Category: English

I have late-stage cancer. The doctor told me not to leave any regrets. The first person I thought of was my ex-husband, whom I hadn’t seen in ten years. I started calling him, one number after another, until one finally connected. “I’m dying. Can you come see me one last time?” The man on the other end of the line was silent, unmoved. I couldn’t help the sob that broke from my throat. “Can you just be with me… just for three days… I’m begging you…” “Please… Ethan… say something…” “Say something!” The line went dead. I sat in the dark, hollowed out by despair, until the sun came up. Then, a storm broke, and the doorbell rang. 1. The ringing was frantic, insistent. I scrambled to my feet, knocking a bottle of pills to the floor. When I yanked the door open, a FedEx delivery guy was standing there, his impatient expression freezing on his face. “Uh… hi… package for you…” he stammered. He thrust the package into my hands and practically ran down the hall. I looked out at the empty corridor and laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. In the middle of a hurricane warning, who else but a delivery driver would come to my door? I picked up the package. Then I heard it. Drip. Drip. I turned around slowly. Soaked to the bone, Ethan was standing at the end of the hall. The wind howled outside. I suddenly remembered a line from a movie. The people who love you will walk through a hurricane to find you. And he was here. Did that mean… he still loved me? But his first words shattered that fantasy. “Maya,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “We’ve been divorced for ten years. I need you to stop bothering me.” Ten years. And with a single sentence, he made me lose my mind. I lunged forward, trying to grab the sleeve of his wet jacket, wanting to scream at him. Why? Why could you just leave? Why did you disappear for a decade without a word? But before I could speak, the tears came, hot and traitorous. All I could manage to sob out was, “How could you…” His expression didn’t flicker. “Maya, calm down.” The electronic lock on the door across the hall beeped. “Password incorrect. Please try again.” My neighbor glanced over, her face pale, and I wondered how much she’d heard. 2. I wiped my eyes and forced a professional, customer-service smile. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you…” Her face went even whiter. She fumbled with the keypad, finally got the password right, and slammed the door shut behind her. The hallway fell silent. I turned back to Ethan. He walked towards me, the only sound the squelch of his wet shoes on the tile. He sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion. “Let’s talk inside.” Before I could react, he squeezed past me through the door, bringing the damp, cold smell of the storm with him. It was the one-bedroom apartment we had bought together. The decor, the paint, the furniture—it was all chosen to our tastes back then. I hadn’t changed a thing in ten years. Now, it all just looked painfully outdated. Ethan stood in the entryway, not moving. The living room was a mess, littered with takeout containers and pill bottles. It radiated the same air of decay that I did. He frowned, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But when he spoke, his voice was as distant as ever. “Maya, stop harassing me. We’re adults. Can’t we just have a clean break? Be civil about this?” No. I looked up at him and smiled, a cruel, ugly thing. “I’m dying. What do I need civility for?” 3. It started with a dull ache in my stomach. I ignored it, figured it would pass. I got used to the pain, the same way I’d gotten used to the years without him. Until I collapsed at my desk one afternoon. I woke up to the smell of antiseptic. A coworker had dropped me at the ER and gone back to work. From then on, I was alone, going from one test to another. By the time it was my turn to see the oncologist, he was packing up to go home. He’d been frowning and brusque all day, but suddenly his voice became gentle. He saw my dry lips and even had a nurse bring me a glass of water. The room became quiet, the only sound the distant wail of a siren. From the looks on their faces, I already knew. Cancer. The strange thing was, when I heard the word, I felt… a sense of relief. Like a heavy weight had finally been lifted. I did what I was told. I checked into the hospital. I set up a video call with my family. I tried to keep my voice light as I told them. I have cancer. But don’t worry, I’m already in the hospital. You should all get checked, just in case. That night is a blur of my parents’ weeping, my sister’s choked sobs, and my brother’s long, heavy silence. Then came the treatment. The endless needles, pills, chemo. The vomiting, the hair loss, the indignity of losing control of my own body. The face in the mirror grew more sunken each day. At first, people visited. The fruit baskets in my room were constantly being replaced. Then, slowly, the visitors stopped coming. The fruit started to rot. The doctor’s voice grew softer and softer. “Maya,” he said one day. “Is there anything special you’ve always wanted to do?” The question hung in the air, thick with pity. I looked down at my hands, now just skin and bone. How can a person waste away so quickly? Something I wanted to do? Besides just wanting it all to be over, there was only one thing. I wanted to see Ethan. One more time. Just one more time. 4. A sudden cramp seized my stomach. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. The pain was so intense I had to brace myself against the wall, but I refused to take my painkillers. I just pressed hard against my abdomen, waiting for the wave to pass. Ethan just watched me, his eyes full of skepticism. My body was shaking violently. “You don’t believe me? You think I’d lie about dying to get you here?” I practically threw myself at the coffee table and ripped open the drawer. I pulled everything out and dumped it on the table for him to see. The diagnosis, stacks of medical bills, lab reports, even my insurance statements. “Look,” I sobbed, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. “Open your eyes and look! See if I’m lying to you!” “See? I’m dying. I’m really, truly dying.” He looked down at the mountain of paper. I stared at his face, desperate to see something. Sadness? Pain? He just kept his head bowed, his expression hidden from me. “What is it you really want?” My voice dropped to a whisper, filled with a self-loathing humility. “Three days with you.” My throat was tight. “Just three days… After that, I’ll never bother you again…” We stood there, locked in a silent battle. Finally, he yielded. He sighed. “Does it start today?” Just then, the hurricane passed. A single ray of sunlight cut through the clouds and into the room. The sky was clearing. It was as if even the heavens were taking pity on me. 5. I washed my face and stared at my reflection. Sunken eyes, sallow skin. Behind me, his reflection was still handsome, still young. It seemed time had only taken its toll on me. It wasn’t fair. The ones who break your heart always seem to get off easy. I put on my wig and hastily applied some makeup. The plate-glass windows of the mall reflected our images as we walked, him always a few steps ahead of me, his face a cold mask. He wouldn’t get close. He wouldn’t touch me. I looked down at our shadows on the pavement. I reached out my hand and let my shadow-hand touch his. At least my shadow wouldn’t pull away. We went to a movie. The same theater as our first date. The moment the lights went down, the memories flooded back. His warm hand, cautiously reaching for mine in the dark. Once he held it, he never let go. I didn’t have to see his face to know how red he was blushing. Now, I slowly reached out, trying to touch his hand on the armrest. He snatched it back as if he’d been burned and shoved it in his pocket. My hand was left hanging in the empty space between us. Tears fell, big and heavy. I couldn’t stop them. On the screen, the lovers were kissing. In the dark, I was weeping. And beside me, he was silent. 6. After the movie, we went to dinner. An old place we used to go to all the time. I’d booked our usual table by the window. I ordered his favorites—steamed pork ribs and a spicy Cajun pasta. I carefully wiped down a set of silverware and handed it to him, then ordered another for myself. He stared out the window, ignoring me. I didn’t care. I just started talking. Talking about how the restaurant had been renovated and lost its charm, about how the owner had changed, about how the prices had gone up… He never responded. But I kept talking. I hadn’t spoken to him in so long. Even if he didn’t listen, I wanted to tell him everything about my last ten years. The food arrived, steaming hot. I pushed the plate of ribs towards him. “Eat.” He didn’t even look at it. “I don’t like this stuff anymore.” It felt like a needle driving straight into my heart. I picked up a rib and put it in my mouth. I chewed. Tasteless. I couldn’t taste a thing. Swallowing felt like swallowing glass. He didn’t like it, but I did. He didn’t remember the taste, but I did. And now, I couldn’t taste it at all. I started shoveling the pasta into my mouth. Forkful after forkful. The food mixed with my tears as I forced it down. My stomach churned. I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran for the trash can in the corner. “Ohh—” Everything I had just eaten came back up, mixed with bile and tears. A waiter rushed over with water and napkins. “Ma’am, are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?” I was shaking too hard to speak, just managing to shake my head. “I’m… I’m fine… I’m so… sorry… about the mess…” “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll clean it,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, let me help you up…” When I finally managed to stand, I saw that Ethan was already outside, a blurry figure through the rain-streaked glass. 7. I rushed to pay the bill, terrified he would just leave. “Ethan!” He looked at me, keeping his distance. “Where to next?” My throat still burned. “The waterfront… let’s go to the waterfront.” We went to the old city bridge. It was mostly deserted now; everyone went to the new, flashy pedestrian bridge nearby. “Do you remember this place?” I asked, watching a ferry glide across the dark water. “This is where you told me you loved me.” He frowned. “That was a long time ago. Let’s not talk about it.” I was going to talk about it. “Our first date. First the movie, at that same theater. Then dinner, at that same restaurant. You saved up for weeks to order the most expensive thing on the menu…” I paused. “Was it good? Did it… taste the same as you remember?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t eat.” “…Oh.” My voice was a whisper. “Right.” And we’ll never have the chance to eat it again. A ferry passed under the bridge, and I remembered that night. He didn’t want to go home, holding me tight, saying we’d leave after the next boat passed. We watched them come and go until the sky was completely dark. A cold wind blew, and I shivered. Was the wind that cold that night? I pointed to another approaching ferry, its lights twinkling on the water. “Let’s go home after that one passes.” The boat slid beneath us, a floating island of light and laughter. They looked so happy. I was so envious. That night, a nightmare woke me. I ran out of the bedroom, my heart pounding. It wasn’t until I saw the dark shape of him on the sofa that I could breathe again. His breathing was so quiet. I crept closer, wanting to touch him, but I was afraid I’d wake him. Suddenly, the pain hit again, a brutal, twisting agony in my abdomen. I curled into a ball on the floor, biting my lip to keep from screaming. Cold sweat and tears streamed down my face. My vision started to blur. Ethan, it hurts so much. Why won’t you come hold me? 8. When I opened my eyes, it was the next day. The sun was bright. Ethan was sitting on the sofa, watching me in silence. I scrambled to get ready, and we rushed to a bridal shop. I carefully looked through the dresses. We were so poor back then, we just signed the papers at the courthouse. We had finally made it, bought the house, bought the car… and we were planning the wedding when we got divorced. I held up a mermaid-style dress. “Is this one pretty?” He leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, sure,” he said, not even looking. I picked up another, a classic A-line. “What about this one?” “Whatever. They’re all fine.” I stopped asking. I chose a simple, elegant satin dress and a classic black tux. I bought them both. From there, we went to a small, private photography studio with great reviews. I asked Ethan to change into the tux. He refused. “I said I’d spend three days with you. I never said I’d take pictures.” “You won’t?” I asked, holding the suit. “No.” Fine. I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. The makeup artist was a miracle worker. She managed to make me look almost healthy. But as she was styling my hair, she tugged a little too hard. My wig shifted, pulling out a few of the sparse, precious strands I had left. She was horrified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry… I wasn’t even pulling… I…” “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “It’s not your fault. My hair just falls out easily. Just do what you need to do.” After that, she was impossibly gentle. In the studio, the photographer looked from me to the empty space beside me. “Where’s the groom?” 9. I glanced at Ethan, who was standing behind the photographer, looking like he was waiting for me to be humiliated. I forced a smile. “He… uh… he didn’t want to be in the photos. It’ll just be me.” The photographer’s expression changed instantly. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice breezy. “You can just Photoshop him in later. I brought pictures of him. I’ll pay extra.” I only took one photo, but I booked the entire team for the day. The rest of the time was for post-production. I gave the photos of Ethan and the tux to the young graphic designer. “Can you put him in here, please? Thank you.” The kid glanced at the photo, then at me. “Yeah, okay.” I stood behind him, pointing at the screen, trying to recreate the Ethan from my memory. “He needs to be taller. He’s six foot one.” “His shoulders are broader than that.” “His skin should be a little lighter.” “His face… it’s a little thinner than in that photo…” The designer’s mouse clicks got faster, his brow furrowed. Finally, he slammed the mouse down. “Look, lady! I’m not a magician! Why didn’t you just bring the guy with you? This is impossible!” His voice was sharp. I glanced at Ethan, who was watching the scene with detached amusement. My voice shrank. “He didn’t want to come.” The air went still. The studio manager rushed over and smacked the designer on the back of the head. “What did I tell you about your attitude?” He then turned to me, his voice oozing apology. “Miss, I am so sorry. He’s new. Please, don’t be upset. You tell him exactly what you want, and he’ll keep working until you’re satisfied.” The young man muttered under his breath, “Fine, I’ll fix it.” I smiled and said it was okay. Then I remembered something else. “Could you do one more photo for me? A five-by-seven. Black and white. Just of me.” The designer’s mouse stopped moving. The manager’s smile froze. “…Black and white?” 10. I nodded. “Yes. And a simple black frame. Can you… make me look nice? I think… it will probably be for the memorial service.” I found a photo from ten years ago on my phone. In it, a vibrant, happy girl was snuggled up against a man whose face was filled with adoration. “I didn’t… always look like this,” I whispered. I sent the picture to the designer. He stared at it, speechless. The manager smacked him again. “You see? You better do a good job or you’ll be having nightmares!” The designer’s voice was full of guilt when he spoke again. “Ma’am, you just tell me what to change. A little thinner here? Add some color to your cheeks?” On the screen, the Photoshopped me stood in a white wedding dress, my eyes bright. Beside me stood a carefully crafted image of Ethan, wearing a handsome tux, his eyes full of love. It looked just like us, ten years ago. “It’s perfect,” I said softly. “It looks just like the old me. Thank you.” They both insisted they could make it even better and would have it delivered the next day. The kindness of strangers is a strange and beautiful thing. Since my diagnosis, the whole world had shown me compassion. Everyone except him. I looked over at Ethan, sitting alone in the corner. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Maya, sweetie…” her voice was cautious. “The hospital said you checked yourself out?” “Mmmhmm.” “Well… why don’t you come home? Your brother and sister are both here.” “Okay,” I agreed. “And Mom? I’m bringing Ethan with me. Can you make some of his favorite dishes?” There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, she stammered, “Oh… okay… yes, of course, honey. You two… be safe on the road…” 11. After we left the studio, I told Ethan, “We’re going to my parents’ house for dinner tonight.” He was leaning against the wall, half his face in shadow. “And show up as what? Your ex-husband? Maya, we’re divorced. It’s been ten years. It’s not appropriate.” I remembered how my parents had never really approved of him. When they found out his family was from a poor, rural town and he had three siblings, they immediately tried to set me up with other people. “Maya, I’ve been there,” my mom had said. “I don’t want you to struggle the way I did.” I had slammed the door and screamed at her. Later, Ethan found out. He wasn’t angry. He just held me. “She’s not wrong, you know,” he said. “If I had a daughter, I’d want her to have an easy life, not struggle with some poor kid.” He smoothed my hair. “Don’t be mad at your parents. It’s my fault for not being good enough yet. But thank you for believing in me, Maya. I’ll work hard. I promise I’ll give you a good life.” And he did. He worked insane hours, was on call 24/7. In five years, he was a director of engineering. He made six figures, bought a house and a car, and put both in my name. He achieved the kind of success the world respects. My parents never had another objection. He was better to them than I was, always reminding me to call home. I looked at him now. “Mom just turned sixty. Are you really not going to go? You always used to say I didn’t care enough about them. You said…” He cut me off sharply. “Enough! Stop it! You want me to go, right?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Fine. I’ll go. Just don’t regret it.” How could I regret it? We were finally going home together. I pushed open the door to my childhood home. “Mom, Dad! We’re home!” 12. “You’re back!” my sister called out. Everyone turned to look at us. The house went silent, except for the hum of the kitchen fan. “Come… come sit down!” my brother finally said, his voice strained. “Let’s… let’s eat!” I glanced at Ethan and motioned for him to sit next to me. But my brother slid into the seat first. I pushed him gently. “Hey! That’s for your brother-in-law…” The words hung in the air. The room got even quieter. The spoon in my mother’s hand clattered into the soup bowl. My brother jumped up as if shocked. “Oh! Right, right! For my brother-in-law! Sit down, man, sit down!” He grabbed a bottle of wine and started to pour it into Ethan’s glass. “Here, man! Have a drink! Long time no see!” I watched Ethan’s face. His jaw was clenched. I quickly put my hand over the glass. “He can’t drink!” My brother’s hand froze. “Oh… right! Coke! He can drink Coke!” He scrambled to get a soda. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the table. Steamed fish, boiled shrimp, vegetable soup… all bland, healthy food. “Mom,” I complained. “Why is everything so plain? You know Ethan loves spicy food…” Before I could finish, my mother covered her face with her hands. A muffled sob escaped through her fingers. “Why is Grandma crying?” my little nephew asked, his face turning red with anger as he looked at me. “Auntie is mean! You made Grandma cry!” “No, sweetie, I didn’t,” I tried to explain. “I just meant, when we have a guest, we should make food the guest likes…” “He’s not a guest! He’s not here!” my nephew shrieked. “Grandma said Auntie is sick! And she’s imagining things! There is no Uncle Ethan! Uncle Ethan is gone! He…” Smack! My sister slapped him hard on the bottom, her face ashen. “Be quiet! What have I told you about saying things like that?” The boy burst into tears, wailing indignantly. “I’m not lying! Grandma said it! Uncle Ethan is… woo hoo hoo…” My sister clamped her hand over his mouth and rushed him back to his room. The crying, the shouting, the shushing, the sighs… all the sounds mixed together, a chaotic symphony in my ears. I turned, dazed, and looked at the man beside me. His image began to warp and twist. Bzzzzzz… Bzzzzzz… A loud ringing started in my ears. He smiled, but tears were streaming down his face. A single drop, then another. “I told you,” he said, his voice cutting through the ringing. “I told you not to bring me home.”

