Category: English

To escape a forced marriage, I pretended to be mute for six months. But I still ended up married to the crippled, gloomy tycoon of the Upper East Side—my father’s friend, the man I grew up calling “Uncle.” Because of his “disability,” I have to do everything myself in the bedroom. One night, exhausted and dizzy, I bit down hard on his shoulder to stifle a scream. Suddenly, floating text—like a live stream chat—appeared before my eyes. [LMAO, they are both faking it so hard.] [Girl, just scream at him already. Our billionaire loves dirty talk.] [The gloomy ghost’s legs have been fine for ages. The pervert just likes watching her do all the work.] I snapped. I looked him in the eye and yelled, “Silas Thorne, you are absolutely useless!” He paused, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face as he rubbed his thumb over my lip. “Hmm? If I’m so useless, how did I just miraculously cure your voice?” 1 I am the villain of this story. Before I “awakened,” I tried to drug the male lead, Liam Sterling. But I failed. The one who succeeded was the innocent “white lotus” heroine. When Liam sobered up, he went on a warpath. He hunted me down socially and professionally. When he couldn’t catch me, he decimated my family’s business. The Vance empire was bleeding cash, and my dad, desperate to stop the hemorrhaging, started looking for a marriage alliance. But nobody wanted to touch the toxic waste that was our company, or me—the spoiled, notorious heiress Sloane Vance. So, my dad set his sights on Silas Thorne. Silas Thorne. The King of New York’s old money. Gloomy, cold, ruthless. He was my dad’s friend. I grew up calling him “Uncle Silas.” Back when I drugged Liam, Liam had choked me and forced the rest of the spiked drink down my throat. Silas was the one who rescued me. He took me to his estate, tied my hands with his silk tie, and made me kneel in his library. He disciplined me with a ruler, hitting my palms over and over. He was terrifying. But because of the drugs in my system, the pain felt… different. That night, right in front of the portraits of his ancestors, I assaulted him. I think I even broke a wheel off his wheelchair. 2 After that, I ran. The list of people hunting me now included Silas Thorne. Between being choked, drinking high-proof liquor, screaming for hours, and the sheer trauma, I lost my voice. Literally. I left a note for my parents and fled to Europe to “seek treatment.” Six months later, I was dragged out of a pounding nightclub in Ibiza and hauled back to New York. I pointed frantically at my throat, signaling to my dad: The Thorne family won’t accept a mute bride. My dad sighed. “Sloane, we’re broke. You’re mute. Silas is crippled. The only reason the board forced him to take this deal is because they think he can’t do any better. You being mute? It’s a feature, not a bug.” Me: ? 3 On my wedding night, I was shaking like a leaf. My dark, brooding “Uncle” rolled his wheelchair toward me. He gripped my chin, his thumb pressing against my throat. “Mute, are we?” I nodded, trembling under his touch. Rumor had it that anyone who crossed Silas Thorne disappeared. And I hadn’t just crossed him; I had molested him. And forced him into marriage. I was pretty sure he was going to kill me. “Good,” he murmured. “The soundproofing in here isn’t great.” Me: ? Silas patted my head and handed me a small box. “My legs don’t work, Sloane. You’ll have to help me.” I held the box like it was a live grenade. You pervert. Even though we aren’t blood related, I’m significantly younger than him. Was he really going to make me do this? “Scared?” I nodded, then shook my head. I am Sloane Vance, the Queen B of Manhattan. I don’t get scared. I knelt on the rug, my hands shaking as I reached out. Silas let out a heavy sigh, scooped me up, and placed me on his lap, facing him. He guided my hands. “Easy, Sloane. You’re a novice. Don’t rush.” “Sit still. Don’t fall.” “This is a custom-made titanium wheelchair. It’s sturdy. You can be bold.” … 4 Silas was truly useless. I had to do everything. Every time, I ended up exhausted, yet he forced me to keep going. A month later, I was so tired my eyelids were glued shut. I bit down on Silas’s shoulder, hard, just to stop myself from cursing him out. If he found out I’d been faking my muteness this whole time, God knows how he’d punish me. I rubbed my eyes, cursing him internally. Suddenly, glowing text appeared in the air in front of me. [LMAO. They are both faking it so hard. I can’t.] [Sloane, baby, just scream at him. Our Big Boss loves dirty talk.] [Actually, Silas is suffering too. He can’t move, he just has to watch her take the lead. He’s about to explode.] [The heiress definitely doesn’t know yet. The gloomy ghost’s legs healed ages ago, but this freak likes watching her do the work.] [Please, just call him a name. We want to hear it.] Me: … I turned my head to look at Silas. Sweat dripped from his temple onto my collarbone. His cold eyes were burning with desire, his breathing heavy and ragged. His hand gripped my waist so hard his knuckles were white. I tested my voice. It was dry and raspy. “Uncle Silas.” Silas froze. I let it rip. “Uncle Silas, you are really useless.” The hand on my waist tightened instantly. “Say that again?” My lips trembled as I unleashed a month’s worth of frustration. “What? Can’t hear me? Legs don’t work, ears don’t work either? Fine, listen closely. I said—” “You can’t do anything. You are a waste of space.” Silas brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. He looked at me, the mockery in his eyes undisguised. “Hmm?” The night grew darker. Silas rubbed his thumb over my lips. “If I’m a waste of space, how did I just cure your voice?” 5 “Bastard.” I cursed him as I threw on my clothes and locked the bedroom door. His legs were fine. He lied to me. But I didn’t dare confront him. If he got angry, he’d destroy me. The best strategy was to run. Bars, racing, golf, parties, horse riding, male models. As long as I kept moving, Silas couldn’t catch me. That weekend, I met up with my entourage for pool. They were surprised to see the new guy on my arm. “Done chasing Liam Sterling? You disappeared for six months; he was actually looking for you.” “Don’t like him anymore. Bored.” “Bored? Yeah right. But who’s the curly-haired kid? He’s cute.” The curly hair belonged to Leo, a model. My best friend was styling a shoot for the Van Der Woodsens and asked for my opinion. I didn’t like the clothes, but I liked the guy wearing them. [It’s the puppy dog! He only loves the villainess. He can be sweet or wild, gets jealous, has a great body. He becomes a famous actor later.] [Sloane grabbed him just to piss off the male lead, but the puppy fell in love for real.] [Is nobody worried about the Uncle? He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out she’s not partying with him. The four-way jealous showdown is going to be fire.] I shoved a pool cue into Leo’s hands. “Five shots. Ten grand for every ball you sink.” “Sloane, seriously? Your dad is stressing over the merger, and you’re burning cash?” Listen, in this life, I can do without love. But I cannot be ugly, poor, or embarrassed. “Daddy spoils me.” They didn’t know I was spending Silas’s money. Leo’s technique was average. I walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and covered his hands with mine. His ears turned bright red. “Hands this pretty, and you can’t sink a ball?” He lowered his eyes, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “I didn’t want you to lose too much money.” Kid knows how to talk. “Spending on you isn’t a loss.” Five shots later. I pinched his cheek. “Go have fun.” “You really over Liam? Weird.” “What’s Liam Sterling? Just a pastime.” “Ahem.” Someone winked at me frantically. I bent down to line up a shot. Suddenly, a warm chest pressed against my back. A sinister voice whispered in my ear. “Is that so? A pastime.” I jumped. It was Liam. His hand gripped my waist, thumb rubbing suggestively. “I wondered where you went for six months. Found a new toy?” [AHHH IT’S THE MALE LEAD! GET OFF HER! THE HEROINE IS GONNA BE MAD!] [This is the scene where the leads meet! Liam doesn’t love our girl yet.] [Major angst point: the male lead flirts with the villainess to make the heroine jealous. Crap, how is Sloane getting out of this?] Getting out of it the same way I get out of everything. I shoved Liam off me. “Obviously.” I flicked my earring. “After trying other flavors, I realized you’re pretty bland, Liam.” Liam grabbed my wrist. “You think you can just walk away? It doesn’t work like that.” He sneered. “Guess what? I have evidence of what you did to me. If I…” My heart skipped a beat. But then I remembered—my dad and Silas surely cleaned that mess up. And frankly, that was the plot’s fault. Current me would never roofie anyone. “Did what?” the crowd asked, hungry for gossip. Liam lit a cigarette, taking his time. “Something very bad.” “How bad? Did Sloane climb into your bed?” Liam blew smoke. “You do something bad, then run away. Not very polite, is it?” The smoke hit me, choking me. Slap. I backhanded him across the face. “Blow smoke in my face again and see what happens.” Liam licked the corner of his lip and smiled. A dark, cold look settled on me. If we weren’t in public, he would have strangled me. [Male lead is so hot… but Sloane is iconic. This toxicity is delicious.] [Do you guys have no morals? She drugged him!] [I’m here for the drama. Besides, blowing smoke in someone’s face is disgusting.] Leo suddenly appeared, shoving Liam back. Liam laughed. “You think she’s a prize? You’re that desperate?” Leo grabbed my wrist. “Sloane, let’s go.” “Sloane.” Liam called out. “Finish the game. You win, I leave your family alone.” “Deal.” Win or lose, it didn’t matter.

