Category: English

1 I am the designated sidekick to a super-rich heiress. She calls me her best friend, swipes her card to buy me clothes and bags, and never lets me pay for anything when we go out. Lately, she’s developed a massive crush on the campus king. And she wants me to be the one to date him. “I know we can never be together, but it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” Help! How am I supposed to tell my best friend that I just slept with her older brother? “Anna, you’re my best friend. Everyone else just wants my money. You’re the only one who likes me for me.” Jenna linked her arm through mine, resting her head affectionately on my shoulder. Hearing her say that, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Because I didn’t just want her money. I wanted her brother. I’d seen him once in high school, dropping her off. He had the face and body of a runway model. The way he’d leaned down to stub out his cigarette, the sharp line of his jaw… it hit me right in the heart. So, I latched onto Jenna. She had a massive circle of “friends,” but I managed to outlast them all. Being friends with an heiress is the life. A luxury car picks you up, you never have to look at a price tag, and you get to experience a world completely different from the one you were born into. I studied my butt off to get into the same university as her, all because I couldn’t bear to give up this lifestyle. “Anna, I’m so in love with Alex,” Jenna sighed, looking lost in a romantic haze. As her loyal lackey, I immediately chimed in. “He’s totally worth it! He’s gorgeous, smart… his family is just a little… ordinary. Like mine.” In reality, Alex was from a perfectly normal, middle-class family, and he was one of the most popular guys on campus. But to an heiress like Jenna, he might as well have been a peasant. “But I know we can never be together,” she continued, a determined look on her face. “Still, it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” She cupped my face in her hands, a playful smile on her lips. “My beautiful Anna, a guy like Alex will be a piece of cake for you!” The serious look in her eyes made me panic. Oh god, Jenna, how do I tell you? I just slept with your brother last night… My legs are still weak… From her perspective, I was the worst kind of person. I forced a tight smile. “Uh, Alex isn’t really my type.” “That’s not what you said a second ago,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “It just feels weird, you know? Since he’s the guy you like…” I tried to hedge, hoping she’d drop the ridiculous idea. “That’s the point! If he got with anyone else, I’d be miserable. But with you? I’d be happy! I’d feel like my best friend found a great guy, and I could finally move on.” The more sincere she sounded, the more my guilt grew. I racked my brain for an excuse. “Actually… I think your brother is way hotter than Alex. Can I go after him instead?” It was a half-joke, half-truth. She waved a dismissive hand. “No way. My brother will end up in an arranged marriage. My parents are already looking for a fiancée for him. If you go after him, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak. It’s the same as me and Alex. The gap is just too big.” My head started to spin. I’d always known this, of course. I’d even told myself that I wasn’t losing anything, that a wild, passionate affair with a guy like him was more than I could have ever asked for. “Well… I’ll think about it,” I mumbled, looking down. “Trust me, Anna. Alex is the one. He’s from your world.” … She was right. We were both ordinary people. I shouldn’t have aimed so high. But sleeping with Ken Gordon for so long… I’d already won. “Okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “If you’re really sure you don’t mind, then I’ll do it.” Ken had been so busy lately. Sometimes I’d hear him take calls, his voice low and tense. It was probably his family, pressuring him. I was the girlfriend who wasn’t even qualified to walk through his front door. “You’re the best, Anna!” I pushed down my feelings and took the shopping list Jenna handed me. She sent me Alex’s contact info, followed by a series of cheering emojis. She had a fancy party to go to that night, the kind I wasn’t invited to. After we parted ways, I found a bench and started composing a breakup text. I wrote and rewrote a thousand-word essay, but I couldn’t bring myself to send it. A year as the secret girlfriend… our thrilling, illicit affair was finally coming to an end. A voice message from Ken popped up. “What kind of love poem takes half an hour to write?” His voice was as magnetic and intoxicating as ever. I sighed, deleted the essay, and reminded myself that a secret girlfriend doesn’t get to do the breaking up. For a guy like him, being dumped was the ultimate humiliation. “Just thinking about my hubby,” I typed back. I was shameless. I knew he would never marry me, but I called him “hubby” anyway. He’d hated it at first, but eventually, he’d grown to like it. Ken is typing… I quickly sent another message. “Hubby, I saw this bag I really want… it’s two million dollars… can I have it? meow~” I attached a GIF of a kitten aggressively nuzzling a teddy bear. I never wanted for money when I was with him—he was far more generous than Jenna. But this was the first time I had ever asked for something so extravagant. Asking for a two-million-dollar bag the morning after sleeping with him… it screamed “gold digger.” He transferred the money without a second’s hesitation. “It’s yours.” I stared at the number on the screen, and tears started to fall. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. In his eyes, I was just a woman after his money. It was a comfortable, easy dynamic for him. If I had demanded love instead, it would have been a joke. I cried for a while, then picked up my phone again. “You’re so generous, hubby! Can you buy me an apartment, too? One of those penthouses at The Grandview.” “How much.” He replied instantly. I looked up the prices. They started at ten million. “Ninety million.” I scoffed, stopping myself from typing a hundred million. I could already picture him frowning at his phone, confirming his suspicions about me. “I’ll have Chen take you to sign the papers tomorrow.” 2 I shot to my feet. Seriously? You’re not even mad? My mind was a mess. I turned off my phone, trying not to think about it. The next day, Jenna asked for a progress report. I realized I hadn’t even added Alex yet. “Progress: -1.” “?” “He didn’t add me back.” “Ugh, he’s like that. It took him five hours to accept my request.” I patiently chatted with her for a while longer. She was hungover from the party, and this would have been the perfect opportunity for me to play the caring friend. But thoughts of Ken kept weighing me down. That afternoon, as I was leaving the library, a man named Mr. Chen called. He said the paperwork was ready and waiting for my signature. This has to be a joke, right? I got in the car, steeling myself for the inevitable humiliation. But there was no mockery, no lecture. Mr. Chen respectfully led me to the sales office and into the VIP manager’s room. “Are you sure you want to sign?” I asked, half-expecting the act to drop any second. Aren’t you going to call me a gold digger now? Mr. Chen looked confused as he pushed the contract toward me. “Mr. Gordon has already picked out a villa for you, but he said this location is closer for you and would be more convenient.” I glanced at the contract. My name was printed in black and white. I sighed and put the pen down. “I’m sorry, I don’t want it.” Mr. Chen looked baffled. The manager looked like his world was ending. “Ma’am, if you have any concerns, please let me know. I will do my absolute best to resolve them.” Money could be returned. A house was a whole other level of entanglement. What was Ken thinking, actually agreeing to buy me a house? In the end, I just left. A gift like that, given during a relationship, could be taken back after a breakup. It was too messy. “You don’t like it?” Ken’s call came through. His voice was as cool and steady as ever. “I don’t like it. And Ken, I’ve been thinking. I don’t like you anymore, either. Let’s break up.” What was there to be concerned about? For a rich boy like him, the messier the breakup, the more he’d hate you. And if he didn’t hate you, it was even simpler. It was just about money. He’d just find someone new. I hung up before he could respond. For good measure, I blocked his number and deleted his contact. I tried to act casual when I got back to my dorm, but a message from Jenna was waiting. I reluctantly opened my chat with Alex. Turns out you have to actually click “add friend” on a contact card. Who knew? This time, he accepted instantly. A simple “hello” emoji popped up. I was feeling pretty miserable. On a whim, I sent him a series of reaction GIFs that, when strung together, told a story: “See this flower? I’d rather throw it away than give it to you.” After I sent it, I just stared at my phone. I was supposed to be charming him, for Jenna’s sake. But I just didn’t have the energy. I felt like crying, but I held it back. A voice message came through. It was Alex. “It’s okay. Where did you throw it? I’ll go pick it up.” His voice was lighter than Ken’s, with a lazy, sun-drenched quality. And that line… it was smooth. Especially considering he didn’t even know who I was. All he had to go on was my profile picture—a stylized, dark- Goth bunny. Not exactly flirtatious material. …So he was the type to flirt with anyone. A real “cast a wide net” kind of guy. So this was the man my heiress friend was crazy about. “Did he accept? Send me a screenshot,” Jenna texted. I couldn’t bring myself to screenshot my own ridiculous GIFs. I sent her his reply instead. She was ecstatic. “OMG, Alex uses reaction GIFs? And he sent one first? Babe, I’m shipping this so hard.” If you heard his voice, you’d be building the whole boat, I thought. I wanted to block and delete him too, but I restrained myself. After the “breakup” with Ken, I became a hermit. My life was a simple routine: library, eat, sleep. I didn’t even have time for Jenna. “Anna, meet me at The Reverie tonight. I have a party, but you can wait for me in the lobby. It’ll be late and you won’t get a cab. You have to come.” It was an order. Now that I was done with Ken, I knew I couldn’t be Jenna’s sidekick anymore. What if I ran into him? The fallout would be catastrophic. Jenna’s revenge would be terrifying. I didn’t want to go, but she didn’t give me a choice. “By the way,” she added in a follow-up call, her voice buzzing with excitement, “I don’t think Alex is poor! I just saw him with old Mr. Crawford. I think he might be his grandson? Let me do some digging. Hold off on the seduction for now, okay?” I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, an out. “Okay! Should I just delete him, then? I always thought you two were perfect for each other. And now that you’re in the same social circle, it’s even better!” “Yeah, you can delete him. I know you don’t like him anyway,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, and send me a screen recording of you blocking him. I want to make sure you’re really over him.” “Okay.” I had been ignoring Alex’s messages for days, avoiding any place I might run into him. It was just too awkward. After hanging up, I started the screen recording, blocked Alex, and deleted his contact. I took a screenshot of my block list and sent it to her for inspection. Suddenly, a terrible feeling washed over me. I scrolled through my phone, the feeling growing stronger. Oh, crap. I knew I’d forgotten something. 3 The second name on my block list… wasn’t that Ken’s? My best friend’s brother? More than two minutes had passed. It was too late to unsend it. Jenna’s end went silent. She hadn’t replied. Did she see it? What is she thinking? Why isn’t she asking me about it? I clutched my phone, my anxiety skyrocketing. My mind raced, playing out every possible scenario of her explosive anger. Time ticked by. I was sick with dread, but I didn’t dare ask. “When you get to The Reverie, have Old Chen bring the card up to you.” “Anna, Alex is the real deal! He’s Mr. Crawford’s actual grandson! I can’t believe someone with his background could be so low-key at school. I love him even more now! So, so much!” Just as I was about to suffocate from the tension, two messages from her came through. She hadn’t noticed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling like a beached fish tossed back into the water. I spammed a few reaction GIFs to discreetly push the screenshot further up the chat history, ending with a GIF of a person on a speeding motorcycle. “On my way, my lady!” “I can’t believe the campus king has such a background and is still so humble! No wonder you have such good taste!” As a qualified sidekick, I always knew how to provide the right kind of emotional support, saying exactly what she wanted to hear. And she always fell for it. After the emotional rollercoaster, I collapsed onto my bed. The sky outside my dorm window was dark. With the stress gone, my thoughts immediately drifted back to Ken. Ugh. So pathetic. I put on some light makeup and headed out to meet Jenna, feeling completely drained. At the restaurant, I met up with their driver, Old Chen. He handed me the car keys and a credit card. “We were in a hurry tonight, so we took Mr. Gordon’s usual car. Can you handle it, Miss Anna? If not, I can have someone bring another one over.” My hand froze. Ken’s car? I instinctively clutched the keys, then quickly tried to hand them back. “You know me, Uncle Chen. I wouldn’t dare.” He looked troubled. He made a quick call. “Yes, Mr. Gordon’s car is at The Reverie. You’re coming now? Great, I’ll wait for you to swap.” He hung up and turned to me. “Miss Anna, could you please wait here for Little Chen? He’s bringing the miss’s car over now.” Little Chen? My blood ran cold. That was Ken’s personal driver! He had been a witness to my entire secret, year-long affair, chauffeuring me between villas and hotels. Swap keys with him? No way. I made a split-second decision and bolted. “Uncle Chen, I’m running late! I’ll go up first! Just leave the keys at the front desk for me!” I sprinted away, leaving a bewildered Old Chen in my wake. I paused to catch my breath on the second-floor landing and saw Alex around the corner. He was leaning against a window, smoking, his gaze lost in the night sky. The cigarette in his hand had burned almost to the filter. If it weren’t for Ken’s god-tier looks, I probably would have fallen for a guy like Alex—fresh, sunny, and handsome. But having just blocked him, even though he didn’t know it was me, I felt a pang of guilt. I tried to sneak past him toward the main hall. But his hearing was sharp. He caught my movement out of the corner of his eye. I froze, wondering if I should say hi. Do I normally say hi to him? I racked my brain. When I was deep in my Ken-induced love fog, did I ever acknowledge him when I was with Jenna? While I was hesitating, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked briskly toward me. I looked around. No one else was there. He was coming for me. “Hey… fancy seeing you here, Alex,” I said, my shamelessness kicking in. If I couldn’t hide, I might as well own it. But as I waved, he grabbed my hand. He stared at me, his eyes clouded with a sullen emotion. “Why did you delete me?” He knows?! A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. My mind raced. How do I get out of this social nightmare? “Was I texting you too much? Did I annoy you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost wounded. “Did I say something to upset you?” If his one text every couple of days counted as annoying, then my constant stream of messages to Ken could be classified as harassment. “What are you talking about?” I played dumb. It was the only way. I looked up at him, blinked innocently, and forced a bright smile. “I don’t have your contact info, so I couldn’t have deleted you. You must have me mistaken for someone else. You’re the campus king, after all. So many people want to add you.” I thought it was the perfect excuse. But his gaze hardened. “I didn’t say it was WeChat.” My smile froze. He pulled out his phone and showed me his WeChat profile. “Is it true that a lot of people want to add me? Then you should add me.” I was dying inside. What do I do? Can you even add someone who’s on your block list? I cursed myself for not using a burner account. “Anna, what are you doing?” Jenna appeared, resplendent in a designer gown and towering heels, slowly walking toward us. The click-clack of her shoes on the marble floor sounded like the countdown to my execution. I panicked, trying to pull away, only to remember that Alex still had a death grip on my hand. …It was over. I struggled, but he wouldn’t let go. “Jenna, I need to talk to her. Can you give us a minute?” Alex said coolly, stepping in front of me protectively. No. This was not happening. I was about to pry his fingers off my hand when a chill ran down my spine. I looked up and saw him. Ken. It was really, truly over. Why was he here? What was I going to do? I stood frozen, watching the impossibly handsome, impeccably dressed man walk toward us. He was tall, with long legs, exuding an aura of cool elegance, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, a cold smirk on his perfect face. A coldness I had never seen before. He walked right past me, as if I didn’t exist. The faint scent of his cologne was gone in an instant. I had imagined a thousand different scenarios, but I was not prepared for this—for him to look right through me. A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes began to burn. A tear escaped, then another, splashing onto my arm. Why am I crying?

