Category: English

After three years of playing the designated social outcast, I finally completed the mission. Before my scheduled “death,” the System gave me one day to say goodbye to my targets. I’d been holding it in for three years. It was time to go scorched-earth on each and every one of them. To my moody, controlling adoptive brother: [You think you’re so deep and mysterious? You’re just a poser with a trust fund!] To my arrogant jock of a childhood friend: [Three years of tutoring and you still have the IQ of a golden retriever. Are you brain-damaged?] To my cold, older fiancé: [Who would be desperate enough to marry an old man like you? You’ve practically got one foot in the grave!] A moment later, my phone buzzed with replies. Moody Adoptive Brother: [? Is this a code? Are you in trouble? I’m on my way home now!] Arrogant Jock: […I was just pretending to be dumb to make you feel like you were good at teaching, okay? God, you make me so mad. Just you wait!] Cold Fiancé: [Is someone trying to poach you? Let’s meet and discuss this in person.] Just then, my doorbell started ringing like crazy. At the same time, the System’s voice screeched in my head: [HOST, I READ THE DATE WRONG!] [YOUR EXTRACTION ISN’T FOR ANOTHER SEVEN DAYS!] Me: “?” Part 2 It was my third year of being the girl everyone loved to hate. And I had finally, finally, finished the mission. For three years, I’d played the part of the timid, doormat protagonist perfectly. I was a ghost at school. At home, my adoptive brother, Julian, treated me like his personal assistant. I had no friends, and my family barely tolerated me. Then, a glimmer of hope: an arranged marriage to the powerful Pierce family. But, of course, on the day of our engagement party, the truth came out. I was the switched-at-birth fake heiress. The Sterlings’ real daughter had been found. Just like that, the world turned on me again. I was public enemy number one. Maybe that was the final straw the System was waiting for. After three years of radio silence, it finally reactivated. [Congratulations, Host! The ‘Universal Scapegoat’ mission is complete. A substantial reward is waiting for you.] [You will be returned to your original world tomorrow.] I blinked. “What about ‘me’ in this world?” I asked. The System chuckled. [Don’t you worry about that. We’ll arrange a little accident. A clean exit.] That easy? “Are you sure? It’s really over? No more missions?” I had to be certain. The System puffed out its digital chest. [Absolutely! Tomorrow, you can cash your check and go home!] Relief washed over me. The System said I had one day to say my goodbyes. But as I thought about it, there was nothing and no one to say goodbye to. These people probably wouldn’t even flinch if they read my obituary. Bored, I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Right on cue, it vibrated. A message from a contact I’d saved as “Mr. Broody Poser.” [I’m having a dress for the gala sent to the house tomorrow.] [For God’s sake, don’t wear one of your ugly ones. You’re embarrassing me.] That was my brother, Julian Sterling. Or, I guess, my adoptive brother now. My parents’ golden child. From the moment I was dropped into this world, he’d treated me like something he’d stepped in. Moody, condescending, and a master of the backhanded compliment. He’d criticize my taste, my grades, my very existence. All I had to do was walk past him to earn a look of pure disgust. But he was the Sterling heir, and no one dared to challenge him. Not even my own mother, who just told me to keep my head down and endure it. I’d endured it for three years. I’d been his quiet, obedient little shadow. But I was leaving tomorrow. And today, I was done enduring. Me: [You think your taste is so great?] Me: [Attached Image] Me: [Is this supposed to be a dress or a designer garbage bag?] Me: [And that wasn’t a typo.] Me: [You walk around like you’re some kind of fashion god. Honestly, even though you’re a miserable person with no real friends, literally 0 people care what you wear.] A long pause. Then, a single question mark appeared. I think I broke his brain. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a message came through. Julian: [What happened to you?] My fingers flew across the screen. Me: [Nothing happened.] Me: [I’m just sick of your act.] Me: [You poser.] My phone went silent. Julian had probably short-circuited from rage. But who cared? I put him on Do Not Disturb. A soft knock at my door. One of the housekeepers peeked in. “Miss Ava, the car is waiting.” “It’s taking you back to school for the event this afternoon.” Even though I was now the “fake” Sterling, my parents, out of some lingering sense of duty, were letting me finish high school at the prestigious Northwood Prep. The ride to school was silent. Even the driver could probably sense the toxic atmosphere back at the house and didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop when I opened the door to a furious voice. “Ava, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?” Part 3 I looked up. A guy was standing there, glaring at me, his chest heaving with anger. I gave him a once-over. “Why were you waiting for me?” Liam Prescott looked like he’d been slapped. “?! I felt sorry for you, okay?” he sputtered. “Nobody was going to ask you to prom. I was going to do you a favor and be your date, and this is the attitude I get?” The Prescotts and the Sterlings were old family friends. That made Liam, unfortunately, my childhood acquaintance. With his lazily handsome face and star athlete status, he was basically king of Northwood Prep. Our parents had once even tried to set up an arranged engagement between us. Liam had shut that down publicly. I can still remember the look of pure disgust on his face at the dinner party. “Her? An engagement with her?” he’d scoffed. “Are you insane? Are you actively trying to ruin my life?” His very public rejection had made me the laughingstock of our entire social circle for a year. But hey, his reaction had also netted me 100 experience points, a third of my total mission goal. So, I wasn’t planning on holding a grudge. But then his two cronies, who were flanking him, decided to chime in. “Yeah, Ava. Liam’s doing you a huge favor. You should be grateful.” “What’s with the attitude? You still playing hard to get or something?” Hearing that, Liam’s lips tightened into a thin line. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Ava. I’m talking to you.” I looked at him, genuinely confused. “You’re in my way. I need to get to the main building.” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Did you hear a single word I just said? Aren’t you even going to apologize?” I blinked. “Apologize? To who?” “To you?” “As if.” Liam froze. “You were waiting for me, but you never bothered to text me,” I continued, ticking the points off on my fingers. “What, am I supposed to be a mind reader? And I never asked you to be my prom date. So who is this whole knight-in-shining-armor act for? Do you need a tissue? Maybe you can squeeze out a few tears to make it more believable.” His two buddies looked scandalized and jumped to his defense. “He was just trying to be nice since you’re pathetic and have no one else! You’re so ungrateful!” “Why are you being such a bitch? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” I shot them a bored look. “Duh, of course it’s on purpose. Why else would I say it?” I gestured between them. “What are you guys, his personal cheerleading squad? Did you get a two-for-one deal on loyalty or something?” I then swept my gaze over all three of them. “Look, I know my words are harsh. But it’s not like any of you deserve a compliment.” Liam was the first to snap out of it, reaching out to grab my arm. “Ava—” My bodyguard smoothly stepped between us. I glanced back at Liam over my shoulder. “Look, I’m in a surprisingly good mood today, so if you have something to say, spit it out before I change my mind.” But the expression on his face wasn’t the rage I expected. It was… confusion. And a strange sort of panic. “Ava, today you’re…” he stammered. “Are you sick or something?” I’d braced myself for an explosion, and that’s all he had? Seriously? All this time, I’d been surrounded by the most pathetic bunch of posers and wannabes. I’d really overestimated them. Part 4 I didn’t bother with Liam again and headed straight for the principal’s office. I had more important things to do. Even though the whole school was buzzing about prom, it held zero appeal for me. It was just an excuse for the popular kids to dance and take pictures. As the resident ghost, I never had a date, so I hadn’t even bothered to get a dress. I was just wearing a hoodie and jeans. When I came out of the principal’s office, the looks I got in the hallway were different. Sharper. More pitying. “So she’s not a real Sterling…” “That explains so much. She has none of their class…” “Her and Julian are from two different worlds. Poor Julian, having to put up with an adoptive sister like that.” The rumors about my parentage had finally made it to school. I pulled out my phone and saw twenty missed calls. All from Julian. A number that had been dormant for a decade was suddenly blowing up my phone. I half-wondered if he’d signed me up for some spam-call service online. I didn’t bother calling back. I just opened his texts. There were too many to read, but the last one caught my eye. Julian: [I’m coming home tomorrow.] He was supposed to be on a business trip overseas. Staring at the message, I had no idea what to say. So I just locked my phone. Whatever. It was his house. He could come and go as he pleased. On my way out, I ran into Liam again. He was in a tux now, the boyish edges of his face sharpened into something more mature. When he saw me, his jaw tensed. “Ava, why haven’t you changed yet?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “I’m not going to the dance,” I said flatly. I don’t know what was wrong with him. Usually, he’d be with Chloe Sanders, the most popular girl in our grade, by now. As Liam opened his mouth to say something else, my bodyguard politely blocked his path. “Mr. Prescott, Miss Ava is engaged to Mr. Pierce.” Liam’s face went cold. “I know that! You don’t have to tell me!” I just rolled my eyes and nodded to my bodyguard. “Let’s go home.” As I got into the car, I saw a few of Liam’s friends rush over to him. They were talking animatedly, gesturing towards my car. I watched Liam’s expression shift from confusion to shock. I could guess what they were telling him—the big, juicy gossip about my real identity. The car started to pull away. Suddenly, Liam shouted my name. “Ava—!” He was running after the car, his face desperate. The driver accelerated, and the tinted window slid shut. I watched in the rearview mirror as Liam’s figure got smaller and smaller, until he was just a black dot in the distance. I turned to my bodyguard. “What’s his deal?” He considered it for a moment. “Maybe he’s getting his cardio in for the day.”

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My husband, Harry Shaw, lost his memory in a car accident. He didn’t forget a single person or a single thing in his life. Except for me. His best friend teased him, “You’ve got some nerve. Better watch out, or you’ll be the star of your own midlife crisis, begging for her back.” Harry’s expression was dead serious. “Even with amnesia, I know for a fact I could never fall for a manipulative woman like her. If I really married her, it must have been a marriage of convenience.” “My type has never changed. I love women who are pure and kind.” Outside the door, I stared at the photo on my phone of Harry and a young woman named Lily kissing. I smiled. It took an accident for me to finally hear what he truly thought. I immediately called my lawyer. An hour later, I pushed the door open. “Here are the divorce papers. Sign them.” 1 My sudden entrance froze the air in the room. Harry’s friend, Michael, coughed awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. “Eleanor, Harry’s just had an accident. His head’s not on straight. You know how he is. Everyone in Crestwood knows he’s completely obsessed with you.” If I hadn’t overheard Harry’s words just moments before, I might have believed him. I might have still believed that Harry was head-over-heels in love with me. I let out a soft, humorless laugh, but Harry cut me off. “I don’t know why I supposedly loved you for the past decade, but the me of today doesn’t remember loving you. I want to correct my past mistake.” His brow was furrowed, his expression grave. “Let’s keep our business between us. Don’t drag other people into this. They’re innocent.” He looked at me as if I were some kind of monster. I scoffed and slapped the divorce papers onto his chest. “Of course.” “Sign the papers. We’ll file tomorrow.” Without looking up, Harry flipped through a couple of pages and signed his name with a flourish. “Well, that’s a surprise. I’m shocked a woman like you isn’t trying to take me to the cleaners.” His words stopped me in my tracks. A woman like me? What kind of woman was that? Before I could ask, Michael, sensing the shift in my expression, jumped in. “Hey, you two, just calm down! Isn’t this a little hasty?” “Filing for divorce tomorrow? Do you even have your marriage certificate with you?” Michael’s intention was to get us to slow down, to talk things through. But his words had the opposite effect. Harry and I both froze, our eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment. He quickly looked away, his disgust palpable. Harry and I were childhood sweethearts. We got married the moment we were legally able. I still remember our wedding day: April 1st, April Fool’s Day. I had said it was an unlucky day for an anniversary and suggested we find a more auspicious date. But Harry had pouted, his face a mask of disappointment. “We promised we’d get married the day after your birthday. I can’t wait another second.” He’d cajoled me, “Your birthday and our anniversary, back-to-back. Isn’t that the best kind of luck? It’s a gift from the heavens!” He’d even wiped away a fake tear. After we got the certificate, Harry took eight different photos of it from every conceivable angle and posted them all online. Our friends flooded his feed, teasing him for being so smug, warning him that an April Fool’s wedding might be a sham. It was just a joke, but Harry had panicked. He snatched the certificate from my hand, his expression deadly serious. “It’s not a sham.” And with a swift rip, he tore it to shreds. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice filled with righteous conviction. “Without a marriage certificate, you can never divorce me!” The memory was so vivid I could almost see his boyish, innocent smile. But in a flash, it was replaced by the impatient, scowling face of the man before me. The handsome planes of his face were now etched with fine lines. Still handsome, but no longer the Harry I remembered. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked toward him. Under his suspicious, wary gaze, I picked up the divorce papers. “We were so young and foolish,” I said with a laugh. “Look at the trouble we’ve made for ourselves now.” I turned to leave. As I opened the door, I ran into Lily, who was holding a thermal lunch box. Her tight-fitting dance leotard hugged her slender, youthful frame. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. The moment she saw me, she flinched and bowed her head. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw.” Her timid demeanor reminded me of when she first accepted my sponsorship. She was as shy as a rabbit. But I knew better now. This was no herbivore. “Go on in,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s been waiting for you.” My words startled her. Her shoulders trembled. Harry’s voice, sharp and angry, cut through the air. “Eleanor! Watch your mouth!” 2 The tension that had momentarily dissipated returned, thicker than before. I turned back, a bitter laugh escaping my lips, and met Harry’s furious gaze. “Lily is still a student. She’s a very sensitive girl. Were you trying to ruin her with those words?!” He was so angry he was struggling to breathe, his recently injured body heaving. “Can’t you see she’s about to cry?” “Why are you still so malicious?” My family, the Calloways, was a complicated one. In my younger years, I’d fought tooth and nail with my father’s illegitimate son. Harry had been the one to protect me, to help me reclaim what was rightfully mine. Back then, I had asked him if he thought I was a manipulative, wicked woman. He’d said, “My Eleanor is just smart. Besides, I’ll always be with you.” That promise of “always” had carried us through seven years of marriage. Seven years in which, due to my fragile health, we were never able to have a child of our own. He knew how much I wanted a child, so he suggested we sponsor one. Lily was the child we sponsored together. On paper, it was a joint act of charity, but over the years, I was the one who looked after her, who cared for her. I never imagined that when she came to Crestwood for college, she would end up in Harry’s bed. “Mrs. Shaw, I’m so sorry!” Lily’s sudden apology, delivered from her knees, broke through my thoughts. “It was my fault. I got into a fight with my roommate and I shouldn’t have called Mr. Shaw to pick me up. Then he wouldn’t have been in the accident.” “It’s all my fault. I was being presumptuous, thinking I had a home to go to…” As she spoke, she slapped herself, once, twice. The sight of it was too much for Harry. “Eleanor! Stop this nonsense! Lily has a performance in two days! Help her up!” He started to get out of bed. Lily scrambled to his side, helping him, her face streaked with tears. “Mr. Shaw, I’m so sorry…” Their hands clasped together. Harry’s eyes seemed to well up as well. “Don’t cry, Lily.” When he turned to look at me again, the pain in his eyes was replaced by disgust. “The accident had nothing to do with Lily. Instead of dealing with the aftermath, you come here to harass her. You have no sense of the bigger picture. So petty!” I had seen the surveillance footage and the dashcam video from the accident. At the moment of impact, Lily was in the passenger seat, crying and pulling Harry’s hand toward her chest, whispering, “Mr. Shaw, my heart hurts.” The police officer watching the video with me had scratched his head in embarrassment, muttering something about a TV drama villain coming to life. I didn’t know what “aftermath” Harry expected me to “deal with.” Was I supposed to play the fool? I scoffed. “I guess I don’t have the grand perspective of Mr. Shaw’s little angel.” I opened the door and kicked the lunch box Lily had dropped out of my way. As the door closed behind me, I heard Harry’s enraged shout: “Eleanor!” Just after I left the hospital, I received a voice recording from Lily. In the recording, I heard Harry’s deep voice. “Lily’s birthday is coming up. How about Mr. Shaw buys you a house, so you’ll have a home of your own?” “Can I pick it out myself?” Harry chuckled. “Of course. Whatever Lily likes.” “I like the villa on the west side of town. That’s where I first met you.” There was a two-second pause, followed by the sound of heavy breathing and a woman’s soft moan. I slammed my phone shut. Harry must have loved Lily so much that he had forgotten all about the other woman on the west side of town. That was our first home, the home we still lived in. Even after I took back control of the Calloway family company and could afford any house I wanted, I never moved. Harry had once asked me why, and I told him it held our memories. He had teared up then, swearing to love me for the rest of his life. Now, another woman was coveting that house, and all he could remember was that it was where he first met Lily. My assistant spoke cautiously from the driver’s seat. “Ms. Calloway, Mr. Shaw is only like this because of the amnesia…” I held up a hand to silence her. How ironic. Harry remembered everything, except how to love me. 3 The day Harry was discharged from the hospital arrived quickly. He and Lily were laughing as she pushed his wheelchair into the living room. I was grooming my cat, Patches. Lily’s shriek startled both me and the cat. “Eleanor, put the cat in the other room! Lily is allergic to cats.” Harry clumsily maneuvered his wheelchair to shield a pale-faced Lily. I didn’t even look up. “If she’s allergic, she can leave. No one’s asking her to stay.” A second later, Lily’s tearful voice filled the air. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I just saw that you weren’t here to pick up Mr. Shaw, so I took it upon myself to bring him home. I overstepped.” “I’ll leave right now.” Harry grabbed her wrist, his face dark. “You failed to fulfill your duties as a wife. Lily helped you, and you have the audacity to criticize her!” “And from today on, Lily is living here. You will keep your cat under control, or you’ll have me to answer to.” My hand, holding the brush, froze. I looked up at him. “Answer to you? And how will you make me answer?” Patches had been his eighteenth birthday gift to me. Back then, I was a Calloway in name only, treated worse than my father’s illegitimate child. No one remembered my birthday. Even the maids bullied me. Harry gave me Patches, a symbol of completeness, and told me that from then on, he and the cat would be my family. I couldn’t keep a pet at the Calloway mansion, so he had taken care of him until we got married. He should have been the one with the deeper bond with Patches, but now, the look in his eyes was ice-cold, as if he were looking at a common, annoying pest. Harry didn’t answer my question. I thought it was just an empty threat. Until I returned from a week-long business trip and couldn’t find Patches anywhere. Lily emerged from the kitchen when she heard my voice. She leaned in close, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you looking for that cat?” she whispered. “Such a pity. He’s dead.” The sound was soft, but the smile on her face grew wider. She played a recording. The sound of Patches’ tormented struggles filled the living room. His shrill, piercing cries made my hair stand on end, a bone-deep chill seeping into me. “What did you do to him?” “What did you do to him?!” I grabbed her by the throat, my voice rising with each repetition of the question, my eyes wide with horror. A cold voice from the top of the stairs broke the moment. “Eleanor, let her go.” “Where is Patches?” Harry looked down at me, his expression disdainful. “He was just an animal. If he’s dead, he’s dead. Don’t take it out on Lily.” “He caused Lily to have an allergic reaction and end up in the hospital. Death was too good for him.” He announced my cat’s death with the same flat, emotionless tone he might use to comment on the weather. “Today is Lily’s birthday. Don’t ruin her mood over an animal.” At the mention of Lily’s birthday, a smile finally appeared on his face. “I’m planning to transfer the deed of this house to Lily. Come upstairs and sign the papers.” He turned his wheelchair and started to leave, not giving me a second glance. I was about to follow him, to argue, but I was stopped by Lily’s scream and the sound of a slap. When Harry turned back, he saw Lily, her cheek red and swollen, clutching her face and sobbing. “Mrs. Shaw, I didn’t want Patches to die either! You’re right to hit me!” She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. “As long as it makes you feel better, you can hit me as many times as you want!” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, a willing martyr. I had to laugh. A masterclass in playing the victim. “Eleanor, there’s a limit to your antics! Do you really think you run this house?!” The Harry who used to look at me with such tenderness, who used to believe me and defend me without question, was gone. In his place was a man whose eyes were filled with a chilling hatred, as if he wanted to tear me to pieces. Our eyes met. I let out a cold laugh. I turned and slapped Lily across the face. I have never been a pushover. If I could survive the viper’s nest of the Calloway family, I could certainly handle this. “I didn’t give you that first slap. But this one,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “you’d better remember it.” Smack! “This one was from Eleanor Calloway.” Smack! “This is my house. No one can protect you here. Not even Harry Shaw.” 4 As I raised my hand for a third slap, Harry grabbed my wrist. He shoved me back. “Eleanor, apologize to Lily,” he warned, his voice low and menacing. “Or don’t expect me to show you any mercy for old times’ sake.” I laughed, a wild, hysterical sound. “Old times’ sake?” “What are you going to do to me? The same thing you did to Patches?!” Harry just shot me a look of disgust, as if to say I was being ridiculous. Then he turned to Lily, his face filled with concern, and gently examined her cheek. He blew on it softly, like he was comforting a child, whispering, “Pain, pain, go away.” The tender gesture was a cruel echo of the boy I once knew. They left together, hand in hand. Harry didn’t look at me once. He just threw one last sentence over his shoulder. “We have twenty days left in the mandatory cooling-off period for the divorce. I don’t want to see you again during that time.” I slowly sank to the floor. My assistant rushed in to help me, but her hand came away covered in thick, sticky blood. “Ms. Calloway! You’re hurt!” A pair of scissors from the kitchen island was embedded in my lower back. My phone buzzed. A text message. [Does it hurt? These are the same scissors I used to cut off that animal’s tail. 😉 ] I moved out of the villa after that. I kept the scissors, a constant reminder of my hatred. The day before the cooling-off period ended, I went to the hospital to have my dressing changed. As I was leaving, I saw Harry and Michael. “You’re not even divorced yet, and Lily is two months pregnant. This is an affair!” Michael was berating him. Harry, however, just smiled gently. “You don’t understand. Eleanor and I have reached the end of the road.” “I love Lily.” “It wasn’t until I met Lily that I realized how terrifying Eleanor is.” The smile on his face faded. “Her father brought his illegitimate son home, paved a golden path for him. But Eleanor managed to cripple the boy and destroy her father’s reputation in the company, forcing him to step down. Now he’s locked away in a mental institution where no one can see him.” “A woman that manipulative… isn’t that terrifying?” I had never hidden my methods from him. Back then, he had praised me for my intelligence. Now, he was calling me malicious. As I was leaving the hospital, I received a text from Lily with a picture of her ultrasound. [Harry says you’re a barren hen. ~] The next day, after Harry and I finalized the divorce, he spoke. “Eleanor, my memory is back. But I know for sure that I don’t love you anymore.” I nodded. “I know.” “You know?” I smiled. “I also know that you never lost your memory in the first place.”

