Category: English

1 The day my husband, Brian, brought his depressed first love, Kelly, into our home to take care of her, I let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. He looked at my perfectly calm face and spoke in a freezing tone. “Kelly’s health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom. It gets the most natural sunlight.” I nodded immediately and hauled all my belongings into the guest room. Seeing my compliance, he added, “Her stomach is extremely sensitive. She can only stomach bland, home-cooked meals.” I immediately fired our private chef, who specialized in spicy Cajun cuisine, and personally went to the kitchen to cook a table full of plain porridge and light, organic vegetables. When Kelly clutched her chest in pain, I ran out to buy her medication faster than Brian ever could. I was not doing this because I was a desperate pushover trying to win my husband back. I was doing this because, just yesterday, I had secretly moved a completely blind Aaron Harrington into our house. Aaron was the untouchable fantasy of my youth, the secret crush I had buried deep in my heart for a decade. But the moment Brian laid eyes on him, my normally cold and composed husband completely lost his mind. With bloodshot eyes, he practically begged me, “Harper, I am the one you love the most. I forbid you from looking at him!” … On the day of our belated wedding ceremony, Kelly staged a highly publicized medical emergency, intentionally overdosing on a dangerous cocktail of prescription pills. Without a second thought, Brian abandoned me at the altar, sprinting to Kelly’s apartment and carrying her to the hospital. I was left completely alone at the venue. I had to swallow my absolute humiliation, entertain our friends and family, deal with the aggressive media, and finish the reception by myself. After finally sending the last guest home, I received a phone call from Brian. “Kelly needs to be admitted. I cannot leave her side right now. Come to the hospital and pay the bill.” I couldn’t even describe what I was feeling. I felt like I should be furious, screaming, entirely hysterical. But in reality, I just calmly replied, “Okay.” Because this exact scenario had played out far too many times. Kelly came back into the picture the exact day after Brian and I signed our marriage certificate. The moment she saw our bright red legal documents, she had a total psychological breakdown and collapsed in her bathroom. Brian rushed her to the ER and stayed by her bedside all night. The next morning, with dark, exhausted circles under his eyes, he looked at me and said, “Harper, we are canceling the wedding ceremony. Kelly cannot handle the stimulation right now.” “But…” Before the words could even leave my mouth, Brian cut me off. “Harper, this is a human life we are talking about. Stop being so selfish.” His voice was terrifyingly heavy, instantly suffocating every single ounce of anticipation I had for our wedding. We had picked out the dress together. We toured the venues. We chose the rings. We had everything ready. And because of one woman, it all evaporated into thin air. I wasn’t even allowed to argue. I wasn’t allowed to feel wronged. I could only give a dry, hollow response. “Okay.” Because nothing was more important than a human life, right? From that day forward, our marriage became a crowded room of three. She was there on our honeymoon. She was there on Valentine’s Day. She was there on our anniversary. And by now, I was completely numb to it. I took off my wedding dress, drove to the hospital in complete silence, and paid her medical bills. As I was walking out of the hospital entrance, a white mobility cane suddenly struck the back of my calf. “I am so sorry,” a panicked, entirely lost voice stammered. I turned around in surprise. “Aaron? What are you doing here?” 2 Hearing my voice, Aaron froze entirely. His first instinct was to hide, but he completely forgot he could not see. His foot missed the edge of the step, and he tumbled violently down the concrete stairs. My heart leaped into my throat. I sprinted down the steps. “Aaron! Are you okay?” I tried to help him up, but he thrashed against my grip desperately. I couldn’t help but lose my temper. “Aaron Harrington, why are you throwing a billionaire temper tantrum right now? Do you have any idea that you are bleeding?” I don’t know which word triggered him, but Aaron suddenly went rigid, his broad shoulders trembling violently. I leaned in to check his injuries. But the second I got close, his hoarse, tear-choked voice cracked through the air. “Don’t look at me!” It was only then that I realized how drastically different this Aaron was from the boy I remembered. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, groomed from birth to inherit the massive Harrington Industries empire. Whatever he wanted, he got the absolute best. Every move he made used to radiate the effortless arrogance of the ultra-wealthy. Now, he was wearing a cheap, faded t-shirt, clutching a dented white cane, his clothes covered in dirt and his flawlessly sculpted face smeared with grime. I pressed my lips together and swallowed my questions. I practically carried him to a doctor, got his cuts bandaged, picked up his eye medication, and shoved him into the passenger seat of my car. “Where do you live now?” I asked. Aaron did not answer. After an agonizing silence, he finally muttered, “The Southside Projects.” The Southside Projects was the most dangerous, run-down slum in the city. It was a place the old Aaron Harrington wouldn’t have even glanced at from a helicopter. I paused for a second before slowly putting the car in drive. When I finally stepped into the place he called home, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A rotting wooden door, walls stained black with cooking grease, and a bathroom that smelled violently of raw sewage. There was almost zero furniture in the entire unit. Just a brutal wooden slab for a bed, covered by a paper-thin sheet. Aaron tapped his way inside with his cane. He was being incredibly careful, yet his shin still slammed brutally into the corner of the bed frame. He let out a muffled groan. I couldn’t take it a second longer. I stepped forward, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him toward the door. “Aaron, you are not staying in this dump. You are coming home with me.” Taking Aaron home was an act of pure impulse. I didn’t regret it, but it definitely created a massive logistical nightmare. I had no idea how I was going to explain him to Brian. Maybe my moral compass was just a bit too rigid, but I firmly believed that while I was still legally married, I shouldn’t be moving another man into the house I shared with my husband. But throwing Aaron back into that slum was absolutely out of the question. After racking my brain, I decided to hide Aaron in our spacious attic. He sat on the freshly made bed, clutching his white cane tightly. His jaw was set in a stubborn line, but the corners of his eyes were flushed red. He turned his sightless eyes toward me and whispered, “Harper, am I completely pathetic to look at right now?” I had no idea how to comfort a fallen billionaire. I just abruptly changed the subject. “I am going to grab you some food!” Aaron did not say a word. He just sat in silence, listening to my fading footsteps. I did not sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, when Brian finally returned, I was ready to lay all my cards on the table. But before I could even open my mouth, I saw Kelly standing right behind him. 3 “Harper, Kelly is moving in with us starting today.” Brian offered zero explanation. It was a cold, emotionless command. Instead of fighting, I let out a massive sigh of relief. A genuine smile even touched my lips as I nodded. “Okay.” Seeing my total lack of resistance, Brian furrowed his brows. After all, just last month, I had torn the house apart screaming at him over Kelly. Before that fight, I hadn’t stayed quiet out of the goodness of my heart. I stayed quiet because Brian constantly gaslit me, swearing up and down that Kelly was just like a little sister to him and he couldn’t just abandon her. That was until last month, when I went to help his mother pack for a move and accidentally stumbled across his old high school diary. That was when I learned the truth. Kelly was his untouchable fantasy, his perfect white moonlight. When her family went bankrupt and she came crawling back from overseas, his fantasy suddenly became attainable. The only thing standing in their way was me. Three years of suffocating resentment violently erupted. I took the diary and confronted Brian, demanding answers. But he just looked at me with cold, absolute disgust. “Harper, why do you get such a sick thrill out of invading other people’s privacy?” All the blood drained from my face. I don’t remember what happened after that. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed, the sharp stench of bleach burning my nose. A nurse noticed my blank stare and offered a pitying smile. “You are still young. You can always have another baby. Please try not to grieve too hard.” That was the exact moment I realized a tiny, quiet life inside of me had slipped away. And my husband was nowhere to be found. By the time he finally finished consoling Kelly and returned to the hospital, I had already checked myself out and gone home alone. Brian stormed into our bedroom, looking at my packed suitcase with intense irritation. “Harper, what kind of tantrum is this? Checking out of the hospital when you haven’t even recovered? Do you think you’re invincible just because you’re young?” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before I cut him off. “Brian, I want a divorce.” Brian’s face went totally blank for a second. Then a flash of sheer panic crossed his eyes, before twisting into an ugly sneer. “Harper, Kelly was having a mental crisis. I was just following the doctor’s orders to stay by her side. Can you stop being so insanely petty? Look at the bigger picture. You look like a bitter, hysterical housewife right now!” I was far too exhausted to argue with him. I dropped the signed divorce papers onto the coffee table, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the front door without granting him a single backward glance. That was when Brian truly panicked. For the next entire month, he completely abandoned Kelly. He chased me relentlessly, doing everything in his power to drag me back. He treated me like a queen during those weeks. It was exactly like how he treated me when we first started dating. But I truly, deeply wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Three nights ago, he knocked on my hotel room door again. I was fully prepared to say the most ruthless things imaginable to get him out of my life forever. But when I yanked the door open, I found Brian down on one knee. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers and the exact diamond ring I had begged for three years ago. With red, tear-filled eyes, he pleaded, “Harper, let me give you the wedding you deserve.” My mind instantly flashed back to the very first time he proposed. He was on one knee back then too, his eyes overflowing with total devotion, swearing to protect my happiness forever. I figured I could give him one last chance. I let him slide the ring onto my finger, and he held me, crying tears of actual joy. He promised me, “Harper, I am going to throw you the most romantic wedding this city has ever seen.” Brian did not lie. He dropped over a million dollars transforming a luxury hotel ballroom into a breathtaking sea of lavender. The entire venue looked like a dream. But my heart felt absolutely nothing. I hated lavender. I loved the most cliché, blood-red roses. The person who loved lavender was Kelly. So when Brian sprinted out of the venue because Kelly had a “crisis,” my expression didn’t even flinch. It made perfect sense. If he had actually ignored Kelly to marry me, that would have been out of character. So now, moving Kelly into our house was entirely expected. Seeing how happily I agreed, a bizarre, suffocating frustration twisted in Brian’s chest. His expression turned icy, and he snapped like he was trying to provoke me. “Her health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom with the natural sunlight.” 4 A flash of absolute triumph crossed the face of the woman standing behind him, but Kelly expertly masked it a second later, replacing it with a fragile, weeping expression. “Brian, we can’t do that. I could never take Harper’s room. A tiny maid’s quarters or the basement is more than enough for me…” As she spoke, she peeked at Brian through her eyelashes, waiting for his reaction. Normally, whenever she pulled this routine, Brian would viciously scold me for being unaccommodating and literally force my belongings into her hands. But this time, she didn’t get to hear Brian’s defense. I beat him to the punch and nodded brightly. “Okay.” Without missing a beat, I marched into the master bedroom and hauled every last piece of my existence into the guest room down the hall. Brian’s face looked like a brewing thunderstorm. Once I finished moving, I needed to talk to Brian about Aaron. I politely knocked on the master bedroom door. “Can I come in?” I waited in silence for a long time. No answer. Just as I turned to leave, the door violently swung open. Brian stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with fury. Normally, seeing him this angry would make me drop everything to coddle his ego. But this time, I just hesitated and said, “Brian, there is something I need to tell you…” I didn’t get to finish. “Harper, Kelly is starving. Her stomach is sensitive, so she can only eat bland, organic home-cooked meals.” He slammed the door right in my face. I rubbed my nose, sighed, and went downstairs to find our live-in chef. I wired her a massive bonus and told her to take a paid month off. Brian was the one who hired her because he loved her spicy Southern cooking, but now the house had Kelly and Aaron, two patients who couldn’t handle a single drop of hot sauce. After sending the chef away, I tied on an apron and cooked an entire spread of food myself. When we finally sat down at the dining table, Brian’s face was still pitch black. He didn’t say a word and barely touched his food. Clearly, it wasn’t up to his standard. I didn’t want to trigger another fight, but the Aaron situation could not stay hidden forever. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Brian, I have a friend who recently ran into some serious trouble, and right now…” Denied again. Kelly suddenly began gasping for air, her face turning a sickly white as she collapsed against Brian’s chest. “Brian, my heart hurts so much… I think I’m having a severe allergic reaction…” Before Kelly even finished her performance, I shot out of my chair and sprinted out the front door. A torrential downpour was raging outside. I didn’t even grab an umbrella. I ran full speed to the pharmacy outside our gated community and bought every anti-allergy and emergency heart medication they had. I used to think Kelly was just faking it, but yesterday the doctor told me Aaron’s blindness was entirely induced by severe psychological trauma. Mental illness could manifest in terrifying physical ways. They really were that sick! By the time I ran back into the house, I was drenched to the bone, shivering violently. Brian looked at my pathetic, soaking wet state, and his rage finally boiled over. “Harper, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “How many times do I have to explain this?! Kelly and I are completely innocent! There is nothing going on between us!” “She is sick! I can’t just leave her to die!” I opened my mouth, desperate to explain why I actually ran out, but the words caught in my throat. I just stood there in silence. Brian grew even more furious. He gripped Kelly’s hand tightly, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “Harper, pack your things and get out of this house.” The second those words left his mouth, a rhythmic tapping echoed from the top of the stairs. Tap. Tap. Tap. A white cane hitting the hardwood floors. Slow. Hesitant. Then, Aaron’s voice drifted down. “Harper… you haven’t come up to the attic all day. Did you decide to throw me away too?” Brian whipped his head up. The moment he recognized Aaron, his pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.

