Category: English

My son stole my phone to play a game and went on a nine-game losing streak. *That* useless? I swatted his butt a few times. He burst into tears. “I don’t want you. I want Auntie Claire to be my mom.” Oh. So he’s the “son” in one of those “father and son win back the estranged wife” stories. And I’m the wife they’re supposed to win back. The script says I’m supposed to get heartbroken and walk out. Instead, I snapped, “You want a new mom? Well, I want a new dad! I want Elon Musk to be my dad!” He stared at me, dumbfounded. “Stop dreaming!” I yelled. “Go do your homework!” 1 My son just stood there, looking at me. His big eyes filled with tears. And just like that, my heart melted. He’s only five. And yes, he’s the spitting image of his father—the one whose heart belongs to someone else—but he’s so damn cute. And he did, in fact, emerge from my own body. Besides, he’s so bad at the game. He tanked my ranking from Diamond all the way down to Bronze. He was probably already upset about that, and then I yelled at him and swatted him. Okay, I was being a little mean. So I tried to comfort him. “Alright, sweetie,” I said, patting his head. “Even though you’re a total noob, Mommy still loves you.” 2 He stared at me for a second. Then he let out a wail that could shatter glass. “I don’t want you! I don’t want you!” I dropped the laundry hanger I’d been holding and scooped him up. “Okay, okay! Mommy wants you! Mommy wants you! Mommy is going to *force* her love on her little munchkin!” Just then, his father’s Tesla pulled into the driveway. My son immediately slid to the floor and ran to my husband, Julian, hugging his leg. “Daddy, I don’t want Mommy! Take me to Auntie Claire! I want her to be my mom!” Auntie Claire. His father’s one that got away. His “white whale.” According to the original story’s plot, this is the woman who drives me to leave them both. I’m supposed to adopt another little boy as a “control group” to prove a point. My biological son, Leo, is supposed to grow into a useless delinquent who ends up in prison for a DUI. Julian, devastated that I won’t come back, becomes an alcoholic, his company goes bankrupt, and he kills himself after our son is jailed. Meanwhile, my adopted son gets into Harvard. And I become a famous webcomic artist. A true “girlboss” icon that readers love. Having just become self-aware of this plot, I was just like: … Right now, though, I just crossed my arms and glared at Julian. “You took him out and just handed him your phone to shut him up, didn’t you?” This kid was a lost cause. All he ever wanted to do was play on a stupid phone. He’d get flamed in the game chat, with people calling him a “stupid little kid,” and he’d just type back proudly, “I’M NOT A LITTLE KID, I’M IN KINDERGARTEN!” 3 Julian looked shifty for a second, then denied it. “No.” I was about to lay into him when he added, “He stole *my* phone and played.” Leo slowly let go of his father’s leg, looking up at him with betrayed eyes. I scoffed. “See?” I said to Leo. “You want to run off with your dad to Auntie Claire? The first thing he does is throw you under the bus! The second he marries her and they have their own baby, you’ll be the forgotten stepchild! A new mom means a new, worse dad!” Leo let out another epic wail, his face turning beet red. It was his first taste of betrayal. The pain was real. I saw my opening and swept in, scooping him up and carrying him to the backyard, away from Julian. 4 I sat with him on the porch swing, pressing his head against my chest. Once his sobs subsided, I whispered devilishly in his ear, “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” “As long as Mommy’s around, no one is turning you into a sad little orphan. You want to play on the phone? Mommy will let you play. Why would you let another woman move into our house?” He looked up at me, his expression pitiful. “You’re lying. You always play by yourself and you never let me. You say I’m too little.” I… right. He wasn’t wrong. I did a little self-reflection. It was true. I’d enrolled Leo in a ton of enrichment classes. He started talking at eight months, so I was convinced he was a genius destined for the Ivy League. I’d been pushing him relentlessly. 5 There was another reason, too. Marrying Julian was a major step up for me. I was a cocktail waitress who hadn’t even finished high school. He saw me, a convenient substitute for his precious Claire, and I saw an opportunity. After a few “accidents” with the contraception, I got pregnant and secured my position. I didn’t even tell him about the baby until I was seven months along. Leo was a champ, hiding out perfectly until the reveal was strategically sound. And just like that, we were living the high life. I had the official status of “Mrs. Miller,” not some mistress on the side. Of course, marrying up means you have no money, no connections, no power of your own. So what do you have? A seemingly priceless, devoted heart. I spent years playing the part of the adoring wife, so deeply in love it was almost tragic. Everyone knew it. He, in turn, remained cool and distant, resentful that I had “trapped” him. 6 After Leo was born, he didn’t touch me. For the first few years, I played the part of the long-suffering, gentle wife. I was so good at it that his family and friends were constantly on his case, which put me on the moral high ground. Then Leo got older. His grandparents fell head-over-heels in love with their grandson, showering him with stocks, trust funds, and properties. Every birthday, Leo would rake in gifts worth millions. So, naturally, I threw him two birthday parties a year—one for his actual birthday, one for his “half-birthday.” I also threw parties for holidays, for getting a gold star in class, for finishing the first semester of kindergarten… any excuse, really. The gifts just rolled in. The past couple of years, the money Leo and I have accumulated is enough for us to live lavishly for the next ten lifetimes. That’s when I finally felt secure enough to talk back to Julian. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’d be trying to instill good habits in our son, and Julian would swoop in, undermining me with candy, screen time, and junk food. As a result, Leo saw his dad as the fun, loving parent, and me as the wicked witch. 7 But I digress. The other reason I pushed Leo so hard was my own crippling insecurity. I needed to raise a perfect child to prove that I deserved my place in this family. It’s a shame I didn’t realize how misguided I was until the plot of my own life was revealed to me. 8 So, Leo wants his dad’s ex-girlfriend to be his mom. And I’m just supposed to walk away? No chance. A child is a mirror of their parents. His behavior is a direct reflection of my own shortcomings. I asked him, “Honey, why do you like Auntie Claire more than Mommy?” Honestly, it stung. A lot. Nine months of pregnancy, and even if my initial motives were questionable, my love for him was real. I remember the joy of feeling him kick, the agony of childbirth that I never once regretted. But just like when he was a baby and he bonded more with the nanny, my anger wasn’t directed at him. It was directed at everyone else. I wasn’t going to blame my son. I was going to win him back. Damn this plot. Who in their right mind just hands their kid over to someone else? 9 Leo sniffled, his little pink lips pouted, but he didn’t say anything. I held him close, my cheek against his. “Tell Mommy,” I cooed. “Whatever it is, I’ll change. I promise.” I added a little scare tactic. “You really think life with a stepmom will be easy? The minute your dad and her have a baby of their own, you’ll be an afterthought. Have you heard the story of Cinderella? Stepmoms are evil. She’ll give you a poisoned apple. And your dad will love the new baby more than you. You’ll be a poor little beggar!” Tears welled up in his eyes again. He was terrified. “But it’s okay!” I said quickly. “Mommy is here! Even if you don’t want me, I’ll be like Captain Marvel, always here to protect you! You are my world!” 11 He looked at me, hesitant. I met his gaze with all the sincerity I could muster. Finally, he sniffled. “Okay. But you have to let me play on your phone first. Then I’ll believe you.” We stared at each other for three seconds. He was definitely my son. He’d inherited my lazy-genius for manipulation. How could I ever blame him for being a slacker when I was his primary role model? Julian is an Ivy League MBA, a titan of industry. The “useless” gene had to come from me. 12 Half an hour later, I listened to him screaming in frustration. “Stupid game! Why won’t you work! Aaargh! I lost again! I hate this game!” The player on the other end was just as mad. “WHICH ONE OF YOU TROLLS LET YOUR TODDLER PLAY ON YOUR ACCOUNT?! GO DO YOUR HOMEWORK, KID! I HOPE I NEVER GET MATCHED WITH YOU AGAIN! TRASH!” Leo yelled back, “I’M NOT A TODDLER, I’M IN KINDERGARTEN!” I watched my rank drop further and further into the abyss and clenched my fists. The next time I swatted him, I’d make it count. After losing thirty games in a row, he finally threw the phone down. “I’m never playing again.” 13 “Son,” I said gently, “why are you so obsessed with this game, anyway?” You’re terrible at it. Do you just enjoy the punishment? He fidgeted. “I see you playing it all the time. So I wanted to play too.” I… “That’s ridiculous. Mommy is always reading.” To create a good learning environment, I always pretended to be reading. He pouted. “You’re a liar! I saw you! You hide your phone inside your book! The phone is fun. And you won’t let me have fun! You don’t love me! Auntie Claire lets me play!” I… “Letting you play on the phone is bad for you! It rots your brain!” “Then why do you do it?” “I’m stopping! No more phone for Mommy! If I play again, I’m a… a big silly-pants!” He gave me a skeptical side-eye. He didn’t believe me for a second. 14 I had temporarily appeased the little tyrant, at the cost of my own screen time. I reviewed the plot again. After I leave, I become a successful webcomic artist. I was shocked. Did that mean my husband and son were holding me back? But how much does a webcomic artist even make? I could be a rich wife *and* a webcomic artist. And Julian’s company… since it’s destined to fail anyway, I should convince him to sell it now. And since he’s about to realize I’m the love of his life, he should be putty in my hands. As for Leo… clearly, my parenting methods weren’t working. I decided to consult a professional and booked an appointment with a child psychologist. While I was busy strategizing, Julian walked in with Auntie Claire.

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1 The day before my wedding, I was assaulted on my way home. They found me with a shattered spine and a face slashed to ribbons. My fiancé’s family, the Daltons, called off the engagement immediately. My father held my broken body, sobbing, and promised to care for me forever. My brother Joel gathered top surgeons to reconstruct my face. But as I drifted in and out of consciousness before surgery, I overheard their monstrous conversation. “We’ve already crippled Lila and ruined her face so Jenna can marry into the Dalton family,” Joel whispered, doubt in his voice. “Now we’re hiring brutes to violate her? Isn’t this too far?” “What do you know?” my father replied coldly. “Jenna is infertile. I promised to remove every obstacle for her. Lila has a rare fertile constitution. If we don’t break her completely, how will she agree to be a surrogate? Carrying Jenna’s heirs is the only use for her now.” The man I called father, the brother I adored—they were demons in human skin. My world turned to ash. With a steady hand, I called the one man in the capital rumored to have fertility issues—the titan Damien Blackwood. “Do you want a dynasty?” I whispered. “Marry me.” … Joel hesitated. “Dad, Lila’s injuries are severe. Shouldn’t we let the surgeons operate first? We can’t let her be paralyzed for life. Jenna is marrying into the Dalton family the day after tomorrow anyway. Lila’s not a threat anymore. The baby thing can wait…” My father’s face hardened, and the sharp crack of his hand across Joel’s cheek echoed in the quiet room. “You fool! I never planned on letting her walk again. What if we heal her and she runs? What if she escapes where we can’t find her? What becomes of Jenna then?” “And why shouldn’t it be urgent? The Dalton heir had too much to drink tonight and spent the night with Jenna. The Daltons have made it clear: if Jenna produces an heir, they’ll hand over control of the household to her. All these years, she’s had to pretend to be the housekeeper’s daughter. She’s suffered enough. I have to make it up to her.” He continued, his voice softening with concern, but not for me. “And it was Jenna’s first time. She must have been scared and in pain. Have the medical team take good care of her. As for Lila… we’ll keep her fed. A breeding tool doesn’t need legs. A womb is enough.” Joel’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “But it was Lila’s first time too. And… all those men… can her body even take it?” My father gently wiped a smear of blood from my cheek, his touch a vile mockery of affection. His voice was resolute. “The specialist said Lila is exceptionally fertile. I’ve calculated her cycle. Tonight, we need a guaranteed result. More men… might even mean multiple births. That would secure Jenna’s future even more.” “Tell those men to be thorough. Once the children are born, I might consider fixing her face. A reward from her father… Now, go get the aphrodisiacs. I don’t want her struggling and screaming, attracting unwanted attention.” Beneath the thin hospital blanket, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Jenna wasn’t the housekeeper’s daughter. She was my father’s illegitimate child. My “attack” wasn’t random. It was a meticulously crafted trap, set by the two men I loved most, all to pave the way for their true treasure. It all made a sickening kind of sense now. Why my father brought Jenna into our home the moment my mother was in the ground. Why every business trip ended with two sets of gifts, with Jenna’s always being more extravagant than mine. “Lila, you’re the heiress,” they would say. “Jenna’s had a harder life. We need to take extra care of her.” And I, like a fool, never once doubted them. I thought my family was noble, kind. What a joke. Tears escaped my eyes, tracing fiery paths into the open wounds on my face. The sting made me gasp. My father immediately bent over me, gathering me into his arms, his face a perfect mask of heartbreak. “Lila, you’re awake? Does it hurt? Seeing you like this… it’s tearing my heart out. Don’t you worry, the medical team is here. I’ll have them start the surgery right away. I swear, I’ll make you as beautiful as you were before.” Joel rushed over, motioning for a nurse to bring a syringe. “Don’t be scared, little sister. This is the good stuff, imported. I won’t let you feel another moment of pain.” Their performance was flawless. If I hadn’t heard their conversation, I would have wept with gratitude. I stared at the needle, its gauge thicker than a nail. I knew exactly what was inside. “No,” I managed to rasp. “No anesthetic. The pain… it can’t get any worse. I don’t care.” My father’s eyes welled up with theatrical tears, but his hand closed around the syringe Joel offered. “My sweet, foolish girl. You might not care, but I do. Who has surgery without anesthesia? You’d die from the pain. I’d rather die myself. Think of your mother’s spirit… how heartbroken she would be. Be good, now. It’ll be over soon.” Without another word, he plunged the needle into the vein in my neck. The drug acted fast. A leaden paralysis spread through my limbs, stealing my strength, my voice. “Good girl, Lila,” he cooed. “We’re going to get the doctors now. When the surgery is over, we’ll all go home.” But I knew. They weren’t fetching doctors. They were summoning demons. The stench of sweat and a tearing agony consumed me, and my world faded to black. When I opened my eyes, it was the next day. My father was holding my hand, his eyes red and swollen. “Lila, my poor girl. That monster… I didn’t know he had accomplices. They disguised themselves as doctors to get to you, to finish the job. It’s my fault. I failed to protect you.” Joel stood beside him, his face a mask of grief. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ve already made sure those men were sent to prison. No one will ever hurt you again.” I watched their charade, numb, clinging to one last, desperate hope. “Father,” I whispered, “I’m… highly fertile. Please, can you give me some birth control pills? Don’t make me carry the child of a monster. I’m begging you.” The gentle façade on my father’s face cracked. His expression darkened. “Lila. Those pills are for promiscuous girls who shirk responsibility. You are an Ashford. Our family name is everything. If word got out… what would people say?” Joel chimed in. “He’s right, Lila. You’re so badly injured, and those pills are terrible for your body. We can’t risk it. And if… if you are pregnant, we’ll raise the child. A child is innocent. I’ll be the best uncle in the world. It’ll be nice to have a baby in the house.” How utterly absurd. They didn’t want the world to think I was promiscuous, yet they were forcing me to bear an illegitimate child in secret. Perhaps sensing his harshness, my father’s tone softened again. “Lila, don’t worry. I promise, I will get you the best care and make you whole again.” He paused. “It’s just… the surgical team had a sudden emergency. They had to leave. And I don’t trust anyone else with your face, your recovery. We might have to wait a little while…” I knew what he was doing. He was stalling, letting the optimal window for treatment pass. He wanted me to be permanently crippled, a prisoner in his house, reduced to nothing more than Jenna’s personal incubator. These were the men I had loved and respected my entire life, and their hearts belonged to an illegitimate child. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I wasn’t expecting much anyway. I don’t want to be here anymore. Take me home.” But when we arrived, my bedroom was unrecognizable. The familiar linens were gone, replaced by blood-red silk. The walls were covered in celebratory banners and balloons. It was decorated like a bride’s chamber on the eve of her wedding. My eyes scanned the room and landed on my nightstand. The only photograph I had of my mother and me was gone. In its place was a large, framed wedding portrait of Jenna. When my mother discovered my father’s affair, she had locked herself away and, in a fit of grief, burned everything that reminded her of their life together before dying of a broken heart. I had pulled that single photo from the embers of the fire. It was the last piece of her I had left. Jenna appeared in the doorway. Her eyes flickered meaningfully toward my stomach before she linked arms with my father and Joel. “Dad! Joel! You’re back! Thank you for decorating my room, it’s gorgeous. Getting married from here the day after tomorrow… I’ll be the happiest bride in the world.” She held out a crumpled, sodden ball of paper. “Oh, Lila,” she said, her voice dripping with false remorse. “Dad said that since my wedding is a happy occasion, we shouldn’t have any unlucky things around. He asked me to move your mother’s picture to the storage room… but I’m so clumsy. I accidentally dropped it in a bucket of water. Please, don’t be mad at me.” My hand trembled as I took the pulp from her. It was my photo, soaked for so long it had disintegrated into mush. I looked at my father. A flicker of guilt crossed his face before it was gone. “It’s just a picture, Lila. Not that important. What’s done is done. Jenna didn’t mean it.” “And Lila,” he continued, avoiding my gaze, “I know the Daltons broke the engagement with you, but the business alliance between our families must continue. So, I’ve officially adopted Jenna. She’ll be marrying in your place. We’ll let her use your bedroom for now. We can’t have her getting married out of a guest room. Her in-laws would look down on her. It’s all for the future of the Ashford family…” I closed my eyes. “Do as you wish, Father,” I said softly. “I’m tired. I’m going to rest.” As I wheeled myself into the guest room, I heard peals of laughter from downstairs. I guided my wheelchair to the door and peered out. There they were: my father, my brother, and Jenna, huddled together on the sofa, flipping through three thick photo albums, their faces alight with joy. It was a perfect family portrait. The first album was a chronicle of Jenna’s life, from infancy to adulthood, every picture taken by my father or Joel. They had never once taken a photo of me. That’s what professional photographers are for, they used to say. Why would we bother with that? The second album was filled with pictures of the three of them together. So that’s where they went all those times Jenna supposedly went back to visit her “hometown” while they were away on “business.” They were traveling the world together. And the third album… it was filled with photos of Jenna’s deceased mother. The mistress. My father caressed the images, his touch full of a love I had never seen him show my own mother. He pulled Jenna into his arms. “Jenna, my dear, I will treasure these photos of your mother forever. I’ll take them to my grave. I am eternally grateful to her for giving me a daughter as wonderful as you.” “And don’t you worry,” he whispered. “Those men were with Lila all night. She’s definitely pregnant. As soon as that baby is born, I’ll have it brought to you. No one in the Dalton family will ever dare to bully you.” Even Joel looked moved. “I have to thank her too,” he said, “for giving me a sister as amazing as Jenna.” Watching the raw adoration on their faces, the wad of paper pulp in my hand felt like a cruel joke. Mother, you loved the wrong man. You gave birth to the wrong son. And I… I gave my love and respect to the wrong father and brother. Back in the guest room, I reached into a hidden compartment in the nightstand and pulled out a small bottle of pills. My mother had taught me this. She had worried about my fertility, about the dangers of the world. Sometimes, bad things happen that are out of your control, she’d told me. If you can’t protect yourself in the moment, you must do everything you can to mitigate the damage after. I swallowed a pill, then dialed the number for the one man who could help me. The titan from the capital, Damien Blackwood, rumored to be the sole heir to a dynasty, desperate for children. “Do you want a dynasty?” I asked. “Marry me.” The next morning, my father had a lavish breakfast prepared for me, filled with supplements and herbs. I looked down at the spread, a bitter smile on my lips. Every single item was meant to support a pregnancy. He was sparing no expense to pave Jenna’s path to glory. He was about to be sorely disappointed. My father and Joel were supposed to accompany Jenna to her final wedding dress fitting, but she pouted. “Daddy, Joel, you’re men. Your taste isn’t the same as a girl’s. Why don’t we bring Lila along? She can give me her opinion. It’ll show everyone what impeccable taste my sister has, don’t you think?” My father beamed. “Of course, of course! Anything to make my Jenna happy. Lila, you’ll go with them.” He never asked me. He never considered the courage it would take for a disfigured girl in a wheelchair, her body a canvas of fresh trauma, to step out in public. The stares were like a thousand tiny knives. But he didn’t care. Only Jenna’s happiness mattered. At the exclusive bridal salon, the staff fawned over Jenna. “It’s the Crimson Rose of New York City! An Ashford heiress, just as beautiful as they say. What a face, what a figure! You must be so proud to have a daughter and sister like her.” Then they saw me. They recoiled, their faces twisting in disgust. “My God, who is that… that cripple? That hideous thing? Look at her face, it’s disgusting. I’m going to have nightmares. How dare she show herself next to Miss Ashford? It’s like beauty and the beast, hahaha…” “So unlucky. Imagine having the nerve to go out in public looking like that. She’s tainting the floor. We’ll have to disinfect everything after she leaves.” The whispers grew louder. Jenna shot me a triumphant smirk. Of course. This salon, normally known for its quiet, luxurious privacy, was swarming with staff today. It was her doing. She wanted me to suffer this humiliation. My father and brother didn’t defend me. They were too busy basking in the glow of the compliments directed at Jenna, smiling with pride whenever someone called her the Ashford heiress. Jenna tried on more than a dozen gowns. She never once asked for my opinion. My father, unwilling to see her struggle to choose, simply waved his hand and bought them all, including several one-of-a-kind creations by world-renowned designers. But that wasn’t enough for her. She pouted again. “The dresses are beautiful, but I don’t have enough jewelry to match all of them…” Joel immediately had dozens of jewelry sets brought in. Nothing was worth less than seven figures. The most expensive piece, a flawless pink diamond ring, was valued at over two hundred million dollars. It was all for Jenna’s dowry. On top of that, my father produced a stack of property deeds and stock transfer certificates, all to be added to her wedding gifts. The purchase dates on the properties were from twenty years ago. He had been planning this for decades. I glanced down at the simple ring on my hand. It was worth a few thousand dollars, a gift from my mother when she was still alive. It was the only piece of jewelry I owned. She had wanted to start a dowry for me, but my father had stopped her. “Lila’s still young,” he’d said. “Buying her such expensive things now will spoil her. A cheap little thing to play with is fine. We can talk about real jewelry when she actually gets married.” When my engagement to the Daltons was announced, they never mentioned a dowry for me. The Daltons had been furious, calling me a calculating gold-digger. Jenna squealed with delight, planting kisses on my father’s and Joel’s cheeks. “I knew it! Daddy and Joel love me the most! But… won’t giving me all these wonderful gifts make Lila angry?” Only then did they seem to remember I was there. My father cleared his throat. “Lila, don’t overthink this. Jenna is an Ashford now. If we don’t provide a substantial dowry, the Daltons will laugh at us. When you get married, we’ll…” Jenna cut him off. “Daddy’s right! And I can’t possibly wear all these dresses. Why don’t I give one to my sister? I know she’ll probably never get to be a bride now, but she can hang it in her room and pretend. It’ll be fun! I’ll take her to try one on right now.” My father’s face filled with pride. “See? My Jenna is so generous and thoughtful. Lila, you’re lucky to have a sister like her. Go on, you two.” Before I could refuse, Jenna grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and pushed me into a fitting room. She dismissed the staff, and the moment the door clicked shut, her hand flew out, smacking me hard across the face. “Lila Ashford, who do you think you are?” she hissed, her face a contorted mask of rage. “You’re used-up trash, a broken toy they let others play with. Crippled, disfigured, and you still have the audacity to want gifts from my father and brother? You are pathetic.” “Let me make this crystal clear. Your fiancé is mine. Your father’s heart is mine. Your brother’s love is mine. They destroyed you for me. They let those men violate you for me. You used to be so high and mighty, didn’t you? The ‘Crimson Rose of New York City’? What a joke. Look at you now. You’re nothing but a breeding machine to help me secure my position with the Daltons.” Her voice dripped with venom. “We’re both his daughters. Why did you get to be the precious heiress while I had to hide in the shadows, the dirty little secret? I hated it!” “And I’m not afraid to tell you the truth. There’s nothing wrong with my body. The infertility was a lie I told to manipulate them. I wanted to ruin you, to take your place, to claim everything that should have been mine. So you just focus on growing that little bastard in your belly. After it’s born, I’ll arrange for a little… accident. And then I’ll have Dad find more men to keep you company. Hahahaha…” “Oh, and you probably don’t know this,” she sneered, pulling out her phone. “Dad and Joel installed a hidden camera in the operating room. They were afraid I’d be bored, so they live-streamed the whole night to me. Tsk, tsk. It was quite a show. I bet I could sell the footage online for a pretty penny.” She showed me the screen. The images, the sounds… I was plunged back into that nightmare, my body shaking uncontrollably. Why? Why would my own father and brother do this to me? I lunged, trying to snatch the phone, but she stepped back, laughing. She grabbed a decorative vase from a nearby pedestal and smashed it on the floor. Then, with a defiant smirk, she picked up a shard of porcelain. The next second, she dragged the sharp edge across her own arm. A line of red welled up, and she let out a piercing scream. My father burst into the room. “Jenna! What happened? You’re bleeding!” He wrapped his arms around her, his eyes immediately flying to me, full of accusation. Joel was more direct. He stormed over and kicked my wheelchair over, sending me sprawling to the floor. “Lila! Did you do this to her?!” Before I could speak, Jenna burst into tears. “I… I just wanted to ask Lila to be my maid of honor… but she said I stole her fiancé and she was going to ruin my face so I could never get married! I put my arm up to block her… Daddy, I’m so scared! Just because I was born illegitimate, does that mean my own sister gets to treat me like this?” My father’s voice was ice. “Who said you’re illegitimate? You are the rightful heiress of the Ashford family. Some venomous, evil-hearted woman is the one who doesn’t deserve to be my daughter!” Joel glared down at me. “Lila, you’re the one who failed! You were careless, you got attacked, and you got the Dalton engagement canceled! You brought shame on this family! What does any of that have to do with Jenna? She stepped up to save our family’s alliance with the Daltons, and you repay her by trying to disfigure her? What right do you have?!” I laughed, a broken, hollow sound, and then the tears came. “I failed? Why was I attacked? Why was I defiled? Do you dare tell the truth?!” My father scowled. “What truth? The truth is you had a stroke of bad luck that nearly ruined this family’s future! We’re not even holding the bastard in your belly against you, and this is the gratitude you show? Stop making excuses and apologize to Jenna right now!” This was my father. The man whose blood ran in my veins. My heart died. I reached for a piece of the broken vase and, without hesitation, dragged it across my own ravaged cheek. The wounds, not yet healed, tore open again, blood streaming down my face. “Lila, you—” My father and Joel stared, their eyes wide with shock. “Mr. Ashford, you’re right,” I said, my voice dripping with scorn. “The great Miss Ashford is a selfless saint. How could I possibly harm her? My deepest apologies. I’ve repaid her tenfold now. Are you satisfied?” I dropped the shard and righted my wheelchair, pushing myself out of the room. Hearing me call him “Mr. Ashford” seemed to rattle them, a flicker of panic in their eyes. But they didn’t follow me. They rushed to Jenna’s side, scooping her up and racing for the hospital. The exhaust from their car billowed in my face, choking me, making my eyes stream. So be it. From this day forward, we were strangers. My father flew in a team of elite plastic surgeons from Europe to ensure the scratch on Jenna’s arm wouldn’t leave a scar. He hired an internationally acclaimed makeup artist to make her the most beautiful bride imaginable. The next day, my phone rang. It was him. “Lila, how’s your face? We were wrong yesterday, we shouldn’t have said those things to you. But it’s Jenna’s wedding day. If her face were scarred, it would be difficult to explain to the Daltons. You just rest and focus on the pregnancy. Be a good girl and have the baby, and I promise I’ll take care of both of you.” “And don’t worry, Jenna’s fine. She’s already forgiven you. She still wants you to be her maid of honor. Joel’s on his way to pick you up. After the wedding, I’ll find someone to fix your face. I’ll make you beautiful again, just like before.” Even now, after everything, he still saw me as nothing more than an incubator for Jenna. “Okay, Father,” I said. “I understand.” “That’s my good girl. See you at the wedding.” I hung up the phone, a cold smile touching my lips as I wheeled myself out of the Ashford mansion for the last time. My dear father, my beloved brother. Let’s hope we never meet again in this lifetime. At the wedding reception, my father found himself thinking of my blood-streaked face from the day before, a strange unease settling in his stomach. He turned to his assistant. “I bought Jenna a hundred vials of that expensive scar cream yesterday. Go get one and give it to Lila when she arrives.” Just as he finished speaking, Joel burst into the hall, his face pale as death, clutching his phone. “Dad,” he gasped. “Lila knows everything we did to her. She’s gone!”

