Category: English

At one in the morning, I was jolted awake by a rapid-fire series of text notifications. It was from the mother of a boy in my son’s kindergarten class. She sent a photo of my son Leo’s arm. On it was a faint, shallow bite mark. The text that followed read: “Is this Leo’s mom? Did my Dylan bite your son today?” I figured she was texting to apologize, so I quickly replied that it was no big deal, that kids will be kids. I thought that would be the end of it. Then she sent another picture: a receipt from an emergency dental clinic. Confused, I was about to type a reply when my phone started ringing. It was her. “Leo’s mom,” she said, her voice sharp. “My Dylan chipped his front tooth when he bit your son. What are you going to do about this?” 1. The words chased the last remnants of sleep from my brain. A sharp pain started throbbing in my temples. Is this something a human being would actually say? I thought I must have misheard her. I pressed my forehead and asked for clarification. “Jessica, are you saying that your son bit my son, and because your son’s tooth got chipped in the process, you want me to be responsible?” “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Her voice on the other end was shrill and laced with an incredible, unearned arrogance. “What else would I mean? If your son’s arm wasn’t so tough, would my Dylan’s tooth have chipped? What kind of parents are you, anyway? Raising him to have skin like armor. What are you feeding him, gravel?” She was on a roll now. “Talking to people like you is a waste of time. I guess it’s true what they say, people with nothing going for them just pop out kids and don’t even teach them basic manners.” I was so angry I started to laugh. “Jessica, if you’re sick, go see a doctor. Don’t call me in the middle of the night to have a psychotic episode. My son was the one who got bitten. We weren’t going to make a big deal out of it, but now you’re coming after me?” She cut me off with a shriek. “Oh, so now you’re getting an attitude? You pathetic little nobody.” “Let me tell you, this isn’t over! Your son is responsible for my son’s chipped tooth and the severe emotional distress this has caused him. Tomorrow, I want you and your son on your knees, begging for forgiveness. Then we can put this behind us.” “Otherwise, I’ll be at that school every single day, making such a scene that your son will be forced to leave!” On our knees? She really thought she was somebody. I don’t respond well to threats. Wasting another word on a woman like this was pointless. “Your son bites people because you don’t have him on a leash. That has nothing to do with my son. Maybe you should spend less time harassing me and more time taking him to a vet.” I hung up and blocked her number. The rest of the night was sleepless. Having Leo in the same class as a kid like that was a ticking time bomb. I decided I would find a new school for him. The next morning, I brought up the idea of transferring. Leo’s little lip quivered, his eyes instantly welling up with tears. “But Mommy, I don’t want to change schools. Today is rehearsal for the class play! Me and Sophie are supposed to recite a poem together.” Seeing his heartbroken face, my resolve melted. Fine. One more day. What could happen? That woman, Jessica, was probably all bark and no bite. The school has teachers, security cameras everywhere. What could she possibly do? With that thought, my anxiety subsided. “Leo, if anyone, and I mean anyone, bothers you at school today, you call me immediately. Do you understand?” “Okay, Mommy! I’m going now!” Just in case, I sent a long text to his teacher, Ms. Davis, asking her to please keep an extra eye on Leo. With everything seemingly in order, I drove to work. My firm had just landed a major development project downtown, and I was buried in work. It wasn’t until two in the afternoon that I finally had a second to grab a drink of water. I opened my phone and habitually checked my texts with Ms. Davis. The last message was still the long one I had sent that morning. Usually, no matter how busy she was, she’d reply with a quick “Got it.” Today, there was nothing. The knot of anxiety I’d felt earlier returned, tighter than before. I called her cell. It went straight to a cold, robotic voice: “The number you have dialed has been turned off.” My heart sank. I tried calling Leo’s smartwatch. The result made my blood run cold. “We’re sorry, the number you are calling is currently unavailable.” 2. A powerful sense of dread seized me. I abandoned my half-eaten lunch, grabbed my keys, and sprinted out of the office, heading for the kindergarten. I burst through the main doors and nearly collided with Ms. Davis. I grabbed her arm. “Where is Leo?” “Leo’s mom, the children are on a field trip today for a day camp. Didn’t you know?” Ms. Davis’s face was arranged in its usual professional smile, but when she saw me, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes. I didn’t have time for her games. I demanded the address of the camp and turned to leave. “Leo’s mom, please don’t worry, the children are perfectly safe there, we have teachers watching them,” she called after me, but I was already peeling out of the parking lot. The day camp was in a large state park on the outskirts of the city. I followed the signs, searching every designated activity area—the playground, the picnic grounds, the nature center. Not only was Leo not there, but I didn’t see a single child from his class. I found a park ranger, who told me there were no kindergarten field trips scheduled for today at all. My blood turned to ice. “Where did you hide my son?!” I spun around to face Ms. Davis, who had just arrived. I grabbed the front of her shirt. “What did you do with my son?!” “Leo’s mom, please calm down. There are people here. Can’t we discuss this calmly?” “Yes, you’re being very aggressive. This isn’t helping anything,” another teacher said, joining her. They surrounded me, not to help me find my son, but to criticize my behavior. In their eyes, my missing child was somehow proof that I was the one being unreasonable. If he wasn’t in the activity areas, I would search elsewhere. The woods, the fields, the lake… I scoured the entire park like a madwoman. “Leo’s… Leo’s mom, if you don’t stop, we’re going to have to call the police!” one of the teachers threatened, her voice shaking. “Go ahead! Let’s see who they arrest when they get here!” That shut them up. Just then, I heard it. A muffled, suppressed cry. It was coming from an old, abandoned cabin on a small hill. The teachers’ faces went white. They exchanged terrified glances. “Leo’s mom, that area is off-limits! It’s dangerous! You can’t go over there!” I shook them off and ran towards the cabin. Their warnings were just noise. The only thing in my mind was getting through that door. It was locked from the inside. I threw my entire body against it, again and again, until the lock finally splintered. When I saw what was inside, I felt a murderous rage so intense I wanted to tear them all apart with my bare hands. My Leo, my precious baby, was kneeling on the floor. His hands and feet were tied to a thick wooden pole. A woman was holding his head, forcing him to bow it to the ground in front of another boy. “Get your hands off him!” Leo heard my voice and started crying harder, struggling against his bonds. I lunged towards my son, but a group of people—other parents—surged forward, forming a human wall between us. The woman in the center, the one holding my son, stood up slowly. I recognized her. It was Dylan’s mother, Jessica. “Leo’s mom, I warned you last night,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “I told you to teach your son some manners. You didn’t listen. So I guess I have to do it for you.” As she spoke, she shoved my son’s head down again, hard, against the cold wooden floor. Leo’s forehead was already a mess of purple bruises. His lip was split and he was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. I could barely breathe. My sweet boy, who I had never even raised my voice to, was being tortured. “Leo’s mom, don’t be so dramatic,” Ms. Davis said, blocking my path with a ridiculously earnest expression. “Jessica is just teaching Leo a valuable lesson about respect.” “That’s right,” another parent chimed in. “This is a community. We can’t have one child ruining it for everyone. Why shouldn’t he be held responsible for chipping another boy’s tooth? If he gets away with it, it sets a bad example for our children. Can you take responsibility for that?” I can understand some parents being ignorant. But the teachers? They were educated professionals. How could they stand by and let this happen? 3. I tried to push through them, but there were too many. Jessica had come prepared. There were at least a dozen other parents she had rallied. They linked arms, and I couldn’t break through. My eyes were burning with tears of rage. “Let my son go! This is child abuse! It’s a felony!” Leo’s head was swelling, and his breaths were ragged. But he tried to be brave for me. “Mommy… it doesn’t hurt… I’m a big boy.” Jessica let out a cold laugh. “You hear that? Your son himself says it doesn’t hurt.” She turned back to Leo. “Okay, sweetie, you’ve apologized. Now, if you just crack open these ten walnuts with your forehead, I’ll let your mommy off the hook. She won’t have to get on her knees.” “Really, ma’am? You promise?” Leo asked, his voice small. “NO!” I shrieked. “Leo, don’t listen to her! Mommy said no!” Leo hesitated, his little mouth clamping shut. The next second, Jessica grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. Another parent rushed to pin his arms. Leo let out a piercing scream of pain. “You monsters! Let him go! If anything happens to him, I swear to God, none of you are walking out of here!” “I already called the police on my way here! They’ll be here any minute! Every single one of you can look forward to having this on your permanent record!” That gave them pause. The human wall wavered. I saw an opening and was about to charge through when Jessica laughed again. “The police? And who do you think they’ll listen to? In this city, the Harrison family calls the shots!” She gave a smug smile. “So you can all stop worrying. In fact, if you help me keep this crazy woman under control, I’ll have my Mark send a few projects your companies’ way. A thank you, from me.” The Harrison family? Mark? Mark Harrison! That’s my husband’s name! Since when was he her Mark? My mind reeled. A few of the parents, hearing the promise of business deals, lit up. One man lunged forward, grabbed my hair, and slapped me hard across the face. “That’s for messing with Mrs. Harrison!” Jessica’s smile widened. The others took their cue, pushing and shoving me. I was a rag doll in the middle of a vicious mob. I screamed, my voice raw. “She’s a liar! She’s not Mrs. Harrison! I AM!” Leo was on the verge of passing out, his small body limp. “Leo’s mom, lying isn’t a good habit,” Ms. Davis sneered. “No wonder your son is so badly behaved. He learned it from you.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I spun around and slapped her across the face. “You shut your mouth!” “You don’t believe me? I can video call Mark right now!” Jessica sauntered over, her eyes full of contempt. “A video call? In the age of deepfakes? Please. You want to prove who you are? You’ll need more than that. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you’ve been ‘calling the police’ for a while now. Do you see any cops?” It had been almost two hours since I called 911. Even with a slow response time… My heart sank into a black pit. She savored my expression. “Let me be clear. The Harrisons have had this whole park cleared out. No one is coming to save you. Unless… you have your precious son crack this entire basket of walnuts. Otherwise, neither of you is leaving.” She gestured to a man in a suit standing by the door. “Mr. Evans, bring in the ‘dessert’ I prepared for Leo.” The man walked in. When I saw his face, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. It was Mr. Evans, Mark’s most trusted executive assistant. 4. I couldn’t process why he was with Jessica. All I could think about was saving Leo. I scrambled towards him and grabbed his sleeve. “Mr. Evans, please! You have to help us! Get us out of here!” He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger and pried my fingers off his arm, one by one. “My apologies, madam. I only take orders from Mrs. Harrison.” I felt a chill spread through my entire body. Mrs. Harrison. Jessica. A thousand little details suddenly clicked into place. The late nights “at the office.” The strange business trips. The ‘LW’ necklace he wore, which he claimed was his mother’s, Loretta’s. It stood for Lin Wei, Jessica’s name in Chinese. No, in English it’s Jessica… was it Jessica Williams? JW? Or… wait, her name was Lin Wei. LW. He had told me her name was Jessica. She was Chinese-American. The necklace was LW. For Lin Wei. A lie within a lie. And what about me? Our eight years of marriage, building his company from nothing… what was all that? Seeing my devastation, Jessica burst out laughing. “Some people just can’t accept their place in the world. Always dreaming of a life they don’t deserve. Tell me, Leo’s mom, do you still insist you’re the real Mrs. Harrison?” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please… Mrs…. Mrs. Harrison… have mercy on my son. I’ll teach him better, I promise.” My knees gave out, and I knelt on the floor in front of her. Even though Mark and I were legally married, Leo’s life was on the line. I couldn’t provoke her further. The more I humbled myself, the more she would gloat. And maybe, just maybe, Leo would suffer a little less. “Like mother, like son,” she sneered. “Trash begets trash.” “Mrs. Harrison, don’t let her off so easy!” one of the other parents shouted. “Her son chipped a tooth today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow! He’ll probably become a school shooter! And she wasted so much of our time! You need to teach her a lesson!” Someone kicked me hard in the back. A coppery taste filled my mouth, and I coughed up a spray of blood onto the floor, splattering Leo’s broken smartwatch. The thought of him, trying desperately to call me for help… my heart felt like it was being shredded. “Since you all feel so strongly about it,” Jessica announced, “I’ll do you all a favor. For every walnut this little bastard cracks, I’ll give you one hundred thousand dollars.” I looked up, my eyes bloodshot. She was going to kill him. “No! He’s just a child! He’ll die!” But my voice was drowned out by the greedy shouts of the parents. They swarmed around Leo, a pack of vultures. He cried out in terror as they pushed and shoved him, his small voice quickly lost in their taunts. “I am Ava Prescott! My father is the chairman of the Prescott Group! If you stop now, I can forget this ever happened. Otherwise, I will hold every single one of you accountable!” Ms. Davis laughed. “Leo’s mom, that lie wasn’t believable the first time. Why would it be the second?” “Mrs. Harrison,” another parent suggested, “I think we should just knock all of the little brat’s teeth out. That’ll stop him from growing up to be a liar like his mother.” Jessica smiled. “An excellent suggestion. I’ll do it for free.” She pulled a small hammer from her purse and crouched down next to my son. “NO! JESSICA, YOU PSYCHO, STOP!” Leo was barely conscious, a broken doll in their hands. He heard my voice and struggled to open his eyes, to look for me. But I was pinned to the floor, helpless, forced to watch. Jessica kicked Leo hard in the ribs, then pried his mouth open. She raised the hammer. Just as she was about to bring it down, the door to the cabin was kicked open from the outside. “What the hell is going on in here?” The man standing there… it was Mark.

