tracks. “Get the key over here!”he yelled. I opened my purse. The crystal-studded car key was in my hand. I threw it onto the oil-stained pavement. The clatter of metal was sharp and piercing. Julian froze. I didn’t look at him again. I hailed a yellow cab and left. Back at the penthouse,the MacBook screen lit up. I dragged thousands of our photos into the trash and hit delete. Photos from college until now. All the cloud backups were encrypted. Every password was changed. A message from Julian arrived. “Remember the bridesmaid dress fitting tomorrow.Chloe wants pink.” I didn’t reply. I wasn’t enduring. I was collecting evidence and waiting for the right moment. Three packed Rimowa suitcases stood in the corner of the living room. I was ready to leave.

“This pink dress suits you,Ella.Come try it on.” Wearing my custom wedding gown,Chloe shoved a cheap pink bridesmaid dress into my arms. Julian sat on the sofa,reading The Wall Street Journal. He didn’t even look up. “Go change.Don’t keep Chloe waiting.” I went into the fitting room and changed. When I came out,Chloe was hanging off Julian’s arm,all soft smiles and fake sweetness. Julian lowered the newspaper. The awe in his eyes was only for Chloe in her wedding gown. “Beautiful.You make anything look good.” Chloe walked over to me. She took my hand. Her voice was soft,but every word was meant to hurt. “Ella,you have to be happy for us.We’re best friends.The three of us will live together from now on.My child will call you godmother.You can stay home and help me with the baby.I’ll have Julian pay you a monthly salary.” Julian chimed in. “Ella,Chloe’s being generous.She’s literally trying to make sure you’re taken care of.” Watching their performance was absurd. I pulled my hand away. I took off the pink bridesmaid dress and tossed it on the sofa. “I’m not wearing this.”

“Ella Vance,what the hell is your problem now?” Julian shot to his feet. I ignored him and walked out of the bridal shop. That afternoon,the wedding rehearsal was held at St.Patrick’s Cathedral. Chloe linked arms with Julian,walking down the flower-lined aisle. I sat in the pews. A complete outsider. The rehearsal ended. I was the only one left in the vast cathedral. Julian came back for his car keys. He saw me and hesitated,then sat down beside me. “Ella,I know this is hard on you.” He lit a cigar. “I haven’t forgotten what you did for me.I’ll compensate you generously when the baby is born.You can have anything you want.The only thing I can’t give you is the title of Mrs.Thorne.” I turned to look at him. Light from the stained-glass windows fell on his profile. My voice was ice-cold. “Julian,in these ten years,was there ever a single moment you felt you owed me anything?” The hand holding his cigar paused. He was silent for a few seconds,then blew out a ring of smoke. “From my small apartment in Brooklyn to a penthouse on Central Park.For ten years,I gave you the best life in New York.My conscience is clear.” Those four words were a blade of ice. They severed the last thread of hope inside me. “Fine.I understand.” I stood up.