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After striking out on finding a single open seat in the library for the nth time, I called the boy I knew was pathologically in love with me. “Hey, Aidan,” I said, my voice breezy. “Quick question. You know that soundproofed little basement room you built for me? Any chance I could borrow it a little ahead of schedule?” The silence on the other end of the line was so absolute I thought the call had dropped. Then, a soft, strangled sound. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I laughed, leaning against a mercifully empty wall. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I was practically supervising the construction from the coffee shop across the street.” 1 This time, the silence was funereal. Even the sound of his breathing had vanished. I waited a beat. “You’re allowed to breathe, you know,” I offered. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out.” A few seconds later, a shaky exhale rustled through the phone, followed by a low, hoarse voice. “…Thank you.” He was so polite, this boy. Though I had no idea what he was thanking me for. I decided to press on. “Look, graduation is just around the corner, and I’ve got two theses for my double major to write. I’m desperate for a place with zero distractions. Your little… gilded cage is perfect. So, can I use it? I’m serious, I really need it.” Aidan cleared his throat. “…Okay.” “So we’re done pretending you didn’t build a bespoke prison for me in your basement?” “…I’m sorry,” he whispered. He was quick to apologize, I’ll give him that. And his voice was nice, a low timber that vibrated pleasantly even when strained with shame. I decided to let him off the hook. “…Are you coming now?” he asked. “Yeah. I know the address. I’ll grab an Uber.” “Don’t. I can give you a ride. It’ll be faster.” I paused. “…Don’t tell me you’re watching me right now.” “…I’m… sorry.” “Okay, enough with the apologies. Where are you?” “Turn around.” I turned. And there he was, emerging from the shadow of a large oak tree not fifty feet away. Aidan was all long legs and lean frame, dressed in a black hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low. His eyes were lost in the shade of the brim, but the part of his face I could see—his jawline, his mouth—was pale and finely sculpted, like something carved from porcelain. The sight of him was arresting, but my mind flashed with a sudden, intrusive image of crimson. The thick, metallic smell of blood flooded my memory, overwhelming and sharp. By the time I blinked it away, he was standing in front of me, his head bowed like a penitent. 2 My gaze landed on the black baseball cap. I raised an eyebrow. “I think I have a hat just like that.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His voice was a murmur. “I had it custom-made. To match yours.” Of course he did. The earnest intensity of teenage boys… it was something else. My eyes drifted down to his hands. They were beautiful hands, long-fingered and elegant, with prominent knuckles. Right now, they were trembling almost imperceptibly. “Are you nervous?” “No…” he denied instantly, then corrected himself. “…A little.” He pressed his lips together, annoyed at his own transparency. “Where’s your car?” I asked. “Underground parking. Level two.” “Lead the way.” “Okay.” Aidan’s car was a Maybach. The kind that screamed money. I’m not great with cars, but the overlapping M’s of the Maybach logo, shaped like a stylized pyramid, were unmistakable. Nine years ago, when I was just starting middle school, my biological father drove a Maybach for a while. He wasn’t the owner, of course. He was the chauffeur. Thirty grand a month, weekends off. To this day, I still can’t figure out how a waste of space like him, a man who was mediocre at everything including driving, landed a gig like that. Thankfully, he was fired after a month. “…Is something wrong?” Aidan’s voice pulled me from the memory. I had stopped in front of the passenger door. “Is it the car?” I shook my head. “The car’s fine. Just… remembering something unpleasant.” He didn’t press for details. Instead, he just opened the door for me, his other hand carefully placed on the roof of the car to make sure I didn’t hit my head. It was a thoughtful, gentle gesture. I slid into the plush leather seat without a second thought. Aidan got in the driver’s side, buckled his seatbelt, and placed his hands on the steering wheel. But he didn’t start the car. He turned to me, his face still half-hidden by shadows. “How did you know I… that I was building a…” He faltered, unable to bring himself to say the words. A room for you. A cage. The shame of his own dark impulse was a physical thing, choking the confession in his throat. I knew exactly what he was thinking, but I decided to be cruel. “A prison?” “…Yeah.” His head dipped lower, like a stray dog expecting a kick. I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and gently scratched him under the chin. His entire body went rigid. I pulled my hand back, a slow, lazy smile spreading across my face. “I would think you’d be more curious about why I didn’t call the cops the moment I saw the construction.” “…Why didn’t you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. I just kept smiling, letting the silence stretch. The air in the car grew thick and heavy. A fine sheen of sweat appeared on Aidan’s brow. “You… you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he finally stammered, his voice tight with anxiety. “Just… please don’t be mad at me.” Please don’t hate me. “I’m not mad at you,” I said softly. I just… didn’t know where to begin. Because, according to the original timeline, I wasn’t supposed to find out about any of this for another six months. At his funeral. 3 Three days ago— I stood in the center of the library’s grand lobby, my eyes fluttering open. A wave of dizziness and a high-pitched ringing in my ears hit me all at once. For a disorienting moment, the river of students flowing around me blurred into a surreal, slow-motion film reel. I was the glitch in the frame, completely out of sync. Even after the physical sensations faded, a profound sense of dislocation remained. I didn’t know what to call what had happened to me. Rebirth? No. In the car crash that was supposed to happen six months from now, Aidan was the only one who died. He’d shielded me with his own body, and I had survived. I’d even made it to his funeral in a wheelchair. A dream, then? That didn’t feel right either. Dreams were fragmented, illogical, hazy. My memories were crystal clear. After turning it over and over in my mind, I landed on the only explanation that made any sense. Time travel. I had somehow been sent back six months. I took a deep, shuddering breath as the images flooded my mind: Aidan’s body lying in a pool of blood, the stark black-and-white photo on his headstone… and his diary. Right before I came back, his mother had given it to me. The cover was made of rich, worn leather, embossed with a single, elegant line of text: This body is like a flame, born of thirst and of love. When I’d opened it to the first page, I saw my own name, written in his careful, precise script: Esme. … “We’re here.” Aidan’s voice snapped me back to the present. I looked up. He had driven us deep into the wooded hills outside the city and parked in front of a stunning modern villa, all clean lines and glass, nestled among the trees. I turned to look at him. “You certainly know how to pick a spot. It’s beautiful up here, so secluded…” Aidan flushed with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. I let the pause hang in the air before adding, “…Perfect for hiding a body.” He choked on a breath of air. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was just too easy to tease him. Then, my eyes caught a glimpse of his wrist. A silver chain bracelet, delicate and intricate, circled the fine bones. My breath hitched. “Is that… Is that the bracelet I lost last semester?” “Yes,” he admitted, his smile vanishing. When he saw the look on my face, his anxiety returned in a rush. “…I’m sorry.” I was silent for a moment, then I used his full name. “Aidan, is ‘I’m sorry’ the only phrase you know?” “…No.” “Then why do you say it to me all the time?” You’re the last person in the world who should be apologizing to me. He kept his head down, a boy well over six feet tall who somehow managed to look like a small child awaiting punishment. “Because I did something wrong.” “What, exactly?” I pressed. “Following me around like a D-list movie stalker because you’re worried about my safety, but never daring to get within thirty feet of me? Or building a five-star hotel suite of a prison for me that you were too scared to ever actually use?” His voice was almost inaudible. “…I found your bracelet and I kept it. I didn’t give it back.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. “Keep it,” I said. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Really? I can?” I nodded. “Yeah. It’s yours now.” A brilliant, breathtaking smile broke across his face, as if I’d just handed him the crown jewels. His eyes, a striking shade of hazel, crinkled at the corners. Even half-hidden by the shadow of his hat, they were devastating. Watching him, I leaned back against the headrest, propping my chin on my hand. “You know,” I said playfully, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you built that cage hoping I’d be the one to lock you up in it.” His gaze flickered towards me, and a dark blush crept up his neck and flooded his ears. “If… if that’s what you wanted,” he stammered, “I would be okay with that.” 4 “An interesting proposal. I’ll think about it.” 5 The room was in the basement, but it was flooded with light. I walked down a short flight of stairs and stepped into the most magnificent, audacious space I had ever seen. It was a cage, yes, but a cage made of polished brass and reinforced glass, furnished with exquisite, minimalist pieces. I tilted my head back. In the center of the ceiling was a massive skylight, custom-built in the shape of a butterfly. Golden afternoon sunlight streamed through its transparent wings, scattering across the floor in a shimmering, dreamlike pattern. “…Do you like it?” Aidan asked from behind me, his voice laced with nervous hope. He sounded like a young architect waiting for the final verdict from a demanding client. I nodded slowly. “It’s hard not to. It’s breathtaking.” He let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “I’m glad you don’t hate it.” He moved to my side, his voice gaining a little confidence. “It’s beautiful when it rains, too. And when it snows. On clear nights, you can see the entire Milky Way…” “It’s very romantic…” I murmured. He instinctively agreed. “It is very roman—” He cut himself off as I turned to face him, a slow, deliberate smile on my face. “…I imagine it would be even more romantic,” I finished for him, my voice a low purr, “when we’re lying in this beautiful cage together, tangled up in the sheets, looking up at all those stars.” The color drained from Aidan’s face, only to be replaced by a furious, spreading blush. I let my smile widen and crooked a finger at him. He hesitated for a second, then obediently bent down, bringing his head closer to mine. I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear, and pressed a single finger to the center of his chest, right over his heart. “Tell me the truth, my brilliant designer,” I whispered. “When you were building this room, didn’t you imagine that, even once?” 6 I pushed him back onto the bed. The golden bars of the cage surrounded us, trapping us together. A pair of birds who could never fly away. Aidan’s breathing grew heavy, ragged, but he didn’t resist. He lay pliant beneath me, his long, dark lashes trembling against his cheeks. A faint pink flush stained his neck and collarbones. He was utterly delectable. I straddled his hips, leaning down, ready to make my next move, when the shrill ring of my phone shattered the charged atmosphere. Aidan and I both flinched, our brows furrowing in perfect, annoyed unison. I pulled the phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen. Unknown number. I answered it. A drunken, slurring male voice immediately assaulted my ear. “I’m out of money. Send me some, now!” It was Rick. My biological father. A world-class piece of human garbage. This wasn’t the first time he’d called demanding money. Of course, I’d never given him a dime. Just as he’d never given my mother a dime in child support. My standard response was a curt “Go to hell” before hanging up. But this time… I glanced down at Aidan, a new idea taking root. I pressed the speakerphone button. “…Don’t tell me you don’t have it,” Rick’s voice boomed from the phone’s tiny speaker. “You’re at that fancy college. Pick up a few more shifts, eat less. The money’s there. And your brother, he’s smart but his grades aren’t great. He’ll probably only get into community college after this year’s exams. You’re going to have to pay to send him to a good private university. And his living expenses, too. You’re his big sister, it’s your responsibility…” Rick’s voice was naturally coarse and grating; the alcohol only made his loud, belligerent tone worse. I could see Aidan’s expression darkening, his jaw tightening as a storm gathered behind his eyes. But Rick was on a roll. “…And take me off your damn block list! I have to borrow someone else’s phone just to call my own ungrateful daughter!” The words “ungrateful daughter” meant nothing to me. But to Aidan, they were like stones thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples of anger spreading through him. He couldn’t stand to hear anyone say a single bad word about me. In my mind, I lit a small white candle for Rick. He was a dead man walking. Aidan was not the same gentle, timid boy with everyone else as he was with me. 7 Rick, blissfully unaware of the mortal danger he was in, kept digging his own grave. “…Oh, and Esme, you need to change that name back! You’re my daughter, you should have my last name! It’s tradition! Taking your mother’s name… that’s for people with no respect for their ancestors!” It’s almost impressive, how a person can be so wrong, twice, in a single sentence. With that one statement, he had insulted me, and insulted anyone who takes their mother’s surname—which, as it happened, included Aidan. Though Aidan and his mother had a somewhat distant relationship due to their personalities, he was fiercely protective of her. “And ‘Esme,’” Rick sneered. “What kind of garbage name is that? All fancy and weird. What was wrong with the name I picked for you when you were born? Bertha! It’s a good, solid name. Means bright and glorious! It was for your own good, so you’d have something strong to lean on…” I cut him off, my voice cold as ice. “You know, for a fossil, you talk a lot. You should be in a museum, not on the phone, stinking up the airwaves with your backwards thinking. And for the record, Bertha is a perfectly fine name, but it’s not mine.” “You—!” Rick sputtered, enraged. “And if you’re going to be an idiot, at least be an educated one,” I said, my tone dripping with contempt. “Get a book. Or a hobby. Just stop drunk dialing me.” I hung up and immediately blocked the number. … “Not long after I changed my name to Esme, my mom died of stomach cancer.” I was lying in Aidan’s arms, idly playing with his fingers as I spoke. “The day she died, I went down to the river to drown myself. But then, I ended up saving some other kid who was trying to do the same thing…” Aidan’s expression flickered at that. I didn’t notice, my gaze distant. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I wanted to die myself, but the second I saw someone else in the water, my first instinct was to save them…” “Because you’re a good person,” Aidan said softly. “My mom raised me to be,” I replied. He shook his head. “Even the kindest parents can raise a child who isn’t. You’re good because that’s who you are, Esme.” I smiled, tilting my head back to look at him. “I think you see me through rose-colored glasses.” “Do I?” He smiled back, a faint, gentle curve of his lips. “I think I’m just telling the truth.” His eyes softened, the smile reaching them. It was like seeing the first crocus of spring push through the winter snow. And suddenly, I really wanted to kiss him. 8 For the next few days, I lived at Aidan’s villa. It was even more comfortable than I had imagined. When I was writing my thesis, he never disturbed me. The moment I took a break, however, he would appear as if summoned, bearing fruit, or iced coffee, or some other small gift. He was attentive and caring, down to the smallest detail. I received a ‘good morning,’ ‘good afternoon,’ and ‘good night’ text every single day, without fail. One evening, he told me he had to be away for a couple of days on business. He asked if I would have a candlelight dinner with him before he left. I knew his “business” was taking care of Rick, so I readily agreed. But when I saw the bottle of red wine on the table, my appetite vanished. “I don’t drink red wine.” Aidan froze, a bottle opener in his hand. “But I thought… on New Year’s, you…” You drank red wine with your roommates. “I liked it then,” I cut in. “I don’t anymore.” “…Why?” he asked. I didn’t answer. Why don’t you like it anymore? Because… the deep red liquid looked too much like blood. I closed my eyes, and the metallic tang of it filled my senses, making me want to retch. It was all… it was all Aidan’s blood. Seeing that I wasn’t going to explain, Aidan lowered his eyes, hiding the storm of questions I knew was raging within him. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking lost. A wave of tenderness washed over me. I took a slow breath, composing myself, and offered him a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s my issue, don’t worry about it. Could you… could you get me a glass of white wine instead?” He visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over his features. “Of course. That’s not a problem at all.” He paused, his gaze meeting mine, his expression earnest and intense. “Anything you need, Esme. I’ll do anything for you.” … After dinner, as night settled over the hills, Aidan prepared to leave, a team of serious-looking men in dark suits waiting for him by the door. As he walked away, I called out to him. “Aidan.” He turned back to look at me. There were a million things I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t form. In the end, I just smiled. “Be careful. Don’t get hurt.” 9 As soon as Aidan was gone, I started packing a bag of my own. Rick was about to have a very bad day, and there was no way I was going to miss the show. But as I stepped out of the villa, I ran right into Aidan’s mother. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, with a chic, razor-sharp bob that framed a face that was both cold and striking. But more impressive than her looks was her status—a permanent fixture in the top ten of the country’s wealthiest individuals. “Hello,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Aidan’s mother, Seraphina.” I was momentarily stunned, but recovered quickly and shook her offered hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Esme.” I had a very positive impression of Seraphina. In the other life, after Aidan died saving me, she had been a pillar of support. I was in the hospital, badly injured. My own mother was long dead, and Rick was, characteristically, nowhere to be found. Besides my friends, it was Seraphina who came to visit, who took care of things. She was a woman in her forties who had just lost her only son, yet she never blamed me. She comforted me, worried that the trauma of the accident would leave deep psychological scars. She even hired a therapist for me. She told me that if souls lingered after death, Aidan would be worried about me, and as his mother, the only thing she wanted was for her son to be at peace. Now, in the present, Seraphina’s sharp eyes scanned me from head to toe. Seeing me unharmed, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. “It seems he hasn’t done anything too terrible yet.” The “he,” of course, was Aidan. I found myself defending him instinctively. “He’s been wonderful.” Seraphina looked at me and smiled, a sad, knowing expression. She shook her head gently. “Do you know that for the past two days, he’s been investigating every single detail of your life?” I nodded calmly. “I figured.” He was going after Rick; of course he would dig into our history. The day I put that call on speakerphone, I knew this would happen. In fact, it’s what I had intended. My calm reaction seemed to disconcert her. The smile faded from her lips. “Aidan did the research himself. He didn’t delegate. Just like he designed and built that room in the basement himself. Do you understand what that means?” My expression didn’t change. “It means his possessiveness has reached a dangerous level.” Seraphina gave me a long, searching look. “You’re even smarter than I imagined. And if you know that, then you should also know this—that kind of possessiveness festers. It turns into a desire to destroy.” She paused, her voice softening slightly. “Aidan is my son. I know him. He isn’t normal. He’s a beautiful, brilliant, broken boy. He’s… unwell.” I frowned, about to argue, but she leaned in closer, her voice a low, urgent whisper. “I was once like him. A madwoman, sick with the same disease. I’m telling you this as a warning. He may seem perfect now, but he is not harmless. He is just… controlled. He’s hiding it from you. But one day, that control will break, and he will hurt you, even if it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do. And the fallout… the pain and the pressure that has been building up… it will be more than either of you can bear.” She straightened up, pulling a business card from her slim wallet and handing it to me. It listed a private number. “If the day ever comes that you want to leave him, call me. I will help you.”