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1 My wife, Elena, bailed on our daughter’s Annual Spring Showcase, claiming a last-minute work emergency. She even insisted we skip it too. Seeing the disappointment cloud my daughter Sophie’s face, I decided to take her myself. The moment we stepped onto the school grounds, my blood ran cold. There, on the main stage, sat Elena. And next to her, nestled on a plush sofa like they owned the place, were her high school sweetheart, Adrian Vance, and his son. They looked for all the world like a perfect family of three. Elena was holding a microphone, speaking eloquently about achieving the perfect work-life balance. Every so often, she’d glance at Adrian, sharing a private, knowing smile. The crowd of parents and students erupted in applause. The adoration fueled her, a smug satisfaction spreading across her face. Even the little boy beside her wore a look of arrogant pride. Then came the Q&A. I shoved my way to the front and snatched a microphone from one of the ushers. “Excuse me, Ms. Sterling,” I called out, my voice booming through the speakers. “I have a question. Since when did you have a son? And does your husband know about it?” … My words hung in the air, instantly replaced by a wave of angry whispers from the parents and students around me. Their gazes, sharp with disdain, cut right through me. “Who is that guy? So rude.” “He’s probably just some nobody, jealous of Elena’s husband. Trying to get her attention this way. She runs a billion-dollar company; it’s not surprising she has a few delusional stalkers trying to worm their way in.” “Pathetic.” On stage, a flicker of panic crossed Elena’s face when she saw me, but she masked it in an instant. Adrian, however, wasn’t so composed. He put on a show of wounded indignation. “Elena, honey, what is he talking about?” I ignored him completely, my eyes locked on Elena. “You haven’t answered my question, Ms. Sterling.” She reflexively tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then, in front of everyone, she took Adrian’s hand and squeezed it tight. “This,” she declared, “is my answer.” Adrian’s expression softened with emotion as he pulled her into a deeper embrace. The crowd collectively gasped, “Awww!” “This is true love, right in front of us! So brave!” “Elena Sterling is an absolute icon. A powerhouse CEO who adores her husband and child. She’s perfect!” Their glares toward me intensified, dripping with contempt. “Yeah, that shut him up. Tried to stir up trouble and got put in his place.” “Look at that loser. Does he really think he can compare to Elena’s husband? Everyone knows her husband holds a top position at Apex Holdings, that he’s her right-hand man. What a joke, comparing a titan like that to this… this nobody!” Just then, my phone vibrated. A text from Elena. “Ethan, don’t misunderstand. I promised Adrian I’d pretend to be Dylan’s mom for the day. He’s never had a mother, the poor thing. But you… you not only disobeyed me, you came here to publicly humiliate me. Stop this nonsense right now.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Elena always had a fiercely competitive streak. It’s why, after we married, I poured everything I had into supporting her career, making her the General Manager while I managed the real power behind the scenes. But now, it seemed she’d forgotten who was king and who was the pawn. Apex Holdings was founded by my grandfather. I hold 75% of the shares. My fingers flew across the screen, firing off messages to the heads of HR and Legal at Apex. Today, in front of this entire audience, I was going to strip her of that title. My daughter, Sophie, couldn’t stand hearing them insult me. Her voice, though trembling, rang out with fury. “What are you talking about! That’s my mom, Elena, on stage! My dad is her husband! That man is the other woman—I mean, the other man!” The crowd burst into laughter, their mockery growing louder. “Like father, like daughter. So young and already a little gold-digger. Truly rotten to the core!” “Are you blind? Ms. Sterling is showing off her perfect family. How could they be fake?” Suddenly, the boy from the stage, Dylan, stormed over to us. He glared at Sophie with pure malice. “Who are you calling a homewrecker? Are you and your dad that desperate to latch onto a rich family? Have you no shame!” He raised his hand to strike her, but I caught his wrist in a vice grip. My gaze lifted past him, settling on Elena, who stood just a few feet away. “Elena,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I’m giving you one last chance. Are you going to tell them the truth?” 2 Elena’s brow furrowed. After a moment, her voice came out, cold as ice. “I don’t know you, sir. I pride myself on my composure, but I will not tolerate you spreading these malicious lies about my husband and my son. Our corporate legal team doesn’t take these things lightly.” Sophie’s face crumpled in disbelief. “Mom, what are you saying? You don’t recognize Dad and me?” A fresh wave of derisive laughter swept through the crowd. “Give it up, little girl. You’re really committed to the act, huh? You should drag your pathetic father out of here before Ms. Sterling decides to really crush you. You common folk have no idea the power you’re messing with.” Even Sophie’s own classmates started chiming in, their faces twisted with disgust. “Sophie, you’re so gross. You always act so prim and proper, but you’re just trash underneath.” Sophie grabbed Elena’s sleeve, her voice pleading. “Mom, what’s wrong with you? Why are you saying you don’t know us?! Say something! Defend us! Didn’t you hear the horrible things they’re saying about Dad?” Elena yanked her arm away, shoving Sophie so hard she stumbled backward, a look of raw betrayal on her face. At the same time, Adrian intertwined his fingers with Elena’s, shooting me a triumphant, provocative smirk. In that instant, I understood. Adrian knew everything. I immediately pulled my daughter close. “Sophie, if she won’t claim you, then from this day forward, you don’t have to claim her either.” As the words left my mouth, Elena’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. A moment later, my phone buzzed again. “Ethan, I already explained. I’m just being Dylan’s mom for one day. Can’t you have a little compassion? If I acknowledge you now, how are Adrian and Dylan supposed to face everyone? How can Dylan even show his face at school again? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t thrown this tantrum. You deserve every insult you get. Now take Sophie and go home and think about what you’ve done.” A humorless smile touched my lips. It seems she’s been sitting in the General Manager’s chair for so long, she’s forgotten who granted her that power in the first place. Just then, a teacher, acting as a mediator, hurried over, announcing that the showcase’s main event, the family fun run, was about to begin. As we walked toward the athletic field, Adrian brushed past me, a smug grin plastered on his face. “A kept man like you was always going to get dumped. Only a man with ambition, a man like me, is worthy of a successful entrepreneur like Elena. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your little brat and disappear.” I scoffed. A man with ambition? HR had already sent me his file. Adrian was a nobody Elena had fast-tracked into his position. He barely understood the company’s most basic operations. It was clear he knew I was Elena’s husband, but he had no idea I was the one who truly controlled Apex. My legal and HR teams messaged to confirm they had drafted her termination papers and our divorce agreement. They were on their way. I wasn’t leaving. I was going to stay and tear the masks off their hypocritical faces in front of everyone. I would get justice for myself and for my daughter. Elena and Adrian were escorted to the VIP viewing platform, where school administrators and fawning parents swarmed them with compliments. Elena held her chin high, basking in the glory, every inch of her radiating smug satisfaction. Meanwhile, Sophie stood at the starting line. She forced a small smile in my direction, and I gave her a thumbs-up. Then, in a flash, everything changed. Dylan suddenly darted onto Sophie’s lane and stuck out his leg. My daughter, caught completely off guard, pitched forward, slamming hard onto the track. I sprinted toward her. Her face was contorted in agony, beads of cold sweat dotting her forehead. Her knees were a bloody mess of scraped skin and gravel. A sharp pain lanced through my own chest. But the perpetrator, Dylan, was laughing, a triumphant look on his face. “That’ll teach you and your pathetic dad to mess with us! Let’s see you try that again!” Rage exploded in my chest. I was about to land a fist on his face when Elena threw herself in front of me, shielding him and Adrian. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “It was just kids playing around. Are you, a grown man, really going to make a scene over this?” My chest heaved with fury. “Playing around? Are you blind? Look at her! She’s in serious pain! That was a deliberate attack!” Adrian just chuckled languidly. He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet and scattered the bills over Sophie’s injured body, his eyes fixed on me. “This is what you two have been after all along, isn’t it? Money. Take this as compensation for her little scrape. Now get lost.” The onlookers erupted in laughter, their eyes filled with scorn as they sided with Elena and Adrian. “See? That’s what happens when you cross the powerful. You just have to suck it up and take it.” “They started it, trying to pick a fight with the Sterlings. They got what they deserved. Serves them right if her legs are broken!” “Her husband already paid you off! Now scram!” The school nurse was tending to Sophie. My daughter’s eyes, filled with tears, searched for Elena, pleading for help. But Elena turned her head away. The light in Sophie’s eyes dimmed. She reached for my hand. “Dad,” she whispered, her voice thick with pain. “You were right. As of today, I don’t have a mother anymore.” 3 Hearing Sophie’s words, Elena’s brow furrowed again, but this time she shot me a look filled with blame. My gaze swept past her, past Adrian, and landed on the sycophants who had cursed my daughter and me with such venom. I looked at them, one by one, and began to speak, my voice calm and clear. “The Peterson family, aluminum alloys. The Clark family, concrete supply. The Miller family, organic food processing…” As I named them, their smug expressions faltered, replaced by stunned confusion. I was right about every single one. Apex Holdings had its hands in countless industries, and all of them relied on my company to survive. “As of today,” I announced, my voice ringing with authority, “Apex Holdings is terminating all contracts with your businesses.” They stared, first in disbelief, then they burst out laughing, turning to Elena. “Look at this guy! He’s completely lost it. First, he claims to be your husband, and now he’s pretending he can sever our contracts on behalf of Apex.” “Who the hell do you think you are? Ms. Sterling hasn’t said a word! Call a damn ambulance; this guy needs a psych ward!” Elena’s expression darkened, her face a thundercloud. She stepped closer, hissing under her breath. “Ethan, my position at Apex is secure. What do you think you can possibly do? Do you really think anyone still listens to you? Get out of here. Now.” I gave her a long, meaningful look but didn’t answer. Instead, I turned back to the laughing crowd and to Adrian. “There’s one thing you all seem to have misunderstood. It’s true that Elena is the General Manager of Apex Holdings. But I am the one who calls the shots.” Adrian stared, then let out a teary-eyed laugh. “He really is insane.” “I’ve been working at Apex for a while now,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “My wife is the GM! I’ve never seen this lunatic before in my life. He probably doesn’t even know which way the front doors of the building face!” I simply smiled. My people were almost here. Adrian’s security clearance only got him as high as the 10th floor. He’d never set foot on the 35th, where my office was. The crowd roared with laughter, all except Elena. The look she gave me now was pure venom. I knew why. She was terrified. Suddenly, Sophie’s phone rang. She answered it, and a strangled scream tore from her throat. On speaker, a distorted voice snarled, “You little trash, learning to be a gold-digger from your deadbeat dad. So shameless…” I snatched the phone and hung up, realizing with a jolt that someone had posted today’s events online. And they hadn’t just posted it—they had twisted the story, smearing me and my daughter with vicious lies, even doxxing her by publishing her phone number and school information. My eyes shot to Adrian. He was smirking at me, his expression a mask of pure malice. He mouthed the words: “A little gift. Do you like it?” Sophie was trembling uncontrollably as her phone lit up again and again with hateful calls and notifications. The parents who were so eager to impress Elena now closed in on us, a tight circle of hate, their words like daggers. “See? The public knows the truth! You two belong in the gutter!” “Impersonating an Apex executive? Get ready to be sued into bankruptcy! Apex’s legal department is legendary. You won’t even have a house left to cry in!” Someone sneered, “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find somewhere to cry. A pretty boy like him can always find some rich old lady’s bed to crawl into!” Just then, two sleek, black Escalades roared to a stop at the school entrance. Someone with a sharp eye yelled out. “That’s the Apex Holdings logo! The executives are here!” The sycophants preened, puffing their chests out as if they shared in the glory. They advanced on me and Sophie, their mouths twisting into cruel smiles. “It’s over for you two now! Ms. Sterling wasn’t just making empty threats. This is the real deal! You’re going to lose everything!” One man held up his phone, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light as he live-streamed. “Hey everyone, it’s the follow-up to the viral story about the gold-digging loser versus the CEO! Hit that follow button; you’re not going to want to miss this! Watch a titan of industry absolutely destroy this pathetic nobody!” Adrian shot Elena a look of adoration, his face glowing with a mixture of surprise and delight. When he looked back at me, his arrogance was boundless. His son, Dylan, stood beside him, chin held high in triumph.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385351”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I snapped a selfie and posted it to my Instagram story. The caption: “First time in the back of a cop car. Kinda nervous, what do I do?” Five months into being frozen out by my roommates, I was finally fighting back. I couldn’t wait to see which one of the three would crack first. 01 It all started with three hundred-dollar bills. The day after freshman orientation week, Ashley was crying in our dorm room, saying three hundred bucks she’d left on her desk was gone. The vibe in the room went from chill to ice-cold in a second. Jess, Ashley’s closest friend and our resident queen bee, was the first to speak up. “Everyone just open your wallets and luggage, let Ashley check. Let’s get this over with.” Ashley mumbled something like, “I don’t know, that feels weird, we’re all roommates…” I agreed. We’d just met. Starting the semester with an accusation like this would poison the well for the next four years. So, I said something incredibly naive, something straight out of an after-school special. “Hey, what if we all just leave the room for a while? If someone… you know… took it, this gives them a chance to put it back. No questions asked, we don’t have to make a big deal out of it.” When everyone agreed, I felt a little proud of myself, thinking I was so considerate of everyone’s feelings. I had no idea that when we all walked back into the room a little later, everything had changed. I’ve always been a bit of a loner. I went to the campus gym by myself, then grabbed dinner at the dining hall before heading back. When I opened our door, the other three were huddled around a little electric skillet, making hot pot. The smell of spicy broth was overpowering. It was weird they hadn’t invited me, but I kind of got it. They’d asked me to go clubbing with them before, and I’d said no. I wasn’t really part of their scene. So I just smiled and acted normal. “Smells good! Hey, did Ashley find her money?” Ashley glanced nervously at Jess. Jess answered for her. “Nope. It’s gone. Probably for good.” Then she looked me up and down, a weird glint in her eye. “We didn’t text you for dinner. Figured you treated yourself to something nice, right?” It was a strange question, but I didn’t think much of it. “Nah, just the dining hall.” That night, I fell asleep to the thick, greasy smell of hot pot that just wouldn’t go away. In my dreams, I kept replaying what Jess said. Figured you treated yourself to something nice. Could they… could they possibly think I took the money? Was she implying I stole it and spent it on a fancy dinner so there’d be no evidence? I wanted to grab her and shake her. What did you mean by that? I knew she didn’t like me, which was fine, because the feeling was mutual. We’d clashed a couple of weeks earlier because she loved to smoke in the room. I woke up one morning choking on the smell and asked her, as nicely as I could, if she could maybe smoke in the bathroom or outside. Her face went cold. “I asked everyone when we moved in if they minded me smoking, and you all said it was fine.” “I don’t mind you smoking,” I said. “I have no problem with it. I just… wish you’d do it in the bathroom.” The look she gave me was terrifying. I dropped it. But I did notice she smoked in front of us a lot less after that. She barely spoke to me, and when she did, her words always had an edge. I had a sinking feeling she was the one whispering in Ashley’s ear, telling her I was the thief. Ashley never mentioned the three hundred dollars again, saying it was just money and she’d let it go. Since the victim wasn’t pushing it, nobody else brought it up. The room seemed to go back to normal, but it was like a calm lake with a monster swimming just below the surface. I could feel Jess targeting me more and more. Like, when I was hanging my laundry on the rack, she’d say, “Isn’t that Ashley’s drying rack? Your hands must be burning.” “Why would they be burning?” I’d ask. “From the sun, obviously,” she’d smirk. Or when I got out of the shower, she’d sniff the air dramatically and say to Ashley, loud enough for me to hear, “Wow, that body wash smells amazing. How’d your scent get all the way from the bathroom, Ash?” I didn’t say anything. My own body wash had run out, and I had used a little of Ashley’s without asking. It was my bad. This time, I didn’t fight back. I quietly bought my own drying rack, my own body wash, shampoo, even my own toilet paper. I stopped sharing anything. Every time I showered or did laundry, I’d lug my own stuff with me and lock it back in my cabinet afterward. The missing money was the turning point. Before that, we were friendly, laughing and joking around. After, the air between me and everyone else was thick with unspoken tension. I could feel them shutting me out. If one of them brought back snacks, they’d offer them to the other two, pointedly skipping me. If I offered them something, they’d refuse. If they were all chatting and I tried to join in, the conversation would just… die. I was a ghost in my own room. It was suffocating. I wanted to ask them what was going on, but I knew it was pointless. If they’d decided I was a thief, nothing I could say would change their minds. Any explanation would just sound like a guilty excuse. The people who believe you will always believe you. The people who don’t will twist every word you say. Roommates are just roommates, I told myself. It’s okay if you don’t become best friends. I could find friends elsewhere and just use my dorm as a place to sleep. But life is rarely that simple. Jess escalated things. One night, after lights out, we were all in bed. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, the other three burst out laughing at the same time. It jolted me awake. My heart started pounding. They started talking about things I didn’t understand, whispering about “flashing disco balls” and how “the real nightlife is just getting started.” I realized they must have a group chat without me. They were all lying in their beds, texting each other, making me the butt of the joke. I remembered back at orientation, we’d laughed at that meme about how a dorm room of four girls has twenty-five different group chats. We all thought it was so ridiculous. Now, here we were. Art imitating life. A wave of sadness washed over me. We had all gotten along so well at first. Why did it have to turn out like this? I’d always had friends, I’d never been treated this way before. I had no idea what to do, how to handle it, so I just let it happen. The only thing I could do, it seemed, was to not let them see they were getting to me. I rolled over, facing the wall. I heard their whispering stop, and the room fell silent for a moment. Just as I was about to fall asleep again, I heard Jess’s sharp, taunting voice cut through the darkness. “Hey, you guys hear that? I think someone’s crying.” Leave it to a mean girl to know exactly where to stick the knife. I did want to cry. It was like Jess could sense my insecurity, my sensitivity, and she was deliberately poking at my fragile self-esteem. But I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. I’m stronger than you think, I told myself. I forced myself to wake up fully, cleared my throat, and said in a voice that was surprisingly loud and steady, “Who’s crying? I don’t hear anything. You’re gonna freak us out in the middle of the night.” Silence. Complete silence. I felt a surge of victory. It was like a tiny trumpet blast in my head, urging me on. I pushed further, speaking clearly to the other two silent onlookers. “Did you guys hear anything?” Ashley stayed quiet. But then, another voice answered. “Nope. Didn’t hear a thing.” It was Chloe. Quiet, low-key Chloe, who usually stayed out of the drama. She had answered me. I turned my head in Jess’s direction. “See? Nobody heard anything. Maybe you’re hearing ghosts.” I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but she didn’t say another word. I was so happy. I felt like a general who had just won a major battle. Tonight, I could sleep soundly. And I owed a small thank you to my unexpected ally, Chloe. 