Category: English

1 After Charlie’s childhood best friend drove her company into the ground, he wanted to take the hundred thousand dollars I had saved for me and our baby and give it to her. I begged him to give the money back, but all he said was, “Zoe will earn it back. You need to think long-term, Anna, not act like some paranoid miser.” When I demanded his friend sign a promissory note, he called me cold and heartless. Later, when she cried that she’d lost all the money and was going to starve, Charlie held her and promised to take care of her for the rest of her life. I quietly packed my bags and called my father. “Dad, you were right. Charlie is a piece of work. I’m coming home to take over the family business.” Just as I hung up, Charlie walked out of the guest room and said softly, “Anna, go make some soup for Zoe. She’ll be hungry when she wakes up.” I ignored him and headed for our bedroom. His face darkened, and he blocked my path. “Anna, it’s a hundred thousand dollars. Are you going to keep this up? Don’t you have an ounce of compassion?” he boomed. “If you’re not going to listen, then get out.” His voice was so loud it woke Zoe. She emerged from the room, draping herself over Charlie’s shoulder and shooting me a look of pure disdain. “Seriously, Charlie? You were the king of campus from high school through grad school. Your family’s well-off. How did you end up with such a cheapskate?” Charlie sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at Zoe. “Not everyone can be as generous and easy-going as you.” He glanced at my stomach. “And now, with a baby on the way, it’s too late for regrets.” I clutched my abdomen, watching the raw impatience on Charlie’s face. Could I even have this baby? My last check-up hadn’t been good. The doctor said it was a high-risk pregnancy and that the fetus was struggling. To carry this child to term and ensure its health afterward—from prenatal care to the first three years—would cost at least a hundred thousand dollars, with no guarantee of a healthy baby. And now, every day, I could feel the tiny life inside me growing weaker. That hundred thousand dollars was gone. My father would only help me if I divorced Charlie. When I’d ignored his objections and married him, my father had forbidden me from ever mentioning our family’s wealth, warning that it would cost Charlie his job. I was only three months along. Maybe it was better not to bring an unhealthy child into the world to suffer, especially with a father like this. But the thing that cut the deepest was that Charlie knew. He knew that money was meant to save my life and our child’s life, and he still gave it to Zoe without a second thought. If two lives—mine and our baby’s—meant less to him than Zoe, then there was no reason for us to stay. I turned to grab my suitcase from the bedroom. Zoe lunged forward and snatched it away from me, her voice a shrill command. “Stop it, Anna! Don’t you dare pull this ‘running away from home’ crap to make Charlie feel bad.” Her tone shifted, becoming theatrical. “I’ll go out drinking with my clients tonight. I, Zoe Archer, will get that money back for you if I have to drink myself into a hospital bed, okay?” Charlie, who never set foot in the kitchen, heard the commotion and rushed out. Zoe had changed into a flimsy, black silk slip dress and was heading for the door. She patted Charlie’s shoulder as she passed. “Don’t worry, buddy. I won’t let you down. I’m going to go earn that money right now. You just handle your wife.” Charlie panicked and threw the deadbolt on the front door. A tiny flame of hope flickered in my chest. Was he afraid I would leave? He strode toward me, and I held my breath, waiting for an apology. Instead, his voice was laced with ice. “Anna, you are the most vicious woman I have ever met. You’re a woman, yet you’re trying to force Zoe to sell her body to pay you back?” Before I could even process his words, he snatched my purse from my shoulder and tossed it directly into the fireplace. He glared at me, his eyes cold. “Let’s see how far you get without your ID or credit cards.” Then he turned to Zoe, his voice melting into a gentle murmur. “Zoe, we’ve known each other our whole lives. You’re more than family to me. Don’t worry about the money. We can sell the house, sell the car if we have to. Now, go change. I’ll take you out for a nice dinner.” He glanced back at the fireplace. “The smoke from that burning plastic is probably toxic. We can’t eat here.” I scrambled to the hearth, trying to retrieve my purse, but it was already a molten ruin. My driver’s license, my last few hundred dollars in cash, all gone. The screen of my phone was cracked and blackened from the heat. Fearing it might explode, I rushed to the kitchen for a pair of BBQ tongs and carefully fished it out. As Charlie and Zoe left, he deliberately locked the door from the outside—three full turns of the key. I was trapped. Had he forgotten? I hadn’t eaten either. The morning sickness was relentless, and I was too weak to cook. We had no snacks in the house; I’d been too sick to go shopping. All I could do was lie in bed, my stomach cramping with hunger while waves of nausea washed over me. I wanted to make a simple bowl of soup, but I didn’t have the strength. 2 I knew something was terribly wrong when I felt a warm gush and the coppery smell of blood. With the last of my strength, I crawled to the window. Seeing a light on in the apartment below, I grabbed a long laundry pole from the balcony and started banging on my neighbor’s window, screaming for help. The woman downstairs, Mrs. Gable, knew me. She knew about my difficult pregnancy. “Anna, honey, don’t panic!” she yelled up. “I’m calling 911 right now! I’ll get the building manager to open your door!” Ten minutes later, the paramedics and the manager were there. The door was open. I frantically borrowed Mrs. Gable’s phone and called Charlie. I had no money, and he had just received a bonus of nearly twenty thousand dollars. He picked up on the second ring. “Charlie, you need to come back,” I gasped. “I’m bleeding. The paramedics said I might lose the baby.” I heard Zoe snort in the background. “God, Anna, you sound like one of those desperate housewives in a soap opera, using the baby to get your husband’s attention.” The blood was flowing faster now. I screamed into the phone, all pretense of civility gone. “Have you no shame? He’s a married man! Stop clinging to him!” Zoe didn’t reply. She just tossed the phone aside, but the line stayed open. I could hear music blasting—a karaoke bar. It was Charlie and Zoe, singing a duet of some classic rock anthem about friendship. I could just make out the lyrics. One word, one life, one beer, one ride-or-die… I screamed Charlie’s name, but he couldn’t hear me over the music. Then, their voices rose together in a final, triumphant chorus. Through the hurt, through the pain, through it all, I’ll remain… I hung up the phone. I shouldn’t have held out any hope. For Charlie, friendship would always come first, even if it meant sacrificing his wife and child. But were they just friends? The sobs finally broke through, raw and uncontrollable. I called my father. He promised to have a friend in the city bring me cash immediately and said he’d have all my documents replaced within a day. Only then did I let the paramedics load me onto the ambulance. The surgery was under general anesthesia, but I still felt a deep, crushing pain in my chest. Charlie had been so excited about this baby. We’d picked out names for a boy and a girl. He knew how dangerous this pregnancy was, but the moment Zoe needed