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The year I was completely gone for my boss, I secretly changed her contact name to “Wife.” The next day, she couldn’t find her phone and borrowed my new iPhone 17 Pro Max. “Siri, call—” Her voice was soft, gesturing for me to say the name. I froze, my mind going blank as I frantically tried to refuse. “James?” Ava Sterling looked at me, a flicker of confusion in her sharp eyes. Seeing my lips sealed tight, she pushed the phone closer to my mouth, repeating slowly, with a deliberate, knowing weight to her words, “Siri, call…” I wanted to cry. With no way out, I closed my eyes and yelled in utter desperation, “Wife.” … Liquid courage is a powerful thing. At a company dinner for upper management, the project director, her face flushed with wine, turned her attention to me. “James, you don’t have a girlfriend. How about you make do with me?” The table fell silent. “Are you seriously hitting on the CEO’s assistant?” someone whispered, tugging at her arm. That lecherous old woman. My boss, Ava, had a last-minute emergency tonight and sent me in her place. No one expected Director Evans to spew such nonsense. I bit back a sharp retort and offered a polite, strained smile. “It’s true I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said, “because I have a wife.” Her face fell. She pressed on, demanding proof. I glanced at her, then picked up my phone. With Ava absent, this was the perfect cover. “Siri, call Wife.” The call screen lit up, the name “Wife” displayed clearly for all to see. Director Evans stared, dumbfounded. Mission accomplished. I was about to hang up when a familiar ringtone blared from the doorway. My heart stopped. I whipped my head around in disbelief, my phone nearly slipping from my grasp. There she was, the cool, untouchable woman I’d worked for for three years, Ava Sterling, standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression. Everyone’s gaze followed mine, jaws practically hitting the floor. The screen of the phone in Ava’s hand was lit up, the call neither answered nor rejected. But that ringtone, a sound I knew better than my own heartbeat, exploded in the silent room like claps of thunder, turning my brain to static. …My world was ending. Ava said she wasn’t coming! Don’t tell me she heard me call her… wife! “James… you and Ms. Sterling! You two are…” someone stammered, too shocked to form a complete sentence. I slammed the end-call button, my mind scrambling for an excuse, any excuse at all. But Ava’s phone kept ringing. What? What was happening? Under the confused stares of everyone present, her famously icy gaze shifted, and she answered the call. …Someone else had called her, a split second faster than I had? I could have died from the scare. I let out a silent, shaky breath. I heard a crisp “Yes,” and then Ava’s eyes swept over the room, landing on me for a fraction of a second. She motioned for us to continue before turning and stepping out onto the terrace. Director Evans, now stone-cold sober, dabbed at her forehead with a trembling hand and wisely shut her mouth. The room slowly came back to life. “You scared the hell out of me! I really thought James was the CEO’s husband…” I forced a laugh, trying to play it off. But for the rest of the dinner, my mind was a blur. All I could think about was when, exactly, Ava had arrived at that door. I was lost in thought when she returned, her expression cold as ice. She took her seat at the head of the table, her sharp gaze locking onto Director Evans. My stomach dropped. Director Evans shrank under her stare, her face pale. “Ms. Sterling, I… I had too much to drink. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.” Ava watched her, her voice devoid of warmth. “No,” she said coldly. “You shouldn’t have.” My head snapped up. Everyone at the table stared, first at her, then at me, their eyes asking the same silent question: Are you two actually together? Before I could say a word, Ava placed her phone on the table and slid it into the center for everyone to see. One of the senior partners picked it up, and his expression immediately turned grim. Displayed on the screen was proof that Director Evans had been skimming from the company. The color drained from the director’s face. Before she could protest, Ava gestured, and security discreetly escorted her out. The rest of us sat in stunned silence, still reeling from the whiplash of events. Only I was breathing a sigh of relief. Thank god Ava hadn’t heard me call her wife. She hated workplace drama and was all about efficiency. If she knew I’d changed her contact name for my own pathetic fantasies, I’d be out on the street just as fast as Evans. That was too close. “You look pleased, James.” Ava’s voice cut through my thoughts, her gaze lingering on me. I composed myself, pulling on my standard professional smile. “You rooted out a problem, Ms. Sterling. As your assistant, I’m genuinely happy for you.” She gave me a long, unreadable look. “I see.” The next morning, the employee elevator was packed. My head was spinning. Last night’s emotional rollercoaster had wrecked my sleep. I’d spent the night dreaming of Ava almost discovering my secret. What can I say? I crave her, but I’m a total coward. I fought tooth and nail against countless competitors to land this job, just to get close to her. But in the end, all I dared to do was secretly change her contact name. She usually messages me, so the chances of her finding out were slim to none. Last night was a freak accident. From now on, no more using “Wife” as a shield. If I don’t use it, she’ll never find out, right? I forced myself to focus, pulling out my phone to double-check the schedule for Ava’s promotional photoshoot later today. A colleague next to me saw me yawn and elbowed me playfully. “Rough night?” I couldn’t exactly say I was up all night thinking about our boss, could I? I offered a weak smile. “You know how it is. Too many beautiful women online, not enough time.” He grinned knowingly. “Tell me about it. My digital crush changes seven times a day, but in real life? Single my whole life.” Speaking of digital crushes, I had a real-life one secretly stashed in my contacts. Ding. The elevator arrived at another floor. My colleague and I stepped out to let people off before getting back on. When I looked up, I saw her. Standing at the back of the now-emptier elevator was Ava Sterling herself. My blood ran cold. Did she hear my stupid lie? Wait… why am I so nervous? “Ms. Sterling…” we mumbled, our voices strained. My colleague whispered, “The executive elevator isn’t broken, is it? Why is she slumming it with us?” “I have no idea…” Ava’s eyes flickered towards me. “Get in,” she said, her brow furrowed. Did someone piss her off? She seemed to be in a perfectly fine mood when the party ended last night. As the elevator ascended, my phone buzzed. A text from my colleague. [The boss looks pissed. My floor’s next. Good luck, buddy.] Ding. He scurried out, leaving me alone with Ava. The enclosed space filled with a heavy silence. I was about to say something, anything, to break the tension when her cold voice sliced through the air. “James, spending your nights watching… unconstructive content can negatively impact your work performance.” She was warning me. “Right, boss. I’ll switch to watching during the day,” I replied instantly. Ava paused. Only then did I realize what I’d just said. “Wait, no, boss, that’s not—” The elevator doors opened. Ava gave me a flat, unimpressed look and strode out. “Beach photoshoot this afternoon. You’re coming with me.” Huh? I stood there, stunned. Ava’s photoshoots were always a ten-minute affair. She never needed me there. Why now? We arrived at the beach as the sun began to set. The moment Ava stepped out of the changing room, my eyes widened. She was wearing a sleek one-piece, partially covered by a translucent wrap that was as sheer as a dragonfly’s wing. Her collarbones were a delicate, alluring line… Was I really allowed to be seeing this? I blinked, trying to compose myself. Her figure was breathtaking, a work of art. And her face was, as always, stunning enough to command attention anywhere she went. She seemed a little uncomfortable, probably from showing more skin than usual, a slight frown creasing her brow. Just as she was about to look up, I snapped my gaze away. Better safe than sorry. She couldn’t find out I was lusting after her. But then I remembered she had specifically asked me to come today, and my mind started racing again. Could it be that Ava… felt the same way about me? “Ava!” The director’s excited voice boomed from behind me. “You finally listened to me!” …So much for that theory. Ava’s uncharacteristic choice of attire wasn’t for me; it was because the director, her best friend of many years, had finally nagged her into it. Chloe, the director, had always complained that Ava was wasting her incredible figure with her severe business wear. “Why didn’t you answer my call earlier?” Chloe teased, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you needed a thirty-minute pep talk just to put on a swimsuit.” Ava was just passing me. She paused, glanced at me, then frowned at the director. “Couldn’t find my phone,” she said, dismissing the guess. “Let’s just get this over with.” Once the shoot started, Chloe was in her element, sighing with admiration as her camera shutter clicked furiously. Then, she stopped. “Okay, Ms. CEO, lose the wrap,” Chloe instructed, making a gesture. Lose the wrap? My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Ava, and found her eyes already on me. Our gazes locked for a split second before she looked away. I understood instantly. It was one thing for her to wear a swimsuit in public. It was another to reveal even more in front of her subordinate. She was uncomfortable. I pretended to be engrossed in my phone, but my ears were practically twitching. If Ava actually agreed to take it off, I would be the first to look up. Seeing Ava hesitate, Chloe sighed and waved over her own assistant. “Go help her with that.” “My assistant will do it.” Ava’s voice was quiet, but firm. My head shot up. Me? She turned down the director’s assistant, but she wanted me to do it? I was completely bewildered. Was it because… after all these years, she was more comfortable with me handling her than a complete stranger? I was still in a daze when I stood before her. We had never been this close. I’d been craving her for a long time, sure. But now that I actually had to make a move, my courage failed me. My hands trembled as I carefully untied the wrap. “It’s not that fragile.” My hands froze, and a hot blush crept up my neck. So embarrassing. I bit my lip and clutched the gauzy fabric. With the wrap gone, the elegant line of her collarbones was fully exposed. I couldn’t help but steal a glance, my heart hammering in my chest. A woman this perfect… if only she really were my wife. As I lowered my hands, I heard Chloe shout from behind the camera. “Brush her hair back for her.” Startled, I looked up at Ava and found her watching me. Her expression was unreadable. “Do what the director says,” she said, her voice even. “Okay…” Steeling myself, I raised my hands again, my fingertips grazing the smooth, pale skin of her nape. The sea breeze was cool, but the air between us felt thick and heavy. I was too close to her, too afraid to look for too long. I started to step back, but Chloe’s voice, now buzzing with excitement, rang out again. “Perfect! Now take off the skirt, too.” What?! Take off her what? My hand froze in mid-air, but my eyes had already betrayed me, drifting downwards. The wind gently lifted the hem of her sarong, offering tantalizing glimpses of her long legs. But… this couldn’t be right. “Get your mind out of the gutter! She’s wearing a slip underneath!” Still… Ava shot Chloe a warning look, but then her eyes met mine. “Go ahead,” she said. Was this really happening? I stared at her, feeling like I was in a dream. It’s just for work, it’s just for work… I chanted the mantra in my head, but as I reached for the tie at her waist, she caught my wrist. “Stop shaking,” she murmured, her voice low. The warmth of her hand on my skin sent a jolt through me, making my heart race even faster. I could only nod, my throat tight. She let go. She had… held my hand. I retreated behind the camera, trying not to stare, but my eyes kept being drawn back to her. Bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun, she stood with an easy grace. She was like a painting, so beautiful that a single glance could make my heart ache for hours. After the shoot, Ava went to the changing room. A few moments later, she called me in. As I entered, I saw her searching frantically through a pile of clothes on the sofa. “Call my phone,” she said, standing up, her tone casual. I froze. Call her from my phone? Her contact name was still “Wife.” Calling her now, in front of her, was like volunteering to jump into a volcano. No. Absolutely not. “James?” Ava asked, looking at me with confusion. When I didn’t respond, her expression hardened. “Are you nervous about something, James?” she asked slowly, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. My heart pounded. Her instincts were razor-sharp. She was onto me. “No, no… my phone’s dead. Let me go charge it.” I clutched the phone in a death grip, ready to bolt. “Is that so?” She closed the distance between us in a single step. “Siri.” “Yes?” my iPhone chirped instantly. I flinched. Before I could process what was happening, a slow, knowing smile spread across Ava’s face. Her eyes held mine, and her voice was smooth as silk as she spoke again. “Siri, call—” She paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank. I couldn’t say it. I would rather die. I shoved the phone behind my back, my jaw clenched. Ava’s brow furrowed. She leaned in, stalking me one step at a time. My face flushed, and I turned my head away. But she didn’t seem to notice, pressing closer still. “Siri, call—” Her voice was a predatory purr, and I swallowed hard. I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t. “Well?” she pressed, her aura of command leaving no room for escape. I squeezed my eyes shut and, in a voice of pure desperation, yelled, “Wife.”