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The driver of the car that hit me was Carter Hayes’s first love. When Carter arrived at the scene, she let out a sigh of relief. “My boyfriend’s here,” she announced to me. “Just tell his assistant what you want for compensation.” Carter wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. Then his brow furrowed as he stared at my bleeding knee, his gaze lingering for a long time. Her voice was uncertain. “Do you two… know each other?” Carter’s expression shuttered. He took her hand and led her away. “No.” I sat quietly on the curb, applying a Band-Aid, showing no reaction to his words. After all, the first clause in the prenuptial agreement he’d given me three years ago was that our marriage would remain a secret. I couldn’t get a cab during the morning rush. As I limped my way to the office, a single thought echoed in my mind. My three-year contract marriage with Carter Hayes was about to expire. I could finally leave. 1 I always knew Carter had someone he could never forget—the one that got away. I just didn’t know it was the woman who’d just run a red light and hit me. I didn’t realize it until Carter showed up. For a split second, I froze, my stupid heart thinking he was there for me. But the woman in front of me, Serena, scrambled to her feet. The hem of her white dress fluttered as she ran and threw herself into his arms. “Carter, what do I do? I hit someone.” He took off his tailored blazer and draped it over her trembling shoulders. His voice was the same as always—a low, calm baritone. “I’ll handle it.” I slowly dragged my eyes away from them and stared down at my scraped knee. It belatedly dawned on me why Carter had been coming home so rarely these past few weeks. The woman in his arms, his first love, Serena Croft, was back in the country. 2 Serena visibly relaxed. She stepped out of his embrace and looked back at me. “My boyfriend’s here,” she repeated. “Whatever compensation you want, just talk to his assistant.” She gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m so, so sorry about this. I’ve made you late for work and gotten you hurt.” Then she added, with a touch of pride, “Don’t be afraid to ask for anything. My boyfriend is very rich. He’ll agree to whatever you want.” “Thank you,” I murmured. Carter’s assistant, David, looked deeply uncomfortable. He was one of the very few people who knew about our marriage. “Mrs. Hayes… uh, I mean, Miss,” he stammered. “That, uh…” His eyes fell on my knee. “Why is your wound still bleeding like that? It’s been half an hour.” He looked concerned. “Do you have some kind of bleeding disorder?” I nodded. “It’s very mild.” Carter’s head snapped in our direction, his voice a low rumble. “A bleeding disorder?” “What’s wrong?” Serena asked, confused. He didn’t seem to hear her. His gaze was fixed on my knee, his brow tightly knit. Serena finally sensed that something was off. She looked from my face to Carter’s, her expression turning to suspicion. “Do you two know each other?” I knew he would never let her find out he had a secret wife. He blinked, schooling his features back into a neutral mask. “No.” He took Serena’s hand and, as he turned to leave, tossed a casual order to David over his shoulder. “Take her to a hospital.” 3 As their figures receded, I stopped David. “I’ve already called an Uber,” I said. “Just cover my lost wages for the day, please. Two hundred and thirty-seven dollars.” David, looking utterly mortified, transferred the money and left. I stuck a large bandage over my knee. Unfortunately, my Uber driver called to cancel, stuck in a massive traffic jam. I pushed myself up from the curb and began the slow, painful walk to my office. Today was September 28th. I had exactly two months until my contract with Carter was up. It was time to start planning my exit. 4 Carter had paid for my education since I was in high school. When I got into a university in his city, he became my legal guardian. During my junior year, I interned at his company for three months. Serena was already overseas getting her master’s degree by then, so I knew nothing about her. Carter took me under his wing, teaching me the ins and outs of the corporate world. He was a man who rarely showed emotion, but I remember one evening, when a sleazy investor got handsy with me at a business dinner, Carter kicked the man square in the chest. Then, he took an empty wine bottle and pressed it into my hand. He stood behind me, his body shielding mine, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Do you know what today’s lesson is?” His scent, a cool, woody fragrance, enveloped me. I forced myself to breathe shallowly, to stay calm. “You’re… you’re teaching me to fight back at the right moment. To maintain control of the situation instead of…” His large, warm hand closed over mine, gripping the bottle. “Good student,” he murmured, “but this isn’t a word problem. There’s no textbook answer.” He guided my hand, raising it high. “It’s just a fight.” CRASH. The bottle shattered against the investor’s head. The impact vibrated up my arm. Carter pulled the silk pocket square from his blazer and gently wiped the sweat from my palm. “Don’t ever forget,” he said softly. “I’m here to back you up. Don’t let anyone push you around.” I snatched my hand back, mumbled that I understood, and ran. Any longer, and he would have seen the adoration in my eyes. 5 Before my senior year graduation, Carter came to me with a proposal. A contract. He needed a marriage of convenience to get his parents off his back. The term was three years. The conditions were simple: our marriage was to be kept a secret from everyone. I would occasionally accompany him to family functions. We were not required to fulfill any spousal duties. We were not responsible for each other’s lives. I could even date, as long as it wasn’t public enough to get back to his parents. At the end of the contract, I would receive five million dollars. 6 Maybe it was the intoxicating feeling of being in love for the first time. Maybe it was Carter’s occasional indulgence that made me bold. After we were married, I moved into the new villa he’d bought. The highlight of my day was waiting for him to come home from work. We’d eat together, talk. Sometimes we’d watch a movie or go for a walk. Then one night, he came home drunk, draped over his female executive assistant. His arm was around her shoulders, his face buried in the crook of her neck. “Mrs. Hayes, please step aside,” she said coolly. “I need to get Mr. Hayes inside.” A hot, ugly feeling coiled in my gut. I didn’t move. I held out my hands. “I’ll take my husband.” As I supported Carter’s weight and turned to close the door, the assistant smiled thinly. “You should learn to be more magnanimous, Mrs. Hayes. A woman with such a jealous streak will only make herself miserable. You don’t expect him to fire every woman at his company just for you, do you?” I didn’t realize Carter was still conscious enough to hear her. Or to notice the raw emotion on my face. When I brought out the hot tea I’d made for his hangover, he was leaning against the sofa, his eyes sharp and clear. “I’m awake,” he said. “Drink this,” I mumbled, pushing the cup toward him. “It’ll help.” I was still fuming about him and his assistant and didn’t want to talk. He glanced at the tea but didn’t touch it. Instead, he asked me a question out of the blue. “Do you know why I’ve never let you in my study?” I shook my head, confused. He stood up and took my hand, leading me down the hall. His steps were unsteady, but when I tried to support him, he shook his head. He pushed open the study door. A massive canvas dominated the room. It was a painting of a girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, standing in a field of flowers, her head bowed as she smelled a blossom. From that angle, you could only see half of her face. It was why I hadn’t recognized Serena at first glance. Carter leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette. “I’ve been in love with her since I was seventeen,” he said, his voice flat. “For ten years now. If we hadn’t fought, if she hadn’t left for Europe in a fit of anger, she would be the one I’m married to now.” His tone was casual, but every word was a hammer blow against my eardrums. He seemed oblivious to my reaction. He cut straight to the point. “I can’t give you the response you’re looking for. So, Elara, it’s best not to have feelings that you shouldn’t.” He used his boardroom voice, the one he used during negotiations. “I’m adding a supplementary clause to our agreement. If you cannot manage your own emotions and overstep your boundaries into my personal affairs, it will be considered a breach of contract. A breach means you forfeit the payment and will be liable for corresponding damages.” The study was dark. The light from the hallway cast a long rectangle on the floor in front of me. I saw my own shadow, frozen like a statue. I couldn’t move. Inappropriately, I remembered something I’d heard him say once at the office, about a greedy business partner. “The way they test the boundaries, so desperate and obvious… it’s nauseating.” Now, I was one of those people who made him sick. I don’t know when he left. I just stood there. I stood until the sun came up. I stood until the toxic lump in my chest finally dissolved. After that day, I managed myself perfectly. I never let a single inappropriate emotion show. Cool, polite, respectful. That’s all he got from me. And after a while, I think I really, truly stopped loving him. 7 I found an urgent care clinic to clean and bandage my leg, then texted my manager to take a sick day. With nothing else pressing, I went to the hospital to see my mom. “They haven’t been able to schedule me with the specialist, so I should just go home,” she was saying as I walked in. “We’re just wasting money, honey.” My mom has a brain tumor. It’s in a very tricky location. There are fewer than three surgeons in the entire country who can perform the operation. I popped a piece of pear into her mouth to stop her from talking. “Absolutely not. Remember what happened last time you tried to go down to the third floor for a scan by yourself? You fainted.” I lowered my voice. “Besides, I heard that one of the top neurosurgeons, Dr. Finch, is going to be doing a guest residency here for the next two months.” My mom’s primary doctor had promised to get us an appointment the moment he arrived. The thought that she might soon be cured made my steps feel lighter as I went to the cafeteria to get lunch. The head nurse stopped me in the hallway, her expression hesitant. “Elara…” “What is it, Maggie?” I asked. “Did a private room open up?” This was one of the best hospitals in the country, and even the private rooms were always full. My mom was in an eight-person ward with no private bathroom. I’d asked the head nurse to keep an eye out for me. She sighed. “One did. And I put your name on it right away. But a new patient came in, someone with serious connections. They gave the room to her mom instead.” She lowered her voice. “I heard her boyfriend’s last name is Hayes, runs some huge corporation… the hospital didn’t want to say no.” At that exact moment, I saw a flash of white at the end of the hall. The same white dress Serena had been wearing this morning. I looked away and forced a smile for the nurse. “Thank you for trying, Maggie. The room isn’t what’s important. I just want my mom to get her surgery.” 8 When I got home that evening, Carter was standing by the espresso machine. I paused. I was surprised he wasn’t with Serena. Not that it was any of my business. I gave a slight nod. “Mr. Hayes.” I was about to go to my room when he spoke. “How’s the knee?” “I put some antiseptic on it. It’s fine.” He set down his coffee cup and glanced at his watch. “I need you to come with me to my parents’ for dinner tonight. Are you free?” He didn’t need to ask so politely. According to our contract, I had to be free. I nodded. “Yes.” For a family dinner, I couldn’t dress in my usual simple clothes. I chose a designer pantsuit, did my makeup, put on jewelry, and sprayed a light perfume. Polished from head to toe. At the door to his parents’ house, I slipped my arm through his, a familiar gesture. Inside, I smiled obediently and greeted each of his relatives. During dinner, Carter’s mother asked without warning, “So, are you two trying for a baby yet?” I choked on my soup. Carter handed me a napkin and patted my back gently. “Elara’s still young, Mom.” “She’s twenty-five,” his mother countered. “That’s not young. It’s time to start thinking about these things, you hear me?” I managed to swallow. “I understand, Mom.” A thunderstorm started after dinner, and we had to stay the night. We shared a bed, but with separate comforters. The arrangement was familiar enough not to be awkward anymore. I came out of the bathroom in my nightgown and sat on the sofa to re-dress my knee. Carter looked over. “Sorry I couldn’t take you to the hospital myself today.” He seemed to be trying to figure out how to explain Serena. I cut him off first. “It’s fine. The contract doesn’t require you to fulfill any husbandly duties. Don’t worry about it. I also won’t ask about you and Miss Croft. Rest assured, I won’t reveal our arrangement to her. I’ll continue to play my part for the next two months.” He raised an eyebrow. “Two months?” It seemed he’d forgotten. “Yes,” I reminded him. “In two months, the contract expires, and we can get a divorce.” He set down his wine glass, his interest fading. “You seem to have the date memorized.” With that flat comment, he walked into the bathroom. 9 My mom’s doctor called. Dr. Finch was arriving in two weeks. His consultation slots were released online and filled up in seconds. But my mom’s case was urgent. The doctor had personally appealed to the hospital administrator and secured an extra appointment for us. For the next two weeks, I went to the hospital every day after work. One afternoon, I was waiting for the elevator when the doors opened and Carter and Serena stepped in. Serena didn’t recognize me. Carter’s step faltered for a fraction of a second. As the elevator ascended, Serena clung to his arm. “Thank you, my amazing boyfriend, for getting my mom the best room and pushing her scans to the front of the line. Now we just have to wait for the results. How can I ever thank you? Hmm, maybe I’ll let you take me to dinner.” I stared straight ahead at the floor numbers. After a moment, I heard him ask, “What do you want to eat?” “Let’s go to your place!” she chirped. “I want you to make me your famous pasta!” The elevator stopped at my floor. I walked out without hearing his answer. I didn’t need to. He would never say no to her. It looked like I’d be staying at a hotel tonight. 10 After dinner with my mom, I checked into a nearby hotel. I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. I was in a deep fog when my phone rang. It was Carter. “Hello…?” “When are you coming home? I cooked dinner. I’m waiting for you.” I mumbled into my pillow, “Aren’t you… with Serena…? I didn’t want to run into you two… I’ll just stay out for the night…” His voice hardened. “Don’t make assumptions. Give me the hotel address. I’ll come get you.” I was so tired, the request just made me irritable. I rolled over in the blankets. “No, Carter. I’m already asleep. Don’t bother me…” There was a silence on the other end, then his tone softened, a hint of amusement in it. “Are you always this grumpy when you’re woken up?” In my half-conscious state, I wasn’t afraid of him. I made an annoyed sound. I could have sworn I heard a soft chuckle before he spoke again. “Alright, you sleep. I won’t disturb you.” The line went dead, and I was asleep again. 11 The next day, I’d mostly forgotten the call, except for the bold way I’d used his first name. When he called again, I assumed it was to reprimand me. “Is there something you need, Mr. Hayes?” I asked cautiously. There was a long pause. “Nothing,” he finally said, his voice flat. “I just forgot to ask yesterday. What were you doing at the hospital?” I kept my answer brief, not wanting him to think I was asking for help. “My mom’s a patient there. It’s nothing serious, she should be out soon.” “I see,” he said. “If you need anything, contact David.” I thanked him politely but dismissed the offer. That supplementary clause had conditioned me well. Asking Carter for help was overstepping. I couldn’t do it. He didn’t hang up. “Mr. Hayes?” I asked. “Was there something else?” I could hear the faint, rhythmic tapping of his finger against a desk. A habit of his on the phone. “I was just wondering what time you usually take a nap,” he said idly. “…What?” “So I know when to call you in the future.” I had no idea what he was talking about. Was this some new form of corporate torture? 12 Dr. Finch was scheduled to hold consultations on the 17th, from 2 to 5 PM. We had the last slot. I saw Serena at the hospital again, this time alone. Carter had flown out for a business trip on the 13th and wouldn’t be back for a week. On the morning of the 17th, I saw her chatting with a nurse. “My mom’s results are only partially back,” she said, biting into an apple, “but the administrator told me not to worry, it’s probably nothing.” The nurse smiled briefly. “That’s great. Maybe you should go for a walk? We’re a bit busy preparing for Dr. Finch’s consultations this afternoon.” Serena ignored the hint. “A doctor? What doctor?” “He’s a top expert in neuro-oncology,” the nurse explained. “All his slots are full. But your mother’s case is completely different, she doesn’t need to see him.” Serena took another bite of her apple, a thoughtful look on her face. “Is that so…” A knot of anxiety formed in my stomach. But her mother’s condition wasn’t serious, and it wasn’t even in Dr. Finch’s specialty. Surely, she wouldn’t try to take a spot. I was wrong. At 2:30 PM, my mom’s doctor pulled me aside, her face grave. “We lost the appointment.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A roaring in my ears made the world spin. “It was taken by the girlfriend of the CEO of Hayes Corp,” she said, her brow furrowed in frustration. “I told her that her mother’s condition is something I can easily handle, but she wouldn’t listen. She insisted on getting a ‘second opinion’ from the best, just to be safe.” I leaned against the wall to keep from falling. “Can’t they add one more slot?” “There’s no time. Dr. Finch has another engagement at 5:30.” I dug my nails into my palms, the pain keeping me grounded. I immediately called Carter. His phone was off, probably in a meeting. The clock was ticking. I couldn’t hesitate. I rushed home, grabbed my marriage certificate, and raced back to the hospital. It was almost 4 PM. My doctor took me to the hospital administrator’s office. Before I could speak, he held up a hand. “Miss, there’s nothing I can do. The remaining appointments are for very high-profile patients.” I pushed the marriage certificate across his desk, breathless. “I am Carter Hayes’s wife. You can verify that this document is authentic. I’m not here to take someone else’s spot. I’m here to reclaim the one that was stolen from me.” 13 I got the appointment back. We scheduled the surgery with Dr. Finch for twenty days later. I asked the administrator and the doctor to keep my identity a secret, but it was no use against Serena. She cornered me as I was leaving the hospital that evening. Her eyes met mine, and she frowned. Then a slow, sharp smile spread across her face. “I remember you. You’re the girl I hit with my car. No wonder Carter was so concerned about your ‘bleeding disorder.’” I looked down. “I wouldn’t have done this if you hadn’t taken my appointment. My relationship with him isn’t what you think. I can explain.” She held up a hand. “I just want to see the marriage certificate.” Her tone turned menacing. “Because if you don’t show me, I swear I will make such a scene in this hospital that your mother will never have a moment’s peace, let alone surgery.” I had no choice. I showed her. Serena’s smile never wavered. She nodded, handed it back, and immediately dialed Carter’s number. He must have just finished his meeting. “Carter, you have a wife.” There was a pause. “Who told you that?” he asked, his voice low. Her eyes, filling with tears, were locked on mine. “How could you humiliate me like this?” she announced to the phone. “We’re over.” She hung up and walked away. I took a step to follow, but she spoke without turning around. “Don’t you dare follow me. You’re pathetic, letting your husband cheat on you. Don’t make me get physical with you in front of a hospital.” 