02 I was really grateful to Chloe. After the money incident, Jess had led the charge in freezing me out. Ashley, while not as openly hostile, clearly wanted nothing to do with me. In her eyes, I was probably a thief, and I couldn’t blame her for avoiding me. Chloe was different. When Jess was around, Chloe didn’t talk to me much, probably because she was afraid of getting on Jess’s bad side. But when it was just the two of us, she was incredibly friendly. We both liked to read, and she’d go on and on about classic American authors and their crazy lives. I’d heard most of the stories before, but I listened patiently. She was, for all intents and purposes, my only friend in that room. Even if she ignored me whenever Jess was there, I understood. I knew my situation. I was that one kid in middle school that everyone picks on. Even if someone feels sorry for you, they’re too scared to be seen with you, afraid the bullying will spread to them. All they can offer is a small bit of kindness when no one else is looking. I was grateful for that small bit of kindness. After my late-night comeback, Jess backed off for a while. I naively thought I’d scared her straight. I should have known she was just planning her next move. One day, I came back to the dorm and stopped dead in the doorway. Our drab, boring room had been transformed into a makeshift nightclub. Music was pulsing, the kind of beat that makes you want to dance even if you don’t want to. A cheap disco ball, plugged into an extension cord, was spinning on the floor, throwing colorful spots of light all over the walls. So this was the “flashing disco ball” they were whispering about. Who else but Jess would buy a disco ball and a speaker to throw a rave in a dorm room? The three of them must have been going wild before I walked in, because the moment I opened the door, they all froze. Jess recovered first, of course, and started dancing again with a defiant look on her face. I think her goal was to make me so uncomfortable, so annoyed by the noise and the lights, that I’d just give up and leave. But honestly, Ashley and Chloe looked way more awkward than I felt. They tried to keep dancing, but they looked like zombies doing the robot. I watched for a second, then nodded approvingly. “You guys have fun. I’m gonna take a shower.” The music didn’t stop while I was in the bathroom. I don’t know if they were having fun, but having a soundtrack for my shower was pretty great. I almost started singing. Jess, I had to admit, had the stamina of a professional club-goer. Even after Ashley and Chloe gave up, she was still dancing by herself in front of the full-length mirror, probably filming a TikTok. If we weren’t enemies, I would have been seriously impressed by her dedication. But we were enemies, and it was now 11 PM. I sat on my bed, staring at her. She kept dancing, blasting music from the speaker on the floor below me. It was a battle of wills. Who would break first? I don’t know who won, because I eventually passed out. But my alarm for my 8 AM class woke me up bright and early. They were chronic class-skippers and could sleep in, but I actually cared about my GPA. Sitting in lecture with massive bags under my eyes, I knew I couldn’t go on like this. As soon as class was over, I marched straight to our RA’s office. Our RA, Mike, had just graduated a couple of years ago. All the students liked him. The guys treated him like a brother, and the girls saw him as this cool older-brother figure. I’d been trying to handle this dorm drama myself, but I was at my breaking point. When I saw him, I almost broke down. I resisted the urge to grab his hand and cry, “Mike, you gotta help me!” Instead, I remembered he liked to be taken seriously, so I respectfully called him Mr. Thompson. I tried to stay calm as I explained everything. It’s hard to talk about being ostracized without sounding pathetic or crazy. I was terrified he was going to hit me with the classic, “Well, have you thought about what you might be doing wrong? Why are they picking on you and not someone else?” Thankfully, Mike wasn’t like that. He listened patiently to my whole story, expressed his sympathy, and then firmly rejected my request to switch rooms. I felt my heart sink. “Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Lily,” he said gently, “you have no idea how many students come to me asking to switch rooms. If I said yes to everyone, we’d have chaos. You get people from all over the country, with different habits, different personalities, all thrown together. Clashes are normal. The answer isn’t to run away from the problem. It’s to try and solve it.” My eyes glazed over. “So what am I supposed to do?” “I’m going to call your other roommates in for a chat,” he said. “We’ll try to mediate this and solve the problem within the room.” If things in the dorm were a cold war before, Mike’s plan was to drop a nuclear bomb on it. All the secret tensions and resentments were about to explode. He must have seen the panic on my face, because he added, “Look, I promise, if things really can’t be worked out, I’ll find a way to get you a new room.” I left his office and stress-ate a massive burrito bowl at the campus cafe, my stomach churning with anxiety. When I got back to the room, only Chloe was there. She looked at me, her expression unreadable. “Mike called Ashley and Jess into his office. Did you go talk to him?” Wow, Mike worked fast. I took a deep breath. “Yeah. How come you weren’t called in?” “It doesn’t have anything to do with me,” she said, shrugging. “I’m not getting involved. But… do you really want to switch rooms?” I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t want the hassle, but living here was making me miserable. I finally asked her the question that had been haunting me for months. “Do you all think I was the one who stole the three hundred dollars?” “Well, didn’t you?” Chloe’s casual reply felt like a punch to the gut. The air left my lungs. All this time, with her friendly chats and kind words, I thought she was on my side. I thought she believed me. I once saw an interview with an actress who said that when you’re being bullied, and someone throws a ball at you, you just freeze. You can’t even move. I never understood that until this moment. I’d been so sheltered my whole life, I was genuinely shocked that people could be this cruel for no reason. I was too sensitive, too fragile to accept the reality of being an outcast. I didn’t fight back because I knew, deep down, I had no one in my corner. When you’re surrounded, it takes a rare kind of courage to fight your way out. I fought back tears, looked down, and let out a bitter laugh. “Even if I said I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me, right? There’s no proof either way.” 03 Chloe seemed almost amused by my reaction. “It’s just a few hundred bucks,” she said dismissively. “It’s not a big deal.” Her attitude pissed me off. “Then why did you guys make a group chat without me?” I demanded. “Because every time we asked you to hang out, you said no. So we just made our own group to plan things.” So the group chat existed long before the money went missing. My “not fitting in” had already gotten me kicked out of their circle. The missing money was just the catalyst. It didn’t matter if it happened or not; I was never going to be one of them. “We were trying to be nice, actually,” Chloe added. “We figured it would be more awkward to plan things in front of you when we knew you wouldn’t want to come.” That day, I learned a valuable lesson: bullies never feel guilty. Don’t ever expect the villain in your story to have a sudden change of heart. That only happens in movies. I pulled out my phone and texted my best friend from back home. She’d been my rock through all of this. When she heard I was trying to switch rooms, she was furious. “Why the hell should YOU have to move?” she texted back in all caps. “They’re the assholes! They should be the ones to leave! Why do you get punished for being bullied?!” “They’re not going anywhere,” I replied. “The three of them are a package deal.” “I don’t buy it! I bet they’re not as tight as you think. Awful people can’t stay friends for long. They’ll turn on each other eventually. If I were you, I’d stay put and wait for the drama. Grab some popcorn.” My best friend. She always knew how to make me feel like I could take on the world. But when I put my phone down, I was back in reality, bracing for the storm. Mike’s little chat with my roommates was over. Jess stormed into the room, slamming her books on her desk and making as much noise as possible. Ashley and Chloe stood by, watching her silently. I took a deep breath, ready for battle. “Some people are just amazing,” Jess sneered, staring right at me. “Got a little problem, and boom, they go running to the RA!” I was terrified of confrontation, truly. For months, Jess had been playing mind games, with passive-aggressive comments and organized isolation. This was the first time she’d come at me directly. I knew I had to push back. I forced my voice to sound steady, a fake smile plastered on my face. “That’s right. I asked for a room change. If all goes well, you won’t have to see me anymore. Happy now?” I was ready for a screaming match, but the second I snapped back, she fell silent. For a split second, I had a thought: maybe she was just a paper tiger. Every time I showed the slightest bit of backbone, she seemed to back down. Her tone softened a little. “If you want to go, then go. No one’s begging you to stay.” I wasn’t as scared anymore. “I don’t want to go,” I said calmly. “But when you’re having a rave in the room until 2 AM, I can’t sleep. If I stay, I’ll end up in a mental hospital.” As we were locked in this standoff, I heard a soft chuckle from behind me. It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp and clear. It came from Chloe. I was sure of it. I spun around. Jess was fuming, Ashley looked terrified, and Chloe… the moment I looked at her, she immediately pretended to be busy with something on her desk, as if nothing had happened. What was so funny about this situation? I looked back at her, a new thought forming in my mind. It seemed like someone was really, really enjoying watching Jess and me go at each other. The room change wasn’t happening. Days turned into weeks, and I never heard back from Mike. And just as I expected, Jess didn’t stop her antics. In fact, my fighting back seemed to make her even more determined to put me in my place. She decided we needed to have a “room meeting.” That night, it was like a scene from a movie. I sat alone on the cheap papasan chair I’d bought, out on the tiny balcony. They sat facing me in a row of desk chairs, like an interrogation panel. Jess started. “We never wanted to kick you out of the room. We just have a problem with some of your behavior.” “I didn’t steal the money,” I said flatly. “Then why did you say that thing about giving the thief a chance to put it back?” Every time I thought about my “after-school special” speech, I wanted to slap myself. “In high school, a kid stole money, and that’s how our teacher handled it. She let him return it anonymously. I thought it was a good way to protect someone’s dignity, give them a chance to fix their mistake without ruining their life. I never thought… I never thought you’d think it was me.” “You’re the brokest one in the room,” she shot back. “It’s not that big of a leap.” “Excuse me?” That was just plain rude. I wanted to argue, but I looked at Jess’s desk overflowing with makeup, Ashley’s shelves of expensive collectibles, Chloe’s closet bursting with clothes and bags… and then at my own sparse corner. Objectively, I probably did look like the “poorest” one. “First of all,” I said, my voice shaking slightly, “I’m not poor enough to need to steal. And second, being broke doesn’t make you a thief. I didn’t do it. Believe me or don’t.” Ashley, true to her gentle nature, chimed in softly. “It’s in the past. The money doesn’t matter anymore.” “Right,” Jess agreed. “The point of this meeting is to clear the air. From now on, we solve our problems in here, not by running to the RA.” So, that’s what this was about. My talking to Mike had worked, in a way. Chloe, playing the peacemaker, said in her most reasonable voice, “Let’s just get it all out. Whatever issues we have, let’s put them on the table now so we can move on.” I figured a room change was a lost cause, so clearing the air was the next best thing. I looked straight at Jess. “Fine. It bugs me when you smoke in the room in the morning. That’s it.” The mention of smoking made Jess’s face darken. “Oh yeah? And what about you? You think using someone’s body wash without asking isn’t annoying as hell?” The damn body wash again. I wanted to facepalm. Why did I have to be so careless? I felt a flash of shame but knew I had to own it. “You’re right. That was my mistake. You called me out on it, and it won’t happen again.” I thought admitting fault would de-escalate things, but Jess was the type to pounce on any weakness. My apology only fueled her fire. “Let me tell you something,” she said, leaning forward. “I’m the only one here from this city. I know people at this school. Don’t mess with me. If you really piss me off, I’ll have my friends meet you on the quad. You get me?” If anyone else had said that, I would have laughed. But coming from Jess, I believed her. The smoking, the drinking, the tough-girl act… she wasn’t just playing a part. That threat, whether it was real or not, terrified me. That same night, I was back in Mike’s office, this time with actual tears streaming down my face, telling him how Jess had threatened to have people jump me on campus. Mike looked horrified. “Not on my watch,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I will not let that happen at this university!” Then I begged him again to change my room. The puffed-out chest deflated. He said he was still working on it, but there were no open spots. If I couldn’t find a way out, I had to make my own. If I was stuck in this room, I had to find a way to survive. 04 Tucked away in the back of my closet was a small, gift-wrapped box. I’d bought it for Jess’s birthday months ago. My own birthday was right at the beginning of the semester, back when we were all friends. They had all chipped in and gotten me a nice skincare set. I was so touched that I immediately started planning what to get them for their birthdays. Jess’s gift was the first one I decided on. She smoked, and I knew she was self-conscious about it. I’d noticed she always used cheap, plastic lighters. So I bought her a beautiful, sleek Zippo. I wanted to show her that I didn’t judge her for smoking; I just didn’t like the smell. The two things were separate. But then the whole money thing happened, and the gift just sat in my closet, gathering dust. It was useless sitting there. Maybe it could buy me some peace. One morning, as everyone was rushing to get to class, I grabbed the box, walked over to Jess, and shoved it into her hands. “Happy belated birthday!” Then I bolted out of the room like my life depended on it. It was so awkward. I didn’t want to see her reaction, and I was too embarrassed to ever bring it up again. But slowly, I noticed a small, subtle shift. Jess pretty much stopped snapping at me. The passive-aggressive comments died down. When she smoked in the morning, she’d go to the bathroom. The room started to smell like a normal dorm room again. Once, during a group project, she even asked if I wanted to be in their group. It was probably just because I had good grades and she wanted me to do all the work, but I was so relieved I almost cried. I could finally stop worrying about getting jumped on the quad. God, I was such a coward. Ashley had never been openly hostile, and now she treated me like a normal, distant roommate. We’d exchange a few words here and there. Chloe was the same as before, too—when we were alone, we’d chat about books and our dreams. It was as if our big confrontation, and that chilling little laugh, had never happened. Mike never came through with a new room, so I just stayed. I still kept to myself, eating alone, walking around campus alone. Sometimes I’d see pictures of the three of them on Instagram, having fun without me, and I’d feel a pang of loneliness. But mostly, I preferred the quiet freedom of being on my own. Life settled into a calm, predictable routine. Until New Year’s. That’s when the first stone was tossed into our placid little pond. We had a three-day weekend. Jess, being the only local, took her new bestie Ashley home with her. That left just me and Chloe in the dorm. On the third day, Chloe said she was bored and went out, leaving me to my own devices. I didn’t mind; I’d recently started writing a novel, and I loved having the room to myself. To my surprise, when Chloe came back that evening, she had a New Year’s gift for me. It was a liquid lipstick from a niche indie brand. It wasn’t expensive, but it was the thought that counted. “You don’t wear a lot of makeup,” she said, “so I picked a really natural color for you. It’s subtle, so you can wear it even without any other makeup and it’ll look great.” I’m the kind of person who forgets all grievances the moment someone does something nice for me. I was so happy I completely forgot all our past issues. I even felt a little guilty for not getting her anything. But the happiness didn’t last long. Later that night, I was lying in bed listening to music when I got a text from Jess. “Is that a Rare Beauty lipstick on your desk? Shade 307?” My stomach dropped. The word “thief” felt like a curse that was destined to follow me forever. I texted back immediately: “Chloe gave it to me. I don’t know the shade.” Jess replied: “Flip it over. The number is on the bottom.” I looked. It was 307. My brain hadn’t caught up yet, but my body was buzzing. A strange energy started in my feet and shot through my entire body. Looking back, I realize it was the exhilarating premonition of long-overdue justice. But at that moment, all I felt was panic. How was I going to explain my way out of this one? Then it hit me. This wasn’t Jess’s style. If she thought I’d stolen something again, she’d have already dragged me out into the hallway for a public shaming. Texting me privately like this was… different. The first chance I got to talk to her alone, I asked, “What’s up with the lipstick?” Her answer was short and to the point. “I bought Ashley the exact same one for New Year’s. Same shade.” A lightning bolt shot through my brain. I started stammering, “Chloe gave it to me, I didn’t…” “I know,” she cut me off. “You only ever use, like, drugstore chapstick.” It was a snobby thing to say, but in that moment, it was the most comforting sentence I’d ever heard. If Jess had just seen the lipstick on my desk and jumped to conclusions, I’d be facing another round of dorm hell. The fact that they asked me first meant something had changed. Maybe their suspicion of Chloe wasn’t new. My best friend’s words echoed in my head: Wait for the drama. Grab some popcorn. “Are you going to confront Chloe?” I asked. “Not yet,” Jess said. “The lipstick isn’t the main problem. Ashley’s Yeezys are missing.” “Her… what?” “Her sneakers,” Jess said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “Nike Yeezys.” Oh. That meant they were expensive. A quick Google search confirmed it. A pair of sneakers that could sell for four figures, sometimes even five on the resale market. Yeah, someone would definitely steal those. Jess took me to talk to Ashley. I had to ask them. “Why didn’t you suspect me this time?” Jess shrugged. “You’re broke, yeah, and you don’t care about fashion, but you’ve been that way since we met. You probably can’t even tell the difference between eyeshadow and blush, right? Or Nike and Adidas? Even if you stole the shoes, you wouldn’t even know where to get them authenticated to sell them.” I felt slightly insulted, but mostly, I was relieved. My simple, unfashionable life had an unexpected upside. “And who steals something and then just leaves it out on their desk for everyone to see?” Ashley added. I broke into a cold sweat. I had almost put the lipstick away in a drawer. This time, Ashley was determined to search the room. I was one hundred percent on board. When Chloe heard we were searching the room again, she looked completely shocked, as if she had no idea what was going on. When she heard Ashley’s Yeezys were missing, she asked what style they were. Hearing they were the super popular model, she was full of sympathy. She was a master at faking empathy. She agreed to the search without hesitation. Having my messy closet rummaged through was embarrassing, but at least my name was finally in the clear. The search turned up nothing. As she was tidying her closet, Chloe said, “Why does this keep happening? Why is it always our room?” The three of us exchanged a look but said nothing. “We shouldn’t tell anyone about this,” Chloe continued. “We don’t want people talking.” Her words triggered a memory. Back when they all suspected me of stealing the money, did I ever worry they would spread rumors about me outside the room? No, never. In fact, I kind of wished they had. It would have given me a reason to blow the whole thing up, clear my name, and get that room change. But strangely, they never did. The bullying was always contained within our four walls. Was it Chloe who had told them to keep it quiet back then, too? Why would she do that? After we finished cleaning up the mess, Jess asked me to grab dinner with her and Ashley. This time, the three of us walked out of the room together. I glanced back and saw Chloe, alone, sweeping the floor. So this time, Chloe, you’re the one left behind.

