Category: English

The day I died, my killer fell apart. To be precise, my indirect killer, who, in reality, was the one who directly signed my death warrant. My mother always hated me. She said I was trash, nothing but a tramp who lived to seduce men. She first said that when I was in elementary school. This Christmas, she left me at home with three of our neighbors—three men—while she went to the mall with my aunt and cousin. I cried. I told her I was scared and begged her to take me with her. She just laughed at me, her voice full of contempt. “They’re adults, Lily. Your father’s friends. What are they gonna do, hurt you? Besides, with a body like yours, who’d even want you?” After she left, I was raped. Then murdered. My body was cut up and flushed down the toilet. When they realized I was missing, my relatives wanted to call the police. My mother stopped them. She insisted I’d obviously just run off to “mess around” with some boy. And then, finally, they learned the truth… Mom was holding a bright red dress up to my cousin, Chloe, her face glowing with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. She beamed, “This color is just perfect for my Chloe.” My cousin tried to refuse, but Mom insisted, “It’s the holidays! You have to wear something festive.” My aunt, Carol, looked uncomfortable. “Sarah,” she said, “since we’re here, we should get something for Lily, too.” I really did need new clothes. The winter coat I was wearing—well, the one my body was wearing—was from two years ago, when I was 15. Dad bought it for me. I’d grown so fast I couldn’t even zip it up anymore. But Mom’s face soured. “Buy her something? Why?” “So she can look even more like a tramp to lure in men? Besides, Lily’s always been cheap trash. She doesn’t deserve nice clothes.” Chloe and Aunt Carol looked embarrassed, even though they were used to hearing her talk like this. All our relatives knew Mom didn’t like me. She’d been spoiled her whole life. First by my grandparents, then by my dad, who treated her like a princess. Chloe told me that when Mom was pregnant with me, she was actually excited. She kept saying she hoped I’d be a boy, so I could protect her alongside Dad. Too bad. I was a girl. I was born premature, weak, and sickly. Grandpa, Grandma, and Dad started giving me some of the attention they used to give her. Mom decided I’d stolen their love. From then on, she hated me. The less she cared, the guiltier they felt, and the more they doted on me. Which just made her hate me more. It was fine when they were around. But when they were gone, she was a monster. She once stared at me, her eyes full of pure venom, and whispered, “I regret not killing you in the womb.” I still shiver when I remember that look. I snapped out of the memory. Mom was already dragging Aunt Carol out of the store, as if she was afraid my aunt would actually buy me something. I suddenly felt so sad. But Mom… even if you wanted to buy me clothes now, I can’t wear them anymore. I followed them as they kept shopping. Dad, who was away on a business trip, called. He warned her, “Lily’s a young woman now, Sarah. Don’t leave her home alone when you and Carol go out.” Mom pouted, instantly annoyed that he cared about me. “Lily, Lily, that’s all you care about! What about me? I’m your wife~” I heard Dad’s good-natured laugh on the phone. “Of course I care about you. I care about you the most.” After they cooed at each other for a few seconds, Dad repeated, “Seriously, Sarah. Keep Lily with you. Men who’ve been drinking are dangerous.” She mumbled “uh-huh” and hung up. She kicked at a pile of dirty snow on the curb. “They really mean it when they say a daughter is her father’s lover from a past life,” she muttered. “Little tramp.” I just watched, feeling that weird, familiar sting behind my eyes. Dad knew what Mom was like. He texted my cousin, Chloe. Mom heard the ping and looked at Chloe, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “My, my. Aren’t we popular? Who’s texting our little Chloe during the holidays?” Chloe didn’t dare say it was Dad. She made up a quick lie. But she took Dad’s warning seriously. A minute later, she said, “Aunt Sarah, maybe we should head back? It’s freezing out here. And it’s no fun for Lily to be all alone.” Mom hated when anyone showed me an ounce of sympathy. “She’s not alone, is she? She’s got Mr. Henderson and his sons with her.” Aunt Carol chimed in, “Sarah, they’re all men, and they’ve been drinking. Lily’s a grown girl now. It’s not safe.” Mom just scoffed. “Not safe? They’re adults! They’re our neighbors! And besides, look at Lily. All skin and bones. What man would even want her?” I listened, and my heart physically ached. How strange. My heart had been carved out of my chest, so how could it still hurt? Two hours ago, Mom had said the exact same thing to me. Today was December 27th. Our neighbor, Mr. Henderson, had come over with his two adult sons, Mark and Ben. My aunt and cousin were there too, so it was a full house. Everyone was drinking. The women were fine, but the men got wasted. After lunch, Mom suggested she, Aunt Carol, and Chloe go shopping, leaving me behind. I saw the way the men were looking at me. Their eyes were… slimy. I started to tremble. They weren’t the nice, friendly neighbors I knew. They looked like animals. I grabbed Mom’s sleeve, pleading. “Mom, I want to go with you. I don’t want to stay here… I’m scared!” She yanked her arm away and sneered. “Lily, they’re practically your uncles! And stop being dramatic. You think they’d be interested in you?” Before I could say another word, she pushed me into my bedroom, locked the door from the outside, and left the key and my phone on the coffee table. She didn’t know. The second she was gone, they unlocked the door. They came in. They… they did it. It was brutal. I tried to scream, to fight, to call for help, but they clamped their hands over my mouth and nose so hard I couldn’t breathe. By the time they were finished, I was dead. Mom, if you had just listened to Dad… if you had even just called me, you would have known. While you were at the mall, saying those things… Mr. Henderson and his sons were frantically cutting my body into pieces and flushing me down the toilet. Mom… the bathroom floor was so cold. It hurt so much. Mom took Chloe and Aunt Carol to get their nails done. I watched from the side, a little envious. I’d only been with her to a nail salon once. The little gems and sparkles were so pretty, glinting under the lights like crystals from a fairy tale. I was leaning on the counter, just staring at them, and Mom saw me. She slapped me. Right there in the salon. “What are you looking at? Want to get your nails done so you can be a better hooker?” I was stunned, just holding my cheek. Everyone stared. Mom didn’t even look at me again. But now, she was telling Chloe, “Chloe, your fingers are so long and white. Any color would look beautiful on you.” I lowered my head. Chloe texted me. No reply. She was starting to look really worried. While Mom was getting a top coat, she snuck outside to call me. Of course, I couldn’t answer. She looked even more panicked, pacing back and forth. I wanted to comfort her, but when I reached out, my hand passed right through her. I went silent. My eyes burned. Just then, another mother and daughter walked in. The daughter was helping her mom pick out charms. “Mom, this big one! It’s so pretty!” The mom tapped her on the nose. “My baby has the best taste!” They were so happy together. I stared, my eyes cold with envy. When I finally looked away, I saw Mom was watching them, too. Aunt Carol noticed. “What’s wrong, Sarah? Jealous?” My heart jumped. Yeah, Mom. Are you jealous? Do you wish we were like that? But she just clicked her tongue and looked away. “I am. That little girl is so sweet. Not like Lily.” Her voice was full of disgust. “Carol, you don’t know the half of it. Lily is so manipulative. She only acts pitiful around my parents and my husband, making it look like I’m the bad guy! She’s always sucking up to them, trying to steal everything that’s mine!” Aunt Carol just sighed. She knew Mom’s mind was set. But for some reason, Mom seemed agitated. She pushed the expensive charms away. “Forget it. Just give me a plain color.” A minute later, she stood up. “This is boring. Let’s just go home. God knows what kind of trouble that brat is stirring up.” My chest felt tight. Mom… did seeing them make you think of me? The daughter you left at home? But it was too late, Mom. The blood and hair I left in the bathroom… it was all cleaned up by then. When they got home, they went straight to my room. It was spotless. As if nothing had happened. If I hadn’t lived it, even I would have thought it was all a bad dream. Chloe was even more worried. She looked at Mr. Henderson and his sons, who were pretending to watch TV. They saw her looking and quickly looked away. Chloe knew something was wrong. She tugged on Aunt Carol’s sleeve. Aunt Carol caught on and asked them, “Where’s Lily?” “Oh,” Mark stammered, forcing a laugh. “I think she went out. Saw her take a call and leave.” Ben chimed in, “Yeah, yeah, you know kids her age. Probably wanted to hang out with her friends.” But Chloe knew I wouldn’t just leave, and my phone shouldn’t be off. She and Aunt Carol looked at each other. “We need to call the police.” The men flinched. But Mom stopped them. She was furious. “Call the police? For what?” Her voice was cold, certain. “You don’t know Lily. I do. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows my parents are coming tomorrow! She wants to use this to tell them I… I abused her!” Aunt Carol and Chloe were speechless. “Sarah, what are you saying…” Mom just snorted, her eyes flashing. “I’ll show her. I’ll show her who they care about more! That little bitch! Nobody go looking for her! When she comes crawling back, I’m going to break her legs!” Chloe was frantic. “Aunt Sarah! Lily’s not like that!” Mom just sneered. “You’ve all been fooled by her act! I saw her just the other day at the mall with some boy. She’s been dating behind our backs. She’s definitely out messing around with her boyfriend right now!” This finally convinced them to wait. The next day, I still wasn’t back. Mom got up early, made pancakes for Chloe, and braided her hair. I watched her hands weave through Chloe’s dark hair, so gentle, as if she was afraid of pulling a single strand. The winter sun streamed in, landing on them. It was a perfect, peaceful picture. Like they were the real mother and daughter. I felt a pang. Mom… if Chloe were your daughter, would you treat her like me? Is it me you hate, or just… the girl who is your daughter?