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That simple refusal confirmed every wild suspicion in the room. Ignoring his rigid stance, I began to recite the relevant statutes from memory, a skill honed over years of practice, and pointed toward the baby in his arms. “Richard, you have a child. This isn’t just infidelity. This is tantamount to bigamy.” He remained unnervingly calm. “The child was an accident. But now that he’s here, I can’t let a Vaughn heir be cast out on the street. You’re overthinking this, Claire.” That’s when the dam inside me broke. All the composure I’d built crumbled into dust. “You told me you never wanted children!” I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of the man I once knew. “You said you hated them!” Finally, his composure cracked. He violently kicked a chair out of his way, stormed over, and grabbed my wrist. “Claire, have you made enough of a scene? We can talk about this at home! I have a perfectly reasonable explanation!” A reasonable explanation? While I was on a three-year assignment for our future, he, my husband, had taken a new wife. The man who swore he was child-free now had a plump, healthy son with a woman named Monica. I couldn’t begin to imagine what twisted logic he considered “reasonable.” The air between us crackled with ice. Suddenly, Monica stood up, inserting herself between us. “Richard, are you giving up on custody?” she asked, her voice a carefully crafted mix of challenge and vulnerability. “Fine. Then I’ll petition for sole, permanent custody. I don’t need a dime from you. I’ll find him a real, responsible father.” In the next instant, Richard’s grip on my wrist vanished. He was gone. The woman, Monica, held their baby, her gaze locked on Richard’s retreating back. It was only then that I truly saw her. She was draped in a diamond-studded couture gown, the very image of the high-society wife Richard had always said he wanted. Then I looked at myself. My severe, practical business suits. In his words, I didn’t have the first clue how to be a proper wife and mother. My chest felt like it had caved in. In eight years of marriage, Richard had never once given me the chance to be a mother. It started with layers of precautions and ended with him moving into a separate bedroom. I had told myself I could live with his choice, that our eight years together meant something. But the welcome-home gift after three years of grueling work in London wasn’t a party or a kiss—it was the sight of him holding the child I had always longed for. In front of a packed courtroom, Richard abandoned me again, chasing after Monica, terrified she might actually find a new father for his son. The Vaughn family was practically royalty in New York; an illegitimate child would be a scandal, but one they could easily weather. The court did not grant the divorce. I remembered my brother, Julian, a captain in the Chicago PD. Years ago, he had pressed the barrel of his service weapon to Richard’s temple. “You can marry my sister,” he’d said, his voice deadly calm. “But if you ever betray her, don’t think for a second I won’t find you.” Richard’s vows echoed in my memory, a ghostly reminder of a bridegroom who no longer existed. I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother in Chicago. “If the court won’t grant me a divorce,” I said, my voice cold as steel, “then let’s have it grant him a prison sentence.” I walked into the home I hadn’t seen in three years, ready to pack my bags and leave this life behind. I didn’t know when Richard had returned, but he met me in the foyer. The first thing I felt was a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “You took this case on purpose, didn’t you?” he snarled. “To humiliate Monica in front of everyone. Did that make you feel good, Claire? Did it make you feel powerful?” I clenched my fists, the nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t speak. Three years apart, and our reunion was this ugly, violent confrontation. Suddenly, it all felt so pointless. “Why did you refuse the divorce in court?” I asked, my voice flat. “I gave you an out.” A flicker of something—was it panic?—crossed his eyes. He ground his teeth. “What the hell is your problem, Claire? It’s just a child! Your own father had a child on the side, didn’t he? He abandoned you and your brother. Your mother put up with it, didn’t she?” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “Why can’t you?” His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, the pain sharp and immediate. I stared at him, my eyes burning, the world shrinking to just his furious face. He knew. He knew my father’s affair and my mother’s subsequent death was the deepest wound of my life, a scar I never showed anyone. And he had just plunged a knife right into it. Seeing my silence, he grew more agitated. “It’s always cases, assignments in other countries, spouting legal jargon! For all these years, you’ve worn nothing but these soulless, black suits!” He paused, his lip curling in a sneer. “No man wants a hard-ass like you, Claire.” Then came the final, killing blow. “That’s why I said I was child-free,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Because the thought of being with you… it does nothing for me.” It was like a sledgehammer to the chest, shattering my ribs, my heart, my very soul. The shrill ring of a phone cut through my agony. Richard answered. I could hear Monica’s weak, panicked voice on the other end. “It was your wife, wasn’t it? She cut my brakes! If you didn’t want this baby, you could have just said so!” The line went dead. Richard’s face twisted into a mask of pure fury. He looked possessed. “Claire! What did you do to them? Did you touch them?” I was done with this man, this life. What more could I possibly do? Before I could answer, he was dragging me by the wrist, shoving me into his car. He deliberately prevented me from buckling my seatbelt, then peeled out onto the street, driving like a madman. We swerved through traffic, the tires screaming, until he deliberately smashed through a guardrail. I lunged for the steering wheel, but he threw me back against the passenger-side window with brutal force. “You have the guts to cut Monica’s brakes, but not enough to enjoy a little thrill ride?” he yelled over the engine’s roar. “If anything happens to them, Claire, I swear, this will be the last thing you ever experience!” Blood from a cut on my forehead streamed down my face, blurring my vision. He dragged me from the wrecked car and into the sterile brightness of a hospital, shoving me into a private room where, to my horror, his parents were already waiting. The moment they saw me, they looked at me as if I were a monster. His mother pointed a trembling finger at my nose, her voice laced with hatred. “Claire, I’m the one who begged them to have that child! If you have a problem, you take it up with me!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Your body was useless for eight years, not a single sign of life! Monica gave this family a child in your place! You should be on your knees thanking her, not trying to kill her!” My heart thudded painfully. So, it was true. Monica wasn’t just his mistress; she was sanctioned by the Vaughn family. Not just Richard, but his parents, too, saw her as the real Mrs. Vaughn. No wonder she could parade around New York with that title, and no one dared to correct her. A wave of suffocating grief and injustice washed over me. A doctor entered, looking awkward after his examination. “Ms. Monica just has a sprained ankle. The baby is completely fine.” But Richard didn’t care. He had them moved to the most expensive suite in the hospital, with a dozen specialists on call. “What if there are internal injuries?” he raged, turning his glare on me. “If something had happened to that baby, you would have been happy, wouldn’t you!” His mother quickly covered his mouth. “Don’t say such unlucky things! This is our precious grandson.” Then, she turned back to me. “What are you standing there for? Apologize to Monica. Now.” His parents had always looked down on my family, my career. They said I was too visible, too aggressive, that I lacked the quiet dignity of a high-society wife. I gritted my teeth, my gaze sweeping over their hostile faces. “I didn’t do it. You can’t convict me on her word alone. You need evidence.” The words were barely out of my mouth when another slap cracked across my face. It was Richard, his chest heaving with rage. “Evidence? Evidence! Do you have any idea how fast I could have you disbarred? I’ll sue you into oblivion, and you’ll never practice law again!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Eight years of marriage, erased by one woman and her child. As I looked at his enraged face, I was about to give in, to say whatever they wanted to hear, when my eyes caught something around the baby’s neck. A small, familiar chain. My heart seized. I looked at Richard, my voice a disbelieving whisper. “That’s my mother’s locket. You knew it was the only thing I have left of her. You stole it and gave it to him?” He stood there, hands in his pockets, without a trace of remorse. “It’s the only useful thing your mother ever left you,” he said coldly. “She failed to raise a decent daughter, but at least her trinket can protect the Vaughn family heir.” A roar filled my ears. I lost control. I lunged forward, a desperate, primal need to get it back consuming me. His parents shielded the baby. Monica clutched him, her face a mask of tear-streaked victimhood. “Please, just leave my baby alone!” she cried, ripping the locket from the infant’s neck. “Here, take it back!” A glint of silver flew through the air. It hit the marble floor with a sharp crack and split in two. My world stopped. My vision narrowed, my breath hitched. Everything went silent. A heavy shove sent me stumbling backward. “Don’t push it, Claire!” Richard yelled. He glanced at the broken pieces on the floor, his voice dismissive. “It’s a worthless piece of jewelry. Is it really worth all this drama?” Pushing it? Not worth it? I stared at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears, and a wild, broken laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Then agree to the divorce, Richard! Or who knows what I’ll be capable of next!” He froze, speechless. I never imagined that one angry, desperate threat would plunge me into a nightmare far worse than I could have ever conceived. Richard had the broken locket swept up and thrown out with the trash. That night, a torrential rain hammered the city. I was on my knees in a reeking landfill, digging through filth and garbage, searching for the pieces of my mother. My tears mixed with the rain as I screamed my anguish at the storm-blackened sky. “Mom,” I sobbed, “I finally understand the pain you went through.” My fingers were raw and bleeding, caked with mud, when the world finally went black. I collapsed amidst the ruins of other people’s lives. I woke to a splash of icy water. Richard’s face, dark and menacing, loomed over me. “Claire,” he seethed, “I really underestimated you.” “You threatened me yesterday, and today you acted on it. Where is the child? Tell me where you hid him!” He stared at me as if he wanted to rip open my chest and see the blackness of my heart. I curled my bleeding fingers into fists, pushing myself up from the cold floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The next thing I knew, one of his bodyguards kicked the back of my knees, and I crashed to the ground. Monica rushed forward, her face a performance of despair. “Claire, please, I’m begging you, just give me my baby back. I’ll disappear, I swear. I’ll never go near Richard again!” Looking at her phony, tear-streaked face filled me with nausea. I couldn’t stop myself. I spat at her, my voice raw with fury. “You hid him yourself! You’re framing me, you understand that? This is a crime!” Richard’s hand struck me again, harder this time. He shoved his phone in my face. A grainy security video played, showing a woman with my build, wearing my coat, carrying a baby away. “Still lying? That’s you on camera. What else do you have to say?” His face was a mask of pure disappointment. “I never thought you were this venomous. To harm a helpless infant…” “That’s not me!” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat. “That’s Monica! She set me up!” My mother-in-law, who had just arrived, rushed at me, pushing me hard. “You can’t stand Monica, can you? Today you kidnap her son, tomorrow you’ll kidnap her, and the day after that you’ll be coming for me!” Richard’s face went completely cold. Before I could say another word, he ordered his men to haul me to my feet. They tied my wrists to a pipe overhead. He picked up a thick leather belt, snapping it in the air with a menacing crack. “Let’s see how long you can keep your mouth shut, Claire.” One. Two. Three. The blows landed on my back and chest, each one a line of fire searing my skin. I could feel the flesh splitting open. By the tenth strike, Richard suddenly stopped. He handed the belt to a bodyguard. “Question her properly,” he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m going to look for the baby myself. God knows what this lunatic is capable of.” His back, as he walked away without a second glance, blurred and disappeared from my vision. As Monica followed him, she turned, and in the one spot he couldn’t see, she gave me a triumphant little smirk. My wrists burned from the ropes. Tears streamed down my face. Richard had never trusted me. Not once. Crack. The sound pulled me back. The bodyguard had dipped the belt in cold water, and the next lash felt like being branded with ice and fire at the same time. “Talk! Where did you hide the young master?” Each strike exploded against my skin before the pain from the last one had even begun to fade. “Please… stop…” I gasped. “This is… illegal…” They laughed, the strikes growing more vicious. My agonized screams echoed through the empty warehouse. By the ninety-ninth lash, I had nothing left. I hung like a broken doll, a mass of torn flesh, no longer able to struggle. As my consciousness faded into a merciful gray fog, a man’s furious roar ripped through the air. “ENOUGH!” Through a haze of pain, I looked up and saw Richard, stumbling, running towards me. But just before he could reach me, the doors burst open. The room was flooded with police officers in Chicago PD uniforms. They swarmed him, surrounding him completely. The captain at the front, my brother, slapped a warrant against Richard’s chest. “Richard Vaughn,” Julian snarled, his voice shaking with rage. “Bigamy and aggravated assault. Who the hell gave you the balls?”

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On my son’s fifth birthday, I discovered the texts between my husband Fred and his best friend’s widow. [Fred, the baby misses his daddy. When are you coming?] [Tom liked a matching family outfit. I ordered it for us to wear this weekend.] [Tom starts school tomorrow. I put you down as the father. Okay?] Fred’s replies were just as warm. [Sophia’s asleep. On my way.] [My size is 3XL.] [Of course. You two are my responsibility now.] Stunned, I called Fred from our son’s party to confront him. He didn’t deny it, just held me tightly. “Claire is my best friend’s widow. I promised to take care of them.” “I crossed a line, but it won’t happen again.” After ten years together, it felt absurd to end it over texts. I chose to believe him, and we returned to the party. Then his phone buzzed. Another message from the widow: [Fred, the baby is crying for you. I can’t calm him down.] A chair screeched. Without a word, Fred stood and walked out. I looked at my son’s pale, shocked face, and my expression hardened. Suddenly, divorce didn’t seem so absurd after all. 1 I hung up the phone with the divorce lawyer and glanced at my phone. It was two in the morning. Eight hours had passed since Fred had vanished from our son’s birthday party. Five hours had passed since the other woman had posted a picture of Fred putting her child to sleep. My son was asleep. The birthday cake on the table had melted, a sticky river of cream dripping onto the floor. It was disgusting, just like Fred’s promises. He still wasn’t home. Thinking of my son, who had been asking for his daddy even in his sleep, I sighed and closed the chat with the lawyer, getting ready for bed. The sound of a car pulled up outside. Someone hurried out, ran up the stairs, and knocked on my son’s door. “Noah? Are you asleep? Daddy’s home. Let’s finish celebrating your birthday, okay?” Fred, finally home, leaned against the doorframe, knocking gently, his voice a soft coo. This used to be just another unremarkable moment in our happy family life. But now, all I could think of was Claire’s social media post. [The baby was crying for his daddy, and what a good daddy he is, dropping everything to come right over. So touched.] Was he this gentle when he was comforting Claire’s child? I didn’t know. All I knew was that if this continued, Noah would wake up. After a few moments of silence, I opened the study door. “Stop knocking. He’s asleep.” A flicker of surprise crossed Fred’s face. “Asleep? But he told me he wouldn’t go to sleep unless I was here to celebrate with him.” “Honey, you didn’t teach him to be jealous too, did you?” He laughed, completely unconcerned, his eyes filled with a patronizing understanding. “Honey, you don’t need to overthink it. There’s nothing going on between Claire and me. It’s just for the child’s sake. He’s so young, and losing his father is hard…” “But our son is only five years old,” I cut him off coldly, looking at him as if he were a stranger. After eight years of marriage, how was I only now realizing that there was something seriously wrong with Fred’s eyes and his brain? Claire’s child was young, so he could cry and scream for a father figure. Our son had just turned five today. He was a few months younger. So, when Fred had pushed back his chair and run out, had he for a single second remembered that it was his own son’s birthday? When he was lying in Claire’s bed, gently reading a story to that other child, did he spare a single thought for the wife and child he had abandoned? Did he ever worry that our Noah might be crying too, wanting his daddy to be there to blow out his candles? But it didn’t matter anymore. We were getting a divorce anyway. I walked past him into Noah’s room and turned to close the door. Fred blocked it with his hand, his expression conflicted. “Honey, I know I was wrong. I swear it will never happen again. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” “I promise, this is the last time!” I smiled and reminded him, “Nine hours ago, you also told me it was the last time.” The air went still. So quiet you could almost hear our heartbeats. For the first time, a visible flicker of panic crossed Fred’s face. “Honey, you know Mark and I grew up together. As his brother, I just can’t…” He sighed, his gaze firming with resolve. “Honey, give me three more chances.” “After three chances, I promise I’ll sort things out with Claire and her son, and I’ll be there for you and Noah.” “Just trust me one more time, please?” A rustling sound came from the bed. I heard my son’s soft, choked sobs. He must have been awake for a while. The refusal died on my lips. I looked at my son, his eyes red as he pretended to be asleep, and silently agreed. Let’s just call it three more chances for my son to say goodbye. After three chances, there would be no place for Fred in this marriage, in this home. 2 The next morning, I overslept. Fred, instead of rushing off to work as usual, had made a huge breakfast for me and Noah. It had been a long time since we’d had a meal cooked by him. Three years ago, he used to wake up early every day to make breakfast for us, worried we weren’t eating enough. That habit disappeared after Claire became a widow. He started leaving earlier and earlier, and breakfast became more and more perfunctory. From handmade noodles to takeout from the corner store, to the freezer now overflowing with frozen food. The first time I threw a still-frozen bun into the trash, I told myself, “It’s no big deal. It’s just breakfast. What does it matter?” But now I realized it was all these “no big deal” things that had pushed Fred further and further away from this family. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts, and took Noah’s hand to head to school. Fred, stunned, grabbed a carton of milk and some eggs from the table, blocking our path. “You haven’t had breakfast yet! I got up at five to make this.” “Just eat a little before you go.” “Daddy, I haven’t eaten eggs since I was two,” Noah said quietly, his lip trembling with sadness. When he was two, Noah had choked on an egg yolk. It wasn’t serious, but it had left him with a lasting fear. The man froze, as if just remembering. He then tried to placate Noah, pushing the carton of milk into his hands. “Then drink some milk. I warmed it up for you.” “The doctor said I have a weak stomach and can’t drink milk,” my son said, looking up, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Daddy, you’re the one who told me all this.” Fred was stunned, looking to me for help, but I avoided his gaze. Noah was right. These were the little things Fred used to care about most. He used to say, “Honey, you and the kids just have to enjoy being taken care of by me. Don’t worry about anything else.” And “For my son, I have to be the perfect dad.” But now, he had even forgotten that his own son didn’t eat eggs. Fred seemed to feel a pang of guilt. He grabbed his keys from the table. “Alright, no breakfast then. Noah, Daddy will take you to school.” I did a quick mental calculation. It had been three months since either of us had been in his car. I opened the door and instinctively put Noah in his car seat. As I reached for the seatbelt, Fred suddenly grabbed Noah’s arm and yanked him out. Noah stumbled and fell right out of the car, hitting his head hard. A large gash opened on his forehead, and blood started to pour out. I stared at him in shock. “What are you doing?!” Fred hadn’t expected that to happen either. A flash of concern crossed his face, but there was no regret. “This is Tom’s special seat. He doesn’t like other people touching his things.” “Noah, Daddy didn’t mean it. You’re such a good boy, you understand, right?” My eyes burned with rage. I raised my hand to slap him, but Noah, sniffling, grabbed my hand. “Mommy, it’s okay. Don’t fight with Daddy.” “I’m a good boy. I don’t want Tom’s things.” He tried to sound brave, but his eyes were red. It had been the same last week. Fred had bought Noah a new toy. Claire had posted on social media that Tom wanted one too. So Fred had gone behind my back, convinced Noah to give up the toy, and delivered it to Claire’s house that same night. I had only found out about it yesterday. And what about the things I didn’t know? How many more were there? Looking at my son’s pale, weak face, I knew I couldn’t delay. I scooped him up and urged Fred, “What are you waiting for? Let’s go to the hospital!” The driver’s door opened. The man hurriedly buckled his seatbelt. Just as he was about to start the car, his phone rang. “I’ve got a great daddy, a great daddy…” On the other end, a little boy was sobbing hysterically. [Daddy, why aren’t you here to take me to school yet? Tom is going to be late!] [Daddy, you promised you would take Tom to school every day from now on! You broke your promise!] Claire’s helpless, gentle voice came through the car’s speakers. [Fred, Tom knows you didn’t stay with him last night, and he’s been throwing a tantrum all morning. I don’t know what to do.] [Can you please come over now?] Without a moment’s hesitation, Fred agreed and then kicked us out of the car. “Honey, you heard. I have to go calm Tom down. You and Noah can just take a cab.” And with that, the black Maybach sped away. I held my son, staring blankly at the disappearing exhaust fumes, and finally let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Noah, you see? That was the first time.”