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My daughter, Lily, and my nephew, Leo, are the same age. My mother-in-law always said, “One spot per address, that’s the rule.” That’s why my mom shelled out three hundred thousand dollars for the down payment on a small condo for us, right inside the boundary lines for the prestigious Northwood Elementary School. But when I went to Lily’s orientation, the system couldn’t find her registration. I thought my husband, Mark, must have made a typo. But the principal looked at me, confused. “Mrs. Davis, the information your husband submitted was for a boy. Do you have two children?” 1 “What do you mean?” I leaned over her desk and spun the monitor toward me. There it was. The proof of residency, the deed to the condo my mother paid for, had been used to register a student. And under the student’s information, a small, typed line: “Enrollment confirmed by parent/guardian signature.” My voice trembled. “Confirmed? When did I confirm any of this?” “But… the child has already started school. His uncle—your husband—dropped him off this morning…” The principal’s face paled as she fumbled through a file folder. “Here. This is your husband’s signature on the final registration forms. He said he was the point of contact for all school matters, and that you were fully aware of the arrangement…” “Like hell I was!” The words exploded out of me. I shot up from the chair, banging my hip on the corner of the desk. My purse strap caught and tore, a long scratch marking the leather. I didn’t care. I stabbed the elevator button and headed straight for the first-grade wing. My sister, Sara, who had come with me for support, was scrambling behind me. “Chloe! Slow down!” she yelled. “You forgot your purse!” I didn’t look back. One thought hammered in my head: “Get to Room 101. Get to Room 101 and see who it is.” The door to Room 101 was slightly ajar. I could hear the smug, self-satisfied voice of my sister-in-law, Brenda. “See? This is what a top-tier school gets you. The classroom is so bright, look at these ergonomic chairs! My Leo is practically guaranteed an Ivy League spot now. Oh, you’re the best, Mark. Your sister knew she could count on you.” I shoved the door open. Mark’s mom was standing by a desk, beaming as she stroked my nephew’s hair. Brenda was holding a box of Godiva chocolates, feeding them to Leo one by one. And my husband, Mark, was at the desk, carefully writing Leo’s name on the cover of a pristine new textbook. The sound of the door banging against the wall made them all jump. Mark’s head snapped up, his face went ghost-white, his eyes filled with panic. He rushed over, grabbing my arm, mouthing silently, “Not here. Please, Chloe. We can talk about this at home. Don’t make a scene.” I ripped my arm away from him and snatched the book from his hand. “Where did you get this? This is the special edition set my mom brought back from London for Lily! Did you steal it?” Mark’s mom shot me a sideways glance, her lips curling into a fake, placating smile. “Oh, Chloe, you’re here! Come, find a seat!” Brenda shot to her feet. “What do you mean, steal? Lily can get another set. Leo wanted this one. He gets first pick, he’s the man of the house now.” My fingers were shaking with rage. “Chloe, let’s go,” my sister Sara said, pulling at my arm, her voice low and urgent. “Making a scene here won’t solve anything. This whole family is shameless. We need to get home and call a lawyer. If we wait, Lily might lose her chance to enroll anywhere this semester.” I looked down and saw Sara was holding Lily’s little unicorn backpack. My daughter was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling as tears welled up. Seeing my sister pull me away, Brenda smirked and held out the half-empty box of chocolates. “Here, Chloe. Since you were so generous, this is a little thank-you gift from me. Leo really appreciates his auntie.” Sara was dragging me toward the exit. Mark scrambled after us, grabbing my other arm. “Chloe, just calm down. Please, listen to me.” “Brenda’s going through a messy divorce. The economy’s tough, she can’t afford a place in this district… Leo’s just a kid, he deserves a good school. Can’t you do this for me, for my family? Yell at me all you want at home, but don’t do it here. You’re hurting my mom and my sister’s feelings…” The entire time, he never once looked at our daughter. Every word was an excuse for his own despicable actions, a plea for his precious sister and nephew. I stopped walking and turned to look at Lily’s heartbroken little face. She was always such a good, sweet kid. And on her first day of school, the path I had laid for her had been stolen. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, the sharp pain like a bucket of ice water snapping me back to reality. Mark was still rambling on with his sob story. I screamed, “He deserves a good school? Your mother told me the spot at her house was for Leo, which is why MY MOTHER bought a condo for Lily! Are you all playing dumb?” “Are you crazy, Chloe?” he hissed back. “We keep it in the family! He’s our nephew! Is it really worth making such an ugly scene over? Besides, what’s wrong with the local public school? You’re just being selfish! Now get out of my way, I need to take Lily to get registered there.” 2 “Our nephew?” I told my sister to take Lily to the car. “Mark,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Those Chanel earrings your sister is wearing? I’ve been looking for them for a month. And that new tablet her son is playing on? My dad sent that from Germany for Lily’s birthday. Your family has a real talent for swapping things out, don’t you?” Mark’s face stiffened. He stammered, “She just borrowed the tablet… Leo really wanted it, and Brenda started crying when I said no…” “He really wanted it? Why doesn’t he wish for a new dad while he’s at it? You’re scared of making your sister cry, but you’re not scared of me divorcing you?” I took a step closer. “I was the one who stood in line for hours in that lottery just to get an application for this school. I asked you to handle the final paperwork because my sister was in labor. But one phone call from Brenda and you run off, leaving our daughter’s future in the dust. I show up today to find out the spot my mother paid for has been given to your nephew. Have you no conscience? Or did I do something in a past life to deserve being tormented by the Davis family?” Before he could answer, Brenda marched over. “Chloe, I am begging you, have some compassion. Everyone falls on hard times. Remember when you needed that specialist for your pre-wedding checkup? Who got you that appointment? Me. And after you had the baby, didn’t I help you out? The hell I’ve been through raising a kid alone is way worse than what you’re feeling today! Leo calls you ‘Auntie,’ but you only think about your own daughter. How can you be so selfish?” “You dare bring that up? Does your family just think I’m a total pushover? Someone you can walk all over for the rest of my life?” If murder wasn’t a crime, I would have thrown them all off a cliff. “You’ve been through hell? I’ve been played for a fool by your entire family, and I’m not the one who’s suffering? My daughter doesn’t have a school to go to, and she’s not the one who’s suffering?” “I’m sending MY daughter to a good school with MY family’s money! It has nothing to do with you!” Brenda clearly hadn’t expected me to fight back so publicly. She grit her teeth, stormed back into the classroom, grabbed the books, and threw them on the floor outside. Then she stomped on them. “Who cares about your stupid limited edition! My son doesn’t want your secondhand crap anyway!” The commotion drew a crowd of other parents and a few frantic teachers who tried to intervene. I had no energy left to fight. I turned and walked away. As the elevator doors slid shut, I could faintly hear Brenda’s curses and Mark’s pathetic attempts to explain. And in that quiet, descending box, a strange calm washed over me. My sister was right. When you look like an easy target, people will never stop targeting you. 3 Worried about Lily, Sara drove us back to our parents’ house. Lying in my childhood bed, staring at the ceiling, the last eight years of my marriage replayed like a corrupted film reel. When I first met his family, Brenda had been sickeningly sweet, grabbing my hand. “I’ve always wanted a sister to go shopping with and talk to. And now, here you are!” Minutes later, while Mark was on the phone, she handed me a brochure for a comprehensive fertility and health screening. “It’s nothing personal, sweetie. It’s just, you’re young, you’ve probably never had a full workup. This package is two thousand dollars, and I had to pull some strings to get you an appointment.” I was mortified. I told her Mark and I already had our own physicals scheduled. Her smile vanished. She grabbed Mark as soon as he returned and berated him. “Why do you need a checkup? You’re a man. It’s the woman who needs to be checked out, make sure everything is clean and ready to produce an heir!” Then came the wedding planning. His parents took a back seat; Brenda made all the decisions. “Let’s keep it traditional,” she’d announced. “My parents will contribute ten thousand towards your down payment, and your parents can match it.” But at the wedding reception, during the toasts, she got up and gave a speech. She went on and on, thanking her parents for their “incredibly generous fifty-thousand-dollar gift” that “made Mark and Chloe’s dream home possible,” while my parents’ contribution was glossed over as “a lovely fund for their honeymoon.” Those words caused a ripple of whispers through the reception hall. The looks of pity, confusion, and even a little scorn felt like needles in my back. They didn’t know my parents had paid for our entire downtown condo, a retail space, and both our cars. Her parents’ check was a fraction of that. Why would she lie? My sister was furious and confronted her. Brenda just smiled sweetly. “Oh my goodness, was I mistaken? I just think it’s a bit tacky to talk about money, you know? We’re all family now. What matters is what we know, not what outsiders think.” It got worse. After the wedding, she posted a photo of me from our wedding day next to my medical report, with the most disgusting caption: “Welcome to the family, Chloe! So glad my brother finally invested in some blue-chip stock. Let’s hope the dividends are high! 😉 #Certified” I completely lost it. Mark and I had our first major fight. He called his sister right in front of me, his voice harsher than I’d ever heard it, telling her she was out of line and had to delete it immediately. On the other end of the line, Brenda burst into theatrical sobs. “It was a joke! How could you turn on me like this? I dropped out of community college and worked two jobs waiting tables to put you through grad school! I sacrificed everything for you, for this family! Have you forgotten? And now you attack me to defend your new wife? You’re breaking my heart!” She screamed at him that he was ungrateful and told him to choose: his wife or his sister. We were newlyweds. Of course he wouldn’t choose divorce. He just sat there, deflated and miserable. He had stood up for me, and I knew he was caught in an impossible position. His father, who was still alive then, stepped in and made Brenda apologize. For Mark’s sake, I forced a smile, played the peacemaker, and accepted her half-hearted apology. A year later, Brenda announced she was pregnant. My in-laws were overjoyed and bought her a small house in their town. I tried to stay out of it. It was their money. My philosophy was to keep a polite distance. But she never stopped calculating. She was always fishing for information about my family’s import-export business, about my sister’s finances, about our assets. The battle lines were drawn long ago. 4 My parents travel constantly for their business. Just before school started, a big shipment to Europe got held up in customs, and they had to fly out on short notice to deal with it. Before she left, my mom made sure the deed for the condo was solely in my name, reminding me over and over to handle Lily’s school registration. But then my sister went into labor, and I rushed to the hospital to be with her. I left the deed and all the registration documents with Mark. He beat his chest and promised he’d take care of everything. Thinking back, it was all part of their plan. A conspiracy between him, his sister, and his mother to play me for a fool. They knew my parents were out of the country and my sister was preoccupied. They saw their window, thinking I was isolated and they could pressure me into giving in. After all, the kid was already in school. What was I going to do, flip the table? “Can’t you sleep, honey?” It was Sara’s voice from the doorway. I quickly sniffled back a tear. “Just a lot on my mind.” “Tell me the truth, Chloe. Have they always treated you like this? You’ve gotten so quiet over the years.” It wasn’t just me. It was Lily, too. Brenda and I were pregnant around the same time. After I gave birth, I was weak, and Mark had just been transferred to a project in another city for six months. Brenda suggested I move in with their mom for a while. She wasn’t working, she said, and could help with the two babies. One day, I came home to the sound of Lily’s blood-curdling screams. I dropped my bags and ran into the bedroom. The scene made my blood run cold. Lily’s right ear was a mess of blood. My mother-in-law was dabbing at it with a tissue. I was so scared my knees felt weak. “What happened?” When Lily saw me, she cried even harder, reaching for me with her tiny arms. Leo started wailing, too. Brenda rushed in, clearly shaken, and scooped up her son. “They were just playing,” she stammered. “Kids don’t know their own strength. It was just a game of darts, he accidentally nicked her…” A game of darts? She had let her son use my daughter as a living dartboard. That’s when I saw it. A cheap plastic dart was stuck in Lily’s ear, the sharp metal tip piercing right through the delicate cartilage. Seeing my expression, Brenda tried to backtrack. “Lots of girls get those cartilage piercings for fashion, right? Look, she got one for free! Saved you some money down the line.” I exploded. “SHE’S NINE MONTHS OLD!” My mother-in-law had been there the whole time. How could she not know how dangerous that was? How could she let her daughter entertain herself by hurting my child? Thankfully, after three stitches at the ER, the doctor said there would be no permanent damage. I called Mark and screamed at him until I was hoarse. That night, I called a lawyer. I was done. But then, I’d watch Lily sleeping, crying out for “Dada” in her dreams, and my resolve would crumble. Mark showed up at my parents’ house and knelt on the doorstep for hours, swearing he would never let me or Lily get hurt again. It’s clear now that I was a fool to believe his pathetic lies. He’s been a parasite’s host for so long, he’s become a parasite himself. He’s willing to be bled dry, but now he expects me and my daughter to be the blood bank, too. What a joke. As the last tear fell, I felt strangely calm. What was the point of an emotional breakdown? They had orchestrated this whole thing because, in the past, I had always backed down for the sake of my child. I gave them the illusion that I was a doormat. Too bad for them. They made a fatal miscalculation. They can mess with me. But they don’t get to mess with my daughter.