14 Carter rejected a dozen of my calls. I texted him an explanation, but he never replied. He returned to the US on the 20th but didn’t come back to the villa until the 25th. The five days in between were, presumably, spent winning Serena back. The night before he came home, I saw her post on Instagram. She was in Hong Kong. The photo was of Carter’s back, wearing a hotel bathrobe, looking out over the glittering Victoria Harbour. The caption read: Love or a title, which is more important? It seemed she already had her answer. Today, Carter was here to settle the score. I was braced for his anger, but he didn’t even look at me. He tossed his coat aside and sat on the sofa, lighting a cigarette. “Do you remember our agreement?” His voice was calm, which was somehow more terrifying than if he’d been yelling. “If you had considered our contract before revealing our marriage, none of this would have happened.” I tried to defend myself. “It was because Serena stole my mom’s appointment, and the doctor said—” He cut me off smoothly. “Does your mother have anything to do with me?” I fell silent, staring at him. His voice was perfectly cool. “Why should I have to consider your mother’s situation? Excuses are pointless. The fact is, you breached the contract.” All my arguments died in my throat. I nodded mechanically. “I’m sorry… I’ll accept the consequences.” I waited for my sentence. The silence was broken by his phone ringing. It was Serena. Even without speakerphone, her voice was clear. “I did some digging on your little wife, Carter. She’s in love with you.” I stood frozen, beyond embarrassment. “Do you know what that means?” Serena laughed. “It means she stole that appointment on purpose. Her mom probably isn’t even that sick. She was just jealous of me and wanted to cause trouble.” My head snapped up, my heart seizing. Serena delivered the final verdict. “Get that surgery appointment back for my mother. I doubt her mom will die if she doesn’t see this one specific doctor.” Her casual words shattered my composure. I collapsed to my knees beside him, my hand trembling as I reached for his sleeve. “No, that’s not true, I wasn’t lying,” I sobbed, my words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “My mom’s surgery… no one else can do it, you can check… I’m begging you, please don’t take it away, you can do anything you want to me, just… just don’t hurt my mom…” Carter’s brow furrowed. He grabbed my wrist. “Elara, calm down. Listen to me.” But I couldn’t hear him. The tension of the past few weeks snapped. I was hysterical, babbling apologies and pleas. And then, everything went black. “Elara.” “Elara?” The last thing I heard was his voice, laced with something that sounded like panic. The conversation faded. I felt myself being lifted into someone’s arms. Serena’s voice was a faint, tinny sneer from the phone. “She fainted? Are you sure she’s not faking it?” And Carter’s voice, sharp with rage: “Serena!”

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It began with an apple pie I baked, which sent Serena’s daughter to the ER. My husband, Alistair Vance, summoned us to the hospital. In the hallway, his men forced my head toward the pie, now a mess on the floor. “Eat this filth,” he commanded, “and I might forgive you.” I refused. Calmly, Alistair then fed a shrimp to our three-year-old daughter, Annie, who is deathly allergic. She eagerly swallowed it. Her reaction was immediate and violent—welts, swelling, convulsions. Anaphylactic shock. I begged him to call a doctor, but he let her collapse to the floor in disgust. “Now you know how Serena felt,” he hissed. “Save her by eating.” That night, I got on my knees and licked the filth like a dog while Annie fought for her life in surgery. After two weeks alone outside the ICU, I left with nothing but my recovering daughter. “Serena can have her title back,” I vowed. “And she can have Alistair, too.” 1 “Thirty million dollars to buy out my marriage to Alistair. After that, your daughter and her love child can waltz into the Vance family, no questions asked. It’s a good deal, don’t you think?” I stood by the hospital window, watching the happy little family of three on the lawn below, my voice devoid of emotion. The woman across from me flinched, her hand jerking as she wrote the check, accidentally adding another zero. I took the check from her hand, a sliver of the darkness in my soul receding. Three hundred million dollars. It wasn’t just buying out a failed marriage; it was severing the twisted, poisonous bond of blood between me and the Reed family. My mother—our mother—shot me a disdainful look, clearly disgusted by my greed. “Your father and I never deprived you of anything, yet you’ve always been so… unrefined. It’s no wonder Serena is so much more beloved. And Chloe is not a love child. She is Serena’s daughter, a treasure of the Reed family.” A bitter, mocking smile touched my lips. I ignored her, picked up my daughter, and turned to leave. “Alistair has me blocked, so I can’t reach him directly. But by the family gala this Saturday, at the latest, he will have signed the divorce papers.” A chill ran down my spine as I stepped out of the hospital. My phone buzzed. A new post from Serena. “Love is the reward for the brave. Three years ago, I wasn’t brave enough and let you go to someone else. Thank god I found my courage three years later, and you were still waiting for me.” The accompanying photo was of her, her daughter, and Alistair, their faces pressed close together in a happy selfie. Annie stirred in my arms, her voice weak. “Mommy, why do Auntie and Chloe get to take pretty pictures with Daddy? Daddy said he hates pictures.” Her sad little question was a dull ache in my chest. In her entire life, Annie had never had a single photo taken with her father. Because Alistair didn’t like it. In fact, he despised it. I scrolled through Serena’s feed. Post after post, filled with smiling photos of the three of them. Every caption was a declaration of their perfect happiness. She had even tagged me in this latest one, just to make sure I’d see it. I locked my phone and stroked my daughter’s hair. “Maybe… maybe it’s because Daddy loves them, sweetheart.” Alistair loved Serena. He had loved her since they were children. I was the intruder, the obstacle they could never quite overcome. I had been his wife for three years, a perfect, devoted homemaker, and his heart had remained a fortress. “So… Daddy doesn’t take pictures with us because he doesn’t love me and Mommy?” My mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t come. How could I tell my child the simple, brutal truth? An unknown number flashed on my screen. I answered. Alistair’s voice, cold and commanding, cut through the line. “I’m sending you an address. Go there and pick up the gown Serena needs for tonight.” “No.” A flicker of annoyance. “Elara, you don’t have the right to refuse.” My heart sank. My eyes fell on the faint scar peeking out from under Annie’s collar, a permanent reminder of the emergency intubation. Two weeks ago, Serena had a sudden craving for apple pie. Alistair called and told me to bake one and deliver it to the Reed estate. He failed to mention that Serena’s daughter, Chloe, was allergic to apples. So when Chloe eagerly took the box from me, I simply turned and left. I had no idea that simple act would make me the laughingstock of our entire social circle and nearly cost my daughter her life. In the two weeks Annie was in the hospital, fighting for every breath, Alistair never visited, never even called. He was right. I had usurped Serena’s place. The old me wouldn’t have dared to refuse his command. But the old me was gone. I was about to give her place back. I had seen the gown in Serena’s posts. A custom couture piece Alistair had commissioned for tonight’s event—the annual Reed family gala. It was a major affair, filled with relatives, friends, and business partners. It was also the night my parents planned to officially sign over all their assets to Serena. At three o’clock the next afternoon, I arrived at Alistair’s private penthouse with the gown. His assistant blocked my path, his face a cold mask. “Mr. Vance and Ms. Reed are busy. They are not to be disturbed.” The door was slightly ajar. I could hear Serena’s breathless moans, Alistair’s own excited, guttural whispers of her name. I understood. I was used to it. Ever since Serena returned, this was their new normal. At first, he’d brought her to the house where Annie and I lived. I’d find evidence of their passion everywhere—the bedroom, the kitchen counter, the balcony. After a massive fight, he’d bought this penthouse specifically for their trysts. He spent twenty-five nights a month here. I don’t know how long I stood there before the sounds from inside finally ceased. I shifted my weight, trying to work the feeling back into my numb legs. “Can I go in now?” The assistant frowned, looking torn. From the look on his face, they were probably just taking a short break. I was about to leave the gown and go when Serena herself appeared at the door, calling my name. I turned. Even though I was accustomed to their affair, the sight of the fresh marks on her skin was still a sharp, unavoidable sting. No one knew that for a brief, fleeting time, I had actually loved Alistair. It was during my pregnancy. For those few months, his usual coldness had vanished. He would wrap his arms around me as I read on the sofa and kiss my hair. He would bring me flowers or small, beautifully wrapped gifts on his way home from work. And in the dark of night, he would hold me and whisper, “Elara… from now on, let’s just be happy together.” I had believed him. Then, the day my water broke, Serena, who was living abroad, went into premature labor. Alistair went mad with worry. He and his parents booked the first flight out of the country, leaving me to give birth alone. When he returned, he brought Serena with him. And their… love child. “Elara? You’re coming to the gala tonight, right? I’m sure Mom and Dad have something to give you, too!” Serena linked her arm through mine, her voice sweet. The cloying, metallic scent of sex clung to her. I subtly pulled my arm free. “I’m not going.” “Why not? Are you still mad at me and my parents for what happened back then?” Tears instantly welled in her eyes. Alistair emerged from the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Seeing Serena’s tears, he shot me a dark look. “What happened back then was your own damn fault, Elara. You have no one to blame but yourself. Tonight is Serena’s night. It’s a family gala. As her sister, as the second daughter of this family, you have no reason not to be there.” There it was again. I took a deep breath, an unnameable bitterness filling my chest. “Alistair, do you have any idea what people in our circle are saying about me?” The video of me, on the floor of a public hospital, licking a vomit-soaked apple pie, had gone viral. “They’re saying I’m no better than a stray dog.” The same people who shared that video would be at the gala tonight. My presence would be nothing more than a sideshow for their amusement. “And Annie,” I added, my voice tight, “she was just discharged today. She’s not fully recovered. I need to be with her.” Alistair faltered, his expression unreadable for a moment. “What they’re saying is out of line, but you brought this on yourself, didn’t you? If you hadn’t deliberately given that pie to Chloe, knowing she was allergic, I never would have come after you. You’ve always been cheap. You drugged your own brother-in-law and crawled into his bed. What are a few words compared to that?” His voice hardened. “And it was just a simple allergic reaction. Does she really need to be in the hospital for so long? You’re making the child soft.” “She is not soft—” He cut me off. “Enough! I’ll arrange for someone to look after Annie. Tonight is important to Serena. I will not allow a single member of the Reed family to be absent.” I was silenced. When we arrived at the Reed estate, Alistair and Serena got out of the car first. Their daughter, Chloe, ran out to greet them in a pale green princess dress. Alistair swept her up into his arms, then took Serena’s hand. They walked ahead, a perfect, happy family. I followed behind them in silence. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how it always should have been. Guests swarmed them, and Alistair and Serena greeted them with easy grace. I tried to shrink into a corner, but it was no use. “Is that her? Elara Reed? The one who stole her own sister’s fiancé? Did you see that video? God, the wife of Alistair Vance, on all fours like an animal in a hospital. Unbelievable.” “And that daughter of hers… lost control of everything. So foul, so disgusting.” “What’s so surprising? If I were Alistair, I’d hate her and that little bastard, too. The Vances are saints for even letting a woman like that into their family.” “That’s not the story I heard. I heard she conveniently ‘forgot’ her birth control to trap him. You think a man as devoted to Serena as Alistair would have married anyone else otherwise? Especially not some scheming social climber.” Their words dragged me back four years, to a night of darkness and confusion, the phantom pain of being torn apart still echoing in my body. Four years ago, my sister Serena was engaged to Alistair Vance, the sole heir to the Vance fortune and her childhood sweetheart. As her only sibling, I was summoned from the rural hellhole I’d been raised in to attend the wedding. But my first night in the Reed mansion was not a peaceful one. I was woken by a bucket of ice water, my eyes meeting a gaze filled with utter loathing. The hours that followed were a blur of my sister’s tears and my parents’ accusations and blows. By morning, Serena had dramatically called off the wedding, pushed the bridal duties onto me, and fled the country. And just like that, the entire trajectory of my life had been violently altered. Serena noticed my pale face and came over, her voice dripping with false concern. Alistair stood behind her, his gaze on me heavy with meaning. He had heard the gossip too. I pushed her hand away and forced myself to walk into the main hall. My father stood in the center of the room, beaming. “From this day forward, I am officially entrusting the entirety of the Reed family enterprise to my daughter, Serena! She is still young, so I trust you all will offer her your guidance and support.” The room erupted in applause. Serena tilted her head back, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Daddy. I will work hard and do my best to learn.” At the peak of the celebration, the butler announced, “Mrs. Vance, Senior, has arrived with a gift!” Alistair’s mother swept in, her face wreathed in smiles. Alistair opened the gift box she presented: it was filled with gold jewelry and the deed to a private island villa. “Serena, my dear, congratulations! I suppose I’ll have to call you Ms. Reed, the CEO, from now on.” Mrs. Vance took Serena’s hand, cooing over her. Alistair watched them, the love in his eyes overflowing. While they celebrated, the Vance family butler quietly pulled me aside. “The Madam has decided to combine next week’s Vance family dinner with tonight’s gala. She also requests that you return with her to the family estate tonight, so you can pay respects at the ancestral shrine tomorrow morning.” I froze, my hands trembling at my sides. Just then, a loud voice cut through the party chatter. “The Reeds and the Vances have both given Serena such wonderful gifts. What about the second daughter? What’s her gift?” “A gift? They should be grateful she doesn’t cause more trouble!” “Seriously. If I were a Reed, I would have erased her from the family tree after that stunt with her brother-in-law. What a disgrace!” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, fighting the urge to scream the truth. Alistair’s assistant found me and pressed a box into my hands. “Mr. Vance said you are to take this and present it to Ms. Reed.” I opened it. Inside were three handwritten pages. An apology letter. “Mr. Vance said you are to read this. Publicly.” After a long moment, a dry laugh escaped my lips. I nodded. Alistair wanted me to publicly apologize to Serena for what happened four years ago. And he wanted to use the occasion to legitimize Chloe, so she could officially take the Vance name. “Alistair,” I whispered to myself, “why make it so complicated? Soon, everything will be back where it belongs.” Fifteen minutes later, I walked up to Serena, letter in hand. The gossips started whispering. “Look, what is she up to now?” Serena saw me, and her smile widened. “Elara, is that a gift for me?” Clearly, she knew exactly what was in my hand. I gave a self-deprecating smile and, instead of stopping at her, I walked directly to Alistair. “Oh my god, what is she doing? Is she going to ruin another one of her sister’s big moments?” “I bet she is. What is wrong with her? I almost feel bad for Serena.” Alistair watched me, a wary look on his face, and took an involuntary step back. But I stopped a few feet in front of him. No one noticed the extra pages tucked beneath the apology letter. I held out a pen. “This gift is for both you and… my sister. Just sign it. As a keepsake.” He looked at me strangely, but when his eyes fell on the familiar apology letter on top, he relaxed. As he signed, his voice softened. “You should have done this four years ago. Think of this as making up for it.” He paused. “Don’t worry. With the title of Mrs. Vance, no one will dare say too much… I’ll be free for the next few days. After the apology, I’ll take you and Annie away for a trip.” I nodded calmly, my eyes fixed on the signature at the bottom of the last page. Then I turned, walked past Serena, and began to read. “I, Elara Reed, four years ago, shamelessly drugged my own future brother-in-law and raped him. I then disgracefully stole my own sister’s husband and drove her, pregnant, out of the country…” I read the words mechanically, my voice fast and flat, my face a blank mask. When I finished, I stepped down from the platform. I ignored the cacophony of whispers behind me, ignored Alistair’s confused stare, and walked out of the Reed mansion. A maid was waiting outside with my daughter. I took the car keys, made a quick excuse, and drove us straight to the airport. As the plane lifted off the runway, I leaned back in my seat, finally able to breathe. Annie, beside me, was buzzing with excitement. “Mommy, where are we going?” “Somewhere far away,” I said, a real smile touching my lips for the first time in years. Alistair, you can have your Serena. I have my daughter. And we will never, ever see each other again.