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My Fated Mate, Liam, was toying with my best friend Chloe—right in front of me. He was releasing his scent on purpose, drawing me toward him like a lure so I’d have no choice but to watch. Outside the werewolves-only nightclub, our so-called mutual friends were laying bets on whether I’d have the guts to sever the Mate Bond and file for divorce. “No way Serena walks. Liam owns half the state—he’s a top-tier Alpha.” “Please. She’s an Omega. She couldn’t excite an Alpha if her life depended on it. Why do you think Liam’s screwing Chloe? And she’s just a Beta.” “Hey, Liam, say something. You think that mate of yours has the nerve to leave you?” Through the half-open door of the private booth, I saw Chloe. My best friend. She was draped across Liam’s lap, tilting her head back to press a slow kiss against his mouth. “Serena?” she said, her voice thick with contempt and certainty. “That parasite? Without an Alpha to shelter her, she wouldn’t survive a week.” Liam raised an eyebrow and gave me a slow, mocking smile through the doorway. Then, holding my gaze, he stubbed out his cigar and pressed one large hand against Chloe’s hip, forcing her down hard against the leather couch. His eyes went dark with that wild Alpha hunger, and he tore open the thin silk of her dress in one rough motion. Chloe let out a coy little gasp, then eagerly wrapped her legs around his solid waist. The heavy breaths came next. Then the primal, brutal rhythm of flesh against flesh. Chloe’s breathy moans blended with Liam’s low, possessive growls, and every sound of it poured straight into my ears. The cloying, syrupy scent unique to heat rolled out through the gap in the door and stabbed at my senses. I stood outside, shaking. That’s when I understood: he’d released the scent on purpose. He wanted me here. He wanted to watch his mate fall apart. But I was even more pitiful than they thought—I couldn’t even bring myself to push the door open. I just drew a slow breath, forced my Inner Wolf’s grieving howl back down, and dialed a number. Chloe’s mate. “Shawn, Chloe’s drunk. She’s at the nightclub. You should come get her.” Shawn was an Alpha—exiled by another pack. Once, protecting Chloe, he’d killed a man in a half-shift. The Council had ruled against him, stripping him of his territory. Chloe had complained to me more than once that Shawn was beneath her now. “Who’s she drinking with?” Shawn’s voice came through the phone, hoarse and cold. I answered right away. “Friends. Rough male wolves, the loud, handsy type. You should hurry.” Shawn made a rough sound of agreement, breathing hard, and said he was on his way. I hung up and turned to leave. Chloe’s smug voice echoed in my head—something she’d bragged about more than once: *”Shawn used to be an Alpha. He tore out throats to protect me. Not one or two men, either—otherwise how would an Alpha like him end up exiled?”* I’d only just reached the end of the hallway when my phone rang. Liam. “You saw, didn’t you?” he said. “Enjoy the show?” His voice carried the full weight of an Alpha’s dominance right through the receiver. My lips parted. My throat closed. I said nothing. “I saw you,” he went on. “Was the sound good?” The tenderness in his voice was worse than silver burning my skin. I made a small sound of acknowledgment. A quiet *mm*. Liam laughed under his breath. “Coward.” He was right. By now, the whole pack knew I was a coward. He’d played with my best friend, in front of me, in front of the whole pack. “Come on, she doesn’t even dare walk in? That’s just sad!” Laughter erupted inside the booth—cruel, careless heckling. Then Chloe grabbed the phone. Her voice came through, smiling and light. “If I’d known you were this scared of losing your Alpha, I wouldn’t have wasted money on scent-blocker.” Her tone turned honeyed. “But doing it behind your back? God, the thrill. I’ve been sampling your mate on your behalf, Serena. Full marks on all counts. I’ll be keeping him, thanks.” “Chloe, keep going and the poor little Omega’s going to cry.” “Liam, aren’t you going to comfort her?” Someone piped up from the sidelines, but this time Liam actually sounded serious. “Cut it out. If she cries, I’ll have to deal with it later. Serena isn’t like you—she’s easier to soothe, so quit picking on her.” Then he took the phone back and offered me his charity, that gentle condescension I knew so well. “Where are you? The bathroom? I’ll come find you. It’s not safe out there.” I turned toward the corridor and watched his tall frame push through the door. He stood there a moment, phone raised, then spotted me and hung up. His expression was pure satisfaction—with just a trace of a predator savoring the moment it caught its prey. He walked over, reached out, and ruffled my hair the way you’d pet a nervous animal. “She’s not like you. You’re my rightful Luna. Why the tears?” “Come on, be good. I’m not going to break the bond with you.” His voice was indulgent, warm—the tone you use with something you own. Then the door swung open, and Chloe stumbled out. Her clothes were half-fastened, her curls tumbling across her pale collarbone, the neckline of her dress hanging low enough to promise more than it hid. She tripped forward and fell against Liam’s chest. His hand went to her waist automatically—his palm, hot, spread across her bare skin. Chloe tilted her head against him and lifted her eyes to mine. “Liam, it hurts,” she murmured. “You were too rough. My legs won’t stop shaking.” She pouted, rubbed her stomach, and let her voice go soft and coaxing. “Take me home? Serena knows now anyway, so what’s the point in hiding? You don’t mind, do you, Serena?” She looked straight at me, all pride and gloating. “After all—she’s just an Omega. She can’t handle a man like you. Only I can take that kind of love.” At that exact moment, my phone lit up. Shawn, asking for my location. Blank-faced, I pinned the location and sent it.