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Three years ago, at our engagement party, his childhood bestie threw down a ridiculous bet. She dared Jeffrey to walk out on our wedding. To let her win, Jeffrey abandoned me at the altar. He tossed a careless smirk at his groomsmen. “She caves easily. Give her the cold shoulder for a few days and she’ll come crawling back.” His boys cheered, calling me a desperate gold digger, absolutely certain I could never survive without him. His bestie, June, even had the nerve to snatch the veil right off my head, giggling and shoving Jeffrey playfully. With hundreds of eyes burning into my skin, I stood there, my expression completely blank. Jeffrey looked back at me with a proud, approving nod. “Now that is the grace a Goodwin wife should have. Be a good girl and wait for me at home.” Hearing those words, I only felt a bitter urge to laugh. Grace? It was nothing but the absolute death of my love for him. Three years later, Jeffrey blocked the main entrance of my office building with a fleet of luxury cars and a massive diamond ring. “Madness over? I’m here to keep my promise.” I did not even spare him a second glance. I just protectively cradled my heavily pregnant belly. “Excuse me. My husband is picking me up for my ultrasound.” 1 “Is playing dress up with a silicone belly really that fun?” Jeffrey stood with one hand shoved casually into his tailored slacks. His eyes lazily swept over my rounded stomach. His tone was drenched in that same arrogant certainty he always carried. I met his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Goodwin, move.” The front doors of my firm were completely blocked by nine black Maybachs. Drones buzzed in the crisp afternoon air, dragging a massive banner with my name printed in bold letters. A crowd of my coworkers had already formed on the sidewalk, their breathless whispers drifting into my ears. Jeffrey did not look embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he took a confident step forward and offered me a massive bouquet of red roses. “It has been three years. You have thrown your little tantrum. It is time to come home.” He looked at me with what he probably thought was indulgent affection. “You know how much I hate it when women act hysterical. But for you, I made an exception. I gave you three whole years.” I stared at those blood red petals. Three years ago, when I was in the ER hooked up to an IV because of a severe pollen allergy, he had his assistant send me the exact same type of flowers. He told me June had picked them out and warned me not to be ungrateful. I kept my hands firmly on my belly and took a half step back. “Jeffrey, I am not throwing a tantrum.” I looked directly into his eyes, my voice quiet but steady. “I am married. And I am five months pregnant.” Jeffrey let out a low chuckle. He casually tossed the expensive bouquet onto the lid of a nearby trash can. “You are spinning lies like this just to get a reaction out of me?” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a velvet box. It popped open with a soft click, revealing a massive pink diamond that caught the sunlight. “I owed you a ceremony three years ago. I am making up for it today.” He did not even bother to drop to one knee. He just held the box out to me, looking like a king bestowing a rare favor upon a peasant. “Put it on. We will pick out a wedding dress tomorrow. I promise I won’t walk out this time.” He said it with such casual entitlement. I looked at the glittering stone, feeling absolutely nothing. At our engagement party, he turned his back on me and walked out in front of my entire family, all because June wanted to test her power over him. Her sharp stiletto had stomped right onto the hem of my gown, leaving an ugly smear of black mud on the pristine white silk. She ripped my veil away to humiliate me. And what did he say? He praised my grace. He told me to wait at home. That night, I peeled off the ruined dress all by myself. I took a pair of scissors, cut out the muddy footprint, and threw it into the trash along with my engagement ring. From that exact second, the man named Jeffrey Goodwin died in my heart. “I don’t need it.” I sidestepped him and headed straight for the curb. Jeffrey finally frowned. He reached out to grab my wrist. I twisted away, letting his hand grasp empty air. “Monica, enough.” His voice dropped an octave, laced with a heavy warning. “My patience has limits. Who exactly is this little performance for?” Right on cue, his phone chimed. It was a custom text tone. June’s sickly sweet voice spilled from the speaker. “Tristy, did you pick Monica up? I feel a little sick. My head is spinning.” Jeffrey’s icy expression melted instantly. He pressed the audio button to reply. “Be a good girl and take your meds. I will bring her back to see you soon.” He slipped the phone away and looked back at me. “June is sick, and she is still worrying about you. Stop being so hostile toward her.” A note of sharp reprimand entered his voice. “What happened three years ago was just a joke. She is young and does not know any better. You were practically supposed to be her family. Why are you holding such a petty grudge?” Watching his righteous indignation, a wave of intense nausea hit me. Morning sickness was normal, but standing in front of this man made my stomach violently churn. I took a deep breath, forcing the bile down. “Jeffrey, do you lack basic comprehension skills?” I pointed toward the taxi stand. “My husband is waiting for me at the hospital. Get out of my way.” His face turned ice cold. He stared intensely at my stomach. “You really won’t drop this, will you? You are actually using these cheap tricks to force an apology out of me?” “Cheap tricks?” I chewed on the words, finding them hilarious. “Think whatever helps you sleep at night.” I was done wasting oxygen on him. I walked straight to a yellow cab that had just pulled up, opened the door, and slid into the back seat, shielding my bump. Jeffrey moved with lightning speed, slamming his hand against the door frame before I could close it. “Which hospital? I will take you.” He looked down at me, a dark sneer twisting his lips. “I really want to see which random loser you hired to play this little game with you.” I glared at his hand gripping the metal frame. “Let go.” “Don’t push your luck, Monica.” His patience seemed to completely evaporate. He yanked the front passenger door open and threw himself into the seat. Defeated by his stubbornness, I told the driver the name of the private maternity hospital downtown. The driver glanced nervously between us. Jeffrey pulled out a thick stack of hundred dollar bills and threw them onto the dashboard. “Drive.” The cab merged into the bustling city traffic. The silence inside the car was suffocating. Jeffrey leaned back, turning his head to study me. “You used to cry over a simple blood draw. Now you are strapping a fake belly to yourself just to make me mad?” His gaze lingered on my midsection, highly critical. “Take it off. Aren’t you sweating under there?” I pulled the zipper of my coat all the way up to my chin, closed my eyes, and ignored him. Half an hour later, the car pulled up to the hospital entrance. I got out. Jeffrey followed like a dark shadow. The lobby of the private clinic was quiet, smelling of expensive sanitizer and fresh linen. I walked to the kiosk to print my appointment ticket. Jeffrey stood right behind me, reading the screen that clearly displayed ‘Obstetrics Follow Up’. His eye twitched, but he recovered his smug composure a second later. “You are really committed to the bit.” He let out a dry laugh. I took my ticket and headed for the elevator. He stayed glued to my side. When we reached the third floor waiting area, I found an empty seat. The moment I sat down, the elevator doors chimed open again. June stepped out, teetering on designer heels and clutching a massive bundle of white roses. She spotted us instantly and trotted over. “Tristy! Monica!” She shoved the white roses right into my face, wearing a mask of flawless, innocent joy. “I heard you were pregnant! I just had to come say congratulations!” The heavy, powdery scent of pollen flooded my lungs. I violently turned my head and sneezed. Jeffrey immediately frowned at June. “She is allergic to pollen. Move them away.” June bit her bottom lip, her eyes shining with instant, manufactured tears. “Oh no, I am so sorry Monica. I completely forgot. I was just so excited for you.” She dropped the flowers onto the empty chair next to her and naturally slid into the seat right beside Jeffrey. “But Monica, didn’t you get married a little too fast?” June’s gaze dragged over my belly, a malicious glint hidden in her smile. “The baby is already so big. Did you just grab the first guy you saw to get back at Tristy?” She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “It is such an important checkup today. Where is this mysterious husband of yours?” “Did he ditch you here all by yourself? Sounds like a deadbeat to me.” Jeffrey listened to every venomous word and did absolutely nothing to stop her. Instead, he watched me closely, waiting to see me crack. “Her husband is too busy to care about her,” Jeffrey answered for me, his voice dripping with mockery. “How dedicated can a hired actor really be?” I watched them bounce off each other, feeling an eerie sense of total peace. This was the man I had loved for seven years. He was sitting here, watching another woman insult me, and deciding to join in. “Is Monica here?” A nurse stepped out of the examination room, holding a medical chart. “Here,” I said, standing up. The nurse looked at me, then glanced at Jeffrey and June. “The doctor needs a family member to sign the ultrasound consent forms. Which one of you is the spouse?” Jeffrey instinctively took a step forward. “I am.” I turned around, cutting him off with a voice made of ice. “No, he isn’t.” The nurse froze, her eyes darting between Jeffrey and me. Jeffrey’s outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the air. His face darkened dangerously. “Monica, stop acting like a child.” He lowered his voice, packing it with a fierce warning. “This is a hospital. Not a stage for your temper tantrums.” I did not even look at him. I turned back to the nurse. “I do not know them. They are just strangers who followed me here. My husband is parking the car. He will be right up.” The nurse nodded slowly and pulled the clipboard back to her chest. “Understood. Please wait for him out here. We need the actual spouse on record for these documents.” She turned and disappeared back into the room. Jeffrey slowly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket. His eyes narrowed, glowing with a dangerous, volatile heat. “Strangers?” He let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “You have grown some spine in three years. Denying I am family now?” Seeing his anger, June immediately stood up and wrapped her hands around Jeffrey’s arm. “Tristy, don’t be mad.” She looked at me, her eyes brimming with fresh, practiced tears. “Monica, are you seriously still mad about that little joke we played three years ago?” She sniffled, sounding like the ultimate victim. “I just made a tiny bet with Tristy to lighten the mood at the party.” “How was I supposed to know you couldn’t take a joke? You literally ran away from home over nothing.” She framed my ruined wedding as a joke, and my shattered heart as being overly sensitive. Staring at her pathetic, trembling face, I felt a wave of pure disgust. “Turning my wedding into a betting pool was a joke?” I shifted my gaze to Jeffrey.

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Fred Harrington was the quiet light I had spent four years secretly loving. If we had not ended up tangled together in that bed, perhaps we would have remained best friends for a lifetime. Five years after we parted, we met again at my younger brother Jude’s wedding. While everyone else was offering their blessings to the newlyweds, Fred leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. His voice was low, heavy with mockery. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas. Doesn’t that make you sick?” 1 “Hey, what took you so long?” Jude stood in his sharp, white tuxedo, the bright, familiar smile still lighting up his face. The kid I used to look after was finally getting married. Time really did fly. “Flight was delayed,” I said, offering a quiet apology. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” “You’re not late. The ceremony hasn’t even started yet.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little girl walking over, having finally finished staring at the goldfish in the lobby fountain. I waved her over and introduced her to Jude with a smile. “This is my daughter, Elia.” “I know, I know! We’re already best friends,” Jude said, dropping to one knee to perform their secret handshake. Watching them mimic each other’s goofy gestures, I couldn’t help but laugh. They had video called a few times before we flew in. Elia was a social butterfly who could strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone. “I’ll take her to see Dad,” Jude said, taking her hand. I nodded and watched them walk hand-in-hand toward the reception room. Finding a quiet corner, I sat down and opened my laptop to reply to some work emails. After moving to London, I had taken up photography, finding a job there right after graduation. My inbox was flooded with inquiries and booking requests. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I drafted polite rejections one by one. Elia had never been to the States before, and I wanted to spend some quality time with her during this trip. The freelance gigs would have to wait until we returned to the UK. As my fingers flew across the keyboard, a familiar, rich scent of cedarwood and amber suddenly drifted into my space. My hands froze over the keys. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if a warm breath had just brushed past them. In my peripheral vision, a hand appeared. It moved closer, slowly, until a set of pale, perfect knuckles rested firmly on the table. The woody fragrance deepened, wrapping around me. Two soft taps echoed against the wood. It felt as if those taps landed directly on my ribcage, sending a sharp tremor straight to my heart. “Long time no see, Silas.” Hearing that familiar voice after five long years made my chest tighten instantly. 2 Fred Harrington. The boy who used to be my best friend. And the one I had loved in silence for as long as I could remember. The chair beside me was pulled back, and a pair of long legs entered my field of vision. He crossed them with a quiet, effortless elegance. The high-end fabric of his tailored suit didn’t even crease. A flash of the signature red soles of his designer shoes caught the light, disappearing into the shadow of the desk like a passing spark. My throat went dry. Forcing my eyes back to the glowing laptop screen, I tried to resume typing. But within seconds, his voice stopped me again. “Five years in London, Silas, and you’ve already forgotten how to speak to me?” The tone was lazy, almost casual, yet it carried that familiar, demanding edge. “No,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. I let my shoulders slump slightly, feeling a quiet wave of defeat. I hadn’t expected to run into him here. Fred was never the type to attend family gatherings like this. “Then answer me.” “Long time no see,” I whispered. But it wasn’t true. For me, there had been no long separation. I had fallen asleep almost every night looking at his pictures, and his face was still the lock screen on every device I owned. Fred let out a short, quiet scoff, though his voice softened when he spoke next. “Finally decided to come back?” The lack of anger in his voice caught me off guard. I stared at the screen, stunned. It was as if the painful event that tore us apart had left no mark on him at all. Then again, why would it? I was the only one who had been drowning in the aftermath. Taking a slow, quiet breath to suppress the ache in my chest, I tried to stay calm. After all, I was the one who had cut off all contact. I was the one who had slept with the sole heir of the Harrington family, got caught by his powerful grandfather, and ended up banished across the Atlantic. Honestly, being sent away was the gentlest punishment they could have given me. I cursed myself silently. How could I have been so reckless back then? Fred was different from me. He was normal, destined for a bright, conventional future. He shouldn’t have been dragged into the dark, complicated mess of my life. I pressed my fingernails into my palms, letting the sharp pain anchor me. “Just here for Jude’s wedding,” I replied, keeping my voice as flat and emotionless as possible. “We’ll be heading back right after.” It was a lie, but it didn’t matter. As long as I didn’t actively seek him out, the chances of us crossing paths in a city this size were practically zero. He would never know when I left, and he likely wouldn’t care. Five years was a long time. It was more than enough to rewrite the history between two people. “You’re cold, Silas,” Fred said, a trace of bitter humor in his voice. “First you vanish without a single word, and now you can’t wait to draw a line between us. Tell me, do you really despise me that much?” It sounded like a joke, but I knew him too well. Having spent three years as his shadow, I could read the subtle shifts in his voice like a familiar book. My wrists felt stiff, hovering over the keyboard. When I finally let my arms drop to the table, they made a dull thud. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. When it came to Fred, I had never possessed an ounce of strength. “I don’t despise you,” I said softly, the weight of the confession heavy in my throat. The only person I despised was myself. “Then why did you…” Fred’s voice grew thick with sudden emotion, and his hand shot out, gripping my forearm tightly. The heat of his palm burned right through the thin sleeve of my shirt, making me shiver. “Daddy!” 3 I turned quickly. Jude was walking back toward us, holding Elia’s hand. The little girl broke free and ran, throwing herself into my arms. I spun around to catch her, shielding her as the heavy warmth on my arm vanished. Pulling a small comb from my bag, I knelt down to smooth the wild curls around her face. “Daddy, Grandpa gave me so many chocolates! I don’t want to eat them now. Can we put them in your bag?” “No sweets before dinner, okay?” I reminded her, opening my satchel so she could drop the colorful foil-wrapped candies inside. Like a little hurricane, Elia was gone as fast as she had arrived, dragging Jude toward the dessert table. “Is she… your daughter?” Fred’s voice drifted down from behind me, much lower and rougher than before. My hands froze as I sat back down. A sudden, cold panic gripped my chest. I silently prayed he hadn’t looked closely enough to see the familiar shape of her eyes, the familiar curve of her jaw. Feeling his heavy, searching gaze on me, I forced myself to nod. “You’re married?” he asked, his voice strained. I nodded again, my fingers returning to the keyboard, though I couldn’t see the screen through the haze of my anxiety. Elia had to remain my daughter alone. She had nothing to do with the Harrington family. “Does your wife know you’re gay?” The raw malice and mockery in his voice made me flinch. It was a tone I had never heard from him before. My fingers began to tremble. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas,” Fred sneered, leaning closer. “Doesn’t that make you sick?” It felt as if a physical blow had landed on my chest, leaving a hollow, aching void. I hid my shaking hands beneath the long tablecloth, forcing myself to look up and meet his gaze. I managed to pull my lips into a fragile, hollow smile. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t feel that way anymore. And I won’t bother you again.” He looked thinner than he used to, his cheekbones sharper, his dark eyes like endless wells of shadow. But right now, his face held nothing but deep, burning resentment. It was a look that shattered the last of my resolve. I could barely draw breath under the weight of it. This was truly the end. We would never see each other again. A sudden rush of air brushed past me as he turned and walked away. 4 The wedding ceremony began, but as I glanced around the beautifully decorated hall, Fred was nowhere to be seen. He had left. I leaned back against my chair, staring down at the deep, red crescent marks my nails had carved into my palm. I had driven him away. No one wanted to share a room, let alone a meal, with the guy who had harbored a pathetic, secret obsession with them for years. It was bound to leave a bad taste in his mouth. The reception was flawless, like something out of a classic movie. “Silas, you should stay at the house while you’re in town,” Jude said afterward, his eyes slightly red from the emotional day. “I had your old room cleaned up and everything.” “It’s alright,” I said, offering a small smile as I squeezed Elia’s hand. “We’d only be in the way. The hotel is closer to the venues anyway. It’s easier.” “Are you still angry with Dad?” Jude asked softly. “The past is the past, Jude,” I murmured, reaching up to ruffle his hair gently. “Look at me. I’m doing just fine.” We were a blended family. My mother had passed away from complications during my birth, and due to my frail health, I spent my childhood living with my grandparents in a quiet coastal town. I was only brought back to the Kingsley estate when I started high school. Someone called Jude’s name from the crowd. I patted his shoulder, urging him to go tend to his guests. Using a ride-sharing app, I booked a car and took Elia to the lobby to wait. “Daddy, a nice mister gave me two candies earlier. One for you, one for me!” “A mister?” I asked, adjusting the hem of her lace dress. “Who was he?” It was probably one of Jude’s friends. “Remember, too much sugar will ruin your teeth. A princess can’t have a ruined smile.” “But these are really good! Better than the chocolates Grandpa gave me.” She opened her small hand, revealing a round candy wrapped in pale blue foil. A sea salt mint. My heart skipped a beat. The first time I had ever tasted that exact flavor, Fred had shoved it into my mouth after a grueling basketball practice. “Do you like them?” I whispered. “I love them!” she beamed. Children usually disliked the sharp, bracing taste of mint, but Elia’s tastes had always been uniquely her own. I took the candy from her hand, slowly peeling back the foil, and let the cool, sharp sweetness melt on my tongue. 5 The sharp ring of my phone woke me the next morning. I quickly hit the mute button, checking on Elia, who was still fast asleep under the heavy hotel comforter. Slipping out of bed, I walked barefoot out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind me before answering. It was Lance, my mentor and closest friend in London. I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment, waiting for his usual burst of high-energy chatter to quiet down before speaking. “Silas! Tell me you didn’t just ignore my brilliant greeting,” Lance’s accented English filled the line. A genuine smile touched my lips. “Of course not.” “How long are you staying in the States?” Lance asked. “I need a massive favor. The local agency I’m partnering with for a campaign needs a temporary photographer. One of their lead shooters went down with the flu.” “I’ll be here for about two months,” I replied. “If the schedule isn’t too crazy, I can help out.” I owed Lance a lot. He had taken me under his wing when I arrived in London with nothing but a camera and a broken heart. “You’re a lifesaver! Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” “Sure. Send me the details.” After hanging up, I went back inside. Elia was awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed and quietly flipping through her picture book. She never woke up grumpy, which was a blessing since I was useless before my morning coffee.