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1 I’m a decade older than Julian Vance. The first time I saw him, he was a teenager in rags, fighting a stray dog for scraps in an alley. His eyes, fixed on me, were like a wolf’s. Fierce. Wild. I took him in. I sculpted him from nothing. In ten years, Julian went from a nameless beggar to the most sought-after CEO in New York City. I always considered him my most perfect creation. Until the day a young woman blocked my car, her hand resting smugly on her stomach. She held up a recorder and pressed play. “Julian, who do you love more? Me, or that old hag?” Then, a voice I knew better than my own: “She’s just some old woman who’s past her prime. All these years, the thing I’ve hated most is that high-and-mighty look on her face.” I smiled. It seemed the years of success had made Julian forget the days he spent groveling at my feet like a dog. The next day, a gift-wrapped box containing a bloody, stillborn fetus was delivered to his office. The man, his eyes red-rimmed, pressed the barrel of a gun to my forehead. “Victoria,” he gritted out. I sipped my tea, unbothered. “It seems, Mr. Vance, you’ve forgotten what I’m capable of.” 2 Julian’s face was a mask of fury. “You think I won’t pull the trigger?” He wasn’t the scrawny boy I’d found anymore. Years of walking on the razor’s edge of the corporate world had given him an aura of command. I just smiled and shook my head. “If I were you, I’d be done with the empty threats by now.” He tensed. From behind him, a faint noise came from the floor-to-ceiling windows. He spun around, and the color drained from his face. The little tramp, Chloe, was bound by her hands, dangling seventy-two stories above the streets of Manhattan. Her white dress billowed in the wind, the city a dizzying abyss below her. “I’d be careful if I were you,” I said calmly, the gun still pressed to my skin. “After all, if your hand slips, I die… and your little girlfriend becomes a pancake on the sidewalk.” “One body… oh, wait. Just the one life now, isn’t it?” The girl’s panicked sobs echoed from outside. “Julian, save me!” Julian’s eyes were bloodshot. He clicked off the safety. “Victoria, you wouldn’t dare.” My bodyguards instantly surrounded him, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. I waved a dismissive hand. “Everyone, out.” Then, I pulled a stiletto dagger from my sleeve and, without looking, plunged it into his abdomen. He let out a muffled grunt, but the gun at my forehead only pressed harder. “Does it feel good?” I murmured, my voice like a lover’s whisper. His face was a stone mask. “Are you satisfied? Let her go. Chloe is different from you. She’s just an innocent girl.” Julian’s men arrived and quickly rescued her. I never intended to actually harm her. Watching him hold the girl, whispering soothing words as if she were a priceless, fragile treasure, a wave of boredom washed over me. He used to hold me that way. After a rival’s attack had cost me our child, and with it, my ability to ever conceive again. She was a girl, already formed. We had named her Summer. Julian had a private chapel built for her, commissioning a gilded statue in her image. “Victoria,” he’d said, “our daughter will have a peaceful life next time.” He wanted a constant stream of prayers to build her good karma. I once asked him why he did it. His face was unshaven, but his voice was firm. “Because Summer is the only child I will ever have.” Now, I glanced at the gift box on his desk. You broke your promise, Julian. But don’t worry. I’ll help you keep it. Chloe, having cried her fill, glared at me with swollen, hateful eyes. “Julian, it was her! That bitch killed our baby!” Julian’s expression hardened. He stroked the girl’s hair, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’re out of line.” Chloe’s sobs caught in her throat. She didn’t know. After losing Summer, no one in our circle ever dared to mention the word ‘child’ around us. It was a wound that never healed. She was just a clueless girl, crying her heart out. Julian scooped her up as she fainted and shouldered past me. “Victoria,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I won’t forget this.” 3 I didn’t expect his revenge to come so swiftly. I was stroking the cat on my lap, listening to my assistant’s report with an air of detached boredom. “Mr. Vance outbid us for the South Side development, paying double the market value.” “Mr. Vance has been meeting with shareholders, buying up stock.” “Mr. Vance… demolished the chapel built for Miss Summer.” My hand clenched. The cat yelped and fell silent, cowering in my lap. “Say that again,” I said, my face a blank canvas. My assistant swallowed hard. “He demolished the chapel, ma’am. He said he’s building… building an amusement park for the other woman. Construction started this morning.” CRASH! The teacup in my hand hit the far wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. “I’ll handle this immediately,” my assistant said, bowing his head. I held up a hand. “No. I’ll go myself.” 4 When I arrived, half of the chapel was already rubble. Chloe was holding a balloon, happily directing the demolition crew. “Clear that area out! And over here… Julian, I want a carousel right here!” Julian stood beside her, a gentle smile on his face. To any outsider, they looked like the perfect couple. If only they weren’t destroying my daughter’s memorial. I stepped out of the car. Someone spotted me and started to speak, but froze when they saw the pistol I pulled from my coat. Chloe turned. “Ms. Blackwell…” I raised the gun and fired. The balloon in her hand exploded. “Ah!” she shrieked, diving into Julian’s arms. “Are you insane?!” Julian roared. I said nothing, striding toward them. I racked the slide, chambering another round, and fired again into the air. The chaos on the site ceased instantly. Everyone stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost. “Get out,” I said. Julian scowled. “Victoria.” “GET OUT!” I screamed. It had been years since anyone had pushed me to this point of losing control. No one moved. But Chloe, safe in Julian’s embrace, lifted her head, her eyes full of defiance. “Ms. Blackwell, why let the dead hoard so much space? It’s the living that matter, isn’t it?” At her words, Julian pulled her behind him, shielding her from my aim. He was afraid. Afraid I’d hurt his precious girl. “Victoria,” Julian said, his voice cold. “Summer is gone. We need to move on. Maybe… maybe it was for the best that she was never born.” My hand, clutching the trigger, began to tremble. “What did you just say, Julian?” His eyes held a flicker of something I hadn’t seen before: triumphant cruelty. “You were the one who sinned so much in your life, Victoria. Your hands are dirty. That’s why you couldn’t keep her.” He was talking about the blood I’d spilled to claw my way to the top. “Chloe is different,” he continued. “She’s clean. She’s pure. Summer’s soul was willing to be reborn through her. But you… you lost the right to be a mother forever.” He knew exactly where to twist the knife. “Go on, pull the trigger,” he goaded me. “Do it in front of Summer’s grave. Let her see what a monster her mother truly is.” My hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t aim. My assistant rushed to my side, but I pushed him away. “I’m fine.” I’m fine, Summer. Mommy’s fine. Mommy is so sorry. I’m taking you home now. The chapel’s caretaker emerged with a simple, polished wooden box and placed it in my hands. I clutched it to my chest, just as I had clutched my daughter’s lifeless body on that storm-swept night, my own screams lost in the wind. If she had lived, she would be calling me ‘Mommy’ by now. As I staggered away, Julian called out. “Victoria, I won’t harm Summer’s memory. You can leave her here. This will be a place of joy soon.” Chloe chimed in. “That’s right, Ms. Blackwell! When Julian and I have our baby, she can be the big sister, watching over her little brother or sister from beneath the playground.” I ignored them. Julian stepped toward me, but my bodyguards leveled their guns at his chest. My voice was a raw whisper. “The first thing I ever taught you, Julian, was to have no attachments.” “I always thought you were a poor student. I was wrong.” “As of now, you’ve graduated.” This was war.