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The year I was at my heaviest, I sat on the school’s biggest bad boy and made him cry. The harder he cried, the more amped I got. I even straddled him and wiggled a few times. It felt… lumpy. From that day on, he’d sprint in the other direction the second he saw me. Three years later, at a class reunion, someone joked, “Maya’s so skinny now, she can’t make Zane Zhou cry just by sitting on him anymore.” He leaned forward, slowly crossing his legs. My entire body went hot, and I blushed all the way to my roots. 1 I’d almost completely forgotten what Zane Zhou looked like. For all of high school, he ran from me. He ran so fast that my memory of his face was just a blur. Freshman year, my new deskmate warned me. “That’s Zane Zhou. His grandfather basically owns this city. He’s bad news. If you see him, you walk the other way.” My mom had told me the same thing. You’re in the city now, Maya. Be humble. Don’t make trouble. I listened. I really did. So when I saw him on the practice field one day, cornered, one against five, I kept my head down. The five guys were seniors, and they were circling him. He saw me and actually yelled, “Maya!” I squinted, took a few steps closer, and realized who it was. I turned around and walked the long way. A second later, I heard a yelp of pain. When I got back to homeroom, I was worried he was actually hurt. So I told everyone. Then I told our homeroom teacher. When Mr. Henderson dragged the entire class out to the field, we found him. His shirt was ripped, one side of his face was swollen, and he had a black eye. It was the first time I’d ever seen him up close. All the girls in my class were obsessed with him, saying he was tall and handsome, with “deep-set, model-like eyes.” Right now, he looked like the homeless guy who panhandled outside the 7-Eleven. I couldn’t help it. I snorted. Our eyes met. He struggled to his feet, winced, and pointed at me. “You. Just you wait.” Mr. Henderson kicked him in the butt, which made him howl. The next evening, I was walking out of the cafeteria when he and his crew blocked my path. I clutched the chicken leg I was holding behind my back and swallowed hard. I’d only taken one bite. It would get cold. I forgot my mom’s warning. I forgot my friend’s warning. I was just hangry. “What do you want?” I snapped. “You’re mad I didn’t help? You were outnumbered five to one! If I jumped in and we won, wouldn’t that be even more embarrassing for you?” His friends shuffled, looking down. He just stuck his chin out. “You’re as big as a house, Maya. You shouldn’t be eating a chicken leg.” …That’s it? How juvenile. I tried to push past him. He grabbed my arm. I yanked it back, and my chicken leg—my beautiful, precious chicken leg—flew out of my hand and landed in the dirt. It was fine. I could just rinse it off. Pick the gravel out. He lifted his foot and stomped on it. Then he ground it into the asphalt, twisting his heel. My eyes slowly lifted from the greasy smear on the ground to his face. Rage, like a volcano, erupted inside me. I screamed and tackled him. One of his arms was already in a cast from the fight yesterday. His other arm was useless against my sheer mass. I sat right on his stomach. “You! Monster! You killed my chicken! That was my one chicken leg for the whole year! Waaaaah!” Zane’s face went from pale to bright red. And then, two lines of tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. A crowd started to gather. Someone yelled, “Go get a teacher!” At that, his friends scattered. The harder he cried, the more amped I got. I straddled him, grinding my hips down. Just like you did to my chicken. I didn’t know why, but it felt… lumpy. Someone finally managed to pull me off. I was depressed about that chicken leg for a solid month. The only thing that snapped me out of it was getting first place in the district on my midterms. 2 After that, Zane Zhou avoided me like I was the plague. He was a legacy admission. His mom was on the school board. I heard his middle school grades weren’t good enough for the worst high school in the city, let alone our magnet school. As a kid who’d been on the free-lunch program my entire life, I hated guys like him. Especially since he’d murdered my chicken. But I was also terrified of him. I was scared he’d tell his mom and get my scholarship revoked. Or just get me expelled. For an entire semester, I waited for the principal to call me to his office. I had nightmares about it. A rabid dog would chase me, pin me down, and just as it was about to bite, its face would morph into Zane’s. Then, at the final assembly, the principal said he had an announcement. The gym was hot and stuffy, but my back was cold with sweat. I was already calculating how to tell my mom I’d have to go work in the mines with her. The principal called my name. “Maya Chen. For the school’s new academic excellence scholarship. First place, eight thousand dollars.” It wasn’t a scholarship. It was a lifeline. It meant I had living expenses. It meant my mom could quit that job at the mine before her lungs gave out. The principal also gave a shout-out to Zane Zhou. His grades had gone from dead last to the middle of the pack. My friend, Chloe, whispered that he had a crush on Sarah Jenkins, the class “it girl.” Sarah was always top ten and had publicly said she’d never date a guy with bad grades. Zane’s desk was always piled with gifts from girls. He’d sweep them all into the trash. Except for Sarah’s. Hers, he put in his backpack. He stopped making trouble. When we passed in the hall, he didn’t call me “Fatty Maya.” Actually, he just… didn’t look at me at all. By senior year, he was the “unattainable ice-prince” of the school, turning down girls left and right, supposedly waiting for Sarah. The only other time we interacted was at graduation. Mr. Henderson, our old homeroom teacher, pulled me aside. “Zane’s mom wanted me to pass on a message. She said, ‘Thank that pretty, chubby girl in your class for me. She sat on my son and knocked some sense into him.’” I scratched my head. His mom was weird. When I turned to leave, Zane was standing in the office doorway. Our eyes met. He looked away. I looked down. We brushed shoulders as we passed. And that was it. 3 I wasn’t going to come to the reunion. I was about to start my senior year of college. I was juggling two part-time jobs and trying to lock down an internship. I was exhausted. Then Chloe called. “You have to come, Maya. This is networking. Plus, Zane Zhou is the one organizing it. Remember? The guy you sat on?” I groaned. “Chloe, please don’t bring that up. Fine. I’ll go.” I hid in the corner of my tiny apartment, my face burning. I was older now. I finally understood why it had felt… lumpy. I showed up to the reunion deliberately trying to look like I didn’t care. No makeup, a faded old hoodie, and my favorite tote bag with a supermarket logo on it. I was, by far, the most underdressed person there. In contrast, Zane Zhou was the center of the room. He was at least 6’2″, broad-shouldered, and wearing a white button-down with the top two buttons undone. It made me think of that chicken leg. I swallowed. The second I walked in, Chloe dragged me over. “Zane! Look who it is! Maya Chen!” A few people chuckled. “Maya’s so skinny now, she can’t make Zane cry just by sitting on him anymore.” Zane’s expression went stiff. He leaned forward, slowly crossing his legs. My whole body went hot, and I started fanning myself. “Wow, it’s warm in here. I’m just gonna get some air.” “Warm? Just take your hoodie off,” Chloe said, and yanked it straight over my head. The hoodie was a size XXL from my heavier days. It came off in one easy pull, revealing the thin tank top I had on underneath. I was standing right in front of him. His gaze dropped. He got an unobstructed view right down my top. I scrambled to pull the hoodie back on, my face on fire. Chloe was oblivious. “Damn, girl! You lost the weight, but you kept all the good parts! You could still make a guy cry sitting on him now.” I pulled my hoodie tight, but I snuck a glance at Zane. His ears were bright red. 4 Zane finally spoke, and we all realized this wasn’t just a party. “My tech company just opened its headquarters here,” he said. “We’re hiring. The pay is good, benefits are included. If you’re interested, send me your resume.” Chloe nudged me, showing me her phone. She’d already pulled up his company’s website. “Maya, this is literally your major.” I froze. I never wanted to have anything to do with Zane Zhou again. I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d seen him at The Stonewall, the local gay bar, when I was waitressing a private event. I’m not judgmental, but… it was weird. But I needed to move back home. My mom, trying to “help” with tuition, had secretly gone back to working in the mines. She had early-stage lung disease. I needed to be here, to take care of her. My hometown was an old industrial city. New tech companies were rare, and the ones that were here were just tiny, dead-end satellite offices. The starting salary on Zane’s website made my heart pound. That night, I tossed and turned. I had that dream again. A big, friendly dog runs at me, tackles me, and starts licking my face. Then it looks up, and it has Zane’s face. I woke up in a cold sweat. My phone rang. An unknown number. “Ms. Chen? This is ZenTek. We’d like to invite you for an interview next week.” It was Zane’s company. I hadn’t even applied. My mom’s doctor texted me. Her surgery was scheduled for next week. “I’ll be there,” I said into the phone. I had to go home anyway. Might as well. The day of the interview, Zane wasn’t there. The tech director and I hit it off. They didn’t even want me to intern; they offered me a full-time position. The starting salary was exactly what they’d advertised, no “probationary” cut. I knew I was good. I didn’t know I was this good. It would have been rude to say no. But my mom’s surgery got rescheduled, so I had to start a day late. The next morning, I ran into Zane in the elevator. “Good morning, Mr. Zhou,” I said respectfully. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t say anything. The elevator dinged. The second the doors opened a crack, I stuck my foot out. Through the crack, I saw a pair of long, gorgeous legs. The doors opened. It was Sarah Jenkins. She ignored me and launched herself into Zane’s arms. “Zane! I thought you were in meetings all day!” “Something came up,” he said. I stepped out of the elevator and turned back. Zane was standing stiffly, his hands hovering in the air, while Sarah hung off his neck, smiling.