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In our world, everyone knew the score: Old Man Mantel had decreed that I was the key to his family’s empire. Whoever married me would inherit it all. At the engagement party, I stood poised in a custom-made gown, ready to take the stage and announce the union of the Mantel and Vance families. But then my fiancé, Caleb Mantel, strode into the center of the glittering ballroom, his fingers intertwined with my stepsister, Dahlia Vance. He pulled her to his side, a defiant set to his jaw. “Dahlia and I are in love,” he announced, his voice ringing through the sudden silence. “She is the only one I will ever marry.” He shot a cold glance in my direction. “Keira is too headstrong. She is not fit to be Mrs. Mantel.” Just like that, my engagement was transferred to my stepsister. A sea of faces turned towards me, their expressions a mix of pity and scorn. What Caleb didn’t know, what almost no one knew, was the real reason Grandpa Arthur had chosen me. My mother is the matriarch of the Thorne family, a reclusive and powerful dynasty, and one day, I will inherit everything. Since Caleb had made his choice, it was time for the Mantel empire to find a new heir. 1 Caleb’s grip on Dahlia’s hand was ironclad as he positioned her before the stunned crowd. She let out a small, theatrical gasp, trying to pull away. “Caleb, we can’t,” she whispered, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Your engagement to my sister… it was arranged by your grandfather himself.” “You’re the one I love,” he declared, lacing their fingers together more tightly. “I won’t marry anyone else.” He looked up at Grandpa Arthur, who sat enthroned on the main dais, his face a granite mask. “Grandfather, I’ve always loved Dahlia. She is the only woman I will have as my wife.” The air crackled with whispers. Everyone here knew Caleb and I had grown up together, that I was Grandpa Arthur’s handpicked choice for his grandson. But now, in front of everyone who mattered in our circle, Caleb was publicly tearing my dignity to shreds. His tone was absolute. “Keira and I may have grown up together, but I’ve only ever seen her as a sister. Nothing more.” He continued, his voice hardening, “Dahlia and I are in love. We’ve been together for some time. In my heart, my wife can only be her. No other woman will do.” I saw Caleb’s parents flinch, their eyes darting nervously toward the old man on the dais. Caleb wrapped an arm around Dahlia’s waist and finally looked at me, his eyes glinting with a strange sort of triumph. “Keira, you have to know I never saw you that way. Surely you don’t want to be chained to a man who doesn’t love you for the rest of your life?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, Dahlia and I are already together. You wouldn’t use my grandfather’s affection for you to stand between us, would you?” I held their gaze for a moment before turning to Grandpa Arthur and offering a slight, respectful bow. “Grandpa Arthur, if they truly love each other, who am I to stand in their way? Please, let them be happy.” I raised my glass. “To my sister and Mr. Mantel. May you have a long and happy life together.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Caleb’s face at my composed response. Dahlia, however, played her part perfectly, clutching his arm with a worried expression. “Caleb, darling, your engagement was your grandfather’s wish. What if he’s angry?” Caleb patted her hand, his voice softening into a gentle murmur. “He won’t be. He adores me. He won’t stay mad over someone like her.” He then added, with a dismissive wave in my direction, “Besides, you’re the true daughter of the Vance family, the real heiress. This was always meant to be a union between our families. Why would we care about an outsider?” An outsider? Only my father and Grandpa Arthur knew the truth of my identity. My mother, the head of the Thorne dynasty, had entered a strategic marriage with my father. I was destined to inherit the Thorne empire, which is why I carry her name. And he really thought Dahlia was my father’s biological daughter? How little he knew. Grandpa Arthur’s brow furrowed at Caleb’s words. “Caleb, don’t be a fool. Are you certain you want to marry Miss Vance?” Caleb’s response was to dramatically slip the engagement ring onto Dahlia’s finger and press a devout kiss to her knuckles. “Grandfather, my mind is made up. I will marry Dahlia and no one else.” A wave of disappointment washed over Grandpa Arthur’s face. If this had just been about swapping fiancées, perhaps he would have overlooked it. But for Caleb to orchestrate this public humiliation, to intentionally drag me through the mud in front of everyone… it proved he was unreliable. Unworthy. “Fine,” the old man said, his voice flat and cold. “Have it your way.” With Grandpa Arthur’s reluctant blessing, a collective sigh of relief rippled through the room. The titans of industry invited to witness the merger of two great families had been holding their breath, waiting to see how the scandal would unfold. Amidst the cacophony of hushed gossip, Caleb led Dahlia to the microphone. “Thank you all for coming today to celebrate the engagement of myself and Miss Dahlia Vance.” The guests exchanged glances, their faces a canvas of shock and intrigue. No one had expected the Mantels and Vances to pull a stunt like this. My father, who had been blindsided by the whole affair, saw his face darken with fury. I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach, but I forced my spine to remain ramrod straight, raising my glass high as if offering a toast to their union, a final, grand gift. “Can you believe he switched fiancées on the spot? He didn’t even try to save Keira Thorne’s reputation.” “I thought Old Man Mantel was dead set on her. What made him change his mind?” “To be jilted at your own engagement party… how utterly mortifying. She must have done something to make Caleb despise her that much.” The whispers weren’t quiet. My father shot Dahlia a withering glare before turning on Caleb. “Do you have any idea how much gossip your sister will have to endure because of this? And you,” he seethed, turning to his other daughter, “you’re old enough to know better. Did you think for a second about the consequences, or were you just trying to humiliate me?” Dahlia flinched under his tirade and meekly tried to pull the ring from her finger to hand it to me. Grandpa Arthur waved a dismissive hand, stopping her. He turned to me, his eyes filled with a genuine, heavy guilt. He gently patted my head. “Keira, my dear, don’t you worry. Grandpa will make this right. If you’re willing, there are other fine young men in the Mantel family.” Caleb’s parents overheard, but they dismissed it as a comforting platitude, nothing more. They never expected my next move. I pointed toward a shadowed corner of the room, where the black sheep of the Mantel family was watching the drama unfold with a lazy smirk. “Actually,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “the one I’ve always admired is Silas. I hope you’ll grant us your blessing, Grandpa.” Every head swiveled to Silas, then back to me, eyes wide with disbelief. Silas was the illegitimate son of Caleb’s late uncle. After his father’s death, he was ostracized by the family, his life a constant struggle for relevance. Grandpa Arthur, not wanting to be accused of mistreating his own blood, had begrudgingly taken Silas in to live under his roof. My father looked at me, utterly aghast. “Keira,” he whispered urgently, “I know you’re upset, but he’s an illegitimate son. The Mantels don’t take him seriously.” I nonchalantly swirled the wine in my glass and raised it in Silas’s direction. “He didn’t choose his circumstances. I think he’s quite impressive. I’m willing to give it a try.” Silas’s dark eyes met mine from across the room, his expression unreadable, almost mocking. “If Miss Thorne insists,” he called out, his voice smooth and detached, “then let’s give it a try.” The gazes fixed on me were now heavier, laced with a new, profound meaning. The news of the Mantel family’s chaotic engagement party spread through our social circles like wildfire. The moment the event ended, a text from my mother buzzed on my phone. In a private suite at a downtown hotel, my mother wrapped me in a fierce hug, her eyes shooting daggers at my father. “Jonathan,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “how dare you let my daughter be humiliated like this? Are you tired of your position?” I squeezed her hand, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Grandpa Arthur offered me another match. His name is Silas Mantel. I quite like him.” My father wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow and sighed. “He’s a nobody, Keira. An outcast. Why would you choose him?” I met my parents’ confused stares, a small smile playing on my lips as I laid out my plan. “Grandpa Arthur and my grandfather arranged this union. I was always going to marry into the Mantel family, one way or another.” “And Silas, despite his status, is the most capable of all the young Mantel men. From a purely business perspective, he is the most suitable partner.” I let that sink in before delivering the final, crucial point. “Besides, he’s an illegitimate son. If I marry him, the Thorne family becomes his foundation in the Mantel empire. He’ll have no choice but to treat me well.” Now, Dahlia was the toast of the town, a figure everyone fawned over and desperately tried to connect with. The merger of the Mantel and Vance families was a titan in the making, and everyone wanted a piece of the action. I had no time for such trivialities. I was abroad, focused on a critical project my mother had entrusted to me. Then came the invitation for Grandpa Arthur’s birthday. Dahlia sent it personally, following up with a string of phone calls until I had no choice but to accept. The moment I stepped through the grand doors of the Mantel manor, every eye was on me. I felt no shame, only a cool sense of purpose as I smiled and handed my gift to the butler. “What is Keira Thorne doing here? I thought Caleb was with her sister now.” “You haven’t heard? After Caleb insisted on breaking the engagement, she threw a fit and chose that illegitimate son, Silas.” “She’d even marry a bastard just to get into the Mantel family? That woman has no shame.” As the whispers swirled, Dahlia made her grand entrance on Caleb’s arm. Gone was her usual understated, gentle attire. Tonight, she was draped in a haute couture gown and so many layers of opulent, flashy jewelry that she looked less like high society and more like a gaudy chandelier. Spotting me, she glided over, reaching out to take my arm with sickeningly sweet affection. “Sister! Isn’t it just wonderful that we both get to marry into the Mantel family? Out of sisterly love, I’ll be sure to have Caleb help your… husband… move up in the world.” I almost laughed. She still thought this was about marrying into the Mantel family, didn’t she? Caleb clearly thought the same. In his eyes, I was a desperate social climber who would do anything to cling to his family name. He looked at me as if I were something he’d scraped off his shoe. I had no interest in engaging with them. I turned to leave, but my eyes caught on a piece of jewelry on Dahlia’s wrist: a magnificent emerald bracelet of unmistakable quality. It was the Mantel family heirloom, a piece passed down through generations, always kept in Grandpa Arthur’s private safe. I couldn’t believe it was on Dahlia’s arm, nearly lost amidst the three or four other gaudy bracelets she had stacked on. The Mantel heir hadn’t even been officially named. What was that bracelet doing on her? I pointed to it, my voice sharp. “Where did you get that?” Caleb stiffened for a split second, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Dahlia, however, simply stroked the emeralds, her expression shifting into one of practiced innocence. “Sister, I know this was supposed to be yours. But I’m the one marrying Caleb now, so naturally, it’s mine.” Caleb nodded, his defensiveness returning full force. In his mind, he was already the heir apparent. What was the harm in letting his beloved wear the family jewels a little early? “This is a Mantel family heirloom,” he snapped. “I can give it to whomever I please. What business is it of yours?” He looked me up and down, then took a deliberate step back as if I were contagious. “And don’t think you can use this as an excuse to get my attention. I’ll never be interested in you. My heart belongs to Dahlia.” His voice was loud, attracting even more attention. “Look at her, still trying to get between them. You’d think she’d have some self-respect.” “She seems so poised usually, but I guess she’s just as desperate as anyone to marry into money.” Dahlia blushed, playfully tapping Caleb’s chest. “Darling, don’t be so harsh. We’ll all be family soon. You have to promise you’ll help them out.” Caleb glanced at me, then back at Dahlia, his expression softening into one of doting affection as he pinched her cheek. “Alright, for you, I’ll let it go. But if you ever have any improper thoughts about me again,” he warned me, “don’t expect me to be so merciful.” They were lost in their nauseating display when a new voice cut through the air from behind them, cool and sharp as ice. “My fiancée? Why would she have any ‘improper thoughts’ about you? Caleb, that’s a terribly rude way to speak to your future sister-in-law.” Silas entered, supporting Grandpa Arthur by the arm. A faint smile played on his lips, but his eyes, fixed on Caleb, were full of challenge. Grandpa Arthur’s gaze landed on the bracelet encircling Dahlia’s wrist, and his face instantly turned to stone. “Who gave you permission to wear that?” he boomed, his voice radiating an authority that made the air tremble. “Take it off. Now!” Dahlia, terrified, fumbled with the clasp and hastily removed the bracelet. Caleb muttered under his breath, “Grandfather, I just let her borrow it. It’s going to be hers eventually anyway, what’s the big deal?” The old man didn’t respond. He simply shot Caleb a look that could freeze fire before leading Silas to the front of the room. He cleared his throat, commanding the attention of every guest. “Tonight is not just a celebration of an old man’s birthday,” he announced. “We have another joyous occasion to share.” He placed a hand on Silas’s shoulder. “This is my grandson, Silas Mantel. In a few days, he and Keira Thorne will be officially engaged. We hope you will all join us to celebrate.” The room erupted in stunned silence. Eyes darted between me and Silas, trying to process the tectonic shift that had just occurred. Caleb stood frozen, his face a mask of disbelief. “Grandfather, what are you talking about? Why would Keira be engaged to him?” He gestured wildly at Silas. “He’s just an illegitimate son, he’s—” “Silas is my grandson,” Grandpa Arthur cut him off, his voice like cracking granite. “He is a Mantel.” After that first, disastrous engagement party, I had arranged a private meeting with Silas. In the quiet of a private club, he had watched me with a knowing, almost playful look in his eyes. “I’m just the family bastard,” he said, a smirk dancing on his lips. “The Mantels have plenty of golden boys. Why choose me?” I slid a file across the polished table toward him. “Because you need me. And I need you. Together, we are the optimal solution.” He glanced at the file but made no move to open it. “And what kind of ‘solution’ would that be?” I pushed the file a little closer. “Let’s be honest. I’ve done my research on you. You’re brilliant, far more capable than anyone gives you credit for. I want to partner with you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385399”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the live finale of the reality show, the host had a cheap gimmick: check the seventh photo on each guest’s phone. I sent them the one I had of Sophia—a sweet, candid selfie she’d sent me last week. But when it flashed on the screen, the young heartthrob sitting next to me, Ethan Cole, scrunched his perfect brow. “Liam, man, I get it,” he said, his voice dripping with false concern. “You can come after me all you want, but can you please not be a creep about my girlfriend?” I froze. “I’m sorry, since when does she have a boyfriend?” Without missing a beat, Ethan pulled out his phone and dialed Sophia. “Babe,” he cooed, the cameras zooming in on his face. “Someone’s trying to break us up…” There was a pause on the other end, and then Sophia’s voice, crisp and serious even through the speaker. “Who? Where? I’m on the next flight back to the States.” My jaw hit the floor. The internet exploded. [I KNEW IT! LIAM KNIGHT IS ALWAYS CHASING CLOUT!] [GUESS AGAIN, LIAM. SOPHIA ROSE ISN’T SOMEONE YOU CAN JUST USE FOR ATTENTION!] [OMG, ETHAN AND SOPHIA ARE SO CUTE! GET MARRIED AND MAKE LIAM KNIGHT’S HEAD EXPLODE!] Seriously? I was just blindsided by the fact that my little sister was secretly dating my number one rival. 1 My dumbfounded expression was instantly clipped, GIF’d, and trending on Twitter. [LMAO does Liam Knight actually think Ethan is joking? Does he think everyone is as desperate for attention as he is?] [As if Sophia Rose would ever give him the time of day. This GIF is the best thing to happen all year, I swear.] [Hahaha, this is GOLD. I love watching this phony get put in his place by Ethan!] The live chat was a waterfall of hate. I couldn’t take it. I bolted from the stage and ducked into the nearest dressing room. [Did he just run off? Can’t handle the heat?] [Seeing him get knocked down a peg is my new favorite thing.] I slammed the door shut and immediately called Sophia. Her voice was rushed on the other end. “Liam, I’m in the middle of something urgent. I’ll call you back.” “Let me guess,” I said, my voice tight. “Did your new ‘boyfriend’ call you crying?” Sophia went quiet for a second. “How did you know?” “Are you insane? You’re dating a guy like that?” “You don’t get it, Liam. He’s the most special man I’ve met in my entire twenty-five years.” I felt the air leave my lungs. “He’s an actor, Soph! He can act like anything! I’m telling you, I know exactly who Ethan Cole is, and you need to break up with him. Now.” “It’s not an act!” she shot back, defiant. “He tells me he loves me even when he’s blackout drunk!” A knot of frustration tightened in my chest. “What’s so hard about that? It’s a performance! Watch, I can do it, too. I love you, I love you, I love you!” “Are you crazy? That’s disgusting!” Sophia sounded genuinely repulsed, like she had a full-body cringe. She hung up before I could say another word. Furious, I spun around—and found someone standing in the doorway. Ethan Cole had one hand on the doorknob, the other holding his phone. His eyes were wide with manufactured surprise. “Liam? Hey, sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.” I gave him a humorless smile. “Funny. I could’ve sworn I saw you watch me walk into this very room.” “Liam, you…” Ethan’s face crumpled into a mask of hurt. The online comments, which I could only imagine, were probably going wild. [OMG, YOU PSYCHO, GET AWAY FROM ETHAN!] [I can’t stand this fraud. His movies suck, and so does he. He was hitting on Ethan’s girlfriend first!] I was done playing this game. I brushed past him and walked away. But of course, in the time it took me to walk to the restroom and back, another social media bomb had gone off. I clicked the link. It was a three-second video of me on the phone. My frantic, mocking “I love you” to Sophia. The headline was brutal. Sophia Rose to Liam Knight: “Are You Crazy? That’s Disgusting.” Liam Knight Attempts to Sabotage Relationship, Gets Savagely Shut Down by Business Mogul Sophia Rose. My world went black. 2 The dressing rooms were soundproofed, private. The only person who could have filmed that video was the one who opened the door at the end: Ethan Cole. The clip started right at my “confession,” making it look like I was having a psychotic breakdown and professing my love for Sophia, only for her to reject me in disgust. I found Ethan by the craft services table and held up my phone, playing the three-second clip. “You recorded me?” He forced a nervous laugh. “Whoa, Liam, don’t get the wrong idea. I was just taking a selfie and you were in the background, I didn’t mean to—” “Why was your camera pointed at me for a selfie? And if it was an accident, why did you post it?” The color drained from his face. He realized his mistake—admitting he filmed it was admitting he leaked it. It completely contradicted his carefully crafted persona as the kind, harmless victim. His eyes welled up, his lip trembling. The performance was flawless. “Liam, please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Just stop going after my girlfriend, okay? I tried talking to you, but you wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how to fight with people… I just didn’t know what else to do.” He looked down, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. “She’s the first girl I’ve ever really loved like this. Please… just leave us alone.” I cut him off. “That whole routine might work on her, but it’s wasted on me.” My voice was flat. “You play enough games, and eventually, people see you for who you are. It’s only a matter of time before she dumps you. Watch your back.” I turned and walked away. The premise for this season of the reality show was a “back to basics” rural theme. As I was getting ready for the next leg of the trip out to some farm, my agent called. “For God’s sake, Liam, can you stay out of trouble for five minutes? You’re trending for the third time today!” I pulled up my phone. The number one trending topic had a big red “BREAKING” tag next to it: Liam Knight Threatens Ethan Cole Just moments before, an audio clip had been “leaked” by an anonymous “production staffer.” It was the audio of my conversation with Ethan. I was certain we had been the only two people there. My social media mentions were a war zone. [Dude, get a clue. Sophia Rose herself confirmed Ethan is her boyfriend! And you’re telling HIM to ‘watch his back’?] [Hope you die alone, you homewrecker.] [Who is this clown? Oh, right, the guy who makes garbage movies. No wonder. His whole family is probably trash.] … At the same time, Ethan started a live stream from the back of his car. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling “bravely.” “Guys, please don’t say mean things. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding between me and Liam,” he said softly. “It makes me sad to think I might have caused him any pain.” His fans were eating it up. [OMG MY POOR BABY YOU ARE TOO KIND FOR THIS WORLD! Liam Knight is just a bully! DON’T DEFEND HIM!] [You’re so sweet, I’m crying for you! On my way to Liam’s Twitter to light him up.] [We will protect the kindest boy in the world! Liam Knight can rot!] Sitting in the van, the world swam before my eyes. I picked up my phone and called Sophia again. 3 “Break up with him. Right now.” I didn’t bother with a greeting. Sophia sounded completely lost. “Liam, I told you, this is real.” “Did you happen to see how he’s manipulating the entire internet to make me look like a monster? Have you even glanced at what’s trending?” “Oh, come on, Liam. You get dragged online every other day. I’m used to it by now.” …She had a point. “It’s fine, big brother,” she said, her tone softening. “When I get back, I’ll take you both out to dinner. We’ll clear the air. Ethan is a really good person, he’s not what you think.” “Forget it. I have more experience in this industry than you have contracts signed.” “And what has that experience gotten you? Nothing but bad reviews.” “You—” “Look, Liam, just quit,” she said, not unkindly. “You know your acting got passed down from Mom.” I had no comeback for that. After a moment of letting me stew in her victorious silence, she continued, “Seriously, bro. Just come home and help me run the family business. You’d make way more money, and my life would be a hell of a lot easier. Why are you putting yourself through all this?” “No! I didn’t get into this business for the money. I did it for Amelia!” “…” 4 The truth was, I never needed to be in show business. My parents were constantly begging me to come home, to join Sophia in running the family empire and take it to the next level. But I was stubborn. I chose the chaos of Hollywood for one reason: to get closer to Amelia Lane. The goddess I’d worshipped from afar for five years. To avoid any unnecessary drama, I had never publicly disclosed my relationship with Sophia. I took my mother’s last name, Knight. Sophia took our father’s, Rose. In all these years, no one had ever connected the dots. Until now, when it had all blown up into this ridiculous circus. A wave of regret washed over me. As her older brother, I’d always been the one to guide her, to keep her focused. I’d been so strict about her not dating in high school or college. I guess the consequence of a youth devoid of romance was that the first slick-haired charlatan who came along could lead her away by the nose. I slumped down in my seat in the van, my head in my hands. “I should have let her date more when she was younger.” 