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Everyone in Port Sterling envied me—the crippled girl Hank Devereaux, the city’s most powerful man, had cherished for ten years. What they didn’t know: at sixteen, when enemies shattered my legs bone by bone, I never revealed Hank’s location. A year later, Hank slaughtered that family. Amid the bloodshed, he covered my eyes and swore to protect me forever. Doctors said I’d never walk. So Hank broke his own legs to learn to walk again with me, step by painful step. He knelt in a chapel for three years to persuade a family of healers to treat me. Years passed. I stayed in my wheelchair. But Hank grew tired of me, obsessed with videos of a graceful ballerina. The night she became prima, he locked himself away. That evening, he took me to Crown Point overlooking the city’s skyline. As I reached to hug him, a text flashed: [Wake up! He’s going to push you off the cliff!] I smiled at the starlit sky and whispered, “Finally… a release for us both.” … Hank’s hand on my shoulder trembled. His breathing grew slower, heavier. I greedily placed my hand over his, wanting one last touch. In the next life, let’s not meet again. The mountain wind whipped around us, but the fall I expected never came. Instead, I was pulled back, away from the edge. “Clara,” he began, his voice choked, the words catching in his throat. I tilted my head, feigning confusion. “What is it? Push me a little closer. I really want to see the city lights from the very edge.” The words in my head flashed frantically. [I knew it! He’s too soft. For ten years, he couldn’t stand you being out of his sight for even five minutes.] [So what? He’s going to marry Isabelle Thorne. Clara would rather die than be the other woman.] So, he was getting married. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand tiny, relentless needles. He had never once mentioned her to me. He’d been so careful. Was he afraid I, the stain he couldn’t wash away, would throw a fit and ruin Isabelle’s pristine white tutu? Hank pressed a backpack into my lap. The zipper was open, revealing a stash of my favorite pastries, the stuffed rabbit I couldn’t sleep without, and the silver charm he’d gotten for me on my birthday, blessed for my protection. He gently smoothed my wind-tangled hair. “Clara, be good,” he murmured. “I left some of the camping gear in the car. Wait for me here, okay?” The text in my mind blared. [He can’t do it himself. He’s going to abandon her in the mountains to die alone.] [Play the victim! Cry! The second you shed a tear, he’ll fold.] My eyes fixed on the scar that wrapped around his wrist. It was from a time my wheelchair had careened out of control down a steep slope. Hank had thrown himself in front of it, his wrist getting horribly tangled in the wheels. The doctor said if the cut had been any deeper, he would have lost the use of his hand. Ten years, Hank. You must be so tired. I tilted my head and smiled softly. “Okay.” Hank stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes clouded with a strange mist. Then, as if steeling himself, he turned and walked away without a single backward glance. Only when his silhouette vanished into the vast darkness did I turn my wheelchair in the opposite direction, my heart aching with a quiet loneliness. Closer and closer to the cliff’s edge. Click. A wheel jammed against a rock, refusing to budge no matter how hard I pushed. In a surge of desperation, I lunged forward, tumbling from the chair and crashing onto the hard ground. Flashes of Hank’s worried face filled my mind. “Clara, are you hurt? Does it hurt anywhere? Let me help you up. This is all my fault. I should have been watching you.” But this time, there was no one. My palms scraped against the sharp, gritty gravel as I tried to crawl forward. The path was too steep, my body too weak from years of confinement to the chair. I didn’t have the strength. Time stretched on, my consciousness fraying at the edges. I couldn’t even manage to die. Clara, you really are useless. When I woke again, the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. The hospital room door was slightly ajar, and I could hear a woman’s muffled sobs. “Why did you bring that cripple back?” “You promised me! You promised we would get married after I became prima ballerina. We were supposed to start a new life, just the two of us!” Through the window in the door, I saw a profile that looked hauntingly familiar. I stared, my mind reeling. When we were children, Hank loved sneaking me into the theater to watch the ballet. I would try to imitate the beautiful dancers, lifting the hem of my skirt and spinning in endless circles. “Am I pretty, Hank?” He’d be holding my school bag, nodding eagerly, giggling his silly, infectious laugh right along with me. After my legs were broken, I never smiled at him like that again. A long moment passed before I heard Hank’s trembling voice. “Clara saved my life.” “Ten years ago, the Donovans held her captive for a month. They did… things to her. But she never told them where I was.” Isabelle’s voice was laced with sorrow. “Then what about me? What am I supposed to do?” After a heavy silence, Hank spoke, his voice cracking. “Isabelle… there are days I wish she had died in their hands back then. But I… I can’t abandon her. I just can’t.” Isabelle sounded desperate. “Even if you don’t care about me, think about yourself! For years, you’ve watched over her day and night, never leaving her side. The slightest noise wakes you. The doctors said your heart failure is getting worse, but you won’t get the transplant because you’re terrified you won’t wake up, terrified there’ll be no one to take care of that… cripple.” A loud thud echoed as Hank slammed his fist against the wall, his voice raw with agony. “Don’t say anymore.” “If I die, it’ll be a release. For me… and for her.” No. I don’t want Hank to die. I struggled to pull the IV from my arm, accidentally knocking a glass vial off the bedside table. It shattered on the floor. The door flew open. Hank rushed in, with Isabelle following close behind, her eyes burning with resentment. The text in my mind exploded. [Oh my god! Isabelle is the illegitimate daughter of the Donovan family, the one who escaped!] [When the Donovans came for revenge, they kidnapped Clara to find Hank, and they tortured and killed Hank’s mother to send a message!] [Isabelle had a crush on Hank. She thought he’d been captured by the Donovans and went to that warehouse to ‘save’ him.] Isabelle feigned concern, picking up a piece of gauze to wrap my hand. Her face, it merged with the face of the little girl from ten years ago, the one holding a red-hot branding iron. “I’ll ruin that face of yours. We’ll see if Hank still wants you then.” The searing heat of the brand against my cheek, the sickening tear as it pulled away skin and hope. I recoiled, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. “Get away! Don’t touch me! Get away!” I screamed, shoving her with all my might. Isabelle stumbled backward. Hank caught her, pulling her into his arms. And in that instant, he broke. “Clara, have you had enough of this madness?!” he roared. “For years, anyone who tries to help you, you accuse them of being a Donovan! It’s been so long! Why aren’t you better? Why do you keep hurting innocent people?” “Am I supposed to be trapped in this hell with you for my entire life?!” After I was rescued, I was plagued by nightmares. Anyone who came near me was met with frantic scratching and biting. Hank would hold me, his arms covered in my nail marks, and soothe me over and over. It’s okay, Clara. I’m here. You’re safe. But now, it was as if a fuse had been lit. He was a cornered animal, smashing everything in the room he could get his hands on. I covered my ears, shaking my head and sobbing. No. This time it’s real. Isabelle is a Donovan. She’s the daughter of the man who killed your mother! The thought screamed in my mind, and I shouted it out loud. Isabelle’s face went pale, and she instinctively shrank away. Hank’s hand froze in mid-air. His dark eyes locked onto mine. Then, a bitter, broken laugh escaped his lips. He let his arm fall, his voice dead and calm. “I guess I’ve spoiled you too much. I was so afraid of upsetting you that I kept you from the outside world, and it’s only made you more delusional.” “Isabelle and I are getting married tomorrow.” “If you want, you can continue to live at the estate. We’ll both take care of you.” “If you don’t… then you’re on your own.” He took Isabelle’s hand and turned to leave. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone. Why won’t you believe me? I fell from the bed, clawing my way out of the room, leaving a smear of blood on the polished floor. Everyone stared. A small child saw the jagged scar on my face and burst into tears. “Mommy, kick that dirty thing away!” “How can someone be so disgusting? Let’s go, let’s go, don’t want to catch her bad luck.” “Look at her legs… those pits and scars. It’s making my skin crawl.” Hank’s steps faltered. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Isabelle whispered something to him, and he nodded. He didn’t look back at me again. I curled up in a ball on the hospital corridor floor, sobbing until I nearly passed out before Devereaux family staff came to take me home. In the car, the assistant and driver muttered to each other. “I don’t know how much longer the boss can put up with this burden.” “That Sterling project… the whole company, seven hundred people, worked on it for over two years. But the boss was so distracted by this damn cripple in the hospital that he offended the clients. It’s probably a lost cause now.” “If it weren’t for her, Devereaux Industries would have expanded overseas years ago instead of being stuck in Port Sterling.” My chest felt tight, but I couldn’t form a single word of rebuttal. I let the maids roughly deposit me in my bedroom. In the dead of night, I was roused by a searing heat on my face. The nerves there were mostly dead from the old burn, and by the time I jolted awake, hot wax had already hardened on my cheek. Isabelle stood over me, holding a candle. She was drunk, her eyes gleaming with a crazed light. “Clara. I can’t believe you recognized me.” “But so what? Even the Donovans’ matriarch didn’t know about me, her husband’s bastard daughter. There’s no way Hank could ever find out. Besides,” she smirked, “he already killed all the Donovans for you.” She thrust the candle towards my face, and I screamed. “Fire! Fire! Get it away! Get it away from me!” Isabelle let out a wild laugh. “I’ll give you two choices. A quick death in the flames, or you can wait until I’m the lady of this house and let me torture you bit by bit, just like the old days.” She tossed the candle onto the curtains, and the flames roared to life. Triumphant, Isabelle turned to leave, but I grabbed her wrist with a death grip, pulling her down with me. Then let’s die together. If I die, Hank will finally be free of his burden. And he’ll never have to know he fell in love with his enemy’s daughter. He can be happy for the rest of his life. The fire raged, growing larger. Isabelle screamed for help, unable to break my grip. Hank burst in, yelling my name. He instinctively moved to pull me from the floor, pushing Isabelle aside. “Hank!” Isabelle cried, her voice thick with false tears. “I heard Clara having a nightmare and came to comfort her. But she just went crazy, calling me a Donovan, and she pushed me and set the fire…” She showed him her ankle, already swelling from the fall. The warmth in Hank’s eyes turned to ice. He let go of me and scooped Isabelle into his arms, carrying her out of the inferno. The staff scrambled to drag me out after them. I tried desperately to explain. Hank shoved me away, his face contorted with fury. “Clara, you are completely unhinged,” he spat. “You used to love dancing more than anyone. You know the pain of not being able to. Why would you pretend to be insane and try to destroy Isabelle’s future?” “Does my entire life have to revolve around you for you to be satisfied?!” His eyes were bloodshot and vicious. “Ten years! I don’t owe you anything anymore! I never want to see you again.” “It’s not like that, Hank! Isabelle, she really is—” “Enough!” The sharp crack of a slap echoed in the room, my head snapping to the side. Hank stared at his own hand in shock, his usually proud posture slightly stooped. “Take her away,” he said, his voice utterly exhausted. They injected me with a sedative and drove me to the old Devereaux family estate. A dozen servants guarded the house like a fortress, ensuring I couldn’t ruin Hank’s wedding.

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My brother is a vampire, and I’m a glutton. One late night, I secretly drank from his blood pouch and discovered it was sweet! He’d been pretending to be a vampire for ten years, all because I was obsessed with novels when I was little, and begged for a vampire brother. After learning the truth, I pulled my brother out of his “ice coffin,” “Brother, go back to bed from now on. It’s too cold here.” I absolutely can’t let him know that what I was reading back then, was a pseudo-incest novel. 1 I never bring friends home. Like, ever. I can’t risk them finding out my brother’s secret—he’s a mutant vampire who survives on blood bags. Other vampires are immortal, but since my brother, Ethan, only drinks animal blood, he grows and ages right alongside me. We were both adopted by Grandma Sterling. I figure Ethan’s birth parents must have dumped him at the foster home because he was a vampire. I don’t care, though. I think it’s awesome. I don’t mind that he’s a vampire, and he doesn’t mind that I’m a bottomless pit. 2 Grandma always said my stomach was a black hole and that it was a miracle I was never kidnapped as a kid by someone offering me candy. Ethan worries I’ll starve. Even though I’m in college and only home on weekends, he stocks the fridge and pantry until they’re literally overflowing. But when I got home today, something felt wrong. Ethan wasn’t here. Arthur, our housekeeper, said Ethan was feeling unwell and had gone to “that place” to rest. “That place” is the one room he’s forbidden me from entering. Every full moon, he holes up in there to “recover” until it’s over. Ugh. With Ethan gone, even the snack cabinet was empty. Night fell. I’d eaten dinner, but I was still starving and couldn’t sleep. Around midnight, I snuck into the kitchen looking for a snack. The fridge was totally empty. Except for the refrigerated drawer… It was meticulously organized with Ethan’s “rations”—animal blood bags, all neatly labeled by type. I picked up a bag labeled ‘O-Negative.’ I swallowed, my mouth watering. No! Cici, bad! That’s Ethan’s food! But… he always makes it look so delicious when he drinks it… …I mean, just one sip? Curiosity and hunger defeated my conscience. I tore open a corner of the bag and took a huge swig. It was… sweet. And rich. And… fruity. Like overripe cherry juice… Wait. Sweet?! I didn’t believe it. I took another massive gulp. I was 100% sure. This wasn’t blood plasma. This was high-fructose cherry juice. 3 A terrifying thought hit me. Ethan’s been drinking fake blood? Then how is he… No. Wait. Maybe he can’t drink real blood. Which means… He’s been pretending to be a vampire? I started running through all the “evidence” from the past ten years, and my scalp began to prickle. Vampires don’t eat hot food. We always had two meals: my hot dinner and Ethan’s “cold” one. I’d be tearing into a rack of ribs, grease up to my elbows, and he’d just watch me, looking disgusted… or so I thought. That wasn’t disgust. He was swallowing because he was craving the ribs. Vampires are nocturnal and fear the sun. Ethan claimed he was a “high-level” vampire who could tolerate the sun, but only with “protection.” Even on the hottest summer days, he’d be bundled up in long sleeves, pants, and a huge hat. He’d come home looking totally wrecked. I thought it was sun damage. He was having a heatstroke. He wasn’t just faking. He was a “method” vampire. He “feared” garlic, silver, and crosses. His skin was pale, his lips were always red, and he kept vampire hours. Other than not killing people, he was straight out of a movie. His study was always dark, heavy curtains drawn 24/7. And “that place” he rested… was the cold, damp basement. I snuck in once, years ago. All that was in there was a “bed” that looked exactly like an ice coffin, frost crawling up the sides. If Ethan isn’t a vampire—if he’s just a normal guy like me—how could he stand sleeping in that frigid thing? And why? Why has he been playing this part for a decade? 4 I had to test him. The next morning, I took a blood bag and camped out by the basement door. Right on schedule, Ethan emerged, wrapped in a cloud of cold air. He was wearing a dark red silk robe, open at the chest, his slightly-too-long hair tied back. He looked every bit the part of the decadent, moody vampire. No wonder I never questioned it. In my head, this is what vampires are supposed to look like. He saw me crouched by the door and jumped. “Cici! What are you doing, planting yourself on the floor?” I leaped up and threw myself into his freezing arms. “Ethan, you’ve suffered so much!” He stumbled back, almost hitting the door. “What? What’s wrong?” He patted my head. “Did someone bully you?” I looked at his lips, which were genuinely pale from the cold, and my heart ached. “Ethan, I know everything. You don’t have to—” Before I could finish, Arthur, our housekeeper, hurried over. “Mr. Ethan, he is here to see you…” I shivered. Ethan’s “nemesis” was here. 5 Ethan has this mortal enemy, Ryan. Ethan told me Ryan’s a werewolf and to stay away from him. If Ethan’s a fake vampire, Ryan’s “werewolf” thing is probably just as fake. I followed Ethan into the dining room. Ryan was already there, lounging at the table, casually spreading jam on some toast with a butter knife. “Well, well. Look who’s up before noon. Aren’t you afraid you’ll burst into flames, big bro?” Ryan winked at me, then offered me the sandwich. “Here you go, Cici. All for you.” Ethan intercepted it immediately. His voice was icy. “She doesn’t take food from strangers.” “A stranger? How am I a stranger?” Ryan ignored Ethan’s death glare and grinned. “I’m practically your better half.” Ethan jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “Spit it out or get out.” “Fine, fine. I’ve got a lead on that thing you had me investigating—” “Cici,” Ethan cut him off, his voice suddenly gentle as he turned to me. “Could you be a dear and grab me an AB-Negative blood bag from the kitchen?” Right. Secret business I’m not allowed to hear. “Sure thing.” AB-Negative? I drank the O-Neg. Do different blood types have different flavors? 6 By the time I got back, Ryan was gone. And the sandwich he’d made? It was sitting “peacefully” at the bottom of the trash can. On my plate was a new sandwich, crusts cut off, personally made by Ethan. He tore open his “blood bag” like normal. As he was about to drink, I spoke up. “Ethan… can I try a sip?” Splat. The bag slipped from his hand, hitting the floor. His head snapped toward me. He grabbed my chin, forcing my mouth open, and inspected my teeth. “They’re not sharp… How did you…?” I pushed his hand away. “Ethan! I’m not turning into a vampire.” “Then why would you want a blood bag?” He looked frantic. “Did Ryan say something to you? What did he tell you?” I just shook my head. Wow. One simple test and he’s already sweating bullets. I backed off. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to drop the act and confess just because I asked. Why is he pretending? Is it connected to whatever he had Ryan investigating? Now isn’t the time to push. “Eat this.” Ethan slid a new, upgraded sandwich in front of me—this one piled high with bacon, tomato, and a fried egg. Then he turned back to his “non-filling” cherry juice. Whatever his reason, he can’t keep sleeping in that “ice coffin.” He’s going to get arthritis. “Hey, Ethan? You should sleep in your real bed tonight.” I grabbed his hand. “The basement is way too cold.” He looked at me, touched. “It’s fine, Cici. I’m used to it.” I went quiet. Fine. If he won’t listen to reason, I’ll use force. I waited until he left the house for a meeting, then I skipped my afternoon classes, detoured home, and bought a hammer and a small axe from the hardware store. I kicked open the basement door. I was going to dismantle that “ice coffin” of his. 7 The door banged open. A wave of bitter cold hit me, seeping through my clothes. It’s freezing. To think Ethan sleeps in here every night… my eyes started to sting. Why is he pretending? I stalked into the room, axe in hand, and then I saw it. The room was bigger than I remembered. Behind the “ice coffin,” there was a huge, wall-sized mirror. Something about it looked wrong. It felt like there was space on the other side. I reached out and touched the glass. It suddenly rotated, swinging open to the left— The back of the mirror… was a massive… photo wall. When I saw what was on it, I collapsed, dropping the axe. The wall was covered in pictures of me. And photos of every single person I’d ever interacted with. They were all connected by a terrifying web of red string. My hands started shaking as I tore the photos down. This one! A guy circled in red. That’s the jock from the basketball team who asked me out last week. He sprained his ankle in practice this weekend. That one! The girl on top… she’s the school’s number-one mean girl. Last month, she and her clique tried to shake down my roommate. I stepped in, and she told me I’d “better watch my back.” I waited a month, but nothing ever happened. I figured she was all talk. Then I heard she’d been arrested for shoplifting. These, and those… Every single one was someone connected to me. A horrifying chill crawled up my spine. I’ve just stumbled onto a secret… way scarier than my brother not being a vampire. I had to get out of here. Now. A familiar footstep sounded on the stairs behind me. “Where is Cici?” A man’s voice, from upstairs. It was Arthur. “Sir, the young miss took tools into the basement.” I… I explicitly told Arthur not to tell Ethan I was home. I looked around wildly. There are no windows. Nowhere to hide. I heard a soft click from the top of the stairs. Did… did he leave? I let out a breath I was holding. And then, the footsteps started coming down. The photos scattered from my hands. Oh. That wasn’t the sound of a door closing. It was the sound of a lock. 8 I froze, my mind blank. My brother wasn’t just faking. He was monitoring me. The light from the stairwell was blocked by a tall silhouette. The shadow swallowed me whole. I slowly looked up, meeting Ethan’s eyes. They were completely black, all the warmth gone. He wasn’t my brother anymore. He was a stranger. “Cici,” his voice was soft, but it cut like an icy blade. “Who let you in here?” Arthur was behind him, wringing his hands, desperately trying to catch my eye. He was mouthing: “Apologize! Apologize!” My lips trembled, but I couldn’t speak. The photos on the floor were all the evidence he needed. He crouched down, his long fingers picking up one of the pictures. The jock circled in red. “This one,” he asked, his voice terrifyingly calm. “He asked you out?” I nodded. “And then?” “And then… he sprained his ankle.” Ethan let out a small, cold laugh. “You think that was a coincidence, Cici?” My heart plummeted. He stood up, looking down at me like I was an ant that had wandered into his territory. “Cecilia, I have protected you too well,” he said, enunciating every word. “So well that you actually believe this world is a fairy tale.” He turned his back to me. “Put everything back. Then go to your room. From now on, you are not to leave this house without my permission.” Is he… grounding me? This feels more like house arrest. “Why?” I finally found my voice, but it was choked with tears. “Ethan, who are you? Why are you doing this?” He didn’t turn around. He just tossed a cold sentence over his shoulder. “It’s for your own good.” “For my good?! Is monitoring me like a prisoner for my own good?!” I screamed at his back. “You investigate every person I talk to, you interfere in my life! What gives you the right?!” He stopped. “What gives me the right?” He turned around slowly. His handsome face, for the first time, looked broken. It was a mask of pain and self-loathing. “The right? I have it… because I’m your brother.” He walked out, not looking back. I heard the click again. He’d locked me in.