Then I raised my head and looked Liam dead in the eye. “And if I do mind?” Something flickered across Liam’s handsome face—hesitation, maybe. He tried to peel Chloe off him, but she went limp against his chest like clay, arms locked tight around his waist. She pouted. “We’ve done it plenty of times on your own territory. Why the sudden gentleman act?” She scoffed, then turned toward me with her chin raised in triumph. “Didn’t you say it yourself? Serena in bed is like a dead fish. Zero fun.” Liam shot me a nervous glance. “Just jokes. Just something I say to tease her.” I dug my nails into my palm and gave a light, indifferent, “Oh.” “Then I’ll help you take her home.” “You’ll *what*?” Chloe stared at me like she couldn’t have heard right. I lifted my chin and looked steadily at the two of them—the man and woman who’d trampled the Mate Bond without shame. “You said your head hurts. Liam and I will take you home together.” Then, ignoring the pressure of an Alpha and a Beta bearing down on me, I stepped forward and took hold of her arm. Liam blinked, then let out something like a laugh. He reached out and brushed a finger down the tip of my nose, all indulgence. “Well, well. My Luna finally got jealous? Little bit of temper isn’t bad on you.” The gesture and the tone were unbearably intimate—as if the betrayal had never happened. My stomach turned, but I kept my face still. It made me think of the werewolf academy. A she-wolf had cornered me in the locker room once, shredded my clothes with her claws. I’d stood there just like this—swallowing it, letting it happen. It was Liam who’d shown up. Liam who’d flooded the room with Alpha dominance and cowed her. He’d frowned, stripped off his black jacket, and dropped it around my shoulders. *”You should have some fight in you. Act like a real wolf.”* The girl never showed her face at the academy again. Liam always assumed it was his doing—the mighty Alpha, defender of his little Omega. He never knew the truth: that the same girl had been caught mid-tryst with her Alpha by her own strict, church-going father. And that I was the one who’d led her father there. She’d been forced off the territory. She never had another chance to bother me. I was happy to let Liam play hero. That’s why I never told him. Chloe’s voice yanked me back. “Who said I’m going home? We planned to go three rounds tonight. That was just the warm-up. Next we do it in the car, then at the hotel.” She batted her eyes at Liam, coy. “You don’t want to, Liam? Come on. In the car. Whole new scenery.” Liam’s dark eyes flicked between us. Before he could open his mouth, I spoke first. “Liam. We’re going home. To the main house.” I held his gaze. Right in front of me, Chloe slowly slid her stockinged leg up along his and locked her eyes onto his. “Naughty little outfit,” she purred. “I stashed it in the car. Miss out tonight and I’m not wearing it again.” Liam’s pupils narrowed. Every trace of hesitation drained out of him and left only the animal underneath. “Serena. You go home first.” He’d made his choice. His voice was flat, cold, final. I let my eyes rim red and my face crumple, as if I were being torn in half. “You’re sure?” I whispered. He nodded, then frowned, impatient. “Do as you’re told. Unless you want to be stripped of your Luna status.” I inhaled slowly, feigning the ragged breath of someone whose chest was cracking open. Chloe covered her mouth and let out a small, wicked laugh. “Don’t tell me you want to stay and watch from the driver’s seat? That’d be cruel. For an Omega like you.”

I said nothing. So Chloe leaned closer, right up against my ear, and whispered like she was sharing a secret. “Want to know when the first time was?” “You were miscarrying. Lying in the hospital, weak as a kitten. That’s when we did it—on your bed.” “He pressed me down against the edge of the mattress and took me like an animal.” “Serena. If you’re smart, you’ll dissolve the bond and walk away.” Every muscle in my body locked. Somewhere deep inside me, my wolf was screaming. That baby had been my first. A pup I’d waited for, guarded like glass. And still lost. Liam had made excuses the whole time I was in the hospital. Never stayed. I’d lain in that empty room alone, gritting my teeth just to get through it. So that was where he’d been. I stared at Chloe. “Why?” I whispered. “Why would you do this? You have a mate. He loves you.” Chloe answered as if it were obvious. “Top-tier Alphas like Liam are rare. Leave him with you and somebody was going to steal him eventually. And we’re best friends—might as well be me. As for Shawn… sure, he’s strong. But he’s a stray. A thug. Only Liam is worthy of me.” I checked the time on my phone. Shawn was maybe ten minutes out. I tested her. “Won’t Shawn come after you? You’ve said yourself he has a violent streak. Aren’t you afraid?” At the mention of his name, Chloe’s tone flattened into contempt. “He’s a fool. I crook my finger and he does anything I want.” She smiled, drew a slow circle on Liam’s chest, and lifted her chin. “Worst case, I trick him into breaking our bond. He’s just like you, Serena—too stupid to see it coming.” Not a shred of feeling for her actual mate. “And if he catches you cheating?” I asked. Fear flashed across Chloe’s face. She wound her legs tighter around Liam’s and turned to him, nodding fiercely. “He never will. I train him like a dog. You have no idea how much he loves me.” I laughed quietly inside my head and glanced at my phone. Shawn: *Almost there.* Suddenly, letting them off this easy felt like a waste. I wanted to see it. I wanted to watch a rabid wolf bite. So I turned to Liam with pleading eyes. “I’ll drive for you. Do what you want in the car, then come home to the main house with me. Please?” I performed the perfect, groveling Omega. Liam’s eyes widened. “You—you really can’t be without me?” Chloe was quick to jab in with a sneer. “Serena. How can you be this pathetic? Wagging your tail like a mutt. What are you even hoping for?” I made my expression into that of a woman who had no life without her Alpha. “When we were at the academy, if Liam hadn’t protected me, I don’t know what I would have done. The tuition for those four years came from him. Since then he’s supported me with pack resources. Chloe—I can’t survive without his shelter.” And to be fair, Liam really was strong. First-rate at seizing resources. Under his shadow, I—an Omega—never had to think about money or status. I’d sailed through my master’s, then my doctorate, and settled quietly into position as the pack’s behind-the-scenes strategist. Chloe went still, jaw tightening. Envy warped her face. Liam’s golden pupils narrowed at her, and he let out a small ripple of warning dominance. “Don’t talk to her like that.” Then, to Chloe, in the calm voice of a man reminding an inferior of her place: “I told you from the start—you and I are just fun. Don’t drag Serena into this. And I’m not leaving her to marry you. Or is there… some other reason you want the bond broken?” An Alpha’s suspicion was fatal. Chloe’s face went white. She dropped the arrogance instantly and pressed herself against him, all softness. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want the Omega spoiling our night.”

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