5 My dark mood evaporated the moment we arrived at the next location. Because as soon as I stepped out of the van, I found out who the “surprise celebrity guest” was. “Amelia Lane?!” I gasped. “Is it really her? Is she actually here?” A crew member shot me a disdainful look, sniffed, and walked away. Ever since the drama with Ethan “stealing” my “crush,” the entire production team had been treating me like I was radioactive. When they realized the online audience loved their coldness toward me, they doubled down. I didn’t care. After years in this business, I was used to the side-eyes and whispered insults. Amelia was the only thing that mattered. The moment she stepped out of her black SUV, a wave of shrieks erupted from the crew and the other cast members. I darted forward, holding out a pristine, gold-edged photo card. “Ms. Lane, I’m a huge fan. Could I please get your autograph?” She pulled down her mask, and her smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. “Of course.” She took the card, scribbled something on it, and handed it back. I was about to place it carefully in my jacket pocket when I glanced down and saw what she’d written. Two words. [Asshole] I blinked. When I looked up, she was giving me a contemptuous little sneer. “Ethan!” a cheerful voice cried out, shattering the moment. Ethan’s car had arrived. The second he got out, Amelia launched herself into his arms. Ethan caught her easily, spinning her around before setting her down and ruffling her hair. “You’re the surprise guest? I thought you were filming on the other side of the country.” “Heehee,” she giggled. “I knew you were here, so I came just for you. Or maybe I just had a sudden whim to join this show. Which story do you like better?” The online comments on the live feed must have been exploding. [I’LL SAY IT! SHE CAME FOR YOU! FOR YOU FOR YOU FOR YOU!] [This is so sweet I’m crying…] Ethan just smiled and tapped her lightly on the forehead. “You’re always teasing me.” Amelia pouted. “You hit me again! Hmph!” I frowned. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Amelia immediately stepped in front of Ethan, shielding him from me. She gave me a look of pure scorn. “Ethan and I grew up together. We’re childhood friends who have supported each other through everything to get where we are today. I would hope, Mr. Knight, that you wouldn’t project your own dirty mind onto everyone else.” 6 The live chat went into another frenzy. [That’s our queen Amelia! She can spot an asshole a mile away!] [Quote of the day! Just because someone likes being a homewrecker doesn’t mean everyone does.] [They’re childhood best friends, that’s just how they are. Someone with the last name Knight needs to stop judging everyone by his own low standards.] A hot spike of anger shot through me. I was about to say something when my assistant pulled me aside. “Liam, cool it. She just landed the lead role in a massive Hollywood blockbuster. Half the industry is kissing her feet right now. If you get into a fight with her, you’re the only one who’s going to get hurt.” “A blockbuster?” I scoffed. My assistant nodded. “Yeah. Some mysterious billionaire is a huge fan of hers and is pouring money into the production just for her. I heard the guy thinks she’s the next big thing. If you piss her off, Liam, we can’t afford the fallout.” “Hah,” I said. “He’s investing in her because he appreciates her acting. That doesn’t give her a license to be a tyrant.” My assistant gave me a pitying look. “Liam, it’s probably best not to pretend you know what a billionaire is thinking.” “I’m not pretending,” I said, a cold smile spreading across my face. “I’m pulling my funding.” “Liam, you… sigh!” My assistant just shook his head and walked away. I heard him muttering to a colleague a few feet away. “Liam’s lost it. He’s actually starting to believe he’s Amelia’s big-shot investor. First he thinks he’s Sophia Rose’s boyfriend, now he’s having delusions of being a studio head. I think all the hate comments finally broke his brain.” I had already pulled out my phone and dialed my secretary. “Pull it,” I said, my voice firm. “You heard me. Pull the funding.” My secretary was silent for a beat. “But Mr. Knight… you’re Amelia Lane’s biggest supporter, aren’t you?” “I was blind. Pull it. Cancel every bid, every investment connected to her. Immediately.” “Yes, Mr. Knight.” Hanging up, I finally felt a sliver of satisfaction. I walked back towards the set, but the scene in front of me nearly made me drop my phone. Ethan was sipping from a cup of iced tea. On the straw was a lipstick stain, the exact shade Amelia was wearing. He took a sip and handed it back to her. “It’s a little too sweet. They messed up this batch.” Amelia took it back without a second thought, putting the lipstick-stained straw to her own lips. “I think so too, but since you bought it for me, I guess I can force myself to drink a little.” “You’re impossible,” he chuckled. “Hold on,” I interrupted. “You have a girlfriend. Even if you are childhood friends, shouldn’t you have some boundaries?” Amelia moved to stand in front of him again, her expression defiant. “Like I said, Mr. Knight, don’t project your own filth onto us.” That did it. My temper flared. “If someone is already filthy,” I shot back, “then they’re going to seem disgusting no matter who’s looking, don’t you think?” “You—!” Amelia’s face flushed with anger. Ethan frowned. “Liam, are you calling us filthy?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is there anyone else here I could be talking to?” Amelia’s expression turned thunderous. Luckily, the director arrived just then, preventing a full-blown meltdown. Fearing I would cause more “trouble,” the production team did something unprecedented: they gave me a private room, away from the other cast. But just as I finished unpacking my bags, a staffer knocked on the door. “You’re cut from the show.” My assistant stared at him. “What? Why? We have a contract.” The staffer sneered. “This came directly from Ms. Lane.” My assistant deflated, turning to me with a sigh. “Well, Liam. I guess we’re really leaving.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Wow. So she’s calling the shots now? Fine. Let’s go. I’m sick of this business anyway.” That day, I was trending on social media for the last time: Liam Knight Finally Forced Out of Hollywood 7 I went home. The trending topics weren’t just about me; Ethan was all over them too. After I left, the show’s cameras had captured Amelia comforting him, stroking his hair as he looked forlorn. A few minutes later, they filmed him on the phone with Sophia, telling her how much he missed her. Sophia’s voice, syrupy and sweet, carried through the phone’s speaker. “It’s okay, my love. I just landed. I’ll be there soon. With me by your side, no one will ever bully you again.” Hearing Sophia put on that cloying voice made me want to throw up. The internet, however, was in a state of ecstasy. [PLEASE, UNIVERSE, GIVE ME A MOVIE STAR CHILDHOOD BESTIE AND A BEAUTIFUL, WEALTHY GIRLFRIEND!] [THIS IS THE LIFE EVERY MAN DREAMS OF!] [I can’t even imagine having one woman this beautiful, and this guy has TWO?] … My phone rang. It was Sophia. “Liam, I’m back in the country. When are you free? I want you and Mom and Dad to finally meet Ethan.” I didn’t sugarcoat it. “Mom and Dad won’t like him. And neither do I.” “You don’t know that,” she said, her voice bubbling with happiness. “I have never met a man who makes my heart feel this way. Once you all meet him, you’ll see. You’ll accept him.” “…” Listening to my sister sound so blissfully delusional, I quietly ended the call. A few minutes later, the trending topics shifted again. Sophia Rose had posted on her personal, rarely used Instagram account. It was a photo of her and Ethan, their faces close together. The caption read: [Take my hand, take me home.] I commented below it: [So lame.] My comment was immediately dogpiled and shot to the top. [Still dreaming, are we, third wheel? Lame or not, it has nothing to do with you. They’re about to meet the parents and you’re still here throwing a tantrum?] [SOPHIA AND ETHAN FOREVER! HOPE THE HATERS CHOKE!] I replied to the top comment: [I won’t choke, thanks. After all, whether he can marry her or not is still up to me.] Moments later, a new hashtag was born: #LiamKnightHasLostHisMind 8 I called my parents immediately. When they heard the name “Ethan Cole,” both of them, who were supposed to be on a relaxing vacation, said in unison, “Absolutely not.” I sighed. “I know, but you know how stubborn Sophia is. Sometimes you have to let someone hit rock bottom before they learn. You two should probably come back soon.” I had just pulled up to my house when I saw him. Ethan Cole, standing right by my front gate. He was holding his phone, live-streaming. “That’s right, everyone. I’m about to meet the parents today. I came a little early to give her a surprise. What do you all think of my outfit?” The comments were flying. [You look so handsome! If I were the mother-in-law, I’d tell you two to get married on the spot!] The next second, I smacked the phone out of his hand. It clattered onto the pavement. “No filming is allowed on this property. Didn’t Sophia tell you that?” [WTF! That psycho is here too!] [If I remember correctly, the security in this gated community is insane. How did a random trespasser like him even get in?] Ethan stared at me, then his brow furrowed. “Liam, I know you’re upset that Sophia and I are together, but this isn’t your house. Even if you follow us here, you can’t stop her from loving me. You should just leave. I can pretend I never saw you.” The live comments scrolled furiously. [My baby is so kind, still giving this asshole a chance.] [Ethan deserves the best things in the world~] I let out a cold laugh. “Why would I leave? Why would I have to leave my own house?” 9 [Is this guy delusional? You can’t just buy a house in this neighborhood; you need serious connections. Amelia Lane had to wait a year to get a property here. How could a washed-up actor possibly afford a place?] [He’s a fantasist. Didn’t the news already say he’s gone crazy? Of course he’d imagine he’s with Sophia and living in her house.] [I feel so bad for Ethan, having to deal with this lunatic.] My voice was ice. “I have a collection of antique paintings in that house. They’re private, and I don’t want them broadcast to the world. If you want to come inside, you’ll turn off the live stream.” “What an arrogant thing to say. Since when do you get to decide if someone can film inside their own home?” A familiar voice. I turned in surprise. Amelia Lane was getting out of a brand-new Ferrari, moving to stand protectively in front of Ethan. The live chat went insane. [OMG AMELIA IS HERE!! SHE’S HERE TO BACK ETHAN UP!!] [God, she’s gorgeous. How can someone look that good in casual clothes?] “Mr. Knight,” Amelia said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I have been very patient with you. Either you apologize to Ethan right now and leave, or I’m calling security.” A faint, contemptuous smirk flickered across Ethan’s lips before vanishing. He tugged on Amelia’s arm. “It’s okay, Amelia. Liam was in the business too, it wouldn’t look good to call security on him. I forgive him.” [BABY NO, DON’T BE SO NICE TO HIM!] A look of deep sympathy filled Amelia’s eyes. She shook her head. “He bullied you. I’m not letting it go.” [Just kill me now and let it be a wedding gift for you two!] [What do I do? I ship Ethan and Sophia, but I also ship Ethan and Amelia!] [Ahem, why choose…] … “Oh, security definitely needs to be called,” I said, pointing a finger at Amelia. “But you’re the one who’s going to be escorted out.” Amelia blinked. Then she laughed out loud. The live chat laughed with her. [Does this guy really think he lives here? Our queen LITERALLY owns property in this neighborhood!] “Mr. Knight, do I need to remind you? I am a resident here. You are not.” “Let’s put aside whether I am or not,” I said calmly. “Because I’ve just decided to revoke your ownership of that property.” “What did you say?” Amelia looked as if she’d misheard me. I crossed my arms. “Who do you think pulled the strings that allowed you to buy a house here in the first place?” Amelia stared, then her laughter grew louder. She pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hello, security? I’m at number 88. There’s an intruder on the premises. Can you please do a better job with your patrols? You shouldn’t be letting lunatics wander in here.” “Hey? Liam? What are you all doing standing out here?” A Rolls-Royce had pulled up to the gate. Sophia got out, looking confused. In that instant, Amelia’s pupils constricted. “What did you just call him?”

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I was transmigrated into a novel as the wicked villainess. But I never did a single wicked thing. Not only did I become friends with the heroine, but I also married the gentle second male lead. I truly believed I was happy. Until I found my husband’s diary. It turned out he was reborn. His years of tenderness were nothing but a performance, all to prevent me from hurting the woman he truly loved. 1 I held the positive pregnancy test in my hand, my other hand resting on my stomach, on the tiny life growing inside me. An unprecedented sense of peace settled over me. I had lived in this world for thirteen years, but in this moment, I finally felt anchored, truly and completely bound to this life. I arrived in this world after my own death, transmigrated into the body of the novel’s villainess who shared my name, a woman infamous for her cruelty. But I considered myself lucky. I had arrived before the story’s main plot began, before I could commit any of the terrible acts against the hero and heroine. In fact, the heroine’s bright and cheerful personality drew me in, and we became the best of friends, sharing everything. I acted as her personal love guru, encouraging her to chase her own happiness. I watched her fall in love with the male lead, stood by her side as her maid of honor, and saw her marry the man of her dreams. She was the second person I wanted to share my good news with. The first, of course, was my husband. My husband, Patrick East, was originally the novel’s gentle second male lead, the one who always protected the heroine from the shadows. But perhaps my presence created a butterfly effect, because he never became her silent guardian. Instead, he turned all of his attention, all of his affection, onto me. After thirteen years together, I felt so deeply and genuinely loved that I married him without a second thought. And now, our little family was about to welcome a new life. I couldn’t wait to tell him. 2 I decided against just telling him outright. It would be more fun to let him discover it himself. I slipped into his study and sat down in his chair. Opening a drawer to hide the test, my eyes fell on an old, worn notebook tucked away beneath a stack of neat files. It was out of place, its corner peeking out as if forgotten in a hurry. I carefully picked it up, a small, amused smile on my face. The cover was a faded, girlish design from our school days. It was old, but the curled edges and yellowed pages told me it was opened often. We never had secrets between us, so I opened it without hesitation. On the title page, in elegant, handwritten script, were two words: Forever Love. A blush crept up my cheeks. Could this be a book of love letters he’d written for me? I took out the pregnancy test, planning to slip it between the pages—my own precious love letter to him. I turned to the first page, my heart full. And then, the world stopped. My eternal love, Stella. Stella. The heroine of the novel. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stared at the words, a thick wad of cotton stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe. My fingers trembled, but with a self-destructive compulsion, I turned the pages, one after another, reading every single word. It wasn’t a diary. It was a collection of unsent love letters, and they all said the same thing: Patrick East loved Stella. A desperate, unrequited love. He was reborn. He had always loved Stella. And every bit of care, every moment of affection he had ever shown me, was a lie. An act. He had to keep me close, to watch me at all times, to eliminate any possibility of me hurting the woman he cherished. The joy of my pregnancy vanished, replaced by a bitterness that consumed my heart. In all these thirteen years, I had never once wanted to harm Stella. But in this moment, I was jealous of her. So fiercely, painfully jealous. Jealous that a small act of kindness she once showed him was enough to earn a man’s undying, obsessive love for over a decade—a love so profound he would sacrifice his own life, tying himself to the “wicked villainess” just to ensure her happiness. I don’t know how long I sat there, a storm of grief and despair raging inside me, until the world around me felt like a terrifying, hollow dream. 3 Exhaustion finally claimed me, and I fell asleep on the sofa. I didn’t wake until Patrick came home. He reeked of alcohol, stumbling as he walked. “Honey, I’m home…” he slurred, smiling at me. “Sorry, I had a work dinner. I’m late.” I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes and played the part of the dutiful wife. I helped him up, loosened his tie, and undid the top button of his shirt. “Thanks, honey. You’re the best.” His words were perfunctory. If he had been paying any attention at all, he would have seen the raw, swollen redness of my eyes. But perhaps this hollow performance had become second nature to him. I guided him to our bed, helped him out of his clothes, and was about to get a warm cloth to wipe his face when he spoke. The alcohol had lowered his defenses, and in his drowsy state, the truth spilled from his lips. “Stella…” My entire body went rigid. I must have misheard. I stared at him, my nails digging into my palms. “Stella,” he whispered again. The word was a cruel confirmation. In a moment of masochistic madness, I leaned closer, my voice a soft imitation of hers. “Patrick?” His hand shot out, gripping mine tightly. His eyes, hazy with drink, were filled with a raw, unguarded tenderness. “Stella,” he breathed, “as long as you’re happy, everything I’ve done is worth it.” That one sentence locked me back inside the cage of his deceit. I couldn’t breathe. The room spun around me. I scrambled out of the bedroom, running from the man I thought I knew, from the lie I had been living. The love I had thrown myself into, heart and soul, was nothing but a joke from the very beginning. 4 My sleep was a battlefield of nightmares. The original villainess’s deeds played out in my mind on a horrifying loop. Cathy bullying the heroine. Cathy hiring thugs to assault her. Cathy using her family’s power to crush her… In the dream, the villainess turned, and her face was mine—twisted with a rage so vile it terrified me. The dream fast-forwarded. The hero and the second male lead, now powerful men, came for their revenge. Patrick stared at me, his eyes as cold and empty as if he were looking at a piece of trash. “You love ruining people’s lives so much,” his dream-self sneered. “Let’s see how you like it.” I died in that dream, violated and broken, my body tossed onto a filthy garbage heap. “No!” I screamed myself awake. My eyes shot open to see Patrick looking down at me, his face etched with concern. The image of his gentle expression overlapped with the brutal cruelty from my dream, and a violent shiver racked my body. He was tucking a blanket around me. “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you sleeping out here? You’ll catch a cold.” He sat on the edge of the sofa. “Are you mad at me for drinking last night? I’m sorry, the client was really important.” I just shook my head, too shrouded in fear and exhaustion to speak. We didn’t have a guest room. Patrick had sworn he would never do anything to make me kick him out of our bed. And even if he did, he’d said, he would sleep on the floor beside me. Now I realized the truth. There was no escape. No space that was just mine. He was always watching. He didn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil. He just frowned, his voice a pathetic whine. “My head is killing me, honey. Where’s the hangover soup?” “I forgot,” I said flatly. The truth was, I hadn’t made any. Patrick came from a modest background; I was the heiress. He had always been driven, insisting he had to earn my father’s respect on his own merits. He refused my family’s help, started his own company, and nearly drank himself into a stomach ulcer closing deals in the early years. Because I loved him, because I was his wife, I cared for him. I found remedies for his hangovers, stayed up all night with him, doing everything I could to ease his suffering. If I didn’t know the truth, I would still be that devoted wife. But his diary had revealed his true motive. [Cathy used her family’s power to hurt Stella. I cannot let her have even the slightest chance of doing it again. I must build my own power in the business world, enough to stand against her father. If they try to harm Stella like they did in the last life, I will make the entire family pay a painful price!] All his hard work, his relentless ambition—it was all to protect his real love. 5 “Honey, what’s wrong today? You look pale. Are you feeling unwell? Let me take you to the doctor.” I stared at the man before me, wondering if there was a single shred of sincerity in his concern. I was about to confront him, to lay everything bare, when my phone rang. The caller ID flashed in big letters: STELLA. Before I could move, Patrick snatched the phone and handed it to me, his eyes urging me to answer. I numbly pressed the button. Stella’s cheerful voice filled the silence. “Cathy, sweetie! You didn’t forget about the art exhibit today, did you?” “I remember.” “Great! Let’s meet at the cafe in front of the gallery. Leo’s dropping me off on his way to work.” “Okay.” I hung up. Before I could say a word, Patrick spoke. “You have plans with Stella today? Let me drive you.” “You don’t have to. Your office isn’t on the way.” He stroked my cheek, his touch meant to be affectionate. “Silly girl, anywhere you’re going is on my way. Go on, get changed.” He stood up and went to the bedroom to get ready, a lightness in his step. Of course he was happy. He was going to see the woman he loved. And he had conveniently forgotten his earlier suggestion to take me to the doctor. In Patrick’s world, nothing was more important than Stella. 6 When Patrick dropped me off at the cafe, Stella was already there, sipping a frappuccino. She handed me a glass of warm milk, her smile bright. Patrick turned to me, his voice gentle. “You shouldn’t have too many cold drinks. It’s bad for you, especially during your period. You’re not a kid anymore.” Stella giggled. “Wow, look at you two, being all lovey-dovey right in front of me.” Patrick smiled back at her, adding smoothly, “That goes for you too. Less cold drinks!” All that preamble, just for a chance to say one caring word to her. The warm milk in my hands felt like it was scalding my skin. I wasn’t the one who liked cold drinks. The concern he was offering had never been for me. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re such a nag. I don’t know how Cathy puts up with you,” Stella teased. Patrick just smiled, then turned back to me. “I’ll pick you two up for lunch. I remember you said you wanted to try that new Spanish place downtown.” Once you start looking for the lies, you realize how clumsy the actor is. I wasn’t the one who wanted to try the Spanish restaurant. Stella was. But I had been blinded by love, and he had been committed to his role. Now that the truth was out, I saw how I had been living with my eyes wide shut. Stella linked her arm through mine. “Okay, okay, you can go now. Don’t interrupt our girls’ time.” She pulled me toward the gallery entrance, chattering excitedly. “Cathy, I can’t wait to see the new exhibit…” I glanced back over my shoulder. Patrick was still standing there. His gaze was sharp, analytical, watching our every move. The moment our eyes met, his expression shifted instantly, melting into one of deep, adoring affection. A perfect performance. Patrick, I thought, aren’t you tired?