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Could twins have two different biological fathers? I stared at the two paternity test reports in my hand, lost in thought. Just then, my husband called out from the living room, “Let’s name the big one Summer, and the little one Rose.” His first love, the one who broke his heart in college, was named Summer Rose. Something inside me snapped. What the hell? The kids weren’t even his. What right did he have to name them? 1 I’m what you’d call a traditional woman, a small-town girl at heart. When I married my husband, Mark, he became my whole world. Whatever he said, whatever he did, was right. I adored him. We met at the same university. He was a few years ahead of me and came back as a successful alum to give a talk to my business class. In my eyes, he was the epitome of success. 2 We dated, we got married. I threw myself into the role of the perfect wife. The day I graduated, I hung up my ambitions and dedicated myself to him. I managed our home, cooked his meals, and organized his life. 3 But my perfect domestic life hit a major snag. Two years into our marriage, I still wasn’t pregnant. Panic set in. I grew up in a place where divorce was the ultimate failure for a woman. If I was the one who couldn’t have children, I’d be sent back to my parents in shame. 4 Desperate, I confided in one of Mark’s best friends, Ben. Ben was a doctor, handsome and successful like all of Mark’s friends. He was kind. After listening to my tearful confession, he offered to run some private tests for me, off the record. The results came back: Mark was sterile. A wave of relief washed over me. It was dark, but my backup plan had been to… injure Mark in a way that would make him sterile, creating a situation where we were both unable to have children. It was a bloody thought, and though I’d rehearsed it in my head, telling myself it was to save our family, I was glad I didn’t have to hurt him. 5 To protect our marriage, and more importantly, Mark’s fragile ego, I decided to bear this burden alone. I swallowed the secret. When Mark and his mother yelled at me, I took it. His mother called me a “barren hen.” Mark would snap, “Every other woman on the planet can get pregnant, what’s wrong with you?” I never said a word. I was the silent, long-suffering wife. Besides, I was already working on a solution, not just complaining like they were. 6 Sometimes, I felt a surge of pity for Mark. He had no idea how lucky he was to have a wife like me. Ben asked me what my plan was. He was so handsome. He had these charming eyes that crinkled when he smiled and a deep, soothing voice. When he stood close, he smelled faintly of clean linen and antiseptic. 7 As I cried quietly in his office, Ben gently wiped my tears with a tissue. He put a comforting hand on my shoulder, guiding me into a soft hug. “You’ve been through so much,” he murmured. “It breaks my heart to see you like this.” “I don’t want to hurt Mark,” I sobbed. “And I don’t want to lose my family.” I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. “Ben, is there any way… any way you can help me get pregnant?” After a long pause, Ben agreed. He would be my anonymous donor. We both agreed to keep it from Mark. We didn’t want him to be hurt. 8 Our conversation was overheard by Mark’s other best friend, Julian. The three of them were inseparable. Julian was a university professor. He found me later, his expression serious. “You can’t keep this from him,” he said. “The problem is his. He needs to know.” “Telling him won’t change anything!” I whispered frantically. “It would just crush him. All he wants is a child. If I, as his wife, can’t even give him that, what good am I?” Julian sighed. “If you need someone to help… I can. I’ve been in love with you for years, but you’ve always been so wrapped up in him, I never had a chance.” He looked at me with such intensity. “If you have my child, I will give that child everything I have. All I ask for is one night. One night I can remember for the rest of my life. Can’t you grant me that one wish?” 9 I was tempted. He promised he would never marry, that he would just love our child from afar. Having one more person love my baby couldn’t be a bad thing. And besides, I hated feeling indebted to people. Since Julian loved me, it felt less like a transaction and more like… a mutual favor. So, I told Ben I’d found someone else. He demanded to know why. When I hesitated, he grew quiet. “You can’t be serious about divorcing him, can you? Because if you did, I’d marry you. You wouldn’t have to go through all this.” I shook my head, horrified. His words scared me. Mark and his mother always said a woman’s value comes from being married, from being loved and wanted by a man. How could I initiate a divorce? I was a traditional woman. Divorce wasn’t in my vocabulary. 10 Ben pressed me. “Who is it? What did they offer you?” Of course, I wouldn’t say. “I know who it is,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s Julian, isn’t it? The way he looks at you… it’s not innocent. Getting involved with him is a mistake.” He leaned closer. “I can marry you! Can he?” His arguments were compelling. He was a doctor. If there were any “post-purchase” issues, he could help. If Mark ever got suspicious and wanted a paternity test, Ben could handle it. Plus, having a doctor on call during the pregnancy would be invaluable. So, I went back and rejected Julian. 11 Julian did not take it well. He threatened to go to Mark and tell him everything, to stop him from pressuring me. To calm him down, I quickly said that having his baby would be better. In the end, I decided that since they were both willing to help, and they were both Mark’s best friends, it didn’t really matter who it was. And with two of them… my chances of success would be higher. So I found my ovulation day on the calendar. I scheduled a “meeting” with Julian in the morning. And another with Ben in the afternoon. 12 Soon after, I was pregnant. They both wanted to “meet” with me again, but I refused. I couldn’t possibly do something so immoral more than once. Being with them had been physically… pleasurable. More than it had ever been with Mark. But my heart was heavy with guilt. How could a woman enjoy such a thing? I was supposed to be pure, traditional. I couldn’t let myself become wanton. 13 But Ben and Julian were persistent. And somehow, they had both gotten samples of my blood and run their own tests. They both called me, claiming the child was theirs. At first, I was shocked, assuming one of them was lying. But soon, I had no time to worry about it. The pregnancy was rough. And Mark and his mother were no help at all. “When I was pregnant with Mark,” his mother would say, “I was still working two jobs! I gave birth on my lunch break and was back at the cash register that afternoon. Women these days are so fragile.” Mark would chime in, “You sit around the house all day. What’s so hard about being pregnant? Why did I marry such a useless woman?” 14 I endured it all in silence. For the sake of a peaceful home. I told myself that Mark would mature one day. The kids would grow up, and we’d be happy companions in our old age. But it was hard. Thankfully, I had Ben and Julian. I saw Ben for all my prenatal appointments. He was so attentive. When he found out I was still doing all the housework and waiting on Mark and his mother, he told them in no uncertain terms that I needed bed rest. He even hired a housekeeper for us, saying it was an early baby shower gift. His mother was thrilled at the free help. Mark just said Ben was too nice for his own good. 15 Julian was wonderful, too. He moved into the apartment directly above ours. He was a professor, so his schedule was flexible. He started cooking all the time, bringing down elaborate meals. If I craved pickles, he’d make a dish with a tart vinaigrette. If I wanted spicy, he’d whip up a curry. If I had a late-night craving, I’d text him, and he’d appear a little while later with takeout, sitting with Mark to drink a beer while I ate. 16 With their care, I finally felt happy. I had two people who were genuinely excited to welcome this baby with me. As for Mark and his mother, I was sure they would be filled with love once they saw the adorable baby. When the ultrasound showed we were having twins, everyone was ecstatic. I finally earned praise from Mark and his mother. I cried tears of joy. My sacrifice was worth it. Soon after, Ben moved into the apartment downstairs. They would take turns taking me for walks and coming over to chat. But I am a traditional, modest woman. How could I speak to men other than my husband? So I would mostly sit in silence while they talked to Mark or his mother. But inside, I was secretly pleased. 17 Ten months later, I gave birth to a beautiful pair of boy-girl twins. While I was recovering, my mother-in-law complained of aches and pains and refused to help with the babies. And Mark… Mark’s old college flame, Summer Rose, moved back to town. He started “working late” every night to see her. I waited patiently for him to come back to his family. A good woman waits, ready to forgive her husband’s indiscretions. Thankfully, Julian and Ben were there every day, looking after me and the babies. They filled the role of both husband and father. They told me to focus on healing and not to worry. But sometimes, I couldn’t help it. I had sacrificed so much for this family. To protect Mark’s ego, I had hidden his infertility and borne him twins. What more could he possibly want from me? 18 He was the one who said I needed to think of his needs. I did. He was the one who said I needed to be an independent wife and not bother him with problems. I did. I solved our biggest problem all by myself. He and his mother belittled me, and I endured it. All for the sake of our family. And now he was openly cheating on me. 19 And here I was, in my room, trying to figure out how my twins could have different fathers, while he was in the living room, planning to name them after his mistress. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stormed out of the room— And then I lost my nerve. Mark was my world. What he said, goes. I retreated back to my room, tears streaming down my face. A few minutes later, Julian knocked and came in with a tray of food. He glanced at the sleeping babies. “Did he upset you again?” he asked softly. “I do everything for him,” I choked out. “I gave him children. And he still wants his ex. He wants to name our babies Summer and Rose.” Julian’s jaw tightened. “He’s a bastard. Clara, you should leave him. You and the kids can move upstairs with me. It would save me the trip of bringing food down.” I sniffled and shook my head as I uncovered the delicious food he’d made. “Mark is just confused right now. He’ll come back to us. Besides, I’m a traditional woman. I can’t live with another man.” Julian said nothing. When one of the babies woke up, he expertly prepared a bottle and began to feed them. 21 The paternity reports were clear. The boy was Julian’s. The girl was Ben’s. But they both acted as if both children belonged to them. I never corrected them. Why spoil their happiness with the truth? Pleasing others is just in my nature. I’m always thinking of what’s best for everyone else. 22 A little while later, Ben arrived. He and Julian started co-parenting seamlessly. From the living room, my mother-in-law watched them. “Clara!” she called out. “You need to get your strength back so you can give my son more boys! We have to pass on Mark’s superior genes.” Mark nodded, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. I glanced at Ben and Julian. Well, this would require their help again. If Mark wanted more children, I had no objection. After all, he made a seven-figure salary; he could certainly afford them. And more children would surely make him more committed to our family. 23 “Okay,” I said. Julian and Ben beamed. “Sharon,” Ben said to my mother-in-law. “I live right downstairs. Why don’t I take the babies down to my place for a while? Give these two some time to work on the next one.” Julian scoffed. “You? Take care of babies? I’ll take them upstairs. My schedule is more flexible. It’ll be better for everyone.” My mother-in-law clapped her hands. “You two are better to Mark than his own brothers.” I thought, no sane man would agree to this. Sending his wife and newborn babies to another man’s house? But Mark hesitated for only a second before saying, “You guys love the kids so much, you can be their godfathers. Here, take them. Take Clara, too.” 24 “Mark, don’t you want me anymore?” I asked, my voice breaking. I started to cry. “Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I’ll change. You can name the kids whatever you want. We can have more, we can name them… Love Summer, Cherish Rose… anything! Just please, don’t leave me.” Mark looked moved. “No, baby, it’s not that. It’s just… Summer just got back to the country, she has nowhere to stay. I invited her here, and I’m afraid the babies will be too loud for her…” He was kicking me and his children out to move his mistress in? I was still in a daze when I found myself in Julian’s apartment. He settled the babies, then wrapped his arms around me. “He doesn’t love you, Clara,” he said softly. “But I do. And I love our children. Don’t cry for a man who doesn’t deserve your tears.” I sobbed into his chest. He kissed me. I didn’t resist. If it weren’t for Julian, I think I would have fallen apart. He calmed me. I was ready to once again be the patient wife, waiting for her husband to come home.