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1 After I was laid off and became a stay-at-home mom, my husband, Kevin, implemented what he called a “Marriage Performance Plan.” I only got my living allowance if I hit all my KPIs. Cooking three meals a day, every day of the month, got me $500. A full deep-clean of the house, four times a month, was worth $200. Laundry was piece-rate: ten cents per item for the machine, fifty cents if I hand-washed it. He even put sex on the payroll. Ten times a month was the target. Hitting that quota got me another $500. As for taking care of our son, Leo, or dealing with his parents? That was my “duty.” Unpaid labor, not part of the plan. For Leo’s sake, I put up with it. I told myself I’d just stick it out until he was old enough for preschool, then I’d find a job. But then, one afternoon, I took a few hours to go see my mom in the hospital. She was sick. For that, Kevin docked my entire month’s pay. “Your family are outsiders now, Sarah,” he said, his voice cold and clinical. “You used your time to take care of your mother. That’s a serious outflow of labor, a waste of my family’s resources.” He gave me two options. “Either have your mother pay me the market rate for a caregiver for those three hours, or you forfeit this month’s entire performance bonus.” The moment the words left his mouth, I snapped. I threw my canvas tote bag right at his head. “Are you even human? That’s my MOTHER!” I screamed. “When I had Leo, she was the one at the hospital for three days straight, barely sleeping, helping me. She was the one who cooked and cleaned for me during my entire postpartum recovery.” “And your mother?” I jabbed a finger at him. “Brenda showed up on day one with a bag of potatoes from her garden, still covered in dirt, and then vanished. You didn’t call my mom an ‘outsider’ then, did you?” Kevin shifted uncomfortably. “She was just doing that to get a gift. Good thing I’m smart. I gave her a fifty-dollar gift card and sent her on her way. Nobody pulls one over on me. And what’s wrong with potatoes? You ate them, didn’t you? It’s the thought that counts. You’re always so petty.” He shoved past me, grabbed my purse, and yanked out my wallet. I had $45 in there. Forty of it was the allowance he’d given me so far this month. The other five bucks I’d scraped together from every corner of this house—returning cans, selling an old textbook on eBay. Ever since Leo was born nine months ago, I’d sold off nearly everything that was personally mine. I hadn’t even bought my mom a bottle of juice at the hospital today. The jeans I was wearing were a faded pair from college. Even the tote bag I’d just thrown at him was a freebie from a baby expo. Kevin, without blinking, pulled the two twenty-dollar bills out and threw the remaining five dollars at my face. The singles fluttered to the floor. “Always complaining you don’t have enough money. What’s this, then?” he sneered. “See? I’m too good to you. You’ve lost all perspective. I don’t care what you do, but either your mom pays me the caregiver fee, or it’s coming out of your allowance.” He slammed the door on his way out. The noise woke Leo, who started wailing. I rushed into his room, scooped him up, and just held him, both of us crying together. How the hell did my life end up like this? 2 Kevin and I were college sweethearts. First everything for both of us. We got married a year after graduation. Less than three months later, I was pregnant. He had just landed a great job at a big tech firm—stable, six-figure salary. I was stuck in a dead-end admin job making barely enough to cover my student loans. To make things worse, doctors found an issue with my uterus; they said that if I terminated this first pregnancy, I might not be able to have kids later. So, Kevin made the offer: I’d quit my job to have the baby, and he’d be the provider. He played the part so well back then, like our sweet college romance had never ended. He’d come home from work every day with snacks for me or some little toy he thought the baby would like. He’d listen patiently as I cried about my changing body. I was so naive. I thought I’d found a good man, that my life was set. That beautiful illusion shattered the second our son was born. I’ll never forget it. I was wheeled out of the delivery room, exhausted and sore, only to hear Kevin arguing with my mother about the epidural, which cost $2,000. “She’s the one who wanted it, so why am I paying?” he was saying. “Whoever asks for it pays for it. That’s your bill.” “Look, women have been giving birth for centuries without drugs. It’s all in your head, just a bunch of whining!” The look on his face, so twisted and ugly, is burned into my memory. My mom, seeing the tears in my eyes, just quietly paid the bill herself. Later that night, as she was helping me mix formula for Leo, I saw her wiping her own eyes. That was the moment I truly understood that old saying: “A man will keep up the act until the baby is born.” It was devastatingly true. 3 After I finally got Leo back to sleep, I counted the five dollars I had left. I felt sick. Leo was down to his last two diapers. His onesies were all too small, the fabric stretched and thin. Winter was coming, and he didn’t have a single warm outfit. Kevin’s logic was, “We’re in the Northeast. The heat is on. He won’t freeze. He’ll be fine.” But in the early morning chill, even I shivered under the blankets. A baby couldn’t just “be fine.” Most of Leo’s clothes were gifts from relatives who visited when he was born. As soon as I was out of the postpartum fog, Kevin laid out his “Performance Plan.” “The baby’s formula is my responsibility, of course,” he’d declared. “But diapers? Just use cloth ones. You can wash them. And clothes? Kids grow too fast. It’s a waste of money. Shots? You’re his mother. You can’t expect a free ride for everything. I’m giving you an allowance, aren’t I? You pay for it. He calls you ‘mom,’ after all.” He was so damn proud of his system. “Besides the thousand-dollar base pay,” he’d explained with a smirk, “the laundry is uncapped. If you’re diligent and wash more clothes, you can earn yourself some pocket money.” The reality was even worse. With no one to watch Leo, I was trapped. So I followed his rules, telling myself it was temporary. Then, his mother Brenda, who’d been a ghost for months, decided to move in, citing her right to see her grandbaby. She became my new supervisor, nickel-and-diming my allowance. The soup’s too salty? Dock five bucks. Didn’t take the trash out fast enough? Dock two bucks. I even paid for her prescriptions out of my own pocket, and when I asked Kevin for the money back, he just said, “Dealing with my parents is your duty.” That $500 for “full attendance” rarely came in full. And I still had to listen to Brenda’s constant digs about me being a gold-digger, a bad wife who would go to hell for “earning” money from her own husband. As for the ridiculous sex clause? After giving birth, the thought of being intimate with him made my skin crawl. Just lying next to him felt wrong. But for that full bonus, I’d hold my breath, close my eyes, and slide into his bed. And what did he do? “Are you even a woman anymore?” he’d said once, pushing me away in disgust. “What are all these stretch marks? I’m gonna be sick. Sarah, could you be any more disgusting? Get out. I’m not into… that.” I completely lost it. I grabbed a pillow and started beating him with it. The commotion brought Brenda into our room. She didn’t even have a shirt on. “What a tramp!” she shrieked, defending her son. “You’re throwing a fit because he doesn’t want to sleep with you? You’ve already had one kid, haven’t you had enough? Is that all you think about, you little slut?” Her voice got louder. “My son works hard all day, and you, you succubus, are trying to drain him dry! If you’re that desperate, go find a hairbrush. You pull a stunt like this again, and I’ll beat you senseless!” Humiliation and rage washed over me. I wasn’t thinking. I just ran to the balcony and climbed over the railing. Kevin, suddenly terrified, lunged and pulled me back. He was shaking. He fumbled in his wallet, pulled out fifty dollars, and threw it at me. “Here, take it! Is it worth dying over?” he stammered. “You’ve scared the baby. Are you happy now? Go check on him!” That night, clutching my son and that fifty-dollar bill, I felt a despair so deep it was suffocating. A voice in my head kept repeating: I’m worth less than a prostitute. I’m worth less than a prostitute… After my suicide attempt, Kevin grudgingly agreed to just give me the $500 for that “duty” each month without my having to perform. When we were in bed, he’d just turn his back to me in disgust. Honestly, it was a relief. After a long day, at least my nights were my own. 4 Shaking off the memory, I picked up the tote bag from the floor. Something heavy was inside. I looked, and my breath caught. It was a thick envelope of cash and a note from my mom. My darling girl, please forgive me for not being there for you during this hard time. It breaks my heart. But your father and I know that the only way we can be a real safety net for you and Leo is to keep our jobs and get to our retirement. I hope you know you can tell us anything. You don’t have to carry this alone. We’re a family. You are the most precious thing to us, and no matter what you decide to do, we will always, always support you. I immediately called her. The second I heard her voice, I started sobbing. “Mom… Dad… Mom…” I choked out the whole story, everything that had been happening. They cried with me, just saying my name over and over. My mom, weak as she was, tried to get out of her hospital bed. “That’s it. We’re done. My daughter is not living like this another day. I’m bringing you home, Sarah.” “Mom, calm down,” I cried. “What about Leo? If I leave, what happens to him? They’ll destroy him. He’s my baby, Mom. I carried him for nine months. If I divorce Kevin, I’ll never get custody. I can’t leave him in that house of monsters.” My mom’s voice was hysterical. “But you’re my baby too!” Just then, Brenda came waltzing back in from wherever she’d been all morning. Brenda was a bulldozer with no moral compass. If she heard my parents telling me to leave her son, all hell would break loose. I quickly whispered my goodbyes and hung up. But it was too late. Brenda lunged, snatching the envelope of cash—two thousand dollars—from my hand. “Aha! I knew it! You’re stealing from me!” she shrieked. Without another word, she grabbed my hair and started dragging me toward the front door, yelling for the whole building to hear. “Everyone, come and see! The daughter-in-law in 3B is a thief! She’s stealing from her own mother-in-law! Is there no justice in the world?” “This was two thousand dollars I had tucked under my mattress for medical bills! Sarah, don’t you have a conscience?” Our apartment building was old, the walls were thin. Neighbors started poking their heads out. I ripped my hair from her grasp. “You’re lying! This is from my mother! The note is right here!” But Brenda didn’t do logic. She planted her hands on her hips and doubled down. “Oh, please! A piece of paper and a pen? You and your parents cooked this up to steal my money? Not happening! That money is mine! I have the serial numbers memorized! You’re a thief!” She threw herself on the floor, wailing. “Oh, the injustice! This thief in my own house is trying to steal my life savings!” A few of the older women who were friends with Brenda immediately started chiming in, scolding me. “Sarah, and to think your parents are educated people. What kind of upbringing is that?” “Any family with a daughter-in-law like you is cursed! I heard she couldn’t even wait a month after giving birth to jump on her husband. And she makes him pay her to do chores! Tsk, tsk.” It was obvious Brenda had been poisoning the well for months. The looks I got from my neighbors turned from curiosity to contempt. That was it. The rage I’d been swallowing all day exploded. I did exactly what she did. I grabbed her by the hair, dragged her back into her bedroom, and flipped her mattress. There, tucked neatly underneath, was another envelope with two thousand dollars, untouched. One of the other young moms in the building, someone I was friendly with, spoke up immediately. “See? Sarah’s innocent. Her money is right here. What is wrong with you, attacking your own daughter-in-law like that? You’re just cruel.” Brenda didn’t even blush. “I made a mistake,” she said, her voice steady. “I had four thousand dollars here. She stole half of it!” But she’d just been screaming about two thousand. The lie was too obvious. The crowd of neighbors went silent. A few of the other moms started muttering about what a horrible person she was. Seeing her support crumble, Brenda’s eyes landed on Kevin, who had just walked in. She grabbed him like a life raft. “Son, tell them! They don’t believe me! Tell them you gave me four thousand dollars and your wife stole half of it, didn’t she? I’m old, my memory is bad, but you remember, don’t you?” I looked at Kevin, my heart sinking. The proof was right there. I’d just talked to my parents on the phone. Surely, he couldn’t be this blind, this cruel. But he was. Kevin hesitated, then mumbled, “Yeah, fine, I gave it to her. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make a big deal about it. If you have a problem with me giving my parents money, just say so. You don’t have to get your own parents to lie for you.” “You… you haven’t even seen your parents in weeks! How could they give you cash?” “Just give the money back, Sarah,” he sighed, refusing to meet my eyes. “This is embarrassing.” And just like that, a wire in my brain snapped. With Kevin’s testimony, my fate was sealed in the eyes of our neighbors. I was officially the thief. The few friendly moms I knew went quiet. My phone buzzed. They had already removed me from the building’s group chat. Brenda’s cronies, however, were energized. “Kevin, you can’t let her get away with this! If you don’t teach her a lesson now, she’ll walk all over you and your parents.” “If that were my wife, I’d have taken a belt to her by now. Brenda is too soft on her.” “You gotta be firm with women like that, Kevin. Show her who’s boss.” “Honestly, I’d just divorce her. You’re young, you’ve got a good job. You could find a nice girl, never been married before. My niece just graduated from college. She’s sweet, respectful, and she paid her own way through school!” The crowd started to disperse, their drama fix satisfied. I was left in the middle of the room, surrounded by my accusers. 5 Spurred on by the crowd, Kevin raised his hand to slap me. The last of my sanity fled. I lunged for the fruit bowl on the counter, grabbed a paring knife, and aimed it at him. “You hit me,” I hissed, my voice shaking. “You just try it. I will kill all of you. I swear to God, I will kill you.” “This life is over! I’m done!” That stopped him cold. He quickly shooed the remaining busybodies out the door. When we were alone, he grabbed Leo from his crib and held him up like a shield. “Okay, okay, calm down. I was just trying to save face for my mom. It wasn’t a big deal.” “The baby’s crying. Go take care of him.” “And put the knife down. You look like a psycho.” He said it all while keeping our son firmly between us, terrified I might actually lunge at him. And in that moment, I saw it with perfect clarity. This man didn’t love our son. He didn’t love anyone. He only loved himself. The fight went out of me. I dropped the knife, snatched Leo from his arms, and went to our room to pack. There was no life worse than this. Even if I couldn’t get custody in a divorce right now, I could damn well take my son and run. Kevin stood in the doorway. “Where do you think you’re taking my son?” Brenda snorted from the living room, pulling him back. “Where do you think? Back to mommy and daddy. Let her go. What are you worried about? Leo is your son. Blood is thicker than water. So what if she takes him? They’ll have to pay to raise our grandkid for us. You’ll save a fortune!”

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In my past life, my brother Andre emptied our estate of guards for a camping trip with his “soulmate” Scarlett. A vengeful rival broke in that night. My pregnant sister-in-law Sophia died shielding me. My 3-year-old nephew Leo lost his hands trying to save me. I frantically called Andre, forcing him to abandon Scarlett and return. Scarlett’s final text before vanishing read: “Your sister and wife wanted me dead. Now they have their wish.” Andre coldly deleted it. Father stripped Andre of power, but weeks later, Andre cornered me: “You called me back. You killed Scarlett. Now join her in hell!” He murdered me. I awoke to the sound of men breaking down our gate—back at the beginning. 1 The splintering crash of wood yanked me back to the present. With a surge of adrenaline, I grabbed my pregnant sister-in-law, Sophia, and my three-year-old nephew, Leo, and dragged them into the study’s hidden panic room. “Charlotte, what are you doing?” Sophia asked, her voice trembling slightly. “The estate is crawling with security. We don’t need to hide in here.” “Yeah, Aunt Charlotte,” Leo piped in, his small hand clutching his mother’s. “Grandpa said this room is only for a real emergency.” They stared at me, confusion and fear blooming in their eyes. They had no idea. They didn’t know that Andre, for the sake of his precious Scarlett, had left us utterly defenseless. “Sophia,” I said, my voice low and urgent. “Andre took all of them. Every single guard. It’s just the three of us in this house.” I threw my entire weight against the heavy steel cabinets flanking the panic room door, shoving them in front of it. The screech of metal against the polished floor was a scream in the quiet room, a sound that would surely lead our attackers right to us. Sophia froze, her face pale with disbelief. It was unthinkable. Andre, always so careful, so responsible, pulling a stunt this reckless? The Monroes were the wealthiest family in Crestwood; our security was legendary. An empty estate was a death sentence. But the raw terror in my eyes must have convinced her. “Then call him! Call Andre and tell him to get back here now!” she pleaded, one hand protectively on her swollen belly, the other gripping Leo’s. Her whole body was shaking. But I didn’t call my brother. Instead, I dialed 911. I gave the dispatcher our address and a clipped, frantic summary of the situation, begging them to hurry. I had zero faith that Andre would drop everything to save us. In my last life, by the time he’d returned, Sophia had bled out on the floor, taking her unborn child with her, and Leo was maimed for life. Hanging up, I felt a fresh wave of dread. A storm was raging outside. The nearest police station was a thirty-minute drive away, even without the torrential rain. I couldn’t imagine how I was going to prevent history from repeating its bloody course before they arrived. Soon, we heard them. Footsteps and gruff voices, searching the main floor. I instinctively clamped a hand over Leo’s mouth, my own breath catching in my throat. Just then, Sophia’s phone lit up. She had managed to get Andre on the line. “Andre, you have to come back! There are intruders in the house!” she cried, her voice cracking with tears. His response was a condescending chuckle. “Babe, come on, stop with the drama. I know the pregnancy hormones are making you paranoid, but I’m with Scarlett tonight. Just go to bed, okay?” Sophia’s voice rose to a near-scream. “I’m not being paranoid! They’re real! Andre, please, come home, or they’re going to kill me and the baby!” His tone turned to ice. “I know you’re possessive, Sophia, but this is a new low. I already promised Scarlett this would be our last night together. After today, I’m done. What more do you want?” he snapped. “And tell Charlotte, if she doesn’t want a repeat of last time’s little tragedy, she should stay the hell out of my business.” His words hit me like a physical blow. My heart didn’t just drop; it plummeted into an icy abyss. He remembered. Andre was reborn, just like me. But why didn’t he believe me? He’d seen what happened last time. He saw Sophia’s mutilated body, saw what they did to Leo. How could he be so cold, so detached, now that he had a chance to change it? Was it all because of Scarlett’s whisper in his ear? Your sister and your wife are in this together. 