anything, he forgot everything else. I always thought that once the baby was born, once we had more time, he would see how much I loved him, how warm our home could be. I thought he would eventually choose us over her. How naive I had been. When I woke up, Charlie was sitting by my bedside. But Zoe was lying at the foot of the bed, under the covers. No wonder my back was so cold; her icy feet were pressed against my waist. I shoved her legs away. Zoe’s eyes fluttered open. She shot me a glare, then kicked me hard under the blankets before dramatically tumbling onto the floor. Charlie leaped to his feet and scooped her up. “Who kicked me?” Zoe mumbled, pretending to be half-asleep. “Jeez, what a jerk.” He cradled her in his arms, his face a mask of fury as he turned on me. “Anna, do my friends mean nothing to you? Zoe was worried sick about you. She’s exhausted, but she stayed here to keep you company. I saw she was cold, so I put her in your bed to warm up.” I almost choked on my own rage. Even a person with zero common sense knows that recovering from a miscarriage requires rest and warmth. And Charlie wanted me, the one who had just lost a child, to be his friend’s personal bed warmer? “Get out, Charlie!” I screamed. “I want a divorce!” Zoe scrambled behind him, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Anna, I won’t hold it against you for kicking me out of bed. But if you talk to my best friend like that again, I won’t be so forgiving.” She looked me up and down. “Who do you think you are? You’re just some girl from out of town. Charlie married you, he supports you, and what do you do? You deliberately get rid of the baby he wanted so badly. He’s been standing here for hours, and this is how you treat him?” Her eyes darted to Charlie, then back to me. “And who was that man who paid for your surgery? You’ve been seeing him on the side, haven’t you? That’s why you got rid of the baby!” I pushed myself up, grabbed the bowl of fruit from the nightstand, and hurled it at her. Charlie pulled Zoe into his arms, catching the fruit with his other hand. He looked at me, his face etched with profound disappointment. “Anna, are you lashing out because you’ve been caught?” “Haven’t I been good to you? You were the only woman I ever loved, the only one I wanted to marry. Why would you betray me?” His words hung in the air. The two expectant mothers in the neighboring beds and their husbands were now staring at me with open contempt. Zoe shot me a triumphant smirk. “Come on, buddy,” she said, pulling Charlie’s arm. “Let me buy you breakfast. As for your wife, let her stay here and think about what she’s done.” Charlie sighed, patting Zoe’s back. “Friends are so much better than wives. At least you care about me.” 3 My hands clenched into fists under the blanket. Had he forgotten? He used to have terrible stomach problems. For three years, I cooked him special, nutritious meals every single day until he was better. His “friend,” on the other hand, only ever dragged him out for heavy drinking and greasy food—the very combination that had once landed him in the hospital with a perforated ulcer. I was the one who nursed him back to health. He’d forgotten all of it. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. Less than an hour later, I was shaken awake. It was Charlie, his face a cold mask. “Hey. I’ve signed the discharge papers. Get up. Someone else needs the bed.” I clutched my aching stomach. “Why? I’m not well enough to leave.” “It’s just a miscarriage, what’s the big deal?” he said impatiently. “I got a refund on the hospital fees. I need to go with Zoe to a meeting with a client. If we can land this contract, it might save her company.” I stared at him, bewildered. “What does that have to do with me?” Zoe waltzed in, dangling a new designer handbag. “We were five thousand dollars short for this little gift for the client, so we had to use your hospital deposit.” She gave me a condescending look. “And don’t look at me like that. I know your lover boy paid for it. When I make my money back, I’ll pay you both back. Not that I want your dirty money, but Charlie spent his whole bonus trying to cheer me up last night, and I can’t let my buddy down.” Charlie grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, we’re going to be late.” At the door, he seemed to remember something. He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and threw it at me. It fluttered onto my face. “I’m going with Zoe. Get yourself home. We’ll deal with you and that man of yours when I get back.” The moment they left, my father’s friend, Arthur, arrived with my father himself. I broke down, sobbing in my dad’s arms as I told him everything. He immediately hired a lawyer to handle the divorce, worried that Charlie would harass me while I was trying to recover. My father chartered a private jet to take me home. Just as we were about to take off, my father’s assistant came aboard with a gift bag. “Mr. Thorne, a contractor downstairs asked me to give this to your daughter. He’s hoping to secure his bid for this year’s project.” He presented the bag to me. “Perhaps you’d like to see if you like it?” I recognized it immediately. It was the same bag Zoe had been holding in the hospital. So, this was her brilliant plan: buy a gift to bribe my father for a business opportunity. What a coincidence. I looked at the assistant. “Tell the person who sent this that the money used to purchase it is tainted. We will never do business with them.” He nodded, understanding, and made the call before we took off. Back home, I found hundreds of missed calls and a flood of messages from Charlie on my old phone. Anna, have you lost your mind? All I did was lend some money to my childhood best friend. Why are you demanding a divorce? Is this because of that guy who paid your hospital bill? I saw his car, his watch. They’re worth millions. Are you leaving me because you think I’m poor? I’ve worked my ass off for you! I went from making nothing to a six-figure salary in three years! I’ve supported you this whole time! I tossed the phone in a drawer and started using a new one. He wasn’t wrong. He was incredibly driven. Most of his peers were still struggling to find stable jobs, but he had already made a name for himself in the city. When Zoe wasn’t around, he was a good partner. I cooked, he cleaned. He was frugal, didn’t smoke or drink, and spent less than five hundred dollars a month on himself. I earned a decent salary, and we managed to save almost everything, putting away a hundred thousand dollars in our joint account in just three years. I had been so close to proudly telling my father that I could make it without his help. But the moment Zoe reappeared, none of it mattered. Charlie would give her everything without a second thought. Even if nothing physical had ever happened between them, I couldn’t accept a husband who valued his friendship, his “bro code,” more than his wife. A week later, my father, using methods I didn’t ask about, got Charlie to sign the divorce papers. The decree was finalized. To celebrate my return, my dad decided to throw a massive gala and publicly announce that he was transferring fifty percent of the company’s shares to me. It also meant officially changing my surname from my mother’s back to my father’s. Seeing the silver in his hair, I agreed. Because I was still recovering, I was sensitive to the cold. Even though the occasion called for a gown, I opted for a chic, custom-tailored Chanel suit. It was warmer. I was standing in a quiet corner, nibbling on a piece of cake, when a hand clamped down on my arm.