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My husband has selective hearing. If I ask him to take in the laundry, he doesn’t hear me. If I ask him to do the dishes, he doesn’t hear me. When I finally scream at him in frustration, he just watches me silently, letting me lose my mind. Then, he never fails to add, “I never said I wouldn’t do it. What are you freaking out about?” I’ve finally had enough. I’m tired. So, I started to play his game, developing a selective hearing of my own. And this time, the one who’s going crazy is him. 1 After dinner, I took our son, Leo, for his bath. On my way to the bathroom, I specifically told my husband, Addison, to remember to do the dishes. He was glued to his phone and grunted an “uh-huh” without even looking up. But when I came out of the bathroom after getting Leo washed and ready for bed, the dinner table was still a disaster zone. Addison was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, letting out little snorts of laughter every now and then. “Addison, didn’t I ask you to do the dishes?” I asked, my voice tight as I fought to keep my anger in check. He still didn’t look up, his fingers flying across the screen. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t rush me.” Since he said that, I couldn’t really press the issue. After I tucked Leo into bed, I came back out to the living room. The dirty dishes were still sitting on the table, untouched. I glanced at Addison, who was still lost in his phone on the sofa, and thought, He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t need me to ask him three or four times to do a simple task. If I kept nagging, it might just make him dig his heels in even more. Swallowing the words that were about to burst out, I went back to our room and went to sleep. The next morning, I got up to make breakfast, only to find yesterday’s dishes exactly where I’d left them. Grease had congealed into a sticky, disgusting film on the table. After sitting out all night, it was hard and nauseating to scrub off. I remembered how I’d reminded him again and again last night to clean the table and do the dishes. And what did he do? He played on his phone from six o’clock until God knows when before finally stumbling into bed. Time for his phone, but no time for the dishes. A hot fury surged through me. I cleaned the table, washed the dishes, and then made breakfast. By the time Addison got up, I was already eating. “Oh,” he said, feigning surprise. “There’s breakfast?” He sat down across from me without another word and started digging in. “Addison.” I took a deep breath, trying to force down the inferno in my chest. “Didn’t I remind you twice yesterday to do the dishes? But when I got up this morning, they hadn’t moved an inch.” Addison didn’t say anything, just kept eating. I slammed my fork down on the table and glared at him. Sensing my anger, he finally looked up with a sheepish grin. “Oh, wow, I just forgot. Look at you, getting all worked up.” “Don’t worry,” he added, his tone far too cheerful. “I’ll get them next time. I promise!” Looking at his smug, carefree face, a profound sense of helplessness washed over me. 2 After breakfast, I got up to wake Leo. As I left the table, I told Addison to take the clothes out of the washing machine and hang them up to dry. This time, he nodded enthusiastically. “Mission accepted.” I figured that after what happened yesterday, and with me having just lost my temper, he’d actually do it. It wasn’t even a big deal—just a few items of clothing. It would take him five minutes, tops. I got Leo dressed and ready, and without even checking the laundry, I took him out the door. I dropped Leo off at daycare, then headed to work. When I got home that evening, I glanced instinctively toward the balcony. Seeing no clothes hanging there, my stomach dropped. I rushed over and threw open the lid of the washing machine. Just as I’d feared, this morning’s load of laundry was still sitting there in a damp, crumpled heap. After being sealed in the machine all day, a sour, mildewy smell hit me. There was nothing for it. I had to wash them all over again. The moment Addison got home, he flopped onto the sofa and pulled out his phone. Our living room connects to the balcony, and the washing machine isn’t exactly quiet, but he acted as if he couldn’t hear a thing. When the machine beeped, signaling the end of the cycle, I shouted from the kitchen. “Addison, the laundry’s done! Go hang it up!” Silence. I poked my head out of the kitchen and called out again, louder this time. “Addison, hang up the laundry!” Still nothing. Clutching my spatula, I stormed over to the sofa and kicked his foot. He slowly tore his eyes away from his phone, his expression full of annoyance. “I heard you, I heard you.” “I heard you the first time.” “It’s just hanging up some clothes. I’ll get to it.” That was it. I exploded. “You’ll get to it? Didn’t I ask you to do it this morning before I left? Did you do it then?” “I came home to find the clothes still in the washer, and they stank! Do you have any idea?” Addison just clicked his tongue. “So I forgot. You just wash them again. It’s not a big deal. I don’t know what you’re so mad about.” His casual, dismissive attitude made me feel like I was the one making a big deal out of nothing. I repeated myself one last time, my voice steely. “Remember to hang the clothes. I’m going back to cook.” 3 Addison didn’t respond. I went back to the kitchen to finish dinner. By the time I brought the food out, the clothes were still not hung up. Addison wasn’t on the sofa. I glanced around and saw the bathroom door was closed. Great. He was in the bathroom. I was done waiting for him. I went and hung the laundry myself. When Addison came out of the bathroom, the clothes were already drying on the line. He shot me a smirk but said nothing as he sat down at the table and started to eat. The sound from his video clips was blasting, the noise filling the small apartment as he ate and watched. Leo is only three, at that age where he’s curious about everything. He saw Addison eating with his phone and looked at me. “Mommy, why can Daddy watch his phone while he eats, but I can’t?” I know the best way to teach a child is by example. So I said quietly, “Addison, can you just eat your dinner? Put the phone away.” Addison didn’t react, his thumb continuing to scroll. I raised my voice. “Addison, put the phone away.” Still no response. I took a sharp breath and yelled, my voice ringing through the room. “Are you listening to me? Did you hear what I said?” “Put the phone away and eat your dinner!” Addison rolled his eyes at me, his face a mask of irritation. “I know, I know! God, you talk so much. You sound just like my mother.” He sneered. “Chloe, you’re not that old. Don’t go into early menopause on me.” I felt like I was going to explode. Ask him to do one simple thing, and he drags his feet. Talk to him, and it takes three tries before he even acknowledges me. Is he deaf? Are his legs broken? Or is there something wrong with his brain? 4 I didn’t want to fight in front of our son. So I tried to reason with him. “You’re eating and playing on your phone, and Leo is watching you. He’s going to copy everything you do.” Addison was completely unbothered. “He can eat and play on his phone too. I’m not stopping him.” A firestorm of rage was building inside me, but I had nowhere to direct it. “Addison, do you hear yourself?” “He’s three years old! You want him to pick up bad habits like this? What happens later?” Addison just shrugged. “Well, he’s not gonna starve.” I couldn’t stand to say another word to him. I fed Leo his dinner, and only then did I start to eat my own. After Addison finished, he went right back to his phone. “Addison, go give Leo his bath.” My plan was that while he bathed Leo, I could clean up the kitchen, and then I could read Leo a few stories before putting him to bed. Addison was still glued to his phone, laughing so hard his eyes disappeared into slits, but he didn’t answer me. I kicked him again, and he finally looked up at me. “What!” he snapped, his voice dripping with impatience. “I said, go give your son a bath! Are you deaf?” Addison let out an annoyed “tsk.” “Alright, alright. I got it.” “So much nagging.” I finished my dinner and went to do the dishes. When I came out of the kitchen, I found Addison lying in our bed playing on his phone, while Leo sat on the floor watching TV. The bath was still not done. “Addison, I asked you to give Leo a bath. When exactly were you planning on doing it?” He didn’t answer, just shifted his position on the bed, his eyes never leaving his phone. I was so tired. So incredibly tired. And in that moment, I finally understood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hear me. He was pretending not to. Because he knew that if he just played dumb, played deaf, eventually I’d get fed up and do it myself. I couldn’t understand it. His mom had only been gone for three days. How did Addison turn into this person? 5 Addison and I met and fell in love on our own. We’d been dating for over a year when I got pregnant unexpectedly, so we got married. At the time, I had a good job and was on the fast track for a promotion. I didn’t want to quit because of the baby, so Addison asked his mom to come and help. My mother-in-law was a wonderful woman. When I was recovering from childbirth, she cooked me four different meals a day, never repeating a dish. She took amazing care of Leo, and I barely had to lift a finger. This year, Leo turned three and started preschool. His mom said she wanted to go back to her hometown; she wasn’t used to the big city. Honestly, I was sad to see her go. Her being here made our lives so much easier. But if she wanted to leave, I couldn’t stop her, so I agreed. I had forgotten that when his mom was around, Addison wouldn’t even get his own plate of food. She would serve him and bring it to him at the table. When had he ever done a single chore? So now that she was gone, he just assumed life would continue as it always had, with him being waited on hand and foot. But a good home requires effort from both people. When one person does too much, they’re bound to break. I decided it was time Addison got a taste of his own selective hearing. 6 I took Leo, gave him a bath, read him a picture book, and tucked him in for the night. The next day, I made breakfast just for Leo and me. After we ate, I woke Leo up and had him get ready. When Addison finally emerged from the bedroom, he found the kitchen empty. He asked me, “Where’s breakfast?” I didn’t answer him, just focused on packing Leo’s school bag. Addison asked again, his voice a little louder. “Where’s breakfast?” I just said, “Oh, we already ate.” “You didn’t make any for me?” Addison sounded annoyed. I shrugged. “You never asked me to.” “You!” Addison was so angry he just stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Ha. He couldn’t handle that? This was just the beginning. That evening, Addison said he had a work dinner and wouldn’t be home. I was perfectly happy with that. I picked Leo up from preschool and took him out for dinner. We even went to an indoor playground. By the time we got home, I gave him a quick bath, and he was so exhausted he fell asleep without me even having to read him a story. The third day, at breakfast, I once again told Addison to remember to hang up the laundry. I knew he wouldn’t do it, so I only put his clothes in the washing machine. Leo’s and my clothes had been washed and dried the night before. Sure enough, Addison didn’t hang up the laundry. When I got home from work, his clothes were still sitting in the washing machine. I didn’t touch them. They were his clothes, not mine. If he couldn’t be bothered to hang up his own clothes, why should I do it for him? It wasn’t until the next morning that Addison realized he had nothing clean to wear. His company requires a uniform for work. He has two sets. One was still sitting in the washer, and the other, which he wore yesterday, was already starting to smell. “Chloe, why didn’t you hang up my clothes?” he asked, his voice laced with anger. I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I ask you to hang them up yesterday morning? You didn’t do it?” Addison was speechless. He must have assumed that, like last time, I would see the unhung laundry, rewash it, and hang it up for him. He never expected that I would stop enabling him, that I’d just let his clothes sit in the washing machine for a day and a night. When Addison finally pulled the clothes out, the stench almost knocked him over. “Chloe, did you do this on purpose?” “Last time I forgot to hang the laundry, you noticed right away. This time, you deliberately let my clothes sit in there all day, didn’t you?” I’d never met anyone so shameless. “And you,” I shot back, “did you deliberately not hang them up?” “You figured that if you didn’t do it, I would, so you just decided not to bother.” Knowing he was in the wrong, Addison could only pull on yesterday’s dirty uniform and head to work. 7 I thought after these last couple of days, Addison might finally learn his lesson. But then, I overheard a conversation between Addison and one of his buddies. “Man, I’m so over it. It’s just a bunch of little things, and she’s constantly on my case about it.” “If she cooks, I have to do the dishes.” “If she does the dishes, I have to give our son a bath.” “If she puts the laundry in, I have to hang it up.” “Why?” “It’s such a small thing, does it really have to be me? Can’t she just do it herself?” “When my mom was here, she never asked me to do a single thing!” I couldn’t hear what his friend said on the other end, but whatever it was, it just made Addison angrier. “You think I haven’t tried that?” “I used to just drag my feet. Not do the dishes, not hang the laundry.” “And you know what happened?” “She stopped making me dinner. She only washes her own clothes and Leo’s.” “I’m serious, man. I’m so done.” “If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, you think I would’ve married her?” “I must’ve been cursed to end up with her!” I stood just outside the study door, hearing every single word of his rant. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. So that was it. The only reason he married me was because I was pregnant. And I was foolish enough to think it was for love. Especially with his mom being so wonderful, we never had any of the typical mother-in-law drama. So I just assumed that my relationship with my husband was fine, too. I never imagined this is how Addison truly felt about me. The truth is, he knew exactly what he was doing all along. He was doing it on purpose. If he despises me that much… then maybe it’s time to let go.

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On our wedding day, my fiancée Molly stood by the limousine, refusing to get in. “I’m not marrying you, Noah.” Stunned, I watched as her bridesmaids laughed: “Game over—I won! You really tamed this unattainable prize, Molly. Pay up—bets and gifts, transfer everything, no shortcuts.” Then my brother Jason Sterling stepped out of another car, in the same suit as me. He took Molly’s hand and led her into the limo. As it sped off, my family surrounded me. My A-list sister Claire blocked my way: “Molly loves Jason—today’s their wedding. Behave.” My Oscar-winning mother gripped my hand: “Noah, Jason has severe depression, even suicidal thoughts. Molly’s the only one who calms him. Let him have this.” My father, one of the nation’s richest men, snorted: “He’s already lived Jason’s first 18 years. Giving up one woman is nothing.” They had security lock me in the house to stop me from ruining the hotel wedding. I didn’t cry or scream. In fact, I could barely hold back a smile. 