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1 After our third reconciliation, Garrison became unusually generous. He replaced my wardrobe with custom designer pieces, set my monthly allowance at twenty thousand dollars, and opened a flower shop in my name. He said he wanted me to have a career of my own. I accepted everything with a polite smile, a stark contrast to our past fights. He put an arm around me, clearly pleased. This is how it should be, he said. Let us focus on building a good life together. Three days before, I had seen his messages to his first love, Summer. The shop was registered under her name so it would count as her asset in the divorce. The expensive clothes and large allowance were meant to inflate my lifestyle. In court, I would look greedy and materialistic when demanding alimony. Six months at most, he wrote. Wait for me. I closed his phone and got to work. I ran the flower shop well, deposited every cent of the allowance into a hidden account, and never wore the designer clothes. Their tags stayed intact. Six months later, when Garrison finally asked for a divorce, I handed him a far more detailed agreement. He froze in shock. I smiled calmly. You spent six months planning this, Garrison. Did you really think I did not spend six months preparing too? … “Are you trying to threaten me with this?” Garrison threw the thick stack of divorce papers onto the marble coffee table, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. “The signature is lovely,” he said, picking up his cup of hot tea and gently blowing on the leaves. “But there’s a limit to how long you can throw a tantrum.” I sat across from him, watching him slowly sip his tea. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I replied, pushing the papers back toward him. “The terms are perfectly clear. The flower shop remains mine, the properties under your name stay yours, and our liquid assets will be split proportionally.” Garrison set his cup down, the porcelain clinking sharply against the glass table. He leaned back into the sofa, resting his hands on his knees. “Naomi, do you honestly believe that saving twenty thousand dollars a month for half a year makes you independent?” “I’ve spent the last six months pampering you, buying you designer clothes, and giving you a flower shop so you could play the successful business owner.” “Do you seriously think you can survive out there without my support?” I looked at his arrogant posture, choosing to remain silent. Three months ago, in this very office, he had wrapped his arm around my shoulder in front of his wealthy friends, boasting that the shop was a gift to help me find my own passion. Suddenly, his phone on the table began to vibrate. The name Summer flashed across the screen. Garrison glanced at me, making no effort to hide the call as he pressed answer. “Garrison, the bridal boutique just called to confirm,” Summer’s sweet, delicate voice echoed through the quiet office. “When are you coming over?” Garrison’s voice softened instantly, filled with a tenderness he had never shown me. “Hey, sweetheart. I have a minor issue to handle here. I’ll pick you up shortly to try on that reception dress you liked.” “Is she throwing another tantrum?” Summer sighed on the other end. “Don’t be too hard on her. Since you two are parting ways anyway, at least let her keep some dignity.” “Don’t worry, I know how to handle it.” Garrison hung up and turned his cold gaze back to me. “You heard that? Summer is still trying to protect your feelings.” He reached into his leather briefcase, pulling out a document and sliding it across the table. “Since you insist on counting every penny, let’s look at the math.” I looked down at the paper. It was a loan agreement. “The flower shop’s legal representative is you,” Garrison said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Last month, the shop took out a loan of five million dollars from one of my construction subsidiaries, supposedly for renovations and inventory.” “It’s not a massive sum, just five million.” He tapped his finger against the signature line at the bottom. “Black and white. Your personal signature and seal are right there.” I stared at the familiar signature stamp. It was a custom-made piece he had gifted me on the shop’s grand opening, telling me it would symbolize my independent career. It didn’t symbolize independence. It was a trap designed to drown me in debt. “And?” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “So, if you sign this clean-break agreement,” Garrison said, sliding his version of the divorce papers back to me, “I will personally clear this five-million-dollar debt for you. You can keep the monthly allowance as your severance package.” He adjusted his cuffs and stood up, looking down at me. “But if you insist on taking this to court, that five million will remain your personal liability. You won’t get a single dime from me, and you’ll spend the rest of your life working to pay off that debt.” He stood tall, entirely confident that I would break down, cry, and beg for his mercy just as I had done so many times before. I took a slow sip of my cold tea. “Garrison, your planning over the last six months was truly brilliant.” I opened my bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope, sliding a set of stamped documents onto the table, placing them right where his loan agreement sat. They were official audit reports from the tax bureau, accompanied by a copy of a criminal case filing from the financial fraud division. “The flower shop did indeed process a transaction of five million dollars,” I said, locking my eyes onto his. “But the recipient account belongs to the shell company you’ve been using to launder your personal assets.” Garrison’s eyes locked onto the red official stamps on the documents. The smug confidence on his face slowly, painfully began to fracture. 2 Garrison stared at the documents, the silence in the office turning heavy and suffocating. He didn’t scream, and he didn’t throw a fit. But the vein on his temple throbbed violently. “Where did you get these?” his voice dropped, laced with a freezing edge. “That doesn’t matter,” I said, leaning back comfortably. “What matters is that the tax authorities have already accepted the case. All those hidden accounts you kept in the dark are now exposed to the light.” Garrison suddenly let out a sharp laugh. He grabbed the photocopies, ripping them to shreds right in front of me, scattering the white pieces across the dark carpet. “Naomi, do you honestly believe some forged documents can put me behind bars?” He took a slow step toward me, leaning over the table to bring his face inches from mine. “For the past six months, you’ve eaten my food, worn the clothes I bought, and even the rent for this shop was paid out of my pocket.” “And you used my money to investigate me?” His voice was steady, but the naked malice in his eyes was no longer concealed. “Exactly,” I replied, holding his gaze. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to have a career? I’ve learned a lot, including how to run an audit.” Garrison straightened up, scanning the room. On the walls hung expensive paintings he had gifted me, and in the corner sat a rare, prized white orchid I had tended to for months. He walked over to the wooden plant stand, idly stroking the delicate leaves of the orchid. “This orchid was quite expensive, wasn’t it?” he asked. “You had it imported. It cost sixty thousand dollars,” I answered calmly. Garrison nodded. Then, with a sudden, violent sweep of his arm, he knocked the heavy ceramic pot off the stand. The sound of shattering clay echoed through the room. Soil and the rare, delicate roots of the orchid scattered across the floor. He stepped over the debris, walked to the wall, ripped down the expensive painting, and tossed it into the trash can. “I gave you all of this, and I can take it all back in an instant.” He turned around to face me. “Do you really think a little leverage is enough to negotiate with me?” “Naomi, you are incredibly naive. The game of high finance is not something a housewife who spent three years doing laundry can understand.” He walked back, his fingers gripping my chin tightly. “Yes, I set you up so Summer could take your place. I have no problem admitting that.” He showed no trace of remorse. “What else is a useless woman like you good for, if not to be a stepping stone?” “I offered you money and a graceful exit. If you had just taken the fall quietly, we could have parted ways like adults. Why must you make this so ugly?” Forced to look up at him, I stared at the face I had loved for five years. I used to think he was a gentleman. Now, he simply made my skin crawl. “Do you really think you’ve won?” I asked softly. Garrison released his grip, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers. “Tomorrow morning, my lawyers will take legal control of this shop. As for your so-called evidence…” He tossed the handkerchief onto the desk. “Feel free to try your luck. Let’s see if the authorities believe a heavily indebted business owner, or my elite legal team.” He adjusted his tie and turned toward the door. “Pack your things tonight and get out of my house.” As his hand touched the doorknob, he paused. “And don’t even think about taking those designer clothes with you. You didn’t even dare to remove the tags. You’re cheap to the bone, Naomi. A servant girl in a silk dress is still a servant.” The door slammed shut behind him. I stared at the ruins of my shop. I didn’t cry. Instead, I reached under a large piece of the shattered ceramic pot and retrieved a tiny, black voice recorder. I pressed the button to save the file. Garrison, the audit files were only the beginning. Tomorrow morning, you are going to receive a much larger surprise. 3 The next morning. I woke up on the thin mattress of a cheap motel, my phone buzzing with a dozen text notifications. Every single one was a notice that my credit cards had been deactivated. Moments later, the flower shop’s main supplier called. “Naomi, I am incredibly sorry, but Garrison’s representatives called us. We can no longer supply flowers to your shop.” “Please don’t make this difficult for us. We’re just trying to run a business.” “I understand,” I replied calmly, and hung up. Garrison’s methods were always so predictable. Cut off my finances, ruin my business, and leave me with nothing. He truly believed this would force me to crawl back, begging for his forgiveness. I opened social media, and the very first post on my feed was an update from Summer. The location tag was the sales office of the city’s most luxurious waterfront penthouse development. The photo showed a property purchase contract, with a man’s hand resting on the corner, a classic Cartier wedding band visible on his ring finger. I knew that hand all too well. The caption read: Finally, a home of our own. Thank you for always choosing me, my love. I zoomed in on the image. Under the guarantor section of the purchase contract, the business license number of my flower shop was clearly written. No wonder he was so desperate to force me out yesterday. He needed to use my business as leverage to pay the multi-million-dollar down payment on his mistress’s dream home. I leaned against the headboard, staring at the photo. I remembered how he had looked every time he transferred that twenty-thousand-dollar allowance to my account over the last six months, his expression full of condescending charity. “Spend it. Don’t be stingy with your wardrobe. The wife of Garrison needs to look presentable.” He had counted every penny when it came to me, terrified I would take a single dollar of his assets in a divorce. Yet, he threw millions at Summer without a second thought. I felt no pain, only a deep sense of irony. I exited the app, opened a contact with no name saved, and sent a quick text. “Is the joint lawsuit filed?” The reply came instantly. “Submitted to the court. Every minority shareholder signed off on it. The financial crimes division has also received the complete asset flow chart.” “Where is Garrison right now?” “At the penthouse sales office, preparing to make the payment.” I put my phone down, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtains. Garrison, you truly believed you were outsmarting a simple housewife. You had no idea that the wealthy women I hosted at my shop over the last six months were the wives of your company’s minority shareholders. And you had no idea that I used that twenty-thousand-dollar monthly allowance to hire the best private investigators to map out every single one of your hidden accounts. My phone vibrated again. It was a video file from the same unsaved number. In the video, Garrison was sitting in the VIP lounge of the sales office. Summer was leaning against his shoulder, looking over the floor plans. Garrison handed a sleek black card to the sales manager. The manager took it respectfully and swiped it through the terminal. The machine let out a series of sharp, error beeps. The manager blinked, trying again. Another failure. “Mr. Garrison… your card appears to have been frozen,” the manager said awkwardly, handing it back. The smile on Garrison’s face vanished. He stood up abruptly, pulling out his phone to make a call. But before he could dial, the glass doors of the VIP lounge were pushed open. Several federal agents in windbreakers walked in. “Garrison? You are under investigation for embezzlement and money laundering. All accounts under your name have been frozen by federal order.” “Please come with us.” The video cut off. Staring at the screen, I watched the look of sheer, helpless disbelief on Garrison’s face. I tossed the phone onto the bed and went to get ready. At the exact moment he tried to buy his mistress a luxury penthouse, his empire collapsed. 4 By the time Garrison was released on bail, it was already late afternoon. I was standing outside the ruins of my flower shop, sorting through the remaining inventory. Yes, ruins. Two hours prior, a bulldozer had driven onto the commercial street. The driver claimed he was acting on orders from Garrison’s estate management company. The lease had supposedly expired, and the premises had to be cleared immediately. I hadn’t stopped them. I had only secured the physical ledgers. A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Garrison stepped out, his suit wrinkled, dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes. The elegant composure he usually wore was entirely gone. He marched over to me, his voice low and dangerous. “You did this?” he asked, pointing a finger at the pile of brick and splintered wood. “You’re the one who ran the fake accounts, Garrison. How is that my fault?” I replied, dusting off my hands. Garrison took a deep breath, loosening his tie. “Naomi, you really are something else. Banding together with those old shareholders to ruin me?” He stared at me as if looking at a monster. “Do you have any idea what a frozen account and a broken supply chain mean for me?” “Bankruptcy. Or prison,” I supplied calmly. That was the breaking point. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm with a crushing grip, dragging me toward the dark alley behind the shop. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” I struggled, but his grip was like iron, and I couldn’t break free. At the end of the alley lay the heavy metal door of the cold storage unit we used to preserve imported flowers. Because of the demolition, the power to the block had been cut, but the thick insulation kept the interior freezing. Garrison shoved me inside. I stumbled, falling hard onto the icy concrete floor, a sharp pain shooting through my knees. “You like auditing accounts so much? You like acting so pure and righteous?” Garrison stood in the doorway, looking down at me in the dim light. His voice had returned to that terrifyingly polite, cruel tone. “The moment you sign the papers to drop the lawsuit, and the moment you change your statement to the fraud division, I’ll let you out.” “Garrison, you’re insane! This is kidnapping!” I yelled, pulling myself up by the cold wall. “Go ahead and sue me,” he sneered. “Let’s see if any lawyer in this city dares to take your case.” He slammed the heavy insulated door shut. The lock clicked into place from the outside. I was plunged into absolute, freezing darkness. The biting cold wrapped around me instantly. I pulled out my phone. No service. The temperature in the unit was well below freezing, and I was only wearing a light trench coat. Even worse, the sudden physical struggle and the freezing air began to constrict my chest. My throat felt tight, and my breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. My asthma was flaring up. I threw my weight against the heavy iron door, pounding on it with all my strength. “Garrison… open the door…” “My inhaler… it’s in my bag… outside…” Garrison’s voice came through the thick metal, muffled and completely uncaring. “Stop acting, Naomi. You’ve used that trick a thousand times.” “Do you really think throwing a tantrum will make me soft?” “Even if you die in there, I don’t care.” His voice was dripping with arrogance and absolute certainty. I slid down the cold iron door, collapsing onto the frozen floor. Breathing became an agonizing struggle, each gasp feeling like I was inhaling crushed glass. The freezing air crept up my fingers, numbing my joints. I tried to reach into my pockets, but my hands were stiff, covered in a thin layer of frost, completely devoid of sensation. In the silent, freezing dark, my grip on consciousness slipped away, and I finally closed my eyes.

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1 Pre-holiday rush, I prepped for a trip when Supervisor Victoria told me to cancel my flight—we’d drive her car instead. She said it’d save the department budget and give her time to mentor me, a “golden opportunity” others would beg for. I believed her, spent six grueling hours as her unpaid chauffeur. At a highway rest stop, before I could breathe, she kicked a grimy mop at my feet. “Restroom stall’s filthy—go mop it,” she sniffed. “No custodian around, and I’m not stepping in dirty water. Young people lack initiative! I brought you here to groom you for promotion—can’t handle this, how will you lead?” I almost laughed. The company would’ve reimbursed my one-hour flight; instead, I drove, saved her gas, and now I’m her restroom janitor? She tapped her foot, urging me to hurry for the client. Swallowing disgust, I grabbed the mop—then snapped a clear photo of the mess, opened Slack, and tagged the CEO: “@Chairman Harrison. Victoria says I can’t attend the client meeting unless I mop this rest stop restroom.” My phone began to vibrate violently within three seconds of hitting send. Outside the stall door, Victoria was still lecturing me, her high heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. “Brooke, what is taking you so long?” “Clients despise tardiness. Do I really have to teach you the absolute basics of business etiquette?” On my screen, notifications were cascading down. Chairman Harrison had instantly replied to my message with a single, ominous question mark. The massive company Slack channel, usually filled with hundreds of sycophantic “understands” and “received” messages, was dead silent. I locked my phone and slid it into my pocket, leaving the black, greasy mop untouched in the corner. I turned on the faucet and slowly, deliberately washed my hands. “Brooke! Are you deaf? Did you hear me?” Receiving no response, Victoria began to pound on the heavy wooden door, making it rattle on its hinges. “Do you want to lose your job? Believe me, I can have you packed and gone by tomorrow morning!” I pulled two paper towels from the dispenser, carefully drying my fingers. Then, I threw the door open. Victoria’s hand was still raised to strike the door again, almost hitting my nose. She pointed a manicured finger at the wet spots on the floor, her voice rising to a shriek. “Are you deaf? I told you to mop the floor!” “I’ve spent the last six hours teaching you the ropes. Is a little manual labor really beneath you?” “I’m not mopping the floor, Victoria.” I tossed the crumpled paper towels into the trash, my voice entirely flat. “I was hired as a legal assistant, not a janitor.” Victoria gasped, taking a step back before crossing her arms with a cold sneer. “Well, look at you, growing a spine. Legal assistant? Let me remind you, you’re still on probation. Don’t think for a second that this company can’t function without you. I could post your job today and have a hundred hungry graduates begging for it by dinner.” She pointed dramatically toward the highway exit. “If you don’t want to do the work, fine. Get your things and get out of my car. I don’t carry freeloaders.” “Are you absolutely sure you want me to leave, Victoria?” I fished my phone out of my pocket, unlocked the screen, and held it up right in front of her face. “Maybe you should check Slack first.” Victoria frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion as she reached for her own phone. In an instant, the flush of anger on her face drained away, leaving her skin a sickly, pale white. On the screen, right below the CEO’s question mark, was a fifteen-second voice note from Chairman Harrison. “What… what did you do?” She stared at me, her voice cracking as she lunged forward, trying to grab my phone out of my hand. “You lunatic! How dare you post that in the main channel?” “Delete it! Delete it right now!” I stepped back easily, letting her swipe at empty air. “It’s been past the two-minute mark, Victoria. I can’t delete it.” My voice remained perfectly level. “Besides, Mr. Harrison just messaged me privately. He told me to wait right here at the rest stop. He’s currently visiting a nearby subsidiary, and he’s sending his personal driver to pick me up.” 2 Victoria’s hand remained frozen in the air, her eyes wide with sudden terror. The bravado vanished, replaced by a desperate, pleading tone. “Brooke… how could you be so sensitive?” “I was only joking with you. I wanted to see how you handle high-pressure situations.” “Did you honestly think I’d make you clean a public restroom?” “Come on, just message Mr. Harrison back. Tell him it was a mistake, or… tell him we were playing truth or dare and you lost!” “That wasn’t funny, Victoria.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, bypassed her completely, and walked toward the exit without sparing her another glance. “By the way, you still owe me the fifteen hundred dollars for my canceled plane ticket.” “That’s company money, after all. Right?” Behind me, I could hear Victoria stamping her high heels in frustration, muttering a string of hushed, venomous curses under her breath. “Unbelievable… that little brat!” Two hours later, I was sitting comfortably on a plush leather sofa in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt. The Chairman’s personal assistant handed me a cup of hot tea, his manner incredibly polite. “Miss Brooke, Mr. Harrison is currently upstairs. He wants you to rest here for a bit. The dinner with the client tonight will proceed as planned.” Audrey, the secretary, added, “Mr. Harrison also wanted me to tell you that this company does not tolerate its employees being mistreated.” Suddenly, the heavy revolving doors of the lobby spun violently. Victoria burst into the room, panting heavily. Her hair was a wild mess, her makeup was smeared, and she was clutching the heavy gift bags intended for the client. The moment she spotted me sipping my tea, the fury in her eyes flared up. She marched over, stopping inches from my face. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Brooke?” She hissed the words, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw trembled. “Running to the CEO to whine like a child! Do you honestly think Mr. Harrison is going to take your side?” “I’ve been with this firm for eight years. You think a little nobody like you can bring me down?” I slowly set my teacup back on the glass table, looking up at her. “I simply stated the facts. If you consider that backstabbing, then what do you call what you did to me?” “You don’t know a damn thing!” Victoria glared at me, checking her surroundings. Seeing that the CEO was nowhere in sight, her voice rose another octave. “When your superior gives you an order, you follow it! Having you mop that floor was a lesson in humility, a way to build character!” “What did you think you’d gain by dragging the Chairman into this?” “The satisfaction of not having to clean toilets,” I replied smoothly. Victoria’s chest heaved with rage, her finger practically touching the tip of my nose. “Fine! Just great! Let’s see how you handle yourself when Mr. Harrison gets down here. Without me to guide you, you won’t last five minutes in that meeting!” Just then, a quiet chime echoed from the elevator bank. The doors slid open, and Chairman Harrison stepped out. He wore a sharp, tailored charcoal suit, his posture straight and commanding, flanked by several senior executives. The venom on Victoria’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a subservient, almost sorrowful smile. “Mr. Harrison! I didn’t expect you to come down yourself!” She rushed forward, bowing so low she was practically folded in half as she presented the gift bags. “The traffic on the highway was dreadful, which is why we arrived so late. I apologize sincerely.” Mr. Harrison stopped in his tracks. His gaze bypassed her completely, landing on me. He gave me a brief, reassuring nod before turning his attention back to Victoria. “Is everyone here?” His voice was calm, completely unreadable. Victoria nodded eagerly. “Yes, everyone is here. Brooke arrived safely as well.” “The poor girl had a little temper tantrum on the road and insisted on taking her own transport. I was worried sick about her the entire way…” As she spoke, she shot a warning glare at me from the corner of her eye, silently demanding that I play along. I stood up, completely ignoring her unspoken threat, and walked over to the Chairman. “Good evening, Mr. Harrison,” I said warmly. I didn’t say a single word about a “temper tantrum.” Mr. Harrison studied my expression for a second before turning back to Victoria. “A temper tantrum?” “Victoria, why don’t you tell me exactly what she was throwing a tantrum about?” Victoria blinked, caught off guard by the direct question. She scrambled for a recovery, offering a sheepish laugh. “Oh, you know how delicate the younger generation can be.” “I was simply offering some constructive criticism regarding her attention to detail, and she took it personally. I only have her best interests at heart. I want to see her grow…” “Is that so?” Mr. Harrison cut her off, his tone flat. “Was it for her own good, or was it to clean a toilet for you?” The lobby fell into an instant, freezing silence. The accompanying executives suddenly found their phones incredibly fascinating, staring down to avoid the tension. The smile on Victoria’s face shattered. She stood there, her mouth hanging open, unable to utter a single syllable. “Mr. Harrison… that was… because…” “Enough. Let’s eat first.” Mr. Harrison raised a hand, cutting off her stammering explanations as he led the way toward the restaurant. “The client is waiting, and we aren’t going to make a scene in public. We will handle this after dinner.” Victoria remained frozen in place, her face shifting between a furious red and a ghostly white. The paper handles of the gift bags in her hands were nearly shredded from her grip. She turned her head and threw a look of pure, unadulterated hatred at me. You’re going to pay for this, her eyes screamed. I held my head high, smoothed down my blazer, and followed the Chairman. 3 The dinner was held in the Grand Hyatt’s exclusive private dining room. Our client, Mr. Jenkins, raised his glass toward Victoria. “Victoria, you really are a powerhouse. Your stamina, your presentation… I’m incredibly impressed.” Victoria let out a soft, melodious laugh, raising her glass in return. “You’re far too kind, Mr. Jenkins.” “For a project as important as this one, I drove through the night instead of taking a flight just to ensure everything was perfect.” She cast a fleeting glance at Mr. Harrison, clearly fishing for approval. Mr. Harrison set his silverware down, looking at her. “Oh? You drove all night?” “That sounds exhausting. Though, if I remember correctly, the finance department approved two plane tickets for this trip.” Victoria’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. “Mr. Harrison, with the end-of-year crunch, department budgets are tight. I wanted to save company funds wherever possible.” “Besides, the long drive gave me the perfect opportunity to mentor Brooke here. It was a win-win.” She turned her gaze to me, her eyes flashing with a silent warning. “Isn’t that right, Brooke?” “I shared some of my most valuable industry secrets with you on the road.” My hand, which was currently peeling a shrimp, stopped. Mentoring me? The only “instruction” I had received during the entire six-hour drive was how to hold a dirty mop at a rest stop. I set the shrimp down, pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser, and thoroughly cleaned my fingers. Then, I looked up, meeting her gaze head-on. “Victoria was indeed incredibly dedicated on the road,” I said, my voice sweet and even. “After all, sleeping in the passenger seat for six hours while making sure I kept my eyes on the road couldn’t have been easy for her.” The dining room went dead silent. Mr. Jenkins’ glass remained suspended in midair, his eyes darting between us, suddenly highly amused. The polite mask on Victoria’s face began to crack. She let out a strained, dry laugh. “Brooke, that is no way to speak to your manager.” “I was… resting my eyes while mentally reviewing the proposal!” “Ah, of course.” I nodded understandingly. I reached into my bag, pulled out a neat folder of printed receipts, and placed them on the lazy Susan, spinning it slowly until it stopped right in front of Mr. Harrison. “Since we’re on the subject of budgets, and since Mr. Harrison is here, I’d like to bring this up.” “Victoria instructed me to cancel my plane ticket, promising she would reimburse me immediately. It’s been twenty-four hours, and I have yet to see those funds.” “Furthermore, I paid for all the highway tolls and gas out of pocket during the drive.” “If Victoria was trying to save the department’s budget, surely these expenses should be processed through the company’s official accounts, right?” “Oh, and here is the screenshot of the flight cancellation.” I pointed to the top document in the folder. “According to the confirmation email, the fifteen-hundred-dollar refund went directly back to Victoria’s personal bank account.” “Did that slip your mind, Victoria?” Mr. Harrison picked up the papers, skimming through them as his face grew dark. Victoria slammed her hands on the table, standing up abruptly. “Brooke! What is the meaning of this?” “Bringing up petty personal expenses in front of a client? Do you honestly think I’d steal your money? I’ve simply been too busy to transfer it!” “Too busy?” I stared her down. “And what about the custodian fees we saved the company when you forced me to clean the rest stop bathroom? Does that count toward the department’s end-of-year savings too?” “You—!” Victoria pointed a trembling finger at me, her mouth twisting as she prepared to scream. “Victoria!” Thud! Mr. Harrison slammed the documents onto the table, causing the crystal glassware to rattle violently. “Is this your idea of saving the department’s budget? Is this how you mentor our new hires?” Mr. Harrison’s voice wasn’t loud, but every syllable carried the weight of a hammer. “Treating our expense policies like a game, and using your subordinates as personal maids and drivers! You’ve grown far too comfortable in your position, Victoria!” Victoria began to tremble, any trace of alcohol instantly draining from her system. “Mr. Harrison, please, that’s not… let me explain…” She waved her hands in a panic, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “Explain what? Explain why the ticket refund went straight into your personal account?” “Or explain why you forced an associate to clean a public restroom because you found it dirty?” “We have a client present, so I will afford you some dignity.” Mr. Harrison pointed toward the exit. “Now, transfer the money to Brooke immediately. Every single cent. Then, get out of my sight and reflect on your actions.” Victoria’s face turned a deathly pale. She looked at Mr. Jenkins, pleading for help. But Mr. Jenkins was suddenly very interested in his plate, ignoring her completely. Under Mr. Harrison’s icy glare, Victoria’s hands shook violently as she pulled out her phone. Chime. My phone lit up with a notification of a bank transfer. After completing the transaction, Victoria glared at me with a look so venomous I thought she might lung at me. She snatched her purse off the chair and fled the room, leaving a trail of heavy perfume behind her. 4 Once Victoria left, the suffocating tension in the room dissipated. Mr. Harrison raised his glass toward Mr. Jenkins, offering a sincere apology. “I must apologize for that display, Mr. Jenkins. It seems I have been too lenient with my staff.” Mr. Jenkins laughed, waving it off. “Not at all, Mr. Harrison. A great leader knows when to cut out the rot. That is the hallmark of a truly professional firm.” He turned his gaze toward me, his eyes filled with genuine appreciation. “Young Brooke here handled herself with incredible grace. Rational, poised, and firm. She’s got a bright future ahead of her.” I quickly stood up, raising my glass. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. That means a lot to me.” For the first time on this trip, I was able to enjoy my dinner. After the dinner concluded, Mr. Harrison called me over to the side. “Brooke, you’ve had a difficult couple of days,” Mr. Harrison said, his tone incredibly warm. “The board has had suspicions about Victoria’s conduct for a while, but we never had concrete proof.” “You did the right thing. In this industry, when faced with such behavior, you must bring the evidence to light.” I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I believe we go to work to create value, not to compromise our dignity.” Mr. Harrison smiled, patting my shoulder. “Well said.” “For the remainder of this trip, you will assist Audrey. Shadow her and learn as much as you can.” “As for Victoria, there will be an official investigation waiting for her when we return.” Back in my hotel room, the exhaustion of the trip finally washed over me. I took a hot shower, feeling the tension drain from my muscles. Suddenly, my phone screen flashed, and a series of sharp, aggressive notification sounds echoed through the room. I unlocked it. Every single message was from Victoria. You think you’re so smart, Brooke! You really think you’ve won? Don’t think for a second that Harrison can protect you forever. As long as I am still at this company, I will make your life a living hell! Just you wait! Then, a sixty-second voice note popped up, the icon blinking mockingly. I didn’t bother listening to it. I held down her contact info, hit block, and deleted her from my phone entirely. The next morning, I walked down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. The moment I sat down, I noticed several colleagues from other departments huddling together, whispering and casting frequent sidelong glances in my direction. “Is that her? The one who publicly humiliated her manager at dinner last night?” “Unbelievable. She actually managed to drive Victoria out. You really can’t mess with these new hires.” “I heard Victoria say she was just lazy and tried to submit fraudulent expenses, and when Victoria called her out on it, she turned the tables…” My grip on my spoon tightened, my knuckles turning white. Even though Victoria wasn’t here, the lies she had spun were already spreading like wildfire through the traveling team. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing myself to relax my hands. I ignored the whispers and focused on my breakfast. Trying to explain myself would only make me look defensive. In the corporate world, rumors always travel faster than the truth. To truly clear my name, words alone wouldn’t cut it. After breakfast, I joined Audrey to prepare for the day’s negotiations. Audrey was an incredibly efficient professional. She showed no bias toward me, remaining completely focused on the work. During a brief break in the meeting, she kept her eyes on her tablet as she spoke. “Brooke, keep your focus on the task at hand.” “In this office, if you let rumors get to you, they become weapons. If you ignore them, they’re nothing but white noise.” “Results are the only language the corporate world truly respects. Let your work do the talking.” I nodded firmly. “Thank you, Audrey. I understand.” Over the next few days, I threw myself entirely into the work. I organized case files, drafted detailed meeting minutes, and analyzed client data, working with twice the effort I usually put in. Victoria seemed to have vanished entirely, never showing her face for the rest of the trip. On the first Monday back at the main office, the atmosphere was incredibly tense. The moment I stepped onto our floor, the chatter among my colleagues died down instantly. Dozens of eyes turned to look at me, their expressions a mix of pity, amusement, and cold avoidance. I walked straight to my desk. The door to Victoria’s private office was shut tight. I had heard she had been suspended for a week, and today was her first day back. I sat down and booted up my computer, preparing to start the day. Suddenly, my desk phone rang. I picked up the receiver. “Brooke, please step into the main conference room immediately.” It was the HR Director’s voice, cold and entirely devoid of emotion.

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1 Ever since I was little, my parents drilled one lesson into me. Girls must be independent. As they aged, they said it was time for me to shoulder the family burdens. When I pointed at my older brother Austin and asked why he should not learn to be independent too, things changed. Not long after, Austin suffered a terrible fall. He was bedridden from that day on, supposedly paralyzed from the waist down. To keep our family afloat, I worked grueling part-time jobs while caring for him. No matter how hard I worked, we lived like ghosts on the margins of society. We ate wilted greens from grocery store bins and wore coarse, discarded clothing. Desperate for a way out, I signed up for experimental medical trials. The cash was quick, but the cost was my life. I contracted a rare, aggressive skin cancer that covered my body in painful sores. As the end drew near, I left every cent of that blood money for my brother. I did not even keep enough to buy a peaceful end. In the dark, I pulled a heavy plastic bag over my head and suffocated myself on my creaking cot. Death did not bring the quiet slip into nothingness I expected. My spirit lingered. I watched my supposedly paralyzed brother play a high-stakes basketball game. When the buzzer sounded, my parents rushed onto the court to embrace him, handing him the deed to the city’s most expensive luxury estate. It turned out my entire life of suffering had been a meticulously staged play. I was the only actor who did not know the script. Now that I am truly gone, why are they drowning in regret? … I was preparing for my second round of clinical trials when the nurse, syringe in hand, noticed the massive, weeping lesions spreading across my arm. She gasped, her hand trembling so hard the needle clattered to the linoleum floor. Within minutes, they dragged me into an examination room for a battery of tests. Before I could even ask what was wrong with my skin, two burly security guards lifted me up and threw me out into the alley behind the clinic. The nurse tossed a manila envelope containing my meager payment and the medical report onto my chest. “You have advanced skin cancer and you still showed up for experimental trials? How desperate for cash are you? You signed a waiver, so even if you died on our table, it wouldn’t be our problem. Take your money and get lost, and don’t you dare think about suing us!” Those words struck me like a physical blow, leaving me frozen on the cold pavement. Ever since I started the trials, my skin had been incredibly itchy, shedding dry flakes constantly. Every time my mother painstakingly swept up the skin flakes around my cot, I felt a deep wave of guilt for making her chores harder. I had no idea those flakes were the first signs of my body rotting from the inside out. Trembling, I pulled the diagnosis sheet from the envelope. My eyes strained against the stark, clinical terms, desperately hoping I had misread the diagnosis. Right then, my cheap phone began to buzz. My mother’s gentle, weary voice came through the receiver. “Daisy, sweetheart, your father and I are going to pull an extra shift to get some extra cash. We won’t make it home for lunch. Make sure you cook something nice for your brother.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing a quiet, shaky assent before dragging my leaden feet back to our run-down neighborhood. The moment I stepped inside, I hid the medical report under the thin mattress of my wooden cot. But when I turned and saw Austin lying in his bed, my eyes welled with hot, uncontrollable tears. Austin looked up at me, his expression softening with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Daisy. I’m just a burden to you. Honestly, it’s fine if I skip lunch today. You don’t have to tire yourself out.” I walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at him for a long time before I could find my voice. “Austin, if I’m ever gone, how will you survive?” He reached out and gently patted my head, his tone affectionately dismissive. “What are you talking about? Even if death comes knocking, I’d go in your place. You aren’t going anywhere. You have to stay strong, Daisy. We’re going to get through this soon.” But I wasn’t going to get through this. I forced myself to stand, wiped my tears, and went to the kitchen. In a rare moment of extravagance, I used the last of our household money to buy a few fresh eggs to soft-boil for him. Just as I set the plate on our rickety table, our parents dragged themselves through the front door, looking thoroughly exhausted. My father reached into his frayed canvas bag and pulled out a handful of bruised, discarded vegetable leaves. He took a long gulp of tap water, his eyes shining with forced cheer. “Your mother was fast today! She managed to grab these greens before the supermarket threw them in the incinerator. They’re much fresher than usual.” I stared at them, their voices sounding as if they were drifting from underwater. My mother reached into her pocket and placed a sweet, glazed raspberry pastry into my hand. “Happy birthday, my sweet girl. We can’t afford a real cake, but you still deserve something sweet today.” The pastry felt incredibly heavy in my palm. The horrifying words from the medical report kept flashing in my mind, making it impossible to smile. Yet, the rich, buttery scent of the pastry brought a brief moment of clarity. I gently placed it on Austin’s bedside table. “Give it to Austin. I don’t really like sweet things anyway.” Austin pushed my hand back. “You’re the birthday girl, Daisy. You eat it. Just let me have a tiny bite of the frosting so I can share your luck.” He dipped a finger into the glaze and licked it clean. A pastry like this cost more than our entire food budget for two weeks. There was no way I could swallow it. My parents sat down at the table, quietly chewing on stale, hardened crusts of bread. They refused to touch the eggs I had prepared for Austin. Looking at their mismatched, oversized clothes, my heart ached with a profound, crushing sorrow. The terror of my diagnosis was slowly swallowed by a deep, hollow despair. I wanted so badly to throw myself into my mother’s arms and tell her how sick I was, to beg for comfort. But the words died in my throat. If my death meant one less mouth to feed, if it meant they could finally stop starving, then I would gladly welcome the end. 2 I could never understand why, despite how hard we all worked, we remained trapped in absolute poverty. When I was a child, my parents had moved us to a neglected trailer park on the very edge of the city to save on rent. The children there all came from struggling families. For many of them, survival was the only goal. They were resilient, sharp, and fiercely determined. Instead of being discouraged by the grim surroundings, my mother had grabbed my hand, her eyes bright with a strange excitement. “In an environment like this, my daughter will learn what it takes to survive and thrive.” I had turned to look at Austin, my young eyes wide with innocence. “I want Austin to be strong and independent just like me.” But shortly after, Austin fell, and his legs supposedly gave out forever. The guilt of that memory had haunted me for years. I used to sit by his bedside, slapping my own face until my cheeks were bruised, convinced that my childish words had cursed him to a life in a wheelchair. To make up for it, I worked myself to the bone while trying to finish school. As a student, I could only get the lowest-paying, most physically demanding odd jobs. I spent summers standing on scorching asphalt in ninety-degree heat, handing out flyers. When thirst threatened to overwhelm me, I couldn’t bring myself to spend two dollars on a bottle of water. Instead, I drank the dregs left behind in discarded plastic bottles, collecting the empty containers to sell to the recycling center. Once, a group of local vagrants cornered me in an alley, furious that I was taking their bottles. They shoved garbage into my mouth, warning me to stay off their turf before beating me until my ribs cracked. Spitting blood and covered in bruises, I had desperately wanted to buy a cheap bottle of painkillers. But I resisted the urge, locking my pennies away in a jar for Austin’s medical fund. Whenever I was in pain, I simply gathered ash from our wood stove and rubbed it over my cuts to stop the bleeding. When my parents found out, my father gave me a firm pat on the back. “Our girl has incredible grit. You have the making of a true survivor, Daisy.” They didn’t know the searing, agonizing pain of rubbing raw ash into open wounds. I never cried out. Asking my mother for a simple hug felt like an indulgence I couldn’t afford, because every minute wasted was a penny lost. I stared at the sweet raspberry pastry on the table, a dark, final decision solidifying in my chest. My mother walked into the small room and sat beside me, gently stroking my hair. Her voice carried a soft, apologetic tone. “Daisy, someone recommended a specialist in the city. We’ve managed to scrape together a bit of savings, and we want to take Austin there. Maybe, just maybe, they can make him walk again.” It was a completely normal departure, but it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. They had traveled for his treatments before, but I knew this would be the last time I would ever see them. Suppressing my grief, I scrambled to my feet, reached under my mattress, and pulled out the crumpled envelope of cash from the clinic, shoving it into my mother’s hands. Seeing her stunned expression, I forced a watery smile. “It was Valentine’s Day last week. A lot of wealthy couples got into arguments and threw away expensive gifts. I got lucky and scavenged them to sell.” My mother pulled me into a warm, rare embrace. “Take care of yourself while we’re gone, sweetheart. We’ll be back before you know it.” I stood by the cracked window, watching their figures grow smaller until they vanished down the dusty road. Only then did the realization hit me: I had been so desperate to save my brother that I hadn’t kept a single dollar to buy a painless way out for myself. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Through the haze, my eyes fell on the plastic bag wrapping the raspberry pastry. I took one last bite of the sweet, rich dough, letting the flavor coat my tongue. Having my mother’s final embrace was enough. I could depart in peace. I pulled the empty plastic bag over my head and gathered it tightly around my neck. The lingering scent of sugar filled my lungs, making my hands hesitate. My instincts screamed for air, but I forced my fingers to hold the plastic tight. Our family couldn’t afford another sick person. Without me, they could focus every resource on curing Austin. I clenched my teeth and pulled the plastic tighter, shutting my eyes as the faint light of the room dissolved into absolute, suffocating darkness. 3 When I opened my eyes again, I felt weightless, floating near the ceiling. It took me a long moment to process the sight of my own stiff, pale body lying on the cot below. I was dead. I drifted down to look at myself. My face was a terrible shade of blue, and my emaciated frame looked even more wretched in death. But even as a spirit, my only thought was of Austin. As my desperation to find him intensified, the world blurred, and I suddenly found myself hovering over a pristine, sunlit basketball court. Before I could wonder why my soul had drifted here, I spotted my parents sitting in the front row of the VIP stands, laughing and cheering. The clothes they wore were tailored and luxurious, made of fabrics our family couldn’t have afforded even if we had worked for three lifetimes. I floated down to them, a jarring sense of unfamiliarity washing over me. My mother’s lips were painted a vibrant, expensive crimson, and her hair was styled in elegant, glossy waves, looking every bit like a high-society matriarch. Confused, I followed their gaze to the court. There, running with fluid, athletic grace, was Austin. He was dribbling the ball with ease, his legs strong and perfectly healthy. He was wearing a limited-edition jersey that cost more than a year of our slum rent. The confusion in my chest hardened into a heavy, suffocating knot. Suddenly, the referee blew the final whistle. My parents leaped to their feet, rushing onto the court to throw their arms around Austin, their faces glowing with pride. “Austin, sweetie, our efforts weren’t in vain! All those years of traveling the world with you were worth it!” But Austin was supposed to be paralyzed. How could he have traveled the world? Even in my confusion, a part of me was overjoyed to see him whole. “Austin! You can walk? How did you get better?” I screamed, but my voice vanished into the air. They couldn’t hear me. Austin hugged our mother tight. “Mom, I swear I almost lost my mind pretending to be bedridden for so long. Thank God for those monthly ‘doctor visits’ in the city, or I would have forgotten how to run.” My father patted his shoulder, his eyes soft with affection. “You’ve worked hard, son. Today, your mother and I have a reward for you.” With a flourish, my father pulled out a leather binder containing the keys and deed to a sprawling estate in Crestview, the most prestigious neighborhood in the city. I recognized the name instantly. I had once walked past those gates on my way to a cleaning job, staring at the manicured lawns. Back then, my mother had told me, “We won’t be poor forever, Daisy. If you work hard enough, you’ll be able to afford a place like this one day.” But they already had the means. They didn’t need to work hard at all. Austin seemed to remember something, his smile faltering slightly as he looked at our parents. “Mom, Dad… when Daisy came home yesterday, her eyes were completely bloodshot. Do you think something happened to her?” My mother’s expression instantly tightened, and she grabbed his arm. “You didn’t break character, did you? Our plan is almost complete. We can’t let her find out now.” Austin shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve kept up the act this long, I won’t ruin it now. I just feel like Daisy is keeping something from us.” My mother patted his hand, telling him not to overthink it, promising they would check on me once the wedding preparations were settled. Swallowing a bitter torrent of spectral tears, I followed them as they drove to a massive, gated villa. The estate was ablaze with lights, with caterers and servers moving in polished harmony. The long tables groaned under the weight of fine champagne and roasted meats. Today was Austin’s engagement party, and half the city’s elite had been invited. Standing in the grand foyer, my mother whispered to my father, “Daisy has been acting a bit strange lately. She used to be so full of energy. And she gave me so much cash before we left, do you think she got it illegally?” My father wrapped an arm around her waist, offering a reassuring smile. “Unlikely. We raised her to be independent and strong. Her moral compass is solid.” He took a sip of his drink. “Besides, Austin’s career is set, and Daisy is about to graduate. Once the wedding is over next week, we’ll bring her here and reveal the truth. She’s going to inherit her own branch of the firm. She’ll be overjoyed.” Standing in the shadow of the grand staircase, my spirit wept. I won’t be overjoyed, Dad. I’m never going to wake up. 4 The engagement party was a dazzling success, and the wedding was set for exactly one week later. After the last of the wealthy guests departed, my parents stood in the quiet parlor, looking slightly anxious as they stared at their phones. “We’ll be completely tied up with wedding prep this week,” my mother said. “We won’t have time to go back to the old house. Let’s call Daisy and make sure she’s doing alright.” She dialed my number, but the line simply rang and rang. I floated beside her, screaming that I was right there, reaching out to touch her arm, but my fingers passed through her like mist. Looking at them now, memories began to unravel. I remembered the faint scent of expensive, imported cologne on my father’s jacket when he returned to our drafty shack. He had laughed it off, saying he had merely brushed past some wealthy clients. I remembered the crisp, high-resolution photos my mother occasionally showed me, far too sharp to have come from the cheap, cracked phone she claimed to own. And Austin’s legs… despite years of supposed paralysis, his muscles had never wasted away. Our entire life had been a cruel, elaborate stage, and I was the only one who had truly bled for the performance. A wave of profound sorrow pressed against my chest, but as I looked at their happy, untroubled faces, a strange sense of relief washed over me. At least they were safe. At least they weren’t starving. After a long time, I drifted up the grand staircase. At the end of the long hallway was a bedroom door with my name beautifully engraved on a brass plaque. I stepped through the door. The room was breathtaking, decorated exactly like the sketches I used to draw in the margins of my school notebooks. On the nightstand sat a framed photograph of the four of us, laughing. My academic awards and certificates from childhood were neatly framed along the walls. Suddenly, a sleek, beautiful pedigree cat padded into the room, meowing softly. It was the exact breed I had always dreamed of owning. They had remembered every single wish I had ever whispered into the dark. They had built a perfect fairy-tale kingdom for me, but I could only stand on the outside, a ghost in the corridor. Below, the sound of footsteps and voices broke the silence. Several stylists entered the hallway, carrying racks of designer gowns and custom tuxedos. My parents and Austin stood before the array of high fashion. “Our outfits are finalized,” my father announced. “Now, let’s choose Daisy’s dress. This will be our first real gift to her.” I looked at the price tags hanging from the silk sleeves, numbers representing more money than I had ever dreamed of earning. Now, a dozen of them hung waiting for me. Austin reached out and touched a sky-blue chiffon gown with a sweeping train. “This one would look beautiful on her. It’ll complement her fair skin.” My father shook his head, pointing instead to a delicate, ivory lace gown. “No, Daisy would love this one. When she was little, she used to freeze in front of the toy store window, staring at the dolls in their lace dresses. She always wanted one.” Austin studied the racks for a moment longer before pulling out a soft, rose-pink silk dress. “You both forget. Pink was always her favorite. She wanted everything to be pink.” His voice grew quiet. “But light colors get dirty too easily, and she always chose dark, drab clothes just to save us the cost of laundry soap. Her classmates used to call her a plain Jane because of it.” My parents’ eyes shone with a brief, painful guilt. They exchanged a look and agreed to go with Austin’s choice. The week flew by, and the morning of the wedding arrived. In their frantic preparations, they hadn’t found time to call me again. But as the cars lined up, my mother instructed their private driver to head to our old neighborhood. “Drive to the old house first,” she whispered with a smile. “Don’t tell her who sent you. Just bring her straight to the venue. We want to give her the surprise of her life.” The driver nodded, starting the engine of the sleek black town car, heading toward the slums to fetch the secret heiress of the family fortune. But hours passed, and my mother’s anxious glances toward the entrance yielded nothing. Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the venue were pushed open, and the driver rushed into the lobby, his face pale and slick with sweat. “Ma’am… there’s something wrong. The old house is surrounded by emergency vehicles. The neighbors… they say the young lady is dead.”

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1 On Valentine’s Day, I happened to run into a live street interview for a popular online reality show. The topic of the day was romance stories, and my random prompt was “First Love.” After a brief pause, I regained my composure and looked at the camera, my expression entirely calm. “I’ve almost forgotten him,” I said. “After all, the grass on his grave is probably six feet high by now.” The very next second, the massive screen next to the camera feed cut to the celebrity guests sitting in the observation studio. Staring back at me was the very man I had just so warmly blessed with a premature death. He was my ex-husband, and we had been divorced for seven years. He didn’t seem to care about the curse I had just uttered. He simply stared at the screen, his eyes rimmed with red. “Anna,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s been a long time.” I nodded politely, showing none of the embarrassment one might expect after getting caught trash-talking someone behind their back. Given how disastrously our marriage had ended, my comment was actually quite mild. The live chat on the screen began to scroll at lightning speed. What’s going on? Christopher, the superstar, knows this random girl? Oh, come on, look at the way he called her name. There’s definitely history there, and he’s clearly not over her. Can we please block these trolls? Christopher and Hailey are the industry’s ultimate power couple. Who is this nobody trying to clout-chase? Seeing the words “power couple” made me smile bitterly. Maybe they really were a match made in heaven. Because of that, Christopher’s love had belonged to me first, and for that, I had to be punished. My career, my love, my family, even half of my own life, I had lost almost everything to pay for that love. Christopher quickly realized he had lost his composure. He cleared his throat and offered a hurried explanation to the hosts. “We were high school classmates.” The host looked apologetic, turning to me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know your first love had…” My initial answer had been a lie to get out of the interview, but Christopher’s sudden appearance made me freeze. I didn’t want to run anymore. “It’s fine,” I comforted the host, keeping my voice steady. “Go ahead and ask your next question.” Encouraged by my calm gaze, the host took a deep breath. “How did you and your first love meet?” Christopher stiffened. His shoulders tensed, and he sat up straight, his eyes locked onto me through the monitor. He always pursed his lips like that when he was nervous. After all these years, some habits never changed. Our first meeting was anything but romantic. I had just come home from high school. The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I caught a boy shoving the leftover dinner rolls my grandmother had made for me into his mouth. He didn’t even try to run. He just stood there against the wall, chin held high like a soldier facing execution. “Guess it’s my bad luck getting caught,” he muttered. “Scream, hit me, do whatever you want.” I stared at him for a few seconds. Then, I reached into my bag and pressed my entire week’s lunch money into his dirty palm. “Don’t steal food anymore,” I said softly. “It’s bad for you.” His face flushed a deep crimson, the heat spreading all the way to his ears. “I owe you one,” he stammered, gripping the crumpled bills. “I’ll pay you back. I promise.” Then, he turned and fled. The “later” Christopher promised came much faster than I expected. A few weeks later, some older boys at school cornered me and snatched my hearing aid. My parents had died in a car crash years ago, and the accident had left me completely deaf in my left ear. The ringleader dragged me by my hair, sneering insults like “freak” and “deaf girl” into my good ear. That was when Christopher appeared out of nowhere. He fought them like a feral dog, throwing himself into the fray with no regard for his own safety. The older boys had metal pipes, but he had nothing but his bare fists, and he spent half the fight shielding me from their blows. Later, as I tended to his wounds, the sight of his torn skin made me burst into tears. But he just smiled, casual as could be, looking at me with absolute warmth. “You know, your tears hitting my skin… it actually hurts more than their pipes,” he teased. I tried to choke back my sobs, wiping my eyes. “You saved me. We’re even now. Just promise me you won’t fight anymore.” For someone who fought so brutally, the hand he used to wipe away my tears was incredibly gentle. “That’s not up to you to decide,” he whispered. “We’ve got a long time ahead of us. I’m going to take my sweet time paying you back.” The live chat went wild. Oh my god, childhood sweethearts are the best trope ever! How could such a sweet guy pass away so young? If I were her, I’d never be able to love anyone else for the rest of my life. For the rest of my life. I stared at the screen, momentarily lost in thought. We were so young back then, and the boy I met was so breathtakingly brilliant. Our textbooks never taught us about the impermanence of the world, or how easily a human heart could rot. I had found love, and I truly believed it would last forever. The host sighed, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Love at first sight. He must have fallen for you right then and there.” Unlike the host’s excitement, my response was entirely flat. “Yes. And I slowly fell for him, too. Back then, he was the absolute protector of my universe.” I smiled faintly. “But later, he hurt me worse than everyone else combined. If I count the years, I think I’ve spent much longer hating him than I ever spent loving him.” In the studio, Christopher’s posture shattered. He flinched so violently that he knocked over the small table beside his chair. 2 Neither Christopher nor I had parents, so as we grew closer, my grandmother became his family, too. His grades were terrible, but Grandma saw his talent for music. During our senior year of high school, she used her meager savings to sign him up for classical vocal training. Christopher stared at the expensive receipt for a long time. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and bowed his head to the floor before Grandma. “Grandma, I’ll work harder than anyone,” he swore, his voice thick with tears. “I won’t let you down. And I won’t let Anna down.” Christopher kept his word. He passed his auditions and got into a top-tier music conservatory. We moved to the same city for college, just as we had planned. On our first day of university, the breeze was gentle and the sky was a perfect, clear blue. The future we had promised each other was finally within reach, and everything felt full of hope. But life has a way of tearing down beautiful things. The insurance payout from my parents’ accident had already been drained by our tuition and living expenses. Grandma, who had worked herself to the bone to support us, suddenly collapsed. Lying in her hospital bed, she wept silently. She wasn’t crying because of the agonizing pain of her illness, but because the tuition money we had saved for the next semester had to be spent on her medical bills. I didn’t tell Christopher any of this. He had started his musical training late, and the conservatory was packed with prodigies. He spent day and night practicing in the studios, barely having time to sleep, let alone worry about money. So, I skipped every class I could. I ran myself ragged working multiple part-time jobs to pay for Grandma’s treatments and our daily expenses. Under the weight of it all, I was sleeping barely four hours a night, yet the tuition deadline was fast approaching, and my bank account was still nearly empty. That was when an agency offered me a high-paying job as a waitress at an exclusive, private members-only lounge. They promised I could make enough money in just three days. Despite the bad feeling in my gut, I looked at my bank balance and took the job. I was assigned to a VIP room. The guests were heavily intoxicated, and as I bent down to clear the table, one of them slid his hand up my thigh. Panicking, I reacted on instinct and slapped him across the face. The guest flew into a rage and summoned the manager. The manager bowed, apologized profusely, and dragged me out into the hallway. The moment the door closed, the manager slapped me back, twice as hard. “What, a little touch is going to kill you?” he hissed. “You’re supposed to be a college student, and you don’t even know how the world works!” The promised wages were gone. I sat in a twenty-four-hour convenience store all night, staring blankly at the streetlights. When I finally turned my phone back on, a barrage of missed calls and messages flooded the screen. Most were from Christopher, but some were from classmates. A dark dread settled in my chest. I tapped open a link sent by a classmate. It was a post on our university’s anonymous forum: Is the department sweetheart selling her body for quick cash? Attached was a photo of me standing in the hallway outside the VIP lounge, my cheek bruised, being humiliated by the manager. The comments below were ruthless. No wonder she’s always skipping class. I guess this is what she’s actually doing. Isn’t she deaf in one ear? Rich guys really aren’t picky these days. With a face like that, who cares? I bet she’s got some great skills in bed. Her boyfriend is so handsome, yet he’s getting cheated on by a gold-digger. Sucks to be him. The malice suffocated me. Christopher called again, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I didn’t have the courage to face his questions, his suspicion, or his disappointment. But he found me anyway. He ran to the convenience store, threw his arms around me, and held me tightly against his chest. “I believe you,” he whispered over and over. He gently touched the faint red mark on my cheek, his eyes filled with pure anguish. “Does it hurt?” The dam broke. All the exhaustion, humiliation, and terror I had bottled up over the past weeks poured out of me, and I sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. I told him everything. That night, Christopher tracked down the lounge manager in a dark alley with no security cameras and beat him to a pulp. Then, he wrote a detailed post explaining the truth and uploaded it to the school forum. But the post was deleted within five minutes. An ant cannot bring down a mountain. There were powerful people involved, people we couldn’t afford to anger. So, Christopher posted a new thread. It contained only one sentence. I knew her long before the whispers started. He held my hand tightly. The poverty and violence of our youth had never managed to break his spirit, but in that moment, he cried. His warm tears fell onto my hand, burning straight through to my heart. “Anna,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I will build a world for you where no one will ever dare to hurt you again.” By this point, the host’s eyes were glistening with tears, and the live chat was overflowing with sympathy. Oh my god, this is heartbreaking. Please, let them have a happy ending. Why is fate so cruel to them? 3 “But you said you ended up hating him,” the host said, her voice cracking slightly. “Was it because he left this world and abandoned you?” I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. I hadn’t expected my casual curse about his grave to be taken so literally. “No,” I replied. The wounds that had once torn me apart had long since healed into numb scars. I looked directly into the camera. “He cheated on me.” Christopher’s luck had turned around during our sophomore year when a talent scout discovered him. From then on, his career skyrocketed. By the time he graduated, his agency pressured him to break up with me before signing a long-term contract. He refused, fighting the executives until they finally agreed to let me join his team as his personal manager. The first major award he won was for Best Single. The song was called Anna, named after me. There were no flowers, no diamond rings, and no family members to witness it. In a dusty, empty dressing room backstage, he held up his trophy and asked me to marry him. “Anna, wait for me,” he had pleaded. “Once I secure my place in this industry, I’ll give you the grandest wedding. I want to show my wife off to the entire world.” Christopher did keep that promise. It was just that the wife beside him wasn’t me. By our fifth year in the industry, Christopher was an A-list star. We had parted ways with our old agency and established his own independent studio. During our first round of auditions for new talent, a young girl had stood before Christopher, her eyes shining with admiration. “Christopher, I’ve looked up to you for so long,” she stammered, tears spilling over her lashes. “Ever since I first saw you on TV when I was a teenager, you’ve been my inspiration. When my family turned their backs on me, when I was bullied at school, your music kept me alive. Today, I want to perform your award-winning song, Anna.” Hearing her shaky, unpolished voice, I frowned. It wasn’t because of her obvious infatuation with Christopher, but because using a sob story during a professional audition felt incredibly manipulative. There were dozens of candidates who were far more talented and beautiful than her. In the end, she was rejected. Yet, a month later, Christopher brought her right into my office. “Anna, Hailey might not be the most talented girl out there, but she’s definitely going to work the hardest.” Hailey stood there, looking at me with wide, innocent, and completely sincere eyes. Seeing my hesitation, Christopher stepped up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His hand slid down to rest gently on my belly. “Looking at her just reminds me of how hard we had it when we were young. Let’s help her out. Think of it as a good deed to bring blessings for our baby.” I was only a month pregnant at the time. My heart softened, and I agreed. I took Hailey under my wing personally, giving her the best resources we had. With Christopher actively mentoring her, she quickly stood out among the rookies. But then, I accidentally stumbled upon Hailey’s private, burner account on social media. The best birthday present ever! He said this represents our very first meeting. He actually gave it to me! Attached was a photo of the trophy Christopher had used to propose to me. My hands shook as I reached for the trophy that had sat on my office desk for years. When I picked it up, it felt incredibly light. It was a cheap, plastic replica. That night, I threw the fake trophy and the screenshots of Hailey’s posts onto the desk in front of Christopher. He glanced at them and gave a dismissive laugh. “She’s just a young girl who liked it. I gave it to her to keep her happy.” He reached out to pat my shoulder. “You’re pregnant, Anna. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not good for the baby.” He tried to hug me, but I shoved him away with all my strength. His face darkened, and he slammed the door as he walked out of the house. Our cold war began that night. He didn’t come home again. My pregnancy symptoms hit me with brutal force. Morning sickness, severe swelling, and bone-deep exhaustion plagued me daily. Every single time I needed someone to hold my hand, he was gone. My monthly prenatal checkups became lonely solo trips. 4 One afternoon, on my way to the clinic, my phone buzzed with a message from Hailey. Anna, Christopher told me about your fight. I’m so sorry for causing trouble between you two, but he really only sees me as a little sister. He’s completely drunk at the studio right now, sobbing and calling out your name. Can you please come and pick him up? I believed her. But when I arrived at the studio and pushed open the door, I saw Hailey draped over Christopher, their bodies moving together in a desperate, tangled rhythm. While I had been agonizing in a cold bed with pregnancy pains, they had been losing themselves in pleasure. My mind went entirely blank. I stood frozen at the doorway, unable to move a single muscle. Christopher was murmuring “baby” into Hailey’s ear. Hailey tilted her head and caught sight of me. A slow, mocking smirk spread across her face. Then, she pouted, her voice dripping with cheap sweet talk. “You’re so bad. Do you always treat girls like this? I bet you were the exact same way with Anna.” Christopher laughed, his voice raspy. “How could I? She’s deaf in one ear. Whispering sweet nothings to her would just be a waste of breath.” The very boy who had once fought so fiercely to protect my dignity had turned his words into a razor-sharp blade, slashing straight through my heart. My disability had become a joke for their bedroom play. Tears poured down my face. Unable to bear it for another second, I screamed and flung my heavy leather bag straight at them. After a fleeting moment of panic, my husband chose to protect his mistress. He shielded Hailey with his body and shoved me back with such force that I crashed onto the hard floor. A sharp, stabbing pain bloomed in my abdomen. Slowly, warm blood began to seep down my thighs. Before I lost consciousness, the last thing I saw was Christopher tenderly wiping away a tiny, barely visible scratch on Hailey’s forehead. When I woke up in the hospital, Christopher was standing over my bed, his face twisted in frustration. “Anna, you’re a grown woman! When are you going to stop acting so hysterical?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how close we came to losing the baby?” The monitors beside my bed beeped steadily, showing that my vitals were weak but stable. But inside, I knew my heart had stopped beating entirely. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. Christopher froze, then let out a cold, mocking laugh. “A divorce? How? Our finances, the studio, the child, our families… we are tied together for life.” In all the things he listed, there was not a single mention of love. Yet, love was the only reason we had ever walked down the aisle. Christopher bent down, his voice dropping to a whisper that sounded terrifyingly gentle. “We are never breaking up. Not in this lifetime.” The vows we had once spoken so happily had finally become the chains that imprisoned me. In that quiet hospital room, I realized with absolute clarity that the boy I had loved had died a long, long time ago. The studio fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The host was sobbing so hard her shoulders shook, trying and failing multiple times to raise the microphone to her lips. Meanwhile, the viewership of the live stream had skyrocketed to millions. Oh my god, can these two pieces of trash just burn in hell? The entertainment industry is disgusting. I’m never believing another celebrity romance again. I’m so disappointed in the internet detectives. It’s been twenty minutes and no one has figured out who this bastard is yet? The host choked back a sob. “Are… are you doing okay now?” I forced a dramatic, exaggerated smile, trying to comfort the poor girl who had cried her makeup off. “I got my divorce, and without him, my life is absolutely wonderful.” “If you could say one thing to him right now through our program, what would it be?” I shook my head, ignoring the desperate gaze of the man on the screen. “There’s nothing to say. After all these years, I don’t love him, and I don’t even hate him anymore. When you finally rid yourself of the wrong person, you should only thank God for the escape.” “That’s enough!” A harsh, desperate cry cut me off. Through the live feed, the mask of calm that Christopher had tried so hard to maintain shattered completely. His voice was hoarse, raw with pain. “Everything back then… it was all my fault,” he wept, begging the screen. “But I’m begging you, Anna… please, don’t throw me away.” The live chat exploded.

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1 I was walking down the street when I spotted two of my wife’s childhood friends, guys she hadn’t seen in years. I was about to step forward and say hello when their conversation caught my ear. “I’m so glad Brooke is finally getting her happy ending and marrying again.” “No kidding. Her ex-husband was such a tragic, short-lived guy. Died right after they got married.” I froze in my tracks, completely bewildered. I was standing right there, breathing, perfectly healthy. How on earth was I dead? And what did they mean, marrying again? Brooke and I had been married for five years, and our son was almost three. Who was she marrying? As I listened further, I caught the groom’s name: John. He wasn’t anyone I knew. I quietly noted down the wedding venue and the date before slipping away unnoticed. When the weekend arrived, I drove to the hotel address they had mentioned. The venue was buzzing, packed with elegant guests. I walked up to the guest registry on the groom’s side and tossed a two-hundred-dollar check onto the table. The registry clerk picked up his pen and looked at me. “Under what name, sir?” I bared my teeth in a cold smile. “Just write: the resurrected ex-husband.” The clerk frowned, shooting me an annoyed look. “It’s a wedding day, sir. Why say something so cursed?” I didn’t answer. I turned around and saw a massive, life-sized wedding portrait standing near the entrance. The woman in the stunning white gown was indeed my wife, Brooke. The man standing beside her, holding her waist, was a complete stranger. The portrait looked incredibly expensive, shot in an elite studio. Years ago, I had suggested we go to a high-end studio for our wedding photos. But Brooke had dismissed the idea. “Wedding photos are just a pointless formality, Luke,” she had told me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “There’s no point in wasting money on them. As long as we love each other and build a good life, that’s what matters.” In the end, she had chosen a dingy little local studio down the street, opting for their cheapest package. Looking around the ballroom, I spotted several familiar faces, all of them Brooke’s relatives. I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to pull off something like this, openly committing bigamy right in front of her entire family. Then, my gaze drifted toward the VIP head table, and my blood ran entirely cold. Seated at the head table on the bride’s side were none other than Brooke’s parents, my mother-in-law and father-in-law. Relative after relative walked up to congratulate them, and my in-laws practically beamed with pride, their faces glowing as they laughed. Fragments of their conversation floated over to where I stood. “John is such a wonderful man. He’s going to bring Brooke so much luck. You two are going to be living in luxury from now on!” My mother-in-law grinned so wide her eyes squinted. “Oh, absolutely! Ever since Brooke met him, her life has been getting better by the day. Not like her first husband. That one had no luck, died so young, a total curse to our family. Well, let’s not speak of that deadweight on such a beautiful day…” Her words sliced straight through my chest. All these years, I had treated them with the utmost respect, supporting them financially and emotionally, only to be dismissed as a “curse” and a “deadweight.” If I had really brought them bad luck, they wouldn’t even be sitting here enjoying this luxury. My father-in-law nodded in agreement. “I never approved of Brooke marrying him in the first place!” Who? Me? “Oh, come on,” my mother-in-law whispered back, waving a hand. “The only reason we let him into the family was because of the generous financial gift he gave us. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.” “What good was that money? He was just an easy target, a fool. This new son-in-law is much more to our liking.” So, when I had doubled my financial gift to her family out of sympathy for their struggles, I had actually made myself a laughingstock. To them, I was just a fool to be exploited, and they despised me for it. Meanwhile, John had apparently demanded a massive $88,000 dowry from them, and they were thrilled to pay it. The sheer injustice of it made my head spin. I wanted to march over and tear down their table, but I forced myself to stay calm. This debt would be settled soon enough. I turned and walked out of the banquet hall. Near the entrance, the groom was standing with his groomsmen, straightening his tie and preparing for the ceremony. When John saw me coming out, he offered me a warm, friendly smile. “Hey, you must be one of Brooke’s colleagues!” My mind screamed at me to blurt out the truth, but I swallowed the urge and gave a quiet nod. “Yeah.” One of the groomsmen grabbed John’s wrist, staring enviously at the gleaming watch on his arm. “Man, John, you hit the jackpot. Brooke really splurged on you. That watch has to be worth at least six figures, right?” “She insisted on buying it,” John said, running a finger over the watch face, a proud smile stretching across his lips. “She said a wedding only happens once, so we had to get the absolute best.” It felt like a physical blow to my chest. When Brooke and I married, we had nothing. I had suggested buying a modest pair of diamond bands, just as a symbol of our commitment. But she had laughed it off. “Why waste money on those shiny rocks? We can’t eat them, and you’re not a shallow, materialistic guy, Luke.” Seeing my disappointment, she had hugged me and whispered, “Once my salary goes up, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” As her career took off and her income climbed, she did keep her promise in a way. Every year, when she received her annual bonus, she would buy a small gold bar and hand it to me, telling me it was security for me and our son. But wait. Where did she get the money to buy John a six-figure watch? Every month, she handed her salary over to me, and her annual bonuses were accounted for. As I stood there puzzled, another groomsman let out a sigh of admiration. “I heard your wife’s company is doing incredibly well. She gets over a million dollars in profit-sharing dividends every year. She could buy you ten of those watches and not even feel it.” Profit-sharing dividends? We had been married for six years, and I had absolutely no idea she owned shares in her company. I had seen her monthly pay stubs. Her net monthly salary was $18,000. She handed me $15,000 every month for our family expenses, keeping $3,000 for her personal use. I had never questioned it. And yet, she was secretly pulling in over a million dollars a year in dividends. John suddenly turned his gaze back to me. “Hey, since you work with her, you must have an idea of what she actually pulls in. Come on, give me a ballpark figure, just so she doesn’t hide any secret accounts from me.” It felt like a blunt knife was sawing through my heart. How much did she make? He knew her financial power far better than I did. She was pouring her massive fortune into this man, buying him luxury watches I could only dream of. I was just learning about her million-dollar dividends, and here he was, asking me how much she made. The muscles in my jaw twitched, and I struggled to maintain a calm expression. Sensing my sudden tension, John quickly tried to ease the awkwardness. “Oh, maybe you don’t know the executive payroll details. No worries. I’ve met most of her colleagues before, but you’re a new face. Did you join the company recently?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Yeah, I’m fairly new. I don’t really know her exact income details.” One of the groomsmen chuckled, nudging John. “Man, your woman is perfect. Beautiful, wealthy, and madly in love with you. She even quit smoking for you.” John let out a proud laugh. I nearly dropped my phone. Years ago, during her pregnancy, her morning sickness had been terrible, and the smell of smoke made me so nauseous I couldn’t sleep. I had begged her to quit, but she insisted she needed to smoke for networking and work stress. Then, three months ago, she suddenly threw all her cigarettes into the trash. She had told me she was doing it for my health and our son’s, because she felt guilty about making us inhale secondhand smoke. I had been deeply moved. But she hadn’t quit for us. She had quit for him. John gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them, man. They like to joke around.” With a storm raging in my chest, the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Are you really that sure about her? How do you know she doesn’t have a whole second life somewhere else?” John’s smile faded, and he stared at me, bewildered. “What is that supposed to mean?” The groomsmen bristled immediately. “Hey, man. Just because your own wife cheated on you doesn’t mean you should try to ruin someone else’s wedding.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Actually, you hit the nail right on the head.” John looked at me with a touch of pity and superiority. “My Brooke isn’t like your wife. She would never betray me.” “Is that so? If she’s so loyal and perfect, why isn’t she here yet?” “Oh, some of her old college friends flew in this morning. She went to the airport to pick them up. She’ll be back any minute.” Right on cue, his phone rang. He swiped to answer, a warm smile returning to his face. “Hey, sweetie! Where are you?” The groomsmen fell silent, and her voice drifted clearly through the speaker. “Almost there, honey. I’m just so excited to finally marry you today.” John blushed, laughing softly. “Just focus on driving, okay? Be safe.” The groomsmen immediately began to tease him. “Oh, look at you two! Five years together and you’re still acting like newlyweds.” “Well, we have to make the most of it,” John said defensively. “Since we only get to spend half the year together anyway.” The words struck me like a physical blow, leaving my ears ringing. They had been together for five years. I couldn’t decide if I was incredibly stupid, or if she was just a master of deception. No, she wasn’t a genius. I had simply trusted her too much. I had believed her when she told me that her company required rotating regional assignments for her to get promoted, meaning she had to travel out of state every other month. I had supported her, proud of her career ambitions. I had taken on everything at home, caring for our son, cooking, cleaning, and working my own job, never complaining once. When our son had a high fever in the middle of the night, I had sat alone in the emergency room until dawn, cradling him in my arms. I hadn’t even dared to call her, terrified of disrupting her sleep during her “demanding business trips.” But she wasn’t working. She was playing house with another man. The groomsmen continued to lament their own single status. “Seriously, she’s perfect. Gorgeous, rich, sweet, and she even cooks for you? Life is so unfair!” “Yeah, come on, she has to have at least one flaw! Give us something to make us feel better!” John laughed as they nudged him. “Well, if I had to name one… she’s obsessed with making me healthy soup. She wakes up at the crack of dawn every single morning just to brew it fresh for me.” The guys groaned at his bragging, but the words felt like another knife twisting in my heart. Every morning. In our six years of marriage, Brooke had never made me breakfast once. Not a single time. When she was pregnant and could barely bend over, I was the one waking up early to cook for her. She had always told me she hated cooking and was terrible at it, and I had believed her, assuming she just lacked the skill. It wasn’t a lack of talent. It was a lack of love. I stood there as the cold truth washed over me, freezing me to the bone. The groomsmen insisted John was just showing off and demanded a real flaw. John bit his lip, his expression suddenly turning solemn. “Actually, there is one thing. But you guys have to promise never to bring it up in front of her.” “Brooke was married once before.” “Her ex-husband and her son… they were killed in a terrible car accident two years ago. It completely broke her, and she still gets emotional about it.” The blood rushed to my head, and my knuckles cracked as I clenched my fists. Her lies hadn’t just killed me off. She had killed our son too. Our beautiful, sweet little boy, who had just cuddled with her yesterday, whispering how much he loved his mommy. To clear the way for her new life, she had wiped his very existence from the earth. The sheer, cold-hearted selfishness of it made me tremble. I couldn’t let her get away with this. Not for my sake, and certainly not for Toby’s. I was about to step forward when my phone vibrated in my pocket. The screen showed my mother-in-law’s name. I stepped back into the quiet hallway to take the call. “Luke,” her voice rushed through the receiver, sharp and demanding. “I need you to wire me $88,000 right now. It’s an emergency.” “What kind of emergency requires eighty-eight thousand dollars, Mom?” “I told you before, your father and I are helping plan a wedding for some close family friends. They want to adopt us as godparents, and we need to present them with a traditional blessing gift. Eighty-eight thousand is a lucky number. Just wire it over quickly, we’re waiting on it.” A godparent blessing gift of eighty-eight thousand dollars? It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was the dowry gift they owed John. They were using my hard-earned money to fund my wife’s second wedding. When Brooke and I married, my mother-in-law had given me a measly $1,800 welcoming gift. Now that it was John, the price had skyrocketed. Controlling the rage in my voice, I said, “Is this new godson planning to pay for your funeral expenses, Mom?” Her voice instantly turned icy. “What is wrong with you? Why are you talking about funerals at a time like this? Do you have no manners?” “I’ve never heard of a godparent gift costing eighty-eight thousand dollars,” I replied coldly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to pay a new son-in-law his welcoming dowry.” The line went dead silent. After a long pause, she exploded into a scream. “How dare you speak to me like that! You always play the obedient, respectful son-in-law, but the moment we ask for a little help, you show your true, greedy colors! Let me tell you something, Luke. This is my daughter’s money, and we can spend it however we damn well please! You have no right to lecture me!” “Your daughter makes eighteen thousand a month and hands fifteen of it over to me,” I snapped back, refusing to back down. “We have a mortgage, car payments, and a toddler to raise. And don’t forget, I work too, and my income is just as high as hers.” She let out a harsh scoff. “Fine. You think you’re so smart.” She slammed the phone down, ending the call. I straightened my collar and walked back toward the groom’s suite, only to hear John’s voice drifting out. “Brooke’s mom said they’re skipping the cash dowry and giving me five gold bars instead. I’ve never heard of a wedding gift like that before. Quite a surprise.” My chest tightened. Five gold bars. Those were the exact gold bars Brooke had given me over the years as compensation for my missing wedding ring. The numbers matched perfectly. The groomsmen laughed, but my heart was entirely numb. Let them laugh. The higher they climbed, the harder they would fall. Footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. Brooke was walking toward the ballroom, surrounded by her bridesmaids. Inside, the grand wedding march began to play. Under the gaze of hundreds of guests, John slowly walked down the aisle toward the stage. Brooke stood at the altar, her posture elegant, a beautiful smile playing on her lips as she waited for her new groom. Just as John reached the halfway mark, I stepped onto the stage, snatched the microphone from the podium, and spoke into it, my voice echoing coldly through the speakers. “Brooke, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married today?”