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1 My Ph.D. acceptance letter had just arrived when my advisor, Professor Davies, called—he wanted me to lead a research project in Tehran. But my girlfriend Ava begged me to decline, urging me to take a local job instead. She claimed she was from three years in the future, where she’d watched me die in an airborne missile attack. I believed her. I passed the opportunity to her childhood friend Julian. Three years later, Tehran was perfectly safe, and Julian returned a celebrated hero. At the university’s distinguished alumni ceremony, he took the stage: “I want to thank Ava specially. She was my north star—guided me right and supported me when no one else would.” Their “star-crossed love” story went viral as a tragedy. Forums overflowed with pity for them and scorn for me. It got so bad that online vigilantes doxxed me and showed up at my apartment building. “Give Ava back to Professor Lin! You don’t deserve her!” they screamed. In the scuffle that followed, I was shoved down a flight of stairs. The last thing I heard was the crack of my skull. Then I woke up—back in my apartment, on the eve of my planned departure. Listening to Ava’s “heartfelt” pleas, I pulled off the silver ring we’d exchanged and tossed it into the campus lake. “I’m going to Tehran, Ava. We’re done.” … The ripples spread across the water’s surface, a perfect metaphor for our three-year relationship, now dissolving into nothing. Ava’s lips trembled, her almond-shaped eyes instantly welling with tears. “Leo… you don’t believe me? I’m really from three years in the future!” She gripped my wrist, her nails digging into my skin. “You can’t go to Tehran! You’ll die!” “Ava, your storytelling is worse than a middle schooler’s creative writing project.” I laughed coldly, prying her fingers off one by one. I pointed to my own temple. “Do you want me to call Clearwater Psychiatric for you? They have the best doctors in the city.” Her face flushed a deep crimson. A tear splashed onto her collar, darkening the fabric. “Leo Vance!” She raised her hand as if to strike me, but it froze mid-air. The hand, still adorned with the matching bracelet we wore, fell limply to her side. “Leo, I’m not lying… I really did travel back in time to save you…” I scoffed and pulled out my phone. “Should I call you an ambulance now? The ones from Clearwater are white. They’d match your dress perfectly.” Ava’s expression twisted, tears streaking her mascara down her cheeks in two black rivers. Her eyes were bloodshot as she glared at me. “You’ll regret this, Leo! You’ll regret it!” She spun around and stormed away. “Wait—” I called out just as she turned. Her body went rigid. As she slowly turned back, a hopeful smile was already blooming on her face. A second later, she flew into my arms. “Leo… you do believe me, don’t you? I knew you would…” She looked up, her face a mess of tear tracks, a single crystalline drop clinging to her eyelashes. I looked down at the face so close to mine—who could have guessed such a venomous scheme lay hidden behind that angelic mask? My expression remained blank as I stepped back, putting distance between us. “I just wanted to remind you to get your things out of my apartment. Today.” Ava’s pupils contracted, her chest heaving. “Fine! That’s just fine!” she seethed through clenched teeth. “You think I even want any of it?” Back at the apartment, she stomped into the bedroom in a huff, slamming the closet door with a loud bang. I calmly retrieved three large storage bins and began tossing everything—her clothes, her makeup, even her toothbrush—inside. I didn’t spare the framed photo on the nightstand, her favorite one of us. When I stuffed the birthday gift she gave me last year—the matching scarf she’d knitted herself—into the bin, she froze. “Leo…” Her voice was suddenly soft, trembling with disbelief. “Are you really… going to be this cruel?” I didn’t answer, instead sweeping the various trinkets she’d given me from the bookshelf into a box. A ceramic mug slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor—one of a matching pair she’d made herself. She grabbed my arm, tears streaming down her face like a broken string of pearls. “Is this how you treat me? For caring about you? For being afraid you’ll get hurt?” “Don’t you have a heart?” I slapped her hand away. “Save it. Your acting skills wouldn’t even get you into drama school.” She staggered back, her expression shifting from wounded to venomous. “You’ll get what’s coming to you! I can’t wait for the day you come crawling back to me, begging!” Watching her slam the door on her way out, I clenched my fists until my knuckles were white. I could still hear the phantom sound of my own skull cracking. In my last life, it was this exact, pitiful act that convinced me. I gave up the Tehran project, only to watch from the sidelines as Julian basked in the glory that should have been mine. This time, there would be no repeat performance. I let out a long breath and began to pack. My flight was tomorrow afternoon. There was still much to do. Just as I zipped up my carry-on, my phone buzzed violently on the desk. I unlocked it to see my class group chat exploding with messages. Holy crap, have you guys seen the university forum? Someone’s predicting a plane crash tomorrow! They even listed the exact departure time and the cause of the malfunction… Has to be a prank, right? But the details are way too specific… My heart sank. I opened the forum. A pinned post was titled: URGENT WARNING: FLIGHT DEPARTING AT 10:20 AM TOMORROW WILL CRASH. The author was listed as “Anonymous.” My finger hovered over the screen. I could almost picture Ava’s triumphant smile. I remembered this incident vividly from my past life—the plane’s engine failed on takeoff, and it crashed back onto the runway. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured. Besides me, a man reborn, only Ava, the “time traveler,” would know about it. But no one would ever ground a flight based on an anonymous, unsubstantiated prediction. The next day, the airport was bustling. I had just cleared security when Ava blocked my path. She’d artfully applied makeup to look exhausted, complete with faint, bruised shadows under her eyes. “Leo!” She clutched my boarding pass, her voice thick with tears. “You saw the warning on the forum, didn’t you? Please, don’t gamble with your life…” Julian appeared out of nowhere, standing behind her in a sharp suit. “Leo, Ava is worried sick about you. Is this how you treat her?” I let out a cold laugh. If I hadn’t lived this all before, I might have actually been moved by their little performance. Just as I was about to push past them, the airport’s PA system crackled to life, its voice cutting through the noise. “Urgent announcement regarding flight DH555… due to a mechanical failure… I repeat, all passengers please evacuate the boarding gate immediately…” A commotion rippled through the crowd. Through the terminal’s massive windows, we could see a passenger jet tilted at an odd angle on the runway, a plume of black smoke billowing from its tail. Ava’s tears came on command. She grabbed my arm, her hand trembling. “Now do you believe me? I’m really doing this for your own good…” A tear clung to her eyelash, sparkling in the sunlight. “Stay, Leo. Please? We can start over…” I stared at her manicured fingertips—they were unconsciously stroking the cuff of Julian’s sleeve. How familiar. In my past life, not long after she’d convinced me to stay, she had appeared on Julian’s arm at that alumni gala. “Move.” I pulled my arm free and headed for the information desk. Ava’s tearful shout followed me. “You’ll regret this, Leo!” When I got home, my phone was buzzing nonstop. The campus forum had gone nuclear. Ava had revealed herself. To all my fellow students, I am the anonymous user who posted the plane crash warning. I come from three years in the future to save the man I love, @LeoVance. The message sent the group chat into a frenzy. I was being tagged relentlessly. Leo, is this for real? This is some sci-fi movie shit! Did Ava finally snap? I stared at the screen, saying nothing, my fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the table. It was a brilliant move on her part—she knew it was impossible to verify, but she’d chosen the most sensational way to make her claim. Then, Ava dropped another bombshell. Three years from now, a war will break out in Tehran. Leo Vance will be killed in an airstrike. @ProfessorDavies, I’m begging you, please choose someone else! A vein throbbed in my temple. I quickly typed a reply. Professor, today was a coincidence. Mechanical failures are common. I am still fully committed to the project. Ava replied instantly. Leo, why won’t you just believe me? She followed it with a broken-heart emoji. Fine. How about this: tonight at 11 PM, there will be a fire in the South End, started by an electric scooter battery. If I’m right again, will you give up the project? Julian immediately jumped in to support her. I can vouch for her. Ava has accurately predicted several things before. The chat exploded. People were demanding a live stream to witness the event. Others started tagging friends who lived in the South End to go check. My hand tightened around my phone until my knuckles were white. I remembered that fire. It had been on the local news in my past life. The minutes ticked by. At precisely 11:00 PM, dozens of messages popped up at once. Well? Nothing’s happening. LOL, Ava’s magic show flopped. So the plane crash was a lucky guess? And Julian was in on it… But in the next second, a low boom rolled across the city, audible to nearly everyone. In the distance, an orange glow lit up the night sky over the South End, and the faint wail of fire sirens could be heard. HOLY SHIT IT’S REAL! AVA IS A PROPHET! Leo, for the love of God, don’t go! The tone of the group chat changed on a dime. I gripped my phone, my knuckles bone-white. It rang. It was Professor Davies. “Leo, the department held an emergency meeting. We’re revoking your travel clearance. This project…” “Professor!” I cut in, my voice urgent. “The fire, the plane, they can all be explained…” “That’s enough!” Professor Davies’ tone was uncharacteristically harsh. “The university cannot risk a student’s life. The department will select a new candidate for the project tomorrow.” The dial tone was like a slap across the face. I hurled my phone against the wall. Its shattered screen reflected my own distorted face. Just then, it lit up with a text from Ava. Now you have to believe me, Leo. It was followed by a nauseating heart emoji. The next morning, I walked into the department conference room with dark circles under my eyes. Around the corner, Julian and Ava stood together, as if they were waiting for me. “Well, look who it is. Why does our resident genius look like he’s been through a meat grinder?” Julian leaned against the windowsill, looking me up and down with exaggerated pity. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper. “Pulling an all-nighter won’t help you. The Tehran project… it’s mine.” Ava gently tugged on his sleeve, her voice dripping with false concern. “Leo, Julian is just worried about you. Tehran is too dangerous…” “Get out of my way,” I said, my face a cold mask. Julian immediately wrapped an arm around Ava’s shoulders, glaring at me. “It’s over, Leo. Just accept it.” “While I’m in Tehran publishing a lead author paper in Nature, you can rot in this dingy lab forever.” Ava playfully tapped his chest, but couldn’t hide the smile playing on her lips. I pushed past them without a word and shoved open the conference room door. The chatter inside died instantly. A dozen pairs of eyes—some sympathetic, some curious—fixed on me. The graduate assistant, a kind junior student, handed me a cup of coffee. “Leo… are you, uh, okay?” I managed a tight smile and said nothing, walking directly to the podium. The hum of the projector starting up sounded like the frantic pulse in my temples. On the flash drive was all of my research from my past life—optimized quantum algorithms, material simulation data, even a first draft of the paper I had planned to publish. “Professors,” I said, tapping the microphone, my voice hoarse. “I believe this project can only be completed by me—” Before I could finish, the door swung open again. Ava walked in elegantly on Julian’s arm. Julian strode directly to the podium and snatched the microphone from my hand. “Professors, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to present my own research proposal first,” he said, a confident, winning smile on his face. When his PowerPoint presentation lit up the screen, my blood ran cold. The charts, the data models, even the goddamn color scheme—it was all identical to what I had prepared.