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The paparazzi snapped the picture right after my fender bender. My husband, Julian Vance, didn’t even flinch. He just leaned one arm casually on the open window of his Porsche, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the photographer. “Got your scandal, huh? Make sure you send the invoice to my wife. She loves handling this kind of press.” Mention me, the current Mrs. Vance, and everyone in our circle sings the same tune. “She was a nobody before him. A Cinderella story. She’d never be stupid enough to leave.” No one seems to remember how Julian, looking down from his ivory tower, introduced me at every party when we first got married. “This is my wife, Sophie. She’s new to all this, so be nice.” Everyone assumed I’d do what I always did: write a check, make the problem disappear, and continue playing the part of the graceful, supportive wife in a picture-perfect high-society marriage. But this time, I just walked into his grandfather’s study. “It’s been three years,” I said, my voice steady. “You have to let me go now.” 1 There’s an unwritten rule among the vultures at Page Six and TMZ. If you’re having a slow month, just stake out Julian Vance, CEO of Sterling Industries. He’s guaranteed to have a new girl on his arm every few weeks, and he’s not exactly subtle about it. Easy money. A man like Julian having a bit of fun on the side? That’s just business as usual. But his wife? She has to maintain appearances, protect the family name. So, you get the dirt on the husband, you take it to the wife, and she pays top dollar to bury it. It’s a neat little ecosystem. This time, though, things played out a little differently. A rookie from some gossip blog, probably shaking in his boots, sent the video to Julian first. Julian, true to form, forwarded it straight to me. I was just getting home to our penthouse overlooking Central Park, the entire glittering expanse of Manhattan laid out below me like a carpet of diamonds. The voice on the phone was a nervous, nasally whine trying its best to sound like a hardened negotiator. “Mrs. Vance, two hundred grand. That’s a handbag for you, right? Two hundred grand to make this little embarrassment go away. It’s a bargain.” He continued, “Think it over. You have my number…” This kid was an amateur. His first mistake was following Julian. His second was knocking on the window of his car. Julian’s cars were notoriously hard to track; he had a garage full of them and swapped them out daily. But for some reason, the last few days, he’d been driving the same Aston Martin. In the video the kid sent, Julian rolls down the window. In the passenger seat is some model-of-the-moment, all legs and lip gloss. Last month, it was a B-list actress from L.A. Julian takes off his sunglasses, revealing that face that could charm a snake or sink a ship. He beckons the photographer closer with one finger. “Newbie?” he asks, his voice a low, lazy drawl. “Don’t you know how this works? You take the photos to my wife. You come to me, you get nothing.” He paused. “Don’t have her number?” He scribbled on a napkin from his glove compartment and tossed it at the kid. Then, he shot a look at the woman next to him and sighed, a sound of pure annoyance. “Get out.” She pouted, leaning in. “Julian, honey, I thought we had three days? It’s barely been a few hours…” Julian tossed a black card at her and hit the unlock button. “A few hours and you already got us papped. You want me to drag you out? Get lost.” I clicked off the video, my face a mask of calm. I sat down at the dining table as Maria, our housekeeper, laid out my dinner course by course. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed eight. 2 I glanced up at it. A gift from Julian seven years ago, hauled back from a trip to Paris. Now, its pendulum swung with a tired, weary rhythm. I was seventeen when I got my scholarship to Columbia. I met Julian when I was eighteen. Back then, aside from his killer looks, he was completely unassuming. He’d pretend to be lost in the city, asking me for directions, claiming he’d forgotten everything he learned in his economics classes and begging me to tutor him. It took about two weeks before someone pulled me aside and whispered, “You think he’s just some hot guy? That’s Julian Vance. His family practically owns half of Wall Street. His grandfather is a legend.” After that, Julian all but abandoned his own life, driving back and forth between Midtown and the Columbia campus every day. Those years were a blur of fighting and making up, of me constantly letting him in and shutting him out. Then, when I was twenty-five, after navigating a minefield of family objections and social landmines, I married him. Our wedding was the event of the season, splashed across Vogue and Town & Country. One small, trashy blog, trying to make a name for itself, ran a headline that was more clickbait than journalism, and deeply disrespectful. The morning after our wedding, Julian saw it, calmly placed his water glass on the newspaper, and went about his day. I found out later that it was the last issue that blog ever published. Remembering all the little things, I could get lost in the nostalgia and think, Wow, we really were in love, weren’t we? But how did we end up like this old clock, so broken down that even its ticking felt weak? The private elevator dinged, its display showing it had arrived on our floor. The doors slid open. Julian stood there, his suit jacket slung over his arm, the harsh overhead light doing nothing to soften the sharp, handsome lines of his face. I looked at him for a second, then went back to my dinner. A minute later, I heard his jacket hit the couch. Then, the scent of expensive cologne and the warmth of his body were right behind me. He leaned over, his hands on the table on either side of me, trapping me in a loose embrace. “Good evening, Mrs. Vance,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Let’s see what today’s scandal is worth.” My phone was on the table. He picked it up and swiped into my messages. “Two hundred thousand? The paparazzi have smaller appetites than your chef. Anyone would think my stock is falling.” I put down my fork, my back ramrod straight, keeping a careful distance between my body and his. I ignored his question and changed the subject. “I’m rejecting Isabella’s application for the Head of Marketing position. Her resume isn’t up to par.” As expected, the mention of her name made him straighten up. The cloying warmth vanished. He sat down across from me, his gaze drifting to the city lights. “Her career isn’t your concern.” His eyes snapped back to me, a glint in them. “Or is it,” he said, tapping his chin, “that you just don’t like her?” I met his gaze, searching for something, anything, of the man I used to know. It wasn’t there. The world saw a playboy with a revolving door of women. They didn’t know it was all a cover for one person: Isabella. He’d sent her to finish a degree in Switzerland two years ago, and now he wanted to parachute her into a top job at Sterling. It wasn’t personal; it was practical. Sterling’s hiring standards were ironclad. A degree from a top-ten university was the bare minimum. Isabella had a high school diploma and a resume that started with working retail at Bloomingdale’s. The Swiss school was a joke. There was no angle to justify it. “This is business,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not letting my personal feelings get involved.” He didn’t answer. A moment later, a voice message played from his phone, the volume turned up just a little too loud. It was sultry, a practiced purr. “Julian… I think I left my panties in your car… When can I come get them?” The sound echoed slightly in the quiet dining room. Julian looked straight at me as he lifted the phone to his lips. “Wrong number, honey,” he said, his voice dripping with false boredom. I stared at his cool, indifferent face, trying desperately to remember what it felt like when he loved me. 3 In the beginning, he used to at least pretend to be sorry. The first time he was caught, it was over a ridiculously expensive gift he’d sent Isabella, which inadvertently took a custom jewelry slot I had reserved. In our small, gossipy world, it was the equivalent of a signed confession. He’d rushed home, throwing his phone, wallet, and credit cards on the table like a peace offering. “She helped me with a small favor, that’s all. My assistant picked out the gift. I’m going to fire him.” He offered a flimsy explanation, and I chose to believe him. Why wouldn’t I? But then, somehow hearing that we’d had a massive fight, Isabella showed up at our building on a rainy day. She stood in the lobby, drenched and pathetic. “Mrs. Vance, please,” she’d cried to the doorman, knowing the message would get to me. “There’s nothing between Mr. Vance and me! You have to believe us!” It was so transparently manipulative it was almost funny. Anger can blind you. It blinded me to the flicker of pity—or maybe it was something more—in Julian’s eyes as he stood at our floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at her. When a man feels sorry for another woman, it’s the beginning of a romance for them, and the beginning of the end for you. But all of that was in the past. The worst was over. If I remembered correctly, today was November 27th. The three-year deadline I’d made with his grandfather was just days away. I looked at Julian, about to speak. But his phone rang. I could faintly hear Isabella’s voice on the other end. “The power’s out in my apartment… It’s so dark, and I’m scared.” “Stay put. I’m on my way,” Julian said, standing up. He glanced at me. I swallowed the words I was about to say. He didn’t wait for them. He just turned and walked out. After he left, I drove to the Vance family estate in Greenwich. It was a sprawling, old-money mansion, a mix of classic European architecture and cold, modern art. His mother, Eleanor, was on a chaise lounge, a maid massaging her shoulders. She opened her eyes, gave me a brief, dismissive look, and closed them again. I didn’t bother trying to engage. I went straight upstairs to the study. “Grandfather,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “The three years are up. I’d like to leave.” Two years ago, when I found out that Julian’s business trips were really just flights to and from Switzerland to visit Isabella, and that he was still flying back and forth while I was in the hospital after a miscarriage, my heart finally shattered for good. I went to his grandfather then, at a time when the family business was facing its own turmoil. He asked me to stay for three more years. To provide stability. He promised that if, after three years, Julian hadn’t changed, he would personally grant me my freedom. The old man rocked in his leather chair. He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I thought after three years, you’d have gotten used to it. Why do you still want to go?” When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “When you married into this family, Sophie, you should have known this was part of the deal. Look at Eleanor. She was wilder than you in her youth. But in the end, she held onto the title of Mrs. Vance, and none of his indiscretions, none of those other women, ever truly threatened her. The son she gave him is still the sole heir.” “Do you know why?” he asked. “Why?” “Because I chose her. As long as I back you, as long as I say you are Mrs. Vance, no one can take your place. Those little girls are not a threat.” He leaned forward. “Let’s not talk about feelings. Let’s talk about a transaction. You’ve been brilliant these past few years. You’ve managed the household, the charities, the company’s image… you’ve held it all together. It would be costly and time-consuming to train someone new. You leaving is a bad deal for us. You’re smart enough to know that.” If it was just a transaction, he was right. It was a damn good deal for me. I poured him some tea. “You know,” I said softly, “if it were only about the transaction, I wouldn’t be here right now.” I had considered it. Holding onto the title, the power, the security. Letting him have his fun while I ran the show from behind the scenes. But I didn’t marry Julian to become Mrs. Vance. I became Mrs. Vance because I married Julian. I remember pushing him away before, telling him he wasn’t free to marry who he wanted, so what was the point of dating me? He’d scowled. “Who says I’m not free? If I want to marry you, I’ll find a way. You, on the other hand, look away for one second and you’re ready to marry someone else. Do you think I’m useless?” I didn’t believe him. What way could he possibly find? He never brought it up again. He just quietly took over more and more of Sterling Industries, cementing his power. After graduation, I got a job at Sterling, starting from the bottom. During the day, I was just another intern. At night, Julian would give me private lessons, and I learned the business at lightning speed. By the time marriage came up again, he was in a position where no one dared to argue. But he still respected his grandfather. So, he came up with a plan to force the old man’s hand. “That damn kid,” the old man chuckled now, remembering. “Thought my mind was going. He hired some pretty-boy actor from a C-list agency, held his hand, and threatened to get a marriage license in Vegas. Thought he could shock me. I just played along, called his bluff. And now, just a few years later, he’s making a mess and you’re asking for a divorce.” His face grew serious. “I’ll say this once. If you leave this family, you will not be welcomed back. Be very sure this is what you want.” I lowered my head, the last seven years flashing before my eyes like a movie on fast-forward. “Leaving is something I’ve been waiting three years for.” He waved a tired hand. “Fine. Wrap up your affairs. Someone will be in touch.” When I came downstairs, Eleanor was still on the chaise. I walked to the door, then paused and turned back. “I won’t be here for your birthday this year, but I wish you good health, always.” Then I walked out. The living room was dim, and Eleanor was shrouded in shadows. She watched the silhouette of the woman walking briskly out the door, taking all the light with her. For a moment, she saw a ghost of her younger self, finally escaping. Lena, her aide, leaned in. “Ma’am. It’s late. You should rest.” The room felt darker. Eleanor looked away. “Let’s go.” 4 In the car, I remembered the “affairs” I needed to wrap up. I called the gossip blogger and told him to come pick up his check in the morning. I bought the video and every last photo. Another one of Julian’s messes, cleaned up by me. A few days later, I got a text from Julian. After Isabella’s return, he’d actually been a bit more discreet. Remembering my deal with his grandfather, I told my driver to take a detour and pick Julian up. The address was a private club. The door to the back room was open. A group of his friends were playing poker, and Isabella was among them. She had just won a big hand. The man across from her was fawning. “Bella, you’re on fire tonight! Cleaning us all out. Have a heart, you’re going to take the shirt off my back!” Isabella smiled, about to reply. Just then, Julian looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “The hell is wrong with you?” he snapped at his friend. “The real Mrs. Vance is standing right there. You blind? No wonder you can’t win a hand.” The man scrambled to his feet, stammering, “S-Sophie… Mrs. Vance…” Isabella’s face went pale. I knew immediately that Julian had set this up. He did things like this—parading his affairs in front of me, daring me to react, pushing me to leave—but then refusing to actually sign the papers. His logic was twisted but simple. “She’s young, she’s fun to have around, but you don’t marry a girl like that. The Mrs. Vance role is filled. You’re enough.” I scanned the room, left my driver with instructions to bring Julian home later, gave a polite nod, and turned to leave. Before I reached the door, Isabella blocked my path. The eighteen-year-old girl from two years ago was now twenty, poised and polished. She was breathing a little fast. “Mrs. Vance, I’m sorry. I never, ever meant to hurt your family. I tried to leave, to forget him, but I can’t.” Her voice was a soft whisper. “I can’t forget him. I love him so much. But please believe me, I never wanted to break up your home.” “It’s just… we met at the wrong time. If he had met me back then, I could have been Mrs. Vance…” “I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that. I just… I am sincerely sorry. If there’s a next life, I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” “But in this life,” she looked me in the eye, “I can’t give him back to you. I’m sorry.” I looked her up and down. Two years ago, she was wearing clothes from Forever 21. Now, she was dripping in quiet luxury, from a The Row cashmere sweater to a pair of shoes that cost more than her entire retail salary for three years. There are a lot of Cinderellas in this world. I used to be one. Now, she was auditioning for the part. I didn’t say a word. I wouldn’t dignify her with a response. You don’t try to awaken a conscience in a homewrecker with speeches about morality. If she understood the meaning of the word, she wouldn’t be so thrilled to be a rich man’s mistress. Her voice followed me as I walked away. “You should divorce him! Let him go!” Back in the room, everyone was exchanging nervous glances. Someone finally worked up the courage to look at Julian’s thunderous face. “Jules, man… aren’t you going after her? When a woman gets that angry, she starts talking divorce.” Julian stared at a picture on his phone—an image of the two-hundred-thousand-dollar check I had written. He was silent for a long time. Then he laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Divorce? Good. Finally some peace and quiet.”