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The night of our wedding, the scent of wilted peonies and day-old champagne still hung in the air as I scrolled through the raw photos on my laptop. A cold dread trickled down my spine. Eight hundred images, and fewer than ten of them showed my face. The camera hadn’t been telling our story; it had been telling his. There was Ethan, my new husband, bending to pick up a fallen napkin, a candid shot of him adjusting his cufflink, his brow furrowed in concentration. My own presence was reduced to a series of blurry profiles, a ghost at my own celebration. White-hot anger surged through me. Then, a single, jarring photo stopped me cold. I waited until Ethan came out of the shower, a towel slung around his neck. “You know Leo Vance well?” I asked, my voice tight. He paused for half a second, the motion of drying his hair momentarily frozen. “Not really.” “Then how does he have this?” I spun the laptop around. The image on the screen was of Ethan, shirtless, in the middle of changing. The distinctive red mole on his lower back was in sharp focus. The background was unmistakably the apartment he lived in before we were married. 1 The towel slipped from Ethan’s hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. He bent to retrieve it, and as his shirt lifted, the mole on his lower back was exposed—a perfect match to the one in the photograph. He walked over, his face a mask of carefully constructed confusion. I zoomed in on the photo until the mole filled the screen, an undeniable crimson dot. He leaned in, his tone casual. “Oh, that. I did a favor for a friend of his once, some headshots for his portfolio. He must have slipped it in by mistake.” Ethan reached out to stroke my hair. “It’s nothing, Sienna. Don’t work yourself up. You know how disorganized Leo can be.” Still seething, I pulled away from his touch. “Work myself up? Eight hundred photos and my own husband’s wedding photographer couldn’t find ten decent shots of the bride? That’s ‘nothing’?” “A private, shirtless photo of you suddenly appearing in the files is ‘nothing’?” I had spent a week of late nights scrolling through portfolios to find the right photographer. I wanted a perfect ending, a perfect collection of memories. A wedding is a one-time event. And he was telling me not to work myself up? His fingers found the mouse, and with a quiet click, he closed the folder. His voice was laced with a weary patience. “I told you I didn’t want to hire him. You were the one who insisted.” “You loved his style so much, so I gave in. Now that it’s turned into this mess, there’s not much to be said, is there?” His words silenced me. He took the opportunity to pull me into his arms. “Come on, Si. Don’t be angry.” “We’ll find another studio. We’ll do a reshoot, something even more beautiful.” I pushed against the strange feeling in my gut. “Do you really think a reshoot is the point?” “If you had taken five minutes away from your precious work to look at portfolios with me, this disaster wouldn’t have happened.” He sighed, a long, theatrical sound. “The company is resting entirely on my shoulders right now, Sienna. I can’t step away for a single day. You spend your days having fun, of course you don’t understand.” He looked at me, his expression a mixture of apology and exhaustion. “Trust me, Si. I’ll make it right. You’ll be happy with the new photos, I promise.” I looked up at him, my anger softening, but a seed of doubt had been quietly planted. The next morning, Ethan announced he had already booked a session with the top-rated photography studio in all of Crestwood Hills. A night’s sleep had cooled my temper. Maybe he was just under too much pressure, too overwhelmed to focus on the wedding details. I accepted his gesture. The photoshoot was seamless. The photographer was a true professional, his jokes and easy banter making both Ethan and me laugh. The lingering shadows of the previous night began to dissipate. But Ethan seemed distracted. When I stepped out in a new dress, I saw him hunched over his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. A faint, tender smile played on his lips. I lifted the hem of my gown and walked toward him, curious. He immediately shoved the phone into his pocket, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Who was that?” I asked casually. “Just work stuff.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, his grip a little too tight. “God, how do you manage to look so beautiful in everything?” The compliment felt hollow. I pouted. “Can’t you put work away for one afternoon? Try to be present?” He chuckled, a low, tired sound, and took my hand. “I have to build the empire before I can settle in the castle. That’s the only way I can deserve my Sienna.” I squeezed his hand back, my brow furrowing. “There you go again. I’ve told you, stop thinking like that. I love you. That’s all that matters.” He stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a hug. That evening, he gave me an expensive necklace as a peace offering. For the next week, everything felt normal. Except he suddenly started a new routine of morning runs and gym sessions. For seven days straight, I woke up to an empty bed. Then, a notification popped up on my phone. A message from Leo. “Ms. Hale, the edited photos will be ready for you to review tomorrow afternoon.” I frowned, confused. When Ethan got home, I mentioned it to him. His expression froze. He was pouring a glass of water, and a few drops sloshed onto the counter. I moved closer. “Do you want to come with me to pick up the prints tomorrow?” I asked softly. Ethan hesitated for a beat. “There’s no need to speak with a guy like that.” I stepped into his space, looking up at him. “He was so unprofessional. I think we should go together. Let’s see if he’s still so arrogant with you standing right there.” He was silent for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay. Whatever you want.” The next afternoon, the sun beat down relentlessly. Ethan drove us to a run-down part of the city, navigating the streets with a familiarity that felt unsettling. “Looked up the address online,” he explained, a little too quickly. He parked in front of a tired-looking pre-war walk-up and pointed to a third-floor window. “That’s the one.” We climbed the stairs together and knocked. The door opened to reveal Leo, still in his pajamas. He looked startled to see me. “The photos?” Ethan cut straight to the point, his voice hard. Leo said nothing. He walked over to his computer, clicked a few times, and handed me an external hard drive. I took it, my voice steady. “Mr. Vance, I don’t understand. As a wedding photographer, why would you deliberately not photograph the bride? Is that your standard of professional ethics?” Leo leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his gaze flickering past me to Ethan. A mocking smile touched his lips. “I shoot what the client asks for.” “The fact that I took any photos of you was a courtesy. Right, Ethan?” Ethan’s face turned ashen. “Leo, that’s enough,” he snapped. Leo just shrugged, a picture of indifference. “I’ll refund your money.” His dismissiveness sent a fresh wave of anger through me. I opened my mouth to argue, but Ethan grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Let’s go, Sienna. There’s no point arguing with someone like him.” In the split second before the door clicked shut, my eyes darted around the room. A flash of dark wood in the corner caught my attention, and my breath hitched. It was an acoustic guitar, a deep mahogany. Near the bottom of the body was a thin, silvery scratch—a scar I had accidentally made years ago on Ethan’s beloved college guitar. He’d told me he’d thrown it out.

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

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

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

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1 Six years ago, Patrick Percy—the prodigal son my parents had just found after he’d been lost for years—cornered a girl in an alley. A predator driven by a sudden, vicious impulse. She didn’t survive. But under my parents’ protection, Patrick pinned the entire crime on me, his adopted brother. The victim’s family hurled cans of red paint at our front door, screaming for my life in return for hers. My parents and my younger sister, Leah, knelt before me, begging me to confess. “Patrick just got into Westwood University. His future can’t be ruined by a prison sentence.” “You’ve lived his life, enjoyed his privileges for over a decade. It’s time you paid his price.” I refused. I fought back, screaming that I would call the police, but they beat me unconscious and handed me over themselves. The case became a media sensation. My provisional acceptance to Oxford was revoked, my name given to someone else. The school expelled me. And Seraphina Blackwood—my girlfriend, the sole heiress to the Blackwood Corporation—took the stand and pointed her finger right at me. After I was sentenced, she visited me in prison, her voice a soft promise. “Evan, I know this is unfair. Just endure these six years. When you get out, I’ll keep my word. I’ll marry you.” … Six years later, a guard unlocked the heavy steel gates. “Go out there and be a good man. No more trouble.” He handed me a small slice of angel food cake, a tradition for a clean slate. “Eat this. A fresh start.” I took the cake, my hand numb, and bowed my head in thanks. I had barely turned to leave when a hand grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me backward. I was shoved into a battered old Jeep. The cake tumbled from my grasp, its pristine white surface splattering against the ground. A heavy boot immediately ground it into the mud. “Mr. Percy sends his regards, kid,” the driver sneered. “Today’s a big day for the young master, he’s receiving an award. Your showing up would be bad luck. I’m here to take you back home.” The whole city was erupting in applause for Patrick Percy, the nation’s youngest scientific prodigy. Not a single soul remembered me, the one who had rotted in a cell for his crime for six long years. We were just hitting the outer ring road when a custom supercar, shimmering as if dusted with diamonds, cut us off. A woman in a limited-edition designer suit stepped out. It was Seraphina. She opened the Jeep’s door with a look of distaste, her brow furrowed as she looked at me. Her voice was cool, detached. “You’ve had a rough six years. The wedding is next week. I’m a woman of my word; I said I’d marry you when you got out.” I stared at her, my face a mask of indifference. Then, without a word, I pushed myself out of the Jeep. My right leg buckled, and I moved with a pronounced limp. “You don’t mind that I’m a cripple? Then let’s get married.” Seraphina froze, her eyes fixed on my leg. “Evan, your leg…” Before she could finish, her phone rang. “Sera, you have to come quick! My brother just collapsed!” It was my sister, Leah, on the other end. Seraphina’s face filled with panic. “I’m sorry, Evan. Patrick’s not