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1 On the third day of our silent treatment, a photo of my boyfriend, Gavin, holding his team’s cute new support player, Piper, hit the trending pages. To damage-control the rumors, Gavin publicly announced that he was single. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I simply rode the wave and let the breakup become official. But later, when I stood on a massive stage and calmly told the interviewer that I was single… Gavin’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. … I had been waiting in the private dining booth for six hours. Gavin’s team had just won the national championship, and he had secured the MVP title. He had texted me, saying he wanted to celebrate with just the two of us. But the moment he reached the door of the restaurant, his phone rang. It was Piper. “Gavin, I burned my hand on the kettle… I’m so scared…” Her voice was thick with tears over the speaker. Panic washed over Gavin’s face, and without even saying goodbye to me, he turned on his heel and rushed out. After that, his phone went dead. I checked the time. It was five minutes to midnight. The table of gourmet food had long since turned cold, the grease on the lamb chops hardening into a thick, unappetizing white layer. I stared at the plate, my appetite completely gone. My hand hovered over the table, my mind drifting back to the trending photos that had kept a lump in my throat all night. It was the championship finals, a night that should have been defined by match statistics. Instead, the top three trending topics were filled with photos of Gavin and Piper. The images were crystal clear, accompanied by viral video clips. The video showed Piper leaping into Gavin’s arms in a burst of excitement, her hands locked around his neck and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Golden confetti rained down on them. Gavin held the trophy in one hand and kept his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, looking victorious and proud. In front of tens of thousands of fans, at the pinnacle of his career… Their interaction looked innocent to the casual observer, but the underlying intimacy was undeniable. Many comments were already romanticizing their bond, while others questioned the nature of their relationship. After all, my secret relationship with Gavin was an open secret in the pro scene. Gavin had promised to explain everything to me tonight. What he failed to realize was that he had already made too many excuses because of Piper. When you hear the same justification repeatedly, it eventually just makes you numb. I picked up my phone, mindlessly scrolling through my feed, only to freeze when I saw Piper’s latest social media update. “Lied to Gavin about hurting my hand, and he actually rushed all the way back! So, are you happy with the surprise party we threw for you, my MVP?” They had thrown him a private victory party. My finger trembled as I zoomed in on the attached photo. Balloons and banners filled the background. Surrounded by their teammates, Gavin stood at the center with his arm around Piper’s shoulders, his laugh loud and carefree. The photographer had captured the perfect moment. Piper was tilting her head, looking up at Gavin with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. I laid my chopsticks down, my stomach turning. Just then, the heavy door of the booth was pushed open, and Gavin rushed in, looking flushed. When he saw the half-eaten, cold dishes on the table, his jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked, his tone laced with a strange hint of grievance. I let out a soft laugh, too exhausted to argue with his absurd question. “If you haven’t eaten, go ahead. I need to get back to the base.” Gavin reached out, grabbing my wrist. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?” “I have scheduled scrims.” Unlike Gavin, my team, Scythe Gaming, hadn’t even qualified for the playoffs. My schedule for the off-season was packed with mandatory training. I had to pull several favors just to get tonight off. If I didn’t return soon, the manager would gladly use it as an excuse to fine me. But my cold tone seemed to prick Gavin’s pride. He let go of my wrist, his face hardening. “Are you seriously letting those online rumors get to you? Do you really think Piper and I have something going on?” I paused, the words of defense dying in my throat. What was I supposed to say? Should I mention how our weekly date night was constantly cut short because he had to help Piper level up her rank? Should I talk about how his phone was always busy, and on the rare occasions he picked up, a girl’s soft giggles always echoed in the background? Or should I remind him of the time an angry anti-fan pushed me into a barrier, bruising my wrist, while he was busy comforting Piper over a lost match, ignoring my messages for three days? The silence stretched between us, heavy and stifling. Gavin lowered his gaze, his voice filled with deep disappointment. “I can’t believe you actually think so little of me.” 2 Gavin was notorious for his hot temper. He regularly laid into his teammates when a match went south, and he had only started showing a bit of restraint after Piper joined the starting roster. When he was angry, he was usually loud, defensive, and sharp-tongued. But right now, he just looked deflated. “She’s a young girl, and it’s not easy for her to survive in this industry,” he said softly. “I’m the team captain. It’s my job to look after my players.” “You know how important a player’s hands are to their career.” “I admit I pay a little more attention to her, but it’s only because she reminds me of how you used to be. Alone, struggling in a strange team. I kept thinking that if I helped her, maybe someone out there would show you the same kindness.” He placed a beautifully wrapped cake box on the table. “If you’re still upset, I can apologize. Is this explanation enough for you?” My heart gave a faint, painful flutter. I stared at the logo on the cake box. It was from my favorite patisserie in the city. Looking at the familiar box, my mind drifted back to our days in the academy. I had been the only female player in the entire program, naturally looked down upon by the coaches and players alike. I was blamed for losses, mocked during practice, and stressed to the point of severe insomnia and loss of appetite. Gavin was with a different club back then and couldn’t protect me directly. But despite his brutal training schedule, he would sneak out of his base at midnight, scale the high wall of my academy, and bring me small cakes, gently coaxing me to eat them bite by bite. In those quiet nights, huddled in his arms, I would let all my armor down and cry, absorbing his warmth to face another day. The lofty dreams I started with had been chipped away by the harsh reality of the pro scene. I had followed Gavin blindly into this chaotic world, only to end up on different teams. There was no one to help me. The pressure of evaluations, the isolation from my teammates—it all accumulated until I felt completely suffocated. I had wanted to scream, to let all the venom out, but when I finally looked at him, all my misery had condensed into a soft whisper. “It’s so hard, Gavin.” Gavin had pressed his forehead against mine, his voice a steady murmur. “Once I secure my place, I’ll have the team buy out your contract. We’ll play together, and we’ll never be apart.” I took a deep breath, pushing the memory away. Forget it, I thought. Maybe I’m just overthinking. I’ll trust him one last time. I stood up to go to the restroom to wash my face. But as I approached the door of the booth on my way back, I heard Gavin’s voice. He was on the phone. A girl’s playful whine filtered through the receiver. “Gavin, aren’t you back yet? I’ve been waiting for my strawberry cake for thirty minutes!” My steps halted, and my body went entirely rigid. By the time I managed to compose myself and push the door open, Gavin was already slipping his phone into his pocket. He looked up at me. “Great, you’re back. I need you to help Piper draft a statement to clear her name. It’s not fair that she’s being dragged online as a homewrecker.” So this was his real motive for bringing the cake tonight. “Why should I do that?” I asked, a bitter smile touching my lips. Gavin stared at me. “If you have a problem with me, take it out on me. Don’t ruin a young girl’s career over some jealousy.” “Did I force her to climb onto your shoulders at the arena? If you want to protect her, that’s your business. Keep me out of it.” “Nadia!” Gavin snapped, his temper finally exploding. “Are you really going to make a scene over this?” “I’ve spent the whole night trying to soothe your temper. How much longer are you going to act like a spoiled child?” “Piper is my teammate. You are my girlfriend. Can’t you see the difference? Do you have to throw a tantrum over some harmless jealousy?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Your idea of ‘girlfriend’ is making me wait alone for six hours without a single word?” “And your idea of ‘teammate’ is rushing back the second she whines about waiting thirty minutes for a cake?” Gavin froze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “No, Nadia, that’s not—” But I had run out of patience for his excuses. “Gavin, I don’t think I can handle being your girlfriend anymore. Let’s break up.” Gavin’s face went completely cold. “I’m going to give you one chance to take that back. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.” “If there are things you’re unhappy with, I can change. We can both take a step back. You write the statement, I’ll keep my distance from Piper, and we can go back to how we were.” My only response was the loud, solid slam of the heavy wooden door. “Nadia! You’re going to regret this!” Through the thick wood, I could hear the faint, sharp sound of glass shattering against the floor. 3 It was past midnight when I returned to the Scythe Gaming base. As I walked up the stairs to my dorm, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Marcus, our manager, checked his watch. “Curfew was at midnight.” “I took official leave, Marcus,” I said, my voice tight. He ignored me, adjusting his glasses. “Starting tomorrow, your daily training schedule is increased by an hour.” Knowing there was no point in arguing, I reached for my doorknob. But Marcus’s oily voice stopped me. “Also, there’s a dinner with our primary sponsor in a few days. You’re coming with me.” I paused, my fingers tightening on the handle, before slipping into my room and locking the door. When I opened my phone, Gavin and Piper were trending once again. This time, it was because of a simple, public statement Gavin had posted: “I am currently single.” It was a clean, powerful defense that immediately cleared Piper of any homewrecking accusations, but it threw all the mud straight at me. “If Gavin was single, what were all those rumors about him and Nadia? I thought they were practically married.” “Nadia was obviously just clout-chasing. Gavin didn’t care enough to address it before, but now that he has someone he actually wants to protect, he had to set the record straight. Talk about an embarrassing reality check.” “Honestly, I feel bad for Gavin. He let that benchwarmer use his name for years.” “Wishing our favorite bot-lane duo all the best!” Gavin, who had always hated public events, suddenly began appearing at every brand exhibition and promotional stream, always with Piper by his side. And around his wrist, he always wore a different colored hair scrunchie. He was doing everything in his power to build her up. Since I had refused to write the statement, he had taken matters into his own hands. Two years of devotion, erased in a single sentence. But maybe it was for the best. Relationships that had never been allowed to see the light of day were better off dissolving in the shadows. On the night of the sponsor dinner, Marcus looked at my worn Scythe Gaming jersey with clear disgust. “You look ridiculous. Go put on something decent.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, keeping my voice firm. “I’m a pro player. This is my uniform. Why do I need a dress to have dinner?” Marcus sneered but didn’t push it further, leading me into the private dining club with a sour face. Earlier this year, our parent company had appointed a new executive director, Mr. Davenport. During his first inspection of the facility, his eyes had lingered on me a bit too long, and he had been trying to corner me ever since. I had managed to dodge his invitations, but he had recently ordered all the locks on our dorm doors to be replaced with electronic locks that could be bypassed from the master console, claiming it was a “safety measure.” Several times, I had walked into my room after a long training session only to find Mr. Davenport sitting on my bed, offering a sickeningly warm smile. “Tired? You’ve been working so hard. Come sit down and let’s have a chat.” I had used the excuse of needing to call my boyfriend to escape. But Davenport, skeptical, had insisted I call him right then and there. With a racing heart, I had dialed Gavin’s number. It was the only time the call went through, but the voice that answered was Piper’s. “Nadia? Gavin is sleeping right now. Is there something you need?” That single sentence had shattered my safety net. It proved that Gavin was comfortable letting another woman handle his personal phone, and it exposed my lie to the predatory man sitting in my room. I still remembered the slow, knowing smile that had spread across Davenport’s face. “It seems our little Nadia isn’t being entirely honest.” I knew he wouldn’t let me go easily. But when his hand slid onto my thigh under the dining table, my body reacted before my brain could. I bolted upright, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Excuse me. I have to get back to training.” Davenport didn’t get angry. He simply smiled, swirling his wine. “Leaving so soon, Nadia? We were just getting to the good part.” “I have to train,” I repeated, my body trembling as I walked out. His easy compliance only made me more uneasy. 4 Two weeks later, the transfer window opened. Every player on Scythe Gaming signed their contract renewals—except me. I was listed on the transfer market, but the buyout fee Scythe had attached to my name was astronomically high, a price no mid-tier team could ever afford for a support player. I tried contacting several managers myself. They were always impressed with my mechanical skills during tryouts, but the moment they saw the buyout clause, they would shake their heads with regret. One sympathetic coach pulled me aside. “Nadia, your management is intentionally blocking you. You need to resolve whatever personal dispute you have with your owner, or you’re going to be benched indefinitely.” I could only offer a bitter smile. This was a dispute that could never be resolved. Just when I felt like I had hit a dead end, a message from Gavin popped up on my screen. “I can have Vanguard buy out your contract.” Vanguard Gaming was one of the few legacy clubs that could easily afford the fee. Gavin was their star ADC, and the support was his lane partner. His opinion carried immense weight in their roster decisions. Their starting support had just retired due to a chronic wrist injury, and Piper was only a temporary substitute from the academy team. They desperately needed a proven, high-tier support. With Gavin’s approval, my career could be saved. I wrestled with the decision for days. But when Marcus tried to push me into Davenport’s private car after a promotional event, the sheer terror drove me straight to Gavin. When I showed up at his training facility, a smug, victorious grin spread across his face. “Done throwing your little tantrums?” I swallowed my pride and lowered my head. “Yes.” Gavin reached out, patting my head with a gentle, patronizing hand. “I told you I’d bring you to my team to protect you. What were you so scared of, Nadia?” And just like that, we fell into a quiet, tentative reconciliation. He didn’t hide me as strictly as before. During a dinner with some of his childhood friends who weren’t in the esports scene, one of them noticed the colorful band around Gavin’s wrist. “Man, you guys are adorable,” the friend laughed. “Gavin, you’re still wearing your girl’s hair tie?” Gavin froze, his brow furrowing. “It’s just a hair tie. What’s the big deal?” The friend looked surprised. “You don’t know? A guy wearing a girl’s hair tie on his wrist is a universal sign that he’s taken.” Before Gavin could reply, his phone buzzed on the table. He slid the key to answer, and Piper’s playful voice echoed clearly through the quiet room. “Babe, where did my blue hair tie go? Did you happen to—” Gavin slammed the phone face down, cutting the call off instantly. The color drained from his face. He let out a dry, awkward cough, quickly placing some food into my bowl. “Eat. The food is getting cold.” The atmosphere at the table turned suffocatingly awkward. Everyone at that table knew the hair tie around his wrist didn’t belong to me. By the end of the night, his friends had made quick excuses to leave. Gavin sat quietly, twirling the silver band on his finger—a matching ring we had bought when we first started dating, which he had recently started wearing again. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, pointing to the hair tie. “If you had told me, I would have taken it off.” I let out a soft sigh. “If I had said something, you would have just told me I was overthinking things.” Gavin looked like he wanted to argue, but he restrained himself, keeping his voice gentle. “Piper is just careless. She’s always losing her things, and she asked me to keep a spare for her.” Why did she have to leave her spare with Gavin, of all people? But thinking of the transfer contract that was still entirely in his hands, I swallowed my resentment. “I see.” My quiet acceptance seemed to frustrate him. “Aren’t you even going to be a little jealous?” “You explained it, didn’t you?” I replied, placing my chopsticks down. I honestly didn’t understand what he wanted from me anymore. In the past, whenever he gave me an explanation, the conversation was over. I was expected to either swallow my feelings and move on, or deal with his annoyance if I pressed further. In his mind, an explanation was a resolution. If I refused to let it go, I was the one being difficult. But now that I was playing by his rules, he seemed miserable. Ultimately, Gavin left the restaurant in a quiet, dark mood, without saying another word. And after that night, he stopped answering my calls. As the days of the transfer window bled away, a deep, cold dread settled in my chest. Why hadn’t Vanguard sent over the contract? I tried reaching out to Gavin, but my messages went completely unanswered. On the final day of the transfer window, Vanguard Gaming released their official roster for the upcoming season. VGD-Piper was listed at the very top of the starting lineup. The letters burned into my eyes, and my mind went entirely blank. How could he do this to me?