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The day I got the results, a damp, bone-chilling fog was rolling into San Francisco. It wasn’t a downpour, just a persistent, soul-seeping cold. I sat on a sterile plastic chair in the clinic hallway, the few sheets of A4 paper feeling heavier than lead in my hands. The black and white text read like a verdict. “Breast Cysts, BI-RADS Category 3: Short-term follow-up recommended.” “Severe Fatty Liver Disease.” “Sinus Arrhythmia.” The doctor, a man in his late forties with a practiced, neutral expression behind his glasses, delivered the summary as if he were reading a grocery list. “Look, you’re 28, but your body is in worse shape than some of my 40-year-old patients. If you keep pushing this hard, it’s not going to be about money anymore.” I’m 28. Not a girl anymore. I’ve been grinding in this city, a place that devours dreams for breakfast, for six years. I thought I was trading my youth for a future. I never imagined someone would show up to collect the principal so soon. My phone buzzed. A notification from my project’s Slack channel. My director, Mr. Davies, was tagging @here. [URGENT] All hands on deck tonight, 9 PM sharp. Mandatory post-mortem for Project Orion. No exceptions. A cascade of “Got it” and “👍” emojis from my team followed. I looked at the glaring red notification on my screen, then down at the medical report in my hand. In that moment, a tidal wave of absurdity washed over me. I was a machine, wound so tight I couldn’t stop, couldn’t afford to get sick, couldn’t dare to even slow down. But now, the gears inside me were screaming, grinding to a halt. I took a deep breath, the cold air stinging my throat. Then, calmly, I typed three words into the channel. “I won’t be there.” … The moment I hit send, the world went quiet. Then, my private messages exploded. The first was from my best friend, Maya. “Chloe! Are you insane? You can’t just bail on one of Davies’ death marches!” Next came a cautious message from a junior on my team. “Hey Chloe, everything okay? Davies saw your message. His face…” I didn’t reply. I just folded the medical report, tucked it neatly into my purse, and walked out of the clinic. The misty fog felt cold on my face, but my mind had never felt clearer. Back at the ridiculously expensive 300-square-foot box I called home, I didn’t even turn on the lights. I just fell into bed, burrowing into the blankets. In the dark, I could hear my own heart, beating too fast. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It sounded like a funeral drum for the last six years of my life. Six years ago, I’d arrived in San Francisco with an Ivy League degree and a job at Nexus, one of the biggest names in tech. I thought with my talent and work ethic, I’d climb the ladder, buy a condo, and move my parents out from their small town in Ohio to live with me. Reality hit me like a freight train. This was the Bay Area. It was overflowing with Ivy League grads and certified geniuses. I was just another drop in an ocean of ambition, not even big enough to make a ripple. So to keep from drowning, I worked. I hustled. Everyone else left at 7? I stayed till 10. Everyone else logged off for the weekend? I was back in the office on Saturday. When Davies sent a 3 AM email, I was always the first to reply, “On it.” I thought if I just worked hard enough, I’d be seen. I was wrong. Three months ago, Project Orion kicked off. It was the biggest launch of the year. Whoever led the winning team was guaranteed a promotion and a life-changing bonus. Ethan and I were chosen to lead the two competing internal teams, A and B. Everyone knew we were rivals. We started at Nexus in the same year. He was my shadow, or maybe I was his. Our skills were evenly matched, but he always seemed to have an edge, a little bit of luck. He knew how to play the game, how to manage up. He had a black belt in the corporate judo of taking credit for other people’s ideas in meetings without anyone noticing. Every promotion, every performance review, I lost to him by a razor-thin margin. This time, I swore it would be different. For Project Orion, I ran my team into the ground. We pulled three straight months of all-nighters. We went through a dozen versions of the proposal, rebuilt the data model five times. I was averaging four hours of sleep a night. I even squeezed in my annual physical during a frantic lunch break. I bet everything on this project. And now, just as we were hitting the final stretch, my body had cashed in my chips. My phone buzzed again. It was Ethan. His profile picture was a photo of a nebula, deep and inscrutable, just like him. His message was short and to the point. “Davies is pissed. You better have a good story for tomorrow.” No “Are you okay?” No concern. Just a cold, clinical warning. I stared at the text and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. A good story? What was I going to tell them? That I’d nearly worked myself to death for their stupid project? That at 28, my body was falling apart like a rotted-out building? I swiped the screen open, went to my chat with Ethan, and for the first time, I didn’t overthink it. I didn’t draft and redraft. “Let him be. He can fire me.” I walked into the office the next morning with dark circles under my eyes, bracing for the storm I knew was coming. The atmosphere in Davies’ office was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He slammed a stack of printouts on his desk. “Chloe! Who the hell do you think you are? Last night was the most critical meeting of the quarter, and you just decide you’re not coming? What is this project to you, a damn hobby?” I stood in front of his desk, my head down, and said nothing. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t say I was at a clinic, holding a piece of paper that could torpedo my entire career. In this company, where everyone mainlined ambition and espresso, being sick was the same as being weak. Once you were labeled as unreliable, all your past work, all those sacrifices, meant nothing. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!” Davies’ voice rose. The door to his glass-walled office was slightly ajar. I could see my colleagues pretending not to watch. Among them was Ethan. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with a look on his face that was unmistakably… amusement. I took a breath and finally looked up, meeting Davies’ furious gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davies. I had a family emergency last night. It was my mistake. I’ll accept any consequences.” It was the safest excuse I could think of. Davies snorted. “A family emergency? Don’t give me that crap, Chloe! I don’t care what it was. Is anything more important than this project? You can forget about your quarterly bonus. Every last cent.” My stomach dropped. But I just nodded. “Okay.” My single-word response seemed to deflate him. He had a whole speech prepared, and my quiet acceptance robbed him of his momentum. He stared at me for a long moment, then waved his hand dismissively. “Get out. And bring me Team B’s progress report. I want to see how someone who actually cares about their job does it.” I turned and walked out, brushing past Ethan at the door. He murmured, just loud enough for me to hear, “Was it worth it?” I didn’t stop, didn’t look back. I just walked to my desk. Was it worth it? Was any of this worth it? I opened my laptop, but before I could even log in, my phone rang. The caller ID read: “Dad.” My heart sank. I walked to the nearest stairwell to take the call. “Hey, Dad.” “Chloe, honey. Have you eaten?” His voice was as gentle as always. “Yeah,” I lied. “Oh, good.” He paused, then got to the real reason for his call. “So, your Aunt Carol has a friend whose son is a teacher back here. History, tenured and everything. A real nice guy. I gave him your number, so if you get a text, you should answer him. Talk to him.” It was always the same conversation. How’s work? How much are you making? When are you going to find a boyfriend? When are you coming home? A hot, irrational anger flared up inside me. “Dad, I told you, I’m really busy right now. I don’t have time to think about that.” “You’re 28, Chloe! If you don’t think about it now, when will you?” His voice hardened. “You make all that money in San Francisco, but after rent, what’s left? You work yourself to the bone, and you don’t even have anyone there to look after you. Look at your cousin Ashley. She came home right after college, got a state job, she’s married with a two-year-old. She has a stable life.” Stable. The word felt like a needle in my heart. “Dad, a life where you can see the end from the beginning is not what I want!” I hissed into the phone, my voice cracking. “Then what do you want? To work until you make yourself sick?” His words, meant as a hypothetical, hit me like a lightning bolt, shattering the dam I’d built around my emotions. The tears came, hot and sudden. What did I want? I just wanted to prove that leaving home wasn’t a mistake. I just wanted to build the life I dreamed of, on my own terms. But how did I end up here, failing on all fronts? My dad was still talking. “Just listen to me, sweetie. A girl doesn’t need to push herself so hard. Come home. We can find you a good job, a nice husband. A stable life is better than anything else…” I couldn’t listen anymore. I hung up. Leaning against the cold concrete wall, I slid to the floor, burying my face in my knees. It’s never the last straw that breaks the camel’s back. It’s every single one that came before it. I cried for a long time in that empty stairwell. When I was done, all that was left were ragged, empty sobs. I pulled out my phone and texted Maya. “Free tonight? I need a drink.” She replied instantly. “Always. The world could be ending, and I’d still be there for you. You pick the place.” I chose a trendy gastropub near the office. When I left that suffocating building at the end of the day, it felt like an escape. The warm, dim lighting of the bar thawed some of the ice in my veins. Maya was already there with a table full of my favorite comfort foods: truffle fries, sliders, mac and cheese. “Okay, what happened? Did Davies finally go full psycho on you?” she asked, pouring me a glass of wine. I shook my head and downed the glass in one go. The alcohol burned a path down to my stomach. I told her everything. The doctor’s report, the meeting with Davies, the phone call with my dad. Maya slammed her hand on the table. “What is wrong with people? Davies is a vampire in a suit, we knew that. But your dad? Does he have any idea how hard you’re working? And he’s pressuring you?” “He has no idea,” I said with a hollow laugh. “All he sees is his 28-year-old daughter with no house, no savings, and no boyfriend. In his world, I’m a total failure.” “That’s bullshit!” Maya loaded a slider onto my plate. “You’re a project lead at Nexus, you manage a team of a dozen people, you make six figures a year! If that’s failure, then what does that make the rest of us?” I knew she was trying to help. But her words felt empty, meaningless, in the face of my health report. “Maya,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can do this anymore.” I pulled the crumpled report from my purse and handed it to her. Her expression shifted from anger to shock, and finally, to a deep, aching sympathy. “Oh, Chloe…” She took my hand, her voice thick with emotion. “How did it get this bad?” “I don’t know,” I said, refilling my glass. “I just kept thinking I was young, that I had time, that my body could handle it. But it turns out your body keeps a perfect record of every all-nighter, every skipped meal, every wave of anxiety. And then one day, it decides to cash in the debt, with interest.” I drank a lot that night. I told Maya I wanted to quit, to leave San Francisco, to disappear somewhere no one knew me. I’d open a little bookstore, adopt a cat, and just be quiet for the rest of my life. Maya didn’t argue. She just listened, refilled my glass, and wiped away the tears that dripped from my chin. I was a complete mess. She had to practically carry me home. The next morning, my head felt like it was splitting open. But a hangover doesn’t stop the deadlines. Project Orion was in its final push, and the race between my team and Ethan’s was down to the wire. I forced myself to rally, pushing my team through the last set of deliverables. And then, the thing I feared most happened. During the final data integration, a rookie on my team made a mistake. A simple, careless error that resulted in the permanent deletion of a core dataset. When I heard the news, my mind went blank. It meant that at least half of our work from the last three months was gone. The new hire, a girl barely out of college, was white as a sheet. “I’m so sorry, Chloe,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to…” I stared at her, unable to speak. I knew I couldn’t blame her. Rookies make mistakes. But this mistake, at this moment, was catastrophic. A funereal silence fell over our section of the office. Someone whispered, “It’s over. We’re done.” I closed my eyes, took a long, slow breath, and opened them again. “Stop crying,” I said to the terrified girl. “Now is not the time for blame. Everyone, start brainstorming solutions. Let’s figure out what, if anything, we can salvage.” But we all knew. The final presentation was in less than 48 hours. Rebuilding the model and recovering the data from scratch was impossible. And right then, as if on cue, Ethan and his team walked past our desks. He stopped, taking in the scene of pure despair, a smug little smile playing on his lips. “Chloe,” he said, his voice casual but carrying, “Heard you ran into some trouble. Need a hand?” The condescension in his voice was thick enough to choke on. In that moment, I felt like a clown, stripped naked and left to freeze in the snow. Rage, humiliation, hopelessness—it all tangled together into a suffocating net. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. I looked at Ethan’s perfectly composed face and said, through gritted teeth, “Don’t worry about us, Ethan. We’ve got it handled.” He raised an eyebrow, gave a little shrug, and walked away. After he was gone, someone behind me finally muttered what we were all thinking. “Smug bastard.” I didn’t say anything. I just sat down at my desk and stared at the gaping hole in our data on the screen, the world turning fuzzy at the edges. I knew, this time, I had well and truly lost.