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The wedding officiant had just gotten to the part about the rings when Olivia lifted the hem of her gown with one hand, reaching for the phone tucked into her garter. I caught her wrist. Her eyes snapped to mine, and in them, I saw a flash of pure, unadulterated irritation. “Ethan, let go of me,” she hissed, her voice a low whisper. “This is actually important.” She was trying to be quiet, but the delicate lavalier mic pinned to her dress amplified every syllable. Her words echoed through the silent, expectant venue. My silence seemed to light a fuse in her. She ripped her hand from my grasp. “What’s with the death stare? I told you, it’s an emergency!” Her whisper rose in pitch, sharp and defensive. “It’s not like the wedding can’t wait fifteen minutes! Do you have to make a scene and embarrass us in front of everyone?” Then came the final twist of the knife. “You know, I never should have said yes to getting married this soon.” 1 The wedding was halfway through, and she was throwing a fit over a phone call, yet somehow, I was the one turning our wedding into a farce. She gathered her white dress in her fists and ran, not walked, off the altar and out of the grand ballroom doors. Her parents, sensing a catastrophe, rushed to smooth things over, their smiles stretched thin. “That girl,” her mother said with a nervous laugh. “It must be something urgent from the hospital, you know how she is with her work.” “Ethan, honey, we’re so sorry you have to deal with this.” My hand clenched around the platinum wedding bands in my pocket, the metal digging painful grooves into my palm. Others might have missed it, but I saw her screen light up before she answered. The caller ID wasn’t the hospital. It was Leo. Her best friend. A part of me screamed that I should have called her out right there, demanded to know why she was still tangled up with him on the most important day of our lives. But I couldn’t. I wanted to salvage some shred of dignity for us. And then, her voice, warm and gentle, drifted back into the ballroom. She’d forgotten to turn off her microphone. “Leo? Why are you calling now? Are you not feeling well? Do you need me to come to the hospital?” Her tone was a universe away from the venom she’d just spit at me. It was the voice I hadn’t heard in years, the one that made me fall in love with her. The entire hall was silent, every guest listening, captivated. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. The officiant stood frozen on the stage, his professional smile gone slack. I just stood there, a statue in a tuxedo. I couldn’t make out what Leo said on the other end, but Olivia’s voice became even softer, a tender coo that sliced right through me. “I know,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “Of course, you’re the one I love most.” A gasp went through the room. Someone finally had the presence of mind to lunge for the sound system and kill the power, but it was too late. Our parents, our relatives, my colleagues, her friends—everyone had heard it. A sudden cry erupted from the front row. My mother had collapsed in her chair, her face pale. The scene dissolved into chaos. I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking as I dialed 911. My uncles rushed forward, helping me get my mom out of the venue and toward the ambulance. Through it all, Olivia never came back. I was the one left standing in the wreckage of our wedding, apologizing to guest after guest as they filed out, their faces a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. Most of them just patted my shoulder, not knowing what to say, and left. By the time the last guest was gone, Olivia’s parents still hadn’t found her. No one knew where she’d hidden herself to take that damning phone call. They stood before me, their faces etched with shame, her mother nervously twisting the fabric of her new mother-of-the-bride dress. The celebratory crimson color of it felt like a deliberate cruelty, burning my eyes. “Ethan, there has to be a misunderstanding,” her father pleaded. “You and Liv have been together for so long. You know what she’s like…” I tore the white rose from my lapel and let it fall to the floor. My voice was hollow, scraped raw with a fatigue that went bone-deep. “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes. I have to get to the hospital to be with my mom. Excuse me.” After all these years, standing on the precipice of marriage, I was just now realizing that I didn’t know her at all. I didn’t know she would tell her best friend she loved him most. I didn’t know he mattered more to her than I did. At my own wedding, I had become the punchline to a joke I never even knew was being told. 2 I had just arrived at the hospital and was peering through the small window of my mom’s room when my phone buzzed. It was Olivia, and from the moment I answered, her voice was a barrage of accusations. “Ethan, are you out of your freaking mind? So I took a phone call, what’s the big deal? Is this seriously how you’re going to act?” Her voice was sharp, grating. “First you give me that look at the altar, then you just kick all the guests out? Are we getting married or not?” “And don’t you forget, you were the one who begged me to marry you! You picked the date, I went along with the stupid engagement photos, and now you pull this? What is your problem?” “If this is how you handle things, how are we ever supposed to make it work? A fight every other day?” She didn’t offer a single word of explanation for telling another man she loved him most at our wedding. Not even a half-hearted lie to placate me. She didn’t even ask why the guests had left. She just launched her attack, because in her world, the fault could only ever be mine. She was never wrong. “Are you deaf? Or did you forget how to speak? I’m asking you, are we still getting married or not?” I pressed the phone to my ear, her shrill voice making my head pound. I walked down the sterile hospital corridor to a window at the end of the hall before I finally spoke. “Did you ask your parents why the guests all left?” Her impatience crackled over the line. “I was about to ask you! Where did you send my parents? They’re gone too.” I nodded to myself, the cold realization settling in my stomach. Of course. I could hear her parents’ voices in the background now, and Olivia let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh, you’re useless. I can’t get a straight answer out of you.” “This was supposed to be a happy day, and you’ve completely ruined it!” Before I could even try to explain, she hung up on me. It was probably for the best. Let her parents tell her. At least they wouldn’t be met with a three-minute tirade for every sentence they uttered. My mom had just fainted from the shock and anger. After some fluids and a day of observation, the hospital discharged her. I wasn’t expecting Olivia to show up at the hospital room door the next morning, holding a bag of takeout. “I brought breakfast for Mom.” My own mother snorted from her bed. “The wedding’s off, we never signed the papers. I’m not fortunate enough to be your mother.” “Mom, please don’t say that!” Olivia’s eyes welled up, her gaze shifting to me, pleading. “Ethan, I’m so sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t on purpose. I can explain.” I said nothing, just took the bag from her and handed it to my mom. We were going to have to talk this out, and I wasn’t going to let my mom go hungry while we did. I led Olivia out into the hallway. She grabbed my sleeve, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “It was Leo. He called me from the wedding.” “He has severe clinical depression, Ethan. And he doesn’t have any family or friends here in Ridgewood. I can’t just ignore him.” “The last time, and the time before that, he almost… he tried to kill himself in his bathroom. With a razor. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, he’d be dead.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide and sincere. “I think the wedding… it made him feel insecure, abandoned. I was scared he was going to hurt himself, so I just said what he needed to hear to calm him down.” “That’s why I said those things. It was just to soothe him. Please, don’t take it to heart. I can explain to all our friends and family, I swear.” Explain what? That my fiancée is so adept at soothing another man’s fragile emotions that she’ll verbally assault me at our own wedding to do it? That I’m the clown in this twisted emotional circus? It was all so… undignified. She clutched my sleeve tighter, her sincerity feeling terrifyingly real. It was as if she could will the whole event away, as if there had been no fight, no public humiliation, no catastrophic phone call. As if we were still the same loving couple we were supposed to be. I didn’t respond. A tear slid down her cheek and landed on the back of my hand, the warmth of it startling me. “I was just so angry yesterday, I said things I didn’t mean! Ethan, I was wrong, I won’t ever get that upset with you again…” “I promise, I’ll never do that again. Just forgive me this one time, please.” “Give it a couple of days,” she whispered, her voice thick. “We’ll go down to the courthouse, make it official. And then we’ll throw another wedding, a bigger one, and we’ll explain everything. Everyone will understand.” Her words were earnest, her remorse palpable. She sounded like she truly meant it. But all I knew was that a crack had formed, a deep, jagged line through the foundation of everything we had built. A broken mirror can’t be made whole again. Staring at our shattered reflection, I had no idea how we were supposed to live a lifetime with this. 3 After I put my mom on the train back to her B&B, Olivia insisted on going to the supermarket. “I noticed you barely touched your food at lunch. I’ll make that pasta dish you love.” I was surprised she’d even noticed. I was about to tell her not to bother, that she didn’t need to go to any trouble, but she seemed so genuinely enthusiastic that I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. The evening was almost peaceful. For the first time since the wedding-that-wasn’t, the tension between us seemed to recede, leaving a fragile quiet in its place. As we sat down to eat, the atmosphere felt… almost normal. “Open it,” she said, a mysterious smile playing on her lips as she slid a small, elegantly wrapped box across the table. Inside lay a pair of exquisite silver cufflinks. “I saw these a while back and thought they’d be perfect with that new suit of yours. I was going to give them to you yesterday,” she said softly. “But things got… complicated. Better late than never, I guess.” I stared down at the cufflinks for a long time before I finally managed to speak. “They’re beautiful, Liv. Thank you.” A gift of cufflinks. A symbol of holding on to each other, of growing old together. It was a beautiful sentiment. I loved them. We started dating as freshmen in college. That was seven years ago. A lifetime. Maybe yesterday really was just a horrible, one-off disaster. Maybe she really did want to build a life with me. The two wedding bands were still in my jacket pocket, a heavy, constant reminder. I thought, for a fleeting moment, that now might be the right time to take them out. But her phone rang before I could move. The caller ID flashed on her screen. Leo. Her face changed instantly. “Hello? Leo? Are you okay? Don’t do anything stupid! I’m coming over right now!” “I’m sorry, Ethan,” she said, her voice tight with panic. “Something’s wrong. I have to go.” I could faintly hear the sound of glass shattering through the phone, followed by the muffled, guttural sobs of a man. Olivia shot up from her chair and bolted for the door. On her way out, she snatched the insulated container of pasta she had packed up before we sat down to eat. I looked at the plates on the table, the food now lukewarm. And I noticed, for the first time, that every single strand of pasta was flecked with chopped cilantro. She knew I hated cilantro. The meal was never for me. She had just used my kitchen to cook for him. I pulled the two rings from my pocket and threw them into the junk drawer in the dining room, along with the box containing the cufflinks. Every time I looked at them, all I could see was the chaos of the wedding, the frantic, desperate look on her face as she ran to another man. It was torture. Better to have them out of sight. Two people who once clung to each other in the dark, and I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment we started drifting apart. I tried to pick the cilantro out of my portion, but the flavor had seeped into everything. After a few bites, a wave of nausea washed over me. I scraped both our plates into the trash can. It was never meant for me anyway. I didn’t feel a single pang of guilt watching it disappear into the garbage. Later that night, my phone rang again. It was Olivia’s mom, her voice frantic. “Ethan, honey, is Liv with you?” “I’ve been calling her for an hour and she’s not picking up. If she’s there, just let me know so I can stop worrying.” “She’s not here, Mrs. Hayes.” A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “But it’s so late! If she’s not with you, where could she be?” Her voice dropped, filled with a weary resignation. “That foolish girl. I gave her such a talking-to yesterday. She’s probably ignoring my calls to spite me. Ethan, would you please do me a favor and call her? She always listens to you. She’ll pick up if it’s you.” She always listens to me? A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hayes,” I said, my voice flatter than I intended. “She’s probably just at a friend’s house. I’ll give her a call.” Of course, in Ridgewood, she only had one friend she’d be with at this hour. Leo. Olivia answered on the second ring, her voice already laced with annoyance. “I already told you I was going to check on Leo. Why are you blowing up my phone? I have dozens of missed calls. Don’t you have anything better to do than check up on me all day?” “Do you not have a job? Or hobbies? Why don’t you just scroll through your phone or something?” “Your mom asked me to—” Her voice shot up several decibels. “Ethan! You went and tattled to my mother?” “She’s an old woman! You’re stressing her out over this stupid little thing. I can’t believe you’d be so pathetic!” I had no energy left to argue. I just felt… tired. A deep, soul-crushing exhaustion. The line went quiet for a moment. Then I heard Olivia gasp. “Leo, don’t.”