2 The footsteps stopped right outside, in the study. A moment later, a violent crash shook the reinforced door. The steel cabinets we’d braced against it rattled violently. We watched in horror as a hole was smashed through the thick wood. Through the splintered opening, an eye appeared, followed by a twisted grin. “Well, well. Look what we have in here.” I shoved Sophia and Leo behind me, backing away slowly. One by one, they crawled through the hole. The leader kicked the cabinets aside with a deafening clang, throwing the panic room door wide open. “Did you really think a little hidey-hole would save you?” he sneered. “We were paid to send a message, and we’re not stupid.” He leveled a chilling gaze at us. “Don’t blame us. Blame Andre Monroe for pissing off the wrong people.” My body trembled uncontrollably as I watched the cold light glint off the blade of the knife in his hand. His predatory eyes landed on Sophia. “I recognize her. That’s Monroe’s wife,” he said, a sick smile spreading across his face. “Always wondered what it’d be like with a pregnant one…” Sophia glared at them, her fury overriding her fear as she shielded Leo. “Stay away from us!” Fighting back my own terror, I turned to her and whispered, “There’s another switch, behind that vase. When I give the signal, you open it and run. Get to the Hamiltons’ place next door. Find Ethan. Tell him to come save me.” The man with the knife was getting closer. We were out of room to retreat. I’d already died a horrible death once. This time, I would not let them suffer the same fate. “Charlotte, I can’t leave you here alone!” I dug my nails into her arm, desperate to make her understand. “You have the baby! And Leo is only three!” I pleaded. “Listen to me. You run. I’ll hold them off. As long as you can get to Ethan, we still have a chance!” Just as the man lunged, Sophia did the unthinkable. She flipped the hidden switch with one hand and shoved Leo into my arms with the other. Then she threw herself at the intruders’ legs, clinging to them with all her might. “Go, Charlotte! Take Leo and run!” Her voice was a heartbreaking cry of sacrifice and love. “Sophia!” In the final second before the secret door sealed shut, I saw one of the men grab Sophia by the throat and slam her to the floor. In that instant, my world shattered all over again. “Run, Charlotte! Get help!” 3 A bone-deep chill washed over me, but the instinct to survive was stronger. Staying would mean all three of us would die. Clasping Leo tightly, I bolted through the secret passage that led outside. Once out, I didn’t dare stop. I just ran, a desperate, mindless sprint into the rain-swept darkness. I slipped on the wet gravel and fell hard. My knee tore open, a flap of skin peeling back in a mess of blood and torn flesh. Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I pushed myself up and kept running, limping heavily toward the Hamilton estate. When I reached their wrought-iron gates, I hammered on the intercom, pounding on the bars with my free hand. “Ethan! Ethan, please, help my sister-in-law!” “Ethan! Help us!” The lock clicked open. Ethan, dressed in a casual sweatsuit, appeared at the door. His brow furrowed as he took in my disheveled, bloody state. But he didn’t rush to help me as I’d expected. Instead, he looked down at me with cold disapproval. “Seriously? You’re going this far just to put on a show for your brother? You even dragged poor Leo into it.” His voice dripped with contempt, as if I were nothing more than an actress in a cheap melodrama, scheming to help my sister-in-law win back her husband’s attention. “Ethan, I’m not acting! Sophia is still back there, and she’s pregnant!” I cried, my voice raw. “There are men in our house! Please, just grab some of your security and come with me!” He glanced at my injuries with a look of detached amusement, shaking his head. “I might have actually believed you if Andre hadn’t called me. He warned me that you and Sophia were jealous he was taking Scarlett camping and that you’d pull some crazy stunt to ruin it.” Panic clawed at my throat. “Don’t listen to him, it’s real! It’s the people he put out of business a few months ago, the ones from that big corporate takeover! They’re here for revenge!” I fumbled for my phone, showing him my call log. “I’m not lying, I even called 911! I’m just so afraid they won’t get there in time. Please, Ethan, you have to help her!” He remained unmoved, letting out an impatient sigh. “Filing a false police report is a felony, Charlotte. Your sister-in-law is really crossing a line with this jealousy game. And you… I know you two are close, but how could you go along with something like this?” “Ethan! We are not lying! This is real!” I screamed, tears of frustration and terror streaming down my face. But my desperation had no effect on him. He looked at me with disgust and turned to go back inside. I lunged forward and grabbed his arm. “Ethan, I’m begging you. She’s pregnant. Just… just as a favor to me, please, just go and see for yourself!” My voice broke. “She’s going to die!” He looked down at me, his face an unreadable mask. “Charlotte,” he said, his voice flat. “Your brother explicitly told me not to get involved in your family’s drama.” His words were like a steel spike through my heart. Before Scarlett appeared, Ethan and I had been inseparable. We were childhood friends, practically engaged. But her arrival changed everything. Andre became distant, and so did Ethan. Both of them were utterly captivated by her, doing one foolish thing after another. Ethan once tried to force a girl at his company to change her name just because she was also named Scarlett. Andre’s obsession was worse. He’d driven a competitor to bankruptcy, taking a massive loss, all because Scarlett claimed the company’s CEO had looked at her the wrong way. That was the man whose thugs were in my house right now. I clutched Leo, who was now limp in my arms, and pleaded. “Ethan, please. Just go look. If you go, I promise… I will never bother you again.” 4 Ethan froze. For years, my greatest wish had been to marry him. Even after Scarlett drove a wedge between us, I had never given up on him. Now, hearing those words from me… he knew I wasn’t bluffing. Even his housekeeper, watching from the doorway, looked concerned. “Mr. Hamilton, maybe you should go. Miss Monroe would never joke about something like this.” He hesitated. Seeing my chance, I pressed my advantage, my voice thick with desperation. “Please, Ethan. Save Sophia. I’m begging you.” Finally, a flicker of compassion crossed his face. “Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll go check.” He turned to me, his voice hardening. “But I’m warning you, Charlotte. If I find out this is all some elaborate act, you and your sister-in-law will pay a steep price.” A sliver of hope ignited in my chest. He was finally listening. But just as he was gathering a few of his security guards, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then at me, and hit the speakerphone button. Andre’s annoyed voice filled the air. “Is Charlotte over there? Don’t listen to a word she says. Some guy just called me from Sophia’s phone, trying to blackmail me for fifty million dollars or he’d kill my wife and kid. Can you believe the nerve? Women and their jealousy games… they’ll do anything for attention.” The world tilted on its axis. I felt like I was free-falling, my mind a complete blank. I couldn’t believe it. Andre, the brother who had once promised to protect me forever, the husband who had sworn eternal love to Sophia, was now treating our lives like a joke. All for a woman he barely knew. Anger and betrayal surged through me. I snatched the phone. “Andre, are you even human?!” I shrieked into the receiver. “Are you going to wait until we’re all dead before you believe us? Have you forgotten what you saw last time?!” He just scoffed. “Oh, please. You just want Dad to hand the company over to you. You’re a daughter, Charlotte. You’ll marry out of the family eventually. What do you need all that for anyway? Besides, I called the chauffeur. He said everything at the house is fine.” “Last time,” he said, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, “I made the mistake of trusting you, and it got Scarlett killed. I’m not falling for that again.” 5 His accusations left me speechless. The chauffeur he’d spoken to had taken a leave of absence three days ago; he was hundreds of miles away. Before I could explain, the line went dead. Ethan, who had just agreed to help, now stared at me with pure disgust. “So it really was all a performance,” he said, his voice laced with ice. He gestured to his guards. “Get them out of here. Throw her out. And get rid of this little bastard she brought with her.” Despite the pain radiating through my body, I hugged Leo, who had thankfully passed out, even tighter. “Don’t you dare touch me!” I snarled, my voice shaking with rage. “When my father gets back, he will ruin you!” The guards hesitated, taken aback by my ferocity. Ethan just laughed, a cruel, ugly sound. Then he kicked me. Hard. The blow landed squarely in my chest, sending me and Leo tumbling down the stone steps. I managed to twist my body so he landed on top of me, cushioned from the impact. “Threatening me?” he sneered. “Let’s see who your father helps when he finds out about this pathetic little scheme of yours.” I scrambled backward, horrified. The Ethan before me was a stranger, his face twisted with a coldness I’d never seen. As I tried to get away, he kicked me again. This time, the toe of his expensive leather shoe caught me under the chin, splitting the skin. “This is what liars get,” he hissed. “You’re a Monroe, for God’s sake. Act like it. Instead, you’re playing these pathetic little house games.” He looked down his nose at me. “You’re just as small-minded as your sister-in-law. Neither of you could ever compare to Scarlett.” Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down my face, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Just then, my phone, which had fallen from my pocket, lit up on the steps. He picked it up, a mocking smile on his face. “What’s this? Your partner-in-crime calling to tell you the gig is up?” He answered it, putting it on speaker again. But it wasn’t Sophia. A calm, professional voice came through the speaker. “Is this Ms. Charlotte Monroe? This is Sergeant Miller with the Crestwood PD. We’ve secured the situation at your residence.” There was a pause. “The intruders have fled. Your sister-in-law… she’s in bad shape. We need to get her to the hospital immediately. Can you meet us there to sign the consent forms?”

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To surprise my long-distance boyfriend, I flew two thousand miles to his college. I got there just in time to see him walking back onto campus. I was about to call his name, but he walked right past me. Didn’t even glance. Excuse me? A second later, my phone buzzed. Liam: Babe, this is gonna sound crazy, but I just saw someone who looked exactly like you. Liam: Don’t worry, I only have eyes for you. Didn’t even look twice. I actually laughed out loud. I snapped a quick selfie right in front of the university’s main gate and sent it. Me: You sure you don’t want to look again? 1 About sixty seconds later, the same guy who’d been too cool to give me a second glance reappeared, completely out of breath. He’d sprinted back. His eyes—these soft, sloping puppy-dog eyes—were practically glowing. He was even better looking than in our video calls. Sharp features, but a sweet expression, and just radiating that restless college-kid energy. I was also getting the full effect of his 6’1″ frame. “Chloe?” His voice was breathless, full of genuine shock. “I thought you said you couldn’t come ’til next month?” Liam was clearly not prepared, but his voice was vibrating with excitement. It sounded deeper and better in person than it ever did through my earbuds. This was the first time we’d ever met in person. In fact, we’d only seen each other’s faces for the first time last week. I’d been in a three-year, long-distance relationship with the ridiculously handsome college kid currently hyperventilating in front of me. It started my senior year of college. I had too much free time, got obsessed with an MMO, and was absolutely terrible at it. I met a guy online who offered to carry me through raids. He carried me for a while, and then when I got busy with my internship, he’d log into my account every day to do my dailies. It was a completely platonic, revolutionary friendship. Until one day, while I had him on Discord, my mom waltzed into my room, smiling. “Sweetheart, trust me on this, I found a few great guys. Sons of my friends. All handsome. Just meet them, for me?” I couldn’t really say no; they were all family friends. I agreed to at least have coffee. As soon as my mom left, a voice crackled in my headset. “Chloe… um… I’m… I’m pretty good-looking, too, you know.” …That was three years ago. “I have a work trip in the area soon, so I came a few days early to see you,” I said, pausing. “Are you… happy to see me?” Liam’s eyes were still locked on my face. “Happy? Of course! Have you ever seen the campus? I can give you a tour.” “Actually, I…” I’d been here before, for work. Before I could finish, someone walking by bumped hard into my shoulder. I stumbled forward, falling straight into him. Into Liam’s chest. I felt him suck in a breath, but his hands just gently steadied my shoulders. As soon as I was balanced, he stepped back. “We, uh, we can walk.” Weird. This is the guy who called me ‘babe’ and ‘my girl’ five times a day. But in person, there was this… gap. Not a bad gap. Just… new. We had shared so much over three years, from gaming to our private lives. We’d sent each other more than a dozen gifts, all through the mail. Now, he was walking right next to me, and I could feel him stealing glances at my face. It was easier for him, being taller. I finally looked up, catching him mid-stare. I smiled. “So? Do I look like my videos?” The guy next to me turned bright red, right to the tips of his ears. After a long pause, I heard him mutter, “You look… so much better than your videos.” 2 Obviously, I wasn’t going to fly across the country to meet a guy I’d been dating for three years without knowing what he looked like. Liam was younger than me. When he first confessed his feelings, I figured it was just a teenage crush. He’d just graduated high school; it was hormones. The main reason I said yes? I loved his voice. I never thought it would last. But Liam was… persistent. And just like that, three years flew by. My “little boyfriend” was about to be a senior. “Chloe, I have a basketball game in a bit. An intramural championship. Do you… want to come watch?” Liam asked suddenly. I raised an eyebrow. I’d only ever heard him brag about his skills on the court. “Of course,” I grinned at him. “That’s the whole reason I’m here. To see you.” My boyfriend’s brain seemed to short-circuit again. I tried to remember the few cringey high school games I’d been to. “What do you want to drink? I’ll bring you a Gatorade or something.” “Oh, anything is fine,” he said. “Really?” I crossed my arms. “Because I seem to remember you saying you hate peach-flavored anything, even though you love actual peaches.” Liam blinked, clearly stunned I’d remembered a random comment from a late-night call. He gave me a quick tour, and then his phone buzzed. His teammates, telling him to get to the gym for warm-ups. “Chloe…” He looked like he wanted to say something. I just smiled. “Go. I know where the gym is. I’ll see you there.” He walked away, looking back over his shoulder three times. I wandered around a bit, stopped at a campus market to grab two bottles of water, and then slowly made my way to the gym. There was already a decent crowd. It was a game between two of the big colleges. The two teams had different jerseys, black and purple. I could hear the chatter around me: “When does it start? I’ve been waiting for this game all week!” “I know, right? The business school and the CS department? It’s like they pick their players based on looks.” “Hey, they’re not just pretty! They can actually play.” “That guy from the CS team…” I was too busy eavesdropping to pay attention until someone snatched one of the water bottles right out of my hand. “Sis! No way, is that you?” a way-too-loud voice yelled. I turned. The first thing I saw was a mop of bright red hair, followed by a purple jersey. I watched as my giant, 20-year-old brother, Ryan, chugged half the bottle in three gulps. “Chloe, what are you doing here? Did you see my Instagram story? Did you know I had a game and came to support me?” Ryan slung his sweaty arm over my shoulder. I stared at the water bottle, now half-empty. “You… you’re playing?” “Hell yeah,” my brother said, hugging me tight and pointing across the court. “See that guy? Black jersey, number 9?” I looked. My stomach dropped. It was Liam. “That’s my nemesis,” Ryan growled. “Your… nemesis?” Ryan gritted his teeth. “The girl I like is into him. And that asshole? He keeps telling everyone he has a girlfriend he’s been dating for three years.” “I even asked his friends. They’ve never seen this girl. Not once. Even if she goes to another school, wouldn’t she visit?” “He never posts her, no pictures, nothing,” my dear brother announced, his voice full of conviction. “I’m calling bullshit. He doesn’t have a girlfriend. He’s just saying that to build a ‘loyal guy’ reputation!” “…” Well, about that. 3 “Maybe he really does have a girlfriend,” I offered, trying to sound casual. I glanced back at Ryan. That ridiculous ‘I’m a rebel’ red hair. Ugh. “Impossible,” Ryan said. “I’ve been watching him. There are no girls.” Is that so? My eyes drifted to the young man in the black jersey doing stretches, a small smile playing on my lips. “Sis, see that girl over there? White dress, super pretty?” Ryan whispered, nudging me. “That’s her. Hannah. My dream girl.” I looked. A very pretty, long-haired girl in a white sundress was standing near the bleachers, holding a water bottle and staring—at Liam. Ryan’s voice was full of angst. “What’s so great about him? He’s just a stuck-up prick. I’m just as hot as he is!” I finally understood. My brother—who had coasted through life on his looks, the self-proclaimed “King of Campus”—was having his first-ever romantic failure. The girl he liked, liked someone else. And that someone else didn’t like her back. This had turned Liam into Ryan’s mortal enemy. “You just watch, Chloe,” Ryan said, wrapping his arm around me again. “I’m gonna destroy that guy on the court. Make sure you get your phone out. Record my highlights!” “…” Before I could answer, “Black #9” suddenly looked up from his warm-ups, scanning the crowd. His eyes locked right onto our section. I was standing near the back. I wasn’t sure if he could see me clearly. But his gaze froze. His brow furrowed. He was staring straight at us. And he looked… pissed. “Oh, shit. Is he challenging me?” Ryan finally let go of my shoulder, his competitive spirit ignited. “It’s on.” He jogged onto the court, still holding the water I’d bought for Liam, and paused only to wave at Hannah, begging her to cheer for him. Hannah, clearly, was only watching the black team. The game started. The whistle blew. Both teams were good. The crowd was loud. I saw why people were excited. And the two most aggressive players on the court? Ryan and Liam. Ryan’s always been an athlete. If our family wasn’t rolling in it, he probably would’ve gone pro. “Damn, Liam is playing dirty today,” someone behind me muttered, then yelled, “NICE! Three-pointer!” On the court, Liam was impossible to miss. He was fast, fluid, and just… intense. The score was tight. It was genuinely exciting. Then, disaster. Ryan went up for a rebound, collided with another player, and landed wrong. He went down. Hard. The gym went silent. 