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1 After eighteen years as a Watson, a boy showed up on our doorstep claiming to be the family’s true heir. He threw himself in front of the car, his fists clenched, his face a mask of raw resentment. Every word he spat was an accusation: I was the imposter, the one who had stolen the life that should have been his. After the DNA tests came back, my own brother, Liam—who had never looked at me with anything but disdain—latched onto him instantly. The two of them became a tag team of torment, united in their mission to make my life a living hell. In my last life, their scheming worked perfectly. Framed and disgraced, I was cast out of the Watson family by the fury of my own father. Even when I went to live with my supposed birth family, the Bells, their eyes followed me with a cold disgust, as if my very presence was a stain. To make matters worse, Draco Bell—the “real” heir—sent thugs to torment me again and again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ended that miserable existence with a final, desperate leap from the roof of a skyscraper. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that fateful day, with Draco blocking the car. Seeing the undisguised hatred burning in his eyes, I paused, then spoke slowly and clearly. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we all get a DNA test?” … “What the hell do you mean?” Draco’s face flushed with fury, his voice thick with accusation. “Are you calling me a liar? Or are you just refusing to admit that I’m the one who belongs in this family!” Beside me, Liam was lounging in his seat, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t even look up as he muttered, “What a drag. We come out for a drive and find out Ethan’s an imposter.” I just shrugged, turning my gaze to the man in the driver’s seat. “Father, a DNA test for everyone is the cleanest way forward. It’s better for all of us. After all, machines don’t lie.” My father was silent for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “Ethan’s right. You and this… Draco, will both be tested when we get to the hospital.” With his approval secured, I said nothing more. I just shifted closer to my mother, making room for Draco to get in the car. I knew the truth: Father was the one who really called the shots. No matter how shocked my mother was, no matter how much her heart might bleed for this sudden “long-lost son,” she would always defer to him. Draco scrambled up from the pavement, clutching the hem of his shirt, and pulled the car door open. His clothes were faded from countless washes and smudged with dust, the look of someone who’d been fighting for survival his whole life. My mother’s eyes flickered over his disheveled appearance, and she instinctively frowned, inching closer to the window. At the hospital, when it was time for the blood draw, Draco tried to play the part of a pitiable victim to win our mother’s sympathy. But he didn’t understand. The Watsons were a family of old money and immaculate reputation. My mother, raised in a world of privilege and refinement, had never encountered this kind of raw poverty up close. Before his identity was confirmed, all she felt was distaste, not pity. “Ethan Watson!” Draco hissed, glaring at me. Then he puffed out his chest, affecting an air of arrogance. “Just wait until those results come back. You’ll see what I do to you then.” I didn’t respond, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. I was betting everything on a single, wild chance—that I was also a true Watson, and that the child swapped at birth by Draco’s mother wasn’t me at all. In my past life, something had always felt wrong. After being sent to the Bells, I’d worked hard. I never complained about the rural squalor, even helping with farm chores and fixing their machinery. But nothing I did could change the way they looked at me. At first, I thought they resented me for being cast out of the Watson family, penniless and disgraced. But one night, the father, drunk and belligerent, screamed at me, “At least it was you who came back!” before his wife frantically clamped a hand over his mouth. That was when I knew something was terribly wrong. I tried to go back and investigate, but Draco had people who made sure I never left that backwater county. This time, even if I was wrong, I had to take the gamble. The hospital was one of Father’s investments, so the results were fast-tracked. What should have taken days was ready in less than an hour. Draco practically vibrated with anticipation. “Doctor, what does it say?” The doctor, holding the report, looked directly at my father. “Mr. Watson, the results confirm that Draco Bell is, indeed, your and Mrs. Watson’s biological son.” Draco shot me a look of pure triumph before his expression melted into one of theatrical anguish as he turned to my mother. “Dad… Mom… I finally found you.” Her cold facade softened. She reached out and patted his shoulder, her voice choked with emotion. “My dear boy. You’ve suffered so much.” Liam shoved me aside, rushing to Draco’s side. “So you’re my real brother! I knew it! I felt a connection the moment I saw you. Not like with Ethan.” My father’s face remained a stony mask, but I could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. I stood my ground, my voice steady as I addressed the doctor. “And the other report?” Draco’s head whipped around. “It’s already been proven I’m a Watson. His report doesn’t matter.” He started to move from my mother’s side to intercept, but the doctor was faster, placing both reports into my father’s hands. “This report,” the doctor announced, “shows that Mr. Ethan Watson is also your and Mrs. Watson’s biological son.” “What? Impossible! You must have made a mistake!” Draco’s face contorted into a snarl, his shriek echoing down the sterile hallway. My father scanned the papers, his brow furrowed. “What does this mean?” “Mr. Watson, the equipment you funded for this lab is state-of-the-art. There is no possibility of error,” the doctor stated firmly. “Both young men are your sons.” “Ethan Watson! Did you bribe the doctor?!” The pitiable act vanished completely. Draco lunged, his hands reaching for my collar. I feigned panic, looking to my father. “Father, I didn’t… You know I wouldn’t dare.” My father’s face hardened. “Stop this spectacle. You are not in a street brawl.” Chastened, Draco’s grip loosened. I took the opportunity to stumble back a step, making it look as though I’d nearly fallen. “Ethan has always been a good boy,” Father said, his voice a low warning. “He’s always been at the top of his class. He wouldn’t do something like this.” I lowered my head, smoothing the wrinkles on my collar. I knew my father’s obsession: the Watson family’s reputation. He would never tolerate a public scene. Draco, still not giving up, muttered, “Mom only had two children. If I’m the real son, and Ethan is too… does that mean Liam isn’t?” He had voiced the very thought simmering in my own mind. I seized the opening. “Perhaps we should test Liam as well.” “Are you insane, Ethan?” Liam finally exploded, jumping to his feet. “Just because you got lucky and turned out to be a real son, you’re going to point fingers at me? Draco is your age, not mine!” I met his furious gaze. “We’re only a year apart.” Liam scoffed. “Who would be stupid enough to swap a baby and get the age wrong?” But my father wasn’t listening to his excuses. A businessman never ignores a potential risk. He looked at the doctor and commanded, “Draw his blood.” Watching Liam, yelping and struggling as the doctor dragged him away for the test, I felt a dark, satisfying thrill. So, Liam, you finally get to see what it feels like. During the wait, Draco clung to our mother, playing the part of a sweet, docile son. I sat beside Father, maintaining my usual quiet composure. This time, Liam was the one pacing frantically, his agitated footsteps echoing down the hall and grating on everyone’s nerves. Finally, the doctor opened the door. “What’s the verdict?!” Liam shot forward, nearly snatching the report from the doctor’s hand before remembering years of etiquette training and forcing himself to maintain a shred of dignity. “Mr. Watson,” the doctor said, his gaze grave. “Mr. Liam Watson is not your and Mrs. Watson’s biological son.” The words hung in the air. All the color drained from Liam’s face. He staggered, nearly collapsing on the spot. My mother turned sheet-white, grabbing the back of a chair to keep from fainting. I quickly moved to her side, rubbing her back to help her breathe. Father stared at the report, then turned a glacial gaze on the doctor. “No one outside of this room is to know what happened here today. Do you understand? If a word of this gets out, you won’t have a job to come back to.” The doctor, sweating profusely, nodded vigorously. “Yes, Mr. Watson. Of course.” Back home, the silence was suffocating. Father dismissed the staff to their quarters, leaving the five of us sitting in the study, the air thick with an unbearable tension. It was Father who finally broke it. “Tomorrow, I’m holding a press conference. We’ll release the official reports and state that we had twins, and one was stolen at birth. Draco will be officially registered as a Watson.” It was the exact same plan as my last life. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but withered under Father’s icy glare. Liam didn’t dare protest. Even knowing he wasn’t blood, Father would still acknowledge him to save face. He had no leverage to argue. “Ethan and Liam have done well in school, and their graduation parties have already been held. The Watson name cannot be tarnished. Remember this: you will present a united front in public. No infighting.” We all nodded silently. As we were leaving, Father called me back. “Ethan, you’re the older brother. Draco is new to this life and will need time to adjust. Look after him. Teach him the family rules.” I nodded. “I understand, Father.” “And Liam,” he continued, his voice heavy. “He may not be your biological brother, but for years, we have groomed him to be the heir to Watson Corporation. The world knows him as such. You are to support him. Do you understand me?” I answered with deference, but my heart felt like a block of ice. Father had always favored Liam, anointing him the successor long ago. In my past life, when I was deemed the fake, he discarded me without a second thought. Now, knowing Liam is the imposter, he protects him without hesitation, all for the sake of reputation. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t disappoint my trust in you, Ethan.” The press conference caused a predictable uproar. Father had somehow managed to have Liam’s DNA report altered; the official announcement presented three reports showing that all three of us were his children. Any rumors that tried to surface were swiftly crushed. He would not tolerate anything that threatened the family or the corporation’s prestige. Draco Bell officially became Draco Watson. Though Father had publicly accepted Liam, the fear and humiliation of the discovery curdled into resentment directed at me. Sometimes I’d pass his room late at night and hear him muttering, “This is all Ethan’s fault. If he’d just accepted he was the fake, I’d still be the golden boy of the Watson family, not living in constant fear of being exposed.” Draco wasn’t any better. When I tried to teach him the etiquette of being a Watson, as Father had instructed, he refused to learn, instead just glaring at me with eyes full of hate. “We’re both his real sons, so why was I the one who got taken? If I’d grown up here, I wouldn’t need you to teach me any of this!” I never argued. I just made sure to leave the door open during these “lessons,” so the passing servants could hear every word of his bitter complaints. Soon, the whispers about him among the staff started to grow. Fueled by their shared animosity toward me, Draco and Liam formed an alliance. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. To make me miserable, they were willing to stomach their mutual dislike and work together. Their first move came quickly. I was just heading downstairs for breakfast when Draco blocked the top of the grand staircase. “Brother,” he began, dressed in an immaculate suit but wearing a wounded expression, “I know I’m slow, and I’ll never be as good as you. Please don’t be angry with me.” I didn’t want to get into it with him. I just nodded and tried to step around him. But before I could, he let out a piercing scream and threw himself down the stairs. By the time I processed what was happening, he was crumpled at the bottom, clutching his arm and crying out in pain. My parents rushed out at the sound of the commotion, only to see me standing calmly at the top of the stairs. “Ethan! How could you push Draco? He’s your brother!” Liam immediately jumped in, playing his part, painting me as the vicious older brother who couldn’t stand the competition. Father’s brow furrowed. He was about to order my punishment when I spoke first. “Father, there are security cameras in the hallway.” Liam froze. He’d forgotten. When he was a child, he’d nearly gotten lost playing hide-and-seek with the maids, and Father had installed cameras everywhere except the bedrooms. The color drained from Draco’s face. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “It was my fault. I fell. It had nothing to do with my brother.” Father played back the footage for everyone to see. It clearly showed that I hadn’t touched Draco; he had thrown himself. “Be more careful next time,” was all Father said. “Yes, Father,” Draco mumbled, his head bowed in shame. After that, their schemes became more frequent and more vicious. One day they’d be slandering me to my parents, the next they’d orchestrate some petty humiliation. It was a constant barrage of childish nonsense, and frankly, I was getting tired of it. I didn’t come back to this life to waste my time on their pathetic games. Finally, I reached my limit. Using the excuse of bringing him a bottle of wine, I walked into Draco’s room and locked the door behind me. “What—what do you want?” He scrambled backward like a cornered animal, grabbing a pillow to use as a shield. “I’m going to scream!” I sighed, setting the wine on his nightstand and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Draco, I know you hate me. It’s understandable. If I were the one who’d been taken, you wouldn’t have had to suffer for all those years.” A flicker of genuine pain crossed his face. He looked down, his voice raspy. “What are you trying to say?” I offered a soft smile and reached for his hand, my voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you ever stopped to think why the Bells would swap their child with a Watson? Wasn’t it so their own flesh and blood could live a life of luxury?” “So it doesn’t matter if it was you or me who was taken. All that mattered to them was that their child made it into the wealthy family.” Draco looked up, his eyes full of suspicion. “Even if you’re right, I can’t forgive you.” I squeezed his hand tighter. “You don’t have to forgive me. I just don’t want to see you get played for a fool. Did you know? Even though Liam isn’t a real Watson, Father still plans to give him the entire Watson Corporation.” Draco’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s impossible!” He almost shouted, then clamped a hand over his mouth. I pulled out my phone and played the audio I’d recorded. “This is what Father told me when he kept me back that day.” As he listened, Draco’s face grew darker and darker. “Father is a traditionalist,” I continued, pressing my advantage. “He’s obsessed with appearances. He’s already announced Liam as the heir, and he won’t go back on his word. I’ve been in this house for eighteen years; I know how he thinks. The biggest threat to you and me… is Liam.” “Without that outsider in the way, the Watson fortune will fall to us. And whether it’s you or me who gets it in the end, it’s better than it going to him, right?” A cruel light entered Draco’s eyes. He started muttering, “Yes… you’re right. You and I are better than that bastard Liam.” His voice grew manic, his expression wild. “I’m going to ruin him. I’m going to make sure he leaves this family in utter disgrace!” I’ve always believed the best way to destroy someone isn’t to do it yourself, but to let them walk into their own abyss. Draco, however, was too crude for such subtleties. His plans were laughably naive. If I wasn’t secretly paving the way for him, he’d never get what he wanted. It was a bitter irony that in my previous life, I was the one who fell for his childish traps. Seeing the raw ambition churning in his eyes, I added one more piece of advice. “A word of warning, though. Petty squabbles inside this house won’t accomplish anything.” I paused for effect. “Do you know how Father handles his business rivals?” Draco shook his head. “He destroys their reputations. He leaks their private scandals to the press, watches their stock plummet, and listens as the public tears them apart. And all the while, he sits back, pretending to be disappointed, earning the public’s trust.” I looked him straight in the eye. “It’s a dirty tactic. But it works.” A flicker of interest crossed his face, quickly followed by suspicion. “Are you planning to do that to me?” I shook my head, my expression turning sorrowful. “Father always favored Liam. Now that you’re back, he’ll favor you to make up for the eighteen years you lost. I’ve always been the one who mattered least.” Seeing the smug satisfaction on his face, I delivered the final line. “Honestly, all I want is for you to leave me a small place in this world after you take over Watson Corp. I know I could never compete with Liam. And I can’t compete with you, either.” Draco smiled, a genuine, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, brother. Once I have Father’s approval, I’ll take care of you.” Hearing his promise, I lowered my head to hide the cold, triumphant curve of my lips. Under the guise of “seeing the world,” Draco convinced Liam to start taking him out. When they came to me, asking me to cover for them with Father, I feigned hesitation before finally agreeing. “Just don’t get into any trouble. I’ll handle Father.” That was all it took to open Pandora’s box. They started going out more and more. Draco would secretly report to me that he only asked Liam to take him to fancy restaurants; the clubs, the gaming cafes—that was all Liam’s idea. Soon, Liam was going out even when Draco stayed home, always surrounded by a new crew of slick, sycophantic hangers-on—men I had secretly introduced him to. He even blew millions of Father’s money on donations to a female live-streamer. I pretended to know nothing. Draco didn’t stop him, occasionally even covering for him when he didn’t come home at night. When my mother asked, Draco would just say, “Liam knows his limits, Mom. He won’t do anything reckless. Don’t worry.” In less than three months, Liam’s eyes grew dull and glazed. He’d packed on so much weight that even Father barely recognized him.