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The day of the car crash, they all forgot about me. I died alone, silently, in a forgotten corner. 1 When the crash happened, my mind went blank. Every sensation turned to numb static. So numb, in fact, that when Mrs. Monroe ripped me from the car and slapped me across the face, I didn’t even feel the sting. “Anya, you little monster! The Monroes raised you for over a decade, and this is how you repay us?!” “If anything happens to Chloe, I will send you straight to hell!” She shoved me aside and scrambled to Chloe’s side. “Chloe, baby, are you okay? Doctor! Somebody save my Chloe! She’s bleeding so much!” The paramedics were swarmed by the Monroes, dragged and pulled toward Chloe. They all forgot that I had been in the crash too. My brother, Ethan, and my… benefactor, Craig, arrived moments later. Ethan shot me a look of pure hatred before following the ambulance to the hospital. Craig looked like he wanted to flay me alive. He barked an order at his assistant, Leo. “Lock her up. I’ll deal with her later.” Leo, who had started to follow the ambulance, reluctantly turned back. “Miss Monroe. Let’s go.” His voice was laced with a palpable disgust. I didn’t move. It was as if my brain had lost control of my body. For the first time ever, Leo, my bodyguard and assistant, laid a hand on me. He dragged me to the car and shoved me inside. My head slammed against something hard. The cotton fog in my brain seemed to shift, and a flicker of feeling returned. A single drop of blood fell from my nose onto the back of my hand. “Leo,” I managed, my voice a weak plea, “can you take me to the hospital first?” “The hospital? What for? So you can try to finish the job on Chloe? Or are you going to fake an injury to get sympathy from Mr. Robinson and the Monroes? Dream on! I won’t be your accomplice this time.” He didn’t even spare me a glance. He floored the gas, and the car shot toward the secluded villa on the outskirts of the city. The force of the acceleration slammed me back into my seat, a violent jolt to my already fragile insides. The taste of warm salt filled my mouth. I couldn’t speak another word. The pain was becoming clearer, sharper. When we finally arrived, Leo practically threw me into the small, dark room in the basement. He seemed to be in a hurry, so much so that he didn’t even notice the new bloodstains on my clothes. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care. With the last of my strength, I grabbed his sleeve. “Can… can you get me some painkillers…?” The pain was overwhelming now. I knew something was wrong, something was broken inside me. Leo recoiled as if I’d burned him, trying to shake my hand off. “Don’t touch me! Fine, I’ll get them!” A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you,” I whispered. He stiffened, and for a moment, the raw fury in his posture seemed to soften. “Just wait here.” By the time Leo got to the hospital, Chloe had already been examined and her wounds bandaged. They were just superficial cuts and bruises. Nothing serious. Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, Ethan, and Craig were all gathered around her bedside. Chloe was like a princess, surrounded by all the love and beauty in the world, basking in the affection of those who adored her. It was a beautiful picture. Leo didn’t disturb them. He backed out of the room quietly and slumped against the wall in the hallway, the tension finally leaving his body. After a long while, he stood up. On the way back, he remembered to stop and buy the painkillers. But when he returned to the villa, the brief moment of gentleness was gone, replaced by his usual cold, grim expression. “I got your painkillers,” he snapped, pushing open the door to the dark room. There was no response. He flicked on the light. In the dim, yellow glow, a trail of blood snaked across the floor. I was curled up on the cold concrete, no longer breathing. 2 I was transported into a novel. Five years ago. I found myself in a popular story about a long-lost heiress, a classic “switched at birth” tale. I became the fake heiress, the one who had stolen the real one’s identity for years. In the book, she was a manipulative, two-faced character who initially fooled everyone, causing them to misunderstand and mistreat the real heiress. But when her true nature was revealed, she was despised by all and met a tragic end. The real heiress, of course, became the beloved protagonist. From the moment I arrived, I knew my role. I had no intention of fighting the real heiress for her place. I was the one who suggested the DNA test, who helped the Monroes find Chloe—who was being abused by her adoptive parents—and I willingly gave up my childhood engagement to the story’s male lead. I walked away from the Monroe family with nothing, ready to pursue my own happiness: Craig Robinson. In the book, he was the rich, handsome second male lead, the one who would ultimately sacrifice everything for the heroine. I helped him rise from the ashes of a corporate takeover, helped him reclaim his empire. Along the way, I even saved the story’s third male lead, the villainous Leo, from his self-destructive path of opposing the heroine. But I forgot one crucial detail. Craig’s heart was always meant for the heroine. I forgot that Leo’s opposition to her stemmed from a deep, unrequited love that had twisted into obsession. From start to finish, their devotion was always, irrevocably, for her. And I was just collateral damage. … Leo stood over my body for what felt like an eternity. I searched his face for any flicker of guilt, of regret. There was none. After about an hour, he finally moved. He closed the door, acting as if nothing had happened, and walked away with the same steady, measured steps as always. He went back to the hospital and stood guard outside Chloe’s room. In the original story, he had been her bodyguard, silently protecting the object of his pure, burning love. Late that night, after the Monroes had left, Craig stayed behind to watch over Chloe. Only when she was sound asleep did he step out for a breath of fresh air. He saw Leo and pulled out a cigarette, asking casually, “Where’s Anya?” As he was about to light it, he seemed to remember something. He put the lighter back in his pocket, holding the unlit cigarette between his fingers, just for the feel of it. He was always so willing to change his bad habits for Chloe. I hated the smell of smoke too, but he never cared about that. “In the basement,” Leo replied. Craig nodded, unconcerned. “Make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.” “She won’t. Not ever again.” “What?” Leo’s voice was low, almost a mumble. Craig hadn’t heard him clearly. Leo seemed to snap back to himself. “She’s being very good,” he said. This time, Craig heard. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips. “She always plays the victim after she screws up. Does she really think I’ll let her off easy because of our past? Not this time. This time, I’m going to make her regret ever being born.” He viciously stubbed the unlit cigarette out on the side of a trash can. Leo’s expression flickered for a moment. “Within three days,” Craig commanded, “I want one hundred written apologies from her. And I want her kneeling outside this hospital. She can get up when Chloe forgives her.” Leo stood outside the hospital for a long time after receiving his orders. I don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe he was imagining how much more satisfying it would be if I were still alive, kneeling there with a hundred pages of apologies in my hands. 3 Back in the basement, Leo wiped the blood from my body with a towel, lifted me onto the makeshift bed, and then meticulously cleaned the floor. His face was a blank mask, his movements efficient and practiced, like a crime scene cleaner. When he was done, he took out a pen and paper. “This is a critical time for Mr. Robinson and Chloe. Your actions can’t be allowed to ruin the happiness she deserves… You stole her life for more than a decade. You owe her this. But, as compensation… I’ll write the hundred apologies for you.” He was so generous. He sat there, next to my corpse, and began to forge my handwriting. The first time he’d done that was a year ago. Chloe had gone to a club to see the male lead, the reckless playboy Lucas Sterling, and had almost been assaulted by a group of thugs. The Monroes were incredibly strict and never allowed their children in places like that. Chloe had always been a wild child, but she craved her family’s affection. I had covered for her countless times to help her bond with them. So, that time, it was easy for her to say that I was the one who had invited her. For Craig’s and Leo’s sakes, I had been trying to distance myself from her, so I denied it. But Leo produced a note, in my handwriting, proving my “guilt.” Somehow, they even got the thugs to confess that I had hired them. It was the first time the Monroes looked at me with disappointment and disgust. And it was the first time Craig saw the “vicious, evil” side of my nature. Leo had always believed that Chloe and Lucas were a bad match. He felt that a goddess like Chloe deserved to be cherished and loved, the way I was. He believed that Craig was her true soulmate. More than once, he had said, in front of both me and Chloe, that she would be much happier with Craig than with Lucas. When I first read the book, I thought so too. Craig’s silent, lifelong devotion to Chloe was heartbreaking. The other women around him were just annoying obstacles. Except now, I was one of them. The one he betrayed. The boomerang had come back around, and it hit me right in the heart. Over the next three days, Leo wrote day and night, producing one hundred perfect apologies. By the time he was finished, my body had started to smell. He bought armfuls of potpourri and incense to cover the scent, and then filled the room with bags of ice. Craig was very pleased with the apologies. “Where is she?” “She…” Leo, exhausted and sporting dark circles under his eyes, was slow to respond. “She can’t come.” Craig’s face twisted into a furious sneer. “Can’t come? She caused a car crash that nearly killed Chloe, and she can’t even be bothered to apologize in person? It seems I’ve spoiled her over the years! I was going to let her off easy, but she just had to push it!” Even as a spirit, I felt my chest tighten until I couldn’t breathe. The pain wasn’t physical, but it was etched into my very soul. 4 Chloe stayed in the hospital for seven days. In those seven days, Lucas never once showed up. But Craig was by her side the entire time, day and night. “Craig,” Chloe finally whispered, her voice choked with tears. “I wish you were him.” Craig’s heart ached for her. He gently pulled her into his arms, letting her cry into his shirt. He stroked her hair, murmuring words of comfort. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.” I sat beside them, a silent ghost, watching the arms that once held only me now cradle another woman. I felt no sadness, no joy. Nothing. The truth was, the car crash had been partly Chloe’s doing. In the novel, the heroine often resorted to self-harm to get the male lead’s attention. But she could never let anyone know it was intentional, or Lucas and her family would see her differently. So, once again, I became the scapegoat. She probably thought a hospital stay would be enough to bring Lucas running back. But it wasn’t. After seven days, Chloe was discharged. The entire Monroe family dropped everything to come and get her. Once again, she was their beloved princess. “Mom, I want ice cream!” “You just recovered! No ice cream! Thank God you didn’t scar…” Mrs. Monroe lovingly stroked Chloe’s forehead. “If she had even one scar, I’d go and carve up Anya’s face myself!” Ethan declared, his voice filled with righteous anger. The rest of the family nodded in agreement, their eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like they wanted to tear me limb from limb. “It… it wasn’t really her fault…” Chloe mumbled, looking down. But she would never tell them the truth. Craig’s eyes also flashed with anger, but ultimately, I was his responsibility. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Monroes. “I apologize on her behalf. As compensation, I’ll have her transfer ownership of the heart-shaped island to you.” The heart-shaped island. The first gift Craig ever gave me. A symbol of our love. “Really?” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Of course.” “But… won’t Anya be upset? I offered to buy it from her before, for a lot of money, and she refused.” Chloe looked down, feigning disappointment. Craig’s lip curled. “This is what she owes you. What right does she have to be upset?” In that single moment, every hope, every last shred of feeling I had for him, shattered. I collapsed in the corner, watching as Chloe jumped for joy. “Ah!” she cried out, twisting her ankle. Craig caught her, his voice a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “Be careful. Don’t you know your foot is still injured?” Chloe pouted. “I was just so happy!” Craig gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “If I’d known it would make you this happy, I would have given it to you sooner…” The last bit of light in my spectral eyes faded. I couldn’t watch anymore. I floated away, back to the only place I wanted to be. Back to my body. That evening, Leo came back with a contract. “Mr. Robinson is transferring the island to Chloe. It’s what you owe her…” I watched him as he rambled on, then signed my name in his perfect forgery and pressed my thumb to the ink. “Mr. Robinson is taking Chloe to the island for a vacation. Don’t be upset. I’ll stay here with you.” He seemed to notice the chill coming from my body and pulled a thin blanket over me. His mind, I think, was starting to unravel.

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The day Elias took the fall for me, we had just turned twenty. Through the visitor’s glass, he smiled, his eyes pinning me. “Elena. Wait for me.” I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. The moment he was gone, I became the blade he’d left behind. I threw my acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins in the trash. I dove into the underworld, playing chess with monsters, living on a razor’s edge for ten years. By the time he was paroled, I’d built an empire. I scrubbed his record. I laundered every dollar. I handed him the keys to a clean, legitimate corporation, and he became Mr. Elias Thorne, a man to be feared. I was late to the jeweler—I’d been cleaning up one of his messes. When I walked in, I saw her. A young, fragile-looking woman, wearing my diamond. The one he had designed. One of his new flunkies was fawning over her. “Miss Isla, Mr. Thorne had this custom-made just for you.” I picked up a glass of hot tea from a nearby tray and poured it, slowly and deliberately, right over her head. In the dead silence of the showroom, I looked at his men. “I’m done with Elias,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “But you don’t get to touch what’s mine.” … Elias moved faster than I’d seen him move in years. He ripped off his thousand-dollar suit jacket, wrapped her in it, and half-carried her into a private viewing room. When he came back out, he backhanded his top man across the face. The crack echoed. “Get out. All of you. Line up on the sidewalk.” His voice was ice. “When did any of you get the right to make decisions for me? Remember this: Only Elena gets that kind of respect. No one else.” The men bowed, their apologies quick and meaningless. I leaned against the wall, unimpressed. “Who’s the performance for, Elias? You really think they’d dare give her that ring without your nod?” He stepped close, his old scent—sandalwood and steel—filling my lungs. He reached to touch my face. I didn’t move. “Elena… Isla’s just… she’s naive. She’s exactly like you were when we first met. I couldn’t say no. But no one, no one, compares to you.” I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Hours ago, you said you were stuck in a board meeting, that the ‘old guard’ was riding you, and you couldn’t get away. She calls, and you ditch them? What are you afraid of, Elias? That I’ll kill her?” I reached up and tapped his throat. “Tell me. What is she?” His Adam’s apple jumped. “Elena, I was afraid you’d misunderstand. That’s why I rushed over. It’s not about her.” “Really?” I smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “You know I don’t believe in words.” Just then, a shriek came from the viewing room. Elias’s body tensed. He threw my hand aside. I saw the shift. The panic in his eyes. He spun to run to her. I kicked the back of his knee, hard. He grunted, his body pitching forward, and his elbow instinctively shot back, aimed right for my ribs. His voice was a snarl: “Elena, haven’t you made enough of a scene!” I blocked, twisting my torso so the blow glanced off my side. But he used the moment to break free and burst into the room. He pulled the woman—still just in his jacket—into a desperate hug. I followed, leaning on the doorframe. “That touches a nerve? It was just hot water, Elias. I took a broken bottle to the head for you in Chicago, and you didn’t look half this frantic.” He was furious, his eyes red, but his hands on her were impossibly gentle. “She’s not you, Elena! Isla’s been sheltered her whole life. Not every woman is like you.” The girl burrowed into his chest, her sobs precise, her words perfectly clear. “Elias, don’t blame Elena. It’s not her fault she’s… like this. Not after everything. You did ten years for her… how can she not trust you!” I froze. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” She looked up, tears like crystals on her porcelain cheeks. “Of course! Elias tells me everything. He says with me, he can finally… be himself. The real him. The clean him.” Clean. I’d spent ten years wading through filth for him. He gets to the top and now he’s ashamed of the hands that built his throne? “The real you?” I locked eyes with Elias. “Are you serious? You miss prison, Elias? Miss the stale bread and getting your head kicked in?” A flash of shame crossed his face. He handed Isla to a bodyguard. He turned, trying to take my hand. “Elena, stop. So it’s a ring. I’ll buy the whole store. Pick anything.” I slapped his hand away. “Elias. That ring. You designed it yourself with the first real money we made from the syndicate. You stayed up for three nights drawing it. You said… you said you’d put it on my finger the day we got married. And you’re giving it to her?” My fist flew. He turned, shielding Isla with his own body, taking the punch on his shoulder. “Get Miss Isla home. Now!” He knew my temper. He knew what I was capable of. The room exploded. My men and his new crew. It was a blur of motion. He blocked me, a wall of muscle, keeping me away from her. I heard a car engine. She was getting away. Rage, pure and black, burned through me. I reached into my boot and pulled the five-inch dagger—the first gift he ever gave me—and plunged it into his thigh. He hissed, but he didn’t back down. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, a twisted smile on his face. “Feel better? I promise, Elena. This is the last time. She’ll never be in your way again.” I twisted the blade. “Isla. 22. College grad. Met her at a fundraiser three months ago… ‘spilled’ a drink on you. You’ve gotten sloppy, Elias. Or did you forget how you climbed this high?” His face changed. The smile was gone. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in so hard I knew I’d have bruises. “Don’t make this bigger than it is. I’ll have an exact copy of the ring made. Just… let it go.” The gash was too deep. He couldn’t handle it himself. His men half-carried him out. I stood there, breathing hard. As I was leaving, I sent him a text. That knife was the first thing you ever gave me. Now it’s yours. We’re even. I knew he’d been icing me out. Sidelining me. Putting new faces in key positions, men loyal only to him. “Elena, you’ve been running for ten years,” he’d say, massaging his temples. “You need to rest. Let me handle the dirty work.” It was a lie, a tranquilizer to keep me calm. My hand went to my stomach. This morning… the nausea. The sudden dizziness. As I left the jeweler, I had my driver, Chloe, take me to our doctor. The on-payroll one. She looked at the report, then at me. “Elena… you’re pregnant.” The words hit me. The fucking irony. Elias had grieved over us not having a child. After they’d captured me, years ago… after the torture, the drugs… the doctor said the damage was irreversible. “You’ll likely never carry a child to term.” Elias had broken down. He’d smashed his fist into the wall, screaming, “My fault, my fault, if I’d been faster…” It was the only time I’d ever seen him cry. This baby… it was a miracle. And it arrived today. The day he handed my ring to another woman. “Chloe,” I said, my voice flat. “This doesn’t leave this car. Tell the doctor. If one word of this gets out, you’ll be swimming in concrete shoes.” “Elena…” “This baby is mine,” I interrupted, my voice like stone. “Elias Thorne has no right to it.” Because of the day’s stress, the doctor insisted I stay overnight for observation. As I was checking in, I heard them. Down the hall. Isla’s voice, clinging. “Elias, she’s terrifying! How can she treat you like that? After everything you’ve done for her!” And his. “She’s just… she’s been through a lot. I spoiled her.” “Don’t move, your stitches will tear. I’ll kiss it better.” “Elias,” she whispered, “I don’t have her power. I can’t run your company. But I can give you a home. With me, you can just be Elias…” She stood on her toes and kissed him. I watched. He didn’t pull away. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her back. My heart seized. It was just a kiss. But it was a betrayal that ten years of bullets and blood hadn’t been. We’d had so many kisses. Kisses that tasted like gunpowder and victory. Kisses in the back of armored cars, desperate and hungry. Kisses in the dark, promising forever. The last kiss before he went in. Him, gripping the bars. “You wait for me, Elena. You wait, and I’ll marry you.” The same mouth. Kissing her. In my empire. I walked toward them. The bodyguard saw me first. He saw the look in my eyes and he stepped back. Elias finally turned. The desire in his eyes turned to shock. My fist connected with his jaw. At the last second, he jerked his head, shielding her again, taking the blow. His leg buckled. Isla shrieked. “We’re in love! Just leave us alone!” I slapped her so hard she hit the linoleum floor. I put my heel on her hand. “Say that again.” Elias grabbed my arm, his voice pleading, desperate. “Elena, don’t. Don’t hurt her. I swear to you, your place… no one can take it. You’ll be my wife. You’ll always be Mrs. Thorne.” I laughed, a sound that hurt my own ears. “Mrs. Thorne? You think I need your name? You think you’re clean enough to give it to me?” I pressed my heel down. Isla screamed. That did it. The last bit of warmth in his eyes died. His face went blank. “Get her off!” he roared. The bodyguards moved.

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I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw my sister-in-law’s post raving about my mom’s famous homemade BBQ sauce. My mouth watered, so I texted my mom and asked if she could mail me a couple of jars. She didn’t text back all day. That evening, she called. “So, do you still want that BBQ sauce or not? If you do, you can Venmo me fifty bucks. You know how expensive a good brisket is, honey. I’m on a fixed income.” **1** Hearing my mom’s voice on the other end of the line, I just went silent. Earlier that afternoon, I’d seen the post from Jessica, my brother’s wife. It was a picture of perfectly glazed ribs, with the caption, “Nothing beats my mother-in-law’s secret recipe BBQ sauce! So good!” I got an instant craving and commented, asking if she could send me the brand. Jessica sent me a voice note, sounding surprised. “Oh, honey, you can’t buy this! It’s your mom’s homemade sauce. She just dropped off a whole case for us. It’s seriously the best.” So I texted Mom, asking her to send a couple of jars my way. The message was marked “Read,” but hours went by with no reply. Crickets. Meanwhile, I saw her active in our family group chat, sending boomer-memes to my aunts. I was confused. Why would she see my text and just ignore it? That night, I was in the middle of dinner when my phone rang. It was her. The knot in my stomach finally loosened. I quickly picked up. “So, do you still want that BBQ sauce or not? If you do, you can Venmo me fifty bucks. You know how expensive a good brisket is, honey. I’m on a fixed income.” The excitement I’d felt just seconds before vanished, replaced by a cold shock, like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I didn’t know what to say. When I didn’t answer, her voice grew impatient. “What’s wrong? Fifty dollars is too much for you? Do you have any idea how much work this is? I have to get up at the crack of dawn to go to the butcher, trim the meat, render the fat, let it simmer all day… It’s a huge effort, Dani. You can’t just expect to get it for free.” A familiar ache spread through my chest. “Mom,” I said, my voice quiet. “I saw Jessica’s post. You gave her more than a dozen jars. I just figured you had a lot extra, that’s why I asked for two.” Her tone instantly shifted from weary to angry. “Danielle, what are you trying to say? Are you blaming me?” I had a million frustrated thoughts, but I couldn’t bring myself to fight with her. “No,” I mumbled. But that single word was like a match on gasoline. “Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “You want to compare yourself to Jessica? Get real. Jessica has a master’s degree, she’s gorgeous, and her family is wealthy. Her marrying Kevin was the best thing that ever happened to this family. Not to mention, she gave us our beautiful grandson.” “And you?” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “You married a government worker. A guy with no connections, from a no-name family. He barely cracks six figures. After your mortgage and car payments, what do you even have left?” “Honestly, Dani, it’s embarrassing. Your brother, thanks to Jessica’s father, has a booming business. He takes care of us. And your husband? The bottle of wine he brings for Thanksgiving is from the grocery store. It’s humiliating. Your father can’t even look at it.” It was like a dam had broken, and all her years of disappointment in me came flooding out. I always knew there was a pecking order in my family, that my brother was the golden child. But I never knew she saw the gap between us as a chasm. I bit my lip, forcing back tears. “I get it, Mom. I won’t ask for the sauce again. You can keep it. Keep it all for Jessica. Your BBQ sauce is too rich for my blood.” I ended the call before she could reply. The second the screen went dark, the tears came. I curled up on the sofa, burying my face in my hands. A few minutes later, I heard the beep of the keypad at the front door. It was my husband, Mark, home from work. I quickly wiped my eyes. Mark walked in, holding a small paper bag. “Hey, babe, look what I got!” he said with a grin. “Those cronuts from the place on the West side you were talking about this morning. Got you one of each.” He sat down next to me and his smile faded. He saw my red eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around me. “What’s wrong?” I just shook my head. “Nothing. Just watched a sad movie.” Mark gave me a tired, loving smile. “You and your tearjerkers.” He pulled me closer, and I just let myself be held, trying to breathe past the lump in my throat. I didn’t expect my brother to show up that night. Mark opened the door to see Kevin standing there, and immediately put on a welcoming smile. Kevin, however, looked like he was ready for a fight. He brushed past Mark and bellowed, “Danielle! Where is she? Get out here!” I came out of the bedroom with a sheet mask on my face, frowning. “What are you doing here?” My relationship with Kevin was… strained. Growing up, our parents’ favoritism was obvious. He learned early on that he was the king of the castle, and I was, at best, a court jester. No matter how he bullied me, Mom and Dad always took his side. We grew up more like rivals than siblings. Then he married Jessica, whose family owned a massive logistics company. A few crumbs of their business were enough to make Kevin a rich man. In our parents’ eyes, he could now walk on water. My standing in the family plummeted to somewhere below Jessica’s purebred golden retriever. Then I met Mark. He wasn’t a big shot, but he was kind and steady. We had our own little house, our own life. In this home, I had my own space, my own voice. Mark never belittled me; he listened to me, respected me. So, I didn’t care if my family looked down on us. Their money had nothing to do with me. Mark offered Kevin a glass of water. Kevin waved it away with a smug look. “No thanks, man. Just came from a client dinner. Drank a few hundred dollars’ worth of single malt. Pretty full.” I couldn’t help myself. “Wow, you’re so fancy. What are you doing in our humble little home? Aren’t you afraid of getting your expensive shoes dirty?” Kevin’s face tightened. “Always with the smart mouth, Dani. You think I wanted to come here? Did you call Mom today and make her cry? I just got home and she was a complete wreck. Do you have a conscience? What did she ever do to you?” “It’s just a couple of jars of BBQ sauce,” he scoffed. “Is it really that big of a deal?” He then turned to Mark. “And you, man. I know money’s tight, but you can’t even buy your wife a bottle of sauce from the store? You let her call my mom and throw a tantrum? That’s not cool.” Mark’s jaw tensed, but his voice was even. “Kevin, I respect you as Dani’s brother, but don’t cross the line. Dani is your sister. You should talk to her with a little more respect.” Kevin just laughed. “Facts are facts. She found out my wife got some of Mom’s sauce, and she threw a jealous fit on the phone. What part of that isn’t true?” Mark’s expression didn’t change. “She’s your sister. She’s our mother’s daughter. Is it really such a crime for a daughter to ask her mother for a jar of BBQ sauce?” he asked calmly. “Or have you all just decided she’s not part of the family anymore? Our mother can give it to her daughter-in-law, but not her own child? What’s the difference?” I was stunned. I thought I’d hidden how bad things were at home from Mark. I was too ashamed to talk about it. Mark’s words set Kevin off. “What’s the difference? You have the nerve to ask what the difference is?” he shouted. “Look at my wife, and then look at Dani! She can’t hold a candle to Jessica! There’s a reason my mom loves my wife! Maybe Dani should take a hard look in the mirror and ask herself why!” “ENOUGH!” The word exploded from Mark. Kevin froze. I jumped. Mark was the calmest person I knew. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even seen him truly angry. Kevin recovered quickly. “What’s your problem, man? Are you yelling at me? Are you insane? I’m just telling the truth! You might treat her like a princess, but in our family, she was always less than—” He never finished the sentence. Mark’s fist connected with his jaw. Mark works out; even in a loose shirt, you can see the muscle. Kevin went down hard and stayed there, groaning. Mark walked to the door and opened it. “Get out,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “We don’t want you here. And if you want to call the cops, go ahead. I’ll be waiting.” Kevin scrambled to his feet, terrified Mark would hit him again, and scurried out the door, muttering curses under his breath. As soon as the door was closed, Mark rushed over and wrapped his arms around me. “Dani, it’s okay. Don’t be scared.” I shook my head, my voice trembling. “I’m not scared. I’m just worried he’s going to come after you.” Kevin was vindictive. “Don’t worry about him,” Mark said, holding me tight. “It’ll be fine.” A week went by with no word from my brother or my parents. I started to think maybe it was all over. Then, one evening when I got home from work, I found my mother standing on my doorstep, holding several overflowing grocery bags. She lit up when she saw me. “Dani, honey, you’re home!” “Look,” she said, lifting the bags. “I brought you some of the BBQ sauce. And I got you some organic supplements from the farmer’s market, and some fresh eggs.” I was instantly on guard. My mother had never, ever been this generous with me. Something was wrong. I let her in and she set the bags down on the counter. I poured her a glass of water. She took it, looking around our small living room. “So, Dani, are you doing okay?” I crossed my arms. “Just say what you came to say, Mom. You don’t have to beat around the bush.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Okay. It’s your brother. He’s in some trouble. A big shipment of his for export got held up at the port—some issue with the paperwork. He’s called everyone he knows, but no one can help. Then he found out… well, he found out Mark works for Customs and Border Protection.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Could you ask Mark to talk to his supervisor? Just to… you know… pull some strings? Get them to approve the shipment?” Without a second of hesitation, I said, “No.” Her face fell. “How can you be so heartless? It’s such a small favor. He’s your brother!” “Is he?” I shot back. “When has he ever treated me like a sister?” A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it. “Oh, Dani, don’t be so dramatic. You two just roughhoused as kids. You can’t hold a grudge forever. Your brother might have a sharp tongue, but he has a good heart. He loves you.” “Think about it,” she pressed on. “Mark punched him last week, and did he call the police? No! He kept quiet, for the sake of the family. He took the hit.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Don’t try to make him a saint, Mom. You know he got punched, but do you know why? He was insulting me, in my own home, in front of my husband. If Mark had just sat there and taken it, I would have divorced him.” She sighed dramatically. “Dani, no matter what, you two are family. Blood is thicker than water. You can’t be this cruel.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Mark is a federal agent, Mom. He has spent years building his career, being careful, following the rules. If there was nothing wrong with Kevin’s shipment, it wouldn’t be held up. And if there *is* something wrong with it, and Mark gets involved, he could lose his job, his pension, or even go to jail. Is that what you want?” My mom looked away, her face flushing with discomfort. “How could there be anything wrong with it?” she mumbled, not sounding convinced at all.

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