4 I froze, then automatically started pushing my way through the crowd. By the time I got to the edge of the court, Ryan’s teammates were already helping him off, handing him over to a trainer. They were heading toward the locker rooms. The crowd was thick. Someone jostled me, and I stumbled. By the time I looked up, Ryan was gone. I pulled out my phone and called him. It rang for a few seconds before he picked up, hissing in pain. “S-Sis?” “Where are you? Are you okay?” “Yeah, just twisted my ankle. It’s fine. My buddy’s taking me to the campus clinic. Probably just need to ice it,” Ryan said. “Are you still watching? Text me the final score.” “…” That’s what he’s worried about? The game kept going. But with Ryan out, the purple team’s energy flagged. The score difference started to widen. Liam was just too good. His passes, his dribbling, his shots—they were all clean, sharp, and brutal. A guy in front of me whistled. “Man, Liam is playing for an audience today. Is his crush here or something?” Someone else laughed. “Right? This isn’t the NBA, dude.” Without Ryan, his team’s defense fell apart. The black team won by a handful of points. The gym erupted in cheers. I watched Liam, the center of everyone’s attention, immediately scan the crowd. He was looking right at me. People were already moving to congratulate him, to hand him water. They already had cases of water by their bench. But Liam ignored all of them and started walking, weaving through the crowd, straight toward the bleachers. The crowd around me stirred. Even his teammates were yelling, “Liam, where you going?” I saw him wave them off, too far away to hear what he said. I saw Hannah, the girl in the white dress, step forward and hold out her water bottle to him. I couldn’t see her expression, but I heard the “ooohs” from the crowd. A pretty girl and a star athlete. It was a picture-perfect moment. Liam said something to her, pointed vaguely into the crowd, and Hannah turned, looking lost, searching for… something. And Liam just walked right past her. He was electric. Everyone’s eyes followed him. And for the first time since graduating, I felt that high-school feeling of all eyes on me. This was different from a boardroom meeting. Liam stopped right in front of me. The crowd went quiet, all eyes landing on me. My clothes—a silk blouse and tailored slacks—were definitely not “college-student-casual.” “Chloe,” he said, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his hair. “Where’s my water?” This absolute drama king. The star of the game, walking past everyone, to demand a drink from his mystery girlfriend. 5 “Sorry,” I said, feeling a little guilty. “Someone… drank it.” Ryan, that little rat. “You have one right there,” Liam said, his eyes dropping to the second bottle still in my hand. I looked down at the water. “Oh. But… I already drank from this.” I’d taken a sip right after I bought it. It was cold. I couldn’t resist. You could tell the seal was broken. Liam’s gaze softened. His eyelashes were long. “So? Can’t I drink it?” His voice was so soft it felt like he was pouting. My heart did a stupid little thump. “Well, if you don’t mind…” Before I finished, he’d taken the bottle from my hand, twisted the cap, and started drinking. He tilted his head back, gulping it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing. A drop of sweat ran down his temple and neck. It was… distractingly hot. He finished half the bottle before lowering it. “Ready to go, Chloe?” “Don’t you have to go back to your team?” “Nope.” I glanced back at the court. His teammates were definitely staring, their faces a mix of confusion and gossip. Liam gently took my wrist and started walking. When we were a safe distance away from the gym, he stopped. “Chloe, I need to hit the locker room and change. I’m disgusting. Can you wait for me in that empty lecture hall right there?” He was covered in sweat. I had no objections. While I waited, my brother messaged me. Ryan: Sis, my friends said Liam’s mysterious girlfriend was at the game. Did you see her? Was she hot? … Me: Gorgeous. I have, after all, a very healthy self-esteem. Ryan: I don’t believe you. Ryan: No way she’s hotter than Hannah. Me: Does Hannah even know your name? Stop dreaming. As expected, my brother exploded. A stream of all-caps messages came through, which I ignored. Liam was back. He’d run. He’d changed into dark jeans and a white v-neck tee, and a silver chain I recognized—one I’d sent him—rested against his collarbone. He smelled amazing, like cheap, generic-brand body wash, but on him, it just smelled… clean. His hair was still damp. I smiled. “Why didn’t you dry your hair?” Liam paused. “I didn’t want to make you wait.” He was a young man, but I still saw him as the 18-year-old kid who’d bragged to me on Discord. It was a filter I couldn’t shake. “I’m starving. Want to get dinner?” I asked. “Yeah. Okay.” He’d been here three years; he knew the area. He took me to a place he said had the best food and atmosphere. Right before we went in, I checked my phone. Ryan had sent me a list of his favorite places. This one was at the top. Ryan: CHLOE, YOUR BROTHER IS INJURED AND YOU’RE JUST THINKING ABOUT FOOD? Ryan: Fine. I’m starving. Bring me back takeout. I Venmo’d him $1,000. Me: Handle it. Ryan: [Received $1,000] Ryan: SISTER, MY QUEEN, I WILL ALWAYS SUPPORT YOUR REIGN! “…”

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The news broke without warning: Teddy Thorne, heir to the Thorne empire, was secretly married and had a daughter. He held a press conference immediately. “There is no secret marriage, and I do not have a daughter.” “It is common knowledge that I have been single for years.” I stared at his cold, indifferent face on the television. Then I looked at my daughter, who was hiding in the corner, crying softly in confusion and hurt. In that moment, a years-long obsession shattered into dust. When he came home that night, I didn’t rush to the door with our daughter as I always did. I didn’t wait with breathless anticipation for the reunion that was always more passionate than a honeymoon. Instead, I opened the messages I’d received a few days ago. A receipt for a vasectomy, dated six days prior, and a single sentence: “Just say the word, and from now on, Penny will be my only child.” Tears streamed down my face as I typed my reply: “Come and get me. I can’t stay here anymore.” 01 I watched Teddy Thorne’s handsome, severe face on the screen, a strange sense of detachment washing over me. He was known for his cold demeanor and deep-seated inscrutability, a man who never let his true feelings show. But he wasn’t the work-obsessed ascetic the tabloids made him out to be. Teddy was a man of intense appetites, with powerful needs. Before he left on this business trip, he’d ignored my tears and pleas, tying my wrists with his silk tie and pinning me beneath him. Four times. I’d finally sunk my teeth into the side of his neck in a moment of overwhelmed frustration. There was probably still a faint mark there. The navy-blue tie he was wearing, the one with the subtle, intricate pattern, had been my anniversary gift to him. This was the fourth year of our marriage. We had a beautiful daughter. She had just turned three. And now, my husband—in name, at least—Teddy Thorne, had just used his coldest, most serious tone to announce to the world: “There is no secret marriage, and I do not have a daughter.” He adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. His dark eyes held a chilling light that seemed to pierce through the screen and land squarely on me. “A word of advice to those with ulterior motives: don’t delude yourselves. You will only end up humiliated.” 02 With that, Teddy stood abruptly. His bodyguards and personal assistant immediately cleared a path through the throng of reporters, escorting him to his car. My hands felt like ice as I turned off the television. The living room plunged into darkness, save for the single floor lamp in the corner casting a pale, lonely light. And in that sudden silence, I heard a soft, choked sob. I whipped my head around and saw her. My tiny daughter, standing frozen in the shadows, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wide with a pain she couldn’t comprehend. “Penny?” I scrambled up and rushed to her, pulling her into my arms. “Sweetheart, why aren’t you in bed? What are you doing downstairs?” She buried her wet face in my chest, her little voice trembling. “Mommy, why did Daddy say he doesn’t have a daughter?” “If he doesn’t have a daughter… then what am I?” A knife twisted in my heart. Teddy was a man of few words, stern and serious. He loved Penny in his own way, but he was rarely home, and his smiles were even rarer. Our daughter adored him, but she was also a little afraid of him, which had made her more sensitive than other children. As my own tears began to fall, it felt as if the stubborn hope that had held me together for all these years had finally crumbled to dust. I cupped her little face, wiping away her tears. “Penny, do you want to leave this place with Mommy?” “Where will we go?” “Will we come back home later?” I looked down and managed a small, sad smile. “No, sweetie.” “This isn’t our home.” I looked into her eyes, my voice steady and serious. “This is Mr. Thorne’s house.” “We’ve stayed for a very long time, and we’ve been a bother to him.” “So now it’s time for us to leave and go back to our own home.” Penny nodded, not quite understanding but trusting me completely. “Okay, Mommy. I’ll go wherever you go.” “Good girl.” I carried her back to her room, kissing her soft cheek. “Go to sleep now. Mommy will stay right here with you.” After she was asleep, my gaze fell on the picture frame on her nightstand. It was a photo of the three of us. Our only one. In the picture, Teddy sat perfectly straight, his expression as cool and distant as ever. I was holding a one-year-old Penny, my smile a mix of shyness and bliss, my body angled slightly toward him. His, however, was not angled toward me. Once Penny was sound asleep, I took the frame and quietly left the room. As I took a pair of scissors to the photograph, a sudden, sharp realization hit me. The small gap between us in that photo, the space where our bodies never quite touched, had been left there for this very day, so I could cut along the line with ease. 03 A week later, Teddy came home. It was already ten o’clock at night. In the past, no matter how late, Penny and I would have been waiting up for him. But tonight, Penny was long since bathed and asleep. And I wasn’t in the master suite. I was in a guest room on the second floor. When I heard the familiar sound of his car’s engine, I was on the balcony, staring at the message I had received six days ago. The receipt for a man’s vasectomy. Even now, opening it made my eyes sting. “Elara, just say the word. Just nod your head.” “I will treat Penny as if she were my own.” “From now on, she will be my only daughter. No, my only child.” I stared at the words until the screen went dark, until I heard Teddy’s footsteps on the stairs, until he came down from the third-floor master suite and stopped outside my door. A knock. “Elara, open the door.” I hastily wiped my eyes and tucked my phone under the pillow. “I’m already asleep. Whatever it is, we can talk tomorrow…” But before I could finish, the door clicked open. He’d unlocked it from the outside. I was startled for a second, then remembered. This was Teddy’s house. Of course, he had absolute authority here. “Why did you move to the guest room?” He sounded displeased, his voice colder than usual. I slowly sat up and looked at him. He was weary from the long flight, pressing a hand to his brow as he spoke, his voice raspy. I ignored the last flicker of pity in my heart and looked away. “I haven’t been feeling well. I didn’t want to get you sick.” “I’m not worried about that. Move back.” When I didn’t move, he frowned, the expression almost imperceptible. “Elara?” “I’m tired. You should get some rest, too.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode to the bed, bent down, and swept me into his arms. “It’s been a week. Don’t you miss me?” he murmured, lowering his head to kiss me. I turned my face away. He froze, surprised, and his expression quickly soured into annoyance. “Elara Vance.” “What is this tantrum about?” 04 In four years of marriage, I had never once refused him. His needs were immense. Except for when I had my period or he was away, we were together almost every night. On any other occasion, after a week apart, I wouldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep the entire night. But back then, I had welcomed it. I was happy, even blissful. It was only in the darkness of our bedroom that I could almost believe he cared for me. Normally, I was terrified of making him angry. But in the throes of passion, a secret part of me wanted to. When he was angry, the control he so carefully maintained would shatter, and the contrast was intoxicating. We’d had a fight once. I’d run off to a friend’s place in Monaco for a week, refusing to come home. Teddy had flown there himself to get me. That night, in the most luxurious penthouse suite in the city, his face was a cold mask as he unbuckled his belt with one hand. He pressed me against the massive floor-to-ceiling window, and I cried until my voice was gone, but he wouldn’t stop. At the very end, he bit out the words next to my ear. “Elara, if you ever dare to run away from me again,” he hissed, “I will fuck you to death in this bed.” “Tears won’t help you.” I suppose I had a dark streak. The sight of him, cold and barely containing his rage, always did something to me. I loved seeing him lose control because of me. But not anymore. Now, my body felt sealed off, a stagnant pool of water, just like my heart. I struggled out of his arms. “Teddy, let’s separate.” I looked at him calmly, then gave a self-deprecating laugh. We had a child together, and yet “separate” was the only word I could use. We had no marriage license, only a private agreement. He looked stunned for a moment, then his voice hardened. “Is this because of the press conference?” I wanted to say it was more than that. That if it had only been about him denying our marriage, I might have found a hundred excuses to soothe myself. But he had denied our daughter. For days, all I could see was Penny’s hurt, confused eyes. I couldn’t bear it. “Yes.” “You know that was just for the media,” he said, his tone cool and dismissive. “I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time to cater to your emotions over something so trivial.” I tried to keep my composure, but my hands, hidden at my sides, were trembling. My eyes burned as if pricked by needles, but I held back the tears. “I don’t need you to cater to me.” “I’m serious.” “You can tear up the agreement. All I want is Penny.” A flicker of derision crossed his eyes. “You’re using Penny to pressure me. You want me to publicly acknowledge you?” “No…” “I’ve told you before, that’s impossible,” he cut me off, his voice hard as steel. “At least, not for the next few years. It’s out of the question.” “Elara, I indulge you in many things. But on this, there is no room for negotiation.” He looked down at me as if I were a stranger. The room was climate-controlled, but a deep, penetrating chill settled into my bones, making me shiver. Before we were married, my best friend had tried to gently warn me. But I had been full of reckless courage, completely fearless. “So what if Teddy Thorne is a block of stone?” I’d said. “Even a stone can be worn away by dripping water.” But now, I was giving up. I wanted to be the free-flowing water, not the single, trapped drop, destined to fall in the same spot for the rest of its life. “Think about it tonight. When you’ve come to your senses, move back to the master bedroom.” Teddy turned and left, closing the door a little too loudly behind him—a crack in his usually imperturbable facade. I pulled the covers over myself and closed my eyes. In a few days, his grandfather would be back from his winter retreat. He was the one who had arranged our union in the first place. If he gave his blessing, I could leave with Penny. The Thornes valued sons above all else. Teddy’s mother barely looked at Penny on a good day. She had her own preferred candidate for a daughter-in-law and had always despised me. I imagined she would be thrilled to see us go. 05 The next day, Mrs. Thorne graced me with a visit. She asked after Penny with feigned indifference before getting straight to the point. “I assume you saw Teddy’s press conference the other day.” I nodded. She smiled, a look of genuine pleasure on her face. “I never thought he’d be so decisive this time. Honestly, secrets never stay secret forever. There have been rumors for years, but Teddy always ignored them, never bothering to deny a thing.” She arched an eyebrow. “But this time… the moment he heard that Isabelle Laurent was divorced, he immediately denied his marriage to you.” She let out a theatrical sigh. “But I never imagined he would deny Penny, too. That boy… he’s always been so devoted. He’s been in love with Isabelle since they were teenagers. He only agreed to be with you after she got married. I really thought he’d moved on.” I sat there silently, a buzzing in my ears. She was right. He had never addressed the rumors before. This was the first time. I knew who Isabelle Laurent was. She was one of Mrs. Thorne’s top choices for a daughter-in-law. But she’d gotten engaged and married young. On the few occasions Teddy and I had run into her, he’d seemed perfectly normal. I’d never connected them. I never knew he had been in love with her for so long. So he had only agreed to his grandfather’s arrangement because the woman he loved had married someone else. “Elara, dear,” Mrs. Thorne said, patting my hand with a triumphant smile. “You’ve always been a smart girl.” “You don’t have a title, no legal standing. That’s one thing.” “But what about Penny? Do you want her to live her whole life in the shadows, just like you?” She left, and the house fell silent. The withered petals of the flowers on the trellis below were caught by the wind and scattered, disappearing without a trace. I took out my phone and opened the messages again. I read the line over and over: “Just say the word, and from now on, Penny will be my only child.” As tears began to fall, I replied to Julian Reed. “Come and get me. I can’t stay here anymore.”