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1 I was on my balcony hanging up a duvet to air out when a bucket of piss rained down on my head. Before I could even process what had happened, my upstairs neighbor started screaming. “Hey, new girl! Don’t you have any common decency? Your stupid duvet is blocking all the positive energy from my apartment!” “I have a delicate constitution!” she shrieked. “I have to do my morning tai chi in the sun to align my chakras! Blocking my light is like stealing my life force! You’re trying to kill me, you evil bitch!” Excuse me? She was on the sixth floor, and I was on the fifth. How was my duvet blocking her sun? Was Isaac Newton aware of this development in physics? Infuriated, I stormed into my kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife, but as I got to the door, she doused my welcome mat with what smelled suspiciously like acid. Then, at four in the morning, she started hammering on my door, demanding I let her in for an “inspection.” “What are you hiding in there?” she yelled through the door. “Are you sucking the life out of men in there? You tramp!” Just when I was about to lose my mind, I saw a post on a local community forum: 【My next-door neighbor is an actual demon! She hangs red lanterns outside her door, keeps a coffin in her living room, and tries to force-feed people ‘blessed’ water she makes with burnt paper.】 【Dear God, please, someone come and get this witch!】 A wicked smile spread across my face. I immediately sent a private message. A physical attacker versus a magical one? This was going to be fun. 2 The hammering on my door was deafening. It was a Saturday morning, and all I could think was, *Is she having a psychotic break?* I was soaked, and the acrid smell of urine was making my eyes water. My brand-new, five-hundred-dollar down comforter was ruined. Even if I washed it, I’d never be able to sleep under it again. And the screaming continued. “Hey, 502! Are you dead in there? If not, open this damn door!” “You’re a streetwalker, a filthy whore! You’re not just dirty yourself, you’re messing up the feng shui of the entire building!” “My husband’s stocks are tanking, and my son has no appetite! This is all your fault!” “If you want to suck out people’s life force, go live under someone else’s apartment! Stop trying to seduce my family!” She was just spewing vile, baseless accusations. How did I, a night-shift surgeon, suddenly become a prostitute? So I was supposed to work like a dog all night and then deal with this in the morning? I’ve been on the internet since the dawn of time. I don’t lose flame wars. I grabbed a kitchen knife, planning to give the old hag a good scare. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my next-door neighbor, a girl named Chloe. I’d only moved in a week ago after finishing renovations, and she was the only person I’d met. We were around the same age, both grinders at nearby companies, so we’d exchanged numbers. I didn’t have time for a chat. I declined the call and opened my screen door. My phone rang again. It was her. A second later, a text popped up. [OMG DUDE, DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR!!!] [I just saw that crazy old bat! She’s holding a bottle of something! I think it’s acid!] 3 Chloe’s text made me snatch my hand back from the door. Was this woman insane? I hung up a comforter, and she curses me out and tries to throw acid on me? I slammed the inner door shut and furiously typed back. [I don’t even know her! How is hanging a duvet a capital offense?] [And how could I possibly block her sun from the floor below? That makes no sense!] The “typing…” bubble on her end appeared and disappeared several times. A minute later, a sixty-second voice memo came through. I hit play. Chloe’s voice was practically a snarl. “You’re new, so you don’t know,” she said. “The woman upstairs, her name is Karen, with a capital K. She’s the legendary lunatic of this building. She’s obsessed with ‘wellness’ to the point of psychosis. She has meltdowns in the lobby all the time. Seriously, do not engage. If she screams at you, just ignore her. If she fixates on you, your life will be hell.” “Ugh, I can’t explain it all over text. I’m adding you to the group chat.” The next thing I knew, I was in a group called “What fresh hell is the hag brewing today?” There were over fifty people in it. Before I could even say hi, the group admin dropped a bunch of PDF files into the chat. Chloe tagged me: [@Clara you need to read these. I’d print them out and tape them to your wall. Read them every day so you don’t forget.] Confused, I opened one of the files. My eyes went wide. It was a meticulously compiled list of “rules” for living in the building, nearly a hundred of them. 1. *Do not hang anything on your balcony. Clothes, bedding, even cured meats are forbidden. Karen says it disrupts the energy flow to her apartment.* 2. *If you’re not home by 7 PM, get a hotel. Karen claims latecomers bring “damp, negative energy” into the building, and she has been known to attack doors with an axe.* 3. *If you have a partner, all… intimate activities… must be conducted during daylight hours. Otherwise, Karen will stand outside your door and perform a mourning ritual, wailing about the “deathly yin energy” you’re creating.* 4. *Park your car outside the complex. Karen believes cars are “metal coffins” and refuses to have them within a three-mile radius of her home.* And so on. I took a long, hot shower, threw my clothes in the trash, and scrolled through the rest of the insane list. [Seriously? There are fifty of you, and you just let her do this? Has no one called the cops?] I typed. Chloe replied instantly: [The cops know her by name. She has a documented history of mental illness. What can they do? It’s the world we live in. The crazy ones have all the power. She has nothing to lose, and we have our lives and jobs to protect. Just lie low, Clara. Eventually, she’ll find a new target.] What? My brand-new condo, my expensive comforter, my precious sleep. I was supposed to just take it? I deal with enough stress at work; I wasn’t going to tolerate an ounce of it in my personal life. I called the police. I refused to believe they couldn’t do anything. 4 The cops arrived in ten minutes. When I opened the door, I was met by two officers who looked utterly exhausted. Before I could speak, my upstairs neighbor came charging down the stairs. I finally got a good look at her. A severe buzz cut on a face twisted with rage, like the whole world owed her something. She pushed past the officers and lunged for my hair. “Officers, it’s this slut! She hung her duvet out and sucked up all the positive energy from my apartment! She’s trying to murder me!” I dodged her, almost laughing in disbelief. I called the cops, and she was the one filing a complaint? I addressed the officers directly. “She poured a bucket of urine on me from her balcony, ruining my five-hundred-dollar comforter. She’s been banging on my door and threatened me with acid. I have security camera footage.” The woman, Karen, just sneered. “Well, you stole my life force. What did you expect?” The officers sighed. I could tell from their weary expressions this wasn’t their first rodeo with 602. The younger cop tried to reason with her. “Ma’am, with all due respect, it’s physically impossible for her to block your sunlight from the floor below. That’s just basic science.” Karen snorted. “Don’t talk to me about science. We wellness practitioners deal with energy fields and feng shui! There’s only so much sunlight to go around. If she takes some, I get less! It’s simple logic! I can’t believe a police officer doesn’t understand that!” The older officer clearly had no patience for this. “Karen, we’re asking you nicely. Stop harassing your neighbor, or we’re taking you downtown.” That was her cue. She threw herself on the ground, ripped open the collar of her shirt, and started wailing. “Go ahead! Arrest me! I have a doctor’s note for my condition! I’m a respectable woman! I’ll sue you for assault!” She then proceeded to grab the officers’ legs and rub her chest against them. They recoiled in horror. I stood there, mouth agape, finally understanding why Chloe said calling the cops was useless. Karen shot me a venomous look. “I did my research on you! You’re a surgeon! Your hands are covered in blood and death! You come home from the morgue every night trailing ghosts and negative energy! You’ve completely corrupted the magnetic field of my home! My family is in danger! You owe me ten thousand dollars in damages! Pay up, or I’ll make your life a living hell!” In the end, the police did manage to haul her away. They made her pay me for the comforter and charged her with obstruction. I knew a little about the law; that meant she’d be held for at least a few days. Finally, some peace and quiet. I texted Chloe: [See? You just have to trust the system. If she starts up again, we’ll just call the cops.] Her reply was a single, crying emoji. [Clara, why didn’t you listen? You’re so, so screwed now.] 5 I dismissed her text as overly dramatic. I had dinner plans with a friend and didn’t think about it again until I got home around 10 PM. I stopped dead in my tracks. My front door was gone. Not just unlocked, but completely removed from its hinges. The entire doorframe was smashed, leaving a gaping hole where my entryway used to be. My living room was exposed to the entire hallway. My underwear was scattered on the sofa, my personal documents were strewn across the coffee table, and my collection of art figures had been thrown to the floor. “What… what happened to my door?” I rushed into the apartment to find Karen sprawled on my sofa, her dirty feet propped up on the armrest, spitting sunflower seed shells onto my rug. Seeing my expression, she grinned. “Not so tough now, are you, little girl?” She stood up, her belly protruding. “I’m pregnant. The cops aren’t going to touch a pregnant woman, are they?” she sneered. “And let me tell you something else. I have connections. I can get your door taken down today, and I can get you fired tomorrow. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of my way. Or maybe I’ll just ‘trip and fall’ outside your apartment and have a ‘miscarriage.’ How would that look for you at work?” Her husband sat silently on the other couch, staring at the floor. Her son, a carbon copy of his mother’s brutish features, was flipping through my channels like he owned the place. I knew I couldn’t fight a pack of rabid animals, especially not at this hour. I forced myself to apologize. Karen spat on my floor, and the three of them swaggered out, leaving me trembling with a mixture of rage and fear. I couldn’t believe that in a civilized society, there was no way to deal with someone like this. I understood the police were in a tough spot, but a pregnant woman? Chloe heard the commotion and pulled me into her apartment, handing me a warm mug of tea. “I told you,” she sighed. “You think I didn’t try calling the cops? I’m a content creator. I didn’t just call the cops, I posted a whole exposé on TikTok.” She sighed and rolled up her sleeve. A long, ugly scar, like a centipede, ran down her forearm. “This psycho gets ‘pregnant’ every year. She claims condoms are ‘unnatural and full of toxins,’ but somehow she always ‘miscarries’ and extorts money from someone in the building. She’s untouchable because her uncle is some big shot in construction, the kind with shady connections. We’re just normal people, Clara. We can’t win. My lease is up next month, and I’m out of here. Seriously, don’t try to fight her. It’s not worth it.” I looked at her, at the fear in her eyes, and realized that her constant warnings weren’t a sign of weakness, but the bravest act of kindness she could offer. A dog will bite you, but you can’t bite it back. Unless, of course, the other party is also a dog… An idea sparked. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my browser history until I found it: a post from a local forum titled, “How do you deal with a neighbor from the underworld?” The original poster had been ranting for weeks: [HELP ME. MY NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR IS LITERALLY A GHOUL.] [She’s some rich kid who’s obsessed with death. She cosplays as a corpse and spends her days asking people if she ‘looks dead yet.’ She terrifies people in the elevator late at night.] [She turned her apartment into a mausoleum. She has a real coffin in the living room and knocked a hole in her wall to install a shrine to Hades. It’s so creepy, I swear I can feel a cold draft coming from her place.] [Her decorating style is ‘demonic chic.’ Red lanterns in the hallway, green lighting inside. She chants spells and tries to get people to drink ‘blessed water’ she makes by burning sigils. She claims she has connections in the underworld and can ‘escort us to the other side’ whenever she wants.] [I’m losing my mind. Please, someone, come get this girl!] 6 I got in touch with the poster. The girl next door to him was a trust-fund kid, back from studying abroad where she got really into “Goth culture.” Now, she was obsessed with Chinese mythology, specifically the concept of *Diyu*, the eighteen levels of hell. She called it “Asiabyss” culture and insisted the entire building adopt her lifestyle. She was caught injecting her “blessed water” into neighbors’ milk deliveries and taping gruesome, bloody talismans to their doors. She demanded absolute darkness, keeping her AC at a frigid 60 degrees year-round. When a sliver of sunlight reflecting off a neighbor’s window hit her curtains, she showed up at their door with a scythe, screaming about being “burned by the light of the living.” To top it all off, she was only fifteen. A minor. Whenever anyone tried to reason with her, she’d threaten to murder them, claiming her “friends on the other side” would protect her. She also claimed to have severe depression, and everyone knew that with a minor who was also a mental health case, you couldn’t risk a confrontation. The more I heard, the more excited I got. As the saying goes, it takes a villain to catch a villain. Or, if there isn’t one, you create one. Karen was using her pregnancy as a shield. Let’s see how she’d handle a teenage death cultist. I contacted “Asiabyss Girl” directly. I told her I had a place for rent and sent her pictures of my smashed-in doorway. “The price is negotiable,” I wrote. “The main thing is, the feng shui in my place is incredibly negative. Very dark, very heavy energy.” I laid it on thick. “It’s a real problem. Most people are too scared to even step inside.” It was classic reverse psychology for a teenager. Sure enough, she replied instantly. [Others may be scared. I am not.] [The damage is… acceptable. The open-air concept will be perfect for raising my children.] *Raising her children?* Before I could ask, she sent another message. [I am bored of my current residence. They call this a luxury high-rise, but it is filled with conformist fools who are resistant to new culture. Pathetic mortals. Your building seems suitably decrepit. The residents are likely half-dead husks, much like the denizens of the underworld. It will suffice.] The sheer density of cringe left me speechless. She wasn’t wrong about the half-dead husks part, though. [Yes, yes,] I typed back. [All soul-crushed corporate drones here.] Then, a notification popped up. She’d transferred a huge sum of money to my account. [I am buying the property. Vacate the premises immediately. I must begin the renovations.] I accepted the deposit before she could change her mind. I drafted a contract so fast my fingers were a blur. I’d planned to rent, but selling was even better. She didn’t even negotiate the price; I ended up making a tidy profit. I told Chloe the news, advising her to move out as planned. But she looked more excited than I was. “Are you kidding? I’m not going anywhere! I’ve never seen two real-life anime villains in one place before! The content potential is off the charts! Clara, if my channel blows up because of this, I’m taking you out for the best dinner of your life!” Kids these days. I really don’t get them.

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This was the third time I’d sued my husband’s mistress. And this time, he was finally angry. He didn’t come home to plead with me to drop the lawsuit, not like the first two times. Instead, my phone buzzed with the full force of his fury. “Three years, Bianca. A new lawsuit every year. Don’t you think you’ve made your point?” His voice was a low growl, stripped of any warmth it once held for me. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. If it weren’t for you, for what we were, I have a million ways to make life hell for anyone who messes with Jaz. I’m warning you. This is the last time.” The implication was clear: his restraint was a gift. My last gift. Any more trouble, and that restraint would vanish. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Is that a threat, Ethan? Go on. Try and ruin me.” He wanted a quiet life with his little lover, a neat little happily-ever-after. I would give him a war instead. He hung up, the silence on the line as violent as his words. In turn, I called my lawyer and filed an injunction to freeze all our marital assets. 01 We were married for five years. For three of them, Ethan had treated me like a ghost. We met in college, the kind of couple everyone pointed to as proof that true love existed. We were the campus sweethearts, the ones destined to make it. It took us five years to get from that campus to the altar. It took him two years to cheat on me. She was his new assistant. Jasmine. I found them. Not in a motel, not in some sordid apartment, but in our home. He had her tucked under his arm, shielding her as if I were the threat. “Bianca, don’t blame her,” he said, his voice firm. “This is on me. I started it.” “Why?” The word was a shard of glass in my throat. Seven years of my life, undone by a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. “We were out with clients. Someone slipped something in my drink. If Jaz hadn’t been there… I could have lost everything.” His eyes softened as he looked down at her, a wave of tenderness washing over his face. “She’s just a kid, Bianca. An innocent girl. She’s with me now. I have to protect her. I can’t let her get hurt.” His words hit me like a physical blow. Ethan was a self-made man, his success built on a mountain of networking events and schmoozing dinners. I was there for all of it. To help him secure funding, I’d sat through countless dinners with lecherous investors, their hands lingering too long on my arm, their eyes crawling over my skin. I’d smiled through it all, for him. For us. An innocent girl. Can’t let her get hurt. Was that it? Was I no longer clean in his eyes? Was I tainted by the very world I’d helped him conquer? Was that his excuse to find solace in the arms of his wide-eyed assistant? Then what were all my sacrifices for? What was I? 02 Ethan didn’t show up for the deposition. But his mistress did. “Bianca. Name your price. What will it take to make this go away?” She was dressed head-to-toe in runway-fresh Dior, dripping in jewels that I knew for a fact were not family heirlooms. The timid girl I’d first seen clinging to my husband was gone. In her place stood a woman sculpted by Ethan’s money. He had polished her well over the last three years. “I want to speak with Ethan,” I said, my voice flat. A smug smile played on her lips. “Me being here is his statement. He’s sick of you, Bianca. He can’t even stand to look at you anymore.” Her eyes, cold and dismissive, swept over me. “This has always been about money, right?” She slid a document across the polished table. A divorce settlement. “Sign it. I talked to E, and he agreed to be generous. An extra ten million.” It was our money. Money I had helped him earn. Yet here she was, framing it as a handout, a gift she had magnanimously convinced him to bestow upon me. I met her gaze, my own eyes turning to ice. “I said, I’ll speak with Ethan.” “About what? The divorce?” She let out a light, tinkling laugh. “You’ve sued me for three years. And what have you gotten out of it? Nothing. In fact, every time you file a suit, Ethan feels so guilty about what I have to go through. He spoils me even more.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s bought me cars, condos… a portfolio. Honestly, I should be thanking you. These last three years have been very, very profitable. Two hundred million, all in my name.” Her gaze was pure condescension. “Why do you have to be so pathetic? Fifty million is more than fair. Don’t be that woman. Take the deal while I’m in a good mood. Sign the papers and walk away.” Her smile tightened. “Because if you don’t, I promise you, what he offers next will be far less.” He was giving his mistress assets worth hundreds of millions, and offering me fifty million to disappear. I clung to the last shred of my dignity. “I’m not signing anything. As long as I’m his wife, you’ll always be the other woman.” “You—” Jasmine’s face contorted with rage, and her hand flew towards my face. I caught her wrist, my grip like steel. “And as long as I am legally his wife, every single dollar he gave you is marital property. You think you’re going to keep that two hundred million? Enjoy it while it lasts.” “Bianca! Let her go.” Ethan. He stormed in, his face a thundercloud, and roughly wrenched my arm away, shoving me back. I stumbled, my knee cracking hard against the leg of a chair. A bolt of sharp, searing pain shot up my leg. He didn’t even glance at me. His attention was solely on Jasmine, his hands framing her face, his eyes frantic with a worry he never showed me anymore. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” The arrogant woman from moments before vanished. Jasmine buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent, theatrical sobs. Ethan’s gaze finally found me, and it was utterly devoid of warmth. “Bianca, what did I tell you? You want to fight, you fight with me. You don’t touch her. Haven’t you learned anything in the last three years?” 03 That was the incident that changed everything. For slapping his mistress, Ethan didn’t just fire me from the executive position I held at our company; he moved out of our home and into hers. I screamed. I cried. I pleaded. I fell apart. In response, he blocked my number, blocked my email, and vanished from my life completely. That was my “lesson.” The only way to see him, the only way to force him to face me, was to drag his new life into the harsh light of a courtroom. So I filed suit against Jasmine, for misappropriation of marital assets. It was the one thing he couldn’t ignore. He couldn’t stand the thought of her name being dragged through legal proceedings. So he would appear. He would finally see me. And each time, it was the same. He would demand to know when I was going to stop. He would warn me that next time, he wouldn’t be so lenient. He would slide a divorce settlement across the table, his only goal to make her an honest woman. I stared at him now, the pain in my knee a dull throb. “What other lessons do you have for me, Ethan? Bring them on. Do you really think there’s anything left for me to be afraid of?” His jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Jasmine, nestled in his arms, chose that moment to look up, her eyes shimmering with perfectly formed tears. “E, it’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have come to see her. I was just so worried about your reputation, about the company you worked so hard to build…” She pressed her cheek against his chest, her voice choked with emotion. “I don’t care about any of it. The cars, the condos, everything… I’ll give it all to her. If she’ll just leave you in peace, I’ll give up everything…” It was a masterful performance. “Bianca, it’s been three years,” Ethan said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Haven’t you had enough?” He looked at me, his eyes dark and clouded. “You’ve tortured us for three years. Isn’t it time to let go of your anger?” He had ignored me for three years. Frozen me out for three years. Flaunted his love for another woman for three years. Ground my dignity into dust for three years. And now he was accusing me of torturing him. 04 A laugh, sharp and brittle, broke from my lips. “Enough? It’s not nearly enough. You want peace, Ethan? You should have thought of that before you destroyed mine. I’m not done. I want everyone to know what you are: a man who betrays his vows. And I want everyone to know what she is: a homewrecker who knew exactly what she was doing.” “I am going to nail you both to the cross of public opinion.” Ethan’s expression was one of pure disdain. “Look at you, Bianca. Listen to yourself. You sound like some unhinged woman screaming on a street corner. What happened to you?” He shook his head, a cruel smirk on his face. “And for the record, Jaz is not a homewrecker. In love, Bianca, the one who isn’t loved is the other woman.” So that’s what I was to him now. The other woman. Tears welled, hot and furious, but I refused to let them fall. My hand shot out, grabbing the heavy ceramic coffee mug from the table. With a guttural cry, I hurled it at his head. “Ah—!” Jasmine shrieked. The dark brown liquid mixed with the bright red of his blood, dripping down his temple. Ethan stared at me, his eyes wide with shock. Three years. We had argued, we had iced each other out, we had lived in a state of cold war for three excruciating years. But this was the first time I had ever laid a hand on him. He wiped the blood from his brow with the back of his hand and, with a chilling calmness, slapped the divorce papers down on the table once more. “There. You’ve hit me, you’ve had your tantrum. You should feel better now. Sign the papers.” 05 Jasmine stepped toward me, her face a mask of patronizing pity. “Bianca, please… don’t do this to Ethan anymore. Do you really want me to get on my knees and beg you—” Before she could finish her sentence, I slapped her. Hard. The crack echoed in the silent room. “A mistress doesn’t get a speaking part in this conversation,” I spat. As I raised my hand for a second time, Ethan lunged, his fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice. He yanked me back, flinging me away from her. I lost my balance, my head slamming against the sharp corner of the conference table. A warm, wet sensation instantly flooded my hairline. But he wasn’t looking at me. “Did you forget my warning, Bianca?” His voice was dangerously low. “You forced my hand.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Get all of Bianca’s things out of the house. Now. Pack them in a box and leave it on the curb. And change the locks. She is not to set foot on that property again.” I pressed a hand to my bleeding forehead, staring at him in disbelief. “Ethan… you told me that was our forever home.” For a split second, seeing the blood, his brow furrowed. Just a flicker. Then it was gone. He turned his back on me, wrapping a protective arm around Jasmine. “You brought this on yourself, Bianca. I told you. Come after me, but you leave Jaz out of it.” He scooped her up into his arms. “This is the last time I’m going easy on you. You’d be wise to remember that.” His gaze softened as he looked down at the woman in his arms. “Jaz, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Let’s get you to a doctor.” A single slap, and she needed a doctor. I was bleeding freely from my head, and he saw right through me. Jasmine wrapped her arms around his neck, but her triumphant gaze was locked on me. “E, what about Bianca? She’s hurt, too. Shouldn’t you—” Ethan’s voice was like a blade. “She’s an irrelevant person. Not worth my time.” Ten years of love, erased. I was irrelevant. Not worth his time. 06 I drove home in a daze. Home. The housekeeper, a woman who had worked for us for years, blocked the doorway. “Ma’am, Mr. Scott said you’re not allowed inside anymore.” She pointed to a single, small cardboard box sitting on the porch steps. “He said you could take your personal clothing, but nothing else from the house.” That small box. Sitting there like a piece of trash. A low, hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. So this was it. This was the grand finale. This was the future I had chosen when I ignored every warning, burned every bridge, and threw my entire life behind one man. Tears finally blurred my vision. Ethan was a man of his word, after all. One slap was all it took. He was so cruel. He knew. He knew I had no other family to turn to. He had been my only family. This house was the only anchor I had left. Why was he doing this? What had I done to deserve this bottomless cruelty? I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen on the sidewalk. Eventually, a car pulled up, and Olivia got out. My best friend. In this entire city, she was the one person I still had. She took one look at my face, at the box, and her own face hardened. She practically forced me into the passenger seat of her car. “That son of a bitch,” she seethed. “Ethan is a goddamn monster.” She glanced at me, her eyes full of pain. “Bianca, why are you still holding on to this? You’re miserable, and you’re making him miserable.” I stared out the window at the blurry city lights. “He’s not miserable, Liv,” I rasped. “He’s got his perfect little doll to comfort him.” Olivia was silent for a long time. “He’s never gone this far before, no matter how bad your fights were. What happened today?” The tears started again, hot tracks down my cold cheeks. “I slapped her. His precious Jasmine. Just once.” Olivia slammed her fist on the steering wheel. “Bia, don’t you think you deserve better? Does it really have to be him?” I wiped my eyes, a hollow feeling echoing inside me. “It’s not about him anymore, Liv. It’s the sheer injustice of it all. The boy who promised me forever under the autumn leaves on the main quad… how did he become this… this cold, cruel stranger? I just want an answer. What does she have that I don’t?” Olivia’s voice was laced with a helpless frustration. “Bia, you’re a hundred times the woman she’ll ever be. Ethan is blind. He’s an idiot.” She paused, trying to find some logic. “Look, maybe this lawsuit just hit a nerve, maybe he lost a lot of money and he’s lashing out. He’ll cool down… maybe he’ll…” She trailed off, then tried again. “He can’t feel nothing for you. If he was truly indifferent, why would he let you torment him for three years without ever really fighting back? He never used his real power against you until now…” “Feelings? Indifferent?” My laugh was a broken, trembling thing. “He knows I cut off my family for him. He knows I have nowhere else to go. He promised me that house would always be my home… and today, he threw me out like garbage.” Olivia’s own eyes welled up. “All those years… from college kids to this… How did it ever come to this?” That’s right. How? I wanted an answer, too. 07 I spent days in a fog at Olivia’s apartment. Finally, she dragged me out of bed. “Where are we going?” I asked, my voice listless. “To get you some justice,” she replied. I instinctively recoiled. “Liv, please. This is between Ethan and me. Don’t get involved.” “I’ve invited a few of our old friends from college.” She took my cold hand in hers. “With us there, maybe Ethan will be reminded of the woman you are. The woman he fell in love with.” “This is a chance for you two to actually talk.” Her voice was soft, full of hope. “I don’t believe that two people who loved each other that fiercely can just… stop. There has to be something left.” I stood there, stunned. Three years. Over a thousand days. And in every single encounter, every single confrontation, he had said nothing. He would just watch me with those cold eyes, push the divorce papers toward me, and utter the same five brutal words in the same flat tone: “Just sign it, Bianca.” Could we really talk? Olivia’s desperate hope on my behalf made my nose sting. The private room she’d booked was at the same restaurant where Ethan had proposed. Standing outside the door, I felt a dizzying wave of vertigo, as if the past ten years were collapsing in on me. I could almost hear his voice from that night, thick with emotion: “Bianca, be my girlfriend. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.” Through the door, I could hear the muffled voices of our friends. “Ethan, has it really come to this? Is divorce the only option?” “Yeah, man. A woman on the side is one thing, but you don’t throw away a marriage like yours.” “You and Bianca have been through so much. Whatever it is, just work it out. Get it out of your system and go home.” Then, Ethan’s voice, calm and resolute. “This isn’t just a fling. I’m serious about her.” The room went quiet for a moment. Then someone else spoke. “I just don’t get it, Ethan. I’ve met your new girlfriend. She’s… fine. But in terms of looks, intelligence, capability… she’s not in the same league as Bianca. How can you be so obsessed with her?” Outside the door, my fingers curled into fists. Yes. That was the question. The question that had haunted me for three years. Where did I fall short? What made her so much better? “You’re right. Bianca is superior to Jaz in every way,” Ethan’s voice was unnervingly calm. “Then why…?” “That’s exactly why,” Ethan cut in. “She’s too superior. She’s independent, strong… she makes it seem like she doesn’t need anyone. From household chores to business negotiations, she handles everything perfectly.” His tone shifted, softening into something almost tender. “But Jaz is different. She’s… clumsy. She burns herself making instant ramen. She gets lost every time she leaves the house. She can never find her phone. If I’m not around, she’s a walking disaster—” He paused, and I could picture the fond smile on his face. “She needs me. And that feeling, being needed… it fills a space inside me I didn’t even know was empty.” I leaned against the cold wall, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. So that was it. I hadn’t lost to another woman. I had lost to my own damned competence. I had lost to every storm I had weathered on my own. All those late nights I stayed up with him while he was building his company from scratch. All those client dinners where I drank until my stomach burned to help him land a deal. All those days and nights I managed our lives, our home, our world, so he could focus on his dream without a single worry. Everything I thought was a testament to my love and support… was actually the reason he left. The irony was so thick it choked me. I had forged myself into a fortress to protect him, only for him to leave and become the guardian of a delicate, clinging vine. And in that moment, I finally understood. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. It was that I was too good. Too good for a man like him.

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A new teacher started at my daughter’s preschool, and the parent group chat was blowing up with praise. Ms. Albright was a miracle worker, they said. Their kids were suddenly behaving like little angels. Polite, obedient, even eating their vegetables. But that night, my daughter Lily curled up next to me and whispered a secret. “Mommy, they’re only being good ’cause they’re scared to die.” “Leo didn’t listen today. He snuck some potato chips during nap time, and they took him away and killed him.” Her voice was small but serious. “When he died, his mouth was full of chips, and his tummy was all puffed up like a balloon.” I felt a cold chill despite her little body being warm against mine. I quickly texted Jessica, Leo’s mom. We live in the same apartment complex. [Hey Jessica, just checking in. Is everything okay with Leo?] She replied almost instantly with a picture of Leo sitting at their dinner table, dutifully eating his broccoli. [What are you talking about, hon? He’s being such a good boy! Better than ever!] Relief washed over me, quickly followed by annoyance. My daughter was making up horrible stories. But as I went to scold her, Lily pointed a tiny finger at my phone screen. “Mommy, that’s not Leo. Isn’t he a lefty? Why is he using his right hand?” My heart skipped a beat. I zoomed in on the photo. Sure enough, the boy who looked exactly like Leo was skillfully using a fork with his right hand. We’d had a playdate just last week, and I vividly remembered Jessica complaining about how she couldn’t get Leo to stop using his left hand for everything. It drove her crazy, she’d said. And now, just a few days later, he’s switched? Completely? I turned to my daughter, my voice stern. “Lily, you have to tell Mommy the truth. Were you just making that up?” Lily’s big blue eyes welled up. “I really saw him die, Mommy. I’m not lying.” Hearing those words from my five-year-old sent a shiver down my spine. I knew my daughter. She had a wild imagination, but she wasn’t a liar. Not about something like this. If she was telling the truth… An idea surfaced. A child her age doesn’t fully grasp the concept of death. Maybe what she saw was something else. “Honey,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “You know the difference between being dead and just being asleep, right?” She nodded, her expression serious. “I’m not a baby, Mommy. My storybooks say what dead is. I know.” The unease in my gut tightened. “Okay. Then tell me exactly what you saw. How did you see them take Leo?” Lily tilted her head, remembering. “A man just showed up. He had a big cartoon mask on, one of those mascot heads.” “It was nap time, and I couldn’t sleep. I was peeking, and I saw Leo eating chips from his lunchbox. The man grabbed him before he could even finish a handful.” Fear crept onto her face as she continued. “Leo always calls me silly names, but I don’t really hate him. I was worried. So when Ms. Albright wasn’t looking, I snuck out to find him. I found him in the empty classroom down the hall… he was just lying on the floor. He wasn’t moving at all.” “Did you tell a teacher?” “Ms. Albright is new. I don’t know her that well. I was scared.” “Did you see Leo again later in class?” Her little face scrunched up in concentration. “I… I don’t remember. I was so scared, the rest of the day felt all fuzzy.” I pulled her into a tight hug. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re safe. But if anything like that ever happens again, you tell Mommy right away.” I poured her a glass of milk and put on her favorite cartoon, trying to get her mind off it. Just as she was settling down, our doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. It was Jessica, Leo’s mom. I opened the door, and she beamed at me, holding a tote bag. “My Leo is finally growing up!” she gushed, stepping inside. “I’ve never seen him eat his dinner so well! That new teacher is a godsend, I swear. She fixed his picky eating in one day!” I hesitated, then decided I had to say something. “Jessica, it’s great that he’s behaving, but… for it to happen so suddenly… are you sure he wasn’t scared into it? Or maybe bullied?” I told her what Lily had seen, framing it as my own theory. That maybe some staff member in a costume was using cruel methods to discipline the kids, and that Lily had witnessed a “punishment” and misinterpreted it as death. The most logical explanation was that there was a predator in that school, secretly terrorizing our children. Jessica’s cheerful expression vanished. The tote bag slipped from her hand, its contents thudding softly onto the floor. Without another word, she turned and rushed out the door, back toward her apartment. I figured she was going to talk to Leo and get to the bottom of it. Then we could confront the school together. A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was her. I barely said hello before she started screaming at me. “Are you serious? I can’t believe your daughter is such a pathological liar! Making up such a sick, twisted joke!” “I just asked Leo! He said he slept through the entire nap time! None of what your daughter said happened! She’s the one who needs help, not my son! You’re just jealous that Leo is finally behaving himself!” Her accusations left me speechless. I glanced at Lily, who was sitting quietly, completely absorbed in her cartoon. Could she really have made it all up? I sighed and spent the next five minutes apologizing profusely, trying to smooth things over with an inconsolable Jessica. My husband, Mark, got home late from work. After he’d showered and we were lying in bed, I told him everything. He burst out laughing. “Honey, you know Lily has an overactive imagination. You can’t take it so seriously.” He reasoned, “Kids her age can’t tell the difference between dreams and reality. She probably saw it all in a nap-time nightmare and woke up thinking it was real. Besides, there are security cameras everywhere in that preschool. Who would be stupid enough to grab a kid in the middle of the day? Stop scaring yourself.” His logic was sound. It made perfect sense. Lily loved her adventure stories; I’d bought her dozens of them. Maybe she just had a vivid, weird dream. Jessica had come by earlier to return one of those books. My anxiety finally eased. Mark hugged me. “It’s okay. I’ll drop Lily off tomorrow. I’ll have a little chat with her on the way.” The next morning, Mark texted me from the preschool. He said he’d run into Jessica at the gate, and they’d cleared the air. The kids were even holding hands walking into class. [Thanks, babe,] I texted back. [You’re my rock. I would’ve obsessed over this for days without you.] I cleaned up the apartment, and with some time to kill, decided to treat myself to a manicure. I was sitting in the salon, debating between two shades of red, when my phone started buzzing nonstop. A quick glance showed it was the parent group chat. In less than a minute, there were 99+ notifications. My blood ran cold. I opened the chat. It was a flood of messages, all centered around a frantic series of texts from Jessica. [My poor baby! He’s gone! He was such a good, obedient boy, how could he commit suicide? Somebody did this to him! Somebody killed my son!] I scrolled up frantically. During afternoon free-play, Leo had suddenly walked over to the classroom window, pushed it open, and jumped from the third floor. He was killed instantly. Leo was really dead. I thought of Lily’s words from yesterday, and my whole body started to shake. Was this a coincidence? Or was there really someone in that school, secretly preying on our children? Lily was telling the truth. My hands trembling, I sent a private message to Jessica. [Jessica, I am so, so sorry for your loss. Please, we have to find who did this. Remember what I told you yesterday? That man in the mask might be real!] A moment later, a new notification popped up in the group chat. It was a screenshot of my message to her. Jessica had posted it for everyone to see. Her follow-up message was pure venom. [The police are checking the security footage. And you know who the last person to talk to my son was? HER DAUGHTER. LILY.] [He talked to her for a few seconds, then walked straight to the window and jumped. And yesterday, her mother was feeding me some crazy story about how Lily saw my son die! This family is involved! I want the school to investigate them!] The chat exploded. Parents saw that my daughter had somehow “predicted” Leo’s death and the accusations started flying. I was panicking, trying to type a response. [No one wanted this to happen. My daughter is innocent. Please don’t spread malicious rumors about a child! We will cooperate fully with the police to prove our innocence!] I texted Mark what was happening and jumped in a cab, racing to the preschool. Because of the suspicious circumstances and Jessica’s insistence, the police were already there. They put us in an empty classroom to ask questions. Lily, as the last person to speak with Leo, was first. I sat with her. She clutched my sleeve. “Mommy, why do these men want to talk to me? I’m scared.” “It’s okay, baby,” I whispered, squeezing her hand. “They’re here to help. Just tell the truth.” She nodded and sat in the small chair across from two officers. “Lily, don’t be nervous,” one of them said gently. “We just have a few questions for you.” “Okay.” “The security camera shows you talking to Leo right before he went to the window. Can you tell us what you talked about?” Lily thought for a moment. “Nothing really… He said he was really hungry, that he didn’t get enough to eat. I remembered the chocolate bar Daddy put in my backpack this morning, so I asked him if he wanted it.” “He said yes at first, but then he shook his head and said no, he couldn’t eat it… I didn’t understand, so I didn’t say anything else. He just stood there, staring at nothing, whispering ‘can’t eat it, can’t eat it’… and then he jumped.” Her voice trembled. “Officer, is Leo really, really dead this time?” The other officer picked up on the keyword. “‘This time’? Why did you say ‘this time,’ Lily?” Lily glanced at me. With a nod of encouragement, she told them the story about the man in the cartoon mask all over again. The officers took it seriously. One of them immediately made a call to have the nap-room footage from the previous day reviewed. A few minutes later, he got a response. “Detective, footage from yesterday’s nap time is clear. No abnormalities. The boy, Leo, was in his cot the entire time. Never left.” Lily’s eyes widened. “But I saw him! The man with the cartoon head took him away!” “Officers, please,” I begged. “Could you check again? What if someone is targeting the children?” The detective turned to me, his expression patient. “Ma’am, we understand your concern. But the video evidence shows that what your daughter believes she saw did not happen. We spoke with Leo’s mother, and she mentioned your daughter has a strong interest in adventure storybooks. It’s possible some of the content is a bit too intense, causing her to blur fantasy and reality.” “We will continue to investigate the cause of Leo’s death. We may need to speak with you and your daughter again.” When the interview was over, Mark was waiting for us outside the room. He wrapped an arm around me and took Lily’s hand, guiding us through the hallway, which was now filled with whispering parents pointing fingers at us. Leo’s entire family was gathered at the school entrance, screaming for answers. When Jessica saw us, her head snapped up. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of pure hatred, fixed on my daughter. If the police weren’t holding her back, I have no doubt she would have lunged at us. I understood her pain, but my daughter was innocent. We hurried to our car and locked the doors, finally shutting out the noise and the hostility. Mark hit the gas, and we sped away. He gripped the steering wheel, shaking his head. “Jessica’s losing it. How could she think Lily would hurt anyone? I’ll tell you what this is—she pushed that kid too hard, he developed psychological issues, and he jumped.” “Mark,” I said sharply, nodding toward the back seat. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, kids are resilient. Lily, who had been so tense just moments before, was already calm, flipping through a picture book she’d left in the car. Seeing her safe eased some of the tension in my chest, but the knot of fear remained. I replayed the last two days in my mind. Lily’s vision of the mystery man. Her insistence that the boy in the photo wasn’t the real Leo. And then witnessing his suicide. There was a thread connecting it all, but my mind was too jumbled to see it clearly. Just then, Lily held up her book, pointing to a page. “Mommy,” she said brightly. “I know how you can die and come back to life.” I froze. Her small, clear voice continued. “You just have to fake it.” I took the book from her. It was a twisted, modern version of Snow White. In this story, the princess fakes her own death to test the prince’s love. But the Seven Dwarfs, not in on the plan, see what they believe is a real death. They tell the Evil Queen, who then finds the “dead” princess and makes sure the fake death becomes a real one. As I finished the last sentence, it was like a floodlight turned on in my mind. Suddenly, all the scattered threads snapped together into a single, horrifying tapestry. And just like that, I knew who the killer was.

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I came back to the past, and so did Aiden Mitchell. In my last life, he was the one who personally brought me home from the orphanage. I was his foster sister, then his wife. We grew old together, our love a deep and steady flame. This time, as the Mitchells smiled and waved for me to come home with them, just like before, a teenage Aiden suddenly stepped forward, blocking their view of me. “Dad, Mom, don’t pick her. I want the girl next to her to be my sister.” He grabbed the hand of the girl standing beside me—the Hawthorne’s foster daughter, the one who, in our past life, had died of illness before she even turned ten. When he turned back to look at me, his eyes were as cold and sharp as winter ice. “You stole Chloe’s place. You’re the reason she died so young. In this life, it’s your turn to suffer what she went through.” In that instant, I understood everything. This time, he wanted to be the hero. He wanted to save his fragile, little “princess.” “Would you be willing to come with me?” Mrs. Hawthorne stood before me, her voice a soft murmur. I looked past her, at the man I had spent decades with, now holding another girl’s hand, walking away without a single glance back. I gave a small nod. Fine by me. This time around, I wanted to try a different path anyway. 1 As I stepped out of the orphanage gates, the Mitchell family was still there, waiting. The moment Aiden saw me, his face tightened. He fumbled to push the girl into the back seat of their car, and before the door was even fully shut, he was yelling at me. “Elara Mitchell, you can get on your knees and cry all you want, but I will never accept you as my sister! There’s no place for you in the Mitchell family!” “A thief like you belongs in that house of horrors with the Hawthornes!” He punctuated his words with a harsh shove that sent me stumbling. The car door slammed shut with a deafening bang. I lost my footing, swaying for a moment before catching my balance. But by then, their cars had already roared off into the distance. The exhaust fumes churned up a cloud of grit and dust that swirled into my face, stinging my eyes until I couldn’t keep them open. Just then, a sleek, jet-black Maybach glided to a silent stop in front of me. The tinted window lowered, revealing Mrs. Hawthorne’s face, a mask of sculpted ice. “You want to go to the Mitchells?” I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. “The Hawthornes are just fine.” She paused, her gaze flicking over me. “What’s your name?” “Elara,” I said softly. “Not anymore,” she stated, her words clipped and final. “You are Elara Hawthorne.” She didn’t need to say more. I understood. I quickly opened the car door, slid inside, and said with perfect composure, “Yes, Mother.” A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—crossed Mrs. Hawthorne’s brow, but she said nothing, simply leaning back against the leather seat and closing her eyes. I took the cue and remained silent. The car purred through a lavish, gated community before stopping at the Hawthorne estate. I followed her inside, watching as she set down her purse. She glanced up the grand staircase, speaking as if to the air, or perhaps introducing someone I couldn’t see. “Charlotte, this is your new sister, Elara Hawthorne.” I froze, my gaze instinctively shooting upward. Leaning against the railing of the second-floor gallery was a boy. He was even more handsome than Aiden, his features so clean and defined they seemed almost unreal, yet imbued with a chilling remoteness. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, watching in complete silence. My stomach dropped. So this was Charlotte Hawthorne? He was nothing like I remembered… In my past life, he’d been sent abroad shortly after I was taken in by the Mitchells. I didn’t see him again for many years. By then, he was the head of the Hawthorne empire, his face a roadmap of scars, his presence terrifying. He was ruthless in business and frightening in appearance; behind his back, the elite circles called him “The Hawthorne Reaper.” I forced a smile and called out softly, “Hello, brother.” But it was as if he hadn’t heard me. He remained motionless, his eyes as cold and empty as still water. “Don’t mind him,” Mrs. Hawthorne said flatly. “He’s always been like that. Prefers his own company.” With that, she summoned a housekeeper and instructed her to show me to my room, then left without another word. I bowed my head, about to follow the housekeeper. But some strange impulse made me look back one last time. My eyes crashed into the boy’s. His gaze was black and heavy, like a bottomless well, utterly devoid of emotion. A shiver shot through me. I tried to muster another smile, but he looked away first, turning and disappearing back into his room. The door closed behind him without a sound. 2 A month had passed since I’d arrived at the Hawthorne estate. After that first day, I hadn’t seen Mrs. Hawthorne at all. Charlotte, on the other hand, I’d occasionally see at the dinner table. Every time, I’d greet him with a sweet, smiling, “Good evening, brother.” And every time, he’d ignore me completely, not even bothering to lift his gaze from his plate. I wasn’t angry, or even embarrassed. Frankly, I didn’t have the time to dwell on it. My days were scheduled down to the minute, so packed that even breathing felt like a luxury. Mrs. Hawthorne may have been absent, but her orders were not. My life became a whirlwind of lessons in deportment and posture, followed by dance, equestrianism, and every other aristocratic discipline she could think of. It was supposed to be summer break, a time for rest, but this was more exhausting than school had ever been. Even Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, looked at the constellation of bruises on my knees with a soft, pitying gaze. “Miss Elara, are you sure you don’t want to ask Mrs. Hawthorne for a day off?” I looked down, pulling on my riding boots, and gently shook my head. “There’s no need.” On my first day, Mrs. Hawthorne had made her expectations crystal clear. “No child of the Hawthorne family is allowed to be lazy. Even if you aren’t my blood, you will not bring shame to this name.” “Not like that girl at the Mitchells’, playing around all day.” Mrs. Gable sighed, handing me my satchel. “It’s true. I heard them making a racket this morning. The whole family booked tickets to fly abroad for the summer.” She was trying to stick up for me, in her own way. She thought a girl my age shouldn’t be cooped up, drilled with these endless, punishing lessons. I stood and took the bag with a smile. “It’s not a hardship, Mrs. Gable. I want to learn these things.” Outsiders might see the Hawthorne household as a cold, rigid prison. But I knew it was an opportunity. The Hawthornes were old money, with a foundation and network of connections so deep that new-money families like the Mitchells couldn’t hope to touch it, even after decades of trying. Here, I could learn. I could climb higher. Even if everyone in this house treated me with cold indifference, even if Mrs. Hawthorne was relentlessly strict, and Charlotte wouldn’t give me the time of day… Lost in thought, I felt something soft and white brush against my leg. A moment later, a frantic, girlish voice called out. “Oh, Snowy! Wrong person! Come back!” “Aiden! Help me catch her!” “You silly thing.” I bent down and scooped the small kitten into my arms, straightening up just as a boy walked toward me. His lips were curved into a smile, his eyes filled with adoration. I recognized him instantly. It was Aiden Mitchell. 3 The second Aiden saw me, the smile vanished from his face, replaced by a look of pure disgust. “What are you still doing here? Can’t you take a hint?” he snapped, his voice dripping with scorn. “Don’t think for a second that ambushing me here will change my mind. Dream on.” “Elara?!” Chloe’s voice, a mixture of surprise and delight, cut through the tension. She hurried over, her fluffy skirt bouncing, her eyes shining. “Wow, I can’t believe it! It’s so great to see you again after the orphanage! What a coincidence!” She took the kitten from my arms, then her eyes fell on the black sedan parked behind me. She asked, full of curiosity, “Is that car… here to pick you up?” Her gaze swept over the vehicle, and in an instant, her expression shifted, her face paling. “Oh my god! Don’t tell me you were actually adopted by the Hawthornes next door?” I was about to answer when my eyes caught something familiar—a key-shaped pendant hanging around her neck. The sight sent a jolt through my heart. Chloe noticed my gaze and instinctively clutched the pendant, hiding it in her fist. I feigned ignorance, simply nodding. “Yes, I’m living with the Hawthornes now.” “So, does that mean your name is Elara Hawthorne now?” I glanced at Aiden. He was standing there awkwardly, a flush of embarrassment on his face, clearly realizing his mistake. “I suppose so.” “The Hawthornes are scary, aren’t they?” she leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard their son has… issues. That he doesn’t talk. Is it true?” She gestured secretly toward the Hawthorne estate, her face a mask of gossipy intrigue, firing off questions. My brow furrowed, and I opened my mouth to correct her, but she was already chattering on. “Hey, that outfit you’re wearing… is that for riding and archery? You’re actually learning that stuff?” she asked, tilting her head as she looked me up and down. “I have to go,” I said, trying to step away. Aiden cut in, his voice cold. “Chloe, why are you wasting your time with someone like her? Let’s go.” Chloe chirped an agreement, then stuck her tongue out at me playfully. “Don’t mind him. My brother is usually super sweet, he’s probably just in a bad mood today…” “Aiden, wait for me!” she called, lifting her skirt to chase after him. I stood there for a moment before turning to leave as well. The wind carried their conversation back to me. “Aiden, the Hawthornes are so cruel! Elara’s the same age as me, but her schedule is packed. I saw bruises all over her arms; she must be working so hard.” “Hah. What’s the point of learning all that? A girl learning all that fancy nonsense is just asking for trouble.” “Our Chloe doesn’t have to suffer like that. All you have to do is be pretty. Be our little princess.” “Mhm! Mommy, Daddy, and Aiden love me the most!” Suffering? So that’s what they called it? A humorless smile touched my lips, but I said nothing. In my last life, the Mitchells had truly doted on me, providing me with the best of everything. But anytime I wanted to learn a real skill, they shut me down. I wanted to learn riding and archery. They were horrified. “What if you fall and scar your face! How will you ever get married!” After I was followed home one night, I wanted to take a self-defense class. They