well. I have to get to the hospital.” She rushed out an explanation. “He’s been under so much pressure. When he heard you were coming home yesterday, he felt so guilty he cried all night. Your parents and Leah are with him now.” She turned to leave, then hesitated, her gaze falling back to my leg. “Go on to the Percy estate. I’ll find the best orthopedic surgeon in the city to fix your leg.” I watched her supercar speed away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. This leg was destroyed on my first day in prison six years ago. The agony was blinding, and my desperate cries for help only seemed to fuel the sadism of the inmates. What followed was a new level of torture. Every beating, every slur I endured over those six years was a brutal, relentless reminder that no one had ever truly loved me. My parents, my sister, my fiancée—the person they truly cared about was Patrick. Twenty years ago, my parents chose me from an orphanage. They wept as they held me, saying I looked just like the son they had just lost. I became their medicine, a balm for their grief. But I never felt their love. I was constantly scolded, constantly reminded of how I fell short of their perfect, lost son. I pushed myself to be flawless, desperate for a single word of praise. My room was wallpapered with awards and certificates. I was the star student, the one teachers adored. But at home, I was invisible. The day they found Patrick, their faces lit up with a joy so pure and ecstatic it took my breath away. It was a look I had never seen, and never would receive, in my entire life. … “Second Young Master, the utility closet at the end of the hall on the first floor has been cleared out for you,” the driver said as we arrived. “Mr. Percy said what happened six years ago was a huge scandal. He wants you to stay out of sight, so you don’t embarrass the family in front of guests.” My hands clenched into fists. I had served six years for Patrick’s crime, and my parents were still determined to brand me a murderer? A familiar, dull ache settled in my chest. I locked myself in the cramped, dusty room and let the tears I had held back for six years finally fall. I woke in the middle of the night, my stomach cramping with hunger. I realized no one had called me for dinner. With a hollow laugh, I crept toward the kitchen, hoping to find some scraps. As I neared the living room, I heard Leah’s voice, sharp with complaint. “Mom, Dad, why did you even bring Evan back? You know he stole Patrick’s place. He should have died in prison for all I care!” My mother sighed. “We were afraid he’d start talking, that he might ruin Patrick’s career.” “I don’t want to see him,” Leah pouted. “He was never one of us. I just want it to be the four of us: you, Dad, and Patrick.” Her words were daggers in my heart. My limbs went cold. The little sister I had adored and protected for so many years… she hated me this much. I knew they didn’t love me, but hearing it spoken so plainly still felt like my lungs were being crushed. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was my old university professor, the head of my lab. “Evan. I’ve waited six years for this call. I’m finally able to reach you. I’m so sorry, son. I did everything I could, but my influence was limited. I couldn’t get you out.” Hearing his voice, a fresh wave of tears streamed down my face. On the day of the murder, I had an alibi. I was in the lab with my professor, working late. After the Percys forced me into prison, he had fought for me, appealing to the courts, presenting our evidence. But every attempt was blocked, every piece of evidence buried by the Blackwood family’s lawyers, all orchestrated by Seraphina. My professor was the only person in the world who still remembered me, who still cared. I immediately accepted his offer. I agreed to release the patent for the technology I’d developed six years ago for use in the top-secret “Project Chimera,” a national research initiative. “That’s wonderful news! Evan, with you on board, Project Chimera will be unstoppable.” His voice was filled with excitement. “In ten days, I’ll come to pick you up and take you to the facility. You’re about to send shockwaves through the entire scientific community!” Six years. After six years of being buried in darkness, I could finally step back into the light. Ten days. I clenched my fists, my jaw tight. Just ten more days. Then I could finally leave this cold, loveless house for good. This time, I was the one leaving them. The next morning, the sudden crackle of fireworks outside jolted me awake. I fell from my makeshift bed, scrambling into a corner, trembling uncontrollably. A maid pushed the door open and saw me huddled there, her eyes filled with contempt. The fireworks… they brought it all back. In prison, they’d stuffed firecrackers into my bedding. The explosion, the searing flames engulfing my body. I had survived, but with burns covering over half my body, leaving behind a tapestry of hideous, permanent scars. “The Young Master is in a good mood. He wants you to come out for a meal. Stop dragging your feet and get a move on!” she snapped. I forced myself to calm down and stepped out of the utility closet. The lavishly decorated living room buzzed with energy. Patrick stood in the center, dressed in a bespoke suit, a golden party crown perched on his head like some pampered prince. My parents, Leah, and my fiancée, Seraphina, all gathered around him, celebrating his birthday. My parents presented him with the keys to a new sports car. “Our son, you’re brilliant! Chosen for Project Chimera! You make us so proud!” Leah gave him a pair of diamond cufflinks. “Big brother, I’ll miss you so much when you’re at the facility!” Seraphina handed him a portfolio. “Patrick, my parents are thrilled about you joining the project. This is a birthday gift from them—half the shares of the Blackwood Corporation.” Patrick accepted it all with a gracious smile, then his eyes found me, standing alone and disheveled at the edge of the room. “Evan, you’re awake! I’m so sorry I didn’t get to welcome you yesterday, I collapsed so suddenly. You’re not mad at your big brother, are you?” Before I could answer, Seraphina spoke for me. “Of course he’s not. He’s your brother, after all.” “Good. Evan, come have some cake! Mom and Dad got my favorite—mango.” I remained frozen in place. My father’s face darkened. “What an ungrateful brat,” he muttered. “Can’t even wish his own brother a happy birthday.” A bitter laugh escaped me. They had forgotten. They had all forgotten that I’m deathly allergic to mangoes. One bite could kill me. Patrick, ever the ‘caring’ brother, spoke up. “Dad, Mom, don’t be so hard on him. If it weren’t for Evan taking the fall for me, I’d never have had the chance to join Project Chimera. You know, back in the day, he was the real genius. It’s amazing how much can change in six years.” He cut a large slice of the cake and walked toward me. “Evan, it’s my birthday. Just one bite, for me. Please?” The sickly-sweet scent of mango flooded my senses. My throat began to tighten, my vision swam with red. And then I saw it—a wicked, triumphant smile on Patrick’s face, a private little show just for me. My heart hammered against my ribs. In a flash of cold dread, I realized he was trying to kill me, right here, in front of everyone. My hand shot out, swatting the plate from his hand. It clattered to the floor. “You bastard!” My father’s hand cracked across my face. “Your brother offers you cake out of the kindness of his heart, and you throw it on the floor? Have you lost your mind?” My mother rushed to Patrick’s side, shielding him as if I were a monster. “You ungrateful wolf! We should have never brought you into our home! How dare you lay a hand on my son!” Leah, in her sharp high heels, kicked me twice in my good leg. “You useless cripple! Why didn’t you just die in prison? What are you even doing here?” Their words rained down on me, each one a physical blow. I collapsed, too broken to stand. I looked up and met Seraphina’s cold, disappointed gaze. “Evan, I can’t believe what you’ve become. You’ve lost even the most basic sense of respect. I’m so disappointed in you.” I looked at their furious, accusing faces, at Patrick’s smug, victorious expression, and a ragged laugh tore from my throat. If they didn’t want me here, fine. I would leave. I hauled myself up from the floor, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. “I think I’ll go for a walk. I don’t want to spoil the party.” “Then don’t come back! This family has no place for a coward like you!” my father roared. As I stepped out of the Percy estate, I took a deep breath. Nine days. Nine more days and I would be free of them forever. As for Seraphina… if I was such a disappointment to her, then there was no need for a wedding. Growing up under the Percys’ harsh, loveless rule had taught me how to survive on my own. I found a job at a small diner—serving tea, clearing tables, washing dishes. It was mindless work, but it was honest. The owner knew about my prison record but didn’t care. It was a place to rest my head. That night, the familiar ache returned, sharp and insistent. Six years ago, Seraphina was in a car accident. To save her, I had willingly donated my left eye and one of my kidneys. The recovery should have been smooth, but the years of abuse in prison had ravaged my body. The internal damage was severe. I swallowed a painkiller, but the agony was too much. I blacked out. … A few days later, I saw it on the news. Seraphina Blackwood and Patrick Percy were announcing their engagement. Stunned, I answered a call from her. Her voice was hesitant. “Evan… Patrick is very sick. The doctors say his prognosis is poor. He wants to marry me. I can’t say no.” “You need to give me some time,” she continued, her voice pleading. “I have to help him through this. After all… he was the one who donated his eye and kidney to me after the accident. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for him.” The world tilted on its axis. It was me. I was the one who saved her. How had it become Patrick? “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “I wish you both happiness.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. As I hung up, I could still hear her promising to find a doctor for my leg, still insisting that our wedding would happen, that she just needed a little more time… On the day of their wedding, the entire city’s elite turned out. The ceremony was broadcast live, a lavish, fairytale spectacle. I sent Seraphina one last text message: I wish you happiness. From this moment on, we are strangers. I attached the digital file of the organ donation consent form I had signed six years ago. My signature and thumbprint were clearly visible. After that, I snapped my SIM card in half and threw it in the trash. I said goodbye to the diner owner, then walked out to the curb where my professor was waiting. Without a second’s hesitation, I got in his car. Goodbye, Seraphina. Goodbye, Mom, Dad, and Leah. This time, I was the one who didn’t want you.

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After Claire came back home, I stumbled across an anonymous poll online. [When a woman cheats, who does she feel guiltier about: her husband or her lover?] A staggering 99% voted for the lover. I turned and asked Claire, “Do you feel that way, too?” She set down her book, her gaze distant, veiled with a weariness she couldn’t put into words. “Eason, I’m back now.” Her voice was flat. “What more do you want from me?” 1 With a heavy brow, Claire rose and went to the balcony, pouring herself a glass of water to cool down. I watched her. Against the glittering backdrop of the city lights, her slender silhouette melted into the soft darkness, a picture of lonely elegance. Half an hour later, she returned, her face fixed in a strained, placating smile. “The company’s having its annual Family Day. You should come with me. I’m free this weekend, so we can go shopping and get you something to wear.” Claire’s company held these events from time to time, but she’d never invited me before. When I’d asked about it once, she had just frowned, her face a mask of impatience. “That’s just a perk for the junior staff, Eason. The spots are limited. As a department head, I have to be considerate. It’s not worth fighting them for a spot.” Right now, I desperately wanted to ask her, So you don’t have to be considerate this time? But I didn’t. Ever since Claire moved back in, a suffocating, sticky tension had settled between us. Yes, sticky. Like a lump of phlegm caught in your throat—it won’t go up, it won’t go down, but it’s always there, a constant, disgusting reminder of its presence. “Okay,” I said. She smiled, as if she were pleased. But the moment she turned away, the smile vanished, replaced by a sigh so faint it was almost silent. Later that night, as I turned off the lights to sleep, the door creaked open. It was Claire. “Are you asleep?” We slept in separate rooms now. She had taken the guest room. The day she chose to “return to the family,” she had stood by the door with her suitcase and said, “Eason, we both need time and space to heal. Let’s not share a room for a while.” Back then, I was still drowning in a chaotic sea of extreme emotions. The searing pain of betrayal by the one person I trusted most; the self-loathing for my own unhinged actions after everything blew up; the bitter satisfaction of holding the moral high ground… Every expression, every gesture felt twisted and magnified. I had tilted my chin up, sneering at her. “What are you thinking, Claire? Did you really believe I let you come back just to sleep with you? Do you assume everyone’s mind is as filthy as yours?” “As you wish,” she’d replied, her voice flat, not a flicker of defiance in her eyes as she dragged her suitcase into the guest room. … Now, she stood by my bed, watching me in the darkness for a long moment. Then, with a soft rustle of sheets, she lay down beside me. “Eason, we’re still husband and wife.” Her voice was thick with moisture. It was strange. It was just a simple sentence, and I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the reluctant submission in her words, the resigned sigh behind them. It was as if she were offering herself to me. As if she were finally bowing to fate. A surrender to the marriage that still, technically, existed. A gift of mercy bestowed upon me, her partner of ten years. Outside, the moon hung tired and cold, looking down on the world with indifference. I couldn’t stop myself. I finally said the name I hadn’t uttered in three months. “What about Leo?” “Isn’t he the only husband you acknowledge in your heart?” The air in the room froze solid. In the darkness, the woman behind me erupted, her voice sharp and furious. “Why are you bringing him up? Why would you say his name?” “I’m back! We’ve both paid the price! You got everything you wanted!” “Eason, what in God’s name do you still want from me?!” 2 I didn’t want anything. I just couldn’t help it. I felt so damn wronged. I just wanted to rip apart the fake, fragile veneer that had been stretched over my life. Claire and I met in college. We fell in love during a campus event, married the year after graduation, and had our son, Rory, the year after that. Everything felt so natural, so right. I was the extrovert—sunny, outgoing, a people person. She was the introvert, a brilliant researcher whose career had stalled because she hated networking. I felt her talent was being wasted, so I used my own PR skills, leveraging a connection through my boss to get an introduction to the director of her research institute. For weeks, I got up at the crack of dawn to bake pastries and drive them across town to the director’s mother, who had a notorious sweet tooth. Claire was disdainful of my efforts. After all, I was a grown man doing something she considered demeaning. “My abilities speak for themselves,” she’d said. “Why do I need you to stoop to such cheap tricks? You’ll just end up with nothing, and I’ll be the one who looks like a fool.” I carefully protected her academic pride, admitting my approach was clumsy, but I smiled and said, “Even if it fails, it’s no big deal. Think of it as just being kind to an old woman. Besides, knowing a director like him could help my own career, too.” The director was impressed by my persistence, and given that Claire’s work was genuinely outstanding, he endorsed her during a critical promotion review. After five years of being overlooked, Claire finally got the advancement she deserved. Her salary and bonuses soared, but with one hand in research and the other in management, her workload became immense. With no one to look after the house and Rory at a crucial age, we talked it over and decided I would step back from my demanding role at my job and take a less stressful position. That would give me more time for our family and allow me to fully support her career. I always thought I was the lucky one. When I picked Rory up from kindergarten, the other moms would chat, and they all agreed our family was the model of modern happiness: a college-sweetheart marriage with a strong foundation, a successful wife, a full-time “super dad” with a relaxed job, and a bright, adorable son. I felt happy and fulfilled. Sure, I’d feel a pang of regret seeing former colleagues who were less competent than me get promotions and raises, but I told myself that a family is a single economic unit, a shared destiny. What I gave up was for the greater good of us all. And that was enough. The first time I saw the name “Leo,” it was on a research paper on her desk. The authors were listed as: Claire White, Leo Vance. I handed her a mug of herbal wellness tea I’d brewed and joked, “Your names actually sound good together. Just reading them, I can imagine some epic, star-crossed love story.” At the time, I was blissfully ignorant, wrapped in the comfortable lie of my life. I didn’t notice the fleeting tenderness in her eyes as her gaze fell on his name. “He’s a single colleague, Eason. Don’t make jokes like that.” She looked down, pushing the report aside, her tone a soft warning. 3 The next time I saw the name “Leo Vance” was six months later. I was making a PowerPoint for Rory’s presentation as class representative, but my laptop died. Claire was out at a department dinner, so I went into her study and used her computer. While searching for templates in her cloud drive, I accidentally clicked on a shared folder. It was titled: [My Love]. Claire was an impeccably organized person. Inside, there were 27 subfolders, all neatly labeled by year and month. Intuition is a strange, terrifying thing. Before I saw that folder, it had never once crossed my mind—not for a single second—that Claire could be hiding something. But in that moment, as I moved the cursor to click on one of the files, I realized my hand was shaking. I sat there and read for two hours. The [My Love] folder documented the secret, blazing two-year-and-three-month emotional journey of a woman and a man. They had been colleagues in different departments, brought together on a research project. In the endless days and nights that followed, they engaged in exhilarating intellectual discussions, a meeting of souls. Slowly, one’s heart stirred, and the other’s feelings ignited. They were acutely aware that their connection was forbidden by morality, by the world. They made a pact: their love would be pure, platonic. They would never touch, never succumb to base human desire. Perhaps shielded by this hypocritical cloak of “moral responsibility,” they allowed themselves to pour out their hearts, to unleash their love in this private Eden. Claire called Leo “my one true husband.” “You walked past me today, and I caught the unique, intoxicating scent of your body. My heart leaped.” “So many men in this world are tainted, but you… you are a pure, untainted sanctuary for my soul. Thank you for cleansing my life.” “I fall asleep thinking of your face, repeating your name in my mind over and over.” “I used to mourn my thirty-three wasted years, but then you appeared like a silent savior. Suddenly, all my past suffering became worthwhile.” Leo called Claire “my angel.” “Angel! My love! My wife!” “This morning, I found a few of my long hairs and gently placed them on your desk. In a way, we’ve now shared a bond, like tying the knot.” “In the meeting minutes, our names were printed one above the other. I felt a secret thrill. The two most beautiful names in the world, dancing together, intertwined.” “Angel, I had a dream last night… an unspeakable dream. I was crying out your name. When I woke up, there was only emptiness, my soul adrift.” “I think about you day and night. My performance reviews are tanking, but it was old Mrs. Henderson who got the pink slip. Angel, you pulled strings for me, didn’t you? I feel so guilty and so grateful at the same time. How can I ever repay you?” Below that entry was Claire’s tender reply: “Don’t feel guilty, my love. A wife is happy to bend the rules for her husband. I’ve never cared for power or position, but in this moment, I’m so glad to have it.” … 27 folders. 30 documents in each. A total of 810 entries. For 810 days and nights, they had shared and edited this digital Eden, baring their souls to one another. It was early September, and the last dregs of summer heat still clung to the city. But sitting in that study, an icy chill spread through my entire body, as if I’d been plunged into a freezer. 4 I stormed out of the house in a daze. A part of me still refused to believe it. It had to be fake. A cruel prank, a setup, someone trying to frame her. I called her phone. No answer. She said it was a department dinner. I went from restaurant to restaurant, searching for her. I had to confront her, right then and there. I had to know the truth. I finally found her in a loud, steamy Korean BBQ joint. A large group was laughing and talking around a long table. Claire sat at the head, a faint, polite smile on her lips. She looked exactly as she always did: elegant, poised, a successful woman in her prime. To her right sat a man in a white hoodie. He seemed shy, but his smile was radiant. My feet froze to the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to take another step. I could hear the younger employees joking around. “Claire, we admire everything about you, except for how much of a hard-ass your husband is! We’ll just have to admire that from a distance!” “Yeah, seriously! You’re so cool and collected, a true genius. Why do you listen to an outsider like your husband and run your team like a drill sergeant?” It took me a second to process what they were saying. Claire wasn’t a natural manager. Her method was to do everything herself because she felt it was a waste of time to teach others. As a result, she was the most overworked person in her own department, with no time left for her own son. I had suggested she needed to be a stricter boss, to delegate and hold her team accountable, otherwise their performance would always be at the bottom. I never knew what she’d told them, but it was clear they’d laid the blame squarely at my feet. But I didn’t care about that right now. My eyes were locked on the young man. He sat there, a gentle smile playing on his lips, graceful and composed amidst the chaos of the restaurant. He had an almost ethereal quality. He smiled and said softly, “Alright, alright, stop teasing Claire. From now on, if any of you are swamped, I’ll help out.” The others roared with laughter. “If only Claire’s husband were like you, Leo! Our lives would be a dream! What a shame!” My heart sank into a black pit. Of course. It was him. Leo Vance. The group started toasting him, and he blushed like a peach blossom, his smile radiant. Suddenly, Claire stood up, took the glass from his hand, and downed it in one gulp. “We don’t pressure people to drink in my department. Don’t pick on him. I’ll drink for him!” Leo’s lips curled into a soft smile as their eyes met. The others cheered and refilled her glass. With a flourish, she drained that one, too. I watched from afar, my body shaking violently. Claire had a sensitive stomach. The slightest thing could trigger agonizing pain. For years, besides caring for Rory, nursing her stomach back to health had been my top priority. I’d searched for folk remedies, brewed bitter medicines, made special herbal teas. Nothing cold, spicy, or harsh ever touched her lips. I loved spicy food, but I never used a single chili when I cooked for us. I’d even take the watermelon out of the fridge an hour before she got home so it wouldn’t be too cold for her. And alcohol? She was never to touch a drop. All my painstaking effort, all my care, to heal her stomach. And now, to win a smile from her “one true love,” she was throwing it all away, pouring glass after glass of poison down her throat. Something inside me snapped. In a moment of pure, blinding rage, there is no logic, no rational thought, no weighing of consequences. With a roar in my ears, I charged forward. I snatched the glass from her hand and smashed it on the floor. “You bitch!” I screamed. Claire stared at me, her face a mask of shock. “Ah—!” Leo scrambled back, stumbling and knocking over a cart with a sizzling hot plate. The scalding oil splattered across his face and forehead. He screamed. Claire gasped, crying out his name. “Leo!” Everyone rushed toward him. Suddenly, a powerful force shoved me from behind. I lost my balance and crashed to the floor, my head striking the corner of a table. One of the young employees glared down at me. “Where did this psycho come from? You’re not getting away with this!” I clutched my head, a wave of hot liquid flowing down, blurring my vision. Through a red haze, I saw Claire rushing toward me in a panic. I didn’t care. I just screamed, my voice raw and broken. “I saw it! I saw the whole damn folder!” “You two are disgusting! A pair of filthy animals!” 