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1 After three miscarriages, I finally had a baby girl. My husband celebrated by setting off city-wide fireworks. Then, an unknown caller cried, “Mom.” Holding my newborn, I was bewildered. “Wrong number.” The teen on the line pleaded, “Please, I’m your daughter, calling from eighteen years in the future. I know it sounds insane, but you must listen. Dad is cheating on you with Gemma. She caused your miscarriages to clear the way for her own son. When you find out, you’ll fall into depression and jump off a building. Please, leave him now, or you will die.” The line went dead. Staring at my phone, a sharp pain pierced my chest. I looked toward the adjoining suite where my husband and sister had just slipped in, claiming they were planning my anniversary surprise. The moment the call ended, a dull, throbbing pain flared through my lower body, a lingering ache from giving birth. But before I even realized what I was doing, I had already dragged myself out of bed and stood trembling outside their door. Low, intimate sounds drifted through the thin wood. “Careful, James. My sister is right next door.” “Why so shy now? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, babe? You chose this room just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?” My mind went entirely blank, a deafening roar filling my ears. My breath caught in my throat, shallow and shaking. Just hours ago, when James saw me screaming in the delivery room, his eyes had brimmed with tears. He had held my hand so tightly, whispering, “Nora, sweetheart, after this baby, no more. I can’t bear to see you in pain.” His tenderness had felt so pure, so incredibly real. But now, his low, satisfied groans were equally real, slicing through my heart like a dull blade. “How is the soup? Sweet enough? Want me to feed you some more?” “What about my sister? She must be thirsty too,” Gemma giggled, her voice dripping with mock concern. “She just went through hell to give you a daughter. Shouldn’t you save some for the big hero?” “Jealous again, you little wildcat?” James chucked, his tone dripping with affection as he comforted her. “Everything I did with those babies was for you. When you told me you didn’t want them, didn’t I get rid of them exactly like you wanted?” Every drop of blood in my veins turned to liquid fire, then to ice. When I lost those three babies, I had wanted to die. I blamed myself constantly, weeping over my supposedly broken body. I had endured countless hormone injections, taking pills until I threw up, my skin mapped with painful bruises from the needles. James had played the doting husband so perfectly. He even got matching tattoos and claimed that we were one flesh, that he felt every ounce of my pain. But he was the executioner all along. I bit my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I slammed the door open. The two of them were tangled together on the hospital bed. Gemma shrieked, scrambling backward. James’s instinct was to shield her, pulling the blanket over her bare shoulders. He looked up at me, his expression a chaotic mix of surprise, annoyance, and guilt. “Nora, don’t blame Gemma,” he said. He got out of bed, casually pulling on his robe as he walked toward me. “It was my fault. I had too much to drink one night and mistook her for you. Besides, Gemma is different from you. She is wild, uninhibited. I became addicted, and I just can’t quit her. But don’t worry, you will always be my wife.” He used the same soothing tone he always used to calm me down, but the words were pure venom. I shook so hard I could barely stand. Gemma crawled off the bed, kneeling at my feet with a look of utter innocence. “Nora, it’s my fault. I was just worried about James. He was so lonely, and I wanted to help you keep him happy. Please don’t fight because of me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her fingers dug painfully into my wrist, gripping me like a vice. Furious, I wrenched my hand away. The moment I did, James shoved me hard. “Nora! Gemma is your sister. How can you be so heartless?” I stumbled back, crashing heavily against the doorframe. The impact sent a sharp jolt through my abdomen, and I felt a sudden, warm rush of postpartum blood soak through my gown. A flash of panic crossed James’s face, and he reached out to steady me, but I violently smacked his hand away. “I’m going to expose you both,” I rasped, choking on the pain. Gemma burst into fresh tears. “It’s all my fault. I’ll leave right now. Nora, please don’t take your anger out on James.” Looking at her run past me, James glared at me, his eyes dark with rage. “Nora, is this what a good sister does? Are you trying to drive her to suicide? Let me warn you, before you open your mouth to anyone, you better think about your daughter.” Without waiting for a response, he chased after Gemma. Not even an hour later, my phone lit up with a text from Gemma. It was a picture of her and James, their fingers tightly intertwined, with a messy hotel bed in the background. James was so worried I’d run away that he promised to exhaust me tonight. You don’t mind, do you, big sister? A crushing weight settled on my chest. I stared at the screen, swallowed down the bitter bile rising in my throat, and redialed the mysterious number. “What happens next?” my voice trembled. “Between me and James? And… you? Are you okay?” “You divorced him,” the girl on the other end paused, her voice cracking. “But on paper, Gemma became my mother. She… she was never kind to me.” I stopped breathing. “That’s impossible. You’re my daughter, Daisy. How could Gemma be your mother?” By now, there was no doubt in my mind. This girl was indeed my daughter. “Mom, think back,” Daisy said urgently. “Right before you gave birth to me, did Dad make you sign any documents?” My heart dropped. Yes, he did. While I was screaming through active contractions, James had suddenly pulled out a set of papers. Nora, honey, we fought so hard for this baby. We need to secure her future. Sign this for her. In my agony, I had trusted him blindly. I signed my name without reading a single word. “That was a divorce agreement,” Daisy said, her voice shaking with quiet anger. “On your anniversary last year, Dad didn’t go on a business trip. He was with Gemma. Things got wild, and she had an accident that resulted in an emergency hysterectomy. She can never have children of her own. To make it up to her, Dad planned to have you get pregnant one last time. Once you gave birth to me, he would use the signed divorce papers to take me away and legally hand me over to Gemma.” The room spun violently. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, my remaining strength instantly evaporating. No wonder. No wonder James had been so unusually affectionate when he returned from his “trip” last year. He had clung to me every night, refusing to let me go. When I playfully asked why he was being so clingy, he had wrapped his arms around me and whispered that he was making up for missing our anniversary. At the time, my heart had soared with love. But it was all a lie. I was nothing but a breeding machine for his mistress. The betrayal cut so deep it felt physical. Choking back my tears, I asked Daisy when I finally discovered the truth in her timeline. She went quiet for a long moment. “When I was five years old.” She explained that when I finally uncovered the affair, I tried to expose them to the public. But James was steps ahead. He painted me as a mentally unstable woman driven mad by multiple miscarriages, even fabricating evidence that I had abused my own baby. In the end, everyone believed him. I was labeled a lunatic, locked away in a psychiatric facility, and left to rot. My skin crawled with dread. “But Mom, we can change it,” Daisy pleaded, her voice cracking with a vulnerability that broke my heart. “It’s not too late. You need to start gathering evidence now. Wait for the right moment, divorce him, and take me with you. Mom… I don’t want to grow up without you.” The raw loneliness in her voice made me weep. I gripped the phone, tears streaming down my cheeks as I looked over at the bassinet. Seeing my tiny, helpless daughter sleeping so peacefully, a fierce resolve took root in my chest. I would not let history repeat itself. Over the next few days, I remained quiet and focused on recovering. When James came to take me home, he noticed I didn’t bring up Gemma. He assumed I had swallowed my pride and accepted the situation. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable, Nora,” he said, adjusting the baby’s blanket with a gentle smile. “Our daughter needs a complete family. No matter what is going on between me and Gemma, we have years of history together. You should trust me.” I forced myself to look away, a dull ache throbbing in my chest. We had been together since college. I used to think our love was unbreakable. When I was drowning in self-doubt and darkness, he had been my guiding light. When my life was threatened by a mugger years ago, he had thrown himself in front of me, taking a blow that nearly killed him. He was the love of my life. I never could have imagined that the man who saved my life would eventually hold the blade that destroyed it. The moment we stepped into our house, Gemma strolled out of our master bedroom wearing one of my silk nightgowns. It was obvious she had made herself entirely at home while I was in the hospital. James quickly stepped in. “Gemma’s lease ended. Since you two are sisters, I figured she could stay here for a few days.” Gemma bit her lip, looking at me with faux-timidity. “Nora, please don’t get the wrong idea. I was just so exhausted last night…” The dark, purplish bruises on her neck were impossible to miss. I looked away, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “I don’t care,” I said coldly, walking past them into my bedroom. In the middle of the night, Daisy’s sharp, panicked crying woke me up. Dragging my aching body down the hall to the nursery, I pushed the door open, only for my blood to run cold at the sight before me. “What the hell are you doing?” I lunged forward, throwing Gemma away from the crib. Daisy’s tiny arms and legs were covered in fresh, red pinch marks. “Calm down,” Gemma sneered, her delicate facade vanishing instantly, replaced by a cruel, venomous grin. “If I wanted this little brat dead, she wouldn’t have survived the delivery room.” I stared at her, horrified. “Why? When our parents finally found me and brought me back, you were so kind to me. Why are you doing this?” Gemma let out a mockery of a laugh. “If I wasn’t nice to you, how else would I get you to trust me? How else could I get you to push our parents away?” She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. “I may be adopted, but before you showed up, I was the only princess in that house. I finally had a life where I was loved and pampered. Why did you have to be found? Why did you have to come back and steal everything from me?” So that was it. All these years, this was how she saw me. “I never wanted to compete with you…” “Stop acting so innocent!” Gemma snapped, her face twisting into a hideous snarl. “Even James was part of the plan. At first, we just wanted to make a fool out of you. James was supposed to play the hero, rescue you from some hired thugs, make you fall madly in love with him, and then dump you. But the idiot actually fell for you. He married you instead!” A violent shudder ran through my body. The mugging… the life-saving rescue… it had all been a staged performance. My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. The pain was so intense I could barely draw breath. Suddenly, Gemma wiped the smirk off her face. She snatched Daisy from the crib and sprinted toward the door, her face twisting into a mask of pure terror. “James, help! Nora has gone crazy! She’s hurting the baby!” James’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, his face instantly darkening as he stepped into the light. “That’s a lie!” I screamed, shaking. “She did this!” “Nora, I know you hate me because of James,” Gemma sobbed, clutching Daisy to her chest as if protecting her. “But our baby is innocent! How could you take your anger out on her?” “I didn’t touch her! Gemma was the one pinching her!” “Enough!” James roared, cutting me off. “How can you be so sick, Nora? You’re so desperate to hurt me that you’d abuse your own child?” He didn’t believe a single word I said. Instead, he grabbed my arm, dragging me down to the cold, damp basement and throwing me inside. “Stay down here until you’ve cleared your head,” he snapped, locking the heavy door. He knew about my severe nyctophobia. He knew that staged attack had left me terrified of the dark. He had once held me during a blackout, promising that he would never let the darkness touch me again. “James, please, open the door! You can’t do this to me!” My voice trembled, raw with mounting panic. I could hear his footsteps lingering right outside the door. He hesitated. But then, Gemma’s soft, patronizing voice chimed in. “Nora is acting like a spoiled child. She does something terrible to the baby, and then throws a tantrum. It’s Daisy I feel sorry for…” Hearing her words, James’s hesitation vanished. “You brought this on yourself, Nora.” The sound of shifting fabric and a low grunt came from the other side of the thin wooden door. “James, stop… your wife is right in there,” Gemma whispered, her voice laced with breathless excitement. “That’s what makes it fun. She can’t see us, but she can hear everything…” Before long, the sickening, rhythmic sounds of their passion echoed through the basement door. I curled into a ball on the cold concrete floor, my fingernails digging into my palms until they bled. Every gasp, every groan from the other side of the wood was a physical blow, carving away whatever love I had left for him until there was only a hollow, aching numbness. When the sounds finally faded and they moved upstairs, I pulled out my phone and dialed the future number again. “What about my parents?” I whispered into the dark. “What happened to them in your timeline?” “Shortly after you were put away, they died in a tragic car accident,” Daisy’s voice sounded incredibly small and hollow. “They loved you so much, Mom. But Gemma kept telling them that you hated them, that you blamed them for losing you when you were little. Grandma used to hold your old photos and cry herself to sleep every night, whispering how sorry she was.” A tear slipped down my cheek. They did love me. Thank god. There was still time to fix this. The next morning, James unlocked the basement door. Dehydrated and pale, I dragged myself out. “Stop making a scene, Nora,” he said coldly. “Daisy’s one-month celebration is coming up, and the invitations are already out. You wouldn’t want to miss your own daughter’s party, would you?” So, I played along. I behaved perfectly. When the day of the celebration arrived, my parents were among the first to show up. Watching my mother cradle Daisy, cooing softly as my father smiled beside her, a wave of warmth rushed through me. There was so much I wanted to say to them. Right then, Gemma walked in, dressed in a stunning gown and clinging to James’s arm. “These heels are just too high to walk in, so I had James help me,” she giggled, looking at our parents with her usual bubbly, innocent demeanor. “You don’t mind, do you, Nora?” James stepped away from her, wrapping an arm around my waist instead. “You’ve worked hard today, Nora. Once this is over, we’ll go home and get some rest.” I fought down the sudden urge to vomit, remaining silent. When the ballroom was packed and the champagne was flowing, I quietly slipped away and pressed the button on the control panel. The massive projector screen, which had been displaying sweet photos of Daisy’s first month, suddenly flickered. In an instant, the screen filled with crystal-clear footage of James and Gemma wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering vulgar promises. The entire room fell into a dead, shocked silence, followed by gasps of horror. Gemma’s face drained of all color. My parents froze, staring at the screen in absolute disbelief. James panicked for a split second, but he quickly recovered. He strode onto the stage, shut off the projector, and looked down at me with an expression of deep, tragic resignation. “Nora, please… you’ve had another episode.” A murmur ran through the crowd. But James had prepared for this very moment. He pulled out his iPad and cast a document onto the screen—a psychological report claiming I had been suffering from severe prenatal and postpartum psychosis. Alongside it was a list of heavy anti-depressants under my name. “After her multiple miscarriages, my wife’s mental state became unstable,” James announced to the crowd, his voice filled with fake sympathy. “I apologize to everyone for the disturbance.” Gemma quickly stepped forward, wiping away fake tears. “The doctor said Nora’s depression makes her paranoid. I don’t blame her for fabricating these deep-fake videos to hurt me. I just want my sister to get the professional help she needs.” “This is ridiculous!” my father barked, his face turning red with embarrassment. “If you are sick, Nora, go get treated! Why would you drag your sister into the mud like this?” My mother looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. “Nora, I know you still resent us for what happened in the past, but Gemma has done nothing but try to help you. How could you do something so malicious to her?” “No, that’s not…” I tried to explain, but my voice was drowned out as a glass of red wine was splashed directly into my face. Cold, sticky liquid dripped down my cheeks, ruining my dress. “If she can fake a video like that, who knows what else she’s lying about!” someone in the crowd sneered. “If she really is that crazy, she shouldn’t be allowed around normal people. Lock her up!” The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, hostile eyes glaring at me from every direction. Pretending to protect me from the hostile crowd, James grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the ballroom. The moment we stepped into the quiet alley outside, I gathered every ounce of strength I had and slapped him across the face. “You monster! I am not sick, and you know it!” James touched his bruised cheek, his sympathetic husband facade vanishing instantly into a cold, menacing sneer. “I warned you to think about the consequences, Nora. Since you were so eager to destroy Gemma, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” He pulled out his phone and called a private medical transport. “You’re going to a psychiatric facility, Nora. I’ll let you out once you’ve learned to behave.” Gemma suddenly slipped out of the venue, running up to us. “James, let me go with her in the car. I want to talk some sense into her before she does something stupid.” James nodded, trusting her completely. But as soon as the car drove off and reached a secluded, abandoned stretch of road, the driver pulled over. Gemma dragged me out of the backseat, throwing me onto the gravel at the feet of three burly, rough-looking men waiting there. “She’s all yours, boys,” Gemma sneered, tossing a thick envelope of cash to their leader. “Do whatever you want with her. Just keep her breathing long enough to sell her across the border.” She stepped closer, raising her designer stiletto heel and slamming it hard onto my chest. Her heel caught on the heavy silver locket resting against my collarbone. “Nora, with you gone, James and I can finally be together legally.” Despite the searing pain in my ribs, I looked up at her and let out a soft laugh. “Do you really think you’ve won, Gemma?” I gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Why don’t you check your phone?” Gemma froze. She pulled out her phone, and within seconds, every drop of color drained from her face. Back at the venue, James stood in the corridor, exhaling a long breath. My defiance had annoyed him. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just accept my role as a quiet, compliant mother. “Well, this stay in the facility will teach her a lesson. She’ll fall back in line,” he muttered, smoothing down his tuxedo jacket. The celebration was still going on, so he put on his charming smile and pushed open the heavy double doors to the ballroom. But as he stepped inside, he found the room in absolute, suffocating silence. The massive projector screen had flickered back on. It was broadcasting a live feed. The moment James’s eyes adjusted to the screen, his entire body froze.

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