1 As the bodyguards shoved me into the villa, a system notification chimed in my mind. Host, do you confirm you wish to exit this world via death? Confirm. Please select a method of death. I’ll jump from a building. I want to die right in front of Molly and the Sterlings. To haunt them forever. Generating death method… Method confirmed. Upon successful completion, the Host will receive a system reward of one hundred million dollars. This selection cannot be changed. Confirm. This was my twenty-first year in this world, and the third year since Jason Sterling had been found. I was a transmigrator. My current identity was that of the fake young master of a billionaire family. My brother, Jason, was the true heir, switched at birth. Having been an orphan in my previous life, I felt incredibly lucky when I first arrived here. I had a mother, a father, and a sister who loved and protected me. But everything changed on my eighteenth birthday, the day my father brought Jason home. The doors and windows of the villa were locked from the outside. They had several people watching me. “Second Young Master, you’d best stay put, or you’ll regret it.” Mrs. Petrova, the head housekeeper, stood before me, brandishing a baseball bat. Her expression was that of a cruel prison warden. I took two steps toward the door, and the bat cracked against my shin. The pain was so sharp I collapsed to my knees. “The Young Master specifically told me,” she sneered, “if you dare to disobey, I’m to break your legs.” Suddenly, she shrieked, “The Second Young Master is trying to escape to ruin the wedding! Stop him!” Several bodyguards immediately grabbed their own batons and advanced on me. 2 I scrambled backward in terror. “What are you doing? I wasn’t running! You can’t just attack me!” “Oh, we know what you’re thinking, Second Young Master. Even if you’re not running now, who’s to say you won’t in a minute?” a guard said. “It’s safer to just break your legs now and be done with it. As long as I’m here, you won’t be ruining the Young Master’s wedding!” “Do you think I won’t tell my parents?” I gasped. “And what if you do?” Mrs. Petrova laughed. “I’ll just say you were so desperate to escape you jumped from the second-floor window and broke them yourself. They won’t do a thing!” “Do it!” They swarmed me, their clubs and batons rising and falling. I could hear the sickening crunch of my own bones. My white shirt was stained crimson, and even my black suit jacket was dark with a damp, sticky sheen. But they didn’t stop, as if determined to beat me to death. “If I die here today, the Sterlings will not spare you!” I choked out. “You still think you’re the precious young master? You’re just some bastard they found! If they didn’t pity you, they’d have thrown you out long ago!” one of them spat. “When the real young master came back, they wanted to send you away. If Miss Claire hadn’t begged them, saying they could just keep you ‘like a stray dog’, you think you’d still be in this house?” “And you dare to compete with the Young Master for his wife? In your dreams!” A horrifying realization dawned on me, and I started to laugh. “So, you’re not just trying to stop me from ruining the wedding… you’re trying to kill me!” “It’s not impossible for you to have ‘fallen to your death during an escape attempt’, is it, Second Young Master?” Panic seized me. I was ready to die, but not like this. This wasn’t the method I had chosen. What if I couldn’t go back? I don’t know where the strength came from, but I lunged forward, tackling the man in front of me. We crashed into a high table, knocking over a large memorial candle my mother had lit for Jason’s good fortune. The candle fell to the floor, its flame instantly igniting the heavy velvet curtains. The villa erupted in fire. “You damned little bastard! How dare you set a fire!” In their moment of panic, I dragged my broken leg and scrambled out of the house. The entire villa district was covered in security cameras; they wouldn’t dare chase me outside. Dressed in a blood-soaked suit, I limped onto the main road, trying to hail a taxi to the hotel. My appearance was so ghastly that car after car swerved around me. Finally, a kind young man pulled over and asked if I needed help. I begged him to take me to the hotel. The hotel was one of my father’s properties, and the staff all knew me. Even seeing my horrific state, the security guards and front desk staff didn’t dare stop me. When I reached the entrance to the grand ballroom, my sister and parents were there, warmly greeting the wedding guests, their faces beaming with happiness. The moment they saw me, their smiles froze. 3 This was the wedding of the year, and media outlets from across the country were present. When they saw me stumble in, a frenzy of flashing cameras swarmed me like vultures. Claire marched up to me, her face a mask of fury. “What are you doing here?” She muttered under her breath, “A bunch of useless fools, can’t even watch one person!” Then she hissed at me, “Look at the state of you! Did you do this to yourself on purpose, just to bring bad luck to this day?” “Are you that desperate for the headlines? Is this what you’ll do to be famous?” My mother rushed over, her eyes wide with what looked like concern. “Noah, what happened? Is that blood on your suit?” “Yes, it’s blood. My blood. The men Jason hired beat me half to death. I barely escaped.” My father’s hand cracked across my face. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. “You shameless liar! Can’t you stand to see your brother happy for one single day?” My mother grabbed my hand. “Noah, you said Jason’s men beat you?” Claire pulled her away. “Mom, don’t be ridiculous! It’s obviously paint. He loves pulling these stunts for the media!” She grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me away. I stumbled and fell to the floor. My broken leg was now exposed for everyone to see. A collective gasp went through the hall. The bone of my shin had pierced through the skin, stark white against the blood. I had dragged myself here on that leg. Any normal person would have passed out from the pain long ago. Thankfully, the system had taken pity on me and activated a pain-dampening feature. I couldn’t feel a thing. My mother covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. “Noah, how did you get so hurt?” Even my father’s eyes flickered with a hint of pain. “How could you do this to yourself?” Even Claire, who had been so hostile just moments before, was speechless. Molly pushed through the crowd and saw me lying on the floor. “Noah?” I lifted my blood-streaked face to look at her. “Good, you’re here. I have a few questions for you.” Jason rushed to her side, his handsome face tear-stained, his posture a picture of saintly sorrow. “Noah, today is the most important day of my life. Must you destroy it?” he cried, his body trembling. “Why are you always targeting me? You’ve already stolen everything that was mine! All I wanted was Molly! Can’t you just let us be happy?” Claire reached for me. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” “Claire!” Jason’s voice cracked with a sob. “The ceremony is about to start. Are you leaving?” He looked at me with wounded eyes. “This is just one of his sick games, isn’t it? Do you really believe I would have my own brother beaten like this?” Claire snatched her hand back. “Noah Sterling, you are truly twisted. To frame your own brother, you would inflict this kind of harm on yourself.” Her voice was cold. “Go to the hospital on your own. And don’t worry, the Sterling family won’t tolerate a cripple. We’ll find the best doctors to fix your leg.” I knew nothing I said would matter. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand. “I just have a few things to say. Then I’ll leave.” I looked straight at Molly. “From the very beginning, our entire relationship was just a bet between you and your friends. You never had any real feelings for me, did you?” 4 “That’s right,” she said without hesitation. Tears streamed down my face. I once thought I was the luckiest person in the world, with a loving family and a partner who cherished me. It was all an illusion, a reflection on water, shattered with a single touch. I could have chosen to stay in this world forever, with this family. But now, my resolve to go back was absolute. “One last question,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You had already won the bet. Why did you wait until our wedding day to tell me the truth?” “Because Jason was afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” she replied. “He asked me to keep it from you.” I laughed, a loud, ragged sound. “How kind of him! My dear brother, so worried about my feelings that he waited until my wedding day to reveal it was all a game. Making me stand here in a suit like a fool, watching you two get married… that wasn’t meant to humiliate me at all, was it?” “Nonsense!” Claire snapped. “Jason is not that manipulative!” “Not that manipulative?” I shot back with a bitter smile. “Since he came home, he’s faked suicide attempts no less than a hundred times. And how many of those times did he actually die? Someone who truly wants to die doesn’t need to be rescued!” “Shut your mouth! How dare you speak about your brother that way!” My father raised his hand to strike me again, but my mother stopped him. “That’s enough! Noah is badly hurt, don’t hit him!” “Dad,” I cried out, “I’m your son too! The son you raised and doted on for eighteen years. Just because I’m not your biological child, does that mean I don’t deserve your trust?” “You stand there and claim your brother had you beaten! Do you expect me to believe such a ridiculous lie?” At the accusation, Jason immediately had one of his “episodes.” He clutched his chest and stumbled backward. “Noah, how could you slander me like this? Are you trying to drive me to my death?”

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I’m a stay-at-home dad. I had no idea the teacher’s home visit was being livestreamed to the entire school community, a camera pinned discreetly to her collar. The lens panned across our living room, a space where every available inch of wall was a shrine to the nation’s sweetheart, Catherine Shaw—autographed photos, posters, and magazine covers. The teacher and the top student’s mother exchanged a look of cold disdain. “So, you’re a Catherine Shaw fan?” “Catherine Shaw,” I said, “is my wife.” The live chat immediately blew up. 【No wonder their kid is failing. The dad’s a delusional shut-in! And he dares to claim our goddess?】 Just then, the front door opened. Catherine Shaw, known to the world for her elegant and cool demeanor, stepped inside. Her voice, however, was a warm, gentle melody meant only for me. “Honey, do we have guests?” 1 A few months ago, our daughter’s school sent home a consent form for a livestreamed home visit series. The teacher assured us it was just a project comparing the home environments of a top-performing student and a struggling one. I signed it without a second thought and promptly forgot about it. A struggling student? What did that have to do with my daughter? She wasn’t a genius, but she was hardly at the bottom of her class. I was in the middle of preparing dinner when the doorbell rang. “Who is it?” My daughter, Sophie, usually just burst in on her own. I had just set a dish down when the front door swung open. Sophie skipped in and started changing into her slippers. Still in my apron, I swept her up into a big hug, lifting her high into the air. “Sophie-bear! Did you have a good day at school? Eat lots of yummy food? Did you get your money’s worth out of that school lunch?” Because this was a mandated school viewing, the live chat was still sparse, filled mostly with skeptical parents who weren’t expecting much from the “underachiever’s” family. 【Ah, so this is the struggling student’s home. Figures.】 【They call it ‘positive reinforcement parenting.’ I call it not giving a damn about grades.】 【Sophie is so cute, though. Who cares if she can’t read? She can just…】 【Whoa, someone should check that last comment. Doesn’t sound like they’re joking.】 I was so focused on my daughter that I didn’t even notice the teacher and another family standing awkwardly in the doorway. Sophie’s sweet, soft voice finally broke through my bubble. “Daddy, the teacher is here.” I hoisted her onto my hip and turned. A flustered-looking woman stood by the door, next to a stern-faced mother and her son. “Ms. Evans, please, come in,” I said calmly. “Don’t worry about your shoes.” Ms. Evans hesitated, her eyes darting around the spacious, open-plan apartment before landing on the mother and son beside her. “This is Sophie’s classmate, Julian, who placed first on the last exam, and his mother, Diana.” I gave them a slight nod, still holding Sophie. “Nice to meet you. You’re here for the…” 【Seriously? This guy doesn’t even know to offer his kid’s teacher a drink? What terrible manners.】 【No wonder the kid’s grades are in the toilet. The father has zero social skills.】 Ms. Evans finally stepped inside, looking uncomfortable. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. Are you aware of Sophie’s score on the last exam?” As if just remembering, I put Sophie down and gestured to the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable! I’ve got something on the stove. My wife will be home any minute, and she gets a little grumpy if dinner isn’t hot and ready when she walks in.” 2 I disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Sophie alone with our guests. Diana’s eyes, filled with undisguised contempt, scanned the apartment. Her voice was sharp, dripping with condescension. “So, a house husband. The woman is the breadwinner, and the man stays home. How… pathetic.” Ms. Evans said nothing. She, too, was taken aback by the situation. It explained why Sophie always talked about her dad at school, but never her mom. Still, this apartment was in one of the most expensive school districts in the city. A place like this had to be worth millions. The dad was handsome enough; maybe he was a kept man, a trophy husband. She wondered about the age gap between him and Sophie’s mother. A sudden, nasty thought seemed to occur to Diana. “Wait a minute. Is he some boy toy she keeps on the side? Is the little girl… illegitimate?” She made two loud, disgusted “tsk” sounds. Ms. Evans quickly tried to change the subject. She scooped Sophie into her lap. “Sophie, all these pictures of Catherine Shaw… is she your daddy’s favorite actress?” Sophie beamed, her smile pure sunshine. “She’s my mommy!” The live chat erupted in outrage. 【What? They’re even poisoning the kid’s mind?】 【What kind of values are they teaching her? Letting a child this young get obsessed with celebrity culture? Is that even legal?】 I emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter of food just in time to hear Sophie’s proud declaration. I smiled. “That’s right, sweetie. She’s your mommy.” To protect Catherine’s career, we’d always been careful about letting Sophie call her “mommy” in public. But here, in our own home, it should have been fine. Ms. Evans looked at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. “What are you talking about? She’s just a child. Saying things like that will have a terrible impact on her development. And it’s incredibly unfair to her real mother. The woman is out there working hard to support this family, and you’re not just erasing her contribution, you’re stealing her very title.” I let out a soft laugh, guessing exactly what they were thinking. With a touch of theatrical flair, I said, “No, you don’t understand. Catherine Shaw really is my wife.” The three of them stared at me. After a long pause, Ms. Evans asked hesitantly, “She… isn’t?” It was clear they still didn’t believe a word of it. I looked at my daughter. “Sophie, can you entertain Ms. Evans and our guests for a minute? I’ll be right back with our marriage certificate.” 3 I went into our bedroom. The marriage certificate was locked away in a safe, the combination being the date we officially tied the knot. I never imagined that even with the document in my hands, they would still refuse to believe me. I placed it on the coffee table. Ms. Evans’s eyes widened, and she quickly covered the certificate with her hand. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. You know that forging official documents is a felony, right?” Diana picked it up, scrutinizing the paper. “Wow, this is a pretty convincing fake. Looks almost identical to ours.” Even with physical proof, the online audience remained convinced I was a liar. 【This guy is walking a thin line. He’s certifiably insane.】 【LOL, this freeloader probably has no idea this is being broadcast to thousands of people.】 【Already called the cops. Can’t wait to see him get arrested live on air.】 【You sure about that? What if you’re the one filing a false report?】 【Come on. You really think our goddess would marry some deadbeat stay-at-home dad? That’s the stuff of cheap romance novels!】 I couldn’t help but chuckle at Ms. Evans’s accusation. “It’s real.” I grabbed a tablet lying on the end table and pulled up the official government services portal. “Here, let’s take a look. The national database doesn’t lie…” Before I could finish, the soft click of the front door was followed by the beep of the keypad. A warm, familiar voice, tinged with exhaustion, floated into the room. “Honey, do we have guests?” I set the tablet down, a wave of relief washing over me. “Well, the woman herself is here. I guess we don’t need any more proof.” The moment she heard her mother’s voice, Sophie shot up and sprinted towards the door. The pitter-patter of her little feet was followed by a squeal of “Mommy!” that could melt the coldest of hearts. The voice was familiar to the viewers, but Catherine’s public persona was so cool and composed that no one recognized this soft, gentle tone. 【Aww, her dad might be a lost cause, but that little girl is an absolute angel.】 【My goddess? Are you kidding me? Everyone knows she’s the epitome of ice-cold elegance. That sweet, syrupy voice? No way!】 【Ugh, this loser. What gives him the right to even dream? He’s not worthy of breathing the same air as her.】 Ms. Evans’s chest-mounted camera was still angled down, so the viewers could only see the lower half of Catherine’s face. But the palpable shock on the faces of the teacher and Diana told the whole story. “You… you two are…” Ms. Evans shot up from the sofa. In that instant, the camera jerked upwards, and the full picture came into view: Catherine Shaw, the nation’s sweetheart, holding little Sophie in her arms. The live chat froze for a split second, then exploded. 【!!!!!!!!】 【WAIT. MY GODDESS IS MARRIED?!】 【NO, CATHERINE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! What do you see in him? Is it his poverty? His ugliness?】 A tidal wave of comments flooded the screen. The world had gone mad. This was supposed to be a simple school documentary. Most of the parents watching were married themselves, but this revelation hit them like a freight train. Simultaneously, on every social media platform, the hashtag #CatherineShawMarried shot to the top of the trending charts. Millions of fans refused to believe the devastating news. But they followed the links, flooding the educational channel’s livestream. And there she was. The stream’s viewership skyrocketed, growing exponentially until it hit the server’s maximum capacity. The moment she saw Catherine, Ms. Evans panicked. She spoke into her earpiece, her voice trembling. “We have a situation. Should I cut the feed?” Before anyone could answer, Catherine gently set Sophie down. She walked over to Ms. Evans and gave a slight shake of her head. Then, she extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Sophie’s mother, Catherine Shaw.”