5 The events that followed feel like a dream when I look back on them now, three months later. A nightmare. A hideous, twisted nightmare. The shock and the blow to my head were too much. After my furious outburst, the world went black. I woke up in a hospital room. Claire was sitting beside me, her head bowed low. My voice was a weak croak. “Get out.” “Don’t let me see you. You make me sick.” Her body flinched. She looked up, her face gaunt, and spoke in a raspy whisper. “Eason, please don’t get agitated. It’s not what you think.” I grabbed the thermos on the bedside table and threw it at her. She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. It hit her with a dull thud before clattering to the floor. She closed her eyes for a moment, then bent down, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. “You can hit me, you can scream at me, I don’t care,” she sighed. “At this point, I’m not going to make excuses. I just want to say one thing: I swear, we never crossed that line.” I glared at her, my teeth clenched. “And? Am I supposed to praise you for your moral fortitude? Thank you for not stooping to a disgusting physical affair?” A pained expression crossed her face. “Do you have to be so vulgar?” I dug my nails into the mattress, trying to control the trembling in my hands. “You think my words are disgusting? What about what you did? Every time I think about the crap you two wrote, I want to vomit! Pretending to be some tragic, star-crossed lovers. What a load of bullshit! It’s not platonic, it’s just plain sleazy!” I used to watch movies and TV shows where a husband would have a complete meltdown after his wife cheated, and I’d always thought it was so pathetic, so undignified. It’s just a woman, I’d think. If she’s tainted, just let her go. But now, with it happening to me, I found I couldn’t control myself at all. I was consumed by rage and betrayal, a pressure building in my chest like it was about to explode. I wanted to hurl the vilest, most poisonous words at them. I wanted to drag them both down into the abyss with me. In an instant, I had transformed from the cheerful, friendly Eason into a bitter, violent madman. And the way Claire was looking at me now, she saw a madman, too. That only fueled my rage. I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her face. “Get out!” Claire slowly smoothed her messy hair, her voice calm now as she stood up. “You’re too emotional to have a rational conversation right now. I should go.” She continued, her tone detached. “That junior colleague, Matt, who pushed you? He came and apologized to me. You can’t blame him. He didn’t know who you were, and you came out of nowhere and scared Leo, causing him to get hurt. He was just defending his friend.” “Leo has some burns on his forehead that might scar, but he’s not going to press charges, so you don’t have to worry about that.” “Look, this whole situation isn’t as sordid as you think. Just calm down. If you really can’t get over this, then whatever punishment you decide on, I’ll accept it without a word of complaint.” She bent down, picked up the pillow, placed it back on the bed, and walked out of the room. 6 I was in the hospital for three days, my mind a fog. I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, and each time I woke, it took a few seconds to separate the nightmares from reality. My dad came to visit. He said Claire had called him and explained everything, worried that I’d be alone. He sighed. “She was very sincere. She admitted her mistake but swore nothing physical ever happened with that man. Remember when you were obsessed with that basketball player? You wrote a whole notebook full of letters to him. Just think of it like that.” I shook my head. “It’s not the same.” “But is it worth wrecking your health over? If not for yourself, you have to think about Rory.” My father-in-law and sister-in-law came next. They sat on either side of my bed. My father-in-law chuckled. “Technically, Claire was in the wrong here. But you know, she’s always been a magnet for men, and now that she’s so successful, it’s inevitable that some wolf would try to snatch her up. It’s good this happened. It’s a wake-up call before things went too far.” My sister-in-law, sipping an iced Americano, added, “Look, Eason, I’m not just defending my sister, but she’s a person of principle. She has integrity. I bet she was set up. Besides, this isn’t even really cheating. It’s… flirting. And barely even that. She’d never say anything truly out of line.” As my father-in-law was leaving, he looked at me with a grave expression. “The fact that Claire was willing to tell us everything shows that her conscience is clear. Of course, you have a right to be upset, but it’s time to let it go. She’s up for the Associate Director position soon, and if people see you two fighting, it could hurt her chances.” … Honestly, I had no idea what to do. Get a divorce? Over a decade of history, the home I had so carefully built, Rory’s future, the perfect image we had in the eyes of the world… My dad, my father-in-law, my sister-in-law—they were all telling me not to ruin my health, not to disrupt the family harmony. It was as if divorce wasn’t even on the table. In their minds, this was nowhere near serious enough for that. But my heart felt like it was clogged with concrete. Claire came every day with a thermos of soup. When I ignored her, she would place it gently on the table and leave in silence. Rory called me a few times, crying, asking when I was coming home. He said Mommy’s cooking was terrible. I truly didn’t know what to do. The day before I was discharged, I went down to the small hospital garden for some fresh air. And I saw them. Leo and Claire. Leo was in a patient gown, and Claire was holding two thermoses. They were talking in low voices. They stood face to face, and a gentle breeze lifted Claire’s long hair, letting it dance across Leo’s face, his lips. He stood perfectly still, letting her hair caress him. It was a silent, intimate moment. After a while, she looked down and handed him one of the thermoses. The wind carried Leo’s soft voice to me. “Angel.” A roar filled my head, and I charged. The moment Claire saw me, her eyes widened in terror. I grabbed Leo by the collar of his gown, dragged him to the ground, and screamed, “How dare you! How dare you show your face again!” Leo yelped, clutching at his collar. A few of their younger colleagues came running over. Seeing the scene, they tried to pull me off him, pleading, “Eason, you’ve got it all wrong! We just came to visit Leo and ran into Claire!” As I raised my fist to punch him, someone stepped between us. I heard Claire’s voice, cold as ice. “That’s enough!” The young colleagues awkwardly tried to pry my hands off Leo, but my grip was like steel. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, pointing and whispering. Leo’s shoulders were slumped, a wounded look on his face. Claire glanced at him with pity, then turned her cold eyes on me and shouted, her voice ringing through the garden. “I swear on our son Rory’s life, nothing happened between us! We never slept together! We never kissed! We never even hugged!” “Eason, you keep pushing this, again and again. First, you scarred his face, and now you’re humiliating him in public. If you keep acting like a lunatic, then let’s just get a divorce!” My body went rigid. I stared at her in shock. “What did you say? Divorce?” “On what grounds are you threatening divorce?” The crowd started murmuring. “Wow, she swore on her own kid’s life. She must be telling the truth. I thought he was catching a cheater, but it looks like the husband’s just a psycho.” “And he scarred that poor guy’s face? Look how vicious he is. No wonder she wants a divorce.” “That woman looks so gentle and quiet. He must have really pushed her to the edge.” In my stunned silence, my grip on Leo’s collar loosened. His friends quickly pulled him away from me. Through the crowd, Leo slowly lifted his head and met my gaze. His eyes were filled with mockery, contempt, and even a hint of pity. And suddenly, I was calm. For the first time since I discovered that folder, for the very first time, I was completely and utterly calm. I turned to Claire and spoke slowly. “No. I don’t agree to a divorce.” At least… not yet.

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After we got back together, I changed. I fixed all the “bad habits” Alex hated. No more constant check-in texts, no more irrational jealousy, no more picking fights over stupid things. I even found a tube of lipstick in the passenger seat—one that wasn’t mine—and I just quietly tucked it into the glove compartment for him. But instead of being pleased, Alex’s face darkened, and he slammed on the brakes. 1 Alex’s features were sharp and defined, projecting the kind of intimidating pressure that came naturally to powerful men. But right now, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “That lipstick belongs to Renee,” he said. “The work dinner last night went late. She drank too much covering for me, and she couldn’t drive, so I gave her a ride home.” He looked at me, forcing himself to give an explanation, something he usually considered beneath him. “I’ve told you a million times, I only put up with her because her father is my mentor. I have to look out for her.” His gaze was intense. “Past, present, and future—there is nothing between us.” When I didn’t respond, a crack appeared in his usually composed expression, revealing a flicker of something I’d never seen on his face before: helplessness. “What do I have to do for you to believe me?” I looked at him calmly. “I do believe you. I’m not mad.” It was like punching a pillow. Alex’s face went blank for a second. “…Then why have you been silent this whole ride?” I glanced at my watch, my mind on getting to the airport. “You used to say you hated pointless chatter,” I said, offering a weak excuse. “I’m going to be late for work. Maybe you can just drop me at this corner?” My attention was on the traffic, and I completely missed the way his expression soured. “You always get out at the next light,” he said, his voice flat. “The office is still over a mile from here.” I hadn’t thought of that. I was forced to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “If you’re not going to the office, where are you going?” Just as the suspicion in his eyes started to deepen… Ring—! The custom ringtone. It was Renee. Alex’s sharp gaze softened, his eyes darting away guiltily. “It’s a work call. I have to take it.” All his suspicion about me vanished. He unlocked the doors. “You can get out here, then.” I nodded and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but he stopped me. “Don’t be so clumsy. Watch where you’re going.” His voice lowered, taking on a gentler, more placating tone. “I made a reservation at that restaurant you wanted to try.” He looked at me, his expression softening. “I promised you I would never miss another anniversary.” “Happy seven years, Chloe.” “I’ll see you tonight.” My hand froze on the door handle. On our last anniversary, he’d stood me up for Renee. The memory, which had once felt like a knife in my gut, now barely registered. “You should get that,” I said softly, my voice even. “Don’t keep her waiting.” After all, Renee couldn’t wait. And neither could my flight. As for our anniversary—this year, next year, and every year after—I’d be missing it. 2 I made it onto the plane just before they closed the gate. After I found my seat, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t had time for breakfast. I automatically reached into my coat pocket and, sure enough, found three small pieces of chocolate. Ever since I fainted from low blood sugar years ago, Alex had made it a habit to slip a few pieces of chocolate into my pocket every morning. The sweetness melted on my tongue, and the dizziness faded. But it was quickly replaced by a familiar, lingering bitterness. Seven years together. How did we end up here? At first, I really believed him when he said Renee was just the daughter of a family friend, someone he was forced to hire as a favor. I told myself that’s why he had to be so “professional” with me at the office while giving her special treatment. My department head gave me hell for months, and Alex did nothing. But when that same manager spoke to Renee in a slightly harsh tone, he was fired the next day. The office gossip was brutal. Behind my back, they didn’t call me Alex’s secret girlfriend. They called Renee the “boss’s girl.” I forced myself to believe his excuses. But the “special treatment” started bleeding into our life at home. He’d cancel our plans over and over again because of a call from her. The breaking point came one night when I saw a photo in a group chat with some coworkers. Alex, who had told me he was working late, was at a midnight movie screening with Renee. It was the same movie I had begged him to see with me, the one he’d dismissed without a second thought. “Babe, everyone’s saying you have to see Forever with the person you love most! Let’s go!” I’d pleaded, playfully tugging on his sleeve. He hadn’t even looked up from his laptop. “Watching a cheesy rom-com like that is a waste of a life.” But in the photo, he looked charming, smiling, not a hint of boredom on his face. The messages in the chat flew by, a blur in front of my tear-filled eyes. When he got home, I asked, my voice devoid of emotion, “How was Forever?” A flicker of surprise, or maybe guilt, crossed his face. Or maybe I imagined it. A second later, his expression was unreadable. “Were you following me?” My chest felt tight, like a wet, heavy towel was wrapped around my heart, squeezing the air out. “Do I need to?” I shot back, my voice trembling. “Pictures of you two are all over the office group chat!” My voice rose, shaking with a rage I couldn’t contain. “Alex, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” His expression didn’t change. He was as calm as if we were discussing the weather. “If you don’t have the basic decency to trust me, then there’s nothing more to say. Chloe, I’ve had a long day. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No apology. No explanation. Compared to my messy, emotional state, he was the picture of composure. He even carefully placed a small paper bag he was holding onto the counter. The two words printed on the bag—Forever Chocolates—were like shards of ice piercing my heart. All the emotions I’d been suppressing—the hurt, the jealousy, the humiliation—crashed over me in a tidal wave, and my sanity finally snapped. I snatched the bag and threw it on the floor. The top wasn’t sealed, and its contents scattered across the tile with a series of soft thuds. I didn’t look. I just stared at him, my eyes burning. It was a standoff. After a long, silent moment, he turned and slammed the door behind him. I stood there, frozen, like a statue. It wasn’t until something small and round rolled to a stop at my feet that I finally looked down. It was a piece of chocolate. The floor was covered in them. Dozens of handmade, artisan chocolates. 3 My anger faded, leaving only a hollow ache. I still wanted to talk to him, to fix this. But for three days, he didn’t answer my calls. He didn’t come home. I swallowed my pride and sent him a text. I shouldn’t have lost my temper without talking to you first. But you did lie about working late. Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home. Can we please just talk? I waited all day. The sun went down. The hours ticked by. He never came. At eleven, I gave up waiting and decided to go to his office. On my way, I ran into my old department head, the one Alex had fired. He was drunk. He grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. “So, you think you’re hot stuff, huh? Can’t touch the boss’s girl, but I can sure as hell touch you.” My frantic calls to Alex went straight to voicemail. My screams for help were swallowed by the night. If a passerby hadn’t heard the struggle and scared him off, I would have been more than just bruised and terrified. When my phone finally rang, I screamed, a raw, primal sound of fear. Seeing Alex’s name on the screen, the dam of composure I’d been holding back all night finally broke. I was about to sob his name into the phone, a wave of relief washing over me— “Hello?” It was Renee’s voice. Soft, sweet, and laced with triumph. “Alex is in the shower,” she purred. “I saw you’ve been calling a lot. Who is this? Is it important?” It felt like someone had shoved a hot coal down my throat. The pain was so intense I wanted to claw out my own vocal cords. Hanging up the phone felt like lifting a thousand-pound weight. I limped, battered and broken, to the nearest police station to file a report. When it was all over, my phone’s clock read 12:01 AM. Our anniversary was officially over. That’s when Alex finally called. His voice was cold, condescending. “Learned your lesson?” And in that moment, I understood. He had done it on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary… it was my punishment for not trusting him. Tears streamed down my swollen face, stinging like acid on open wounds. My voice came out as a ragged, broken whisper. “Alex,” I said. “Let’s break up.” There was a single beat of silence on the other end. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. Don’t come crawling back.” He hung up. Just like that. No hesitation. No regret. 4 At first, I just couldn’t sleep. I’d lie awake for hours, replaying every moment of our relationship, terrified I had made a mistake, that I had judged him too harshly. I’d scroll through our old text messages, searching for clues, for proof. But the more I looked, the angrier I became. I started to hate him. Six years. An entire chapter of my life. I hated him for throwing it all away so easily, for treating me like I was disposable. At 4 AM one morning, I deleted him from everything. I got out of bed and, in a fit of rage, gathered all of his belongings, stuffed them into trash bags, and hurled them into the dumpster behind my building. I thought I would feel better, relieved. But it was like squashing a mosquito that had been tormenting me, only to find it was my own blood that splattered on the wall. I went to work, pretending everything was fine. But I could feel the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be. It had been rotting for a while, a part of me that was attached to Alex. To save myself, I had to cut it out. But the wound was too big. I was bleeding out. The final blow came when I saw him at a company-wide meeting. He was the same as always—composed, confident, in control. In fact, he looked better than ever. Losing me hadn’t affected him at all. I saw Renee catch his eye from across the room, a faint blush on her cheeks. That night, the insomnia came back with a vengeance. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. Alex wasn’t on social media, so I started obsessively stalking Renee’s accounts, dissecting every post, every caption, for any hidden meaning, any clue about him. It all came to a head when I collapsed at work from low blood sugar and was rushed to the hospital. Alex deigned to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day since our breakup. He sat by my bed, casually spinning the matching ring we used to wear on his finger. “You’ve lost weight, Chloe.” I stared at him, my eyes vacant. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. A triumphant, self-satisfied smile spread across his face. We got back together. 5 They say it’s better to rip off a band-aid quickly. But for someone like me, someone with no willpower left, that wasn’t an option. The only way out was a slow, quiet withdrawal. I would keep him in my life, but I would slowly, methodically, stop expecting anything from him. It was like boiling my own heart in lukewarm water. The process wouldn’t be painless, but at least the end wouldn’t be a violent shock. At first, pretending to be okay, pretending not to care, still hurt. But Alex seemed pleased with the new me. He’d smile, pat my head like I was a well-behaved pet. “You’re finally growing up, Chloe.” After six months of this self-imposed therapy, it started to work. I really was becoming the person he wanted me to be. He’d stay out all night, and I wouldn’t send a single text. I stopped asking about Renee. And then, one day, I realized it was over. The rotten part of my heart, the part that belonged to him, had finally detached. It fell away without a sound. I stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, I smiled. I immediately sent my resume to a company in France that had tried to recruit me a year earlier. I’d turned them down then, to stay with Alex. They offered me the job. My flight was in two weeks. I didn’t plan on telling him. Our relationship was already an afterthought to him. My leaving would be a non-event. I became more understanding, more accommodating. But as I grew more detached, Alex seemed to grow more agitated. I thought I was imagining it. I came home late from work one night, and as I was about to get in the shower, he stopped me. He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” I yawned, genuinely confused. “No? Why?” “Nothing,” he said, his voice flat. “Go ahead.” But something was definitely wrong. Later that night, in bed, his touch was harder, more demanding than it had been in months. He held me from behind, his hot breath on my neck. His whispers were soft, but his movements were rough, almost punishing. “Renee has been giving you a hard time at work, making you work late. Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured. My stomach cramped. I couldn’t understand what he was so angry about. All I could do was gasp for air and plead with him. “It’s… work. I was being… professional. Like you wanted.” I was remembering the time my old boss, the one who’d assaulted me, had set me up to take the fall for a huge mistake. Alex had publicly humiliated me in front of the entire company. “Even an intern wouldn’t make a mistake this stupid,” he’d said. Later that night, I’d tried to defend myself. “You could have at least let me explain.” “Business is business, Chloe,” he’d said, his face as cold as it had been in the boardroom. “I only look at results. At the office, I’m your boss, not your boyfriend. It’s not my job to protect you.” Two days later, my boss was fired for being rude to Renee. Everyone assumed I would be promoted. But Renee, who hadn’t even finished her probationary period, was given the job. She became my boss. … And now, here I was, finally playing by his rules. Being professional. Not causing drama. And he was angry. He suddenly flipped me over onto my back. The light from the lamp was too bright. I shielded my eyes, a single tear escaping and rolling down my temple. He tried to pull my hand away. I resisted, my voice weak. “What are you doing?” He pried my hand from my face. He stared into my eyes, his own expression intense, almost desperate. “You used to look at me,” he said, his voice raw. I didn’t know what kind of game this was. I just wanted it to be over. I forced myself to meet his gaze. In that instant, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He quickly covered my eyes with his hand, as if he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. He kissed me, murmuring my name over and over again. “Chloe. Chloe.” 6 The next day, Alex called an emergency meeting and asked Renee for a project update. All the work had been done by me. Renee stammered, unable to answer a single question. “If you can’t even be bothered to understand your own projects,” Alex said, his voice dangerously quiet, “then perhaps you shouldn’t be in this position.” The entire conference room was silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Renee burst into tears and ran out of the room. After the meeting, the office break room was buzzing. “Did you see the look on his face?” “Is the ‘boss’s girl’ finally getting fired?” I was quietly making a cup of instant coffee when someone nudged me. “Chloe, what do you think?” “I have to say, you’re tough,” another coworker chimed in. “I would have cried if Alex had yelled at me like he yelled at you.” I had no interest in their drama. But in an office, silence can be mistaken for betrayal. So I played along. “Hey, I’m just a worker bee,” I said with a laugh. “What do I know? It’s probably just a lovers’ quarrel. You know how it is. It’ll all be fine by tomorrow.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Besides, they look good together. Honestly? I kind of ship it.” As I said the words, I realized the break room had gone completely silent. I looked up. Alex was standing in the doorway, his face like a thundercloud. The pitying looks from my coworkers followed me as I was summoned to his top-floor office. The second the door closed, he was behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. I jumped. He was always so careful about us being seen together at the office. I was always forced to get out of the car two blocks away. But now, the door was unlocked. Any of his seven assistants could walk in at any moment. “Someone will see us!” I hissed, trying to push him away. He ignored me, turning me around to face him. He searched my eyes again, looking for something I no longer had to give. After a long moment, he dropped his hands. “Chloe,” he said, his voice low. “There’s nothing between me and Renee.” He started to say something else, then stopped. “Forget it. I know you’re still mad. But I’m going to prove it to you. With my actions.” I stared at him, stunned. The commitment I had begged and cried for before was now being handed to me on a silver platter. But my flight was in seven days. And I didn’t want it anymore.

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Chapter 1 On my wedding day, my bouquet was vandalized. Then a little kid ran down the aisle, pointed at my husband, and screamed, “Daddy!” I was still processing that when the child’s “mother” showed up—a woman who had to be at least sixty. I just wanted to sit down and grab some popcorn. 1 “Oh, my God. Who did this?” My maid of honor, Jess, stormed over, holding my bouquet. The cuts were clean, precise. Every single rose had been decapitated. Someone had taken scissors to it. “What are we going to do? The ceremony starts in ten minutes! Who would be this horrible?” Jess was spinning in circles, scanning the bridal suite like she was going to tackle the culprit. My mom, coming in to tell me it was time, saw the floral carnage and went pale. She thought it was a bad omen. She’d never liked me and Mark being together, but I’d worn her down. “Chloe, we have to go. Everyone’s waiting.” Mark stuck his head in, already looking impatient. He started to pull me by the arm, not even noticing the bouquet was a massacre of stems. Seeing his anxious face, my stomach twisted. Was he hiding something? Was this the work of an ex-girlfriend? Thankfully, my other bridesmaid ran in with the emergency backup—a bouquet she’d made herself from silk flowers. It saved the day. The wedding was back on. As we lined up, my mom fixed my veil. “I just want you to be happy, baby,” she whispered, her eyes already wet. I saw her tearing up in the front row, and I made a silent vow. I was going to be happy. “Chloe, do you take Mark to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Mark squeezed my hand, his eyes locked on mine, looking so sincere. I zoned out. He had to squeeze my hand again to get my attention. From the pews, our friends were already whispering, “Say ‘I do!’” I thought about our life together, a fast-forward of the last four years. He was a good guy. Right? I looked at his expectant face and opened my mouth. “I… I do…” “I DON’T!” A little girl, maybe four or five, burst from the back of the church and sprinted down the aisle. “She’s a bad woman! She stole my daddy! Bad woman!” She was making a beeline for us, but thankfully my brother, Leo, was the best man. He scooped her up just before she could launch herself at my dress. “Whoa, where’d this little one come from?” Leo joked, holding her. “Folks, anyone missing a tiny guest? Better claim her quick before I take her home. She’s pretty cute.” The guests, who had been whispering, all just looked at each other. Minutes ticked by. No one stood up. I felt the hand holding mine start to sweat. I looked at Mark. His forehead was gleaming. He looked utterly terrified. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look anything but confident. “Mark,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Who is she?” “Chloe, baby, it’s… it’s not… you have to believe me. I haven’t done anything to hurt you, I swear.” He grabbed my arms, his voice frantic. “Daddy! Daddy, I want Daddy! Put me down!” “Ouch! Kid, you bite?” Leo yelped, setting her on the ground. She immediately scrambled over and latched onto Mark’s leg. “Daddy, why are you marrying this bad woman? Mommy will be so sad!” she wailed, then turned and stomped on my foot before glaring at me. How does a kid that small already know how to hate? “Penny, you’re little, you don’t understand,” Mark said, trying to pry her off his leg. Chapter 2 The second he touched her, she screamed bloody murder. The entire ceremony was grinding to a halt. My parents looked mortified. “Mark,” my dad said, his voice low and dangerous. “You need to explain what is going on, right now. Or this wedding is over.” “Dad, Mom, Chloe… it’s not what you think. She’s not my kid. I can’t explain it right here. Can we just go home? Please?” Mark was practically vibrating with panic. “Dude, what are you trying to pull?” my brother snapped. “You think my sister is just going to be a stepmom to your secret kid? No way in hell.” My stomach dropped. I swayed, and Jess had to grab me. Mark reached for me, but Penny was still screaming and clinging to him. He was trapped, and he clearly wasn’t going to tell the truth. Penny looked at me, then grinned at Mark. “Daddy, Mommy’s here too! She went to get me a lollipop. We can all go home together now, okay?” Her words were like needles. I stared at Mark, turned, and started to walk. “Chloe, wait! Listen to me! It’s not…” I was a runaway bride. I didn’t care how sincere he sounded. It was all noise. “Mommy! What took you so long? I almost let the bad woman steal Daddy!” Penny let go of Mark and ran like a shot toward a woman in the back pew. The woman was… sixty, at least. Dressed in a flowery, ruffled dress that was way too young for her. She looked more like the kid’s grandma than her mom. My brain just… stalled. My CPU was fried. A second ago, I wanted to run. Now, I just wanted to grab some popcorn. “Mom? What are you doing here?” Mom? Mark was calling her Mom? Everyone in the church had the same look of utter confusion. Mark had told me—swore to me—that his parents were dead. I looked closely at the woman. The set of her eyes… they were the same as his. He had lied to me. For four years, he’d lied. “You still have the nerve to call me Mom?” the old woman said, turning her back on him in a pout. “Getting married, such a big deal, and you don’t even tell me? Do me and Penny even matter to you?” This was the gossip of the year. Chapter 3 “Chloe, let’s go,” my dad said, his face red. He’d only agreed to this marriage because Mark was “a good, simple guy with no family.” My dad hates liars. But what happened next was even crazier. “Mom, stop making a scene!” Mark hissed, physically turning her around. “It’s my wedding day. Why are you and Penny here? I told you to stay home! You need to help me explain who Penny is, or your daughter-in-law is going to walk.” “Explain what? If she can’t accept Penny, then she can’t marry into this family.” His mom shot me a look of pure disdain. “Ma’am,” I cut in, my patience gone, “what century are you living in? Just tell me the truth. Whose kid is this?” “Oh, so this is the woman you picked? No manners at all. I’m his mother. You should be calling me Mom. But I’ll tell you this: Penny is my son’s child. If you can’t handle that, you can leave.” “Mommy, where’s my lollipop?” Penny whined. The old woman fumbled in her purse and pulled one out, shoving it in the girl’s mouth. “Wait,” I said. “You say she’s Mark’s daughter. But she calls you Mommy. What is going on?” My head was spinning. My boyfriend of four years hadn’t just lied; he was part of some bizarre, dysfunctional mess. “How dare you?” his mom shrieked. “She’s a child! She gets confused! Only a sick, dirty-minded person would think something’s wrong with that!” “Mark told me his mother was dead. And even if you are his mom, you haven’t paid the bar tab, so I’m not calling you ‘Mom.’ Got a problem with that, ‘ma’am’?” She lunged at me, but Mark stepped between us. “Mom, please, just go home. I’m begging you. I really want to marry Chloe.” He looked like he was about to cry. She just stood there. He gave up and turned to me, dropping to one knee. “Chloe, I lied. I lied about my mom. I was scared. I was scared you’d think… she’s… a lot… and you’d leave me. But the kid… I’ll explain later, I swear. It’s not what you think. I have never cheated on you.” He looked sincere. And, to be fair, in four years, he’d never given me a reason to think he was a cheater. My dad was pulling my arm, but my mom stepped in. “Honey, just… let’s get through the ceremony. You’re already legally married. Don’t throw it all away and be divorced before the reception.” She whispered to my dad, “We’ll keep a close eye. If it’s bad, we’ll get her out.” It was that one moment of softness that sealed my fate. Chapter 4 I trusted him. I finished the wedding. After the reception, Mark had arranged for a friend to drive his mom and Penny back to their (apparently secret) apartment. But Brenda pitched a fit. She’d come all this way, she was going to stay with her son for “a few days.” Later, Mark finally explained. Penny wasn’t his daughter. She was his mother’s. Brenda had her late in life with some man who’d left. To avoid the “shame” in her small town, she’d told everyone the baby was Mark’s. He hadn’t cheated. The boulder in my stomach finally dissolved. But that night, I came out of the shower, ready for my wedding night, and found Mark asleep in our bed… with Penny curled up next to him. It was a “father-daughter” picture. It made my skin crawl. I woke him up. “Mark, can you take her to the guest room?” The second he moved, the kid whimpered and clung to him. He tried again. She started to cry. I gave up. I went and slept on the couch. (Brenda was in the guest room.) “Just a few days, Chloe, I promise,” he said the next morning. “I’ll make it up to you.” I just counted down the days. Finally, the day they were supposed to leave, I got up early, bought pastries, and was ready to drive them to the train station myself. “Mommy, I want milk!” Penny yelled, throwing a croissant on the table. I just slid a glass of milk in front of her. “Not THAT milk! I don’t want it!” She started banging her fists. “That’s the milk you wanted. We also have… yogurt?” I nudged Mark. He went and got it. She threw that on the floor, too. “Mom, you spoil her too much,” Mark sighed. Hearing him criticize her, Penny went nuclear. She grabbed a sausage link and threw it at my head. Before I could react, she dove into Brenda’s lap, hiked up her mom’s shirt, and… and started… My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head. She was five. And her sixty-year-old mother… I grabbed Mark and pulled him out of the room. I couldn’t unsee that. I told Mark he could take them to the station. But he didn’t. He came back that evening with flowers. “Babe, you’re a saint. These are for you.” “Thanks,” I said, taking them. “They’re on the train?” “Well…” “What! No! I am not doing this!”

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