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A new game was making the rounds in Victoria’s circle. Pretend You’re Broke for a Month. It was the ultimate loyalty test for the men in their lives. To make it authentic, the challenger’s friends and family were all in on the charade. Even her company would install a “new boss” for the duration. Dressed in a five-dollar t-shirt and a sanitation worker’s cap, Victoria Davenport went to find the man she loved, her confidence unshaken. Instead, Ryan stared at her in disgust and had security throw her out. She stood there for a long time, stunned, before her trembling fingers dialed another number. “Liam? I’m broke. I have nowhere to go.” On the other end of the line, a little girl’s voice chirped with comfort. “Mommy, don’t be scared. You can have my room.” 1 The call from my ex-wife came while I was frosting a cake. My daughter, Thea, who had been playing a game on my phone, answered it without a second thought. I don’t know what was said, but a moment later, the four-year-old’s face lit up. She came tearing toward me, one of her little sneakers flying off in her excitement. “Daddy, it’s great! Mommy’s broke! She can come to my birthday this year!” Broke? The call was still connected. The screen read: Victoria. The last time she’d called was Christmas. She only ever contacted me for holidays. It was always the same request: come to her parents’ house, play the part of the happy, devoted husband, keep the old folks happy. The moment we stepped out of her parents’ estate, she would snatch her hand from mine, her touch turning to ice as she rushed off to appease Ryan. Her back seat would be piled high with gift boxes, the passenger seat a shrine of red roses just for him. I would stand there, clutching the ten-thousand-dollar check—her ‘performance fee’—and feel nothing but the biting wind. No heartbreak, no longing. Just the cold, hard relief of knowing Thea and I had rent for the next six months. Hearing she was broke, my only question was why she wasn’t calling her precious Ryan, the man she’d showered with endless affection. Why was she calling me, the man she couldn’t stand to look at? Victoria’s voice was tentative. “Liam, I don’t have a place to stay. I haven’t eaten all day. Can I… can I come stay with you?” “No,” was on the tip of my tongue. But then Thea tugged on my sleeve. Her eyes, big and dark like purple grapes, were wide with a mixture of hope and pleading. “Daddy, please? Just for one birthday? All the other kids have their mommy and daddy with them.” I looked down at her, and a sharp pang went through my chest. I knew how much she craved a mother’s love. Victoria did love Thea, in her own way. She’d take her to Six Flags, buy her designer dresses, send entire collector’s sets of princess figurines. But one day, Thea had come home with her head hanging low and whispered that she would never “bother Mommy” again. I dropped the spatula, stormed over to their villa, and with the strength I’d built from bussing a thousand tables a day, I slapped Ryan across the face, again and again. I shoved his head in the toilet and flushed, giving his filthy mouth a long-overdue cleaning. Victoria never asked to see Thea after that. But today was Thea’s birthday. All she wanted was to have both her parents with her. I relented. “Thea misses you, Victoria. You can come over for dinner.” On the other end, she let out a breath. It was the sound of someone realizing they hadn’t lost everything after all. “You’re still at The Crestwood, right? I’ll be right there.” I froze. “The what? I’ve never lived there.” My apartment was in Maple Creek, close to Thea’s preschool. The street outside was lined with food stalls. At night, you could hear the muffled bass from the karaoke bar across the road, and the exterminator’s van made its rounds like clockwork. It was a universe away from the luxury condo building Victoria had just named. There was a long silence on her end before she asked for my current address. Even in cheap, worn-out clothes, she still carried an air of unmistakable grace. The moment she stepped through the door, Thea launched herself at her legs. Victoria stroked her hair, a fond smile on her face, but as her eyes scanned our small two-bedroom apartment, the warmth vanished, replaced by an arctic chill. “This is where you have my daughter living?” 2 My hand, holding a teacup, stopped mid-air. The apartment was a nice rental, clean, with a simple, light-wood aesthetic. From the appliances to the cartoon-themed play mat on the floor, Thea had picked everything out herself, and I had paid for it. I might struggle, but I had never, ever given Thea a reason to feel ashamed of where she lived or what she had. And Victoria’s first act upon entering my home was to criticize it. Then again, she and Ryan lived in a 5,000-square-foot villa. Of course this felt cramped to her. I tossed the tea bag I was holding into the trash and pulled my daughter close. “Thea, honey, why don’t you go to your room and see if you can find the birthday present Daddy hid for you?” Her face lit up, and she scampered off. The moment she was gone, my smile disappeared. I fixed Victoria with a glare. “‘This place?’ Weren’t you the one just begging to come to ‘this place’? You don’t even have ‘this place’ to go back to anymore. What right do you have to judge me?” Victoria quickly composed herself, her mask of poise sliding back into place. She was playing the part of the broke girl now, not the CEO. She sat down on the sofa, looking slightly out of place. “You misunderstood. I just meant… why aren’t you living in the house I gave you?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “What house?” When we divorced, I left with a single suitcase and a three-month-old Thea. The only cash I had came from selling the watch my parents had left me. Victoria’s brow furrowed. “Liam, you gave me a child. Even if I didn’t love you, I would never neglect my own flesh and blood. I had my assistant, Quinn, purchase a house for you and set aside a substantial settlement. You didn’t take it?” A house? A settlement? This was the first I was hearing of it. The realization dawned on me. “I never saw a dime. Are you broke and trying to shake me down for money you think you gave me?” Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine regret crossing her face. “Liam, I would sooner beg on the street than try to con you. You are the person in this world I have wronged the most.” Our past played out like a bad soap opera. I was the orphaned son of the man who had saved her father’s life. The Davenports took me in when I was eight. Mr. Davenport doted on me. Mrs. Davenport loved my quiet nature. And Victoria, two years my senior, treated me like a cherished younger brother. She fought off the bullies who picked on me. She took me hiking to see beautiful landscapes, to animal shelters to help me heal. She painstakingly pulled me out of the abyss of grief. And I, in turn, poured my secret adoration into a diary. Liam loves Victoria. Will Victoria ever love Liam? The answer came my senior year of college. Victoria proposed to me. I was ecstatic, believing she loved me too. I foolishly went with her to the courthouse. Nine dollars and we were married. I didn’t know that her father, while giving me 10% of the company’s stock, had made Victoria start at the bottom. She wasn’t marrying me; she was marrying a shortcut to the life and career she wanted. After the wedding, I was lost in a dream. I cooked for her, ironed her suits, picked her up from late-night meetings. But after she gave birth, she had an affair with a cloying, obsequious intern. Ryan, who was half a year older than me. She said Ryan understood her. He was her soulmate, their love was real. What she felt for me, she said, was just familial affection. Her father, sharp as ever, saw right through Ryan’s calculating façade. He swore that creature would never set foot in their house. So Victoria came up with a compromise. She wouldn’t divorce me—I was her shield, there to placate her parents. But she would give Ryan everything a husband deserved, short of a marriage certificate. It was ten days after Thea was born. Me, the man who had always bent to her will, snatched the fruit knife from the counter and, without a moment’s hesitation, plunged it into my own stomach. Marrying Victoria was my mistake. My youthful naivete, my stupid, love-sick blindness. Her cheating, her treating me like a glorified housekeeper—I deserved all of it. But I would die before I let her dishonor my daughter. Blood pooled on the floor. Victoria froze. Panic, terror, and guilt washed over her face. She pressed her hands to my abdomen, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. “Liam, don’t you die.” 3 I was stubborn. If she didn’t agree to a divorce and give me full custody of Thea, I would kill myself. If I was saved, I’d do it again, until I was dead for good. And if I died, I knew her father would make Ryan’s life a living hell. To protect Ryan, Victoria signed the papers. The day I left, she made one last demand. The divorce had to be a secret. On holidays, I had to come back and play the happy husband for her parents. I agreed. On one condition. I would be paid for my performance. Ten thousand dollars a visit. For Victoria, the woman I was willing to die to get away from, to have to turn around and pay me for my time… it was the ultimate humiliation. Her face tightened, her voice dripping with venom. “Don’t you have any feelings for me at all? Is money all you care about? Fine. I won’t give you a single penny. I’ll wait for you to come crawling back, broke and pathetic, begging me for help.” She was true to her word. The “financial compensation” mentioned in the divorce agreement never materialized. I did end up broke and pathetic for a while, but I clawed my way back up on my own. I never begged her for anything. Recalling the past, Victoria pressed her fingers to her temples. “I was just angry. You were a single father with a baby. I would never have actually abandoned you.” “Your angry words were my reality for four years.” My retort silenced her. She looked around the room again. While our things weren’t cheap, it was clearly not the home of a wealthy man. Ryan wore socks that cost hundreds of dollars; the shirt on my back was years old. Victoria picked up her phone and dialed her assistant, Quinn. “Mr.… Ms. Davenport, how can I help you?” It was clear Quinn was still adjusting to the temporary change in leadership. Victoria’s voice was unconsciously commanding. “Four years ago, the house I had you purchase in The Crestwood, and the eight-million-dollar settlement. Did you deliver it personally to my ex-husband?” Eight million dollars? Thea and I could have lived comfortably for the rest of our lives. Quinn hesitated. “Well… you’ll probably have to ask Mr. Ryan about that…” Him again. A surge of pure hatred rose in my chest. Ryan had already taken so much. If he dared to steal from my daughter, I would make him regret it. At seven o’clock, I brought the custom-designed ‘Poppy the Lamb’ cake to the table. Thea squealed with delight. “Wow, Daddy, you’re the best! I love you so much!” Messages flooded the parents’ group chat. “Did your dad make that himself? It looks even better than the custom one I ordered from the bakery! I’m so jealous!” “Thea’s dad is so talented. He can do fox face paint, make handmade purses, carve fruit into flowers, and now this amazing cake…” These past four years, I’d done every odd job imaginable to make ends meet. It had forced me to become a jack-of-all-trades. Thea carefully cut the cake, giving the first piece to me and the second to Victoria. “Mommy, this is the first birthday you’ve ever spent with me. I’m so happy.” Victoria, who had been staring blankly at her phone, snapped back to reality and accepted the plate with exaggerated enthusiasm. I knew what she was thinking about. Today was also Ryan’s birthday. For the past four years, she had celebrated with him. It wasn’t a coincidence that my daughter and my rival shared a birthday. When she was nine months pregnant, Ryan, no longer content with sending me taunting texts and photos, decided to escalate things. He would mail me the cheap trinkets that came with the luxury goods Victoria bought for him, little humiliations in a box. Then he showed up at the hospital for a face-to-face confrontation. It was his birthday, and Victoria had just given him a wedding band, promising him the wedding of the century. He had come to personally invite me and my unborn child. In a fit of rage and grief, I had a foolish, tearful fight with Victoria. When she realized her affair was exposed, the shock sent her into premature labor. She hemorrhaged. We almost lost both of them. For the first time, Victoria scolded Ryan. He had looked at her with tear-filled eyes. “I just want to be with you out in the open…” And in the end, she had pulled him into her arms, her heart softening. “Hush. Keeping him around is how I protect you.” On the other side of the wall, I stood in the NICU, looking at my tiny, fragile daughter. All I felt was disgust and utter despair. 4 The pain of that memory was a knife twisting in my gut. Which is why, hearing that Victoria was broke, my only thought was that she deserved it. After the cake, I told her it was time to leave. “I have nowhere to go,” she pleaded, her voice small. I pushed her firmly out the door. “Not my problem. Go find him.” The hallway light flickered on, then off, leaving her in darkness. She stood outside my door for a long time before her body slid to the floor, her head bowed in defeat. Of course, Ryan had been her first stop. Victoria had thought that after four years of being lavished with affection, of having every whim catered to, Ryan would be frantic upon hearing of her misfortune. She imagined he would move heaven and earth to help her. All he had to do was sell one of the properties she’d bought him. That would be enough. He would have passed her test. She didn’t want to make it too hard for him. But when Ryan saw her standing there in a sanitation worker’s uniform, a look of involuntary disgust flashed across his face. A needle pricked her heart. He quickly masked it with a smile and welcomed her inside, assuming this was all part of some elaborate birthday surprise. A prank, leading up to a grand reveal. But a moment later, his phone buzzed. It was a group chat with Victoria’s wealthy friends. “The Davenports are finished. Even her parents fled the country overnight.” “The company was sold and they’re still a billion in debt. Victoria will be paying that off for the rest of her life.” “Not necessarily. She bought Ryan all those houses and luxury items. He can sell them to pay it off. Of course, then he’ll have to live a simple life with her.” Someone remembered. Isn’t Ryan in this chat? Another friend cursed. He was immediately kicked from the group. Ryan’s eyes widened. The cruelty of it was breathtaking. Just yesterday, they were calling him their dear friend. Now, they kicked him out with an insult. The storm was coming, and he had to save himself. “Your family is bankrupt? What’s that got to do with me? Do we have a marriage license? Do your parents even accept me? Why should I have to sell my property for your family’s problems?” Victoria’s heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This couldn’t be the gentle, understanding man she loved. “What are you saying? I’ve given you everything but a ring on your finger! I practically tore my heart out for you. I gave up my husband and my child for you.” She thought appealing to his sentiment would work. She was wrong. Ryan let out a derisive laugh. “You gave me those things willingly. I’ve never heard of someone asking for a gift back. I slept with you for four years. You didn’t expect that for free, did you?” He leaned in closer. “Besides…” Seeing the raw pain in her eyes only made him more contemptuous. “A woman who would abandon her own husband and child… you think I’d ever truly trust you?” “You almost died giving birth to a daughter you don’t even care about. How do I know you wouldn’t do the same to me if someone new came along?” Victoria swayed on her feet, unable to form a rebuttal. Ryan was tapping away on his phone. “Since you’re useless to me now, let me tell you a little secret. You want to know why your husband was so desperate to divorce you?” “From the first time you slept with me, I sent him everything. Pictures from our dates. Pictures from our bed. Pictures of every gift you ever gave me.” “I have to hand it to him, he put up with it for a long time. I had to push him to a complete mental breakdown before he finally snapped. I’m not as stupid as he is. I wasn’t going to be your free nanny and sperm donor…” A lightning bolt seared through Victoria’s mind. So, Liam had given her chances. So many chances. Ryan dropped the act entirely. “Listen, Victoria, I dug through all your social media the day I started at the company. I know everything you like. You thought we had this amazing connection? It was just me doing my homework… God, it was exhausting trying to keep you entertained.” Victoria finally snapped. She lunged forward, her hands closing around his throat, a primal scream building inside her. “You… you were only after my money! You used me! You destroyed my marriage! You nearly killed my child! My father was right. You’re poison!” Before she could finish, security guards Ryan had called dragged her away and threw her out of the building. It was the end of June, but Victoria was shivering, an unnatural cold seeping into her bones. Just then, her phone buzzed. A group chat named “His True Colors.” The same friends from before were waiting for the results. “Tori, we just put on the performance of a lifetime. Is Ryan selling his condos to save you as we speak?” Victoria’s fingers flew across the screen, her knuckles white. “His last name is not Ryan. It’s the one I threw away. And I’m going to get him back.” 5 At 7:20 the next morning, I opened my door to find a tall figure sprawled across my welcome mat. I stepped over Victoria’s waist. Thea, her backpack on, giggled and hopped over her. Victoria sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and scrambled to her feet. She instinctively reached out and took Thea’s hand. I was about to knock her hand away. But then Thea beamed, her smile wide and bright. “Mommy, can you wait at the school gate for a little while after you drop me off? I want everyone to know I have a mommy. Then they’ll stop saying mean things about Daddy, and those other moms will stop bothering him…” “Thea!” I cut her off sharply. Victoria looked at me, her expression filled with a sorrow I hadn’t seen before. I used to be as harmless as a sloth. Now I was sharp-edged and defensive. She could only imagine the kind of harassment and gossip that could forge such a transformation. Victoria lifted Thea into her arms. “Okay. I won’t just wait for a little while. From now on, Mommy will be with you and Daddy every single day.” She reached for my hand. I pulled away. Filthy. Victoria was nearly six feet tall. Standing at the entrance to the preschool, she was impossible to miss and caused an immediate stir. “Thea, is that your mom? She’s so pretty! She and your dad look perfect together.” “Why does your dad look so mad? He’s not even talking to your mom…” I wanted nothing to do with her, but the matter of the house still needed to be resolved. For now, we were temporary allies. I got on the bus and sat in the very back. Victoria sat down next to me. As the bus lurched forward, I immediately moved to another seat. Not used to public transport, she tried to follow, lost her balance, and stumbled, hitting her head. A cold smile touched my lips. The house had people living in it. An elderly couple. The moment they saw Victoria, they pulled her inside. They were Ryan’s parents. Victoria was stunned. I laughed. It all made perfect sense now. Ryan had stolen the house meant for me and Thea and used it to house his own parents. The penthouse was over 3,000 square feet, with marble floors and smart home technology throughout. A dozen beautifully decorated rooms. Even their dog had its own room. In our small rental, Thea slept in the master bedroom, which was barely 150 square feet. We had to use vertical space just to fit all her things. This kitchen was equipped with an automatic food processor, a stir-fry machine, and a dishwasher—a completely hands-off setup. Meanwhile, I spent my days chopping fruit at a bubble tea shop until my hands ached so badly I could barely lift them. At night, I’d slap on a pain patch and force myself to cook dinner. The more I thought about it, the more a crushing weight settled on my chest. I had to crouch down, taking deep breaths to keep from blacking out. Four years of exhaustion washed over me in a tidal wave. The first year after the divorce was the hardest. Major companies saw “single father with a three-month-old infant” on my application and politely declined. I had to take cash-in-hand jobs at places with flexible, tolerant environments. A one-year-old is expensive and gets sick easily. Money disappeared as soon as it came in. I started working multiple jobs. I lived on coffee, often working around the clock, sleeping in my clothes. I had no one to rely on, not a single family member to give me a hand. My spirit was a rubber band stretched to its absolute limit. It was about to snap. My knees buckled. Victoria rushed to my side, her arms wrapping around me, her voice laced with a genuine, forgotten tenderness. “Liam. Liam, don’t think about it. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” When I was a kid, other students used to taunt me for not having parents. Victoria would march right over and start a fight. I’d patch up her scrapes, and she’d make me the same promise, that she would protect me for life. But in the end, all the storms in my life had been brought by her. If she hadn’t lost everything, would she have ever remembered that old promise? 6 Victoria’s panic was palpable. She hoisted me up by my shoulders, trying to drag me. I was gasping for air, like a drowning man. She wanted to take me to the hospital. I pointed across the street to the bubble tea shop. “Just… get me a milk tea.” Half a cup of the warm, sugary drink later, the color returned to my face. It was a stress-induced condition, something akin to a panic attack. A little sugar, and it would pass. Victoria stared, dumbfounded. Then she said, “Well… I’ll take you out for a proper meal.” In her sixty-dollar sneakers, she started walking towards a high-end restaurant. I grabbed her arm. “Aren’t you broke? You need to save your money.” The confident stride faltered. She seemed to remember her role and tugged awkwardly at her cheap clothes. I found a hole-in-the-wall diner. Victoria’s expression was a mix of confusion and disgust. “Can you even eat food this cheap?” I understood. She and Ryan would order takeout that cost upwards of three hundred dollars. I used to be a delivery driver; I made a few bucks per order. I’d seen those expensive orders come through more than once, but I always passed them to my colleagues. The delivery address was my old home. I refused to serve my ex-wife and her lover. Now, Victoria devoured a five-dollar plate of beef stir-fry and two bowls of rice. “Ask Quinn,” I said, “if that house was registered under my name and Thea’s.” When she got the confirmation, a massive weight lifted from my chest. Thank God, Quinn was reliable. After we ate, I went straight to the County Registrar’s Office to report a lost deed. Forty minutes later, I had a new, official copy in my hand. Owners: Liam C. and Thea C. I ran my thumb over the crisp red cover. I felt grounded for the first time in years. Next, I stopped at a digital superstore. An hour later, I knocked on the penthouse door. “Sir, Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but this property belongs to me and my daughter. Your son has been illegally occupying it for four years. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Ryan’s parents weren’t malicious people, so I treated them with respect. When they saw the new deed, their faces went white. His father immediately called his son. “How could you take someone else’s house? You told us Victoria gave it to us out of respect! I’ve never taken a penny that wasn’t mine in my entire life. You’ve brought shame on this family.” From the other room, Victoria called out, “I gave you no such thing.” I twisted the knife. “He didn’t just steal the house. While my ex-wife was pregnant, your son interfered in our marriage, directly causing its collapse. After the divorce, he stole the settlement money and property that was meant for me and my daughter—the very home you’re living in. Because of him, my daughter and I have struggled for four years.” Ryan’s father’s eyes were wide with horror. He stomped his foot in anguish. I then showed him every single taunting message Ryan had sent me. I’d saved them all. Victoria’s ears turned bright red. She shrank away into a corner. So, the cheater was capable of shame after all. The Ryan in those messages was lewd, shameless, and arrogant. His father looked like he was about to have a stroke, crying out, “How did I raise such a shameless monster!” With that, he tried to kneel before me. “Young man, I am so sorry! Please accept my apology!” I helped him up. Ryan wasn’t here yet. It wasn’t time for kneeling. When Ryan arrived, he was greeted by several hard slaps from his father. Even after the beating, Ryan held his head high. “So what if I took his woman and his house? Is the world a fair place? Am I supposed to be like you, all high and mighty, and stay poor my whole life?” He looked from me to Victoria, not an ounce of remorse on his face, only a smug satisfaction. “Even without this place, I have four other properties, two luxury cars, and twenty million in the bank. Countless designer goods. Right now, I’m the richest person in this room!” “The two of you,” he sneered, “one is bankrupt, the other is a wage slave. You think you can fight me? Let’s see if you can even afford a lawyer. Let’s see how long you can last.” 7 Ryan’s audacity was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. Without him, my daughter should have been living like a princess, carefree and provided for. He was still gloating. “Liam, if you get on your knees right now and bow to me a hundred times, I’ll forgive you and your daughter.” Thump. Thump. With tears streaming down their faces, his parents fell to their knees before me, bowing their heads to the floor. “This is a sin! Young man, our whole family has wronged you. We failed as parents. We’ll move out immediately.” The scene stunned Ryan into silence. I didn’t tell the old couple to get up. Instead, I mirrored his earlier arrogance. “You see that? You hurt me and my daughter without a second thought, and the consequences fall on your parents.” “There’s nothing wrong with ambition. But ambition should drive you to work hard and succeed, not to abandon your morals for a shortcut. Anything given to you can be taken away at any moment.” Ryan’s face darkened. I suspected Victoria, for all her infatuation, hadn’t willingly gifted him every single car and property. He was preying on her weakness for him. I pressed my advantage. “You know why you can’t have a child? Because you built your life on my pain and suffering. You’ve severed your own fate with any future children. Even a soul would be too ashamed to be born to a father like you!” I’d noticed the herbal medicines at the villa the last time I was there. I had worked in an apothecary once; I recognized them immediately as fertility treatments. His deepest insecurity exposed, Ryan’s face contorted with rage. He lunged at me. Victoria, who had been silent until now, stepped between us, grabbing his arm. And that was all. Ryan smirked, looking at me with the confidence of a winner. Of course. Victoria had always been on his side. Unconditionally. The last time I’d forced Ryan to drink toilet water, she had rushed in and shoved me so hard my back slammed into the sink. I’d crumpled to the floor, the pain so sharp it took me five minutes to get up, watching helplessly as she fussed over him and led him away. Right or wrong, Victoria always left me to stand alone. My hope flickered and died. Even though I had given up on her long ago, a small part of me wished she would, for once, stand up for her own daughter. “Liam, I’ve got him. You hit him. Hit him until you’re satisfied.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385463”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel