Category: English

I stood by Don Declan Marchetti through everything—from nothing to controlling New York’s underworld. And six months into our marriage, I asked for a divorce. The scholarship girl I’d personally funded was on her knees, sobbing, swearing she’d cut all ties. Declan sat motionless, his thumb tracing the edge of the divorce papers, jaw clenched tight. “I just thought Isabelle reminded me of who you used to be. I wanted to give her everything I couldn’t give you back then.” “I wanted to make it up to the girl who suffered beside me.” Make it up. Taking Isabelle to late-night diners on the Lower East Side. Carrying her shopping bags down Fifth Avenue. Flying her to Santa Fe to watch the sunset. Dropping six figures at Sotheby’s to win her the Moonlight Heart diamond. Sitting up with her until dawn. All of it—compensation. But that compensation belonged to me. And since he’d given it away, I didn’t want him anymore either. I smiled—just a ghost of one, edged with something cold. “Declan, am I dead?” I was standing right here. Breathing. Alive. So why was someone else collecting what was mine? He said nothing. Just pressed his lips together and stared at me with that infuriating silence. Isabelle’s face went sheet-white. She nearly crumpled to the floor. In the past, this was where I’d lose it—screaming, raging at his composure, hating how he could sit there like a marble saint while I burned. As if nothing he ever did was wrong. But today, I just laughed softly. I uncapped the Mont Blanc pen and tossed it in front of him. “Sign it. I’m only asking for half. That’s more than fair.” Ink splattered across his fingers. Maybe I imagined it, but his hand seemed to tremble. He picked up the pen. The trembling got worse. Three attempts. No signature. Then the pen hit the table with a sharp crack. “Sera, it’s not what you think. You’ve got this all wrong.” “Our marriage deserves more than this. I won’t agree to it.” Isabelle snapped awake then, tears glistening like crystal. She crawled toward me, clutching the hem of my dress, voice breaking. “I swear—there’s nothing between us. He treats me like a sister. He’s just projecting his guilt about you onto me.” “Please don’t fight because of me. I’ll leave. I’ll disappear right now. Just please don’t be angry anymore.” I exhaled slowly. Same question as before. Am I dead? If I’m not dead, why is someone else living my life? “She’s the scholarship student you chose to sponsor,” Declan said, an edge creeping into his voice. “You’re seriously jealous of a charity case?” “If I wanted a woman who reminded me of you, why wouldn’t I just keep a mistress outright?” “Isn’t that exactly what this is?” I asked quietly. Every bone in my body ached with exhaustion. No brother-in-law buys his little sister a diamond ring. No brother-in-law stays up all night talking to his sister. Once or twice might be concern. But twenty times in a single month? That’s not concern. That’s devotion. I used to think I was being paranoid. Now I realized I’d been blind. Stupid. “Seraphina! Have you lost your mind?” “She’s nineteen years old! You want to destroy her?” Declan’s face went dark, fury blazing behind his eyes. “She just started at Juilliard! She’s not like you—dropped out of high school and had two abortions over a man before you were twenty! Are you trying to ruin her life?” Three accusations, each one sharper than the last. He didn’t even hear himself. Didn’t realize what he’d just revealed—how deeply he cared about Isabelle Laurent. My eyes burned. The tears came before I could stop them. He was right. I wasn’t like Isabelle. I gave up my scholarship for him. Worked double shifts. Threw away my future—Harvard, the National Ballet Company, and even the two babies I lost to malnutrition without ever knowing I was carrying them. All of it—for him. He could forget all that if he wanted. But he had no right to weaponize it against me. I tilted my head back, swiping roughly at my face. It took everything I had to form a complete sentence. “Then sign the papers.” “Declan. Let’s end this cleanly.”

Declan’s fist tightened. He was about to speak when Isabelle lurched to her feet with a sob and threw herself headfirst into the marble fireplace mantel. Blood everywhere. Streaming down her face, soaking into the white silk of her blouse. And still—still—she was begging me. “If my dying is what it takes for you two to be happy again, then I’ll do it willingly.” “I never meant to come between you. I thought—I thought you wouldn’t mind, that we were family—” I went rigid. Frozen in place. Declan’s face drained of all color. His eyes turned crimson in an instant. He shoved me aside—and caught Isabelle in his arms, tears falling without warning or restraint. “Belle—Belle, wake up. Open your eyes.” She went limp against him. Declan looked up at me, red-eyed and shaking, disbelief carved into every feature. There was shock in that look. Rage. And accusation. He didn’t say a word to me. Not until the family doctor arrived and loaded her onto the stretcher. Not until he was following them out the door. Then he paused. Turned halfway. His voice like gravel. “Happy now, Sera?” The penthouse went silent. Cold drafts seemed to pour straight through my chest. Tears blurred everything. I slid down against the sofa until I was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around myself, aching in a way that had nothing to do with my body. I kept seeing it—the moment she hit the marble, the moment he wept. Declan Marchetti does not cry. When Declan was twenty-two, men from a rival family shattered his kneecap with an iron pipe. He never made a sound. And my two miscarriages, Declan held me and just said the same thing: “We’ll have more. Sera. I’ll make it up to you.” But tonight, he cried for Isabelle Laurent. In that instant, I understood exactly what she meant to him. And what our ten years together amounted to. I bit down hard, swallowed the copper taste of blood and bitterness, and sat there until the sky outside turned black. He came back well after midnight. Saw me still on the floor. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was pure ice. “Belle survived. but the blow had left a scar on her forehead.” “She’s the most promising student in her program at Juilliard. She shouldn’t let a scar ruin her career, the only option is a skin graft.” My eyelids felt like lead. My forehead burned. Every word reached me through a fog. Before I could respond, Declan steeled himself. “Sera, you and Belle are practically sisters. You’re the only possible donor.” “Besides—if you hadn’t pushed her to the edge, she never would have tried to prove her innocence that way.” Then, afraid I’d refuse, he exhaled and crouched in front of me. Drew me gently into his arms. “Think of it as one small cut. That’s all. Just one. Okay?” That sentence—I heard it clearly. My mind dragged me back ten years. Declan drowning in debt, fighting bare-knuckle in underground rings just to survive. The worst night, the other side demanded they break both his arms—shatter his pride permanently. I got on my knees and begged. Then I drove a knife into my own body. Seven times. Until they were satisfied. That night, Declan didn’t cry. But his eyes were blood-red. He swore against my ear: Never again. I will never let anyone hurt you again. Now he was telling me it was just one small cut. I was burning alive with fever, barely conscious, and somewhere in the delirium I was twenty-two again, my face pressed into his shoulder. “I don’t want to… I won’t…” “Declan, I don’t want to anymore… please, I really don’t want to…” Tears rolled down, soaking half his shirt. He closed his eyes. His nails dug crescents into his palms. Three minutes of silence. Then his voice, hoarse: “Be good, Sera. It won’t hurt. It’ll be over fast.” “Just get through this one thing, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened. We’ll go back to how things were.” “One cut. After that, I’ll never do anything you don’t like again.” Consciousness slipping, I only shook my head, murmuring the same words over and over. “I don’t want to anymore… I really don’t want to…”

I burned with fever for three days. When I finally opened my eyes, the skin below my collarbone screamed with pain. I tried to sit up, but a nurse caught me by the shoulders and pressed me back down. Only then did I realize I was in the family hospital. Her brow was furrowed, voice tight with concern. “You just had a skin graft procedure. The pain is normal—you were running a high fever during surgery. You’ve been unconscious for seventy-two hours.” She dabbed a wet cotton swab across my cracked lips as she spoke. “The Don Declan, though—so sweet to his wife. I never expected that. He stayed by her side for three straight days. Didn’t sleep. Eyes completely bloodshot. And assigned six bodyguards to guard her room closely.” “He was worried the skin on her forehead wouldn’t heal pretty enough, so he insisted we use the patch from just below your collarbone. We told him multiple times it would cause you excruciating pain, but he wouldn’t budge.” She glanced back at me. “You’re really selfless, though. Are you one of his subordinates?” The pain from the wound drilled straight into my chest. My fingers twisted into the sheets until my knuckles went white. “They’re… a couple?” My voice came out like sandpaper. The nurse nodded cheerfully. “Last night when the girl woke up, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him. If that’s not his woman, what is?” Something inside me cracked open. Declan has never been demonstrative. Public affection—kissing, hand-holding, embracing—he finds it undignified. In ten years, he never once kissed me where anyone could see. But Isabelle became the exception. After the nurse left, the tears finally came. I bit into my lip until I tasted iron, refusing to let a single sob escape. Everything Declan said that night while I was delirious came rushing back with brutal clarity. I’ll never do anything you don’t like again. I was the only one who believed it. I waited until well past midnight. Then Declan came in, startled to find me awake. Something guilty flickered across his face. “Family meeting ran late. Sorry I’m only just getting here—how do you feel? Still hurting?” The lie came so naturally. He even touched his nose—his tell. Always has been. I looked at him calmly and felt nothing but the absurdity of it all. This was the fourth lie this month. The first time: Working late at the office. Actually shopping for lingerie with Isabelle on Madison Avenue. The second: Drinks with Marcus. Actually fixing a leaking pipe in her apartment. The third: Business trip to Chicago. Actually flying to Palm Beach to buy her a bracelet she’d admired. Beneath the blanket, my nails carved half-moons into my palms. I couldn’t even feel it. I lowered my gaze, a bitter smile forming. “Declan. I never agreed to give Isabelle my skin.” The air crystallized. His guilt vanished, replaced by something harder. He studied me for a long moment, then rubbed his brow with weary exasperation. “Sera, how old are you? You’re a decade older than her. Are you really going to compete with a teenage girl?” “Her life is just beginning. You’re supposed to be sisters—not enemies.” “Another scar means nothing on you. But for Belle—one scar and her entire future is over. Her dream is Hollywood. Her face is everything.” He looked at me the way you’d look at a child throwing a tantrum. “When are you going to grow up?” I almost laughed—a broken, incredulous sound. Grow up? Wasn’t it him who promised, before we married, that I’d never have to? Another scar means nothing on me? Isabelle’s dream is to be an actress? What about my dream? What about the seven scars already carved into my body? Is that just my bad luck? He saw the tears and immediately softened—reached out to brush them away. I flinched back. His hand hung frozen in the air between us. “Declan… sometimes I really wish I’d never traded seven stab wounds for your hands.” He went silent. Something like panic flashed through his eyes. “Just let me go. Please.”

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Don Carlo was a dyed-in-the-wool conservative who despised violence. Me? I grew up with gunfire and bullets as my lullabies. The only reason he’d handed me divorce papers in the first place was because I’d dragged him along when we jumped from a shipping container down at the docks. But that was before I came across photos of him at the shooting range—with his female subordinate. An assassin. I had my people dig deeper. Hundreds of photos came back. Every single one of them featured the same woman: Valentina. On our anniversary, he said he was too swamped to come home and celebrate. Because Valentina’s mission had gone sideways that day, and he was busy comforting her. On Christmas, I asked him to make time to visit my parents with me. He begged off, saying he had urgent family matters to attend to. Because he felt bad for Valentina—alone in a foreign country with no one to spend the holidays with. I flipped through the photos, my fingers going numb. One intimate shot after another. There she was, leaning against his shoulder while eating cake. There he was, cleaning her gun for her. There they were, sitting side by side on the steps, sharing a cigarette. Then a hesitant voice cut through beside me. “Madam, Don Carlo might still be busy in there—today’s Valentina’s mission debriefing. Perhaps… you could wait a little longer?” I rose to my feet. “No need. Tell Don Carlo he’d better get ready to sign divorce papers.” Back at the apartment, I went straight to the master bedroom on the second floor and started packing. I set the signed divorce agreement on the nightstand—and looked up into a pair of jet-black eyes. Carlo’s gaze dropped to the two suitcases beside me, and his brow furrowed. “I had a debriefing with the men at noon. I had to be there. Couldn’t get away. And now you’re upset again?” I didn’t answer. I grabbed my suitcases and headed for the door. But he held them in place. “Isabella. Say something.” I stayed silent. He looked at me calmly, like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “When are you going to break that infuriating habit of going mute every time you get angry?” When I couldn’t tug the suitcases free, I let out a breath, straightened up, and said, “I want a divorce.” “On what grounds?” “You cheated on me. Isn’t that enough?” I brushed his hand aside and started for the door with my luggage. But he stopped me again. “Isabella, can we not do this? There’s only you. No one else.” “Oh, really?” I pulled out the stack of photos. “Then who’s this?” In the photos, they stood side by side at the shooting range, his hand over hers as he corrected her grip. Crystal clear. “You told me you were afraid of heights and hated guns. So how come that fear magically disappears when you’re with her?” “Tell me why.” I kept my voice as steady as I could. “Isabella. You had me investigated?” No apology. No admission. No explanation. Just an accusation. “Shouldn’t you start by explaining this?” He tugged at his tie, agitated, and let out a long breath. “Her name’s Valentina. She’s one of my soldiers. The kid’s last mission went sideways, she’s been in a bad place mentally, so I took her to the range.” “That’s all.” “Carlo. Do you even believe that yourself?” One photo could be written off. But a hundred of them? How was he going to talk his way out of that? He fell silent. I grabbed my suitcases again. He spoke. “Where are you going?” “To my parents’. For a while.” He said nothing. I’d reached the door when he finally said, “Give me some time. I’ll sort this out as soon as I can.” I didn’t look back. I walked out. When I got home, I didn’t tell my parents about the divorce. I just made up an excuse—said he’d been buried in work and I didn’t want to stay alone, so I’d come back to stay a while. Luckily, they didn’t press. The next day, I went to the family warehouse to take inventory as usual. But there was someone waiting at the entrance. Valentina. She looked exactly like she did in the photos. All in black. A little nervous. I walked past her and unlocked the door. She stopped me. “You must be Isabella.” I didn’t answer. She pressed on. “I need to talk to you about something. Can we?” She wore an innocent look. In the end, I let her in. She sat across from me, fidgeting, and started going on about Don Carlo. “Did he send you?” I asked. She lifted her chin, stubborn. “No. I came on my own.” “Leave. This is between him and me. I’ve got nothing to say to you.” I stood up to get back to work. She shot up too. “Miss Isabella, believe me or not—there’s nothing going on between Don Carlo and me. I was just upset that day and begged him to take me to the range. It was all a misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed. I pulled the stack of photos from the drawer and slapped them onto the table. “Are all these hundred-odd photos a misunderstanding too?” Valentina went speechless. I brushed past her hand. “If you’re here to be an assassin, then be an assassin. Don’t try sleazy backdoor tricks to climb the ladder.” Her face turned pale, her eyes glistening like she’d burst into tears any second. She spun around and ran out.

It wasn’t long before I got a call from Don Carlo—calling me out for bullying Valentina. I was so furious I laughed, and went straight to his office. “Don Carlo, she came to me. And I’d love to know how she knew the location of my warehouse.” “Also—since you’ve got the time to come over and lay into me, why not just sign the divorce papers and go run off to your little girlfriend?” He was quiet. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Isabella, you’re not thinking straight right now. I’ll come by tonight and we’ll talk.” He turned and left. And that night, he did. The warehouse door swung open, and he stood in the doorway. I was seated at my desk, going over the family ledgers. I didn’t even look up, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What? Here to fight for your little girl’s honor?” He didn’t answer. Finally, he let out a sigh—helpless. “You are my wife, Isabella.” I ignored him. He went on. “I’m heading to Sicily this week for the elders’ meeting. I’ll be gone a week. When I get back, we’ll sort this out.” My hand paused on the ledger. He continued. “Since you don’t like Valentina, I’ll minimize contact with her from now on. I’m handing off all her missions to other capos. I won’t be directly involved anymore.” I kept flipping pages, saying nothing. He lingered at the door for a long time, then finally left. The next morning, a family messenger brought word that he’d set sail. For the next seven days, he sent me updates like clockwork. Sometimes it was about what was happening in his meetings. Sometimes it was a photo of his meal. Even though I never replied once. After seven days, he returned. The day he came back, he brought me a gift. A dagger, its hilt inlaid with a sapphire—exquisitely made. He took it out of the box and placed it gently in my palm. It fit perfectly in my grip. “Like it?” he asked. I didn’t answer, stubbornly turning my head away. He didn’t get upset. His tone was gentle. “I messed up this time. As long as you don’t divorce me, you can throw any tantrum you want, Isabella.” “As for moving back—stay here as long as you like. I’ll come see you every day.” With that, he left. That night, lying in bed, I studied the dagger in my hand. I decided to give him one more chance. Tomorrow was his birthday. I’d surprise him. The next afternoon, carrying the tiramisu I’d slaved over all morning, I returned to our apartment. I pushed open the door—and saw Valentina sitting at the dining table, urging Don Carlo to make a wish. Candlelight flickered across his face. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw me. I threw down the tiramisu and turned to walk out. “Isabella—” He caught up, grabbing my hand. “Isabella, let me explain. I didn’t expect you to come back. Valentina just came by to wish me a happy birthday.” “Didn’t expect me back? If I hadn’t shown up, what else would you two be doing behind my back?” He started to explain. Then, from inside, the sound of a glass shattering on the floor. Followed by Valentina’s startled cry. Don Carlo instinctively turned to check—then remembered me, and turned back. “Isabella, wait here. I’ll be right back.” I said nothing. I watched his back disappear, turned, and walked away.

The next day, he showed up outside my parents’ building, pleading. Luckily, my parents had left for Sicily two days earlier. They didn’t know. Which meant I could ignore him freely. He stood there for three full days. He sent word through someone, saying that day had truly been a misunderstanding—Valentina had come to him on her own. He couldn’t exactly turn her away. He said he’d transferred Valentina to another capo. That he’d never contact her again. He begged me for one more chance. I didn’t respond. On the fourth day, he didn’t show. He had business. I finally had a moment to myself, and went to the warehouse. I pushed open the door—and was met with chaos. Total devastation. Nearly half the family supplies—the ledgers I’d kept for years—were destroyed. Some torn to shreds. Some knocked to the ground. Everything in ruin. The lock hadn’t been forced. I checked the security logs. It turned out Valentina had used a key to get in and wreck the place. And there were only two keys to the warehouse: mine, and Don Carlo’s. I went straight to confront Valentina. Face to face. Her eyes were red, her hands clenched into fists, her expression pitiful. “Miss Isabella, I know you’ve been misunderstanding everything about Don Carlo and me, and you’re taking it out on me—even making him reassign me.” “But I already explained to you. There’s really nothing between Don Carlo and me.” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Don’t you think this is too much? Controlling Don Carlo every step of the way—do you really think that makes him happy?” “Or is it because of what happened to you in high school, Miss Isabella, that you’ve turned out this twisted?” “What did you say?” Instantly, the members of Valentina’s crew turned to stare at me. Whispers broke out. “Wait—really? She was assaulted back in high school?” “No wonder she’s so messed up. Guess that explains it. Poor Don Carlo—running the family and dealing with a broken wife.” “Picking on a young girl like that. Real classy.” I felt like I’d been dropped into an icy abyss. My grip on her wrist tightened. “Who told you that?” She didn’t answer. But I already knew. After all, the only person who knew and would tell her was Don Carlo. She leaned in, her lips curling upward—a world away from the fragile act she’d been putting on. “Don Carlo, of course. And that dagger he brought back from Sicily for you? I picked it out.” What…? I stood frozen. So Don Carlo had never actually cut ties with Valentina. Not only had he spent those seven days in Sicily—while messaging me every day—actually with her… The gift he gave me was chosen by her too. “The one who doesn’t deserve Don Carlo is you, Isabella.” Her eyes were venomous. Before I could react, a force shoved me aside. I stumbled, nearly falling. Don Carlo pushed through the crowd, shielding Valentina behind him. “Isabella, what exactly are you doing?” “I already did what you asked—transferred Valentina to another capo, cut contact. Why are you still going after her again and again?” Me, going after her? I laughed. I started to speak—but Don Carlo took Valentina’s hand and walked out of the warehouse without looking back. The others filed out too. Only a few scattered figures lingered nearby. Whispering. I left like a ghost.

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Seven days before the wedding, and my fiancé had gotten my name wrong on the invitations for the ninety-ninth time. Three hundred invitations had gone out. Every single one bore another woman’s name. Lily Hart. I brought a sample to him. Nathan’s brow creased with impatience. “Lily’s been in a bad place lately. Don’t upset her with something this petty. Besides, she saved my life. What’s wrong with giving her a little presence at the wedding?” I looked past him into the apartment that was supposed to be ours. My whole body was trembling. Lily Hart was wearing my pajamas, my engagement ring on her finger, sitting on the sofa I’d picked out myself, smiling at me. “Claire, you don’t mind, do you? Nathan said my back hurts, so he’s letting me sleep in the master bedroom tonight.” I set the invitation on the table. My finger pressed down on the line that read Lily Hart. “Fine.” I’d given up the master bedroom. I’d given up the name on the invitations. The wedding and the groom—I didn’t want those either. Lily snatched up the invitation faster than I could set it down. She flipped it open, and when she saw the line Bride: Lily Hart, her fingers lingered on the gold-foil lettering for two seconds. The wedding planner stood beside her, smiling cautiously. “Ms. Bennett, Mr. Whitmore confirmed it three times. Take another look, anything else you’d like changed?” Three times. Every letter on that cardstock was perfectly clear. No Claire Bennett. Only Lily Hart. Nathan came out of the kitchen carrying a warm glass of milk and handed it to Lily without thinking. “What are you doing here again?” I pushed the invitation in front of him. “You confirmed it three times.” He glanced down, annoyance creeping between his brows. “The wedding company made a mistake. Have them reprint it.” “They’ve already been sent out.” “Then send a correction email.” He said it so easily. Three hundred invitations with another woman’s name printed where the bride’s should be, and he spoke as if someone had gotten a dish wrong on the dinner menu. Just fix it. Lily cradled her mug, and her eyes reddened instantly, tears spilling on cue. “Nathan, it’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have helped you review the details. Is Claire… is she upset with me?” Nathan reached over and wiped the tear from the corner of her eye, his voice so gentle it was as though he feared she might shatter. “It’s not your fault. You were just trying to help. If she can’t even handle this without making a fuss, she’s the one being unreasonable.” I suddenly remembered last week. My stomach was cramping so badly I’d slid off the sofa onto the floor. I texted him to bring me a glass of warm water. He replied forty minutes later. “There’s water in the kitchen. Get it yourself.” But Lily mentions her back hurts once, and he gives up the master bedroom, heats her milk, drapes the robe I’d chosen over her shoulders. The wedding planner asked quietly: “Ms. Bennett, so are we making the change or…?” I said: “No changes.” Nathan looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I stood. I placed the invitation back in the center of the coffee table. “The entire wedding is canceled.” The living room went dead silent. Nathan’s hand froze mid-air, still holding the cup. His tone went cold. “Claire Bennett, are you done throwing a fit?” “The contracts are in my name. The money came from my account. I say it’s canceled—it’s canceled.” Lily bit her lip. Tears fell. “Claire, don’t do this. Nathan’s just been so busy. He didn’t mean to get your name wrong.” I looked at the ring on her hand. “Take it off.” She pulled her hand back. “It’s just the sample ring. Nathan said I should try it for sizing.” “My ring. You’re trying it on?” Nathan set down his cup. “Her fingers are about the same size as yours. She was just trying it on.” “And the master bedroom? Should she test the marriage bed for me too?” Nathan’s expression turned ugly. “Watch your mouth.” “Watch your behavior.” He stared at me. A few seconds passed, then he let out a cold laugh. “Fine. Make your scene. Your mother just sent invitations to all the relatives. Go ahead—cancel it. I dare you.” Before, when he used that tone to pin me down, I would panic. I would retreat. I would swallow my tears. Not this time. I took out my phone and called the wedding planner right in front of him. “Terminate everything. The dress, the hotel, the dinner, the invitations—all of it. Deduct the penalty from the deposit. Refund the balance to my account.” After I hung up, the smile was gone from Nathan’s face. Lily clutched the sash of the robe and lowered her head. That robe was a gift from my mother. She’d said it would be comfortable for the first morning as a newlywed—and would photograph beautifully too. I looked at it one last time, then turned toward the door. Nathan called after me: “If you walk out today, don’t bother coming back tomorrow!” I pulled the door open. “I won’t.” As the elevator doors closed, I heard Lily ask: “Nathan, she won’t really leave, will she?” Nathan’s answer: “She can’t live without me.” The elevator descended. I opened my phone and tapped on the email I’d just received. Westbridge General Hospital archive retrieval request—preliminary review approved. That rainy night seven years ago. Someone was finally willing to give me back the truth.

I returned to my rented apartment. The first thing I did was open my laptop. I canceled the banquet venue and the photographer. Returned the wedding gown. Withdrew the guest list. Every refund was routed back to my account. Nathan didn’t know that this entire wedding had been funded by me from start to finish. Mrs. Whitmore had said the family was tight on cash flow and asked me to cover things for now. “We’ll be family soon enough. What difference does it make whose name is on the bill?” Three million dollars. Thirty-six tables for the banquet, three wedding gowns, interior décor for the new apartment, honeymoon flights—even the gold-foil embossing on the invitations. All of it, my money. My father had asked me once: “Claire, is it really worth spending like this before you’re even married?” At the time, I’d said it was worth it. Because I loved Nathan Whitmore. Loved him enough that every time he put Lily ahead of me, I still made excuses for him. Loved him enough that when Mrs. Whitmore made me sign that nondisclosure agreement, I didn’t fight back. Looking back now, that wasn’t devotion. It was stupidity. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Claire, why is everyone in the family group chat saying the wedding’s off? What happened?” “Mom, I’m not getting married.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Did he hurt you?” My nose stung. “Yeah.” My mother said only one thing: “Come home.” The doorbell rang then. I opened the door. Nathan stood outside, holding a document envelope. “Reinstate the hotel.” I didn’t let him in. “That’s not possible.” “My mother’s blood pressure spiked.” “Then take her to a hospital. I’m not a doctor.” “Claire, don’t take your anger out on your elders.” “I paid for the wedding. I canceled the wedding. How is that taking anything out on anyone?” He held back his temper and thrust the envelope at me. “I’ll pay you back. Just sign this first.” I opened it and glanced inside. Property transfer documents for the new apartment. I’d put two million toward the down payment. On those documents, next to Claire Bennett, it clearly stated: voluntary full transfer of property rights to Lily Hart. I looked up at him. “What is this?” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Lily doesn’t have any property under her name. She needs it for a business license application. It’s just temporary—her name on the title. It won’t affect you living there.” “My money bought that apartment, and you want her name on it?” “Once we’re married, we’re all family. Stop drawing such hard lines.” “She and I are not family.” Nathan’s jaw was tight with anger. “Do you have to make everything this ugly? Who’s the one losing face here, you or me?” His phone rang. Lily was crying on the other end. “Nathan, did I cause a fight between you two? I’ll move out right now. I won’t let Claire misunderstand anymore.” Nathan’s tone shifted instantly. “Shh, you didn’t do anything wrong. Stay put. I’m coming right back.” After hanging up, he looked at me. “She’s already miserable enough. Do you have to push her?” I asked: “What about me?” He didn’t answer. I asked again: “Don’t I get to feel miserable?” He looked away. “Don’t compare yourself to her. You and she are different.” When those words landed, I actually laughed. Seven years. He’d been protecting Lily so long it had become reflex. Whether I was in pain, humiliated, or wronged—none of it even registered with him. He tossed out one last line before stepping into the elevator: “Go apologize to Lily tomorrow. The wedding is back on.” The elevator doors closed. I looked down at the property documents. At the bottom of the envelope was a screenshot. Mrs. Whitmore, texting Lily: “We’ll let her find out about the property after the wedding. Once a woman’s married into the family, she’ll behave.” Lily’s reply: “Don’t worry, Auntie. She can’t bear to lose Nathan.” Followed by a smiley face. I stared at that screenshot for a long time. So this wasn’t a wedding. It was a trap they’d dug for me.

The next morning, Mrs. Whitmore showed up at my office. She hadn’t made an appointment. She was sitting by the front desk with a red gift bag in front of her. I’d just come out of a meeting. She pushed the bag toward me. “I’ve already called the wedding people. Everything that needs to be reinstated has been reinstated.” “That’s not possible.” The smile left her face. “Claire, a woman should know when to rein in her temper.” Inside the bag was a gold bracelet and a ledger. She tapped the ledger with her fingertip. “Everything Nathan has spent on you over the years—I haven’t tallied it precisely. The bracelet is a gesture from the Whitmore family.” I opened it. Seven years of dinners he’d treated me to, flowers he’d sent, holiday red envelopes, even cab fares—all itemized. Total: eighty-six thousand three hundred and twenty dollars. I asked her: “Would you like to itemize the three million I put toward the wedding too?” Mrs. Whitmore’s expression changed. “Child, why must everything with you come down to money?” “You’re the one who started keeping accounts.” She lifted her teacup and took a sip. “Nathan is a man. His career comes first. Once you marry in, stop fixating on these small sums.” “Three million is a small sum, but eighty-six thousand is a debt?” She was cornered. Her expression soured further. The receptionist and several colleagues had turned to look. Mrs. Whitmore lowered her voice. “Claire, some things cannot be made into a public scene. If you really tear off the Whitmore family’s face, don’t expect to ever walk through our door again.” “I have no intention of walking through it.” She set down her cup. “Think carefully. That agreement from seven years ago—you signed it.” I looked at her. “And?” “So there are things you cannot say. Things you cannot touch.” “What if I touch them?” She fixed her eyes on me. “The penalty is five million. Can you afford that?” I remembered that agreement. Seven years ago, I’d woken up with an IV still in my hand, and Mrs. Whitmore placed documents in front of me to sign. She said it was just to protect Nathan. She said as long as I was sensible, the Whitmore family would accept me as a daughter-in-law. I believed her then. Mrs. Whitmore pushed the gold bracelet closer. “The wedding continues. Sign the property transfer. And go apologize to Lily while you’re at it. Her health is fragile. She can’t handle you making trouble like this.” I took out my phone. “I’ll have a lawyer review that agreement.” “Claire Bennett, do you really think Nathan can’t live without you?” I looked at her. “You’re right. That’s why I don’t want him anymore.” Mrs. Whitmore stood, her face white with rage. “You’ll regret this.” “That’s my business.” After she left, a colleague from legal sent me a message. “Claire, that old agreement you mentioned—we’d need to check the medical records for the signing date. If you were still in post-operative recovery at the time, the document may not be enforceable.” I pulled up the hospital system. The records from seven years ago were locked. Access denied. That afternoon, an unfamiliar number called. The woman on the other end said her name was Parker. She’d worked in the emergency department at Westbridge General Hospital. “Ms. Bennett, I’m about to retire. While sorting through old files, I saw your name. There are some things I think should be returned to you.” I arranged to meet her across from the hospital. Nurse Parker sat by the window. Her hair had gone mostly gray. She slid an old USB drive across the table. “The surveillance footage from the ER corridor that night. Someone told me to delete it. I didn’t delete all of it.” I asked: “Who told you to delete it?” She didn’t answer. She just looked at me. “Watch it. You’ll understand.”

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I carried the Cartier ring box to Chloe’s place. My friend for ten years. In my haste,I had grabbed my fiancéJulian’s phone. I stepped into her Upper East Side apartment. A second later,the phone connected to her WiFi. I froze. Julian had never mentioned coming here. But the password was saved on his phone. Chloe’s eyes flickered to the phone in my hand. A triumphant smirk touched her lips. “Stop guessing,Ella.For the past three years,every time he said he was flying to Tokyo or London,he was here.In my bed.” I clutched the cold velvet box. Ten years of my life,a planned lie. She pulledan ultrasound scan from her Hermès bag and waved it in my face. “Eight weeks,”she said. “You can still marry Julian.My baby’s going to need a full-time nanny anyway.” The apartment’s smart lock clicked. Julian walked in,carrying takeout from a gourmet restaurant. Our eyes met. The smile on his face vanished. I quietly slipped the ring box back into my pocket. From that moment on,Chloe was out of my life. So was Julian Thorne. … “What are you doing with my phone?” Julian took off his Ferragamo shoes. He placed the takeout on the entryway console. His gaze swept from the report in Chloe’s hand to me. After a brief shock,he loosened his tie. He went to Chloe and wrapped his arms around her. “Well,you’ve seen it.No need to hide it.” He looked up at me,his voice calm. “The report is real.She’s carrying my child.The Thorne Group and my estate require an heir.” I clenched the ring box in my pocket. “So?”My voice was barely a whisper. Julian frowned,displeased with my response. “What’s with the attitude?I haven’t even called you out for invading my privacy and taking my phone.” He took a sip of Perrier from the table. He said it like it was nothing. “The doctors have made their assessment.After two miscarriages,another pregnancy would be too high-risk for you.” “I need an heir.Chloe is helping us.After the child is born,you—the future Mrs.Thorne—will raise it.You get a family heir without the risk.So what exactly is your problem?”

Ten years. From a nobody on Wall Street to the head of a financial empire—I was there for every step. Shielding him from rivals cost me two pregnancies. But in the end,he had an affair with my best friend. He called it a”solution”for my own good. Chloe nestled against Julian’s shoulder. She stroked her flat stomach. “Ella,we’ve been like sisters our whole lives.The three of us under one roof.My baby will be ours.You’ve always wanted a family.Now your wish is coming true.” Julian gently patted Chloe’s hair. “See?Chloe is so kind.But you’re always emotional.” He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it on the coffee table. “This is an addendum to the prenup.My legal team already drafted it.The wedding in the Hamptons next month is still on.You will still be Mrs.Thorne—in name.” “But Chloe has a high-risk pregnancy.The doctor ordered bed rest.I’m having her move into our home to recover.She’ll stay with us as my‘distant cousin.’” I stared at the paper. My lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. “Staying as your cousin?And what happens after the baby is born?” “We’ll have you legally adopt him.He will be the rightful Thorne heir.Chloe is young.She doesn’t want a child tying down her social life.” Julian took out a Montblanc pen. He held it out to me. “As compensation,I’ll double the limit on your black card.The money is for taking care of Chloe and the baby.Ella,don’t be greedy.I gave you the kind of life most women in this city would kill for.What else do you want?”

He looked at me with chilling sincerity. To him,I was nothing more than a career-less dependent—a shiny possession for him to manage. Chloe picked up the pen. She pressed it into my palm. “Sign it,Ella.You gave Julian your best ten years.You have no work history.You can’t make it in New York without him.” I placed the pen back on the table. “No.” Julian’s expression darkened. “Ella Vance,don’t push your luck.I regret what happened to those pregnancies.Think of this baby as compensation.” He stood up and looked down at me. “I’m giving you one last chance.Sign it.” I stood up and took out the Cartier ring box. Then I threw it straight into the trash. “I’ll think about it.” I turned and walked away. I heard him sit down behind me. Then Chloe spoke behind me. “I knew she would come around.Julian,let’s pick out rings on Fifth Avenue tomorrow.I like Argyle pink diamonds.”

Night fell. I returned to the penthouse on Central Park West. Julian and I had lived there for five years. I typed in the familiar code. The electronic lock beeped:”Incorrect.” I froze,tried again,but got the same result. I stood outside my own door. Two hours later,the private elevator opened. Julian stepped out,supporting Chloe. He frowned when he saw me. “What are you doing out here?Why aren’t you inside?” “The code was changed.” Julian slapped his forehead. “Oh,right.The old code was your birthday.Too simple,a security risk.I changed it to Chloe’s birthday.” He keyed in the new code and the door opened. In the entryway,my usual Manolo Blahnik slippers were gone. In their place sat a pair of non-slip maternity slippers. “Yours had hard soles,”Julian explained casually,helping Chloe toward the master bedroom. “Chloe could slip,so I had the housekeeper throw them out.” I followed them to the master bedroom door. My blood ran cold. My entire collection of La Mer and CPB skincare products was gone,thrown in the trash. In the walk-in closet,most of my Chanel and Dior couture gowns had been moved. The racks were full of Chloe’s maternity clothes. “Julian,what is this?” I pointed at the half-empty closet.

Julian was pouring Evian for Chloe. He didn’t turn around. “Chloe is sensitive to scents during her pregnancy.The doctor said to avoid all fragranced products.The housekeeper moved your things to the guest room.You’ll stay there for the next few months.” Chloe leaned against the headboard,rubbing her stomach. “Ella,you’re not mad,are you?The doctor said I have to stay in bed.The master bedroom has better light and air.We’re best friends.You’ll understand,right?” Seeing her hypocritical performance,I didn’t have the energy to argue. The next morning,I sat in the dining room eating oatmeal. Julian came out of the bedroom. He put his phone on speaker in front of me. “Hello,is this the Vera Wang bridal boutique?This is Julian Thorne.I need to change the bride’s name on the wedding invitations.Please replace it with Chloe Vale.” My grip on the spoon tightened until my knuckles turned white. The assistant on the other end sounded shocked. “Mr.Thorne,what about Ms.Vance…?” Julian pulled out a chair and sat. He glanced at me coolly. “Ella?She’ll be the maid of honor.” He hung up and took a sip of milk. “Chloe wants to be the bride.She’s pregnant.Don’t upset her.It’s only a wedding.” Chloe walked out of the bedroom in my silk robe. She wrapped her arms around Julian’s neck,then turned to me. Her smile was pure. “Ella,will you be my maid of honor?I want you to witness my happiness in person.” Julian tapped the table. “Chloe is talking to you.Don’t be so petty.It’s just a wedding.” I looked down at the thick oatmeal in my bowl. Ten years of devotion. In the end,even my place as the bride could be stripped away. I put down my spoon and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Okay.” Julian smiled in satisfaction. “We need to keep the peace.”

“The Met Gala is tonight.Wear something simple.Don’t outshine Chloe.” On the sofa was a gray,out-of-season gown. His assistant had prepared it for me. Nearby,Chloe wore a custom Oscar de la Renta maternity gown. She stood beside Julian. Around her neck was the Argyle pink diamond necklace. It was supposed to be mine. “Julian,do I look good?” He put an arm around her waist. “You look incredible,baby.All eyes will be on you tonight.” He turned to me,his brow furrowed. “What are you waiting for?Go get changed.Don’t keep everyone waiting.” I picked up the gray gown and went to the guest room. When I came out,Julian and Chloe were already gone. I had to take an Uber to the museum alone. I pushed open the doors to the banquet hall. Julian was laughing with business leaders,a champagne flute in hand. Chloe clung intimately to his arm. I walked toward them slowly. I was about to stand beside Julian. An executive from JPMorgan pointed at Chloe. “Julian,who is this beautiful lady?” Julian raised his glass. He smiled broadly as he announced to the room. “Everyone,I’d like you to meet my fiancée,Chloe.”

A chorus of compliments erupted. A Goldman Sachs partner I knew spotted me in the corner. He looked surprised. “And this is Ms.Vance?” The hall fell silent. All eyes turned to me. Their gazes were a mix of curiosity,pity,and scorn. Julian didn’t even look back. His tone was light. “She’s just a distant cousin.” Ten years together. He erased our past with one sentence. Now I was just a”distant cousin.” Halfway through dinner,Chloe walked toward me with a glass of red wine. She stumbled on purpose. The entire glass of wine spilled onto my gray gown. “Oops,I am so clumsy!My bad,Ella!” She covered her mouth,feigning shock. But her eyes held a triumphant glint. Julian rushed over. He shoved me aside and checked on Chloe. “Are you okay?Is the baby okay?” He snapped at me. “What are you doing standing here?You know her pregnancy is high-risk,and you still stood in her way?Go to the restroom and clean up.Stop embarrassing me.” The gala ended. I waited in the parking garage for the driver. Chloe cried out. “Julian,I twisted my ankle.It hurts.” Without a word,Julian crouched down. “Get on.I’ll carry you.” Chloe climbed onto his back. She looked at me over his shoulder. She silently mouthed the words: Ten years can’t compete with my three-month-old baby. I stopped walking. Julian turned back,his voice impatient. “Ella Vance,hurry!The Bentley key is in your bag!” I stopped dead in my tracks. “Get the key over here!”he yelled. I opened my purse. The crystal-studded car key was in my hand. I threw it onto the oil-stained pavement. The clatter of metal was sharp and piercing. Julian froze. I didn’t look at him again. I hailed a yellow cab and left. Back at the penthouse,the MacBook screen lit up. I dragged thousands of our photos into the trash and hit delete. Photos from college until now. All the cloud backups were encrypted. Every password was changed. A message from Julian arrived. “Remember the bridesmaid dress fitting tomorrow.Chloe wants pink.” I didn’t reply. I wasn’t enduring. I was collecting evidence and waiting for the right moment. Three packed Rimowa suitcases stood in the corner of the living room. I was ready to leave.

“This pink dress suits you,Ella.Come try it on.” Wearing my custom wedding gown,Chloe shoved a cheap pink bridesmaid dress into my arms. Julian sat on the sofa,reading The Wall Street Journal. He didn’t even look up. “Go change.Don’t keep Chloe waiting.” I went into the fitting room and changed. When I came out,Chloe was hanging off Julian’s arm,all soft smiles and fake sweetness. Julian lowered the newspaper. The awe in his eyes was only for Chloe in her wedding gown. “Beautiful.You make anything look good.” Chloe walked over to me. She took my hand. Her voice was soft,but every word was meant to hurt. “Ella,you have to be happy for us.We’re best friends.The three of us will live together from now on.My child will call you godmother.You can stay home and help me with the baby.I’ll have Julian pay you a monthly salary.” Julian chimed in. “Ella,Chloe’s being generous.She’s literally trying to make sure you’re taken care of.” Watching their performance was absurd. I pulled my hand away. I took off the pink bridesmaid dress and tossed it on the sofa. “I’m not wearing this.”

“Ella Vance,what the hell is your problem now?” Julian shot to his feet. I ignored him and walked out of the bridal shop. That afternoon,the wedding rehearsal was held at St.Patrick’s Cathedral. Chloe linked arms with Julian,walking down the flower-lined aisle. I sat in the pews. A complete outsider. The rehearsal ended. I was the only one left in the vast cathedral. Julian came back for his car keys. He saw me and hesitated,then sat down beside me. “Ella,I know this is hard on you.” He lit a cigar. “I haven’t forgotten what you did for me.I’ll compensate you generously when the baby is born.You can have anything you want.The only thing I can’t give you is the title of Mrs.Thorne.” I turned to look at him. Light from the stained-glass windows fell on his profile. My voice was ice-cold. “Julian,in these ten years,was there ever a single moment you felt you owed me anything?” The hand holding his cigar paused. He was silent for a few seconds,then blew out a ring of smoke. “From my small apartment in Brooklyn to a penthouse on Central Park.For ten years,I gave you the best life in New York.My conscience is clear.” Those four words were a blade of ice. They severed the last thread of hope inside me. “Fine.I understand.” I stood up.

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My Fated Mate, Liam, was toying with my best friend Chloe—right in front of me. He was releasing his scent on purpose, drawing me toward him like a lure so I’d have no choice but to watch. Outside the werewolves-only nightclub, our so-called mutual friends were laying bets on whether I’d have the guts to sever the Mate Bond and file for divorce. “No way Serena walks. Liam owns half the state—he’s a top-tier Alpha.” “Please. She’s an Omega. She couldn’t excite an Alpha if her life depended on it. Why do you think Liam’s screwing Chloe? And she’s just a Beta.” “Hey, Liam, say something. You think that mate of yours has the nerve to leave you?” Through the half-open door of the private booth, I saw Chloe. My best friend. She was draped across Liam’s lap, tilting her head back to press a slow kiss against his mouth. “Serena?” she said, her voice thick with contempt and certainty. “That parasite? Without an Alpha to shelter her, she wouldn’t survive a week.” Liam raised an eyebrow and gave me a slow, mocking smile through the doorway. Then, holding my gaze, he stubbed out his cigar and pressed one large hand against Chloe’s hip, forcing her down hard against the leather couch. His eyes went dark with that wild Alpha hunger, and he tore open the thin silk of her dress in one rough motion. Chloe let out a coy little gasp, then eagerly wrapped her legs around his solid waist. The heavy breaths came next. Then the primal, brutal rhythm of flesh against flesh. Chloe’s breathy moans blended with Liam’s low, possessive growls, and every sound of it poured straight into my ears. The cloying, syrupy scent unique to heat rolled out through the gap in the door and stabbed at my senses. I stood outside, shaking. That’s when I understood: he’d released the scent on purpose. He wanted me here. He wanted to watch his mate fall apart. But I was even more pitiful than they thought—I couldn’t even bring myself to push the door open. I just drew a slow breath, forced my Inner Wolf’s grieving howl back down, and dialed a number. Chloe’s mate. “Shawn, Chloe’s drunk. She’s at the nightclub. You should come get her.” Shawn was an Alpha—exiled by another pack. Once, protecting Chloe, he’d killed a man in a half-shift. The Council had ruled against him, stripping him of his territory. Chloe had complained to me more than once that Shawn was beneath her now. “Who’s she drinking with?” Shawn’s voice came through the phone, hoarse and cold. I answered right away. “Friends. Rough male wolves, the loud, handsy type. You should hurry.” Shawn made a rough sound of agreement, breathing hard, and said he was on his way. I hung up and turned to leave. Chloe’s smug voice echoed in my head—something she’d bragged about more than once: *”Shawn used to be an Alpha. He tore out throats to protect me. Not one or two men, either—otherwise how would an Alpha like him end up exiled?”* I’d only just reached the end of the hallway when my phone rang. Liam. “You saw, didn’t you?” he said. “Enjoy the show?” His voice carried the full weight of an Alpha’s dominance right through the receiver. My lips parted. My throat closed. I said nothing. “I saw you,” he went on. “Was the sound good?” The tenderness in his voice was worse than silver burning my skin. I made a small sound of acknowledgment. A quiet *mm*. Liam laughed under his breath. “Coward.” He was right. By now, the whole pack knew I was a coward. He’d played with my best friend, in front of me, in front of the whole pack. “Come on, she doesn’t even dare walk in? That’s just sad!” Laughter erupted inside the booth—cruel, careless heckling. Then Chloe grabbed the phone. Her voice came through, smiling and light. “If I’d known you were this scared of losing your Alpha, I wouldn’t have wasted money on scent-blocker.” Her tone turned honeyed. “But doing it behind your back? God, the thrill. I’ve been sampling your mate on your behalf, Serena. Full marks on all counts. I’ll be keeping him, thanks.” “Chloe, keep going and the poor little Omega’s going to cry.” “Liam, aren’t you going to comfort her?” Someone piped up from the sidelines, but this time Liam actually sounded serious. “Cut it out. If she cries, I’ll have to deal with it later. Serena isn’t like you—she’s easier to soothe, so quit picking on her.” Then he took the phone back and offered me his charity, that gentle condescension I knew so well. “Where are you? The bathroom? I’ll come find you. It’s not safe out there.” I turned toward the corridor and watched his tall frame push through the door. He stood there a moment, phone raised, then spotted me and hung up. His expression was pure satisfaction—with just a trace of a predator savoring the moment it caught its prey. He walked over, reached out, and ruffled my hair the way you’d pet a nervous animal. “She’s not like you. You’re my rightful Luna. Why the tears?” “Come on, be good. I’m not going to break the bond with you.” His voice was indulgent, warm—the tone you use with something you own. Then the door swung open, and Chloe stumbled out. Her clothes were half-fastened, her curls tumbling across her pale collarbone, the neckline of her dress hanging low enough to promise more than it hid. She tripped forward and fell against Liam’s chest. His hand went to her waist automatically—his palm, hot, spread across her bare skin. Chloe tilted her head against him and lifted her eyes to mine. “Liam, it hurts,” she murmured. “You were too rough. My legs won’t stop shaking.” She pouted, rubbed her stomach, and let her voice go soft and coaxing. “Take me home? Serena knows now anyway, so what’s the point in hiding? You don’t mind, do you, Serena?” She looked straight at me, all pride and gloating. “After all—she’s just an Omega. She can’t handle a man like you. Only I can take that kind of love.” At that exact moment, my phone lit up. Shawn, asking for my location. Blank-faced, I pinned the location and sent it.

Then I raised my head and looked Liam dead in the eye. “And if I do mind?” Something flickered across Liam’s handsome face—hesitation, maybe. He tried to peel Chloe off him, but she went limp against his chest like clay, arms locked tight around his waist. She pouted. “We’ve done it plenty of times on your own territory. Why the sudden gentleman act?” She scoffed, then turned toward me with her chin raised in triumph. “Didn’t you say it yourself? Serena in bed is like a dead fish. Zero fun.” Liam shot me a nervous glance. “Just jokes. Just something I say to tease her.” I dug my nails into my palm and gave a light, indifferent, “Oh.” “Then I’ll help you take her home.” “You’ll *what*?” Chloe stared at me like she couldn’t have heard right. I lifted my chin and looked steadily at the two of them—the man and woman who’d trampled the Mate Bond without shame. “You said your head hurts. Liam and I will take you home together.” Then, ignoring the pressure of an Alpha and a Beta bearing down on me, I stepped forward and took hold of her arm. Liam blinked, then let out something like a laugh. He reached out and brushed a finger down the tip of my nose, all indulgence. “Well, well. My Luna finally got jealous? Little bit of temper isn’t bad on you.” The gesture and the tone were unbearably intimate—as if the betrayal had never happened. My stomach turned, but I kept my face still. It made me think of the werewolf academy. A she-wolf had cornered me in the locker room once, shredded my clothes with her claws. I’d stood there just like this—swallowing it, letting it happen. It was Liam who’d shown up. Liam who’d flooded the room with Alpha dominance and cowed her. He’d frowned, stripped off his black jacket, and dropped it around my shoulders. *”You should have some fight in you. Act like a real wolf.”* The girl never showed her face at the academy again. Liam always assumed it was his doing—the mighty Alpha, defender of his little Omega. He never knew the truth: that the same girl had been caught mid-tryst with her Alpha by her own strict, church-going father. And that I was the one who’d led her father there. She’d been forced off the territory. She never had another chance to bother me. I was happy to let Liam play hero. That’s why I never told him. Chloe’s voice yanked me back. “Who said I’m going home? We planned to go three rounds tonight. That was just the warm-up. Next we do it in the car, then at the hotel.” She batted her eyes at Liam, coy. “You don’t want to, Liam? Come on. In the car. Whole new scenery.” Liam’s dark eyes flicked between us. Before he could open his mouth, I spoke first. “Liam. We’re going home. To the main house.” I held his gaze. Right in front of me, Chloe slowly slid her stockinged leg up along his and locked her eyes onto his. “Naughty little outfit,” she purred. “I stashed it in the car. Miss out tonight and I’m not wearing it again.” Liam’s pupils narrowed. Every trace of hesitation drained out of him and left only the animal underneath. “Serena. You go home first.” He’d made his choice. His voice was flat, cold, final. I let my eyes rim red and my face crumple, as if I were being torn in half. “You’re sure?” I whispered. He nodded, then frowned, impatient. “Do as you’re told. Unless you want to be stripped of your Luna status.” I inhaled slowly, feigning the ragged breath of someone whose chest was cracking open. Chloe covered her mouth and let out a small, wicked laugh. “Don’t tell me you want to stay and watch from the driver’s seat? That’d be cruel. For an Omega like you.”

I said nothing. So Chloe leaned closer, right up against my ear, and whispered like she was sharing a secret. “Want to know when the first time was?” “You were miscarrying. Lying in the hospital, weak as a kitten. That’s when we did it—on your bed.” “He pressed me down against the edge of the mattress and took me like an animal.” “Serena. If you’re smart, you’ll dissolve the bond and walk away.” Every muscle in my body locked. Somewhere deep inside me, my wolf was screaming. That baby had been my first. A pup I’d waited for, guarded like glass. And still lost. Liam had made excuses the whole time I was in the hospital. Never stayed. I’d lain in that empty room alone, gritting my teeth just to get through it. So that was where he’d been. I stared at Chloe. “Why?” I whispered. “Why would you do this? You have a mate. He loves you.” Chloe answered as if it were obvious. “Top-tier Alphas like Liam are rare. Leave him with you and somebody was going to steal him eventually. And we’re best friends—might as well be me. As for Shawn… sure, he’s strong. But he’s a stray. A thug. Only Liam is worthy of me.” I checked the time on my phone. Shawn was maybe ten minutes out. I tested her. “Won’t Shawn come after you? You’ve said yourself he has a violent streak. Aren’t you afraid?” At the mention of his name, Chloe’s tone flattened into contempt. “He’s a fool. I crook my finger and he does anything I want.” She smiled, drew a slow circle on Liam’s chest, and lifted her chin. “Worst case, I trick him into breaking our bond. He’s just like you, Serena—too stupid to see it coming.” Not a shred of feeling for her actual mate. “And if he catches you cheating?” I asked. Fear flashed across Chloe’s face. She wound her legs tighter around Liam’s and turned to him, nodding fiercely. “He never will. I train him like a dog. You have no idea how much he loves me.” I laughed quietly inside my head and glanced at my phone. Shawn: *Almost there.* Suddenly, letting them off this easy felt like a waste. I wanted to see it. I wanted to watch a rabid wolf bite. So I turned to Liam with pleading eyes. “I’ll drive for you. Do what you want in the car, then come home to the main house with me. Please?” I performed the perfect, groveling Omega. Liam’s eyes widened. “You—you really can’t be without me?” Chloe was quick to jab in with a sneer. “Serena. How can you be this pathetic? Wagging your tail like a mutt. What are you even hoping for?” I made my expression into that of a woman who had no life without her Alpha. “When we were at the academy, if Liam hadn’t protected me, I don’t know what I would have done. The tuition for those four years came from him. Since then he’s supported me with pack resources. Chloe—I can’t survive without his shelter.” And to be fair, Liam really was strong. First-rate at seizing resources. Under his shadow, I—an Omega—never had to think about money or status. I’d sailed through my master’s, then my doctorate, and settled quietly into position as the pack’s behind-the-scenes strategist. Chloe went still, jaw tightening. Envy warped her face. Liam’s golden pupils narrowed at her, and he let out a small ripple of warning dominance. “Don’t talk to her like that.” Then, to Chloe, in the calm voice of a man reminding an inferior of her place: “I told you from the start—you and I are just fun. Don’t drag Serena into this. And I’m not leaving her to marry you. Or is there… some other reason you want the bond broken?” An Alpha’s suspicion was fatal. Chloe’s face went white. She dropped the arrogance instantly and pressed herself against him, all softness. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want the Omega spoiling our night.”

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In my bravest and most foolish year,I spent 99 days making the man I was obsessed with—the“Ice God”and captain of the New York hockey team,Damian Knight—finally fall for me. Back then,I was the team’s intern physical therapist,in charge of his conditioning. At night,I was his lover. Until the day I stood outside his mansion’s wine cellar and overheard him laughing with his teammates. “Damian,I heard you broke your season’s celibacy for that little intern?Weren’t you waiting for Chloe to come back?Giving up just like that?” Damian sipped his whiskey,the ice clinking in the glass.His voice was just as cold. “She’s just an intern.Is she even worthy?The moment Chloe’s back in New York,I’m proposing to her.” The cellar erupted in laughter. “Great!Hey,Captain,when you’re done with her,let the rest of us have a taste.I hear she’s good at taking care of people.” A contemptuous smirk played on Damian’s lips.“Whatever.Do what you want.” I instinctively touched my still-flat stomach and vanished from his world that very night. Five years later,at a grand New York charity gala,Damian Knight was about to bid on a legendary blue sapphire necklace called“The Queen’s Heart”for his recently returned love,Chloe. But a clear child’s voice cut through the room: “Sorry,my mommy likes that necklace.My bid is…no limit!” … The entire hall fell silent. Damian,fiddling with an expensive watch on his wrist,shot a cold glare at the little boy standing on a chair.His tone was sharp.“Kid,do you even know what’no limit’means?Where are your parents?” The little boy,Leo,put his hands on his hips and tilted his head up proudly.“Don’t you dare mention that idiot who took too many pucks to the head!It’s bad luck!” The auctioneer on stage looked troubled.“Young man,the starting bid is five million dollars.Are you sure you want to participate?” Guests started whispering. “Whose kid is this?Talks big.If his dad knew he was bluffing here,he’d probably have a heart attack!” For some reason,Damian’s nose itched,and he let out a loud sneeze. Chloe Vanderbilt frowned,walked over,and shoved Leo off the chair.“Where did this brat come from?No manners at all!This is a charity gala,not your playground!” Caught off guard,Leo screamed as he fell backward.“Mommy,save me!” The instant before he hit the floor,I pushed through the crowd and rushed toward him. The heel of my stiletto snapped,and I fell hard,shielding the child with my arms. Thankfully,I held Leo tightly,and he was unharmed. When I stood up with him in my arms,a flash of shock crossed Damian’s eternally calm blue eyes.His signature icy voice wavered for the first time.“Ava?What are you doing here?”

Before I could speak,his teammates started jeering. “Captain,isn’t that the intern from back then?” “Five years,and now she’s shacked up with some old geezer from Wall Street,playing mistress!” Chloe immediately wrapped her arm around Damian’s,possessively.“So you’re the therapist who harassed Damian and got kicked off the team?Like mother,like son.This kid is already a little liar,trying to bid on a five-million-dollar necklace!” Leo curled up in my arms,hurt.“Mommy,I wasn’t lying.Grandpa gave me a card and said today is your birthday,and I could buy you a present.” As he spoke,he fumbled in his pocket.“Grandpa said this black card can buy anything.He can afford it!” All eyes were on his pocket. The next second,he pulled out…a shiny,limited-edition Superman trading card. The crowd erupted in sharp,mocking laughter. “Ha,a Superman card?Does he think this is Gotham City?He wants to buy The Queen’s Heart with that!” “She must be desperate for money!” As the sole grandson of the Wall Street legend Marcus Thorne and future heir to the Thorne Group,Leo had never been so humiliated. He burst into tears in my arms.“Mommy,I’m not lying!The black card must have fallen out in the car.” I stroked his hair,comforting him softly.“It’s okay,sweetie.Tell Mommy,which one did you like?” Leo pointed to the dazzling blue sapphire necklace on the stage. The next second,I calmly raised my bidding paddle and said to the auctioneer,“I bid ten million dollars.”

The jeers around me were almost deafening. “A disgraced intern trying to show off.How shameless!” Chloe sneered.“Can you even afford it?This is a Sotheby’s auction,not the sporting goods store you work at!” Damian’s brow furrowed,and he stopped fiddling with his watch.“Ava,how long are you going to keep making a scene with this kid you picked up from God knows where?I don’t care whose child he is,but you’ve clearly taught him badly!” I looked at him,my eyes filled with nothing but cold indifference. What right did he have to judge my child? Seeing my silence,Chloe fanned the flames.“If your sugar daddy finds out his trashy mistress and her bastard son are embarrassing him here,do you think you’ll still get your allowance next month?” His teammates joined in. “Exactly!Can your bald old man handle the consequences of pissing off our captain?” “Don’t come crawling back to us,begging the Captain and Chloe for forgiveness when you two get kicked to the curb!” Through all of this,Damian’s gaze locked onto me,filled with a mix of probing and disgust. “Ava,you left without a word back then.Was it because you couldn’t wait to find your next meal ticket?”He glanced at Leo in my arms and demanded,“And this child,who did you have him with?”

I held Leo even tighter. Bastard son? Right.In the eyes of the high-and-mighty“Ice God,”I would always be the lowly intern,easily discarded. Five years ago,I only got close to him to win a bet with my father—that I could handle the coldest hockey player in New York and prove I was capable of handling any difficult problem.Why else would I have become his intern? After leaving him,I never regretted having Leo. If my father knew that his precious daughter and grandson were being humiliated like this,it would only take a single phone call for every one of these people’s companies to go bankrupt tomorrow. The auctioneer confirmed again,“Ma’am,are you certain about your ten-million-dollar bid?” “I’m certain.” The moment I spoke,one of Damian’s teammates snatched my paddle and threw it on the floor.“Can she afford it?A physical therapist couldn’t make ten million even if she gave a Middle Eastern prince private service for a decade!” I was furious.To keep a low profile,I had left my security team and my phone outside,thinking I was just attending a simple dinner. A huge mistake.

Instantly,Leo clung to me,crying out at the group.“You bully my mommy,and my grandpa will never forgive you!My grandpa is Marcus Thorne!” His words were met with a brief silence,followed by an even louder roar of laughter. “Marcus Thorne?The’Ghost of Wall Street’who never appears on any magazine cover?You little liar,you might as well say your grandpa is Superman!” “This kid is full of lies.His mother must be a terrible influence!” Leo was overwhelmed by the vicious voices.He kept crying,“I’m not lying!I’m not a liar!” He had grown up surrounded by the love and protection my father and I had built for him.He had never seen how ugly people could be. He buried his head in my chest,his body trembling with sobs.“Mommy,I’m not a liar…Why are they saying that…?” Seeing the situation spiral out of control,I had to back down for Leo’s sake.“I’m sorry,everyone.My son doesn’t know any better.We’ll pass on the necklace.” But as I tried to leave,Damian’s teammates surrounded me. “Trying to leave now?Too late!” “Weren’t you acting all high and mighty?Scared now?” One of them,a blond player,looked me up and down crudely.“Or,you could spend a night with each of us,and maybe we can chip in and buy you a replica of the necklace,hahaha.” Just as his filthy hand was about to touch me,there was a sharp snap.The lucky bracelet Damian had worn for years suddenly broke,its beads scattering across the floor. He stared at me,furious.“Ava,five years and you’ve fallen this low?You’ll sell anything for money?And have a child with another man?”

He knew those words were meant to humiliate me. But he believed them. Our eyes met,and the disgust in his was like a blade of ice. The man who had been my lover every night five years ago was now speaking the most venomous words. I let out a cold laugh.“Yes,I had him with someone else.Is there a problem?” My words stung Damian.He grabbed my wrist,his grip so tight it felt like he would crush the bone.His eyes held a suppressed madness.“Answer me!Why did you even bother with me back then?You’re so filthy,just how many men’s beds have you been in?!” My heart sank. At that moment,Leo broke free from my arms and slammed his small body into Damian.“Don’t you bully my mommy!You big bully!” Damian stumbled back.Chloe quickly steadied him,then yelled at Leo,“You little brat!If your mother can’t teach you manners,I’ll do it for her!” As she spoke,she raised her hand to strike Leo! “Leo,run!”I screamed in terror. But a player had already grabbed Leo from behind,lifting him into the air by his collar. Leo’s feet dangled as he struggled.“Let me go!You’re all bullies!My grandpa will get you for this!” The men only laughed harder,tossing him around like a toy. Suddenly,Leo’s face turned deathly pale.He began to cough violently,and his eyes started to flutter shut. I lunged forward like a madwoman,all dignity forgotten,and screamed at Damian,“Leo isn’t a bastard!He’s your son!”

The air froze. A few seconds later,the crowd erupted in even harsher laughter. “She’s lost it.The woman is completely insane!Trying to trap the Ice God himself!” “Doesn’t she know the Knight family has a history of genetic problems?It’s a known secret they have trouble having children.And she dares claim that mutt is the Captain’s?” The blond player’s hand went slack,and he dropped Leo onto the floor. Leo’s head hit the cold marble,and his forehead was instantly a bloody mess. “Leo!”I scrambled over,pulling him into my arms,my heart breaking.“Sweetie,does it hurt?” The child curled up,whispering weakly,“Mommy…I don’t feel good…I want to go home…” Tears I could no longer hold back streamed down my face. Damian watched this whole farce with ice in his eyes,his voice devoid of emotion.“Ava,I never thought you could be this shameless.If it weren’t for my family’s difficulty in having children,I might have actually believed your bullshit.” Just then,the child’s health monitoring watch on Leo’s wrist let out a shrill alarm.The heart rate on the display was plummeting. I struggled to pick him up and rush out.“Get out of my way!All of you,move!” But Chloe blocked my path.“Stop the act.He just took a little fall.Is it necessary to be so dramatic?”

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On the day my fiance called off our wedding. I accepted a transfer order from Aegis Technology Research Institute and left New York without telling anyone. “Chloe is in very poor health.She needs my last name and that top-tier medical insurance more than you do.” “Evelyn,you’ve always been the most rational.This is just a temporary measure.Once she’s stable,everything will go back to the way it was.” In New York’s social circle,everyone thought I—who had given up a full scholarship to MIT to follow my boyfriend,Karen Thorne,a superstar in the North American Hockey League,to New York—would cry,throw a fit,and beg him not to leave me. After all,in their eyes,without Karen,I was just a useless unemployed girlfriend,a pretty ornament under his halo. But I just nodded calmly. Then I got into a black Cadillac One personally sent by the founder of Aegis Institute. Three years later,as the chief designer of Hermes,a revolutionary sports prosthesis,I attended its launch at the World Sports Technology Conference. Karen,as the league’s ambassador,saw me among the well-dressed crowd. But there was no longer any sign of him in my eyes. …… Three years ago,at the MVP celebration party held by Karen’s team for him. In front of all the media and teammates,he unilaterally announced the end of our engagement and introduced Chloe,the younger sister of his late best friend,as his fiancée. He didn’t even glance at me.He spoke directly to the reporters surrounding him:“Due to special circumstances,Chloe and I will hold our engagement ceremony as soon as possible.” The team manager looked at me,then at Karen,his face full of embarrassment. “Karen,you and Evelyn’s wedding news has already been released.The cover of next month’s Sports Illustrated is already shot.” “This is so unfair to Evelyn.” Chloe,standing behind Karen,coughed twice at the right moment,her face as pale as paper. She whispered,“Brother Karen,let’s just forget it…Don’t embarrass the manager,and don’t put Sister Evelyn in an awkward position.” “I…I can go back to my hometown to recover too.” As soon as she finished speaking,she broke into a violent cough,her body swaying unsteadily.

Karen immediately held her up,his brows furrowed tightly. “Nonsense!Your heart can’t stand the climate there at all.Have you forgotten what the doctor said?” He turned to the team manager,his voice turning cold:“Manager,Chloe is the only family member of my best brother.He ruined his career protecting me on the ice and died of depression.Now Chloe is all alone and seriously ill.If I don’t take care of her,who will?” “I’ll take this responsibility.If the board has any issues,tell them to come to me directly!” With the labels of“morality”and“responsibility”pressed on him,no one at the party dared to say another word. The manager sighed and signaled the PR team to prepare a new press release. My gaze shifted from the flashing camera lights to Karen’s face. He never looked at me. “Karen,”I said calmly. He finally spared me a glance,obvious impatience in his eyes. “What now?Evelyn,I thought you were the most sensible.” “Sensible?”I repeated the word. For three years,I had given up my major and my bright academic future just for these two words. I had gone from a promising biomechanical genius to the“sensible”woman he spoke of,one who could be sacrificed at any moment. “You’re with me so I can focus on my games.Chloe needs me to survive.” He looked at me,saying word by word: “Can’t you tell which is more important?”

I stared at the man I had loved for three years and followed for more than 5,000 kilometers. I asked him:“If it were me dying today,would you give up Chloe’s future for me?” He froze. Chloe beside him reddened her eyes and tears fell. “Sister Evelyn,how could you say that…My brother died for Brother Karen…How could you curse me like this…” Karen snapped back to his senses,his irritation turning to faint anger. “Evelyn,apologize!” I didn’t move. “I told you to apologize to Chloe!”he raised his voice eight degrees. Everyone at the party stared at me,their eyes full of blame and confusion. As if I were some vicious woman. I laughed. “Fine,I’ll apologize.” I walked up to Chloe. “I’m sorry.” “I shouldn’t have compared a healthy person to the sister of a hero.” “After all,healthy people are meant to make way for the sick.” Chloe’s face turned pale instantly. Karen’s face turned livid.He grabbed my wrist tightly:“Evelyn,have you had enough?” “No,”I shook off his hand.“Karen Thorne,you don’t have to worry about the engagement.I’ll handle it myself.” I took out my phone from my purse and,in front of everyone,deleted all photos and announcements related to him on my social media. “From today on,Evelyn Reed and Karen Thorne have nothing to do with each other.” I turned and left. He didn’t chase after me. Behind me came Chloe’s tearful voice:“Brother Karen,it’s all my fault.Go explain to Sister Evelyn…She must have misunderstood…” Then came Karen’s voice,still gentle despite his suppressed anger. “Ignore her.She’ll calm down in a few days.I’ll take you home to rest first.” My heart turned completely cold at that moment.

I went back to the penthouse apartment Karen and I shared. The artwork we picked out together still hung on the walls. Everything felt like yesterday. I started packing my things. I had very few belongings—they fit into a small suitcase. Most were professional books. Karen had never liked me reading them. He said that as the girlfriend of a hockey star,I should just learn art,fashion,and socializing.Why read such“boring”stuff? I pulled the suitcase and prepared to leave. Just then,the door opened. Karen came back,followed by Susan,the team’s PR director. Susan was a decisive woman who had always been kind to me. “Evelyn,honey,what are you doing?” Susan saw my suitcase and hurriedly persuaded me:“Don’t run away from home just because you’re angry.Karen is an idiot,but he cares about you.Calm down.” I ignored her and pulled the suitcase toward the door. Karen stood in my way,frowning:“Where are you going?” “Home.” “Isn’t this your home?” “This is your home,not mine,”I said calmly.

He suddenly scoffed:“Not here?Then where?Your ordinary family in that small Midwest town?Did your parents send you to the East Coast just to cause me trouble?” The most hurtful words always come from the people you love the most. Susan quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Come on,Karen,watch your mouth.Evelyn,Karen is doing this out of responsibility.Chloe’s situation is really special.Those of us by his side need to be more understanding.” She said to me:“Look at you,you’re so well-educated.Why can’t you understand this?Just do a good deed and give up this title.Karen will definitely compensate you later.” Compensate?With what? With the identity of an ex-girlfriend mocked across the country,or the rest of my life he charity-gives me? “Susan,this is my business.It has nothing to do with you.”I walked around her. Karen grabbed my arm again. “Did I say you could leave?” He pushed me hard into the room.I hit the wall,my back aching. “Evelyn,I gave you time to calm down,not to go crazy!” “Go back to your room and reflect on whether what you said at the party was appropriate for a well-bred woman!” “Come out only when you’ve come to your senses.” He kicked my suitcase aside and turned to lock the bedroom door. Just then,my phone rang. It was an encrypted number. I answered and said nothing. A calm male voice came from the other end:“Hermes,this is Arthur Zhou,founder of Aegis.” My pupils shrank sharply. “Headquarters order:Project Prometheus is activated early.You must report back within six hours.The special car is already downstairs.” I glanced at Karen subconsciously. He was staring at me impatiently,thinking it was just a friend calling. “Are you done?Hang up and get inside!” I clenched my phone and whispered to the caller:“Received.” After hanging up,I looked up at Karen. It was the last time I looked at him with the eyes of a lover:“Karen,are you sure you want to do this?” “I won’t say it again.”He had run out of patience. “Fine.” I nodded,never looking at him again,and turned into the small guest bedroom with only a single bed. The door clicked shut behind me,locked from the outside.

The guest bedroom balcony faced the apartment’s back garden,a private wooded area. I opened the floor-to-ceiling window,and cold wind rushed in. The third floor wasn’t high.I tore the expensive Egyptian cotton bed sheets into strips,twisted them into a rope,tied one end to the balcony railing,and threw the other end down. I grabbed the rope and climbed over the balcony. The moment my feet touched the ground,I didn’t even look back at the place I had lived for three years. In the snow,I walked step by step toward the apartment gate. My phone vibrated again.A text message arrived: “Car at the gate.License plate:AEGIS-01.” I quickened my pace. At the apartment gate,the security guard stopped me. “Ma’am,where are you going so late?” I had been locked up by Karen and had nothing with me except my phone. Just as I didn’t know how to explain,a middle-aged man in a high-end tailored suit stepped out of the black Cadillac. He walked straight to the security guard and showed an electronic ID on his phone. The security guard’s face changed drastically.He immediately stood straight and bowed respectfully. “Good evening,sir!” The middle-aged man nodded,walked to me,and opened the car door. “Dr.Reed,please get in.” I got in,and warm air surrounded me. The car slowly started.I watched the luxurious apartment building fade away in the snow through the rearview mirror. My phone rang.It was Karen. I hung up. He called again.I hung up again. The third time,he sent a text: “Evelyn,my patience is limited.Don’t force me to bring you back by force!Apologize to Chloe on your own within a day,and this will be over.”

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I went with my husband to his college roommate’s wedding. He had gone out of his way to dig out the oldest, most buried suit from the very back of our closet. At the reception, I went to the restroom to touch up my makeup. When I came back, I saw the group of men in their custom-tailored tuxedos, champagne flutes in hand, crowding Lester into a corner near the service bar. “Everyone at this table is pulling in mid-six figures, Lester. What are you even doing here on an eighty-thousand-dollar salary?” “You used to be the wild card of the Prep School Princes, man. How did you end up so thoroughly domesticated?” The groom walked over, drink in hand, trying to smooth things over but patting Lester’s shoulder with a patronizing grin: “Don’t sweat the gift registry, Lester. Just put fifty bucks in a card. Don’t break the bank.” Lester downed his glass of champagne in one swallow, his face flushing a deep, tight crimson. He didn’t look at me once. He didn’t say a word on the drive home, and from that night on, he never touched that suit again. Soon after, he started complaining. My cooking was too salty. I didn’t dress up enough anymore. I looked at myself in the vanity mirror. My features were still soft, but there was a quiet, weathered exhaustion around my eyes that makeup couldn’t hide. Seven years had gone by in a blur. Just like that old suit, I had finally become the embarrassment he wanted to keep hidden. … The thought hit me like a thin, sharp needle slipping straight into my heart. I finished making dinner and sat in the living room, waiting for Lester to come home. I’d sent him a text, but there was no reply. I opened his Instagram profile. It was completely barren. Three days visible. I stared at the screen, stunned. I scrolled back through my own memory to the post he had shared for our anniversary last year: “The luckiest thing that ever happened to me was marrying you.” That caption, along with the photo of me leaning against his shoulder, laughing so hard my eyes closed, had been hidden away. I tried to reassure myself. It was probably just for work. Lester was currently working as a campaign planner at a boutique ad agency. His manager had recently mentioned that his social media looked too personal, that it might alienate potential high-end clients. Yes, that had to be it. But as I kept scrolling, I saw a post from his college roommate, Ryan, from two days ago. The picture showed a group of men standing on a lush golf course in matching custom Polo shirts, with a row of Cayennes and Panameras parked in the background. Ryan’s caption read: The Prep School Princes reunion. Just missing one. Two days ago? I remembered Lester telling me he had a team-building dinner that night. He hadn’t gotten home until late. I pinched the screen to zoom in. On the absolute edge of the frame, there was a figure half-cropped out of the photo. The light blue linen shirt he was wearing was one I’d bought him for his birthday, spending half a month’s paycheck at the boutique downtown. He’d told me he loved it, that he’d only save it for special occasions. So, he had gone. But there was no place for him in the picture. Or rather, he had been edited out. As I stared blankly at the screen, the sound of keys jiggling at the entryway broke the silence. Lester pushed the door open. He smelled of whiskey. His collar was slightly undone, and on the left side of his collarbone, there was a faint, dusty-pink smudge. I recognized that shade. It was a trendy lip stain from a high-end brand—expensive, the kind young girls on TikTok obsessed over. A cold, bitter ache surged from my stomach. I took his coat as he handed it to me, keeping my voice as even as possible. “Since when did you start drinking this much?” Lester unbuttoned his cuffs, his eyes never leaving his wrists. “Client dinners. You can’t close deals without a few drinks.” His tone was flat, conversational. He was stating a simple fact of life. But the Lester from three years ago hadn’t been like this. Three years ago, he would have wrapped his arms around my waist, laughing. “Don’t worry, I skipped the bar. I wanted to stay clear-headed for you.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to ask, “Why did you archive all your old Instagram posts?” Lester paused. He looked up at me, his brow furrowing slightly, a flicker of controlled impatience tightening the corners of his mouth. “The agency requested it. Why are you suddenly tracking my social media?” As he spoke, his wedding band caught the warm light of the hallway. But I noticed his right index finger unconsciously tapping twice against the seam of his trousers. It was his tell. His lying tic. He’d done it since college. It had never changed. I swallowed the bitterness and let the subject drop. “Have you eaten? I made sweet and sour ribs.” “I ate at the restaurant.” He grabbed his jacket and walked into the bedroom. When the door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the warm, yellow glow of the living room, the apartment suddenly felt massive. And entirely empty. This was my third year of marriage to Lester. Counting our years of dating, we had been together for seven. Everyone always said Lester adored me. Years ago, for my sake, he had walked away from the path his family had paved for him, falling from the heights of East Coast high society to become an ordinary nine-to-five employee. My mother used to tell anyone who would listen, “Lester treats my Leah like gold. He’s a man she can rely on for life.” I had believed her. After all, following the car accident, he had spent two grueling years by my side, helping me through physical therapy. He had promised me: “Leah, I am going to spend the rest of my life making you happy.” I could still remember the overwhelming tenderness and guilt in his eyes back then. But what about now? I looked down at my right leg. The prosthetic was hidden beneath my long skirt, invisible to the casual observer. But whenever the weather turned damp, the phantom aches at the amputation site would flare up. Like tonight. I was sitting alone, eating a plate of ribs I’d reheated for the second time, when my phone buzzed. It was Ryan. “Hey, Leah. I couldn’t get through to Lester’s phone. My housewarming party is tomorrow night—make sure you guys get there early, okay?” I promised him we would, set my fork down, and walked over to the bedroom door. Pushing it open quietly, I saw Lester was already asleep. His phone was resting on the nightstand, the screen still glowing slightly as if he’d just put it down. I picked it up, intending to plug it into the charger, when a preview notification slid across the screen. The contact photo was a little pink pig emoji. “Lester~ I saw the lipstick mark on your shirt today. I’m so embarrassed! Let me buy you a new shirt tomorrow to make up for it, okay? What color do you like?~” My finger hovered over the screen. My hand was shaking. A dull, throbbing pain flared at the top of my thigh. Like my body was trying to warn me. I wanted to tap the notification to read the full thread. It required a passcode. I entered our wedding anniversary. Incorrect. I entered my birthday. Incorrect. I entered his birthday… “What are you doing?” Lester’s voice came from behind me, thick with sleep but laced with an undeniable, sharp defensiveness. I turned around. He was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, his forehead deeply creased. I wanted to ask: Who is the little pig? What is this lipstick mark about? But the words caught in my throat as I looked at his silhouette against the dim light. The sharp jawline, the clear eyes. The boy who used to chase me across campus had hardened into the silent, guarded man standing before me. The ache in my right leg flared again. I handed him the phone. “Just plugging it in for you. Ryan called. He wants us to get to his housewarming early tomorrow.” Lester took the phone, searching my face for a second before the tension in his shoulders melted away. “Okay.” His voice softened back into its usual, gentle cadence, and he turned back to the bed. The next evening, we arrived at Ryan’s new place. It was a three-story colonial house with a private pool and a custom wine cellar. I had worn the wine-red maxi dress Lester always said complimented my skin, its long hem perfectly concealing the joint of my prosthetic. Lester kept his hand firmly under my elbow, slowing his steps to match my uneven gait. At the reception table, we slipped our two-hundred-dollar check into the card box. On the registry guestbook beside it, the other entries were a sea of five-figure pledges. The young woman coordinating the arrivals glanced at our envelope, her expression shifting into a brief, polite pity. I pretended not to see it. But I saw the tips of Lester’s ears burn red. Ryan emerged from the crowd, throwing an arm around Lester’s shoulders. “You made it! Leah, you look stunning tonight.” He looked between us, then lowered his voice, speaking directly to Lester. “The guys are in the back. Grab a drink, but don’t feel like you have to keep up with them.” Throughout dinner, Lester kept putting food onto my plate. His fork carefully avoided the cilantro and bell peppers I despised. If I ignored the appraising, critical glances from the guests in their designer evening wear, we really did look like a perfectly happy couple. Until I went to use the restroom and overheard a conversation coming from the balcony. “Where is Lester living these days? Still renting that two-bedroom?” “Yeah. Can you believe it? He used to be the golden boy of our class, and now he’s making eighty grand. Honestly, I only gave him that referral because of our history.” “All for some girl? What was the point? Especially since she’s a…” The voices dropped to a whisper, and the rest of the sentence was lost to the wind. But I knew exactly what they were saying. I walked back to our table, smiling as I placed a piece of sea bass onto Lester’s plate. “The fish is fresh. You should eat more.” He looked up at me, his lips curving into a gentle smile. “Thanks, babe.” After the party, we stood on the curb waiting for an Uber. Lester’s phone kept buzzing in his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID, swiped it away, and quickly began typing a message. I watched his thumb fly across the screen, my throat feeling as though it were lined with sand. “…Are you working on a big campaign lately?” “Yeah. Year-end push at the agency.” He didn’t look at me when he said it. His index finger tapped twice against the side of his phone case. Another lie. “The… contact photo…” “What?” He looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. I opened my mouth, but the courage dissolved. I swallowed the words. “Nothing. I was just wondering if we had any of that vanilla yogurt left at home.” “I don’t think so.” The car pulled up, and we got in, one after the other. The backseat was cramped. He sat close to me, smelling faintly of a new, sweet cologne. But the distance between us felt wider than the stretch between this suburban estate and his family’s old brownstone in Boston. Once we got home, he took another call, stepping out onto the balcony and speaking in a low, hushed tone for a long time. I watched his silhouette through the glass door, remembering how seven years ago, on the roof of our college library, he had stood in the exact same position. Back then, he was screaming at his parents. For me. “I don’t care what you think! I’m staying with her. Cut me off if you want, it won’t change my mind!” He had been so sure of himself then. And now? When he came back inside, his face carried a tired but gentle smile. “Not asleep yet? Tomorrow I’ll drive you to the clinic to get your prosthetic checked.” I shook my head. “It’s fine. I can go by myself.” “Don’t be silly.” He knelt down, placing my slippers right by the edge of the bed so they’d be within easy reach. The gesture was tender, instinctual. As if nothing had changed. But I knew. The foundation had already cracked. Lester didn’t come home for the next several days. He texted to say the campaign was in its final crunch and that staying at a hotel near the office was easier. He even sent a photo of the room: “Don’t worry, it’s clean and basic. I’m not wasting money.” At the end, he added: “Once this is over, I’ll take you to that sushi place you love.” I texted back: Okay. But when our wedding anniversary arrived, he didn’t return. I pulled the white dress he loved out of the closet. Wearing heels with a prosthetic was too exhausting, so I opted for a pair of flats. I cooked a full dinner, opened a bottle of Pinot Noir, and sat down. I waited as the food went cold, reheated it, and watched it go cold again. Outside, the sky faded from gray to a deep, heavy black. My phone screen lit up. It wasn’t Lester. It was an unknown number, requesting to add me. The verification note read: “Want to see where your husband is, sweetie?” I stared at the words for a long time. Then, I pressed accept. Within seconds, a fifteen-second video arrived. The lighting in the VIP lounge was dim and intimate. Lester was sitting on a plush leather booth, a young girl pressed close to his side. She was laughing, smearing birthday cake onto his cheek. He leaned back with a grin, dodging her plays, but he didn’t push her away. In the background, someone yelled over the music, “Lester, why don’t you and Lexie just make it official?” Then came Lester’s voice. It was thick with alcohol, his tone casual, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Cut it out. I’m married.” “Then why do you come find us every single night?” the girl pouted, her voice dripping with sweet affection. Lester didn’t answer. Then, the person sent an audio recording—a voice memo recorded surreptitiously. The girl’s voice: “Lester, if you don’t even love your wife anymore, why don’t you just get a divorce?” Lester’s voice, low and infinitely heavy: “…I owe her.” I owe her. What a familiar phrase. Seven years ago, those same words had bound me to this relationship. Lester and I were college classmates. Technically, he was a year ahead of me. On my first day of freshman year, I had tripped over my heavy suitcase right outside the campus gate. He was the one who walked over, bending down to lift the bag for me. Standing against the sunlight, his smile was bright and effortless. “You okay there?” Only later did I find out that Lester was a legacy kid from one of the oldest families in the city. Born with a silver spoon. And me? I was a scholarship girl from a small town, raised by a single mother who ran a small tailoring shop, sewing day and night to keep me in school. The gap between us was a chasm. But Lester hadn’t cared. He pursued me with a relentless, loud passion. Love letters filled my mailbox, and five hundred roses were laid out from the lecture hall to my dorm. The whole campus knew the wealthy Lester was head over heels for Leah. I pushed him away for two years. Not because I didn’t care. But because I was terrified. During our junior year, he waited for me at the bus stop after my internship ended. He stood in the freezing rain for four hours, holding a simple silver band. “Leah, I don’t want my family’s money. I’ll make my own way. Just say yes.” Looking at his raw, red nose and shivering shoulders, I finally broke down and cried, nodding my head. When we got together, his family reacted exactly as expected. His mother’s voice over the phone had been ice-cold: “Lester, if you choose this girl, don’t bother coming home.” Lester chose me. He went from a trust-fund kid spending thousands a week to an entry-level worker earning forty thousand a year. I thought we were living a fairy tale where love conquers all. Until the winter of our senior year. The accident. Lester was driving us to the mountains to see the first snow. The heater in his cheap, secondhand sedan was broken, so we rolled the windows up tight and blasted the radio, singing along. The road had iced over. He didn’t see it. As the car began to spin, I saw a semi-truck heading straight for us. I lunged across the console, grabbing the wheel and wrenching it to the right. The car missed the truck but slammed violently into the guardrail. When I woke up in the hospital, Lester was by my bedside, his eyes bloodshot, his face covered in stubble. I tried to shift my leg, only to realize… Everything below my right knee was gone. Lester grabbed my hand, his voice cracking. “Leah, I’m so sorry… It’s my fault. I’ll spend my whole life making it up to you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll do whatever you want.” He knelt by my bed, bowing his head in front of his mother when she arrived. His mother sighed, looking at him with cold disappointment. “Have it your way. Just don’t come to us when things get hard.” From that day on, Lester never went back to his family. And I spent two years relearning how to walk on a carbon-fiber limb. He stayed by my side, step by step, as if carrying out a life sentence of penance. But penance has an expiration date. Seven years had passed. Even debt, eventually, becomes too heavy a burden to bear. I locked my phone, stood up, and scraped every single dish of the anniversary dinner into the trash. I poured the wine down the drain. The anniversary candles were left untouched, never to be lit. The day after I received the video, Lester came home. He brought a bouquet of baby’s breath and a box of tiramisu. “I’m so sorry, Leah. The client added another round of reviews at the last minute. I couldn’t get away.” He arranged the flowers in a vase, turning to give me a soft smile. “Can we celebrate tonight instead? Happy anniversary, sweetie.” His smile was still beautiful. Gentle, warm, flawless. But his right index finger tapped twice against his pants. I watched the movement, feeling a strange, hollow calm wash over me. “Sure,” I said, taking the tiramisu with a smile. He went into the kitchen and made me a bowl of noodles—even though it wasn’t my birthday. As he set the bowl down, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression unchanging. “Work. I need to take this.” He stepped out onto the balcony, keeping his voice low. I couldn’t hear the words, but in the reflection of the glass window, I saw the corner of his mouth lift slightly. People don’t smile like that during a work call. By the time he came back, the noodles had grown cold and soggy. “Sorry, just confirming the schedule for tomorrow’s presentation.” He sat down to eat with me, placing a perfectly fried egg onto my plate. Halfway through the meal, my phone vibrated. It was the unknown number again. An image. Lester was standing in a brightly lit, pastel-pink kitchen, wearing an apron, meticulously slicing strawberries. Below the photo, there was a message: “Sweetie, your husband is so incredibly gentle when he’s making fruit platters for Lexie~ This was taken last night. Were you waiting up for him all alone? I feel so bad for you~” Last night. The night I had waited up for him until dawn. The night he claimed he was pulling an all-nighter in a hotel room. The background of the photo was entirely different from the sterile hotel room he had sent me. The food in my mouth suddenly lost all flavor. I set my chopsticks down and looked at him. He was looking down at his phone, his brow relaxed, looking completely at peace. “Lester.” “Yeah?” “Where were you last night, really?” His hand froze for a fraction of a second. Then, he resumed eating, his tone perfectly natural. “I told you, the hotel near the office. Why?” His finger tapped his leg. Twice. I smiled slightly and didn’t push further. That night, he went to shower first. I sat on the couch, scrolling through local job listings, looking for remote positions that were accessible for people with physical limitations. When Lester came out, his hair still damp, he noticed what I was doing and leaned over my shoulder. “What are you looking at?” “Just seeing if there are any freelance gigs I can do. I want to help with the bills.” He frowned, gently taking the phone from my hand. “I told you, you don’t need to do that. Just focus on taking care of yourself. Let me handle the rest.” His voice was incredibly tender, like a warm, heavy blanket. But I was no longer sure what lay beneath that blanket. A few days later, Ryan called again. “Leah, I can’t seem to get ahold of Lester lately. My birthday dinner is this Saturday. Bring him along, okay?” Saturday. I agreed. That night, I put on makeup and wore a black maxi dress, the long hem grazing my ankles to hide the prosthetic. Lester held my arm as he guided me into the private dining room Ryan had booked. About a dozen of his old college friends were already there. When we walked in, their faces registered a polite, practiced warmth, masked by an undercurrent of scrutiny. A woman wearing a Cartier bracelet smiled widely. “Oh, Leah! It’s been ages. You look wonderful. Lester is taking such good care of you.” Taking care of. The words stung. It made me feel like a caged bird. A bird with a broken wing, kept out of pity. As the night went on and the alcohol flowed, Lester navigated the subtle jabs and thinly veiled pity of his old crowd. He held his glass, his remarks sharp and polite, his smile measured. But I saw his knuckles turn white against the crystal. Near the end of the evening, one of his friends, clearly drunk, draped an arm over Lester’s shoulder. “Lester, man… you were the best of us. And now… damn. It’s just a shame.” Lester looked back at me. Just a glance, quickly averted. But I saw what was in his eyes. It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t even guilt. It was a profound, suffocating weariness. On the ride home, I reached out and took his hand. He squeezed it back, but his grip was weak. “Tired?” I asked. “Get some sleep when we get back.” “I will,” he replied, his voice as gentle as always. The moment we stepped through the front door, his phone rang. He muttered, “Got it,” and hung up. Then he grabbed his coat. “Emergency at the office. I have to run out for a bit. I’ll be quick.” The door clicked shut. I sat in the dark living room, refusing to turn on the lights. A few minutes later, the text arrived. “He’s on his way to Lexie’s, sweetie. Aren’t you scared being all alone in the dark?” I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I deleted the thread. I blocked the number. Not because I didn’t want to know anymore. But because I no longer needed anyone to tell me. At 11:40 PM, Lester returned. He was holding a beautifully wrapped small box. “An early birthday present. I know your birthday isn’t until next week, but I couldn’t wait.” He opened the box to reveal a pair of delicate pearl earrings. Simple, not overly expensive, but elegant. He gently put them on my ears, stepping back with a soft smile. “Perfect. My wife looks beautiful in everything.” So sweet. So attentive. So utterly stifling. I touched the cool pearl on my earlobe and asked softly, “Lester, have you been happy these past seven years?” He froze. But his smile didn’t falter, and his voice remained steady. “Of course I have. Being with you is everything to me.” His finger tapped his thigh. Twice. A cold shiver ran down my spine. I looked down and let out a quiet laugh. The next day was Sunday, and Lester spent the entire day at home. He cooked lunch, took me for a slow walk around the courtyard, and we watched a movie together in the evening. It felt exactly like the early days of our marriage. I almost let myself believe it again. But after dinner, his phone began to buzz incessantly. He glanced at it, claiming it was a client, and went out to the balcony. I stood up to clear the table. As I passed the coffee table, his screen lit up. I only caught three words: “I miss you.” The sender was the little pig icon. On Monday morning, before leaving for work, Lester kissed my forehead. “Your birthday is on Wednesday. I booked a table at that French place downtown. I won’t stand you up this time.” After he left, I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the floorboards. Then, I made a decision. On Wednesday, I didn’t go to the restaurant. I put on the white dress he had loved when we first met. I did my hair and makeup, making sure I looked clean and polished. Walking on the prosthetic was painful, but today, I refused to use the cane. I drove to Ryan’s office. The receptionist told me he was in a meeting. “No problem,” I said. “I’ll wait.” Twenty minutes later, Ryan came out, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw me. “Leah? What are you doing here? If you need Lester, you should call him directly.” “I’m here to see you. Today is my birthday, and I need a favor.” Ryan blinked. “What kind of favor?” “I want you to put together a dinner tonight. Just the old group, and Lester. Don’t tell him I’m coming.” Ryan’s expression shifted through several stages of confusion and realization before he slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll set it up.” At 7:00 PM, I arrived at the private dining room Ryan had reserved. When I pushed the door open, there were already seven or eight people seated inside. Lester was sitting in the middle, a drink in his hand, laughing at a joke. The moment he saw me, the smile froze on his face. “Leah? What are you…” I leaned against the doorframe to steady myself, offering a polite smile to the table. Then, I looked directly at him. “Lester, we need to talk.” The room fell dead silent. Every eye in the room turned to us. Lester set his glass down and stood up, moving to hold my elbow. “Let’s talk about this at home…” “Let’s get a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “529598”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Aaron came from old money—a dynasty built on ruthless efficiency. To him, everything had to be optimized, categorized, and managed. Even our marriage was governed by a proprietary operating system. For five years, my inbox received a daily delivery: a Wife Performance Review. For five years straight, I maintained a perfect “S” rating. My reward? The right to make one small request of my husband every single day. I truly believed that made me his favorite person. Until today, when I brought lunch to his office and watched his childhood friend, Daphne, boss him around. And Aaron? He was smiling. He was enjoying it. Daphne didn’t have a spreadsheet. She had no quotas, no performance indicators, no multi-level approval processes. She simply asked, and my husband eagerly bent the world to please her. Yet, on my birthday last month, when I begged him to ride the Ferris wheel with me, his face had hardened with impatience. “You already used your daily request this morning, May. An ad-hoc addition doesn’t align with the reward matrix.” The ceramic container slipped from my hands. Hot soup splattered all over my shins, but all I could do was let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. I walked out, hailed a cab, and went straight home to shove five years of performance reviews into the paper shredder. Aaron. It turned out you weren’t naturally rigid. You were just rigid with me. I was an employee clocking in to hit her KPIs. But your childhood sweetheart was a permanent, off-the-books consultant. No clocking in, no performance reviews, yet she walked away with your entire heart. Today, I ripped down the current review pinned to our headboard and booked a one-way flight to Charleston. If your sacred rules only bend for her, then I am happily resigning. It’s time to be the main character of my own life. … “May, throwing a temper tantrum in the lobby and leaving a mess on the floor severely damaged my corporate image. That’s a direct violation of Clause 4 of our Spousal Conduct Agreement. Your rating for this month is downgraded to a D.” Aaron’s voice was as cold and sterile as dry ice when he pushed open the bedroom door. He stood in the frame, his bespoke Tom Ford suit immaculate, not a single thread out of place. Between his long, manicured fingers, he held a freshly printed sheet of paper—his proprietary “Spousal Performance Disciplinary Action Notice.” I stopped folding my sweaters. My eyes skimmed the document before rising to meet his cold, indifferent gaze. “Whatever you say,” I replied quietly. I turned back to my suitcase, tucking a soft cashmere pullover into the corner. Aaron’s brows knit together instantly. He wasn’t built for this kind of silence. For the last five years, the moment he produced one of these sheets, I would scramble into a panic of self-reflection, tears welling up as I desperately tried to explain myself. “What is this attitude, May?” He stepped into the room, his Oxford shoes striking the hardwood with a heavy, rhythmic thud. His gaze swept down to the piles of shredded paper littering the floor. He paused, his expression shifting into an unfiltered, mocking sneer. “Shredding your old ‘S’ ratings and packing a bag… is this your dramatic way of compensating for today’s emotional outburst?” He tossed the disciplinary slip onto my vanity. “Grow up. Stop throwing these childish tantrums. I’ve explained this to you. The Ferris wheel was an unscheduled, high-time-consuming variable. You had already redeemed your micro-wish for the day by having me taste your soup. Adding another request on the fly violates my time-management protocols.” He delivered this debrief with the exact same structured precision he used in his corporate boardrooms. Every word was a cold post-mortem on a failed sprint. I placed my final coat inside and slowly pulled the zipper shut. “I know. The rules are absolute.” I stood up, looking him dead in the eye. “Which is why I accept the downgrade. I accept all your rules.” Aaron stared at my placid face, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing his features. He loosened his tie, clearly unsettled by a quiet compliance that felt entirely out of his control. “If you understand the rules, then why did you cause a scene in the lobby? Daphne was just passing by. She saw you spill the soup and wanted to help you clean up. Why did you look at her like she was the enemy?” At the mention of her name, my fingers stiffened against the fabric of my coat. Daphne. The girl who lived entirely outside his system. The girl who could cost him a multi-million-dollar deal with a single pout, and he would still smile. “How did I look at her?” I asked, my voice flat. Aaron let out a dry, humorless chuckle, clearly annoyed by my playing dumb. “You looked at her with pure hostility, May. You terrified her. She’s fragile, she’s always had health issues, and she doesn’t handle stress well. As her friend’s wife, you showed a complete lack of grace and humiliated her in public. Where is your maturity, May?” Looking at his righteous indignation, a sudden, bone-deep chill washed over me. In the lobby this afternoon, Daphne had deliberately stepped into the spilled broth, whining that her new designer heels were ruined. Aaron had immediately dropped to one knee, using his bespoke silk pocket square to wipe her shoes. Meanwhile, the scalding soup was blistering my leg, and he hadn’t even spared me a glance. “If she’s that easily traumatized, you should get her a therapist instead of cross-examining me.” I stepped around him, rolling my suitcase toward the door. Aaron’s hand shot out, clamping down on the handle. The veins on the back of his hand strained against his skin. “What is this childish defiance really about? Our anniversary is next week. I had my assistant book that French restaurant you’ve been dying to go to. If you walk out that door, the reservation is canceled, and your wish-credits for the entire second half of the year are forfeited.” He looked down at me with the cold authority of an employer threatening to dock an insubordinate worker’s bonus. I stared at his hand on my suitcase, a sudden wave of dark amusement washing over me. That French restaurant—Le Bistro—was a milestone I had put on my “Annual Goal Proposal” six months ago. It had gone through three rounds of review before he finally approved it. And then, last night, I saw Daphne’s Instagram post. “My absolute favorite spot! Thank you, Aaron, for giving up your anniversary table so my friends and I could have our girls’ night!” And here I was, foolishly waiting for an explanation. “Don’t bother canceling it.” I reached down, peeling his fingers off the metal handle, one by one. “You’ve already reallocated the slot to Daphne, haven’t you?” Aaron froze, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his eyes before he quickly armored himself back up in righteous justification. “Daphne needed to entertain a high-profile client, and bookings are impossible to get. It was a strategic business reallocation. We are married. We have a lifetime to go there. Why are you being so petty over a single dinner? Your perspective is incredibly narrow, May.” He lectured me without even a hint of shame. “You’re right. I lack the scale for your micro-optimized life.” I pulled my suitcase past him, completely devoid of any urge to fight. Aaron watched me walk away, his voice dripping with absolute certainty. “The second you step out of this house, your authorized cards will be deactivated. You have no independent income. Outside of my ecosystem, you won’t survive a single day. I will give you three days to clear your head. When you’re ready to act like an adult, come back and present a thorough five-thousand-word self-reflection.” I paused at the threshold, but I didn’t turn around. “Don’t worry about the three days, Aaron. I won’t be taking up any more of your valuable bandwidth.” The autumn night air cut through my coat, biting and sharp, as I rolled my suitcase down the empty suburban street. I didn’t look back. I flagged down a passing yellow cab. After giving the driver Talia’s address, I leaned back against the worn vinyl seat, watching the city skyline blur into a smear of neon. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out. It was a push notification from my banking app. “Your primary authorized card ending in 7392 has been suspended.” Aaron worked fast. A swift execution of protocol, completely devoid of hesitation. He truly believed that cutting off my funds would force me to crawl back, broken and desperate, just like before. But he had forgotten something vital: before I became his wife, I was a rising star in architectural design. I had only clipped my own wings because he insisted that his wife’s sole focus should be the optimal execution of our domestic life. Half an hour later, I was knocking on Talia’s apartment door. The door cracked open, and Talia peeked out, a sheet mask clinging to her face. “May? What is this, an impromptu midnight adventure?” She looked down at my suitcase, stepping aside to let me in, her voice teasing but laced with instant concern. I parked my bag in the hallway and slid into the slippers she offered. “Not an adventure. A permanent resignation.” I sank into her plush velvet sofa, taking a long sip of the warm water she poured. The tight knot in my throat finally began to loosen. Talia ripped off her sheet mask, her eyes widening. “Resignation? Are you telling me you finally dumped the corporate robot?” She threw herself onto the cushions beside me, grabbing my arms. “What happened? I know he treats your marriage like a hostile takeover, but what finally crossed the line?” I told her everything—the scene in the lobby, the soup, the pocket square, and the anniversary table handed to Daphne. I spoke quietly, as if narrating a movie I had watched but wasn’t in. Talia slammed her hand down on the coffee table. “I knew it! Daphne is a certified snake, and Aaron is too blind to see past her sweet-girl act! Is he insane? He denies you a birthday Ferris wheel ride because it’s not ‘budgeted,’ but he hands over your anniversary dinner because she wants to eat pasta with her friends? Why did you stay with him this long? You should have thrown him out years ago!” Talia’s fury was loud, but inside me, there was only a profound, silent stillness. Yes. I should have. It had simply taken me five years to wake up. “I booked a one-way ticket to Charleston for tomorrow afternoon.” I pulled up my airline app to show her the confirmation. Talia stared at the screen, her eyes suddenly glistening. “May… are you sure about this? Once you leave Chicago, everything you’ve built over the last five years—the professional circles, the social network—it’s all going to vanish.” She knew me. She knew exactly what I had sacrificed to stay in his shadow. I looked at the blue screen and let out a soft smile. “Those circles were never mine anyway. They belonged to ‘Mrs. Aaron Bradley,’ not May. I need to go back and find the girl I used to be.” Talia took a deep, shaky breath and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tight. “Okay. Whatever you choose, I’m with you. Always. I’m driving you to O’Hare tomorrow.” The next morning, I had barely finished brushing my teeth when my phone began vibrating violently against the marble counter. “Aaron” flashed across the screen. I wanted to ignore it, but the calls came in relentless succession, one after another, refusing to stop. I finally swiped to answer. Before I could even say hello, his sharp, commanding voice cut through the line. “May, I need you at the office immediately.” No panic, no concern. Just the voice of a manager calling in an employee. I stared at my calm, unbothered reflection in the mirror. “I don’t report to you anymore, Aaron.” A beat of heavy silence followed. He wasn’t used to me speaking to him with such cool detachment. But his professional armor slipped right back on. “Stop playing games. Daphne is presenting the initial design concept for the Marina Project at our board meeting in an hour. She’s using the drafts you spent last month preparing. There are some technical details she’s struggling with. Come in and brief her.” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. The Marina Project. I had pulled thirty consecutive all-nighters for that project, drowning in blueprints and engineering schematics to win over a massive client for his firm. He had promised me that once the deal was finalized, he’d fund my independent studio. That promise was the only thing that had kept me going. And now, with a casual wave of his hand, he was putting Daphne’s name on my life’s work. “That is my design. Why is she presenting it?” I forced my voice to remain steady, refusing to let him hear the tremor of betrayal. Aaron sighed, his tone carrying the practiced patience of a manager dealing with an insubordinate junior. “Daphne is new to the executive team. She needs a high-profile win to establish her authority. As a family member, why can’t you just let her borrow an idle concept draft? Besides, you don’t even have an active design license or studio registration right now. Letting it sit under your name is a waste of corporate resources.” “An idle draft. Let her borrow it.” I stared at my reflection, a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. The last five years of my life had been a joke, and I was the punchline. “May, look at the bigger picture. Come in and help her ace this meeting. Do that, and I’ll wipe the disciplinary points from last night off your record. Otherwise, your year-end European holiday credit is permanently revoked.” It was his final ultimatum. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to suppress the rising bile. “Fine. I’ll be there. But Aaron? This is the absolute last time I fix her mess.” I hung up and turned to find Talia leaning against the doorframe, staring at me with deep concern. “Are you insane? You’re actually going to let her step all over you?” I grabbed my bag and began stuffing the heavy folders from the desk inside. “No,” I said, zipping it shut. “I’m going to take back what’s mine.” The executive boardroom on the top floor of Bradley Group HQ was thick with a suffocating, awkward silence when I pushed the heavy glass doors open. My rendering of the Marina Project was projected on the massive screen. Daphne was standing at the podium, a laser pointer trembling in her hand, sweat beaded along her hairline. “The… the load-bearing design of the glass canopy is… it’s mostly for… aesthetic synergy…” She stammered, entirely out of her depth, delivering a textbook non-answer. The client representatives from Dennis Holdings sat at the head of the table, their expressions souring. Aaron sat near the front, his jaw tight. The moment Daphne saw me walk in, relief washed over her face like she’d just spotted a lifeboat. “May! Thank goodness you’re here!” She practically ran over in her designer pumps, throwing her arms around my elbow in a desperate show of intimacy. “I couldn’t quite memorize the stress-load formulas last night. Could you explain the load-bearing ratios for me?” She said it with the casual entitlement of a queen addressing her handmaiden. Every eye in the room locked onto me. Some were confused, some dismissive, others simply waiting for the drama to unfold. Aaron stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. He addressed me in his usual, sterile executive tone. “May, now that you’re here, step up and clarify the engineering specifics for Daphne. Let’s not waste our clients’ time.” I pulled my arm out of Daphne’s grasp, looking down at her wide, innocent eyes. “Explain them for you?” I let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t loud, but in the dead silent room, it cut like a razor. “Daphne, if I recall correctly, you haven’t looked at a single topographic survey or blueprint for this project. If I explain it, am I supposed to pretend this is your work in front of our clients?” Daphne’s face drained of color, and tears instantly welled in her eyes. “May… how could you say that? Aaron told me this was an old, discarded concept draft… he said I could use it to gain experience…” She turned her tearful gaze toward Aaron. Aaron’s expression turned thunderous. He marched over, lowering his voice to a harsh, dangerous whisper. “May, do you have any idea what you are doing? This is a critical corporate pitch. Keep your domestic tantrums at home. Stop making a fool of yourself.” “Making a fool of myself?” I stared at the man I had loved for five years, suddenly realizing I was looking at a complete stranger. “Is this a tantrum to you, Aaron?” I met his gaze, refusing to back down an inch. “This is my work. It’s my intellectual property. You handed it over to please your childhood friend without even asking. Did you think I’d just let you?” At the head of the table, the lead engineer from Dennis Holdings tapped his pen on his folder. “Mr. Bradley, what is going on here? We are here because of the sheer brilliance of this design. If there is an intellectual property dispute within your own firm, we cannot move forward.” A flicker of panic crossed Aaron’s face, but he quickly smoothed it over with a practiced, polished smile. “Mr. Dennis, I assure you there’s no conflict. Daphne was the lead on this concept. May merely assisted with some of the minor structural drafts. She’s dealing with some personal issues at home, which explains her emotional state today. Please disregard her comments.” He lied without blinking, erasing months of my labor in a single breath to protect his firm’s image. I stood there, watching him throw me under the bus to protect Daphne’s pride. I realized then that when your heart truly dies, you don’t feel pain. You just feel empty. “May, I know you’re upset because Aaron couldn’t take you to the carnival on your birthday,” Daphne whimpered, pulling gently at my sleeve, playing the victim perfectly. “If having your name on the project means that much to you, I’ll step aside. Just please don’t cause a scene in front of our clients.” In two sentences, she had spun a blatant theft of intellectual property into a wife’s petty, jealous tantrum. Whispers broke out among the staff. The looks they threw me were now laced with pity and disdain. Aaron’s patience snapped. He picked up a document from the table and slammed it in front of me. “That is enough, May. If you ruin this pitch, the charity foundation I promised to fund in your name is off the table.” Another promise. I had worked three years, maintaining peak performance scores, just to earn that foundation in honor of my late mother. He thought he held the ultimate leverage. I stared at the paper in silence. The room was so quiet I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning. A small, smug smile began to form on Aaron’s lips, confident he had won. I pulled a pen from my bag and signed the “IP Waiver of Rights” without a moment’s hesitation. “Fine,” I said, sliding the document back across the polished wood. “You can have the credit. And you can keep your foundation.” Aaron’s eyes locked onto my signature, his brow twitching. The sheer speed of my surrender left him entirely off-balance. It didn’t fit into his predictive models. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses,” he muttered, collecting the folder, though his voice lacked its usual certainty. I ignored him. Instead, I reached into my bag, pulled out another document, and walked straight over to Mr. Dennis. “Mr. Dennis, this is the utility patent certificate for the structural glass canopy. The sole registered inventor is May Fitch. Since Mr. Bradley maintains that Daphne designed this concept independently, I am officially withholding my authorization to license this patent for the project.” I laid the copy on the table. “Without this technology, that beautiful glass canopy is structurally impossible. It’s nothing but an expensive fantasy.” Aaron spun around, staring at the document. His face went pale, then a furious, deep red. “May!” I ignored his roar, turning to offer a polite nod to the clients. “I apologize for wasting your afternoon, gentlemen. Have a wonderful day.” I didn’t look back as I walked out, the heavy glass doors closing behind me. Stepping out of the skyscraper, I took a deep, unrestrained breath of the autumn air. The suffocating weight I had carried for five years suddenly dissolved. I didn’t look back at the glass-and-steel monument to Aaron’s ego. I caught a cab back to our house in Lincoln Park. It was Aaron’s house, really. I was standing there as its mistress for the very last time. The house was massive, but it had never felt so hollow. I went to the study, unlocked the safe, and packed my passport, birth certificate, and the vintage jewelry my mother had left me. The designer bags and diamond necklaces Aaron had bought me over the years remained untouched in the closet. They were props for his “perfect marriage” narrative, not gifts for me. I sat at his massive mahogany desk, took out the divorce papers I’d had drafted, and signed them. I didn’t ask for a single penny. Five years, and I just wanted to leave this prison with my soul intact. I slid the papers into a sleek black folder. On the cover, I stuck a label he knew all too well: “Annual Wife Performance Review (Final Output).” I knew him too well. The first thing he did when he got home was check the center of his desk for pending approvals. If I left a standard divorce petition, he’d assume it was another dramatic ploy and throw it away. But an official performance review? He would open it immediately and analyze every single clause. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out the front door. Behind me, the smart lock engaged with a sterile, mechanical click. I would never step through that door again. On the way to O’Hare, Talia texted me. “At the lounge. Usual spot. See you soon.” I sent a quick “On my way” and locked the screen. The highway was packed with rush-hour traffic, but inside the cab, I was bathed in a quiet peace. No weeping, no bitter rage, no cheap thrill of revenge. Just the bone-weary relief of a long-distance traveler finally laying down her baggage. I checked my large bags and rolled my carry-on toward the security line. The intercom chimed, announcing the boarding call for my flight to Charleston. As I reached for my ID, a familiar silhouette caught my eye. A few yards away, at the first-class desk, Aaron was standing tall. Still in his perfect suit, but Daphne was clinging to his arm, pointing at something on the counter with a childish pout. “But Aaron, I have to bring the giant teddy bear to Milan! Please make them let me take it on board!” Her whiny, babyish voice drifted through the crowded terminal. Aaron’s back was mostly to me, but I watched him pull his Centurion card from his wallet and hand it to the gate agent. “Just book the adjacent seat in first class,” he said, his voice smooth and steady. “It can sit there.” A completely uncharacteristic, boundary-free indulgence. I stood in the security queue, a soft, dry laugh escaping my lips. An hour ago, he was threatening me in a boardroom, using every dirty corporate tactic to strip me of my patent. An hour after, he was paying thousands of dollars to buy a first-class seat for a stuffed animal, just because she asked. It was never that he was incapable of warmth or flexibility. He was just incapable of showing them to me. I gripped my boarding pass, turned my back on them, and walked forward. “ID and boarding pass, please.” The TSA agent’s voice pulled me back. I handed over my documents and stepped through the scanner. The machine beeped, flashing green. I grabbed my bag and walked into the terminal without looking back. Meanwhile, at the first-class desk. Aaron signed the slip and pocketed his card. He turned his head, his gaze sweeping the bustling terminal, pausing on the security line. There were only strangers. “Aaron? What are you looking at?” Daphne asked, tugging his sleeve. He frowned, blinking away a strange sensation. “Nothing. Just thought I saw someone.” He pulled out his phone. No notifications. He opened our text thread, his thumb hovering over the keyboard for a long second, before he locked the screen in annoyance. “She’ll cool off in a couple of days and come home,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s go, Daphne. Our gate is boarding.” He turned, guiding her toward a gate that led to the opposite side of the world. The intercom made the final boarding call for Charleston. I rolled my carry-on down the jet bridge. Goodbye, Aaron. Goodbye to your system.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “529615”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

This was our third wedding rehearsal, and once again, Chelsea’s best friend, Cody, was wearing my custom-tailored suit. He strutted up to me, tugging at the collar with a theatrical grimace. “God, getting married is such a chore,” he complained, his voice loud enough to carry across the room. “Why do guys have to wear these straight jackets? This thing is so tight, it’s practically cutting off my circulation.” He patted my shoulder with a patronizing grin. “But hey, I’m taking the bullet for you today. No need to thank me. Just let Chelsea off the hook tonight so she can give me a proper bachelor send-off.” Around us, our friends laughed, treating the whole display like a harmless joke. I didn’t smile. I kept my eyes on Chelsea. “He’s wearing my suit again,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Did you forget what you promised me after the last time?” Chelsea’s face darkened instantly. “What do you mean, ‘wearing your suit again’?” she snapped, her tone dripping with defensive irritation. “Cody was just trying to help. He knew you were exhausted from work, so he stepped in to finish the rehearsal for you. Don’t throw his kindness back in his face.” In that exact moment, shimmering golden words drifted across my vision, like a live-stream chat rolling through the air. [Chelsea is just a scared little girl deep down. She’s so insecure, she’s only doing this to test how much Jesse will tolerate for her.] [Once Jesse passes this third test, she’s going to give him the perfect wedding.] [She’s literally dying for him to just wrap his arms around her and soothe her right now.] I stared at the glowing text and felt a sudden, hollow laugh rise in my chest. For years, I had let these phantom comments guide me. But not today. Looking at Chelsea’s tense, stubborn face, I spoke softly. “Since he’s so eager to help, let him stand in for me at the wedding tomorrow, too.” … The rehearsal hall went deathly quiet. Chelsea froze, her eyes widening in disbelief. The friends who had been snickering moments before now exchanged uneasy glances. A profound exhaustion settled deep into my bones. I turned to leave, but Chelsea’s bridesmaid, Becca, quickly stepped into my path, blocking the exit. “Jesse, come on, Cody was just messing around,” she said, her voice dripping with forced sweetness. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Chelsea only snapped because she’s stressed. Just say something nice to her, and this will all blow over.” A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. Chelsea was the one hurling insults, and I was the one left humiliated. Yet, like always, everyone in our circle expected me to be the one to swallow my pride and apologize. For the past eight years, every single time Chelsea and I fought, those golden comments would flash before my eyes, assuring me that I was the love of her life. They told me that because she had been abandoned by her parents as a child, she had no sense of security, that she only pushed me away to see if I would run. So, even when she was entirely in the wrong, I would always bow my head and comfort her. But I was done. I was so incredibly tired. I looked Becca dead in the eye, my voice entirely flat. “I’m not joking. I won’t be at the wedding tomorrow.” Then I looked past her to Chelsea. “We’re over.” The color drained from Chelsea’s face, leaving her ghostly pale. But almost immediately, a fierce, defensive anger flared in her eyes. “You’re breaking up with me over this?” she yelled, her voice trembling. “Fine! Pack your things and get out! Tomorrow I’ll marry Cody instead. And don’t you dare think about crawling back. Even if you get down on your knees and beg, I will never take you back!” The golden text erupted across my field of vision, frantic and dense. [What is the male lead doing? Chelsea’s heart is literally breaking right now. She’s only saying these awful things to make him turn around!] [She’s going to regret this so much. She actually planned a massive surprise for him tonight!] A surprise? Looking at Cody, who was still smirking in the suit I had spent a month designing, I realized I didn’t care about her surprises anymore. During our first rehearsal, Cody complained the suit was too loose and took a pair of scissors to the seams, hacking away at my handiwork. During the second rehearsal, Cody insisted on choreographing a dramatic dance routine. He tripped, fell off the stage, and ripped a massive hole through the delicate fabric of the trousers. I had wept. I had screamed. I had even lost my temper and slapped Cody across the face. But Chelsea had immediately shielded him, glaring at me like I was a monster. “It’s just a suit, Jesse! You can design another one. Is it really worth bullying Cody over a piece of cloth?” And the golden text had chimed in: [Chelsea knows Cody went too far. She’s just testing to see if Jesse’s love for her is truly unconditional.] So, I let it go. Both of those weddings had fallen through. Afterward, I told Chelsea I just wanted to go to the courthouse, to skip the pageantry entirely. But she had insisted on a third attempt. She held my hand and swore to me that she would never let Cody touch my suit again. Yet, here we were. My throat felt tight, as if stuffed with dry cotton. I looked at Chelsea’s flushed, angry face and spoke quietly. “Fine. I’m leaving.” As I turned on my heel, Cody let out a sharp, derisive scoff. “Unbelievable. Some guys just don’t know how to be grateful,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “I spend all evening helping out, and I don’t even get a thank you. Just this dramatic exit. Look, it’s just a jacket. I’ll take it off right now so you can stop whining to Chelsea.” He gripped the lapels and yanked the jacket off with aggressive force. As the fabric parted, I realized with a sick jolt that he was wearing my custom-tailored shirt underneath, too. I instinctively reached out to grab the jacket before it could hit the floor. But Cody smirked and tossed it over his shoulder. The beautiful, off-white silk landed squarely in the middle of a messy buffet table, splashing directly into a half-empty bowl of greasy pasta. This was the dinner Chelsea had asked me to arrange and pay for to thank the bridal party. A hot, stinging sensation rushed behind my eyes. Thirty days of sleepless nights, of calloused fingers and meticulous stitching, ruined in a second of greasy gravity. I raised my eyes to Cody, but before I could utter a single word, Chelsea lunged forward and gripped my wrist in a vice grip. Her hand was shaking violently, but her voice was freezing cold. “It’s just a stained jacket, Jesse. Don’t you dare touch Cody.” She wasn’t angry about the suit. She was just terrified I would hurt her precious best friend again. The golden comments sped up, flashing rapidly. [Chelsea looks like she’s taking the second male lead’s side, but honestly, if Jesse just swallows his pride like he always does, she’ll finally feel safe.] [She’s a broken little thing. She’s already counting down the seconds until he forgives her.] I let out a soft, hollow laugh and wrenched my wrist from her grip. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s just a stained jacket. And just like this suit, I don’t want it anymore.” I looked at her, letting the weight of my words sink in. “And I don’t want you, either.” Becca gasped loudly. “But the wedding… if the suit is ruined, we can’t do the wedding tomorrow. What about the surprise Chelsea got for you, Jesse?” The golden comments surged again. [Chelsea tracked down the original paintings Jesse sold years ago! She bought them all back!] [She was going to present them to him at the reception tomorrow as a reward for his patience.] My head snapped up. I stared at Chelsea’s trembling lips, and for a fleeting, painful second, my numb heart stuttered back to life. Chelsea met my gaze, her eyes cold and devoid of warmth. “The surprise was actually for Cody,” she lied, her voice tight. “And since Jesse doesn’t want to be here, I’m giving all of them to Cody right now.” On her cue, several assistants began carrying large, wrapped frames into the hall, lining them up in front of Cody. My body went entirely rigid. Those twelve paintings were my pride and joy—the collection that had won me a national arts scholarship in college. When Chelsea wanted to start her own fashion line years ago and couldn’t secure a loan, I had sold them to a private collector to give her the capital. I remembered the night I handed her the money. She had clung to me in our tiny apartment, sobbing into my shoulder. “Jesse, no one has ever loved me like this. No one ever will. I swear to you, the second my business takes off, I’ll find these paintings and buy every single one of them back for you.” I had believed her. But now that she had finally tracked them down, she was handing them to Cody. The text kept scrolling. [Can’t Jesse see how much pain Chelsea is in? All he has to do is say he wants them, and she’ll hand them over in a heartbeat.] Chelsea’s jaw was set tight, a desperate, expectant look lingering deep in her eyes. Becca nudged my elbow, whispering, “Jesse, just apologize to her. You’ve been putting up with her for eight years. What’s one more time?” Instead of answering, I watched Chelsea lift one of the paintings and hand it directly to Cody. “These are yours now,” she said loudly, her eyes fixed on me. “No one can take them from you.” Cody flashed me a triumphant, nasty grin. “Well, since they’re mine, I guess I can do whatever I want with them.” He reached onto the buffet table, grabbed a steak knife, and drove the blade straight through the canvas, dragging it down in a brutal, jagged motion. “I absolutely loathe when guys try to leverage their past favors to guilt women,” Cody sneered, glancing at me. “Real love is unconditional. Expecting a return on your investment is just pathetic.” He moved to the next frame, the blade ripping through years of my hard work. I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails bit into my palms, drawing blood. With every tear of the canvas, it felt as though he was slicing directly into my chest. And Chelsea just stood there. She watched him destroy my life’s work, and she didn’t lift a finger to stop him. The golden text was still flashing, but I closed my eyes, refusing to read another word. The paintings were gone. And with them, the very last piece of whatever beauty Chelsea and I had once shared crumbled into ash. I turned and walked out of the venue, the heavy doors swinging shut behind me. As the cool night air hit my face, Cody’s mocking voice echoed in my head. “Man, Chelsea, your guy is a joke. So incredibly petty. His tolerance level is basically zero.” And Chelsea’s cold reply: “He’s obsessed with me. He’ll probably have a pathetic excuse lined up to apologize by the time I get home.” I let out a quiet, bitter laugh into the empty street. No, Chelsea. Not this time. There are no more apologies left in me. Back at our apartment, I immediately began packing. My mother had already planned to move out of the city tomorrow afternoon to go live with my grandparents in Seattle, hoping to spend her remaining years caring for them. Since there was no wedding to attend anymore, I figured I would just leave with her. As I packed, a painful realization washed over me. All of my personal belongings—my clothes, my sketchbooks, my documents—fit into a single, modest suitcase. Everything else I owned had been systematically thrown away over the past year. Cody had claimed my things were “eyesores” that cluttered the apartment, and Chelsea had let him toss them. When I had protested, she had simply shrugged. “Cody’s right, Jesse. Men have too much junk anyway. You need to learn to let things go.” Yet, when Cody’s belongings began slowly filling the empty spaces in our home, she never said a word. Looking around this beautiful apartment that had absolutely no room for me, I pulled out my phone, intending to call a real estate agent to list my half of the property. But before I could dial, the front door clicked open. Chelsea and Cody walked in. Seeing the suitcase at my feet, Cody raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. “Look at this, Chelsea. Your little drama queen is at it again. Is he trying to kick me out, or does he just not love you anymore?” He held up a plastic takeout container. “And to think we actually felt bad for him. We brought back the leftovers from rehearsal dinner for him and Rusty.” Rusty was Cody’s golden retriever, whom he had moved into our apartment months ago. And the leftovers were from the very table where my suit had been ruined. The defensive anger returned to Chelsea’s face, masking the brief flash of panic I had caught when she first saw my suitcase. “Jesse, what is wrong with you?” she demanded, throwing her keys onto the counter. “I am warning you, my patience is wearing thin. If you walk out that door tonight, you are never coming back. Do you understand me? You will lose me forever.” [Jesse, please hold your ground, but don’t actually leave! Can’t you see she’s just terrified of losing you?] [She was literally crying in the car on the way home. Just give her a hug and she’ll forgive you.] [She can’t survive without you. She’s only acting tough because she wants you to submit one last time.] Reading the text now, I felt nothing but a profound sense of disgust. Ever since Chelsea met Cody in the business world, I had done nothing but submit. When I had a fever of 103 and begged her to bring me medicine, she had gone out and stayed overnight at Cody’s place because he had a minor stomach ache and “needed her.” When Cody’s apartment was being remodeled, she had invited him to move into our home without even asking me, slowly erasing my presence from my own living space. I had tolerated all of it because those stupid golden comments told me it was just her insecurity. But my compliance had only fed their cruelty. The love I had harbored for her for nearly a decade was completely dead. I looked at her, my eyes entirely clear. “I’m not coming back. And I’m selling this place.” Chelsea’s pupils dilated in shock. But Cody suddenly burst out laughing, a loud, grating sound. “Sell it? With what authority? This is my apartment!” A cold dread pooled in my stomach. I turned to Chelsea, whose eyes had suddenly darted away, refusing to meet mine. “What is he talking about?” my voice trembled. Chelsea reached out, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to grab my hand, but Cody casually draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her back. “It means Chelsea signed the deed over to me last month,” Cody said smoothly. “Come on, Jesse. You claim to love her, right? You’re not seriously going to grudge her giving a house to her best friend, are you?” My hands began to shake violently. To ensure Chelsea and I wouldn’t have the burden of a massive mortgage, my mother had sold her own beautiful home. She had used every penny of her savings—nearly $200,000—to pay off our remaining debt so we could start our lives together debt-free. Because of that sacrifice, my mother was currently renting a cramped, damp apartment in a dilapidated part of town. And Chelsea had handed that very home to Cody without a single word to me. A blinding wave of fury rushed to my head. Before I could think, I raised my hand and swung it toward Chelsea’s face. But before my palm could connect, Cody threw himself in front of her. He hit the floor with a dramatic thud, immediately letting out a pathetic wail. “Ow! God, Chelsea, he’s trying to kill me!” he sobbed, clutching his stomach. “He’s attacking me just so he can steal my apartment! Does he hate you so much that he’d resort to violence just to get away from you?” Chelsea’s eyes flared red with fury. “Fine! You want to leave? Then get the hell out!” She grabbed my arm, her grip brutal and frantic, and violently shoved me toward the hallway. The heavy front door slammed shut in my face, the lock clicking into place. I stood alone in the dimly lit corridor, holding nothing but my phone. The golden text exploded, swirling frantically before my eyes. [Jesse, don’t leave! She’s only throwing you out because she’s terrified you’re actually going to abandon her!] [She kept your suitcase inside on purpose so you’d have to come back! If you leave now, she’s going to lose her mind!] [He’s crying outside, and she’s crying inside. This is so devastating.] [Even though she gave the apartment to Cody, she was actually planning on buying a mansion for Jesse anyway!] I ignored the comments. Taking one last look at the blank, white door of the home that was no longer mine, I turned and walked away into the night, heading toward the tiny, cramped apartment my mother rented. When I arrived, my mother was dressed and waiting, ready to call an Uber to take her to the hotel near our venue. Seeing me standing on her doorstep with bloodshot eyes and no luggage, her heart broke. “Jesse? What happened? Is the wedding… off again?” The dam broke, and tears finally spilled over my cheeks. “Yeah, Mom. It’s over. We’re not getting married.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the apartment, about how her immense sacrifice had been handed over to a parasite. I simply told her that Chelsea and I had broken up for good. But before we could even process the grief, the thin front door of the apartment was kicked open. Chelsea stormed in, her face twisted in rage. “Jesse! You beat Cody half to death, and you think you can just walk away?” she screamed. “Do you have any idea how fragile he is? He just had surgery last week!” “I didn’t even touch him!” I yelled back, my voice cracking. Cody stepped out from behind her, looking entirely fine, save for a smug, mocking glint in his eyes. “I really thought better of you, Jesse,” he said, turning to my mother. “But I guess you didn’t raise him very well. Chelsea is the most generous woman in the world—she was nice enough to sign her apartment over to me—and your son responds by beating me up and refusing to even apologize.” My mother’s face went instantly pale. She stared at Chelsea, her breath hitching in her throat. “What… what did you say? Chelsea… you gave Jesse’s apartment to this man?” Cody smiled, pulling a folded deed from his pocket. “Yep. See for yourself. It’s registered under my name now.” My mother stared at the document, her hand rising slowly to her chest. She gasped, a choked, rattling sound escaping her throat, and collapsed heavily onto the linoleum floor. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I threw myself beside her, panicked. “Mom! Mom, please! Don’t do this, talk to me!” But her body was convulsing, her lips turning a terrifying shade of blue. I looked up at Chelsea, sobbing hysterically. “She’s having a heart attack! Chelsea, please, we need to get her to the hospital! Call an ambulance!” The golden text flickered back to life. [Chelsea is terrified. She only came here to find an excuse to bring Jesse home. She’s completely desperate.] [She didn’t know Cody was going to bring the deed. Jesse, please don’t be mad at her.] “Chelsea, please!” I screamed. My mother had already survived one major heart surgery; the doctors had warned us that another severe shock could be fatal. Seeing the sheer terror on my face, Chelsea took a step forward, her hand reaching out toward my mother. But right then, Cody let out a sharp, theatrical groan, collapsing against the doorframe. “Chelsea… my stomach. My surgical wound is bleeding. Jesse must have ruptured my stitches earlier.” He looked at my mother with a sneer. “And she’s clearly faking it. She’s just trying to help her son escape the consequences.” He closed his eyes and let his head drop, pretending to faint. Chelsea’s hand instantly retreated from my mother. She caught Cody as he “collapsed” into her arms, cradling him against her chest. She looked down at me, her expression hardening into bitter annoyance. “Tell your mother to stop acting. I’m not falling for this cheap trick.” She adjusted her grip on Cody. “I’m taking Cody to the emergency room to get his stitches checked. Once you’ve calmed down and decided to act like a rational adult, I’ll come back to get you.” With that, she turned and carried Cody down the stairs. My mother had stopped moving. My hands shook so violently I could barely unlock my phone to dial 911. By the time the paramedics arrived, it was already too late. She didn’t even make it to the operating table before the doctors pronounced her dead. I sat on the cold floor of the hospital corridor, clutching her lifeless body, screaming until my throat bled. Three days later, holding a small urn containing my mother’s ashes, I boarded a one-way flight to Seattle. After spending three days entirely consumed by Cody’s demands, Chelsea finally found a spare moment to visit the cramped apartment. She had bought a expensive peace offering—a watch I had admired months ago. She had convinced herself that as long as I promised to put her first from now on, she would overlook my “tantrum” and marry me anyway. She knocked on the door, but the apartment remained entirely silent. Just as a strange, cold panic began to tighten around her chest, the landlord from next door opened his door. “Stop knocking,” the woman said, leaning against the frame. “The lady who lived there passed away a few days ago.” “Dead?” Chelsea’s voice cracked. “How is that possible? She was perfectly fine when I left.” “Well, she wasn’t fine,” the landlord scoffed, crossing her arms. “She had a massive heart attack. Delayed medical attention, apparently. Her son’s eyes were swollen shut from crying when he turned in the keys. The funeral’s already over.” Chelsea’s face went entirely white, the expensive gift box slipping from her numb fingers and crashing onto the dirty floor.

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