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Everyone in the city thinks I’m a good-for-nothing playboy, but I secretly earned a dual doctorate in medicine and finance years ago. My grandfather named me his sole heir, but to throw off our rivals, he adopted Chloe Vance and let the world believe she was being groomed for the top spot. Everyone assumed she would marry me and inherit the Thorne fortune. But after twenty years of growing up together, she remained cold, distant. I told myself she was just reserved by nature. Then she started championing a scholarship kid, Brook Miller, time and time again, even publicly declaring, “Anyone who bullies Brook today will pay a hundred times over when I take over Thorne Industries.” Someone in the crowd had the nerve to ask, “What about Steve Thorne?” She paused, then spoke as if granting a charity. “My heart belongs to Brook. Thorne can have the fortune, but he’ll never have my love.” I calmly switched off the video and dialed my grandfather’s number. “Grandfather, I’ve decided on the marriage alliance. I’m choosing the Beaumont family. We can’t afford to lose the northern markets.” His voice was even. “But Celeste Beaumont is cursed. Ruin to her parents, ruin to her husband, ruin to her children. She’s destined to be a lone star. Are you sure about this, Steve?” 1 I traced the face of my watch, a piece worth millions. “Hasn’t every great man who reached the summit been alone?” I said. “I don’t believe in fate. The only thing real is the power you can hold in your hand.” A note of appreciation entered his voice. “Good. Spoken like a true Thorne.” “By the way,” he added, “that Vance girl has been getting a little too ambitious lately. Put her in her place. If she still doesn’t learn, it’s time to send her away.” I lowered my eyes. “Understood.” When Chloe was sixteen, her family went bankrupt. Grandfather took her in, and the world assumed he was training his successor. My own father was a notorious womanizer who had only managed to produce one useless son—me. It was a convenient fiction. Grandfather deliberately spread the rumors of my incompetence, letting me observe the vultures and sharks of the business world from the shadows before I took them all down. But over time, Chloe started to believe the fiction herself. She began to think she was the true master of the Thorne estate. She forgot her name was Vance, not Thorne. Still, I would grant her one last kindness, a final shred of warmth for the boy I used to be. When I opened the library door, Chloe’s face was a thundercloud. “These little games of yours just make you more disgusting to me,” she spat. “I’ve been managing that project for three months. It’s in the final stages. Do you have any idea how much profit you’ve jeopardized with your stunt?” She bit her lip, her voice laced with contempt. “Why are you so damn childish? You’re nothing like…” I knew what she left unsaid. Nothing like Brook. A faint smile played on my lips. “Chloe, if you don’t like it, you’re free to leave the Thorne estate. No one is stopping you.” Fury blazed in her eyes, her hands clenched into tight fists. “Steve Thorne, you’re nothing but a spoiled brat who only knows how to cause trouble from your ivory tower. You look at me like I’m a dog you own. You don’t understand anything…” I turned away, a wave of pity washing over me. What didn’t I understand? Her father had died from a rare, chronic disease. Her life’s dream was to conquer it. What she didn’t know was that the disease was hereditary. Three years ago, while pursuing my medical doctorate, I spent an entire year of sleepless nights developing a growth factor that could inhibit the disease’s progression. And it was during that hellish year, when I was completely buried in my work, that she fell for the scholarship kid, Brook Miller. Love. It really was as fragile and pathetic as a joke. “Chloe, are you alright?” Brook gently took her wrist, his face a mask of concern. I shot him a sidelong glance, and Chloe instinctively moved to shield him. “Brook is just my assistant. Don’t you dare lay a hand on him.” Brook’s eyes reddened. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne. I was just so worried about Ms. Vance.” My voice was ice. “Is the Thorne estate some kind of monster’s den? What exactly is there to be so worried about?” Brook flinched. “No… I misspoke. If you’re angry, Mr. Thorne, just hit me.” At his words, I raised my hand. Chloe immediately threw herself in front of him. “Steve, that’s enough! Why do you get so much pleasure from bullying the weak?” I suppressed the bitter taste in my mouth and let out a sharp laugh. “Still the righteous hero, aren’t you, Chloe? After all these years.” 2 Her lips parted, then closed. Her face was pale, but she offered no defense. Just as she had saved me when we were kidnapped as children, she was now saving the poor, timid Brook Miller. Chloe only ever wanted to be the hero, protecting one “weak” soul after another. That’s why, when Brook’s scholarship was cut because he failed to meet the academic requirements, she blamed me for being stingy. When Brook, knowing full well I was severely allergic, sent a massive bouquet of roses to my office that landed me in the hospital for a week, she called me paranoid and cruel for thinking he’d done it on purpose. And at the charity gala, when he deliberately slipped the ring she’d given him into my suit pocket, only to look shocked and helpless when she walked over, she grabbed my wrist so tightly her nails dug into my skin. “Have you no shame, Steve?” she’d hissed. “Do you think stealing the gift I gave Brook will change anything? It was a symbol of my feelings for him. You can take everything, but I will never, ever love you.” Brook just shook his head, his face a picture of terror. “Ms. Vance, it was me! I gave the ring to Mr. Thorne. He had nothing to do with it!” Back then, I was still foolish enough to believe she was just being blinded by him. Still stupidly in love. I forced myself to remain calm. “Let’s check the security footage.” When the video played, showing Brook furtively slipping the ring into my pocket, he clutched his jacket, stammering nonsensically. “I-I’ve just never seen such a fine suit before… I couldn’t help but touch it, and the ring must have fallen in. Ms. Vance, I swear, I didn’t mean it! I really need this job…” His explanation was illogical, full of holes. But Chloe’s expression softened. She looked at me. “It was just a misunderstanding, Steve. Let’s just drop it.” She used my first name so intimately, yet a chill spread through my heart. The last time she’d called me that was on the night we escaped our kidnappers. She’d thrown herself in front of me, taking a stray bullet meant for me, her voice desperate as she screamed, “Steve, run!” The softest part of my heart, the part I had reserved only for her, was torn to shreds in that moment. Chloe, who had always disdained manipulation, had abandoned her principles for Brook. And with that, she shattered the last lingering piece of my affection. From that day on, Brook was always by her side. After all these years, Chloe couldn’t remember my allergies, but she had every clivia lily, a flower Brook disliked, removed from the corporate offices. She never celebrated holidays, but she spent Valentine’s Day watching fireworks with him over the harbor. And the French-style manor Grandfather had built for me at a cost of a billion dollars—our future home—she took Brook there first. When I arrived at the manor with my security detail, I found Brook placing a crown of roses on her head. My voice was glacial. “Chloe, this manor was a wedding gift to me from my grandfather.” She had dared to rip out my favorite white willows and plant the grounds with roses, the one flower I despised. At the sound of my voice, Brook quickly snatched the crown off her head and dropped to his knees, banging his head on the stone path. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne! It’s my fault! Please, punish me!” After a few frantic bows, his forehead was already bleeding. Chloe rushed to help him up, her voice sharp with anger. “Steve, you’ve had everything you could ever want your whole life! Why must you torment Brook over something so trivial? It’s not a big deal! We’ll plant the willows again before the wedding.” She looked at me with an expression of weary obligation. “You’re marrying me anyway. Do these things really matter?” Her forced resignation was almost comical. She seemed to think I was utterly devoted to her, that even though I was the rightful heir to the Thorne fortune, even though countless powerful families were desperate to marry their daughters into our dynasty, I would simply wait for her forever. I couldn’t help but sneer. “Chloe, what makes you so sure I’m going to marry you?” 3 The air hung thick and still for a moment before Chloe laughed, a scornful, biting sound. “Don’t you sound ridiculous, Steve? Who else would you marry? The Thorne empire is tied to you. Do you really think Grandfather would let you marry some nameless nobody?” I was about to tell her I had already chosen my bride when she cut me off impatiently. “Stop being so difficult. At Grandfather’s birthday gala, I’ll tell him we’re ready to set the date. Will that satisfy you?” A flash of jealous hatred crossed Brook’s face, quickly masked by a sigh. “Mr. Thorne is so lucky. To marry a woman as wonderful as Ms. Vance… I wonder if I’ll ever be so fortunate.” Seeing his downcast expression, Chloe’s eyes softened with pity. “The Thorne family saved me,” she said, her voice meant for him alone. “I have a duty to protect their legacy.” She paused, her gaze filled with meaning. “But I know that gratitude isn’t love…” Brook’s eyes filled with a look of profound, romantic understanding. I had lost all patience. “Are you two finished?” Chloe’s expression turned cold and merciless. “No.” She stared directly at me. “Steve, even if I marry you, the one in my heart will always be Brook. You will be nothing more than a figurehead. And don’t you ever let me see you hurt him again.” Brook wrapped his arms around her. “Mr. Thorne,” he pleaded, “just let us be happy.” The last bit of warmth in me died. Did she really think I couldn’t live without her? It seemed that last shred of decency was no longer necessary. “From this moment on,” I said, my voice cutting through the air, “these two are banned from this estate.” Chloe drew a sharp breath, her voice turning venomous. “Fine, Steve. Just don’t you regret this.” Watching her walk away hand-in-hand with Brook, I let out a self-mocking laugh. Regret? For her, I had rebelled against my destiny countless times. A scion of a financial dynasty, I insisted on studying medicine, earning ten lashes from my grandfather’s cane and biting my tongue so I wouldn’t scream that I didn’t regret it. I went to war with a mob boss to win back her family’s heirloom, taking a bullet that missed my heart by less than an inch. I didn’t regret that either. Now, for the first time, I had finally made the right choice. What was there to regret? It takes a lifetime to love someone, but only a moment to let them go. Back at the Thorne residence, the butler bowed his head. “Young Master, your wedding suit has arrived. It is ready for a fitting.” The suit, a masterpiece of design and tailoring, drew gasps of admiration from the nearby staff. “It’s a work of art. A bespoke creation. Young Master, you will be the happiest groom in that.” I twisted my lips into a smile. Since when were value and happiness connected? But at least value, unlike people, would never betray you. When I put on the jacket, however, the buttons wouldn’t close. The designer frowned, pulling up his tablet. “Strange. We followed the measurements sent by the Thorne household precisely. They were only from a month ago; there shouldn’t be such a discrepancy.” My expression didn’t change as I took the tablet from him. The string of numbers was unfamiliar. They didn’t match any measurements I’d ever had. Chloe had been in charge of the suit. It was obvious whose measurements these were. As if on cue, Chloe rushed in. Her eyes darted around nervously, but her voice was defiant. “I must have given them the wrong numbers. Just have them alter it.” She knew this designer’s schedule was packed; he was only in the country for a month as a personal favor to my grandfather. There was only time for minor adjustments, not a complete re-tailoring. She knew how much this wedding meant to me, how I wanted every detail to be perfect. But she did it anyway, just to see a smile on Brook’s face. I calmly took off the jacket. “Thank you for your hard work, Maestro Karl. My best wishes to your next client.” The designer’s initial irritation melted into a look of sympathy. “Steve. I wish you happiness as well.” Chloe took a step forward, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Steve, a suit from any other designer will be just as good. It’s not like I’ll look down on you for it.” A sarcastic smile curled my lip. The wedding venue was a compromise. The suit was a compromise. With her, my life was destined to be an endless series of compromises. But for Brook, she gave only the best. As she wished, I would marry Celeste Beaumont. There would be no more compromises for me. And she would finally have her heart’s desire. 4 Having severed all ties, I stopped contacting Chloe. But she came looking for me. She held out a single branch of white willow. It was her old way of apologizing. She would bring me something I loved, and I, besotted, would forgive her. But I no longer cared. So I didn’t take it. The frown on her face deepened. “Brook was worried you wouldn’t take things well, so he bought this for you. It cost him half a month’s salary.” I ignored her, rising to pick up my teacup. “It’s cheap.” Her face darkened. “Is money all you know, Steve? You’re disgusting.” As she stormed away, I smiled. The tea she’d been drinking, a rare Snow Mountain Emerald, was worth a hundred thousand a gram, and was nearly impossible to buy. The custom silk trench coat she wore, a delicate piece worth over three hundred thousand, was something she’d casually used to shield Brook from the sun. For the first time, I wondered: had I given her too much? The things others fought and bled for, she had received so easily. She had never learned to value anything. The gala was held on the MSC mega-yacht. Grandfather had announced that he would be revealing the news of my wedding, so everyone who mattered was in attendance. Chloe arrived with Brook at her side. The sharks of high society exchanged knowing glances. Everyone had assumed she would be marrying me; bringing this man was a slap in the face to the Thorne family. But there were always fools eager to curry favor. “Ms. Vance, you’re truly a pillar of Thorne Industries. So young and so accomplished.” Chloe’s expression soured. I chuckled to myself. She saw herself as the future queen, not a mere pillar. Besides, she had never been allowed anywhere near the core operations of the company. On paper, Grandfather was in charge. In reality, I had held the reins for years. Brook approached me, head bowed, to offer a toast. I stared calmly at his duplicitous face. “You’re not worthy to offer me a toast.” He moved closer, his voice a low, vicious hiss. “So what if you’re the Young Master? Her heart belongs to me.” Then, pretending to trip, he grabbed my lapel. We both tumbled backward into a towering pyramid of champagne glasses. Shards of glass bit into my skin as amber liquid soaked my pure white suit. SMACK. Chloe rushed forward and slapped me across the face. A perfect red handprint bloomed on my cheek. “Steve, I warned you. Don’t you touch Brook.” Brook was already on the floor, groaning as if he’d been grievously wounded. The fury in Chloe’s eyes intensified. Her hands closed around my throat. “Apologize.” Security finally reacted, pulling her off me. I coughed, gasping for air. The guests were whispering. “It’s over between them. Is he still going to announce the wedding?” “Looks like Chloe’s inheritance is a sure thing. Who else would dare to assault the heir in public?” Suppressing my rage, I climbed out of the wreckage and walked onto the stage. “Today, I have three announcements to make.” “First, my engagement to Ms. Chloe Vance is hereby terminated.” “Second, I will be formally taking over as CEO of Thorne Industries, and my first act is to fire Ms. Vance.” “Third, I am engaged to Ms. Celeste Beaumont. We will be married next month.”

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1 My grandmother refused to close her eyes, her breath rattling in her chest. She made me swear a solemn oath right there on her deathbed. On my wedding day, I had to be out of my house before 4 AM and the ceremony had to be complete by 7 AM. Otherwise, the groom’s entire family would befall a terrible disaster. My grandma had been a seer her whole life, a woman whose predictions never missed the mark. Through my tears, I promised. I told my fiancé, Ryan, that even if it was just for my sake, he had to make sure the wedding party arrived on time. He swore he would. But on the morning of the wedding, the street outside was silent. The limousines were nowhere to be found. My mom called his family, and my future mother-in-law’s cold laughter crackled through the speaker. “What’s the rush? My son isn’t the one who made the oath!” “You want him to pick her up? Fine. Add another $50,000 to the dowry.” “Otherwise, the deal’s off!” The sound of firecrackers and cheerful laughter still echoed from the street below my window. Friends and family, some having traveled across the country, had arrived the night before just to make sure I could leave for my wedding before the 4 AM deadline. Hearing his mother’s words, a hot rage flooded through me. I ripped the decorative pins from my hair. “Mom, I’m not marrying him.” My mom rushed over, pressing my hands down. “Sweetheart, don’t talk crazy. On your wedding day? You can’t just call it off.” She sighed, her voice softening. “You’re pregnant. That’s why they think they have you cornered. Look at your belly.” Pregnant? What baby? I stared down at my stomach. It was soft, a little pudgy, the result of many late-night snacks. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked up at my mom, confused. “Mom, what are you talking about?” She gave me a slightly exasperated look. “That dinner we had with Ryan’s mother? You ran to the bathroom to throw up halfway through. You didn’t see the look in her eyes after that. Pure calculation. I could practically see the dollar signs.” A vague memory surfaced. We had met with Ryan’s parents to finalize the wedding plans. The night before, I’d gone out for barbecue and had way too much. My acid reflux was acting up, and I’d felt nauseous all through dinner. So that was it. That’s why his mother’s attitude had completely changed when I got back from the restroom. And to make it worse, I remembered complaining to Ryan that my period was late. She thought I was pregnant. And my own mother, seeing the same signs, had just accepted their outrageous demands. 2 “Honey, maybe we should just give them the fifty thousand,” my mom pleaded. “You have to think about your grandmother’s warning.” “And no matter what his family is doing, you and Ryan have been together for years. He’s a good kid, aside from being a little cheap. We can’t be responsible for a curse on their whole family.” I knew she was right, but I couldn’t swallow the injustice. It wasn’t about the money. My family could afford fifty thousand, or even five million. My dad had told me that whatever dowry Ryan’s family offered, he would match it a hundred times over as my wedding gift, a nest egg for my future. I had tried to hint to Ryan that a larger dowry, even a symbolic one like $8,888 for good luck, would be appreciated. He had scoffed at the idea. “Dowries are such an old-fashioned, superstitious tradition,” he’d said. “Besides, your parents are just going to give the money to your cousin, right? A daughter’s dowry never really stays with her. It’s better if that money goes straight into our new life together. Don’t forget, I put your name on the house, baby.” I was furious. But I was bound by a promise to my dad not to reveal our family’s true financial situation to Ryan before the wedding. In a fit of anger, I’d told him I didn’t want a dowry at all. And now, his family was using this manufactured crisis to extort money from us. I didn’t know if Ryan was in on it, but the memory of him promising me he would honor my grandmother’s last wish made my heart ache. All our friends and family were here. They all knew about the timeline my grandmother had set. They had all made arrangements to be here, some traveling for days. And Ryan, the groom, was the only one missing. My phone rang. It was him. 3 His tone was the complete opposite of his mother’s, filled with urgency and concern. “Baby, don’t listen to my mom. She’s just talking crazy.” “We got held up on the way, but I’m almost there.” “I swear, I’ll get you in the car before your grandmother’s deadline. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The anger in my chest subsided. His mother might be a snake, but at least Ryan was on my side. His heart was in the right place. My voice softened. “When will you be here? All our relatives are waiting. If you don’t get here soon, we’ll run out of time.” “Get ready,” he said, his voice firm. “I’m close. I’m going to marry you in style.” I could hear muffled noises in the background. “Ryan, man, when are we leaving? The drivers can’t just park here. Why are we waiting for…” Before I could hear the rest, he hung up. My mom sighed. “At this rate, we’ll have to skip all the fun door games the bridesmaids planned.” My cousin Lily piped up. “But Clara spent three months planning those! All those fun little games will go to waste. And she spent a fortune on the extra photographers…” My mom glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “The money is nothing,” she whispered. “If your grandmother’s spirit is truly angered, no amount of money could save the Zhao family.” 4 Lily’s eyes widened. “Was Grandma really that powerful?” “You grew up overseas, so you don’t know,” my mom explained. “Around here, everyone was terrified of your grandmother. Not because our family had money, but because she was a well-known seer.” “Years ago, before our family made its fortune, one of our relatives struck it rich. He brought his new, young wife back to the old town to visit, bringing gifts for everyone. He wanted to show off.” “Everyone wished them well, but when he came to our house, your grandmother took the expensive gifts—bird’s nest soup, ginseng, all of it—and threw the entire box out the door.” “She pointed at him and cursed him. ‘You think you can buy my blessing with this cheap trash after you abandoned the wife who helped you build your fortune? May you be struck by lightning and die alone! May your family fall to ruin!’” “The man was furious and swore he’d never step foot in our house again. The whole town gossiped about how cruel your grandmother was.” “Until…” my mom trailed off, a strange look on her face. “Until what?” Lily urged. “Auntie, don’t leave me hanging!” “Less than six months later, he was dead. Struck by lightning while using an outhouse in the countryside. They found him face down in a septic tank, his body half-eaten by maggots. It turned out the ‘new wife’ was a prostitute, and he had left his first wife for her. Every word your grandmother said came true. People whispered that she had cast a spell on him, all because he disrespected her.” My mom lowered her voice even more. “We can’t let that happen to Ryan’s family.” 5 A chill ran down my spine. I glanced at the clock. 3:20 AM. Still no sign of Ryan. The wedding ceremony itself was a long, complicated process. If he delayed any longer, we’d never make it. I knew my grandma was… eccentric, but I never realized her power was this terrifying. I grabbed my phone and sent Ryan a text. “Where are you? It’s getting really late. Please hurry! We can’t miss the deadline.” Five minutes later, he replied. “Can you stop rushing me? I’ve been up since yesterday getting ready. Do you think I’m not tired? If you’re so worried, just come wait downstairs. The car will get there when it gets there, and we can just leave.” My hands started to shake. My mom saw my face change. “What is it, honey?” Her heart wasn’t strong. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I locked my phone and forced a smile. “Nothing, Mom. Ryan said there’s a bit of traffic.” But inside, my mind was racing. How could he say that to me? A bride, in her wedding dress, waiting on the curb for her own wedding car? Was I that desperate? Was I so worthless that I had to beg him to marry me? All my excitement, all my anticipation for this day, turned to ash in my mouth. I had spent six months planning every single detail of this wedding, pulling all-nighters to make sure everything was perfect. And this was my reward? I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall. The clock on my phone lit up: 3:40 AM. Twenty minutes left. 6 Relatives were starting to whisper, asking when the groom would arrive. I didn’t hesitate. I sent Ryan another text. “If you can’t make it, let’s just cancel. We can go our separate ways.” After all these years, I couldn’t knowingly push him into a disaster. If we canceled the wedding, surely my grandmother’s curse wouldn’t come to pass. He called me immediately. His voice was completely different from his text. “Honey, I was just stressed. Don’t take it to heart. The wedding cars are just a mile away, but the drivers are on strike. They’re saying it’s too early and they haven’t eaten, and they won’t move until they’re paid in full. Can you… can you transfer me that 20k your mom gave you?” “The second the money hits my account, I’ll be there in five minutes, and we can have our beautiful wedding. But if we delay any longer… I can’t say what might happen.” He was talking about the $20,000 my mom had given me as a personal gift, which he had happened to see. My mom, overhearing, gently nudged me. “Baby, twenty thousand is nothing to us. Just send it to him. I don’t care about the money. I just want you to be happy and safe.” I looked at the faces of my friends and family, all waiting expectantly. I took a deep breath and gave in. I transferred the money. A kissing emoji popped up from him immediately. “Wait for me, my sweet wife. I’m on my way.” I sent back a simple “ok” and turned off my phone, my stomach churning. Now that he had the money, surely there wouldn’t be any more problems. 7 Five minutes later, the sound of car horns blared from downstairs. Lily ran up, her face bright with excitement. “Clara! They’re here! Lock the door!” I pulled Lily and my other cousin, Jake, aside. “We don’t have much time. Don’t make the door games too hard on him, okay? I’ll give you both a big gift later.” “Don’t worry, sis,” Lily said with a grin. “We know what to do.” A moment later, Ryan’s cheerful voice called from the other side of the door. “Honey, open up, or I’m kicking the door in!” Lily played along, calling through the door, “To marry my cousin, you have to answer a few questions first, future brother-in-law!” The next sound was a deafening CRASH. The bedroom door flew off its hinges and slammed into Lily, who fell to the ground with a cry of pain. The heavy wooden door landed on her leg, and her face went white. I shot to my feet. “What is the meaning of this? Is this how you pick up a bride?” A chorus of laughter came from the hallway. “Look what you did, you made the bride angry!” “Hahaha, who knew a mansion would have such a cheap door?” Lily, despite the fact that her foot was already swelling, grabbed the hem of my dress. “Clara, I’m fine. Don’t let this ruin your big day. It doesn’t even hurt.”

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After Dia broke up with me for the umpteenth time, I didn’t need her to tell me what to do. I packed my things, moved out, and quietly cut ties with our past. Day one: I canceled the wedding planner we’d booked three years ago but kept putting off. Day two: I shut off the automatic payments for her mother’s medical treatments and turned down her sister’s request for cash. Day three: I accepted my boss’s transfer offer, ready to start a new life in a city down south. As the plane took off, a strange curiosity hit me. Without me, her free, round-the-clock caregiver for the last decade… Without me, her personal ATM, always on call… How would Dia possibly manage? How would she take care of her paralyzed mother, satisfy her materialistic sister, and dote on that precious junior colleague she adored so much? 1 “Mr. Hayes, as per the contract, canceling the wedding plan will result in a forfeiture of twenty percent of the deposit. If you agree, please sign here.” The coordinator confirmed with me one last time, then handed over the contract and a pen, guiding me to the signature line. She was young, and I could see the gossip sparkling in her eyes. She looked like she was bursting with questions. I couldn’t blame her. A wedding booked three years ago. Two finalized plans, even a rehearsal, all leading to nothing. And now, instead of a wedding, a cancellation. Anyone would be curious. But they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know that my journey from eagerly anticipating marrying the woman I’d loved for ten years to deciding to call it all off had taken a single night. And the thing that finally made up my mind? A building block set hidden on the top shelf of Dia’s bookcase. During my end-of-the-month cleaning, I accidentally bumped the shelf. The heavy wooden planks and the surprisingly weighty blocks came crashing down, leaving me dizzy and seeing stars. The loud crash brought Dia running. She burst into the study, but her first instinct wasn’t to check if I was okay or help me up. Instead, her eyes fell on the scattered pieces on the floor, and an unusual rage contorted her face. “Alex Hayes, just because you didn’t like your birthday present doesn’t give you the right to destroy my things!” Before I could even explain, she was screaming at me to get out of her house. I stood outside her door all night, apologizing over and over, until the building’s security guard told me I was disturbing the neighbors and made me leave. I ordered a replacement for the set online and, like so many times before, wrote a thousand-word apology letter to her. I never got a reply. Instead, I saw her on another man’s social media feed. Dia’s junior colleague, a guy named Josh, had posted a nine-photo collage of a lively hotpot dinner. Right in the center was a picture that didn’t fit: a magnificent, intricate castle made of building blocks. The caption read: Thanks to my amazing senior, Dia, for staying up all night to build this Hogwarts castle for me! It’s the best publication gift ever. Hot take: Harry Potter is the ultimate childhood memory, haha! A minute after he posted, Dia’s comment appeared. Glad you like it. Josh replied just as quickly. Thank you so much! I only mentioned it once, I can’t believe you remembered. I’m so happy! Their back-and-forth was just a couple of simple comments, but reading them felt like having lemon juice squeezed into my eyes. The sting was unbearable. Last month was my thirty-third birthday. I had dropped hints, hoping for a nice watch. Dia had looked at me with a mix of surprise and scorn. “You’re a grown man trying to act like a trendy young guy. Those boys wear watches to look cool. You’ve been with me for ten years. Who are you trying to impress?” Her words were brutally honest, and they hurt. But on my birthday, she still gave me a watch. It was a cheap, no-name brand, probably worth a couple hundred bucks at most. But I was happy. I thought it meant she cared. I never imagined. Her junior colleague mentions something he likes offhandedly, and she commits it to memory. A fifteen-hundred-dollar building block set? She buys it without a second thought. That kind of special treatment… I, her actual partner of ten years, had never experienced it. This decade had been nothing but a dream I’d woven for myself. Now, it was time to wake up. 2 I had barely left the wedding planner’s office when a message from Dia popped up on my phone. Wendy’s train gets in at 8:30 tonight. Be there early. This was the first time she had contacted me since our fight. Normally, seeing this small olive branch, I would have scrambled to take it, then rushed to the station to pick up her sister. But this time, I just stared at the message for two seconds, then drove away. When I got back to their apartment that evening, shoes and a suitcase were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Wendy poked her head out of the bathroom and rolled her eyes at me. “Where the hell have you been, Alex? Do you know how long I waited at the station? I had to take a cab! If anything had happened to me, my sister would have skinned you alive.” She sniffed. “I’m hungry. Order me some takeout. Now.” I looked at her calmly. My eyes drifted down to her feet, shod in the thousand-dollar sneakers I’d bought her as a college acceptance gift. Her clothes were all brand-name, easily costing hundreds. Her outfit wasn’t extravagant, but it was far nicer than anything I usually wore. I had treated her like my own sister. In return, I never got so much as a kind word. When I bought her things, she’d coo “brother-in-law.” When I didn’t, it was a curt “Alex Hayes.” And I had put up with this for ten years. Right in front of her, I pulled out my phone and texted Dia. Your sister says she has no money for food. I’ve let you know. If you don’t mind her waiting, she can. You’re in a different time zone, after all. Wendy’s jaw dropped. I didn’t say another word and went into the master bedroom. The next morning, I was woken by a series of loud crashes from outside. Wendy had turned the kitchen and living room into a disaster zone. Water was flooding out of the bathroom, making the tiled floor a slippery mess. When she saw me, she showed no remorse. Instead, she defiantly flicked soap bubbles onto the floor. I watched her silently. I didn’t stop her. Nor did I, like the old me would have, grab a mop and clean up after her. I just went back to my room and packed the rest of my belongings. It was almost funny. This wasn’t my house. Why should I be the one in a hurry? Once I was packed, I walked out with my suitcase. “Where are you going?!” Wendy blocked my path. “Business trip,” I lied. “Half a month. Just grabbing some things from the office.” She pursed her lips, crossing her arms with an arrogant air. “Some people go abroad for academic exchanges, true intellectuals. Others are just corporate drones pulling all-nighters. You know what that’s called? A pathetic life.” She held out her hand. “I’m meeting some friends this afternoon. Transfer me some money, or I’ll tell my sister you’re abusing me.” She was so sure of herself, so certain I was still wrapped around her little finger. It was laughable. I had been Dia’s doormat for ten years. For her, I’d even been her family’s doormat for ten years. Now that I was done, they were the ones throwing a fit. I burst out laughing. I pointed at her, looking her up and down. “I pay for your mother’s medical care. I paid for your sister’s tuition. I’m paying for your college. Your entire family lives off me. Even the clothes on your back, I bought them.” “Next time you decide to run your mouth, maybe you should consider whether you can afford to pay me back first.” Wendy’s face turned bright red. She was speechless. She spun around, ran back to her room, and slammed the door. After settling into my new place, a notification popped up on my phone. It was a payment reminder for Dia’s mother’s medical bills. The hospital informed me the payment was due in five days and reminded me to ensure sufficient funds were in the account. When Dia and I first got together, I couldn’t bear to see her juggling work, school, and caring for her paralyzed mother and young sister. So, I offered to help. I thought if I treated people with sincerity, I would get the same in return. I just never expected to be dealing with a family of vipers. With that thought, I didn’t hesitate. I cancelled the automatic payment and unlinked my card. I was done being the fool. Let someone else play that part. 3 Late that night, the international call I was expecting from Dia came through. The second I answered, her angry voice shot through the phone like a bullet. “Wendy told me you didn’t pick her up! She had to take a cab home by herself, and then you wouldn’t even make her dinner! She wanted to order takeout, and you complained about the cost?” “Alex Hayes, is this how you treat my sister when I’m not around? If you don’t change your attitude, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider our relationship!” “Okay,” I said. “When you get back, we’ll meet up and sort things out.” My unexpectedly calm reaction seemed to throw her off. She was silent for a moment. “Sort what out? Is this about that stupid wedding plan again? You should focus on improving yourself instead of constantly nagging me about getting married. It’s so annoying. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. If you want to convince me of anything, we’ll see how you behave.” Her tone softened, but the dismissiveness was palpable. She had probably forgotten. In our first year together, she was the one who swore she would give me the grandest wedding the day she earned her PhD. I waited seven years for that day. When it finally came, I was the one excitedly comparing wedding planning companies. The first year, I presented her with a carefully selected proposal. She looked at me with a hint of guilt and said her studies were too demanding, she didn’t have the energy for a wedding. The second year, she finally finished the busiest part of her program and even agreed to try on wedding dresses with me. I waited for her for 24 hours in my tuxedo, only to get a text saying she’d overslept. The third year, I canceled the wedding planner. I took a deep breath. “Dia, it’s not about the wedding…” Before I could finish, I heard a boy’s exclamation on her end of the line. Dia hung up without another word. I stared at my phone, but I didn’t call back. The day of Dia’s return arrived quickly. She texted, telling me to pick her up from the airport. I ignored it. Then she called, saying it was the only day she’d be free. The next day, she had to be back at the lab and would be busy for the foreseeable future. To avoid any further complications, I went. Traffic was bad. I didn’t get there until eleven at night. The airport was brightly lit. Through the terminal glass, I saw Josh with his forehead resting on Dia’s shoulder, swaying back and forth like a child seeking comfort. I honked the horn, hard. The two lovebirds jumped apart like startled birds. Dia saw my face and stormed over, slapping the car window. “I told you to be here at seven! Look at the time!” I rolled the window down a crack and saw her face, pale from the cold. “There was traffic.” She was about to launch into another tirade, but I cut her off. “If you don’t get in the car, your precious junior is going to freeze to death.” That stopped her. Forgetting her anger, she quickly opened the back door and ushered Josh in. Then she looked at me, her eyes silently ordering me to get out and help with the luggage. I ignored her, pretending to be busy texting a colleague. Inside the car, Josh studied me through the rearview mirror. I met his gaze calmly, my eyes landing on the very familiar scarf wrapped around his neck. It was Dia’s. She wore it all the time in the winter. Last Christmas, she had finally agreed to see a movie with me. When we came out, I was shivering from the cold. I saw a guy next to us wrap his scarf around his girlfriend, telling her not to take it off. Envious, I nudged Dia, hinting. She just frowned. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t like sharing my scarf with people.” But now, her scarf was wrapped snugly around Josh’s neck. So, it wasn’t that she didn’t like sharing. She just didn’t like sharing with me. Josh noticed my stare and gave a sheepish smile. “It was really cold while we were waiting,” he said softly. “Dia let me wear it. Don’t get the wrong idea, Alex.” I smiled back. “It’s just a scarf. But really, Dia, you should know better. It’s freezing out. You should have just gotten a cab for him instead of making him wait for me. What’s the point of saving a few bucks on a fare if he gets sick? The doctor’s bills would cost more, right, Josh?” The smile on Josh’s face vanished. 4 The roads were empty this late at night, and I drove fast. As Dia had instructed, I dropped Josh off first. Soon, it was just the two of us in the car. I glanced over at her. “Let’s talk.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, her voice laced with irritation. “Does it have to be right now? I just got off a ten-hour flight. Can’t you let me rest?” Unlike before, I didn’t show any sympathy. “No,” I said flatly. “Some things are better sorted out now.” She scoffed. “What is there to talk about? It’s the same old thing, isn’t it? Marriage…” Her sarcastic remark was cut off by her ringing phone. She answered, and her expression changed instantly. “Okay, stay put! I’m coming!” She hung up and immediately tried to get out of the car. “We’re not done here,” I said, stopping her. She looked at me in disbelief, as if I were some kind of monster. “Josh fell in the bathroom! This is a life-or-death situation, I have to go check on him!” I let out a breath. “If he fell, he should call a doctor. By the time you get there, if it’s serious, a broken bone or something, do you really think you’ll be more help than a professional…” “Enough!” she roared. “You’re just jealous, aren’t you? You’re just afraid I’m going to leave you! Fine! You want to hear it? We’re breaking up! I, Dia Vance, am done with you! Is that clear enough?!” With that, she turned and ran toward the entrance of a nearby apartment complex. I watched her go, mouthing a single, silent word. “Yes.” Perhaps it was a case of misfortune in love, fortune in career. Two days later, my boss called. I was being recommended for a position at a new branch to develop a new market. It was a significant promotion with a substantial pay raise. I accepted without a second thought and booked a flight for the next day. That evening, some colleagues threw me a farewell party at a well-known local restaurant. As we walked in, I saw Dia disappearing into a private room nearby. I looked away, treating her like a stranger. Later, on my way to the restroom, I overheard her voice coming from that same room, loud and clear. “Marriage? When did I ever say I wanted to get married?” “I have a successful career and a bright future. Do you really think I’d settle for a man with no looks, no education, and no money?” Someone else chimed in, stirring the pot. “But Dia, you’ve been with him for ten years. If you break up with him, won’t he make a scene?” Dia was quiet for a moment, then laughed. “That’s easy. I’ll just string him along. He’s already in his thirties, completely wrapped around my finger. I can make him do whatever I want.” “Like for his birthday this year. He was begging me for a watch. I tore into him, and he didn’t dare say a word. But I still got him one. A cheap, twenty-five-dollar knockoff from some sketchy website. And you know what? He treasures it like it’s gold. Hahaha.” The room erupted in laughter. The fragile peace I had found was shattered. The old wounds were ripped open, and the pain was fresh and raw. I clenched my fists and walked away. After the party, I contacted a colleague whose family had a law firm. I handed over ten years’ worth of financial records. The lawyer took one look, raised an eyebrow, and assured me he’d get every penny back. The next morning, I was on a plane to a new city. When I landed and turned on my phone, there was a call from Dia. Her voice was more frantic than I had ever heard it. “Alex, what is wrong with you? You forgot to pay my mother’s medical bills! How could you forget something so important? You nearly killed her!” “And you haven’t been to see her at all this week, have you? What kind of son-in-law are you? I’m giving you one more chance. You have three minutes to transfer the money. Otherwise, we are done!” Listening to her shrill voice, all I wanted to do was laugh. It was her mother lying in that hospital bed. If she truly cared, she wouldn’t need me to remind her. If she were such a dutiful daughter, she would have paid the bill herself long ago. I flagged down a taxi and took one last look at her name on my screen. “Then, as you wish. We’re done.”

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“Never trust a man’s promises. Only trust a signed contract.” My mother said that on her deathbed. I didn’t understand it then. Not until my fiancé slid a prenuptial agreement across the table—one that listed the $600,000 I’d paid for our down payment as an “unconditional gift,” and stated that in a divorce, I would walk away with nothing. 1. The last of my mother’s life was trapped in her lungs, but her grip on my hand was iron. “Maya,” she rasped, her eyes, clouded by morphine, suddenly clear as glass. “I have nothing to leave you. I’ve been a fool my whole life, but I learned one thing…” “Never trust a man’s promises. Trust the ink. Trust the contract.” It was the last thing she ever said to me. It became the first rule I lived by. My name is Maya. I’m 27. I graduated top of my class from Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I had offers from every white-shoe law firm in Manhattan. My future was a straight line to a corner office. Then, a single piece of paper—a stage-four cancer diagnosis—dragged me back to earth. To take care of my mother, I abandoned my path to a seven-figure salary. I took a job at a small legal aid clinic in the Bronx. Five years. I buried my mother. I also got a front-row seat to the filth of human nature. I’ve seen a husband pull the plug on his sick wife to liquidate her assets. I’ve seen children throw their father’s ashes in a dumpster while fighting over his retirement account. I learned everything there is to know about the rot that can fester in marriage and blood. It made me cynical, and it made me tough as nails. 2. To most people, my job is a joke. “A glorified social worker,” they call it. “Noble, but… you know. Poor.” To my fiancé, Ben, it’s my single greatest feature. Ben’s a financial advisor at Morgan Stanley. He’s a man desperate to “marry up,” and I, apparently, am his ladder. My Ivy League degree makes me a “premium accessory” he can show off to his clients. The fact that I’m an orphan with no family connections, a “good-natured” (read: conflict-averse) personality, and a “simple” job makes me the perfect “support system.” Translation: I’m easy to control. He loves to put his arm around me at parties, his voice dripping with that perfect blend of pride and pity. “This is my fiancée, Maya. Columbia Law. She’s got such a good heart, she couldn’t stand the sharks in my world. She works in legal aid now. Basically charity.” He’d pause, his voice just loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I just focus on earning, so she can be free to be a saint.” It always gets a round of applause. He’s so “supportive.” I’m so “lucky” to have found a man who isn’t intimidated by my intelligence. And I just stand there and smile, my ribs aching from his grip. My passion, my profession… reduced to “saint.” As if my entire life’s work is a cute hobby he funds. Late at night, I’d tell myself he just didn’t have the right words. I’d look at the Pinterest board I’d made for our future apartment—bright, warm, and full of light. I thought if I just held on, the future we were building would make all of this feel small. 3. This slow, simmering gaslighting was just an appetizer. His mother served the main course. Every time I saw his mother, Karen, she’d start with: “Maya, honey, why are you working so hard? Ben’s bonus last quarter was $200,000. That’s more than you’ll make in… well… ever.” “That ‘legal aid’ thing… it sounds nice, but it doesn’t pay for nice things. Once you’re married, you need to quit. A man like Ben needs a wife at home, supporting his career. That’s the real work.” Ben, of course, would play the peacemaker. “Mom,” he’d laugh, “Maya has her passions.” Then he’d grab my hand under the table, squeeze it, and mouth, “Don’t listen. She’s old-school.” What could I say? I’d just swallow the bite of food in my mouth, along with my rebuttal. They didn’t understand. The cases I handled… the dollar amounts were small, but the stakes were everything: a child’s custody, a family’s last defense against eviction. They only understood dollars. 4. The first real crack appeared when we bought the condo. The down payment was a million dollars. I had my mother’s life insurance payout—$500,000—and every penny I’d saved for five years: $100,000. I sent Ben the wire transfer confirmation for $600,000. I added a note: “This is everything I have, for our home.” He replied almost instantly: “You’re amazing, babe! Got it!” He put in $400,000. At the sales office, the agent and the mortgage broker orbited Ben and his mother, calling him “Mr. Johnson,” laughing at his jokes, talking about equity and school districts. I was an afterthought, trailing behind them. “Excuse me,” I finally cut in, “what’s the HOA’s reserve fund? What are the covenants on renting? And is the parking spot deeded or assigned?” The room went silent. Ben’s mother shot me a look of pure annoyance. “Maya, honestly. Don’t worry your pretty head about that. That’s what the men are for.” Ben immediately jumped in, pulling me into a side-hug. “Babe, I got this. You just worry about what color we’re going to paint the nursery.” The two of them, a perfect tag team. I just stood there, my chest tight. 5. We got the condo. When we went to sign the final closing documents, I saw it. A stack of papers an inch thick. And on the deed, the line for “Grantee” read: Benjamin R. Johnson, a single man. My blood went cold. I held up the paper and just looked at him. He was ready. He pulled me aside, his face a mask of practiced, gentle patience. “Babe, listen, don’t freak out. I have a ‘first-time home buyer’ credit. It saves us a ton on the interest rate. We’re talking hundreds a month. Putting it in my name only is just… it’s just smart finance. It’s for us.” “I put in six hundred thousand dollars,” I said, my voice flat. “I know! Of course I know how much you’re sacrificing!” He grabbed my hands. His eyes were so sincere, he could have won an Oscar. “My money, your money… it’s our money, right? Does it really matter whose name is on a piece of paper? Don’t you trust me? Don’t you trust us?” There it was. The “trust” test. He was turning his cold, calculated fraud into a referendum on my love. If I questioned it, I was the one with the problem. I was the one being materialistic. I suddenly remembered a case. A woman, sobbing in my office. Her husband had convinced her to sell her pre-marital condo and invest the cash in his new business, “to build our dream together.” He filed for divorce six months later. She left with nothing. I’d thought, “How could anyone be so stupid?” Now, it was my turn. 6. I looked at Ben’s earnest, loving face. In my peripheral vision, I saw his mother, watching us. Her arms were crossed, a tiny, smug smile on her lips. In that instant, all my exhaustion, my frustration… it all just evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a strategy. A carefully planned hunt. And I was the prey. “Maya? Babe? It’s okay, right?” Ben was rubbing my arm, like I was a hysterical child. I took a deep breath. When I looked up, I was smiling again. The same warm, compliant smile I’d worn for years. “You’re right,” I said softly. “I’m sorry. I trust you.” Never forget, I told myself, what my mother said. She said to trust the contract. And today, I had just been conned out of mine. But I would have another. That night, in my own apartment, I created a new, encrypted folder on my laptop. I named it: “Ben Johnson – $600k Loan Evidence.” I saved the wire transfer confirmation. I saved our entire text history discussing the 60/40 split. Then, I opened the cloud drive for the digital recorder I carry. I clipped the audio from the sales office—Ben’s smooth, “it’s for us” speech—and saved it as “Exhibit A: Fraudulent Inducement.” 7. One week before the wedding, the “family dinner.” It was at a private room in a high-end steakhouse. Ben’s mother was in her element, “welcoming me to the family.” “Maya, honey, you’re a daughter to me now! If Ben ever gives you trouble, you just call me!” she said, squeezing my arm. Ben held my hand, staring at me like I was the only person in the world. Then, after the steaks were cleared, the main event. Karen, Ben’s mother, reached into her Hermès bag and pulled out a sleek, leather-bound folder. Her smile was beatific. “Maya, we’re all reasonable people here. We just believe in being transparent. It’s not about trust, honey. It’s just… business. A little security for Ben. And for you, too, of course.” She slid the folder across the table. On the cover, in embossed gold lettering: PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT My heart was cold, but I smiled and opened it. Ben’s cousin, a first-year associate who had just passed the bar, leaned in, smelling of smugness and cheap perfume. “It’s standard for high-net-worth couples, Maya,” she explained, as if to a child. “Asset isolation. It’s just smart financial planning. You’re marrying a man who thinks about the future. You should be thrilled.” I ignored her. I read the contract. It was a work of art. Clause 1: The marital residence (the one I’d paid 60% of) is the sole and separate property of Ben Johnson. Clause 2: The $600,000 contributed by Maya for said property is hereby acknowledged as an unconditional gift. “Gift.” The word burned. Clause 3: Post-nuptials, all income earned by Maya shall be considered marital property. All bonuses, commissions, and investment returns earned by Ben shall be his separate property. They wanted a breadwinner and a maid, all in one. Clause 4: In the event of divorce, Maya voluntarily waives all rights to primary custody of any children born of the marriage. They had pre-emptively taken my children.

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1 The day they found long-lost daughter Isabella, she walked into my office and demanded my job—she wanted to be CEO. Given her middle-school education and zero corporate experience, I refused. Isabella took it as a grave insult. She stormed out with her adoptive parents and vanished without a trace. Under my leadership, Vance Enterprises went public. My adoptive parents, Richard and Carol Vance, became the city’s wealthiest couple. Then on my thirtieth birthday, they and my fiancé Ethan got me drunk and sold me to a human trafficking ring in the lawless eastern bloc. As I was dragged away, I saw them standing by the ringleader, faces twisted with hatred. “Take this black-hearted bitch,” they snarled. “She’s all yours.” I screamed, begging for answers. Ethan kicked me hard in the stomach. Richard and Carol each slapped me, the blows echoing. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, clinging to a fortune that never belonged to you,” they spat, “our Bella wouldn’t have been tricked, trafficked, and tortured to death.” The torment that followed was unbearable. In the end, I bit off my tongue and bled out. When I opened my eyes, I was back—on the exact day Isabella demanded I hand over the company. … “Ellie,” Isabella said, her voice cloyingly sweet, “now that I’m home, don’t you think you should give the company back to me? I want to take on my rightful responsibilities.” The familiar words sent a jolt of ice through my veins. My eyes shot to the clock on the wall. I was back. I had been reborn. Carol Vance, my adoptive mother, was hugging Isabella, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked at me. “Elara, you’ve worked so hard taking care of the company all these years,” she said, her tone syrupy but firm. “But Bella is our real daughter. I need you to draw up the papers. Transfer your shares to her.” In my past life, I had refused. I explained that the company was on the verge of its IPO; a sudden change in leadership would cause chaos. I told them Isabella, with no experience or understanding of the business, wasn’t ready. I suggested she start as my assistant, learn the ropes, and then take over when she was prepared. My adoptive parents had actually agreed. But Isabella had exploded. She shrieked that being my assistant was the same as being my slave, that I was deliberately humiliating her. She stormed out, disappeared with her adoptive family, and was never heard from again until news of her death reached us. After her disappearance, I took the company public, making the Vance family dynastically wealthy. On my thirtieth birthday, they took me on a celebratory trip abroad, where they drugged me. I woke up in a hellhole, my hands and feet bound, my body brutalized, while they stood by and watched. Ethan kicked me in my three-month-pregnant stomach. Carol and Richard slapped me until my face was numb. “This is what you owe her,” they’d hissed. “If you hadn’t shamed her, she never would have run away. She never would have died. This is all your fault.” So, they’d blamed me. They’d traded my life for their twisted sense of justice. Remembering the agony, the sheer, soul-crushing despair, my hands clenched into fists. I fixed Isabella with an icy glare and let out a cold laugh. “So, you just get back and you already want the company.” Isabella’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Ellie, I… I just wanted to do something for the family,” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have come back. Please don’t be angry. I’ll leave right now. I won’t disturb your family anymore.” With that, she made a show of pushing Carol away, pretending to run for the door. Carol immediately wrapped her arms around Isabella, clutching her tight. “Bella, darling, this is your home,” she cooed, her face a mask of pain. “You’re not the one who should be leaving.” The next second, the back of her hand cracked across my face. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice shrill. “Elara! After we were kind enough to take you in, to raise you, this is how you repay us? By trying to steal our family’s fortune and drive our real daughter away? How could you be so venomous?” Richard Vance, my adoptive father, chimed in, his face a thundercloud of disapproval. “Elara, this is a Vance company. It belongs to our daughter by birthright. What gives you the authority to tell her to leave?” I laughed, a bitter, ragged sound. They seemed to have forgotten. It was Grandpa Vance who adopted me. Before he died, he put the company in my hands. At the time, it was on the brink of bankruptcy, drowning in over a hundred million dollars of debt. I was the one who begged and clawed and fought to save it, wrecking my own health in the process. Richard and Carol, knowing they had no clue how to run a business, had washed their hands of it, leaving me to clean up their mess. In return, I gave them a lavish monthly allowance to fund their endless parties and vacations. I was the one who personally bought back the majority of the company shares. The only reason I hadn’t changed the name from Vance Enterprises was out of respect for Grandpa Vance’s memory. And now they had the audacity to demand it back? I turned to Richard, my voice dripping with scorn. “Three years ago, when this company was collapsing, you threw me to the loan sharks. You told them I was the boss and they should come after me for the debt. Now that we’re about to go public, you want to hand it all to your daughter? Where do you get the nerve?” Richard’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. He raised a fist to strike me. “You ungrateful stray! We raised you! Managing this company was your duty, your way of paying us back! It belongs to my daughter! You were just keeping her seat warm.” I caught his wrist, twisted his arm back, and he howled in pain. The boardroom is a battlefield of its own; I’d spent three years learning Krav Maga to survive it. A pampered fool like Richard was no match for me. Carol charged at me, her hand raised to slap me again. I blocked her arm and shoved her, sending her stumbling to the floor. Her whole body trembled with rage. “Elara, you ungrateful monster! You dare to lay hands on us? You have no soul!” Isabella rushed to help them up, then knelt dramatically at my feet. “Ellie, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have come back and disrupted your family. Please, don’t hurt Mom and Dad anymore. I’ll leave. I’ll disappear, I promise.” Richard and Carol clung to her, their eyes shooting daggers at me. “Elara, you’re the one who needs to get out.” I rolled my eyes and looked down at Isabella. “Fine. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your happy family reunion. I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers to formally sever our ties.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out of the Vance mansion for the last time. Three days later, I was in a board meeting when my assistant burst in. “Ms. Vance, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Vance are downstairs with your sister. They’re causing a scene and demanding to see you.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, and went downstairs. The moment Richard saw me, he started shouting. “Elara, this is the Vance family company! On what grounds are you barring us from entry?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’d bothered to show your faces here more than once a decade, the security guards might actually recognize you.” Carol stepped forward, adopting a tone of magnanimous condescension. “Elara, in recognition of your years of hard work, we’ve decided you can stay on. But Bella will be the new CEO.” Richard shoved me aside and pulled Isabella into the center of the lobby. “From this day forward, my daughter, Isabella Vance, is in charge! Elara will assist her.” Isabella glided to my side. “You’ve worked so hard, sister. From now on, we’ll run the company together.” I scoffed. “You? You’re nothing. Do you really think being CEO is a title you can just claim? By company bylaws, the CEO must hold a majority of the voting shares.” Their faces darkened. They started screaming. “Shameless! After we raised you from nothing, you’re trying to steal our legacy and bully our daughter! You’re not fit to lead this company!” Just then, my fiancé, Ethan, appeared. “Elara, the Vances gave you everything. You can’t be this selfish,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. “Give the company back to Bella. Once we’re married, you can be a stay-at-home wife. I’ll take care of you.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “Ethan, your engagement was to the Vance heiress. Well, she’s back. That makes Bella your fiancée. You and I are nothing. So who the hell do you think you are to lecture me? Do you even have the right?” Ethan’s face turned crimson with rage. Isabella immediately dropped to her knees again. “Ellie, I swear I never wanted to take Ethan from you! I just want what’s rightfully mine!” Ethan’s heart clearly melted. He rushed to pull her into his arms, then glared at me. “Elara, you’re a monster. Disowning your family just to hold onto power. You don’t deserve to marry me. If you don’t give this company back to Bella, the engagement is off.” I was tired of their theatrics. “You want the company? Fine. You can have it. But I have two conditions.” Ethan smirked, thinking he’d broken me. “As long as you give the company to Bella, we can get married immediately. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” I fought the urge to hit him and turned to Richard and Carol. “First, you sign the severance agreement. From this day forward, I have nothing to do with the Vance family. Second, the shares I hold were bought with my own money after you sold them off during the bankruptcy. If you want them, you’ll buy them from me. At current market value.” Their faces fell. “This is our family’s company! You want us to pay you for it?” I shrugged. “The shares I own are mine, legally and financially. They have nothing to do with you. You don’t have to buy them. The company is about to go public. The stock price will skyrocket. Plenty of other people will be lining up to buy them from me.” They gritted their teeth, huddled with Ethan, and after a long, whispered conference, they agreed. One billion dollars for my shares. The moment the papers were signed, Ethan wrapped an arm around Isabella, his eyes full of scorn. “Well, Elara, since you’ve chosen to burn every bridge, you can get the hell out of this building. This is Bella’s company now.” Isabella nestled against him, looking at me with undisguised triumph. “I hear the company is about to partner with the Dorff Corporation, the biggest conglomerate in the country. The stock value is going to increase tenfold. Thank you so much for giving me such a golden opportunity, Ellie.” My former parents looked just as smug. “You brought this on yourself, Elara. Don’t come crying to us when you regret it. But, out of the goodness of our hearts, if you want to be Bella’s assistant, we can offer you… say, fifteen hundred a month. Just so you don’t starve.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. Fifteen hundred a month to be their slave? They really thought I was an idiot. “No, thank you. As of today, this company and all of you are nothing to me.” I turned to leave. Ethan shouted after me, “Don’t come crawling back to us when you’re broke and starving on the street!” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. What kind of moron thinks someone with a billion dollars in cash is in any danger of starving? As soon as I was out of the building, I made a call. “Aunt Eleanor? It’s me. The partnership between Dorff and Vance Enterprises? Cancel it.” After I got her confirmation, I made another round of calls to the remaining shareholders I knew. I told them to dump every last share of Vance stock they owned. A massive sell-off would trigger panic. The stock would plummet. And that was just the beginning. Finally, I posted a public announcement on my social media accounts: I was officially resigning from Vance Enterprises. Then I went back to my private apartment, sank onto the couch, and began to plan. My debt of gratitude to Grandpa Vance was paid in my last life. This life was for revenge. The Vances and Ethan made me suffer a fate worse than death. Now, it was their turn. That evening, my aunt called. Richard and Carol probably never knew that a year ago, I’d found my biological family. My father’s sister, Eleanor Vance, was the Chairwoman of the Dorff Corporation and the wealthiest woman in the country. It was with her quiet backing that Vance Enterprises had grown from a struggling firm into a billion-dollar company on the verge of an IPO. Aunt Eleanor had no children and had been searching for me for years. When she found me and learned how I’d saved the Vance company, she’d wanted me to join Dorff Corp and eventually become her heir. I had refused, feeling bound by my duty to Grandpa Vance. Now, hearing that I’d finally cut ties, she made the offer again. I thought for a moment. “Aunt Eleanor, I want to build something of my own first. When I’ve proven myself, I’ll come back.” I didn’t want to be anyone’s heir. I wanted to be a founder. Understanding my resolve, she didn’t push. “Alright, Ellie. But if you need anything, you call me.” After we hung up, I dug up a business plan I’d written five years ago. It was my original dream, to build my own empire from the ground up, a dream I had sacrificed for the Vances. Now, I could finally begin. A month later, I posted job openings and my new company’s mission statement online. My phone immediately exploded. The first call was from Richard and Carol. I answered, and their smug, condescending voices filled my ear. “Elara, starting your own business, are you? It’s not as easy as it looks. If you come back now, apologize to Bella, and beg for her forgiveness, we’ll consider letting you have a job again.” The sheer arrogance was breathtaking. I hung up and blocked their numbers. Moments later, messages and résumés started pouring in from the core team at Vance Enterprises, my former employees. They all wanted to join my new venture. I was deeply moved, but I warned them: I was a startup. My initial capital was just over a billion dollars. It was a risk. They didn’t care. They said if I could rescue a dying company like Vance, I could build a new one into a powerhouse. They believed in me. I was grateful. A skilled, loyal team was exactly what I needed. I promised them all better salaries than they’d ever gotten at Vance. Within a week, my company was fully staffed and operational. As for clients, that was the easy part. I’d just take them from Vance Enterprises. After all, I was the one who had secured most of their major contracts in the first place. My new company was small, but I knew my own capabilities. Three nights later, I found myself across the table from one of Vance Enterprises’ most crucial partners, ready to make my first move.

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The moment the lab exploded, my fiancée, Jenna, sprinted past me. She ran toward Kyle, who was standing in the safest part of the room, and threw herself over him, shielding him with her own body. When the deafening roar subsided, she was the first to help him into the ambulance. She never even glanced at me—the man covered in blood and shrapnel, collapsed on the floor. He was the boy she had practically raised for eighteen years, the one who had taken over every inch of her heart. There was no room left for anyone else. A colleague got me to the hospital. I barely survived. The moment I was moved out of the ICU, I fought through a wave of agony and, with a voice raw and broken, called my professor. “Professor Miller, I’ve made my decision. I’ll join your confidential research project. I don’t care if it means leaving in a month and having no contact with anyone for the next five years. I’ll do it.” My wedding was supposed to be in one month. The day I had dreamed of for years. But I didn’t want it anymore. … In the hospital, visitors came and went. All my friends and family stopped by. But Jenna, my fiancée, only made a single phone call. “My sweet Kyle is an absolute mess, I can’t get away,” she’d said, her voice rushed. “You’ll just have to take care of yourself. I have to go, he won’t eat unless I feed him myself. You know how he is.” The “sweet Kyle” she was talking about was her nephew. How pathetic. After ten years together, my life was less important to her than her nephew’s dinner. It was Jenna who’d had a crush on me first, who chased me relentlessly. When other girls made fun of how poor I was, she’d gotten into a screaming catfight, scratching one girl’s face so badly she was nearly suspended. I loved the shrimp po’boys from a little place in the old quarter, and she’d go buy them for me, rain or shine. My grades in calculus were dragging me down, so she’d stay up all night creating study guides for me, breaking down my mistakes and explaining every concept. She was the one who had followed me around like a shadow, who confessed her love and told me she wanted to spend her life with me. And she was the one who, time and time again, abandoned me for Kyle. The fresh sting of my wounds was a constant, searing reminder: a woman who doesn’t love you should have been left behind long ago. I hardened my heart. I deleted every photo, every mention of her from my social media. Then, one by one, I sent a message to my friends and family. [The wedding next month is canceled. Please don’t make the trip.] Twenty-five days later, I checked myself out of the hospital and took a cab back to the house we were supposed to start our married life in. The giant, custom model aircraft I’d spent months sourcing for the front lawn were gone. In their place stood two massive Transformers. The swing I’d built for Jenna had been torn down, replaced by a huge, cartoonish sign that read: “Kyle & Auntie Jenna’s Love Nest.” Below the text were two cartoon figures, locked in a kiss. I didn’t have to ask. I knew it was Kyle’s doing. It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled a stunt like this. But no matter how absurd his demands, Jenna always indulged him. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I typed Kyle’s birthday into the keypad and let myself in. Five days. That’s all I had left before I left with Professor Miller. I needed to pack. I went straight upstairs. I never expected that when I pushed open the bedroom door, I would find them tangled together in my bed. Kyle was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants. His lip was bruised, as if it had been bitten, and fresh scratch marks raked across his chest. Jenna, in a flimsy slip dress, was nestled against him, her body wrapped around his like a vine. On the floor, a black lace thong lay discarded. I thought I was prepared for anything. But seeing them like that, in my bed, sent a hot rush of blood to my head. This was my house. My bedroom. How could they do this to me? “Alex! You’re back! Why didn’t you say anything?” Jenna jolted awake, scrambling out of bed and hastily pulling on a robe. “It’s not what it looks like. Kyle and I didn’t do anything, don’t get the wrong idea!” Kyle stirred, awakened by the noise, and mumbled petulantly, “I’ve been scared of thunder since I was a kid. I can only ever sleep if I’m holding Auntie Jenna. Don’t tell me you’re going to be petty about something so small, Uncle Alex.” The sheer audacity of it all made me want to break down. But as I stood there, trembling with rage, I remembered the promise I’d made to myself when I left the hospital. I would not be her pathetic, lovesick puppy anymore. I would not lose my composure over her again. “There’s nothing to be petty about,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Don’t worry. Even if you started screwing right here in front of me, I wouldn’t stop you.” I turned to leave. I had to get out before I shattered. But Jenna lunged after me, grabbing my arm, her voice laced with fury. “Kyle and I have done nothing wrong! You’re his elder, how could you say something so disgusting to him? Do you have any idea how much psychological trauma that could cause him? Go apologize to him right now!” I ripped my arm from her grasp, the dam of my control finally breaking. “Psychological trauma? Kyle won’t eat his dinner? Is that all you can think about? Jenna, I was in the hospital for twenty-five days! I almost died! Did you spare even a single second to worry about me?” At the mention of the hospital, her anger faltered, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “It’s not that I didn’t want to visit you! It’s just… Kyle was so traumatized by the explosion. He needed me to comfort him. I couldn’t get away!” Her words extinguished the last ember of hope in my heart, leaving only cold, dead ash. The thousands of words I wanted to scream, the burning sting behind my eyes—it all just vanished. What was there left to fight for? Jenna didn’t love me anymore. That single sentence was the answer to every question I’d ever had. Kyle called for her from the bedroom. She shot me a frustrated look and snapped, “We’ll drop it for today. But don’t you ever speak to him like that again.” Then she was gone. Not one word about how I was. Not one question about my recovery. “So this is it,” I whispered to the empty room. “This is where it ends.” I stood there for a long time before finally moving to pack. I took my documents and a few changes of clothes. Everything else, I left. The last things to go were the dozens of portraits Jenna had painted of me when she was first trying to win me over. A friend of mine, an artist, had once joked, “These portraits have no technique, but they’re all emotion. I couldn’t paint something so full of feeling if I tried.” It was those portraits that had made me believe she truly loved me. I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. I carried the box of paintings outside and set them on fire. Jenna found me just as the flames began to lick at the canvases. She ran toward the fire, shoving me aside. She plunged her hands into the blaze, heedless of the heat, trying to rescue the pieces that hadn’t yet burned. “What are you doing?!” she shrieked, her voice trembling. I wanted to say, I don’t want them anymore. Instead, I said, “They were infested with termites.” For years, all we did was fight. I was so tired. I didn’t want to fight anymore. Jenna hesitated for only a second before tossing the singed paintings she’d saved back into the fire. “My sweet Kyle is terrified of bugs,” she said. “I’ll paint you new ones.” “Don’t bother.” There was no us anymore. The flames roared, then shrank, then died, leaving nothing but a pile of gray ash. Just like our love. I swept the ashes into a trash can and posted on my social media: [Five days, including today.] Then I went to the guest room, as far from the master bedroom as I could get, and fell into a dreamless sleep. 2 The next morning, I woke up to a flood of teasing comments on my post. Everyone assumed it was a countdown to the wedding. Jenna had even replied: [I can’t wait to walk down the aisle to you either.] She was the world’s greatest liar. My body and soul ached with exhaustion, and she still wanted to play the part of the happy couple. I didn’t have the energy to play along. I ignored everyone and went downstairs. At breakfast, Jenna asked, “Alex, our appointment to get the marriage license is this afternoon, right?” It was. But I had no intention of going. Before I could say anything, Kyle leaned over and draped an arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Auntie Jenna, I just remembered. There’s a huge basketball game this afternoon, one I’ve been dying to see.” Jenna tapped his nose affectionately. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Kyle shrugged. “Just remembered. It’s not like I did it on purpose. If you’re too busy, I can just go by myself. I mean, it’s not like I’d mind getting hit on by a bunch of hot girls. Might even meet my soulmate.” He made a show of getting up to leave. “Wait!” Jenna jumped up and grabbed his hand. “I never said I wouldn’t go with you!” She turned to me, her expression pleading. “Alex, you see…” I scoffed. “Only the two of us can get the marriage license. Is there a law that says you have to be Kyle’s date to a basketball game?” Her face darkened. “Kyle is just a kid at heart. He’s been looking forward to this game for so long. Are we really going to let a little thing like our marriage license ruin it for him?” “If you were never going to listen to my opinion, why did you bother asking?” “Alex…” “Fine! I’m not stopping you. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve canceled. What’s one more? Kyle is the most important thing, after all. Go.” The old me would have screamed and argued, desperate to make her see how wrong she was. But now, I couldn’t summon the energy. Besides, I didn’t want to marry her anyway. Seeing that I wasn’t going to fight, Jenna’s expression softened. “See? You’re finally starting to be more understanding. Don’t worry, the wedding is still three days away. I promise we’ll get the license before then.” With that assurance, she and Kyle left, arms wrapped around each other. As they walked away, Kyle, nestled against a giggling Jenna, turned back, shot me a triumphant smirk, and flipped me the middle finger. “Auntie Jenna’s not coming home tonight! We’re gonna party hard, so don’t bother us, Uncle Alex!” I had had enough of their shameless behavior. I took out my phone, recorded a short video of them, and saved it to the special folder I kept for them—a collection of videos and photos of their overly intimate moments. I zipped the folder and sent it to the wedding planner. Hello, I’d like to change the photo and video montage that will be played during the ceremony. Please use these instead. Thanks. Then, I posted on my timeline: [Four days left.] They loved showing off their “affection” in front of me. I was just helping them share it with the world. In four days, everyone would get to see their touching “family bond.” The next day, Jenna called. “I won’t be back today or tomorrow. The tournament is a three-day event, and Kyle is having so much fun. I’ve watched him grow up. If I’m not there, I’m worried someone might take advantage of him.” I gave a noncommittal “uh-huh” and hung up. I spent the day at her company, finalizing my resignation. On the way home, I updated my status: [Three days left.] The tournament ended, but Jenna still didn’t come home. Another phone call. “I… I’m not coming home tonight either. Kyle threw me a surprise bachelorette party. You know, one last hurrah before the wedding. I know we have the rehearsal tomorrow and things are busy, but it was such a sweet gesture from him…” For the first time, she sounded unsure of herself, as if even she realized how ridiculous her actions were. In the background, I could faintly hear Kyle’s voice complaining, “Auntie Jenna, when you lose a game and have to kiss someone, you don’t have to bite my lip so hard!” Jenna abruptly hung up. I said nothing. I just systematically went through the house and had movers throw out everything that had a connection to me. The clothes I’d bought her, the lamps I’d chosen, the furniture and dishes I’d picked out. Anything and everything that was mine. [The final day!] I looked around the empty, cavernous house and posted one last time. After today, no matter how much love, hate, or resentment I felt, I was done with Jenna and Kyle for good. Jenna commented: [Don’t worry, darling. This party won’t affect our wedding at all. I’ll be there on time tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you to make me your wife!] But whether she was on time or not, I had no intention of marrying her. I didn’t reply. I just stared at the ceiling until dawn. The next day, at the wedding, the officiant prompted me to get on one knee and present the ring. I looked at Jenna, radiant and smiling in her white gown, and I said, “We’re through, Jenna. I don’t want a woman as tainted as you.” Then, in front of all her friends and family, I turned, grabbed the suitcase I had waiting, and walked out to the helicopter my professor had arranged.

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In our suite, we were like sisters. We did everything together—brunch, late-night library meltdowns, borrowing each other’s clothes. We had a rule: We don’t let anyone mess with our girls. We celebrate everything. So today, my twentieth birthday, I woke up practically buzzing. Then, I saw their Instagram post. The three of them, at Seoul’s Fire, my absolute favorite, impossible-to-get-a-reservation-at Korean BBQ place. The caption, under a photo dump of them clinking soju glasses, read: “Besties who K-BBQ together, stay together! 🥢🔥” I was alone in my dorm, pulling the comforter over my head as the tears started to fall. 1 Last month, for Mia’s birthday—she’s the baby of the group and obsessed with cute guys—we special-ordered this insane, multi-layer cake from that bougie bakery downtown. We even tipped the delivery guy, who looked like a total frat god, an extra twenty bucks to sing “Happy Birthday” at the door. Mia’s shriek was legendary. We all laughed until we cried. We were that close. So I was dreaming big for my birthday. It was a Saturday. A whole day. What would the surprise be? That professional Copic marker set I’d been drooling over for art class? A road trip? Or maybe… Seoul’s Fire? I was smiling about it in my sleep when I woke up to… noise. It was 9 AM. The three night owls—Jessica, Leah, and Mia—were actually up before noon, doing makeup, rummaging through closets, zipping bags. A little thrill went through me. I pretended to just wake up, mumbling, “Why are you guys up so early?” Mia, balanced on her desk chair, popped her head up. “It’s gorgeous out! We’re hitting the mall. You in?” Before I could even answer, Jessica cut in, not even looking up from her mascara. “Chloe’s gotta study for the GREs. We can’t distract her, right? She’s in the zone.” “The GRE isn’t for two months,” I said, my voice small. “I can take today off.” I don’t think they even heard me. There was a flurry of perfume and the jangling of keys, and then the door clicked shut. The room was silent. I stared at the ceiling, and one thought calmed me down: They had to be planning a surprise. This was just a diversion. Just like we’d scouted three different bakeries for Mia’s cake. My heart settled. I rolled over, smiling, and fell back asleep. I dreamed we were at some karaoke bar, screaming Taylor Swift songs off-key, Leah spraying us all with silly string. I woke up with that smile still on my face. The room was still empty. I grabbed my phone. 11:03 AM. It was dead silent. No “Happy Birthday!” texts. No notifications. Even our group chat, “Suite 402’s Finest,” usually blowing up with memes, was a ghost town. A knot tightened in my stomach. What surprise takes this long to set up? I opened Instagram. First post. Jessica. A nine-photo carousel. The sizzling grill, the endless plates of banchan, the three of them laughing so hard Mia was blurry. And that caption. “Besties who K-BBQ together, stay together! 🥢🔥” It was the place. The one with the premium wagyu I’d been talking about for months. The one Jessica had said was “way too expensive” and “a total rip-off.” Leah had said, “We should save it, go for a really special occasion.” I guess my birthday wasn’t special enough. I stared at the pictures. They looked so happy. So complete. Without me. Someone from the next suite over, a girl named Lauren, commented: Where’s Chloe?? 😢 Jessica replied instantly. Ugh, she’s chained to her desk studying for the GREs! We can’t drag our little genius down! 😜 A winky-face emoji. It felt like a bucket of ice water. My blood ran cold. They hadn’t just forgotten. They’d actively lied. But why? I scrolled through my texts, my brain spinning. We hadn’t fought. There was no drama. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding? I thought. Maybe they just wanted me to study? But Jessica was studying for the GREs, too. And she was there, front and center, holding up a piece of galbi. I wanted to call them. To scream. But my pride wouldn’t let me. I just laid there, feeling hollow. 2 Then my mom called. “Happy birthday, sweetie! Did you get the Venmo I sent? What are the girls doing for you? Are you guys going out?” My throat closed up. The tears I’d been holding back started to sting. I turned toward the wall, trying to keep my voice steady. “Thanks, Mom! I’m actually… at the library right now.” I whispered, trying to sound like I was being quiet for other people. “On your birthday? At the library?” “Yeah, we’re all studying for the GREs,” I lied, the words tasting like ash. “It’s a huge grind. We’re gonna go out later tonight, though. A big celebration.” “Oh, okay, honey. Well, don’t study too hard! Love you!” “Love you too, Mom. Gotta go, don’t want to bother people.” I hung up fast, and the tears I’d been holding back just… broke. I buried my face in my pillow and cried, fat, silent tears dropping onto the sheets. The feeling of being dumped, of being left out, was so heavy I could barely breathe. After a while, I dried my eyes, pulled myself out of bed, and ordered a single vanilla cupcake from DoorDash. I washed my face, grabbed my backpack, and went to the campus pond. The bakery, bless them, had seen my “Happy Birthday to Me” note and sent two little number candles: a ‘2’ and a ‘0.’ I stuck them in the frosting. I didn’t have a lighter. I closed my eyes. “I wish,” I whispered to the ducks, “to always be strong enough to handle anything.” I “blew” out the imaginary flames and ate the whole thing. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, and honestly, my focus was razor-sharp. I aced a practice test. At 8 PM, I grabbed a container of Pad Thai from the place off-campus and headed back. I slid my key into the lock. The door swung open into total darkness. I fumbled for the light switch. Before I could hit it— POP! My heart leaped into my throat as confetti and streamers rained down on me. “Don’t turn on the light!” Mia yelled. Three phone flashlights clicked on, blinding me. Jessica was holding a small, slightly lopsided birthday cake, singing “Happy birthday to you…” Mia and Leah chimed in, filming me with their phones. The song finished. “Make a wish, Chloe!” Jessica cheered, her smile huge. I just stood there. My Pad Thai was getting cold in my hand. Then, click. I flipped the main light switch. 3 The harsh fluorescent light made them all blink. Their smiles froze. “Surprise!” Mia yelled, a little weaker this time. “Aren’t you surprised?” “Surprise what?” I asked. My voice was flat. Dead. “A surprise?” I set my takeout on my desk. “You mean… ditching me to go to Seoul’s Fire, the one place I’ve been dying to go, and then lying about it on Instagram for the whole campus to see?” The silence in the room was so thick you could cut it. The only sound was the sizzling of the cheap candles, wax dripping onto the frosting. “Chloe, listen, it’s not like that…” Mia started, putting her phone down. She reached for my arm. I pulled away. “Explain what? Explain how you ‘forgot’ me? On my birthday?” “No!” Jessica snapped, shoving the cake into Leah’s hands. “We… we were checking it out for you! Scout mission!” “Yeah! Scout mission!” Leah echoed, nodding way too hard. “It’s so expensive, we wanted to make sure it was, like, actually good before we took you!” A laugh, cold and bitter, escaped my lips. “A scout mission. Right. Does a scout mission require a nine-photo carousel? And a public comment about how I’m too busy studying to be ‘dragged down’?” “I…” Jessica’s eyes darted around. “I just didn’t want you to see it and spoil the real surprise! This! This is the real surprise!” “Oh, really?” I said. “Well, thanks for being so thoughtful. I’ve only been feeling like garbage all afternoon because of your ‘scouting’.” “What is your problem, Chloe?” Jessica’s voice got sharp. She dropped the nice-girl act. “We ran all over town to get you this cake, we didn’t even eat dinner, and you walk in and give us this attitude? After all the trouble we went to? You’re being so ungrateful!” I was so stunned by the gaslighting I actually laughed. “Trouble? For me? You went to a hundred-dollar-a-person barbecue… for me? You posted ‘sisterhood’ selfies… for me? Jessica, I’m asking you seriously, did you think about me, me, for one second today?” “God, Chloe, don’t be so sensitive,” Leah muttered, frowning. “We just thought you were stressed about the GREs and wanted to study. We didn’t think you’d even see the post…” “You didn’t think I’d see the post.” I repeated. That was the most ridiculous lie of all. “You know what? Save it.” I was done. The string inside me just… snapped. “The cake looks great. You guys enjoy it. I’m not hungry.” “From now on, let’s just be… roommates. This whole ‘best sisters’ act… I’m tired.” I yanked my bed curtain shut, climbed into my bunk, put in my earbuds, and blasted music until my ears buzzed. I heard them arguing in whispers below me. Jessica’s voice was the loudest, sharp and indignant. Later, I heard the thud of the cake box hitting the communal trash can. That night, our group chat stayed silent.

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When I was in the hospital, my husband of nearly fifty years, at 70, ran into his old flame. He divorced me on my deathbed to marry her. And my own daughter, the A-list actress I’d worked my whole life to support, posted a picture of them on Instagram with the caption: “True love wins. So happy for my Mom and Dad.” The rage literally killed me. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back on the day of my engagement party. **1** Everything felt hazy, like a dream. I was standing in front of a full-length mirror, dressed in a stunning ivory gown for my engagement party with Ethan. God, I was so young. Healthy. No trace of the illness that had wasted me away. I was beautiful and full of life. I glanced down at the diamond ring on my finger, the one I had cherished for a lifetime. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. In my last life, I was so sick and frail that the ring was constantly slipping off my bony finger. But it was the first thing Ethan had ever given me, so I refused to take it off. He, however, let his long-lost love, Tiffany, rip it violently from my hand. When I tried to fight for it, he’d snapped at me, his voice dripping with annoyance. “It’s just a ring, Clara! It doesn’t even fit you anymore. Tiffany likes it, so let her have it. You’re dying, for God’s sake, can you stop being so petty? Just rest, don’t work yourself into another episode!” While I lay dying, he didn’t even have the decency to wait. He married Tiffany in a rush. He stood by my hospital bed, shamelessly declaring, “If it weren’t for a misunderstanding back then, we would’ve never broken up! She’s been waiting for me all these years, Clara. I can’t let her down again! Hate me if you want, but I’m marrying her!” I’d already done my research. Tiffany had spent the last few decades as a kept woman, bouncing between wealthy old men until her looks faded. She only came back to Ethan for his money. But he wouldn’t believe me. Even our daughter, Ava, the movie star whose career I had built from the ground up, stabbed me in the back, defending them online for the world to see. “True love wins. So happy for my Mom and Dad.” The betrayal, the sheer fury of it all, was what finally stopped my heart. And now, I was back. With a chance to cut him out of my life like the cancer he was. We were on the stage at the reception hall. The officiant was reciting the vows, prompting us to exchange rings. I just stood there, silent. The entire room went quiet. Ethan nudged me, his voice a tense whisper. “Clara, the rings!” Slowly, I pulled the ring from my own finger. I took the microphone from the officiant’s hand and faced our guests. “Everyone,” I announced, my voice clear and steady. “I’m so sorry to have you all come out here for nothing. The engagement between Ethan and myself is officially cancelled. Please, feel free to leave.” A wave of gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. Ethan stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. He grabbed my arm. “Clara, what the hell are you talking about? What is this? A joke?” he hissed. “You’re the one who pushed for this engagement, and now you’re calling it off? Are you trying to make a fool out of me?” I looked at him, at his self-righteous anger, and felt nothing but cold pity. How dare he act like the victim? “Why is it cancelled?” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Ethan, you should be asking yourself that. If you don’t love me, why did you agree to marry me?” He just looked confused and impatient. “What nonsense are you spouting now, Clara? Let’s just get this over with. I have to get back to the office for a meeting.” Of course. The office. It was the same in our last life. As soon as the party was over, he was gone. Well, let’s see how busy he is when a different woman is involved. I turned and pointed toward the ballroom entrance, where a familiar figure was just walking in. “Fine,” I said. “Tell me you love me, right here, in front of her. Tell me you’ll only ever love me, and we can continue.” **2** The moment Ethan saw Tiffany standing by the door, his face went dark. I knew it. He was still in love with her. He was only marrying me because everyone—our friends, our families—expected it. It was my “reward” for being the good, supportive partner. We’d been together for seven years. We built our company, Innovatech, from the ground up. I was the one making cold calls and closing deals in the beginning, and I was the one who played the perfect corporate wife when we made it. Everyone loved me. This engagement was their idea as much as it was mine. I’d pressured him, and he’d finally, reluctantly, agreed. But he’d used “work” as an excuse to avoid every single aspect of the planning. This party was the first and only thing he’d shown up for. In my last life, I thought he was just emotionally reserved. I thought if I just loved him harder, was more patient, I could warm his heart. I wasted a lifetime trying. I’m not doing it again. If he wants Tiffany so badly, he can have her. His eyes were cold as ice as he stared at me. “Clara, who gave you the nerve to invite her here? Are you insane?” He was always so calm, so composed. Seeing him lose his cool like this was almost funny. “You said you wanted to continue,” I reminded him. “So say it. Say you love me.” He wasn’t playing along. “Clara, have you had enough? If you want to throw a tantrum, do it at home after the party is over! Officiant, let’s proceed!” “Wait!” I interrupted again. This time, I reached up, pulled the veil from my hair, and tossed it onto the floor. I walked off the stage and grabbed Tiffany’s arm, pulling her into the center of the room. “Ethan, you can’t even say you love me, can you? Not with your old flame standing right here,” I declared. “But you don’t have to struggle. Our engagement is off. You two can have this one instead!” I gave Tiffany a subtle look. That was her cue. Right on schedule, tears started streaming down her face like a broken faucet. She choked out, “Ethan, I had a reason for leaving you back then! A good reason! I love you, please, don’t marry her. I’m begging you!” **3** The first thing I did after I came back was call Tiffany. I told her to come and crash the party. She didn’t believe me at first. But Tiffany is, and always has been, greedy. All I had to do was mention Ethan’s success. “He owns Innovatech now. You can look it up, the company’s worth a fortune. I’m giving you a shot. Whether you take it or not is up to you.” “Why are you helping me?” she’d asked, suspicious. “Because I’m sick of hearing him whisper your name in his sleep,” I lied smoothly, a plausible excuse. “But I have one condition.” Seeing her take the bait, I laid out my terms. “I co-founded that company. My name might not be on the deed, but I poured my blood and sweat into it. When you two get together, I want my half. You have to help me get it. Otherwise, you’ll never find out where this party is.” She agreed instantly, of course. And she didn’t disappoint. Her little performance was all it took to shut Ethan up. His eyes were red as he stared at her. He tried to sound cold, but the emotion was raw in his voice. “You think I’ll believe a word you say? I’m not that same stupid kid anymore, Tiffany! You can’t fool me again!” Wiping her tears, Tiffany reached for his hand and dropped the bombshell. “Ethan, I know you hate me, and I don’t blame you. But… for the last seven years, I’ve been raising our son. Please, just give me another chance.” A son? They had a son? I felt a flash of ironic humor. This was even better than I’d planned. A secret love child was the perfect tool to ensure everyone would push them together. The awkward whispers among our friends started immediately. “Oh my god, they have a son? She raised his kid alone for seven years? Wow, that’s… that’s true love, I guess.” “Yeah, seven years is a long time to do that on your own. Ethan, you gotta think about this.” “I mean, this is really unfair to Clara, but… a kid’s involved. For the kid’s sake, Ethan has to be with Tiffany.” Ethan’s parents, who valued family legacy above all else, suddenly found their voices. “Ethan, what are you waiting for?” his father boomed. “You want my grandson calling some other man ‘Dad’? Not on my watch!” “Exactly!” his mother chimed in. “And Clara’s the one who called it off anyway! We can just switch the bride! Everyone’s already here, we can’t let all the money we spent on this party go to waste!” Ethan was still hesitating when the main doors swung open. A little boy came running in, heading straight for Tiffany. He tugged on her dress, his face bright with excitement. “Mommy, you said we found my daddy! Where is he? Who’s my dad?” **4** That was it. The kid sealed the deal. Any doubt Ethan had vanished. He turned to me, his expression a mess of guilt and relief. “Clara… I’m so sorry. You see how it is. Tiffany… she had my son. I can’t turn my back on them. I know you’re hurt, but today… I have to get engaged to Tiffany.” I managed a magnanimous smile. Hurt? Please. This was all my doing. “If you’re really sorry, then don’t give me a hard time when we’re dividing the company assets. I’ll come by the office next week to discuss the details. For now, I won’t interrupt your… happy reunion.” Hearing me mention the company, Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but the little boy threw his arms around his legs. “Daddy! You’re really my daddy!” I used the distraction to make a quick exit. The guests just stood there, stunned into silence. I mean, who officiates an engagement where the bride gets swapped out halfway through? But what could they say? As soon as I was out of the ballroom, I found the hotel manager. “I’m sure you’ve heard,” I said calmly. “I’m no longer the bride. You’ll need to get the final payment for this event from the groom.” I had planned this party to be perfect, sparing no expense. The original plan was to cover any overages from my personal savings. Now? Let Ethan bleed for it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to completely ruin their party. It’s just that I had a bigger war to fight: the one for my company. I built Innovatech. There was no way in hell I was just handing it over to him. “Sir,” I added, putting on a pained expression. “I’ve just been publicly humiliated. I’m worried he might try to slander me later. Could I possibly get a copy of the security footage from the ballroom? Just to protect myself.” The manager was hesitant, citing guest privacy. But money talks. A discreetly passed envelope later, and the footage was on its way to my email. This time, I was going to be the one to burn it all down. And I was going to enjoy every minute of it.

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