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After graduation, the whole family went on a trip to the coast. My sister, having forgotten her favorite bikini, demanded I make the two-hour drive back home to get it. When I refused, my father slapped me so hard my lip split. My mother blamed me for not reminding my sister, insisting I had to be the one to go back. Humiliated and heartbroken, I broke down sobbing. My parents, calling me a disgrace, locked me in the vacation condo to “think about what I’d done.” When the three-hundred-foot tsunami came, I had no way to escape. I was swallowed alive by the wave. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment, with my sister demanding I go home and get her bikini. I nodded meekly. “Of course. I’ll go get it. You guys have fun at the beach.” 1 “Sadie, are you listening? Get in the car and go get my bikini. The blue one. I need it if I’m going to get in the water!” The familiar, imperious voice snapped me back to reality. A tremor went through my entire body. I stared, breathless, at my sister, Brooke. She was tearing through her suitcase, frustration etched on her perfect face. She couldn’t find the designer bikini she’d bought specifically for this trip. My parents were fluttering around her, trying to help, their words a useless balm. They urged me to just go, to make the drive before Brooke started to cry. This was… My head whipped around to look at the window, at the calm, sapphire-blue ocean. A sharp, phantom pain prickled my skin. It became hard to breathe, as if a giant hand were squeezing my lungs shut. Down below, on the street, a little girl on her father’s shoulders was squealing with delight. “The ocean is so pretty, Daddy!” It was all too familiar. Frighteningly familiar. I was back. I had been reborn into the first day of our family vacation. Reborn four hours before a three-hundred-foot tsunami would obliterate everything. We had only been in the condo for ten minutes when Brooke started her tantrum about the bikini. I get carsick. I’d already thrown up twice on the way here. The thought of another four hours in a car, alone, was a special kind of hell. In my first life, I had refused. I told them I felt sick, that we could just buy her a new one at any of the countless shops lining the boardwalk. After all, the swimsuit they’d bought for me was a twenty-dollar afterthought from a roadside stand. My refusal was met with a barrage of parental fury. “Do you have any idea what the material in those cheap suits could do to your sister’s skin? What if she has an allergic reaction?” “You’re the older sister, Sadie. Is it so hard for you to help her out for once? I swear, you’re just selfish, always in a rush to have your own fun. You’re eighteen years old, act like it!” The usual lecture. The usual comparisons. Brooke was bubbly and adored; I was quiet and withdrawn. Brooke could talk her way into anything; I was silent and sullen. I could only stand there, my jaw tight, saying nothing. “Look at you with that dead-fish expression,” my father had sneered. “No wonder you only got into community college. “Your sister is going to Duke. She has a real future. And you? What’s the point of you? Running an errand is the most useful thing you can do, and you can’t even do that without complaining!” My silence always enraged my father. His words grew sharper, more venomous. He had conveniently forgotten why I was only going to community college. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he just didn’t care that he’d ended up in the hospital from a drinking binge the week before my SATs. My mother and Brooke had both claimed they were too exhausted to deal with him, so I was the one who spent my nights in a hospital chair instead of studying. Running on no sleep, I bombed the exams. My family refused to even consider letting me retake them or apply again next year. They wanted me in a two-year program, out, and earning money as soon as possible. They all remembered. They just thought it was perfectly reasonable. As long as Brooke got into a good school, that’s all that mattered. As long as Brooke was happy. When Brooke wanted a beach vacation after graduation, my parents booked it instantly. I was just lucky enough to be brought along. The first real vacation they’d ever taken me on in my nineteen years of life. Of course, I was the one who had to carry almost all the luggage up three flights of stairs. And now, I was supposed to drive two hours back to get a bikini. 2 “Sadie, are you deaf? I told you to go get my bikini!” Brooke’s voice turned shrill, slicing through my daze. I pulled back from the window, a cold dread washing over me. The peaceful, sun-drenched ocean outside might as well have been a monster baring its teeth. Who could possibly imagine that in four hours, a terrifying wave would surge from the deep and destroy everything in its path? “Sadie, this is your fault for not reminding her. You know how she gets. Now go!” my mother snapped, glaring at me. I took a deep breath, trying to push away the paralyzing fear of the wave. I looked at my mother. Why would I remind her? I didn’t know she’d forget. And why is it my job to remember for her? The last time, I had dared to ask that question out loud. In response, my father had lunged, the back of his hand catching my mouth. The blow sent me sprawling to the floor. “When I tell you to do something, you do it! Can’t you see your sister is upset?” he had roared, ignoring the blood trickling from my lip. That slap had shattered me. For nineteen years, I had tried to understand what I had done wrong, why my own family treated me with such disdain. The injustice of it all finally broke me, and I started to wail, a raw, hysterical sound that I couldn’t control, sobbing until I nearly passed out. This only annoyed Brooke more. She stormed out of the condo, shouting that she was going to the beach and I had better have her bikini ready when she got back. They were staying for three days; if she couldn’t wear it today, she would wear it tomorrow. My parents, looking disgusted, kicked me a few times for good measure before locking me in the room. “Crying won’t solve anything,” they’d spat. “You stay in here and think about your attitude. You can come out when you’re ready to go get the damn swimsuit.” Then they left, the sound of the lock clicking shut echoing in the silent room. As if I were a piece of luggage to be left behind. I had huddled on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees, my body shaking with silent, soul-crushing sobs. Hours later, as dusk began to fall, the calm ocean suddenly churned. The tide pulled back with an unnatural speed, and then, the water began to boil. By the time I realized what was happening, a colossal, three-hundred-foot wave was charging toward the shore like an avenging god. I screamed, throwing myself at the door, twisting the locked knob until my skin was raw. It wouldn’t budge. I ran to the window, shouting for help, just in time to see my parents dragging Brooke to the car. They glanced up. I know they did. We were only on the third floor. They saw me. But they didn’t hesitate. They jumped in the car and sped away without a backward glance, disappearing in seconds. I died in a tsunami that felt like the end of the world. 3 “Sadie, are you mute? I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to get my bikini or not?” This was Brooke’s third demand. She was officially furious, her face flushed and blotchy. Because I hadn’t said a word. My father was already moving toward me, his hand raised to strike. The scene was about to repeat itself. I would be beaten, locked up, and left to die. I quickly sidestepped, forcing a smile onto my face. “Brooke, don’t be mad. This trip is all about you. I’ll do whatever you want.” I turned to my father. “Dad, while I’m home, should I grab that bottle of Maker’s Mark you like? You could have some with dinner tonight.” My father’s hand froze mid-air. The anger on his face lessened. “That’s more like it. Go on, then. Four hours round trip. You’ll be back before dark, plenty of time to have some fun.” He lowered his arm and turned to Brooke. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. Dad will take you out on the jet skis.” “I want to go on the helicopter tour, too. For pictures,” Brooke demanded. I knew about the helicopter tour. Eight hundred dollars for ten minutes. If I had ever asked for something like that, my father would have kicked me out of the room. But for Brooke, he agreed instantly. My mother beamed, giving Brooke a thumbs-up. “Look at you, so brave! A helicopter ride!” Brooke shot me a triumphant, smug glance. She was showing off, flaunting the love that was reserved only for her. The only thing I had ever received was a slap or a shove. A familiar pang of pain twisted in my chest, but it was quickly replaced by an icy numbness. A person who has already died once has no time to mourn the love they never had. “Mom, Dad, Brooke, you guys have a great time at the beach. I’m leaving now to get the swimsuit.” I turned and walked away, the picture of obedience. They were satisfied. They would wait for me, expecting me to return in four hours. But they didn’t know that in four hours, the tide would recede with a horrifying silence, only to return with the force of a thousand storms. Maybe it was an undersea earthquake, or a volcanic eruption. Whatever the cause, an unprecedented tsunami was about to descend upon this entire resort town. I remembered it clearly. The wave was taller than our hotel building. At least three hundred feet. A wave that high was almost unheard of in human history. The 2004 Indonesian tsunami that shocked the world, devastating 14 countries and leaving over 270,000 dead or missing, had a maximum height of just over 150 feet. Of course, terrain and elevation play a huge role. But this wave… this wave was three hundred feet tall. Even if our town, Seabrook, was situated on higher ground, with hills and forests to break the impact… I couldn’t let myself think about it. The image of the apocalypse was already burned into my mind. I had to hurry. Four hours. How was I going to survive? 4 I had seen the tsunami with my own eyes. I knew what that monstrous wall of water was capable of. I had to assume the worst-case scenario: that the entire city of Seabrook and the neighboring coastal towns would be wiped out. Ideally, I would get on a plane and fly a thousand miles away. But there wasn’t time. It would be a miracle if I could even get out of Seabrook itself. It was the day after high school graduation; the roads were choked with tourists. We’d been stuck in traffic for half the drive here. Driving back to my house in two hours was a fantasy. So, escape wasn’t the answer. I had to think about immediate shelter. A high-rise building? I dismissed the thought instantly. In the face of that apocalyptic wave, any man-made structure was a joke. The tallest skyscraper would crumble like a sandcastle. No, the shelter had to be solid. It had to be high. A mountain. On the east side of Seabrook was Shepherd’s Peak State Park. Its highest point was over four thousand feet above sea level. It had well-maintained infrastructure, and at the summit, there was an old stone lodge that could serve as a shelter. I’d volunteered there once for a park cleanup day; I knew the layout. Better yet, it was only a forty-minute drive from here, and I could take the highway. It was 2:00 PM now. If I could get to the base of Shepherd’s Peak, I’d still have time to stock up on supplies and get to the top. There was enough time. That was the plan. As I walked out of the condo complex, I saw a maintenance worker passing by, carrying a large tool bag. A box of roofing nails was visible inside. I stopped him. Ten dollars later, I had a pocketful of nails. I walked to the ground-level parking lot and found our family’s SUV. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I scattered the nails on the ground behind all four tires, points facing up. The second the car moved, the tires would be shredded. I imagined my family frantically trying to escape, the hiss of the tires deflating. The image was almost beautiful. I dusted off my hands and hurried away. Time was wasting. I had to get to Shepherd’s Peak, get supplies, and get up that mountain. 5 The Uber I called sped along the highway. I had hoped it would be clearer than the local roads, but it was still bumper-to-bumper in places. A drive that should have taken forty minutes dragged on for an hour and a half. Panic clawed at my throat. I could only pray for the traffic to move faster, just a little faster. Finally, we got off the highway. From here, it was only five minutes to the park entrance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. It was 3:35 PM. The tsunami would hit around 6:00 PM. I had two and a half hours. I didn’t need much. Just enough food and water for a week. A tsunami, for all its destructive power, is fast. Once the initial surge passed, I just had to wait for the national guard and rescue teams. It wasn’t ideal—if I had more time and help, I’d stockpile for a month—but I was alone. Carrying a week’s worth of supplies up a mountain was the absolute limit of my strength. As the car passed a small residential area, I had the driver pull over. I ran into the local grocery store. I filled a backpack with high-energy, low-volume foods: canned goods, beef jerky, protein bars. Then, I grabbed two reusable shopping bags and loaded them with self-heating meals, dried fruit, and nuts. The last stop was a pharmacy for a basic first-aid kit: ibuprofen, antibiotics, band-aids. By the time I was done, the backpack was a dead weight on my shoulders and the bags were cutting into my hands. My back ached. But this was enough to last me a while if I was careful. The most important thing was water, but it was too heavy. I only bought three bottles. I remembered there was a natural spring-fed waterfall near the summit of Shepherd’s Peak. I wouldn’t be without water. I checked my supplies one last time, called another Uber, and gave the driver the address for the park. It was now 4:36 PM. One hour and twenty-four minutes until the tsunami. My phone rang. It was Brooke. I answered. She didn’t even say hello. “Are you home yet? I need you to bring my white sun hat, too. If you’ve already left, turn around and go back. I have to have that hat.” 6 Listening to Brooke’s commanding tone, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a bitter, exhausted laugh. For my entire life, she had treated me like a servant. I was so used to it, so conditioned to cater to her every whim, to placate her, to do anything to avoid her anger and the punishment that would follow. If I hadn’t already died once, her voice would still fill me with a familiar dread. But Brooke couldn’t scare me anymore. Still, I didn’t argue. Not yet. There was still over an hour until the wave. If I provoked her now, knowing her temper, she might throw a fit, decide she didn’t want to be at the beach anymore, and start heading home to confront me. That would give my family a much better chance of survival. “Okay, Brooke. I’ll turn around and get your hat. It might just take me a little longer to get back to the beach,” I said, my voice dripping with false compliance. I could hear her sneer through the phone. “I love how pathetic you sound. Keep it up.” In the background, my mother’s voice chimed in. “Sadie, since you’re making another trip anyway, you might as well bring my makeup bag. I was going to bring it but it was too much of a hassle.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Of course, Mom. I’ll get it. See you soon.” “That’s a good girl,” my father added. “See? When you’re not difficult, everyone’s happy.” It was the closest thing to praise I’d heard from him in years. I hung up the phone. The car pulled up to Shepherd’s Peak State Park. I didn’t have the driver drop me at the main entrance, but at a service gate on the west side. It led to an employee access trail. I remembered it from my volunteer days. I looked up at the towering peak, a profound sense of safety washing over me. There was no safer place in the world right now. I took a deep breath and started up the trail with my supplies. The ranger in the gatehouse was napping, oblivious. The heat was oppressive, easily over 90 degrees. Only a fool would be hiking in the middle of the afternoon. As a result, the trail was completely deserted. There were probably other tourists in the park, but they’d be on the main trails, near the visitor center. I was panting, my lungs burning. I had to stop every twenty feet. My vision started to swim. Finally, dizzy and exhausted, I reached the halfway point. There was a large plaza here and a station for the cable car that ran to the summit. The plaza was empty, but the cable car was running. I got in, wiping sweat from my forehead, and checked the time on my phone. 5:26 PM. Thirty-four minutes until the tsunami. The sun was still beating down. There was no wind. No sign at all of the impending doom. But my heart was starting to pound, the memory of that apocalyptic day wrapping around me like a shroud. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, feeling the small breeze created by the moving cable car. I could almost smell it—a strange, metallic tang in the air. The wave was already forming, out in the deep ocean, still miles away. At 5:47 PM, the cable car reached the summit. Before me stood the old stone lodge, its slate roof shimmering in the heat. It was just as deserted as the trail had been. I didn’t waste time looking for anyone else. I found a small, unused chapel off the main hall and slipped inside. It was dedicated to some forgotten local saint. I remembered dusting the pews during my volunteer work. I offered a silent nod to the statue, then sat down heavily on a bench. My head was spinning, my limbs felt like lead. The climb, the heat, the stress—it had all taken its toll. But I was here. I was safe. I was in a stone building, four thousand feet above sea level. It was 5:52 PM. Eight minutes to go. I twisted the cap off a bottle of water and began to chug it. My phone rang again. It was Brooke. 7 The moment I answered, she started screaming. “Did you lose a leg? What is taking so long? I want to wear my bikini and my hat and take pictures in the ocean! I’m dying of boredom here!” My parents were in the background, their voices adding to the chorus. “The sun is about to set! We want to get pictures of Brooke in the golden hour! Get back here now!” A cold, sharp smile spread across my face. The sunset? Pictures? In a few minutes, you’re all going to be dead. All my caution vanished, replaced by a liberating rush of adrenaline. “I’m not coming back to the beach,” I said, my voice calm. “I’m at home, enjoying the air conditioning.” “What?” Brooke was stunned into silence for a second, before erupting. “Sadie, are you messing with me? If you’re not coming back, who’s going to bring me my bikini and my hat?” “Are you disabled? Do you need me to do everything for you? You’re eighteen years old, but you have the brain of a spoiled toddler.” “What?” Brooke sounded genuinely confused. The line went quiet. I could practically hear the gears grinding in her head. Then, a roar of pure fury. “Sadie, what did you just say? Did you call me disabled? Did you say I have the brain of a toddler?” Her shriek brought my parents into the conversation. My father snatched the phone, his voice a low growl. “Sadie. You dare talk to your sister like that? Have you lost your mind?” My mother’s voice, shrill and panicked, joined in. “Sadie, what did you say about your sister? Say it again! I dare you!” “Your sister is a spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child…” I repeated it, over and over. “You… you… Sadie!” My mother was hysterical. The precious angel she had coddled for eighteen years had never been criticized, let alone by the family slave. My father bellowed, “Sadie, you just wait. I’m going to come home and I’m going to chop you into pieces and feed you to the dogs!” Click. I hung up. I wasn’t going to listen to any more of that. I waited for the final three minutes to pass. 5:57 PM.

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The TMZ headline blew up my phone: [MEGASTAR FINN WILDER’S STOLEN ID USED IN SHAM MARRIAGE]. That’s how I found out Finn Wilder had forgotten we got married three years ago. The entire internet started digging. They found me, a single mom, and our son, Leo. Finn Wilder himself tagged me in a public statement: [@AnnaHayes I get that fans are passionate, but this is next level. Can we get this annulled, like, yesterday?] I replied: [Okay.] But we scheduled the divorce three times, and Finn never showed. The first time, his assistant called. “Mr. Wilder was held up on set. Pyrotechnics issue. We’ll have to reschedule.” The second time, his publicist texted me. “Mr. Wilder was rushed to the hospital with a high fever. We’re rescheduling.” The third time, my son Leo brought me his iPad, pointing at a news alert. “Mommy, Daddy got a booboo. He hit his head in a car.” 1 Before Finn Wilder was Finn Wilder, we dated. We were young, stupid, and in love. He dragged me to a 24-hour chapel in Las Vegas. His eyes were brighter than the neon strip. “This way, you’re stuck with me,” he’d said, his hands framing my face. “Not even God can tear us apart now.” He’d kissed me, smug, like he’d just conquered the world. “You’re mine. Next life, too.” That same day, he got in a car accident. And he forgot me. His family, who always hated me, saw their chance. They erased every trace of me from his life. So when the [SHAM MARRIAGE] headline dropped, I wasn’t surprised. It had his family’s fingerprints all over it. Since he’d forgotten, his family could write whatever history they wanted. I was recast as a delusional, psycho fan who’d “found” his lost wallet and somehow, magically, married him. It was a clean, believable narrative. I stared at the blurry screenshot of the marriage certificate on the gossip blogs. The ID number was magnified. The internet did its work. Within hours, my crappy apartment building, my name, and grainy photos of me struggling with a stroller were plastered all over Twitter. I’d found out I was pregnant right after he lost his memory. Leo is two and a half. He looks just like me. No one, not even Finn, suspected he was the father. The whole world was waiting for me to break down, to start screaming, to fight for him. My DMs were a dumpster fire of 99+ messages. They called me a psycho. They called me a gold-digging whore. They said I was trash trying to cling to a god. I’ve watched his movies. I watched the reckless, beautiful boy I knew turn into “The Finn Wilder,” an untouchable megastar. I know how this business works. A secret wife and a toddler don’t help that brand. I’d waited three years for him to remember. I gave up hope a long time ago. I stared at his public post for five minutes, then typed: [Okay.] My heart had died three years ago. It was time to bury it. 2 I actually met his older brother, Julian, first. I was the “swapped at birth” cliché. The true heiress to the Landry fortune, raised in a trailer park, and “rescued” at seventeen. I was a country bumpkin who only knew how to get good grades. I didn’t fit in with the prep school kids. To make it worse, I was part of an old “family arrangement” to marry Julian Wilder. Everyone laughed at me. But Julian pulled me aside at one of those awful garden parties. “This arrangement,” he said, “I intend to honor it. Get your grades up. You’ll come to New York with me.” I didn’t have a single friend. His words were a lifeline. My new “parents” were so embarrassed by me they wouldn’t even publicly acknowledge me. The fake heiress, Sierra, told everyone at school I was the new maid’s daughter. My parents didn’t deny it. The whole school treated me like a charity case. They isolated me, they whispered about me. I finally snapped. “I’m not the maid’s daughter. I’m Anna Landry. Sierra is the fake one!” A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom. They slapped me, hard. “You trash. Just because Sierra’s too nice to put you in your place doesn’t mean we are.” The leader pulled my hair, forcing me to my knees. “Look at yourself. You’ll never be one of us.” I went to the principal. He just sighed. “Why do they only bully you, Anna? Maybe you should look at your own behavior. Stop spreading these fantasies. The Landrys are paying your tuition. You should be grateful.” I cried myself to sleep every night. And I studied. I was going to get out. I was going to go to New York with Julian. My SAT scores were high enough. Julian himself flew back and convinced my parents. He was the one who brought me to NewY ork. He was how I met Finn. 3 Julian set me up in a quiet apartment near my new school. He was always the perfect gentleman. “Is the money enough?” “Are you keeping up with your classes?” “Is anyone giving you trouble?” He was five years older. He was at Columbia; I was finishing high school. He was a guardian, a big brother. One evening, he was on my tiny balcony, watching the sunset. “I brought you here to show you a bigger world, Anna,” he said. “Not to trap you with some outdated promise. They laugh at you? Then you become so successful they can’t ignore you. As for the arrangement… it’s a responsibility I take seriously, not a romance. You understand?” I understood. He didn’t love me. He would never marry me. But he was my savior. He’d pulled me out of the mud. I was just grateful. I never expected his brother. Finn Wilder was a hurricane. He blew into my quiet, lonely life and tore it apart. We lived together for four years. 4 It started because I could cook. It was a Saturday, pouring rain. A knock. He was in a baseball cap, trying to hide that ridiculously beautiful face. His arm was in a cast. He looked like a stray wolf, soaked and starving. “My brother says you can cook. I need food. Pot roast. And something spicy. Like, really spicy.” “Who’s your brother?” I asked. “Julian. My actual brother.” He pushed past me, dripping, and started opening cabinets. He was like a raccoon. “I’m calling Julian,” I said. Julian just sighed on the phone. “He escaped from the hospital. I’m on my way.” By the time Julian arrived, Finn was inhaling a plate of my spicy Kung Pao Chicken, practically vibrating. He ate the whole thing, then obediently followed Julian out. Before he left, he grabbed my phone and added his number. That night, he texted: [Tomorrow. I want ribs.] He moved in. His school (NYU) was an hour downtown, but he made the commute every day, just for my cooking. He was loud. He was obnoxious. But he also sat on the couch playing video games while I studied, just so I wouldn’t be alone. “I’m here, what are you scared of?” He was the one who went, mortified, to the drugstore to buy me tampons. “This is so embarrassing, Anna.” And then, one night, everything changed. Julian showed up. He wanted to talk about the “family arrangement” again. “It’s time,” he said. “We’re going home to announce our engagement.”

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“$28,000 a month. Sign it, or get out.” My landlady was certain I was trapped. I’d sunk over a million into renovating this place; moving was out of the question. I looked at her triumphant face as my phone buzzed quietly in my pocket. It was a text from my husband: Honey, I nailed it. The new place is $3,500 a month. Signed for eight years. A slow smile spread across my face. “Patrice,” I said, my voice full of carefully crafted hesitation, “this is a big decision. I need to talk it over with my husband.” 1 “Let me be perfectly clear, Clara,” my landlady, Patrice, announced, her voice dripping with finality. “Four storefronts, $28,000 a month. Not a penny less.” She daintily flicked a piece of non-existent lint from her mink coat, her gaze refusing to meet mine. “Either you sign the new lease, or I want you and all your junk cleared out by the end of the month.” Behind her stood the embodiment of my life’s work for the past three years: four connected storefronts, now a single, sprawling space. It was a beacon of light and activity, the undeniable jewel of this otherwise forgotten stretch of downtown. Her audacity was so extreme it was almost funny. “Patrice, our contract explicitly states that after three years, the rent will be adjusted to the market rate,” I said, keeping my voice even. “The rates on this entire street are dropping. Mr. Henderson next door, who has an even better location, just lowered his rent from $5,000 to $4,000.” I pushed a proposal across the table. “I’m offering to renew at the original $15,000, plus a ten percent increase. That’s $16,500. I think that’s more than fair.” “Market rate?” Patrice let out a theatrical laugh, as if I’d just told the world’s most hilarious joke. “Clara, darling, get a clue. Who do you think set the market rate on this street?” She pointed a perfectly manicured, blood-red nail towards the bustling street outside. “What did this place look like three years ago? A mud path with barely a working streetlight!” A hot, sour wave of anger rose in my chest. “I remember exactly what it looked like! It was me, Clara, who took over these four leaking, dilapidated shacks and sank a million dollars into turning them into what they are today!” I retorted, my voice rising. “And now that the street is thriving, you want to kick me to the curb?” “Oh, listen to you, Saint Clara the Developer,” she sneered, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “You think you brought this street back to life? Fine. Try leaving. Let’s see where you stack all this inventory without my property. Let’s see how many of your precious customers can even find you then.” Her words were a poison-tipped dagger, and they found their mark. Just six months ago, I’d poured another huge sum into a complete renovation, confident in the future of this location. Now, with the holiday season approaching—the busiest time of year for my business—the timing couldn’t be worse. Move? Find a new location? Renovate all over again? I couldn’t afford to lose the time, the money, or the energy. She knew it. She knew my million-dollar investment had me nailed to this spot. That’s why she felt bold enough to jack up the rent from a reasonable $3,800 per unit to a predatory $7,000. For the past two weeks, she’d ignored my calls, replying to my texts with cold, dismissive phrases: If you can afford it, rent it. If not, plenty of others can. I could practically see her smug face through the screen. “Clara, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Patrice said, rising to her feet and looking down at me. “You’ve put so much money into this place. It would all be for nothing if you had to move. It’s tough for a woman to run a business. Don’t let your pride get in the way of a few thousand dollars. Sign for twenty-eight, and I guarantee your business will be better than ever.” Looking at her face, a canvas of greed and arrogance, the last flicker of hope I had for a reasonable compromise died. I said nothing, just met her gaze with a calm, steady look. She mistook my silence for the final struggle before surrender. A victorious, cat-and-mouse smile played on her lips. Just then, my phone vibrated gently in my pocket. That faint buzz was like an electric shock straight to my heart. I pulled out my phone. A text from my husband, Thomas. Honey, I nailed it. The property exchange unit in the South End. 19-foot ceilings, same square footage as your current place. I’ve already got a designer on it. We can build a four-story mezzanine. Double the usable space, and a bigger outdoor area. And guess what the rent is? My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath. $3,500 a month. The landlord, Mr. Harrison, is a great guy. Signed for eight years, no rent increase for the first five. He said he’s moving abroad to be with his daughter and told us to do whatever we want with the place. He even said to ignore any local busybodies. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed a single word back: Perfect. Then, I slowly lifted my head and met Patrice’s triumphant gaze. I smiled, a warm, harmless smile. “Patrice, this is a really big decision. I have to go home and discuss it with my husband.” I furrowed my brow, injecting the perfect amount of hesitation into my voice. “Could you give me… three days?” “Fine,” she said with a magnanimous wave of her hand, as if bestowing upon me a great favor. “But you’d better think carefully. An opportunity like this doesn’t come around twice.” She swayed out of the store, her back radiating smug satisfaction. She had no idea. It wasn’t an opportunity I was about to miss. It was her. She was about to become a part of my past. In this high-stakes game she thought she’d already won, she had just revealed her hand. And in doing so, she had already lost everything. 2 The moment Patrice was gone, I called Thomas. “How is it? Is this Mr. Harrison for real?” I whispered, hurrying into the stockroom and closing the door behind me. “Relax, honey,” Thomas’s voice crackled with suppressed excitement. “I had someone check him out. He’s an old-timer who got a massive payout from a city development deal. He owns several commercial properties; he’s not hurting for cash. His daughter is settled overseas, and he’s moving to be with her permanently. Probably won’t be back for years.” He continued, “I had my friend in the legal department look over the contract. It’s iron-clad. He even added me on social media before he left and told me if anyone gives us trouble, just block them and focus on the business.” The knot of anxiety in my stomach finally loosened. “You’re amazing, Thomas!” “Of course, I am. I’m your husband, aren’t I?” he said, his voice beaming with pride. “This Patrice… she really thinks we’re just a couple of pushovers she can squeeze for every last drop. I’ve been sick of her for years! When we first came here, those storefronts were like pigsties, leaking and moldy. She practically begged us to take them.” “And now that we’ve made a success of it, she thinks she can bleed us dry. Not a chance.” He was right. Three years ago, we were just starting out, counting every penny. This street was a forgotten corner of the city, plagued by poor planning. Patrice’s four storefronts had been vacant for almost two years, the walls peeling, the windows broken. But I saw its potential, its unique position connecting the old city with the new developments. I was the one who convinced a hesitant Thomas to take the plunge. We did the work ourselves, clearing mountains of trash, painting walls in old clothes, learning how to lay electrical wiring from online videos. We transformed that ruin into our dream. For the first three years, business was slow. We barely broke even. But we persevered, building a reputation for quality and service, slowly but surely drawing people back to the street. The number of shops grew from just ours to ten, then twenty. You could say that this street was our baby, a child Thomas and I had raised from nothing. And Patrice was the bully trying to snatch it away now that it was all grown up. “So, what’s the plan, honey? Do we tell her to shove it?” Thomas asked. “No,” I said, my eyes catching the bustling scene outside the window, a cold glint in them. “That’s too easy.” “She thinks I can’t survive without her? I’m going to show her that not only can I survive, I can thrive beyond her wildest imagination. I just told her I need three days. Those three days are her last moments of delusion. Her last shred of dignity.” “And for us,” I continued, “it’s time to launch the Lightning Plan.” “The Lightning Plan?” “Exactly.” I took a deep breath, my mind racing, every neuron firing with adrenaline. “Get the most reliable construction crew you can find for the new place. I want them working in two shifts, 24/7. You already have the designs. Electrical, mezzanine, interior finishing—I want the best materials and the fastest possible speed. Money is no object; I have two million in our business account ready to go. I have only one requirement: in twenty days, it has to be ready to open.” Thomas gasped on the other end of the line. “Twenty days? Clara, that’s… that’s insane. It’s a military operation.” “It’s because it’s insane that she’ll never see it coming,” I said, my voice firm and unwavering. “Right now, she’s at home, feet up, waiting for us to come crawling back in three days, begging to sign her ridiculous lease. The more certain she is of that, the bigger the ‘surprise’ will be.” “For the next twenty days, it’s business as usual here. In fact, we’ll do even better, so her spies see that we’re too busy making money to think about anything else. You oversee the new construction. I’ll handle the daily operations here and keep Patrice on the hook. We’re going to pull off the ultimate deception.” Thomas was silent for a few seconds. Then, his voice came back, filled with the same fierce excitement that I felt. “Alright. Let’s do it. Let’s blow her mind.” After hanging up, I stepped out of the stockroom, my face a mask of calm, friendly professionalism once more. Mia, one of my employees, saw me and asked with concern, “Clara, that… that landlady. She didn’t give you too hard of a time, did she? She looked furious.” I smiled and patted her shoulder. “It’s fine. Just business negotiations. Don’t worry about her. Everyone, let’s focus. We hit our targets this month, and I’m giving out double bonuses!” “Yes! Thank you, Clara!” A cheer went through the store, shattering the tense atmosphere Patrice had left behind. Seeing the renewed energy in my team, my own resolve hardened into steel. Just you wait, Patrice, I thought. You’re about to learn the true meaning of regret.

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The comment appeared in my vision, shimmering over Ethan’s head, just as he was pushing the pink cocktail across the table. “The nerd has no idea that drink will give the female lead her super-brain, making her ace the SATs.” “And it’s all going to plan on the other side. Once the jock drinks his special cocktail, the male lead will get his insane athletic ability and get scouted by a top D1 university.” “I just love a power couple story!” 1 …A power couple? You call stealing someone else’s life’s work “power”? I silently switched my glass with the one intended for the school’s star athlete. The IQ of a rock. The stamina of a chain-smoker. It’s all yours. When those bizarre, floating captions first flickered into existence, Ethan was still coaxing me to drink the pink concoction in front of me. “Audrey, you have to try this one.” In the dim light of the private room, Ethan’s smile was dangerously deceptive. He was the boy next door, the one I’d been quietly in love with for a decade. Any other day, his words would have sent a thrill through me. I would have downed the drink in a heartbeat, my low tolerance be damned, just for the warmth of his attention. But those comments had planted a seed of suspicion. I feigned hesitation. “We have finals in three months, Ethan. I have a mountain of practice tests to get through tonight. Alcohol will just cloud my head. How about after the SATs? My treat.” “I made it just for you,” he insisted, his voice a little too smooth. “I’m calling it ‘The Audrey.’ It’s your namesake. Just one sip.” Something was wrong. I knew Ethan. I mean, I really knew him. And he didn’t like me. For years, I was the one trailing in his wake while he couldn’t be bothered to spare me a word. His entire world revolved around Olivia Reed, the school’s reigning queen bee, and figuring out new ways to make her smile. For him to be not just mixing me a drink, but practically begging me to drink it, was more than strange. It was a five-alarm fire. Another caption popped up above his perfectly styled hair. “Poor Ethan, having to suck up to this four-eyed loser for Olivia’s sake.” “Her glasses just make Olivia look that much more like a goddess in comparison.” “Just drink it already, nerd! Stop wasting time!” So that was it. Ethan and Olivia were the main characters of this… story. He, the handsome golden boy from a wealthy family; she, the effortlessly beautiful It Girl. A match made in high school heaven. Ethan has been in love with Olivia forever, and their story is a dramatic dance of will-they-won’t-they, all while somehow managing to coast their way into top universities without ever seeming to crack a book. And apparently, the “system” decided their plot needed a little boost. So, they were given a shortcut: a couple of tainted drinks to steal my academic diligence and the raw athletic talent of our school’s star jock, Jax Vance. I stared at the pink liquid, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. So, the lives of the main characters mattered because they had an audience, but the rest of us were just props? Was that it? My spot at the top of the class, the number one rank I’d held since freshman year—that was the result of countless sleepless nights and mountains of textbooks. And he thought he could just snatch it all away with one cheap cocktail. Looking at his fake, charming smile now, I just felt sick. I picked up the glass. Ethan’s eyes locked onto my hand, his posture suddenly tense. I brought the rim to my lips, then stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a little too quickly. “My heart’s acting up a bit. I think I left my pills in the other room. Could you grab them for me?” I was born with a minor heart condition that required daily medication. It was the perfect excuse. He hesitated. I swirled the pink liquid in the glass. “By the time you get back, this glass will be empty. Promise.” That was all it took. Ethan practically sprinted out of the room. The second he was gone, my eyes scanned the crowded party for Olivia. I found her on the balcony, handing a drink to Jax. Of course. They were in it together. Insidious. Ethan works on me for Olivia’s benefit, while Olivia uses her neighborly connection with Jax to trick him into giving up his physical prowess for Ethan. I flagged down a passing waiter, pressed a hundred-dollar bill into his hand, and told him to accidentally spill a tray of drinks on Olivia. He played his part perfectly, apologizing profusely. Olivia, ever the gracious queen, had to maintain her image. She just smiled. “It’s totally fine. I’ll just go to the restroom and clean up.” Before leaving, she gave Jax a pointed look. “That drink is amazing, you really have to try it.” Jax, lounging against the railing with his usual casual indifference, just lifted the glass in a lazy salute, not paying much attention. The moment Olivia was out of sight, he brought the drink to his lips. I lunged forward and snatched it from his hand. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with surprise. “You…” Jax and I were in the same class, but we existed in completely different orbits. We were parallel lines, never meant to intersect. But there was no time for social anxiety now. I shoved my own pink cocktail into his hand. “Trade you.” Jax just stared. “?” Ignoring his confusion, I held up the glass I’d taken from him and clinked it against his. “Here’s to new friends.” My first instinct had been to just dump the drink. But then I thought, why should I? If Ethan and Olivia wanted to steal our futures, they deserved to pay the price. I’d switched the drinks. Let Olivia walk into the SATs with Jax’s rock-bottom, last-in-the-class academic record. Let Ethan step onto the field for his athletic trials with my frail, gets-winded-walking-up-stairs physique. Oh, and my congenital heart condition. That was a fun little bonus. I’ve always been a generous person. He could have it all. 2. Jax was still staring at me, looking completely bewildered. A thought struck me, and I quickly clarified, “Don’t worry, I didn’t drink from your glass.” “S’fine,” he said, a crooked, roguish smile spreading across his face. He swirled the pink drink I’d given him and downed it in one go. “Wouldn’t have cared if you did.” We were practically strangers, so once he’d finished the drink, I went back to my seat. The moment I sat down, the room started to spin. I’m a total lightweight, and whatever was in that cocktail, it was hitting me hard. Ethan returned just then. He saw the empty glass in my hand and my dizzy state, and a wave of relief washed over his face. “Good. You drank it.” He tossed my pill bottle onto the table. “You have a problem, you take your meds. Now finish up and go home. These kinds of parties aren’t for nerds like you anyway.” Across the room, Olivia waved at him. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, about to head over, but I grabbed his sleeve. “You expect me to get home by myself in this state?” He frowned, his patience wearing thin. “The night’s just getting started. We’re going to karaoke after this. You want me to leave and play babysitter?” I can’t believe I liked this person for so many years. I must have been brainwashed by whatever twisted plotline was controlling this world. I let go of his sleeve. “Get lost.” “What did you say?” He looked at me as if he’d misheard. The girl who followed him around like a puppy couldn’t possibly have said that. I met his gaze and repeated, slowly and clearly, “Piss off, you moron. As of today, Audrey Shen is done with you.” “You…” Ethan’s brow furrowed, but then he let out a short, condescending laugh. “Right, right. You’re drunk. Wait until you sober up tomorrow and remember what you said. You’ll come running back, trying to get on my good side again.” He hesitated for a moment, as if expecting me to break, but Olivia called his name again and he left. Shaking my head to clear it, I stumbled outside to wait for my ride. Two drunk guys were staggering down the sidewalk, and they slowed their pace as they passed me, their eyes lingering. I pretended to be on the phone with my parents, avoiding their gaze. Just as a knot of fear tightened in my stomach, the two of them saw something—or someone—over my shoulder, and they quickly scurried away. I turned around and saw Jax leaning against a lamppost. “You heading home, too?” I asked. He just grunted an affirmative, saying he was waiting for his ride. But his phone screen was still lit, and I could clearly see he hadn’t even opened the rideshare app yet. “Can I ask you something? It might be a little weird.” Jax straightened up, a faint blush creeping up the tips of his ears. “Wh-what?” “Your grades… are you really last in our class because that’s all you can manage, or are you secretly a genius holding back?” The question made him choke on air, coughing a few times. The blush on his ears deepened. “I just… I haven’t really been trying, okay? I’m not stupid. I’m… I’m actually pretty smart. If I really applied myself…” “Don’t!” I cut him off immediately. “Last place is great! I love it!” Right now, Olivia was linked to him, set to inherit his academic abilities for the SATs. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she realized her brain was completely empty in the middle of the exam hall. Jax couldn’t afford to mess this up. I was so lost in my own scheming that I didn’t notice the way his eyes widened, a strange, rosy hue spreading across his face. 3. The next day, the results of the monthly practice exam were posted. As expected, I was first in the school. Our homeroom teacher was beaming. “Audrey, keep this up. With your focus, there isn’t a university in this country that wouldn’t want you.” My classmates were buzzing with admiration. “Audrey’s next goal has to be a perfect score on the verbal section.” “It’s insane. I heard Harvard and Yale are already sending her feelers.” … Then, the teacher’s gaze fell on Olivia. “Finals are just around the corner. Some students would be better served focusing on their books instead of their makeup. Last month you were ranked in the top 100, this month you’ve dropped to 300.” Olivia, busy reapplying her lip gloss in a compact mirror, didn’t even flinch. As soon as class was over, she whispered to her friends, “These little tests don’t matter. The only one that counts is the SATs.” One of her friends looked confused. “But Olivia, nobody can guarantee they’ll perform well on the day.” “Others can’t. But I can.” Just then, the scrolling captions reappeared in my vision. “That’s right, our girl is going to get into Princeton. State scholar, no less.” “Beautiful and brilliant. That’s a true female lead!” “The nerdy side character isn’t getting a bad deal. She gets Olivia’s grades in return, enough to get into a state school. For a background character, that’s more than enough.” … It dawned on me then. The floating comments, the “viewers,” they had no idea I’d switched the drinks. They were still operating on the original script. Because I was a minor character, my actions were simply skipped over. Did that mean… I could use these comments to see what was supposed to happen? Seeing me staring blankly at the results sheet, Olivia shot me a smug look. “It doesn’t matter how well you do now. Just you wait.” I had to physically pinch my thigh to keep from bursting out laughing. Oh, I’m waiting. I can’t wait for you to experience the full power of Jax’s academic prowess on test day. I instinctively glanced back. In the last row, Jax was asleep again, head down on his desk. He’d been out for three straight periods. I used to look down on people like him, just drifting through life. But now, he was a welcome sight. Someone had left a window open, and the breeze seemed to be bothering him. I walked over and quietly slid it shut. Can’t have anything disturbing his precious sleep. As I closed it, I looked down and found myself staring directly into Jax’s sleepy, just-opened eyes. “Keep sleeping,” I whispered, giving his head a gentle, encouraging pat. “I closed the window for you.” In the next second, Jax’s face turned bright red, and he quickly buried his head in his arms. Such a sound sleeper… I was walking back to my desk, marveling at his dedication to rest, when I ran straight into Ethan, who had just returned from skipping class to play basketball. He’d seen me close the window for Jax, and when I tried to walk past him, he blocked my path. “Audrey, you don’t have to go this far to get my attention. Are you really that desperate you’ll throw yourself at any guy?” Before I could even respond, someone rushed forward and punched Ethan square in the jaw, sending him stumbling to the floor. Jax stood over him, gripping his collar. “Keep your damn mouth clean. If you’ve been eating shit, swallow it. Don’t spew it everywhere.” “You—!” Jax was a good two inches taller than Ethan, with the broad shoulders and long legs of a natural athlete. His talent was off the charts; his running times were good enough for national competitions. It was no wonder Ethan wanted to steal his abilities. Ethan knew better than to fight him head-on. He just sneered, his voice dripping with certainty. “We’ll see what you’ve got at the athletic trials tomorrow. You’re always bragging about how you’ve got your pick of D1 schools. Let’s see what kind of times you can actually run.”

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For five years, I was married to my stepbrother. Then, he killed himself. The only thing he left me was half a piece of paper with three words written on it: I hate you. And he should have. I’d repaid his family’s kindness by drugging him, climbing into his bed, and forcing him to break up with the woman he loved. I knew he didn’t love me, but I couldn’t let him go. I suffocated him until he chose death. And then, I died in a car crash on the way to his funeral. I thought that was it. Then I woke up, back on the night I drugged him. 1. Ethan was dead. I got the news while I was at a cafe, finalizing the divorce papers with my lawyer. “He can have the money. He can have the house, all of it.” My lawyer looked stunned. “Ms. Miller, you’re planning on walking away with nothing?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “From what I understand, Mr. Thorne was the one who initiated the separation. Legally, you are the aggrieved party…” I held up a hand. “Just write it up that way, please.” It was all his, anyway. I’d already poisoned his life for years; I wasn’t going to steal his assets, too. “Well,” the lawyer said, “I’ve handled hundreds of divorces, and you are by far the most generous client I’ve ever had.” I gave him a bitter smile. If he knew what I’d done, “generous” isn’t the word he’d use. “Crazy” was the one Ethan’s friends preferred. The psycho who’d trapped her own stepbrother. “If you’ll just review this and sign here…” My hand was shaking. I’d just written the first letter of my name when my phone buzzed. “Is this Chloe Miller? This is City General Hospital. Your husband, Ethan Thorne, has been admitted…” The pen clattered to the floor. I hadn’t seen him in six months. Not since he’d finally asked for a divorce. “Isabella’s back,” he’d said, looking out the window. “After all this time, I never forgot her.” He looked away. “Name your terms, Chloe. I’ll give you anything. Just sign the papers.” I’d lost it. I smashed everything in the living room, screaming at him. “A divorce? Don’t even think about it, Ethan! The only way you’re leaving me is in a body bag!” He didn’t say anything. He just silently started cleaning up the broken glass, the way he always did. I thought I’d won. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. His clothes, his pictures, his toothbrush. Like he’d never existed. And now, he’d made my words come true. I was finally a widow. 2. By the time I got to the funeral home, he was already an urn of ashes. The moment she saw me, his grandmother slapped me across the face. “You evil girl,” she sobbed. “How dare you show your face here?” I just stared at his black-and-white photo. His grandmother shoved me out. I tried to push back in, and she threw a folded piece of paper at my chest. “Read it! This is all he left! This is what he thought of you!” I picked it up. And I saw the three words in his familiar, sharp handwriting. I hate you. 3. I waited outside the funeral home all night. When his family left in the morning, I got in my car and followed them. It was raining, and the winding canyon road was slick. Just let me see him buried, I prayed. Just let me get through this, and I’ll do anything. As if in answer, a boulder, loosened by the rain, broke free from the hillside. It came crashing down right on top of my car. The last thing I saw was that half-sheet of paper, fluttering onto my lap. I hate you. He really didn’t want me at his funeral. As the world went dark, I made one last promise. “Ethan. If there’s a next time, I swear, I’ll leave you alone.” 4. “Chloe, are you insane?” “I’m your brother! And you drugged me?” The voice was rough, familiar, and… alive. “I’m sorry,” I whispered automatically. The words were barely out of my mouth when a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against a hot, tense body. “A little late for sorry, isn’t it?” I snapped my eyes open. Ethan. He was alive. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown wide. “Ethan?” I scrambled away from him, my hand flying to my own face. Slap. The stinging pain proved it was real. I burst into tears, a relief so profound it buckled my knees. “I’m not mad at you. Why did you hit yourself?” he slurred, pulling me back. The guilt was suffocating. This was just like last time. Even drugged and confused, his first instinct was to worry about me. Last time, I’d taken advantage of that. He’d woken up, full of shame, and taken all the blame. His fiancée, Isabella, broke it off. His grandmother was furious. And he never once told them what I’d done. I tore myself out of his arms. “Ethan, I’m so sorry! I… I was just testing it! I didn’t know if it worked! I’ll call 911!” I fumbled for my phone, but he grabbed my wrist. His voice was a low growl. “You… tested it on me?” His eyes narrowed. “Who were you planning to use it on?” It was a stupid lie, but it was an exit. And maybe, if he thought I loved someone else, it would be the clean break we both needed. I forced a blush. “Lucas. From the architecture department. I’ve had a crush on him for months.” His grip on my wrist tightened until it hurt. “You’d drug a man, Chloe?” “He’s the love of my life,” I whispered, staring at the floor, terrified he’d see the lie in my eyes. “I’d do anything for him.” He let me go. “You’re unbelievable. You’d better hope it’s worth it.” He threw me out of his hotel room and slammed the door. “Ethan, wait!” I knocked. “It’s a strong dose! Do you want me to call an ambulance?” No answer. I was about to call security when the elevator dinged. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” Isabella. She held up a small pharmacy bag and smiled. “Here to see Ethan. I’m guessing you are too?” The door behind me opened. Ethan was standing there in a bathrobe, his hair wet. He looked exhausted. He frowned when he saw me. “Why are you still here?” He called her. The realization was a punch to the gut. Of course he did. He loved her. This was his chance. This was good. This was what I wanted. “I… I was just leaving. You two… have a good night.” I ran.

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