immediately refused. “A daughter of the Mitchell family, learning how to fight? How disgraceful! Aren’t our bodyguards enough?” Later, when I wanted to learn about business, to understand the ledgers, they shook their heads again. “Your brother is here to handle all that. Why would you worry your pretty little head about it?” They claimed to love me, but all they did was cultivate me into a delicate flower, ready to wilt at the first strong gust of wind. But Mrs. Hawthorne was different. She had said one thing to me that I still remembered: “In the Hawthorne family, no one relies on anyone else to survive. What can be learned, must be learned. What can be fought for, must be fought for.” 4 Summer vanished in a blur. Before I knew it, the first day of school had arrived. My new mother had already enrolled me in the same international academy Charlotte attended—the same one Aiden and I had gone to in our previous life. On the first day, I got into the car early. When Charlotte pulled the door open, I greeted him with a cheerful smile. “Morning, brother! Mom said we’ll be going to and from school together from now on.” Charlotte’s hand froze mid-air. Then, without a word, he sat down in the seat furthest from me. The next day, I did the same. And the day after that. And the one after that… This went on for nearly two months. I noticed that while Charlotte never responded to me, acting as if I were invisible, something had shifted. Sometimes, when I was running late for breakfast and rushed out into the courtyard, I’d find him waiting by the car, his backpack already slung over his shoulder. Suppressing my surprise, I’d just smile and say, “You’re a good guy, you know that, brother?” He would just give me his usual flat glance, turn, and get into the car without a word. But— This time, when he got in, he led with his right foot! A small smile tugged at my lips. Interesting. Things really were changing. One afternoon, I waited by the main school building long after the final bell, but Charlotte was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t answering his phone. As I paced anxiously, a sudden, sharp jolt of memory hit me. I remembered. In my past life, around this time, something major had happened right outside the school gates. I had been cramming for exams, desperate to catch up with the curriculum, so I only heard snippets of gossip. Whispers about someone from the Hawthorne family causing a scene. Talk of their kid getting into serious trouble. Years later, I overheard someone mention that the future head of the Hawthorne empire, Charlotte, had his face deliberately slashed during high school. Could it be… today? No! There was no time to think. I immediately texted our driver: If you don’t see me at the front gate, don’t wait. Come find me in the alley behind the school. Then I broke into a dead sprint, my feet pounding against the pavement as I raced toward the back alley. Charlotte, please be okay! 5 By the time I got there, it was already bad. Charlotte was cornered at the end of the alley, surrounded by a group of thugs, unable to move. “Well, well, look who it is. The great Hawthorne heir isn’t acting so high and mighty now, is he? Cat got your tongue? Can’t even beg for mercy?” “Saves us the trouble. A mute can’t go snitching, can he?” “Damn, this kid’s got some nerve, still glaring at us!” The leader, who looked like he was a high schooler himself, sneered and spat on the ground. He pulled out a utility knife and held it menacingly close to Charlotte’s face. My heart hammered against my ribs. My eyes darted around and spotted a discarded baseball bat lying nearby. I sucked in a sharp breath, grit my teeth, and charged forward, yelling at the top of my lungs, “The cops are on their way! I already called them!” I swung the bat wildly, my movements pure instinct. Thankfully, all those recent fitness lessons meant I had the stamina to back it up. The thugs were completely blindsided. The mention of the police sent them into a panic, scattering in confusion. “Shit! This kid’s got a lucky star!” one of them cursed. After a few more muttered insults, they turned and fled, their footsteps a chaotic scramble. Once they were gone, I rushed to Charlotte’s side. A bloody gash marred his cheek—not too deep, but his arms and legs were covered in bruises, clear evidence of the beating he’d taken. “Brother, hang in there. I’ll get you home!” I helped him to his feet, but just as we were about to leave, a powerful force slammed into my back, sending me crashing to the ground. “Hey, Chen! Told you the little brat was bluffing! Cops? What a liar!” “Lying at such a young age. Rotten to the core!” “A mute freak and a lying little witch, a perfect pair! Haha!” The one called Chen was furious. He kicked me again and again in the back. The pain was so intense I curled into a ball, but my eyes met Charlotte’s, and they were wide with terror. My lips trembled, but I managed to force a smile. “Don’t be scared, brother,” I whispered. Charlotte flinched as if he’d been struck. He stared at me, at the small figure shielding him, not backing down an inch. The fists and feet behind me grew more vicious. And then— Charlotte, who had been silent this whole time, suddenly lunged forward like a rabid animal. He sank his teeth into the nearest attacker’s hand and held on, refusing to let go even as the man screamed! The sheer ferocity of it stunned the thugs for a few seconds. But there were too many of them. They quickly overpowered him, pinning him to the grimy asphalt. Punches rained down on his head and chest. Someone even pulled out a metal pipe… Was this it? Was this fate unavoidable? As my consciousness began to fade, I heard voices and footsteps at the entrance of the alley. Was it our driver…? I fought to keep my eyes open, trying to see. My blurry vision focused on a pair of clean, white sneakers slowly coming into view…

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At the party, Olivia’s friends had me cornered. “We heard you’ve had a crush on Olivia since you were kids,” one of them said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “That you always insisted on being her husband when you played house. So, what’s the deal? Are you still in love with her?” Every eye in the circle landed on me. But my gaze drifted to the corner of the room, to the woman silently pouring herself another drink. “That was a long time ago,” I said, forcing a casual smile. “I was just a kid. I probably caused her more trouble than anything.” I looked down, fiddling with the ring on my finger. “Honestly, I got over it years ago. Besides, I’m getting married soon.” In the sudden silence, the sharp crack of shattering glass echoed through the room. Olivia stared down at her ruined heels, wine soaking into the delicate suede. The corners of her eyes were red, and for a long moment, she seemed completely lost. 1. I could have married Olivia six years ago. What she never knew was that every time she missed her chance, it was because I had designed it that way. It’s because I woke up. I realized this world is a novel, and it’s a tragedy. Olivia is the heroine, my older brother, Michael, is the hero, and I’m just the obsessive, destructive side character. Our families were neighbors, practically joined at the hip. Olivia was the same age as Michael, three years older than me. You could say we were childhood sweethearts, or something close to it. She always looked out for me, a little more than she needed to. I thought that meant she liked me. From the moment I was born, she was there. Through every scraped knee, every victory, every quiet sadness. She was a constant presence for twenty-two years of my life. Loving her felt as natural as breathing. I don’t even know when it started. I remember playing house in the backyard. Olivia wanted to be the mom, Michael the dad, and I was their baby. I threw a tantrum, smashing my favorite toy truck on the patio stones. I wasn’t the baby, I was the dad. I was going to be the one to put a veil on Olivia, to marry her. Michael just laughed and pushed me towards her. “Alright, alright, you marry her. Go on.” And Olivia… she didn’t say no. She giggled, calling me “honey,” and draped a red dishtowel from her grandmother’s kitchen over her head. I was five years old. But when she put on that makeshift veil, it was the beginning of a seventeen-year dream. That dream ended my junior year of college, on Valentine’s Day. I was out with my roommate when I saw them. Michael and Olivia, walking side-by-side. I watched her gently brush a leaf from his hair, a gesture so intimate it stole the air from my lungs. Then she bought him a small, expensive box of chocolates. My roommate nudged me. “Dude, is she giving Michael chocolates? Is she into him? Does he even know you’re in love with her?” That day, my world collapsed. It only takes a second for a person to turn bad. In that moment, I felt like no one in the world loved me. 2. Jealousy is a seed. Once it sprouts, it grows wild. I couldn’t accept that the woman I’d loved my whole life had her heart set on someone else. So, at my college graduation party, I drugged her drink. I made an excuse to leave early, taking her back to my place. The moment the door closed, she lost all control, her arms wrapping around me as she guided us toward the bedroom. The kisses were frantic, a storm moving from my lips down my stomach, igniting every inch of my skin. I was thrilled. And I was terrified. My plan was to not just have her, but to have Michael walk in on us, to find us in this mess. Then she would have to marry me. But right then, at the absolute peak of my terrible plan, I woke up. My mind was flooded with images from years in the future. Olivia, believing she’d taken advantage of me in a drunken haze, marries me out of a sense of duty. It doesn’t take long for her to discover the truth. Her love curdles into hatred, our life together becoming a wasteland of bitter arguments. During one of them, she shoves me down the stairs, leaving me paralyzed from the waist down. My brother, Michael, never marries. He dies years later on a trip, killed in a hit-and-run. The day Michael dies, Olivia runs out of the house in a frenzy, leaving me, sick and helpless, to die alone in my bed. It was only after my death that I understood. This world was a book written by a sadist. My jealousy was the catalyst that doomed us all. Because of me, no one got a happy ending. 3. “What are you thinking about? You’re going to space out at a time like this?” Olivia’s voice, husky and strained, pulled me back to the present. Her breath was hot against my ear. I reached up and touched her cheek, and then the tears came. Her eyes were so beautiful. But I knew, with a certainty that shattered my heart, that I wasn’t the one she truly saw. Her desire-filled expression melted into confusion. “Why are you crying?” she whispered. “Don’t you… want me?” Yes. I wanted her more than anything. I loved her down to my bones. But even if I was a bad person, I wasn’t evil enough to want everyone to die. “Olivia, I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I made a mistake. We can’t do this.” She looked lost, but before she could process it, her rationality was already gone, washed away by the drug. And that’s when Michael came home. He wasn’t alone. Olivia’s best friend, Zoe, was with him. They saw us, saw Olivia on top of me, and assumed the worst. They pulled her off me, Michael so enraged he actually grabbed a broom from the kitchen and started swinging it at her. The scene was pure chaos. And in that moment, I saw just how colossally I had screwed up. “It wasn’t her!” I yelled, scrambling to cover myself. “It was me.” I confessed everything. The room went dead silent. Everyone just stared at me with an alien expression, like they’d never really seen me before. Zoe pointed a trembling finger at my face, her voice tight with rage. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? This is a crime.” “I know,” I whispered. “I’ll accept whatever happens.” In the end, it was Olivia who stepped in front of me. “He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It was a stupid prank, let’s not make it a federal case.” “A kid?” Zoe shrieked. “He’s twenty-two, Olivia! When are you going to stop protecting him?” Tears streamed down my face as I looked at her. I wanted to take her to a hospital, to make sure she was okay. But when my hand touched her arm, she flinched away like I had burned her. Michael let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll take her. You stay here and think about what you did.” Suddenly, I understood what my brother had meant all those years ago when he said everyone loved me. This—this cold, empty space between us—this is what it felt like to truly not be loved at all. From that moment on, my life became an act of atonement. 4. The story spread like poison. Everyone knew that some psycho was so obsessed with Olivia that he’d resorted to drugging her. I sent her a flood of apology texts. I bought gifts, begging Michael to deliver them for me. A few days later, a single message came through. “I’m not angry. But if you like someone, you should just tell them. You don’t need to do things like this.” By the time I received it, I was already on a train to New York City. “Thank you, and I’m so sorry,” I typed back. “Don’t worry. I’ll never force you to like me again.” After sending it, I popped out the SIM card, cut it in half with a pair of scissors, and put a new one in my phone. Before I left, I’d told Michael he could message me if he missed me, but to never, ever mention Olivia’s name. I didn’t want to be the villain anymore. I had to leave my old life behind completely. … I finished my internship and landed a full-time job. I was scraping by, but I was making a life for myself in the city. I thought I would never see Olivia again. I should have known better. She was too brilliant, too successful. She was transferred to my company’s New York headquarters to become our new COO. The day they introduced the new “Ms. Sterling,” I felt my blood turn to ice. It was a cruel joke played by fate. I watched her walk through the office, a wave of respect and admiration parting before her, and disappear into a corner office. Thankfully, she didn’t see me. A colleague whistled under his breath. “Wow. About time we got a boss who’s an absolute smoke-show.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Hey, Ethan. She’s exactly your type, right?” I snapped back to reality and gave a numb nod. “Yeah. My type.” My manager slapped me lightly on the back of the head. “Don’t even think about it. I heard some psycho tried to drug her once. Ever since, she has zero tolerance for creeps who pull shady stuff.” My heart seized. My most shameful memory, dragged out into the light to be publicly flogged. My colleague whispered, his hand over his mouth. “Jesus, what kind of scumbag does that?” I just wanted the floor to swallow me whole. 5. Logically, I should have quit on the spot. But the job market was brutal, and I couldn’t afford to be unemployed. Besides, my job was insignificant. My desk was tucked away in a forgotten corner. Even though we were on the same floor, our paths never crossed. For two months, I lived like a rat in the walls. Then Zoe came to the office to see Olivia. Olivia was in a meeting, so Zoe started wandering around. I kept my head down, praying she wouldn’t notice me. But of course, she did. “Ethan? Is that you?” Her voice was loud enough to turn heads. “Holy shit, you’re unbelievable! You followed her all the way to New York? I gotta hand it to you, that’s some next-level obsession.” Every single person in my department turned to stare. I felt naked, their eyes like whips on my skin. My voice was thick, my nose burning. “No, that’s not it. I worked here first. I had no idea this would happen…” Just then, the conference room door opened and Olivia walked out. The moment she saw me, she froze. “Ethan? What are you doing here?” Before I could even try to explain, Zoe pointed a finger at me. “What do you think he’s doing? He’s here for you. This is insane. I’m posting about this.” Olivia’s hand, holding a folder, was trembling. I could see the humiliation in her eyes. It must be disgusting for her to see me here. “Ethan,” she said, her voice strained. “Wait for me at lunch. I have something urgent right now, but we’ll talk then.” She turned and followed the CEO into his office. A coworker leaned over, their eyes wide with excitement. “What’s the deal between you and the new COO?” Before Zoe could answer, I looked at her, my eyes pleading. “Please,” I mouthed. “Don’t.” She rolled her eyes and walked away. But I couldn’t face her. I didn’t have the courage. All I could see was that future vision of myself, paralyzed and dying alone in filth. I went straight to my manager’s office and resigned. My position didn’t require a lengthy transition. An hour later, my desk was cleared out, and I walked out of that building for the last time. 6. I had to change my phone number again. I felt like a fugitive. From New York, I ran to Chicago. I was smarter this time. I’d check in with Michael, ask about Olivia’s travel plans. As long as she was coming to my city, I was leaving. She would arrive, and I’d already be gone. This went on until my company offered me a position overseas in London. Finally, I could stop running. I spent six years in London, going from broke to comfortable. The only reason I came back to the States was because Michael got sick. He threw a party to welcome me home. And Olivia and Zoe were there. Six years. Olivia was calmer, more self-assured. Time hadn’t touched her face, but it had given her a new depth, a quiet confidence that was even more captivating. “Ethan,” she said with a small smile. “Welcome back. It must have been a long flight.” There was no surprise in her eyes. It was as if time had smoothed over all the rough edges. She and Michael had never gotten married. It seemed my little stunt had left its mark on their relationship, too. Some of our old friends were married with kids; others were still playing the field. Michael had a stable city government job and had worked his way up to department head. Olivia was the most successful of all of us. She’d slowly bought into her company, and now she was the CEO. Apparently, she owned several apartments in New York. After a few hours, most people were drunk. Except for Olivia. She hadn’t touched a drop. Zoe nudged her playfully. “You’re not getting married, so what’s with all the apartments? You should let me live in one, help you out.” Olivia just smiled and looked over at me. “Ethan’s not married either,” she said smoothly. “And he owns a place in London. Why don’t you ask him to help you out?” The sudden attention made my heart jump. Her friends seized the opportunity and swarmed around me. “That’s right, Ethan! You were always so crazy about Olivia. You insisted on being her husband when you played house. Are you still in love with her?” Every eye was on me. I glanced at Olivia. She was still smiling, pouring drinks for everyone as if the question had nothing to do with her. “I was just a kid,” I said, shaking my head. “I caused her a lot of trouble back then. Honestly, I got over it years ago…” I touched the plain silver band on my left hand. “Besides, I’m getting married soon. I’ll be sure to invite you all to the wedding.” In the sudden silence, I heard the crack of shattering glass. Olivia stared down at her ruined heels, her drink spilled all over them. The corners of her eyes were red, and she couldn’t seem to look away. 7. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice tight. “My hand slipped. I’ll clean it up.” She got up and quickly left the table. Michael turned to me, his brow furrowed. “When did you meet someone?” The villainous side character in me was an expert liar. “About six months ago. She’s British.” When Olivia came back, she, the one who hadn’t been drinking all night, downed one glass of wine, then another. Eventually, the party broke up. Olivia stood in front of me. “Ethan. Aren’t you going to walk me home?” I hesitated. She was drunk; it probably wasn’t safe for her to go alone. But all the way to her apartment door, she didn’t say a single word. I watched her fumble with her keys and unlock the door. “Well,” I said, shuffling my feet. “I should probably get going. You’re home safe.” Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. I lost my balance, my arms instinctively wrapping around her to steady myself. The door slammed shut behind us, and she pressed me against it. The apartment was dark, and my other senses went into overdrive. The smell of wine on her breath was intoxicating as it washed over my ear. My heart was hammering against my ribs. “Olivia, what are—” I never finished the word. Her lips crashed against mine, cold and demanding. It was a storm, plundering my mouth, leaving me no chance to escape. “Ethan, why did you lie?” she whispered against my lips, her voice raw. “Why tell everyone you have a girlfriend? You’re the one who woke all this up in me. Why am I always the one left chasing you?” “Olivia, stop this. I have to go home.” She held me tighter, her voice cracking with a bitter, choked sob. “Your heart is so cruel, Ethan.” She pressed my hand against her chest, against the soft swell of her breast. “You shouldn’t have abandoned me. Eight years ago, when you did what you did… you should have taken responsibility for me.”

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