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Of all the women Ethan Hayes ever dated, I was the good one. But in bed, I was the wild one. He hated condoms, so I never kept them in my nightstand. He complained I was too reserved, so I learned every trick in the book. His friends would talk, their voices a low murmur of expensive whiskey and disbelief. “I don’t get it. Audrey seems so… vanilla. And you’re saying behind closed doors she’s a total freak?” “Ethan, my man, going raw is one hell of a rush, but what if she gets pregnant? She’ll lock you down with a kid before you can even call your lawyer.” Ethan would just take a slow drag from his cigarette, a smirk playing on his lips. “She wouldn’t dare.” He’d exhale a plume of smoke. “Her family’s old-school conservative. And the Hayes family would never, ever accept a child born out of wedlock.” And he was right. A good girl would never do something as disgraceful as getting pregnant before marriage. Which is why, before we ever touched, I always made sure Ethan took his pill. 1 I’ll admit, male birth control isn’t exactly easy to get your hands on. I had to pull a few strings, calling in a major favor from my best friend. Zoe told me the drug was incredibly effective. But she also warned me that long-term use could cause irreversible damage to a man’s sexual function. She shot me a worried look over her wine glass. “Audrey, if you’re really that concerned about your man’s… equipment… my firm is developing a new version with fewer side effects. It’s just not out of trials yet.” I offered her a tight smile and promised I’d wait. “Okay.” What I was really thinking was: What the hell do I care about Ethan Hayes’s equipment? The alternative was me, alone in a sterile clinic, waiting for an abortion. The thought of it was too bleak to bear. And since Zoe’s miracle drug was stuck in development, I kept using the one I had. For six months. Every time, just before things got heated, I’d tell Ethan it was a vitamin, watching him swallow it with a glass of water before I’d let him unbutton my shirt. I’ll give him this: he was right about one thing. Without that thin layer of latex, the feeling was infinitely better. He got his pleasure. And I, bearing none of the risk, got even more. Ethan was, in his own way, a fool. He genuinely believed I was so hopelessly in love with him that I’d do anything he asked. As a reward for my devotion, he’d shower me with lavish gifts afterward. A Patek Philippe watch one week. A Cartier diamond necklace the next, followed by a brand-new Porsche. Anything I could sell, I sold the very next day, funneling the money into a diversified investment portfolio. Of course, to keep up appearances, I bought flawless replicas to store in my closet. He never paid attention to the details. He never noticed a thing. Back in the VIP lounge, the conversation was still flowing. “Seriously, man. You’ve had her on a string for years. Aren’t you ever going to make it official?” “Come on, you know the deal. Audrey’s got a clean background, but she’s not exactly in the same league as the Hayes family.” Then one of his drunker, more obnoxious friends piped up, his words slurring. “Hey, Ethan, when you get tired of her… you mind if I take a turn?” He leered. “Audrey’s got that innocent look but a killer body. I’d kill to get a piece of that. Bet she’s absolutely filthy in bed.” A sudden, sharp silence fell over the table. The air crackled. The guy who’d just spoken seemed to sober up instantly, his face paling. He started stammering, practically slapping himself. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I was just talking shit. Don’t take it seriously.” Ethan let out a low, ambiguous chuckle. He took a sip of his Macallan, and his reply caught everyone off guard. “Sure, you can have her. But Audrey only has eyes for me. I doubt she’d even look your way.” The tension shattered. The lounge filled with laughter and back-slapping again. His friends fell over themselves complimenting him—Ethan Hayes, the powerful, handsome genius that women would kill to be with. It was only natural that I was madly in love with him. Standing just outside the velvet rope, I ran a hand through my hair. Then, my heels clicking on the marble floor, I pushed through the entrance. The motion caught their attention. Every head turned. When they saw it was me, the chatter died instantly. I pretended not to notice, a bright smile fixed on my face as I walked toward their table. “What are we all talking about?” One of them recovered first, shifting awkwardly. “Audrey. Hey. How long have you been here?” I slid into the plush leather booth next to Ethan, wrapping my arm around his. My smile was pure poison. “Oh, about five minutes. Was just touching up my lipstick by the door.” The color drained from their faces. No one dared to speak. I pulled my long hair back into a ponytail. Without a word, I reached across the table, grabbed a bottle of champagne, and calmly began to pour it over the heads of the two men who had been the most vocal. They were too afraid of Ethan to even flinch. When the bottle was empty, no one said a thing. One by one, they mumbled excuses about early meetings and unfinished work, scattering from the lounge like cockroaches. Ethan leaned back against the leather, his expression unreadable. His voice was flat. “Are you done?” 2 He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. I suppose that made sense. In Ethan’s world, I was a pet. A perfectly trained, beautiful creature that came when called and purred on command. A pet that, without its owner, would be lost and starving on the streets. I found a seat across from him and said nothing. A second later, his phone buzzed. I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I saw the change in his posture. Ethan stood up abruptly, his voice softening as he headed for the exit. “Stay right there. I’m on my way.” The tone was gentle, soothing. After he hung up, he was already at the door when he seemed to remember I was still there. He glanced back, his face a blank mask. “You’ve been taking your pills, right?” Ah. So that was it. He was still worried I might try to trap him. What Ethan Hayes would never know was that while I was willing to play with a man like him, I would never, ever be foolish enough to carry his child. So I smiled and nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. “Of course.” He left without another word. I let out a long, slow breath. A moment later, my own phone rang. It was Zoe. “Audrey, something came up at work. I can’t get away. Can you swing by the clinic and pick up your prescription yourself?” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah, no problem.” Just before I hung up, a thought occurred to me. “Zoe? You don’t have to get these for me anymore.” There was a pause on the other end, then her voice, laced with frustration. “Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of having a baby with him. Audrey, for God’s sake, get a grip.” A real smile touched my lips this time. “No. It’s not that.” Two days ago, my acceptance letter from NYU’s graduate program had arrived. It was time for me to go back and finish my education. Besides, after two years of playing the part, I had skimmed over thirty million dollars from Ethan Hayes. It was time to cash out and walk away. I’d just picked up the pills from the pharmacy inside the hospital when I turned a corner and ran straight into him. A delicate, beautiful girl was leaning against his chest. When Ethan stopped short, she looked up at him, her voice a sweet, childish pout. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He didn’t answer her. His eyes scanned over me, then landed on the small paper bag in my hand. From his angle, he could clearly read the prescription label: Contraceptive. A flicker of something—maybe guilt—crossed his face. Ethan’s brow furrowed. In a rare moment of concern, he actually said, “You should take less of that stuff. It’s not good for you.” I offered him a bland, pleasant smile. “Okay.” I didn’t let on that I knew him, and the girl in his arms was clearly clueless. But Ethan’s brief moment of attention had set off her alarms. The girl stepped forward possessively, extending a manicured hand toward me. Her smile was sharp. “Hi, I’m Amelia. Ethan’s girlfriend.” I let those last three words sink in. Girlfriend? Then what was I? But Ethan gave me a subtle, warning look. I took the hint and shook her hand. “Audrey. I’ve met Mr. Hayes a few times.” Amelia visibly relaxed, her smile becoming genuine. She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “This one here has been running me ragged,” she said, playfully swatting his arm. “My period is late, so we just wanted to come in and get it checked out.” She looked at me expectantly. “What about you, Audrey? What brings you here?” I was about to invent a story when she cut me off, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh, you’re here for birth control, aren’t you? God, your boyfriend is such an ass. Why doesn’t he just wear a condom? Those pills are so bad for your body.” She shook her head, full of sympathy. “Listen, Audrey, if you can’t get him to listen, you let me know. I’ll have a word with him for you. A man who really loves you would never, ever want to see you get hurt.” 3 My eyelashes fluttered. I opened my mouth, intending to say, “Okay.” But no sound came out. By the time I came back to myself, Ethan had his arm around Amelia’s shoulders, leading her down the opposite end of the hall. She waved back at me over her shoulder. “Bye, Audrey! It was nice meeting you!” I stood there for another minute before turning and heading toward the underground parking garage. The light inside the car was dim. My hands rested on the smooth leather of the Porsche’s steering wheel, but I didn’t start the engine. Maybe I wasn’t as calm as I was pretending to be. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely devoid of feelings for Ethan. After all, he was the one who had saved me during the darkest, most desperate year of my life. My family wasn’t poor. Far from it. My parents were both well-respected high school teachers. They provided for all my material needs, giving me everything a child could want. But it came with a price. Their desire for control was a suffocating, toxic cloud that poisoned our home. The year I turned eighteen, they found out I’d been accepted to my dream school, NYU. To stop me from moving to the city, they went into my application portal and changed my commitment to the local state university. When I graduated four years later, I fought tooth and nail to land a prestigious job offer in New York. They went behind my back and declined it for me. They kept telling me it was for my own good. They spent a small fortune to get me a stable, low-paying government job in my hometown. I never showed up for the first day. It was the first time I had ever rebelled. With the ten thousand dollars I had saved up, I bought a one-way train ticket to New York. I went straight to the NYU campus and just walked around. It was on my way out that I met him. Ethan Hayes. I suppose it was because I was pretty. I caught his eye easily. He offered to help me find a job. He introduced me to a life I never could have imagined. Ethan taught me how to skydive, how to rock climb, how to scuba dive. He pushed me to try every extreme sport my parents had ever forbidden. We kissed and held hands and stayed up all night talking. We did things that felt thrilling and new. For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of unrestrained, intoxicating freedom. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was falling for him. I liked Ethan Hayes. But that secret, hidden love, blooming in the corners of my heart, became its own form of torture. It takes a long time to decide to stop loving someone. It takes even longer to actually leave. It took me six months. I have to admit, I’ve always been indecisive. It’s a flaw in my character. Otherwise, I never would have let my parents control me for twenty-two years. And besides that, Ethan was impossibly handsome and unbelievably rich. The crumbs he dropped from his table had already made me a wealthy woman, with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Thinking about that, a sense of calm washed over me. So I had lost a great love. But I had gained a cold, hard thirty million dollars. Ethan came home late that night. It was the weekend, so I’d given myself a break, curled up on the sofa watching some terrible reality TV show. One of the characters on screen dramatically declared: Your boyfriend has a girlfriend! I looked up just as Ethan walked in. On a whim, I asked, “So, how’s your little girlfriend?” He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. His voice was heavy. “Audrey, you’re starting to misbehave.” I knew when to shut up. Ethan hated complications. The only reason he’d kept me around for so long was because I was easy. I was obedient. I bit my lip. “I drew a bath for you,” I said quietly. He disappeared into the master bathroom. My interest in the show had vanished. I went to the bedroom to sleep. I was drifting in that space between sleep and waking when a hot, heavy hand clamped onto my waist. The man behind me began to explore my body, his touch familiar and demanding. 4 I shifted, trying to push him away. But Ethan was patient, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll wear a condom.” He whispered, “You don’t have to take those pills anymore.” For a second, I was wide awake. Was this his conscience finally kicking in? But I wasn’t the one taking the pills. And him wearing a condom would only ruin the experience for me. I was just about to launch into a self-sacrificing speech, something designed to tug at his heartstrings and maybe squeeze a larger severance package out of him when we finally broke up. But then his phone rang. It was on the nightstand, so close in the silent room that I could hear every word. Amelia’s voice, a mixture of excitement and fear. “Baby, I just took a test… I think it’s positive.” A pause. “But I’m not sure. Can you… can you come over?” Ethan’s eyes reflexively darted toward me in the dark. He looked away just as quickly, his voice softening. “I’m on my way.” He hung up, and without another look at me, he was gone, leaving a curt, “I won’t be back tonight.” He didn’t even bother to close the bedroom door. I muttered a few curses under my breath, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come. No one knew that a long time ago, I had also been pregnant with Ethan’s child. I was working on a huge project at the time, pulling all-nighters. In the chaos, I forgot to take my pill one night. I didn’t realize until my body started feeling… different. In that single moment, my world tilted. I was thrilled and terrified. After days of agonizing, I decided to tell him. We would decide what to do with the baby, together. I went to find him in his home office. The door was slightly ajar. He was on the phone, his voice laced with its usual casual indifference. “Your little bird is pregnant? Just give her some money and tell her to get rid of it. Why are you even asking me about this?” He listened for a moment. “Are you an idiot, Mark? What does it matter if you feel bad for her? Is your family going to accept an illegitimate child? Get real.” There was a longer pause. I couldn’t hear the question, but I knew what it was from Ethan’s answer. The question must have been: What if it was Audrey? What if Audrey got pregnant? Would you keep the baby? Would he? Ethan’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Cruel. “No. Audrey is good. I’m very happy with her. But my child will not come from her belly.” “If she ever got pregnant, I’d give her a generous sum of money, she’d have an abortion, and that would be the end of it.” Love and marriage. He had always kept the two completely separate. I was beautiful, obedient, and I anticipated his every need. The perfect girlfriend. But a wife? The partner he would spend his life with? Never. I stood outside that door and cried without making a sound. And for the first time, I understood with chilling clarity. Ethan Hayes did not love me. After I’d composed myself, I called my office and told them there was a family emergency. I took a week off. I went to the clinic alone. Every part of my body ached. But I knew it was the right choice. For me, and for the life that was inside me. But Amelia was different. She had the effortless innocence of someone who had been sheltered and adored her whole life. And the baby in her belly… it was clear Ethan was already fiercely protective of it. For a fleeting moment, a wave of confusion washed over me. What had my three years meant? Drifting in and out of consciousness, I finally fell asleep. I woke up the next morning at ten. Ethan hadn’t come home. I picked up my phone, about to send him a fake, concerned text message. But a new friend request had popped up on my screen. The profile picture was an adorable kitten. The message was just three words: Amelia Sinclair. 5 She got straight to the point. [Audrey, I’ve had you investigated.] I took a slow sip of my coffee, my eyes fixed on the little “typing…” bubble at the top of the screen. I didn’t reply. A few seconds later, more messages came through. [I know you’ve been with Ethan for a while. You’re clever and you have your methods, I get that.] [But what you probably don’t know is that he and I are getting engaged soon. We come from the same world. If you’re smart, you’ll disappear quietly. Don’t make this ugly for yourself.] [Because if you do, I won’t be so nice.] It clicked. Amelia Sinclair. Of course. She was an heiress. No wonder Ethan was so attentive. It wasn’t just about affection; it was about her family, her connections, her status. I put down my mug and typed a reply. [Ten million.] She agreed without hesitation. She asked for my account number and promised the money would be wired within three days. The only condition was that I was to never, ever be seen by Ethan Hayes again. I gladly accepted. After all, I was already planning my exit. When Ethan finally came back, he had a gift for me. I opened the box. Inside was a scandalous red silk nightgown that was more air than fabric, and a matching ruby necklace. He seemed to be in a good mood. “Go try it on,” he urged. “I want to see if it fits.” The vibrant red made my skin look like porcelain. It barely covered the essentials, leaving most of my body exposed to the cool air. I saw a flash of hunger in Ethan’s eyes, his breath catching for a split second. I took a steadying breath, my expression serious. “Ethan,” I said softly. “We need to talk.” He seemed to regain a sliver of his composure. He nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “I have something to tell you, too,” he said. I nodded obediently. “Okay. You first.” After a few seconds of silence, he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “Audrey, if I were to get married… what would you do?” I might have imagined it, but he looked almost… nervous. I froze. What would I do? I’d take the last of his money and run for the hills, obviously. But I couldn’t say that to his face. So I squeezed out a couple of fake tears, my voice trembling. “Are you… leaving me?” He reached out, his thumb gently brushing a tear from the corner of my eye. A look of genuine pity crossed his face. “Of course not,” he said, his voice husky. “It’s just… I’ll have to ask you to be patient for a while.” A wave of carefully orchestrated hysteria washed over me. I started to cry for real. “I don’t want to be your dirty little secret! I won’t be a mistress!” He must have thought I was being ungrateful. That night, Ethan slept in the study. He said he was giving me space to “cool down.” I couldn’t have been happier. Lying in bed, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, I stumbled upon Amelia’s latest post. A picture of her on a pristine white sand beach. The caption read: What do you do when your boyfriend is too possessive to let you wear a bikini? Help! I clicked into her profile out of morbid curiosity. Apparently, her birthday was coming up. Her wish was for her boyfriend to take her on a vacation to the Maldives. They were leaving tomorrow. The rest of her post was a gushing tribute to their love. I guess I can’t complain. He’s only like this because he loves me so much. Besides, a sundress will look just as good in photos~ The first time Ethan and I were together, he was so gentle and sweet, so careful not to hurt me. I remember laughing and asking him what he was going to do since I was so inexperienced, especially since I’d heard he liked more assertive girls. He just smiled and said that if it was me, it didn’t matter what I did. Mom and Dad, at twenty-two, I think I’ve finally found my happily ever after. 6 Someone had commented: Jesus, get a room. The two of them were now in the middle of a nasty comment war. But I couldn’t bring myself to read any more. I thought back to the beginning, to how Ethan used to complain that I was clumsy and awkward in bed. I didn’t know how to move. I would blush beet red at the slightest hint of dirty talk. I could never keep up with him. He never seemed satisfied. Ethan didn’t care much about my comfort. He was often rough, and it would hurt. I would just bite my lip and endure it. I didn’t know any better. Growing up, the only thing my parents ever said about boys was, “If you even think about dating before college, I’ll break your legs.” And in college, I was still under their thumb. The thought of romance had never even crossed my mind. So when I was suddenly thrown into this world, all I could do was try to adapt, to awkwardly meet his needs. I learned how to talk dirty. I learned a whole encyclopedia of bizarre positions. And every time I showed improvement, he would whisper against my ear, his voice a low rumble, “Good girl.” Afterward, there would always be an expensive gift waiting for me. After a while, I made a kind of peace with it. I learned to find my own pleasure in our encounters, to create a balance that worked for me. There’s no shame in a woman embracing her own desires. It was only now that I was realizing. It was possible to be Ethan Hayes’s girlfriend without having to cater to his every whim. A rose doesn’t have to grow taller. The one who loves it will bend down. Unfortunately for me, I was not his rose. A salty tear slid from the corner of my eye, tracing a path to my temple. I suppose… I suppose I was a little sad. For myself.

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I once believed that a doctor’s oath, our “benevolent heart,” would be met with a patient’s gratitude. I fought with everything I had to pull Sarah Miller back from the brink of an amniotic fluid embolism. I saved her life, and her baby’s life. The surgery was a success. Mother and daughter were stable. I never imagined that this life-saving act would, in turn, become the knife aimed straight at my own heart. Days after her discharge, she and her family launched a vicious online assault against me. “This butcher-doctor ruined my life!” “What kind of woman am I without a uterus? I can’t have a son! My husband is going to divorce me, and it’s all her fault!” “My sister-in-law is in nursing school! She said you can’t survive an AFE! This doctor is a hack! She just wanted to cut me open!” “We’re not done! She ended our family line! She owes us! One million dollars! Not a penny less!” I trembled with a rage I had never known. An amniotic fluid embolism—the absolute worst nightmare of every OB/GYN. A condition with an 86% mortality rate. The patient I dragged back from the gates of hell was now calling me a monster. Under the weight of their relentless campaign, I wasn’t just suspended from the hospital. I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression. And then, a year later, her sister-in-law—the one from nursing school—went into labor. She, too, was diagnosed with an amniotic fluid embolism. Because of what they had done to me, not a single doctor in that hospital would touch her. With nowhere left to turn, they came back. They found me. “Dr. Reed, please, you have to save her! You always talk about the ‘benevolent heart’ of a doctor, please!” I just shook my head, my face blank. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” “Thanks to you, my medical license was revoked months ago.” 1 “Dr. Reed! Bed 16, Sarah Miller, probable AFE! Her pressure is tanking!” “Dr. Reed, you need to see this, now!” The nurse’s call was a siren. I sprinted, almost falling, into the delivery room. The numbers on the monitor made my heart stop. Blood pressure: 70/40 mmHg. Oxygen saturation: 85%. It was a textbook, catastrophic amniotic fluid embolism. Just thirty minutes ago, this 23-year-old mother was laughing with me, her eyes bright with anticipation. Now, her face was as white as the sheets, her lips already turning blue. I felt the chill. “Code Blue! Get the crash cart, now! Call the blood bank, activate massive transfusion protocol! I want Anesthesia and ICU down here, stat!” In the same breath, the nurses and I were running, pushing her gurney to the OR. I’ve been an OB for thirty years. “AFE” are the three letters we fear most. A complication so violent, so fast, it has an 86% mortality rate. In these moments, you don’t panic. You get cold. The full team assembled. Time slowed down, but the patient was crashing faster. “Pressure’s still dropping! Sats are falling!” “Uterine atony! She’s not clotting!” “Dr. Reed, we can’t stop the bleeding!” Sarah was fading. Blood wasn’t just pouring out; it was seeping. From her IV sites, from her gums. My stomach clenched. It was over. The uterus had to go. “Get the family! Get them to the OR doors, now!” Sarah’s husband and mother-in-law arrived, shaking so hard they could barely stand. Time was life. I was blunt. “The situation is critical. Your wife is bleeding to death. The only way to stop it is an emergency hysterectomy. If we don’t, she will be dead in minutes.” “This is the consent form. You need to sign it. Right now.” The husband, trembling, took the pen. But as he went to sign, the mother-in-law grabbed his arm. “Doctor… if you take her uterus… can she still give us a son?” The question hung in the air, sucking all the warmth from the hallway. I’d seen this before. I snapped. “Are you kidding me? It’s her life!” “What’s more important, a hypothetical son or your daughter-in-law?” I turned to the husband. “You are her husband. You sign this, or she dies. There is no more time.” A patient can go from diagnosis to death in under ten minutes. Every second we wasted was pushing her closer to the edge. He finally signed. I didn’t wait. I ran back into the OR. It was a brutal, terrifying surgery, but we did it. Hours later, Sarah Miller was alive. She had a healthy baby girl. Mother and daughter were safe. Sarah was endlessly grateful. Every time I did my rounds, she would grab my hand and thank me until she cried. The day she was discharged, she and her husband stopped by my clinic. “Dr. Reed, thank you. Thank you so much.” “You saved my life. You saved my daughter’s life. We wouldn’t be here without you. You’re our hero.” Her husband presented me with a large, framed plaque. Engraved on it were the words: “With Skill and a Benevolent Heart.” I got a lump in my throat. I’d seen this moment many times. The gratitude, the new life. It’s why we do what we do. All the exhaustion, all the stress, it just melts away. We took a quick photo, the new family, the plaque, and me. I thought that was the end of the story. A perfect, happy ending. I never, ever imagined that their gratitude, one month later, would become the weapon they used to destroy me. 2 I had just finished a grueling, five-hour surgery for a placental abruption. My legs were numb. The charge nurse caught me in the hall. “Dr. Reed, you need to see this.” She handed me her phone. It was a viral TikTok. The title: «MALPRACTICE. Butcher Doctor at City Hospital Mutilated Me to Cover Her Mistake!» I read, my blood running cold. «I am publicly accusing Dr. Elena Reed, Chief of OB/GYN, of ruining my life. I am begging the medical board to investigate and give me justice!» «I’m 23 years old! This was my first baby! And she cut out my uterus! She took away my right to be a mother! I can never have more children! My family is falling apart because of what she did!» «I just want to die. This is all her fault! She’s a hack! She lied and said I had an ‘amniotic fluid embolism’ to cover up her own surgical mistake! She is a monster!» «I came here to have a baby, and I left… less than a woman. Please, someone help me. There has to be justice…» «Submitted by: Sarah Miller.» «Patient ID: XXXXXXXXX» My mind went blank. Sarah? It had to be a mistake. She was so grateful. This wasn’t her. I rushed to my office and pulled up her chart. I had her cell number. I called. She picked up. Her voice was ice. “Sarah? This is Dr. Reed. I just saw a post online… it has your name on it. Did you post that?” I expected a denial. An explanation. A mistake. I got hatred. “I posted it. So what?” I was stunned. “Why?” “Why? You have the nerve to ask me why?” “Dr. Reed, you destroyed my life!” Her voice was a hysterical shriek. “My husband’s family… they told me… a woman who can’t have a son isn’t a real woman!” “You saw my ultrasound! You knew I was having a girl! You cut out my uterus on purpose! What was your agenda?” “Now my in-laws mock me every day! They say I’ve ended the family line! My husband is threatening to divorce me!” 3 So, that was it. Because she had a daughter. She was barely a month postpartum. I tried to stay calm, to reason with her. “Sarah, please, just listen. Your condition was critical. If we had not performed the hysterectomy, you would not be alive right now.” “AFE is not a joke. The mortality rate is 86%.” “You can look it up. I am not lying to you. We did it to save your life. Yes, the uterus is gone, but you’re 23. You’re alive. You have a beautiful daughter. You have your whole life ahead of you…” “Stop lying, Dr. Reed!” she screamed. “I was stupid. I don’t have a medical degree, so I believed you!” Her words confused me. “What do you mean?” “My sister-in-law, Megan, is in nursing school,” she sneered. “She told me everything. She said it’s impossible to survive an AFE!” “You know that billionaire, the tech guy? His sister died of it! They had the best doctors in the world, and they couldn’t save her! You think this hospital, you think you, could save me? “It was all a lie! You and the hospital, you covered it up! “You messed up my labor, you caused the hemorrhage, and when you couldn’t stop it, you made up the ‘AFE’ story to trick us into signing!” “I’m 23, and I can never have a son. It’s your fault! You’re a murderer!” Every word was a needle. I’d been on my feet for sixteen hours. I was exhausted. Hearing her twist my work into something monstrous… I felt dizzy. “Sarah, a high mortality rate doesn’t mean zero survival. Your life was in immediate danger.” “Everything I did was standard medical procedure. And your husband signed the consent form…” “He was tricked! You scared him into it! You’re a con artist, and the hospital is covering for you!” Suddenly, a man’s voice, rough and angry, was on the line. Her husband. “I only signed because you threatened me!” he yelled. “We’re not done with you, Dr. Reed! Our family line is broken. And you’re going to pay for it!” “One million dollars! Not a penny less!” “If you don’t pay, we’re going to the police, to the medical board! We’re going to post on every website until the entire country knows what kind of butcher you are! You just wait!” 4 The line went dead. I tried to call back. Blocked. The floor was silent. It was long past closing. I just stared at the wall where her plaque used to hang. I’d taken it home. “With Skill and a Benevolent Heart.” The irony burned. Why? I saved her. I saved her child. Why were they doing this? I just… I didn’t understand. I opened the TikTok app again. The comment section had exploded. 【Butcher!】 【They should revoke her license!】 【Someone needs to find this Elena Reed. Doxx her!】 【I know her! Dr. Reed was my doctor! My uterus ruptured during labor, and my baby died! It was her!】 【ME TOO! My son is two and has cerebral palsy, all because of her! She’s a hack! She should be in prison!】 A tsunami of hate, from strangers and former patients with bad outcomes, washed over me, drowning me. That night, I had nightmares. Sarah and her husband chasing me with scalpels. The patient who refused a C-section, holding a blue, lifeless baby out to me. All of them screaming. “Murderer. Pay us. Give us back our lives.” I went straight to Hospital Administration the next morning. The director was supportive. “Dr. Reed, please. Your skill and your ethics are beyond reproach. We all know it. The hospital will handle this. Don’t worry.” I nodded. I tried to focus on my work. But it got worse. The family was organized. They created new accounts on every platform: “City Hospital OB/GYN Victims.” They posted daily. «Dr. Elena Reed: How Many Souls Are On Her Scalpel?» «She Calls Herself a Top Doctor, But Her Specialty is Removing Uteruses!» «Medical Error, A Cover-Up, and a Mutilated Mother…» They found other patients. They formed an “alliance.” They twisted complications into malice. They edited charts, took quotes out of context. Under their fabricated “evidence,” the public’s outrage grew. They believed it. They believed me to be a monster. The slander was one thing. The real-world attacks were another. 5 I was in my clinic, seeing patients. Suddenly, Sarah’s husband, her in-laws, and her sister-in-law, Megan, burst into my office. The mother-in-law pointed a long, bony finger at me. “There she is! That’s the butcher! Everyone, look!” “She cut out my daughter-in-law’s uterus! She ended our family line! She’s a murderer!” Her voice was so loud that the entire waiting room—dozens of pregnant women—stopped and stared. My patients. Women who trusted me. Their faces filled with doubt. Fear. I saw women instinctively cover their stomachs. I saw their husbands pulling out their phones to record. I tried to speak, but my throat closed up. The mother-in-law smiled, seeing the effect. She nodded to her daughter, Megan. Megan, the nursing student, stepped forward. “It was her! She removed my sister-in-law’s uterus! It was a routine delivery, and she messed it up, caused a hemorrhage, and then lied, calling it an AFE!” “I’m in nursing school! I know for a fact her symptoms weren’t AFE! We even have a third-party report proving Dr. Reed is guilty of malpractice!” “My poor sister-in-law, she’s only 23! She can never have children! Our family line is broken! How are we supposed to live?” Megan started to cry. Real, heaving sobs. As if on cue, the mother-in-law dropped to the floor and began to wail. “Everyone, look! A butcher doctor! She ruins lives and the hospital protects her!” “Is there anyone who will give us justice?” “This whole hospital is corrupt! They’re cutting people up for money! They’ll all go to hell!” The noise brought people from other clinics. The hallway was packed. Everyone was staring at me. Pointing. “That’s her? The killer doctor?” “Why is she still allowed to practice?” “These doctors… they get paid so much to sit in an office. This is where the money comes from. Carving up patients.” Their words were knives. I felt dizzy. Thirty years. Thirty years of my life, given to this. Skipping vacations, missing my own daughter’s childhood. I’d delivered over 30,000 babies. And for what? Was all of it… a mistake? Security finally arrived. They tried to escort the family out. The family fought back. In the chaos, the mother-in-law shoved past a guard and charged me. She slammed her shoulder into my chest, knocking me to the ground. My white coat was smeared, stepped on. My glasses flew off. I was on my hands and knees, blind, scrambling for my glasses. Utterly humiliated. As they were dragged away, they screamed. “We’ll be back! One million dollars, or we will never stop! We will ruin you!”

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Three years into my life on the run with a baby. My son, Leo, has yet to blossom into the genius hacker from the novels, the kind who crashes stock markets from his high chair. I finally caved, cupping his chubby cheeks in my hands. “Listen, you’re drinking the most expensive organic formula on the market. When are you going to make your mom rich so we can go home in style?” Leo just blinked his big, innocent eyes. “Mommy… what’s a hacker?” Right on cue, the comments started scrolling across my vision. [LOL, the villainess is really dreaming big, huh.] [You know exactly how you got that kid, sweetie. Don’t play dumb.] [Seriously shameless. The girl tried to trap the male lead and still thinks she deserves a happy ending.] The live-chat was a waterfall of hate. They blamed me. Because of me, their precious male lead was no longer the “pure, untouched hero” reserved only for the female lead. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. But a second later, the chat exploded for a completely different reason. [OMG?? WHO is that gorgeous guy in the black trench coat at the door?!] [What is HE doing here?] [No way… don’t tell me he’s here for her.] 1 During the peak of my obsessive teenage crush phase, I fell for Ethan Hayes. I did this knowing full well that he was the Male Lead of our story, and I was just the Side Character. I was seventeen the first time the live-chat appeared. It happened on the basketball court, right after Ethan took the water bottle I offered him. The words just materialized in the air, a transparent overlay on reality. And they were all aimed at me. [Great, just my luck. The first thing I see today is the annoying side chick sucking up to the male lead.] [And he actually took the water from her… gross.] [He was probably just swarmed and didn’t see who handed it to him.] [God, I can’t stand this girl. So shameless.] [Always hanging around him just because they grew up next door.] [Too bad our female lead doesn’t show up for another two years.] [It’s fine. He’ll never fall for anyone but her.] [The female lead is his first love, after all.] [He’s going to be completely, 100% pure for her, body and soul.] [This girl can hang around him for ten years and it won’t compare to the female lead showing up for one day.] 2 That was how I learned. The world I lived in wasn’t real. It was a story with a fixed plot. Ethan Hayes, the boy who lived next door, was the hero of this story. And I, Avery, was the designated tragic side character. The one who would waste her time and love on him, only to get absolutely nothing in return. Worse, once the female lead arrived, I was scripted to become a jealous monster and do a bunch of horrible things. The year I found all this out was the same year I realized I was starting to have a major crush on Ethan. 3 Knowing the script, any normal person would have backed off. They’d have cut their losses, gotten over the crush, and stayed far, far away from the main couple to avoid their own miserable ending. But my teenage brain was full of romance novels and a stubborn, rebellious streak. I was going to like him anyway. I even had the ridiculous idea that I could win him over completely before the “real” heroine ever showed up. So, I started showing up in his life even more. I stopped hiding how much I liked him. When he played basketball, I brought him water. When he studied, I sat with him. I even made sure to grab the seat directly across from him at lunch every day. In the cafeteria, Ethan once again picked up the piece of fried chicken I’d put on his tray and placed it back on mine. “What is your deal lately, Avery?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “Are you broke again?” I looked him straight in the eye. “You really haven’t figured it out yet?” Without waiting for an answer, I said it, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. “I’m trying to ask you out, dummy.” The words dropped. The noisy cafeteria went silent for a beat. Ethan, sitting across from me, actually froze. And the live-chat came roaring to life, a tidal wave of comments calling me shameless and delusional. 4 Back then, I didn’t understand the power of the plot. I stared at the screen full of angry text and felt a smug sense of victory. I didn’t believe in love at first sight. Ethan and I had known each other for over a decade. How could that lose to some “destined glance” with a girl he hadn’t even met? And yet, for the next two years, I pursued him relentlessly. He never said yes. Ethan wasn’t mean to me. In fact, he had this weirdly patient, tolerant attitude towards my antics, which always seemed to drive the live-chat insane. But after nearly 600 days of very public pursuit, I still couldn’t figure out where I stood with him. 5 I asked him countless times, “So, when are you finally going to be my boyfriend?” Before senior year finals, he’d just push my head towards my textbook. “Focus on your grades first.” “Do you really want to get another lecture from the principal about being a distraction before graduation?” he’d say. I’d grumble, frustrated. “I’m getting all the grief for being your girlfriend without any of the benefits.” I’d pout. “It would be better if it were official, you know.” For a second, I thought I saw him smile. A faint, warm curve on that perpetually cool, unreadable face. He gently patted the back of my neck. “Wait until after graduation,” he said softly. But after graduation, he changed his story. He said the promise was just a way to keep me calm and focused on my exams. It was a rainy night when he told me. I was on my tiptoes, holding my umbrella over both of us to keep him dry. His words were so casual, so devoid of emotion. Suddenly, my arm felt too heavy to even hold the umbrella. 6 I looked up, staring at him. “What did you just say?” “The rain’s too loud,” I lied. “I didn’t hear you.” Ethan looked down at me, his gaze cool, but mixed with a strange, distant pity. He took the umbrella from my hand. “You heard me,” he said. “I’m not going to be with you, Avery.” I just stared at him, my mind blank. “Why?” The live-chat was laughing at me. [I have never seen someone so shameless in my life.] [The male lead is a class act. He’s trying to let her down easy.] [But you can’t fix someone who has zero self-respect.] [Is it really that hard to guess why he won’t date you?] [IT’S BECAUSE HE DOESN’T LIKE YOU.] [If he was into you, do you really think you’d have to chase him this hard?] [Just stop embarrassing yourself already.] 7 Ethan’s next words came at the same time as the comments. His dark eyes were fixed on mine, his expression serious. But what he said was, “Avery, because I don’t like you.” And then, the day after he rejected me, the female lead arrived. Right on schedule. She just appeared in his life, without giving me any time to brace myself. I suddenly realized that two years had gone by in a flash. My defiant plan to win Ethan before she showed up had ended in total failure, just one day before her grand entrance. From there, the story of Ethan and the female lead—Lily—unfolded like a speed-run. Their first meeting was a clumsy, cute mix-up. Their “coincidental” run-ins were frequent and romantic. Their connection deepened at an impossible pace. It wasn’t just the live-chat that kept me updated on their progress. My own friends, the people around me, were suddenly all buzzing about Lily. About her, and her budding romance with Ethan.

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