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I’d been chasing Alex for eight years. On my ninety-ninth attempt at telling him how I felt, he finally said yes. The next day, he walked into a party with his arm around his new assistant and announced to everyone, “Surprise! Say hello to your new boss’s wife!” My friends shot me weird looks. They’d all seen me confess my feelings to him the day before. Before I could say anything, Alex let out a condescending laugh. “Oh, come on, Chloe. You didn’t actually think I was serious, did you? It was April Fools’ Day!” The assistant, a girl named Maya, feigned surprise. “Oh my god, Chloe, you actually believed him! That’s so sweet! But thank you for the flower. It’s really beautifully carved!” She held up a small, wooden rose. It was the first piece I’d ever successfully carved. Alex had begged me for it, and I’d finally given it to him. I’m not a patient person. The only two things I’d ever had endless patience for were my woodworking and Alex. But now, my patience had finally run out. 1 The entire room went silent. I ignored Maya and looked straight at Alex. “You think this is a joke, too?” He hadn’t expected me to be so serious. A flicker of guilt crossed his face before he covered it with a smirk. “Chloe, it was April Fools’. We all knew it was a joke.” “Yeah, Chloe! It was just a prank!” “Don’t be mad, Chloe. We didn’t think you’d actually take it seriously. Alex, you should have said something!” Our mutual friends, one by one, tried to smooth things over, but I could see the amusement in their eyes. The old me would have played along, laughed it off, and waited for the next opportunity to tell him how I felt. But the old me was gone. My patience was gone. “So, you all think this is a joke?” I asked, my voice cold. They shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. I walked over to Maya and looked at the wooden rose in her hand. I’d carved it when I was fifteen. It was my first real piece, and it meant the world to me. And now it was in her hands. Alex, still smirking, moved to shield his little protégée. I snatched the rose from her hand, snapped it in two, and threw the pieces on the floor. “What are you doing?! Alex gave that to me!” Maya shrieked. Alex’s brow furrowed, his voice sharp with anger. “Chloe!” I dusted the wood splinters from my hands. “It was mine to begin with,” I said calmly. “I can do whatever I want with it.” Alex scoffed. “Chloe, I threw this party to introduce Maya to everyone. Are you really going to ruin the whole night? If you don’t want to be here, then get out. Or, you can apologize to Maya, and I’ll let you stay.” In the eight years I’d been chasing him, I’d never once ruined his mood. Even when he’d hurt my feelings, I’d always waited to talk to him about it later. Before Maya, he would have gently stroked my hair and said, “I’m sorry, Chloe,” and made it all better. I gave him one last, long look and walked out of the room. The moment the door closed behind me, I heard her start to cry. “Alex, did I do something to upset her? She broke the present you gave me!” His voice was soft, comforting. “Shh, don’t cry. I’ll make her carve you another one.” Our friends chimed in. “Don’t worry, Maya! Chloe will do anything Alex says. You can have as many as you want!” “Yeah, don’t cry! Alex is rich! He’ll buy you something even better!” The voices faded as I walked away. The cold night air hit my face, and I let out a small, bitter laugh. Alex, my patience for you is officially at zero. 2 That night, I saw Alex’s Instagram post. It was a picture of Maya, smiling radiantly, holding a bouquet of red roses. In the background, Alex was looking down at her, his expression full of a tenderness he’d never shown me. I opened his contact, tapped the three dots in the corner, and blocked and deleted him without a second thought. The next morning, I was getting ready to open my small woodworking shop when Alex appeared, looking furious, holding a box from my favorite bakery. I didn’t even glance at him, turning back to my workbench to organize my carving knives. “I brought you a cupcake,” he said. It was his peace offering, the way we always made up. This time, I wasn’t accepting. He slammed the box down on the counter. “Chloe, what’s your problem?!” “Nothing,” I said, not looking up. “Are you still mad about yesterday? You blocked me. And deleted my number. Add me back. And look, I know you like me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find love with someone else, right?” I finally looked at him, trying to suppress the nausea rising in my throat. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.” He wasn’t expecting that. Then he saw the half-finished carving on my workbench and smirked. “You don’t like me anymore?” he asked, a teasing tone in his voice. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t.” He picked up the carving. It was a small, intricate snake. “Then what’s this?” He chuckled. “Chloe, you don’t have to do this to get my attention. I’ve known you for eight years. I know what you’re like. This is for me, isn’t it? Every year for my birthday, you carve me some stupid piece of wood. Don’t you ever get tired of it? It’s so boring. Since you love carving so much, carve another rose for Maya, exactly like the old one. And apologize to her.” “Why should I apologize to her?!” I asked, incredulous. “Because you made her cry.” A familiar ache spread through my chest. I’d loved him for eight years, chased him for eight years. Every time I confessed my feelings, he would show up, listen patiently, and then gently let me down. “Chloe, we’re too young.” “Chloe, let’s wait until college.” Then Maya came along. “Chloe, it’s Maya’s birthday today. Can we do this another time?” “Chloe, is your little confession really more important than Maya being sick? How can you be so selfish?” “Alex,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “That rose was mine. You know what it meant to me.” He looked at me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Just as he was about to say something, his phone rang. The ringtone was a recording of Maya’s voice, sweet and cloying. “Alex, I miss you! Come see me, okay?” He murmured a few soothing words to her and hung up. “I have to go,” he said. At the door, he turned back. “My mom wants you to come to my birthday party next month. I’ll pick you up. If you don’t come, she’ll kill me.” And then he was gone. We’d grown up together. After my parents moved away for business, his family had taken me in. He’d taken care of me, remembered everything from my favorite food to my period schedule. But he didn’t know that I’d stopped liking cupcakes years ago. I’d never missed his birthday. Every year, I would carve him a good luck charm. He used to wear them proudly. But since Maya became his assistant, he hadn’t worn a single one. I picked up my phone and made a call. “Master,” I said, “I’ve made up my mind.” “Well, well, the stubborn mule finally sees the light! What happened? Did you finally win over that boy?” “No…” “Ah, so he rejected you! I told you so! Hmph…” I listened to the old man’s grumpy but secretly pleased tone and felt a sense of relief. I had turned down my master’s offer to study with him time and time again, all for Alex. I had no reason to refuse him now. “You probably won’t be coming back here,” he said. “Say a proper goodbye to everyone.” “I will,” I said. 3 I finished carving the little wooden snake. Alex’s birthday arrived quickly. As promised, he came to pick me up. When I opened the car door, Maya was in the passenger seat. “From now on, Chloe,” she said with a smug smile, “you’ll be sitting in the back.” I didn’t say a word, just got in. Alex looked at me in surprise. The old me would have put up a fight, would have used our shared history to claim my rightful spot. But what was the point of fighting his girlfriend for a seat in a car? On the way, Maya chattered on, asking about Alex’s parents’ likes and dislikes. I put in my headphones, but she tapped me on the shoulder. “Chloe, you and Alex grew up together! You must know his parents so well! It’s my first time meeting them, I’m so nervous!” Through the rearview mirror, I saw the challenge in her eyes. “You don’t need to ask her,” Alex said, glancing at me. “She’s always too busy carving her stupid pieces of wood to pay attention to anything else.” I closed my eyes, feigning sleep. It was true, his parents adored me. We’d always argued about them. But this time, it was a farewell visit. There was no point in arguing. He frowned but didn’t say anything else. 4 When we arrived, Alex’s parents greeted me with warm hugs. “Chloe! It’s been too long! Have you forgotten all about us?” I smiled and made my excuses. The house was full of people, many of whom I knew. I found a quiet corner and tried to figure out the best time to slip away. “So, what if you’re his childhood friend?” Maya appeared in front of me, her arms crossed. “He’s mine now. You know, I actually kind of enjoy watching you grovel.” I stood up to leave, but something caught my eye. A small wooden charm hanging around her neck. My hand clenched into a fist. “Where did you get that?” She smiled sweetly. “Alex gave it to me, of course. I was sick, and he was so worried. He said he had this charm blessed for me.” My throat closed up. On his seventeenth birthday, Alex had been seriously ill. I’d stayed up all night carving a good luck charm for him, then walked miles to a temple to have it blessed. The next day, his fever broke. He’d cried when he found out what I’d done and promised that he would always protect me. And now, that precious charm was around her neck. “Give it to me,” I said, my voice loud enough to attract attention. Her eyes filled with tears. “But Alex gave it to me! You can’t just take it because you’re jealous, Chloe.” Whispers erupted around us. “Doesn’t she know he has a girlfriend? Why is she still clinging to him?” “She’s shameless. You should have seen her fawning all over him before.” “I heard she’s leaving, going to study woodworking or something.” “You actually believe that? She’s obsessed with him. She’s just trying to make him feel guilty.” Alex pushed through the crowd. He instinctively moved to protect Maya. “What’s wrong now?” he asked, his voice full of impatience. My hand trembled as I pointed at the charm. “Why did you give that to her?” He glanced at it. “Chloe, it’s just a piece of wood. What’s the big deal?” What’s the big deal? I couldn’t believe he would say that. I took a deep breath. “Happy birthday, Alex.” I handed him the small wooden snake and walked away. “Chloe! If you walk out that door, don’t ever come back!” he yelled after me. He looked down at the snake in his hand, turning it over and over. A look of panic crossed his face when he realized that, for the first time, I hadn’t carved his initials into it. He started to follow me, but Maya grabbed his arm. “Alex, it’s your birthday. I don’t want you to be upset. I’ll give the charm back to her.” He looked at the crowd of onlookers, then back at Maya’s tear-streaked face. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice softening. “Forget about her.” I went back to my workshop. The little space Alex and I had decorated together. I packed my things, throwing the carving knives he’d bought me into the trash. The rough, unfinished pieces we’d carved together, I threw them out, too. My phone rang. “Little one,” my master’s voice crackled, “I’ve sent your senior brother to pick you up.” There was a knock at the door. A handsome, scholarly-looking man stood there. “Chloe,” he said with a warm smile. “Master sent me.” “Okay, senior brother,” I said. 5 “Can we make a stop at my old house?” I asked as we drove. “There’s something I need to get.” He nodded. As we pulled up, I could hear the sounds of Alex’s party from next door. “It’s that punk’s birthday?” he asked. “Yeah.” I went straight to my old bedroom. On the very top of the closet, there was a small cloth bag. The carving knives my master had given me when I first became his apprentice. On my seventeenth birthday, Alex had given me a custom-made set, engraved with our initials. “From now on,” he’d said, “you can only use the knives I give you. You’re going to be the greatest woodcarver in the world.” He’d put my master’s knives up on the closet shelf, where I couldn’t reach them. “This way,” he’d said, “everything you create will be connected to me.” I stood on a chair, but I still couldn’t reach them. “Senior brother,” I said, a little embarrassed, “can you help me get that little bag down?” “You still haven’t grown an inch,” he teased, lifting me off the chair. Suddenly, an angry voice roared from the doorway. “Chloe! What do you think you’re doing?!”

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I was reborn. I woke up in the body of my twenty-year-old self. Right at this moment, my sister, Lily—no blood relation to me—was in the middle of a screaming match with her obscenely wealthy boyfriend, Dylan Harris. The reason was laughably trivial. She didn’t want to have children, claiming that any man who asked her to was a man who didn’t truly love her. In my last life, I watched her throw away a fortune that others could only dream of. That same night, Dylan, drunk and disoriented, stumbled into the wrong room. My room. I shoved him away in a panic. I spent the rest of that life being stupid and poor. This time, I looked at my own plain, unremarkable face in the mirror, and I smiled. I knew my chance had come—the chance to pick up the scraps Lily discarded and turn them into a life of unimaginable luxury. 1. The Ashford family’s villa was ablaze with light. I walked out of the kitchen with a platter of sliced fruit, just in time to hear Lily’s shrill voice cut through the living room’s opulent calm. “Dylan, I told you, I don’t want to have kids! Who the hell is your mother to pressure me? Is that all you see me as, too? Some kind of baby machine?” Beneath the crystal chandelier, the line of Dylan’s jaw was hard as granite. He pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to look at her. “Lily, my mother was just making a casual comment. We’re not even married yet.” “Not yet, but what about later? Can you promise me your family isn’t just after my womb to pop out an heir?” Lily pressed on, her exquisitely made-up face flushed with anger. I lowered my eyes, placing the fruit platter silently on the coffee table, trying to make myself invisible. I was the Ashfords’ ward, Elara. A shadow they kept in the house, never meant for the spotlight. In my last life, this exact argument was the catalyst. Lily stormed off on a flight to Europe, and Dylan drank himself into a stupor at a bar. He was supposed to stay in the guest room the Ashfords had prepared for him, but he got the doors mixed up and found his way into mine instead. In the darkness, I smelled the sharp scent of alcohol on him. Then, with all my strength, I pushed him away and fled. I’d clung to my ridiculous pride and, in return, got an even more difficult existence in the Ashford house, followed by a lifetime of struggling at the bottom. This time, I wouldn’t push him away. The fight in the living room raged on. “Dylan, if you don’t give me a straight answer right now, we’re through!” “Lily, don’t be unreasonable.” “I’m being unreasonable?” Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “Fine. Then we’re through!” She snatched her Hermès bag from the sofa and stormed out of the villa without a backward glance. The sharp clack-clack-clack of her heels on the marble floor was a drumbeat against my heart. Dylan remained on the sofa, motionless. After a long while, he picked up his car keys from the table and left. I knew where he was going. Obsidian, the most extravagant nightclub in the city. I retreated to my own cramped, gloomy room in the attic, shedding the drab gray dress of a housemaid for the only decent piece of clothing I owned: a simple white dress. Then, I waited. At midnight, my phone rang. It was Hanson, the family butler, his voice laced with anxiety. “Miss Elara, Mr. Harris is intoxicated and insists on coming back to the villa. Could you please open the main gate? We need to get him to the guest room.” “Of course, Mr. Hanson.” I hung up, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum. This was it. I didn’t go to the main gate. Instead, I went straight to the second-floor guest room, the one directly across the hall from my attic stairs. I left the door to the guest room slightly ajar. Then I returned to my own room and did the same, leaving a small crack. Half an hour later, I heard the sound of a car engine below, followed by the heavy, shuffling footsteps of men helping someone up the stairs. The footsteps stopped right outside the guest room. “Mr. Harris, we’re here. You can rest inside.” The door was pushed open, then closed. I held my breath, my eyes glued to that closed door. One minute. Two minutes. Ten minutes. The guest room door was suddenly yanked open. Dylan’s tall frame filled the doorway. He was unsteady on his feet, his eyes glazed over. He was clearly very drunk. He seemed to be looking for something, stumbling as he moved, yet his path was taking him step by step toward my room. My heart leaped into my throat. In my last life, this is exactly what happened. He mistook my room for the master suite where he and Lily had spent so many nights together. He pushed open my door. The heavy smell of alcohol washed over me. This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t back away. I just stood there, watching him. He mistook me for Lily, murmuring her name. “Lily…” A scorching hand clamped around my wrist, pulling me into a searing embrace. The world tilted on its axis. He pressed me down onto the small, single bed. This time, I didn’t push him away. Instead, I lifted my arms and gently wrapped them around his neck. Rather than struggle in the mud my whole life, I would use every chip I had—even my own body—to claw my way out. 2. The next morning, sunlight streamed through the crack in the window. I woke up first. The man beside me was still asleep, his brow furrowed, his handsome face etched with the fatigue of a hangover. I slipped out of bed silently, dressed, and then sat in the chair by the bedside, waiting for him to wake. Waiting for my sentence. About half an hour later, Dylan’s eyelashes fluttered. He slowly opened his eyes. His expression shifted from foggy confusion, to shock upon seeing me, to utter disbelief as he took in the unfamiliar, shabby room. Finally, his gaze landed on me, sharp and filled with an icy rage. “You?” His voice was hoarse, laced with danger. I met his gaze without flinching, my expression calm. “Mr. Harris, you were drunk last night.” He shot up, the blanket sliding off his torso, revealing a lean, muscular chest. His eyes fell on the damning crimson stain on the sheets, and his face grew even darker. He got out of bed and began to dress, his movements sharp with frustrated anger. He didn’t say a single word. The air in the room was so thick with tension it felt hard to breathe. Once dressed, he pulled a black card from his wallet and tossed it onto my small desk. “The PIN is six zeroes.” His tone was glacial. “Forget what happened last night.” With that, he opened the door and left without looking back. I stared at the black card on the desk, not moving to pick it up. I knew this was only the beginning. I walked to the window and watched Dylan’s car speed away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. It wasn’t long before my door was kicked open. Lily burst in, her eyes red-rimmed and wild, clearly having been up all night. Her gaze immediately locked onto the black card on my desk, then to the faint, tell-tale marks on my neck that I hadn’t been able to hide. Comprehension dawned, and she let out a piercing scream. “Elara! You little bitch! How dare you seduce Dylan!” She lunged at me, her hand raised to strike. I didn’t move. I knew I had to take this slap. CRACK. The sound echoed in the small room. My face stung, burning hot. “How could you? How could you!” Lily was hysterical, grabbing my hair and trying to drag me to the floor. I let her pull at me, my own gaze unnervingly calm. “Sister,” I said, my voice quiet but clear enough for her to hear. “You were the one who didn’t want him.” Those words were the spark that ignited the bonfire of her fury. Lily froze. She stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What did you say?” “I said, you were the one who didn’t want Mr. Harris,” I repeated, enunciating every word. “You pushed him away, didn’t you?” “Who the hell do you think you are? You think you have the right to pick up my sloppy seconds?” she shrieked, raising her hand again. This time, her wrist was caught in a firm grip. Hanson, the butler, was standing in the doorway, several other maids behind him. They had seen everything. “Miss Lily, your father and mother have asked to see you downstairs,” Hanson said, his voice grave. Lily wrenched her hand free, shooting me a look of pure hatred. “Elara, just you wait!” She stormed downstairs. I smoothed my rumpled clothes and hair, then picked up the black card from the desk and slipped it into my pocket. Then, I followed her down. My nest egg. The first real money I’d ever had. 3. In the Ashford’s living room, Mr. and Mrs. Ashford sat on the sofa, their faces grim. Lily stood before them, tears streaming down her face. “Dad, Mom, you have to do something! That slut Elara… she climbed into Dylan’s bed!” I descended the staircase and stood in the center of the room. All eyes were on me—scorn, fury, a hint of morbid curiosity. Mr. Ashford slammed his hand on the table and pointed at me. “Elara! You have the nerve to show your face? We raised you for all these years, and this is how you repay us?” “I did nothing wrong,” I answered calmly. “You dare to deny it?” Mrs. Ashford shrieked. “Lily saw it! The card Dylan gave you! You shameless little tramp!” I took the black card from my pocket and placed it on the coffee table. “This card was compensation from Mr. Harris.” “Compensation?” Lily sneered. “What a nice way of putting it. It’s the money you earned for selling yourself, isn’t it?” I lifted my eyes to meet hers. “Sister, if you hadn’t broken up with Mr. Harris, would he have been drunk last night? If you hadn’t stormed out on him, would he have even come here?” “You…” Lily was speechless. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I said, lowering my gaze, my voice tinged with a well-practiced vulnerability. “Mr. Harris was drunk. He thought I was you. I couldn’t fight him off.” My story was a cocktail of truth and lies. But it was enough to soften the expressions of Mr. and Mrs. Ashford. What they cared about most was their relationship with the Harris family. “That’s enough!” Mr. Ashford silenced Lily, who was about to argue further. “This matter is not to be spoken of again! Elara, go back to your room. You are not to come out without my permission!” He was putting me under house arrest. I didn’t resist. I turned obediently and went upstairs. Back in my room, I locked the door. Step one was complete. Now, all I had to do was wait for Dylan’s next move. I was confined for three days. I didn’t go anywhere, just stayed in my room and read. Lily would come to my door every day to hurl insults at me, each more vile than the last. I ignored her. I knew the more she behaved like this, the more immature she would seem to Mr. and Mrs. Ashford. On the morning of the fourth day, my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered. “Hello?” “It’s me.” Dylan. My heart skipped a beat, but my voice remained steady. “Mr. Harris. Is something wrong?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Did you get the money from the card?” “I did.” “Buy yourself whatever you need.” His tone was that of a benefactor bestowing charity. “Thank you, Mr. Harris.” “I’ll be there tonight.” He stated it as a fact, then hung up. I clutched the phone, letting out a long, slow breath. The fish was on the hook. That evening, I took a shower and changed back into the white dress. Mr. and Mrs. Ashford were out, and Lily had gone to a party. The villa was quiet. Around ten o’clock, Dylan’s car pulled up to the gate. I went downstairs and opened the door for him. He smelled faintly of alcohol, but he wasn’t drunk. He walked into the living room, sat on the sofa, and loosened his tie. He looked at me, his expression complicated. “Did they give you a hard time?” I shook my head and sat on the sofa opposite him. “No.” “I know Lily’s temper,” he said, almost to himself, as if explaining something. “She’s just spoiled.” I didn’t respond, just listened quietly. He didn’t seem to need an answer. After a moment of silence, he stood up and walked toward me. He loomed over me, reaching out to grip my chin. “That night… why didn’t you push me away?” I tilted my head back, looking directly into his deep, fathomless eyes. “Why would I push you away?” His fingers tightened, a sharp pain radiating through my jaw. “You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question. “I know,” I said, not looking away. “You’re Dylan Harris. The man Lily threw away.” A storm gathered in the dark depths of his eyes. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.” He let out a cold laugh and released me. He turned, as if to leave. But in the instant he turned, I wrapped my arms around him from behind. His body went rigid. “Mr. Harris,” I whispered, my cheek pressed against his broad back. “My brother is sick. He needs a lot of money for surgery.” This was the excuse I had prepared for myself, a story plausible enough to lower his guard and perhaps even stir a flicker of pity. In my past life, my brother had died a slow, painful death because we couldn’t afford his surgery. This time, I wouldn’t let that happen. Dylan’s body slowly relaxed. He didn’t turn around, nor did he push me away. “How much?” “Fifty thousand dollars.” He was silent. I could feel him weighing the options. Weighing the fifty thousand dollars against me, deciding if I was worth it. “Isn’t there money on the card?” he finally asked. “I gave the card to my parents,” I lied. “They said it was my fault and that I couldn’t keep the money.” I was painting myself as an innocent, pitiful victim, oppressed by my own family. Men, especially proud, privileged men like Dylan, were suckers for that kind of story. He finally turned to face me. He studied me, his eyes filled with a mix of scrutiny, suspicion, and a flicker of something playful. “How dutiful of you.” I lowered my gaze, saying nothing. “I can give you the fifty thousand,” he said, then paused before adding, “but on one condition.” “Name it.” “Be my mistress.” He said the words so casually, but I could see a struggle I didn’t understand churning in his eyes. I knew this was both a humiliation and an opportunity. I looked up at him and smiled. “Alright.” My swift agreement seemed to surprise him. He stared at me for a few seconds, then, without another word, scooped me into his arms and carried me up the stairs. This time, he didn’t go to the guest room. He went straight to the master suite on the third floor. The room that had been prepared to be his and Lily’s.

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Other families have sister drama—the kind of love-hate dynamic that fuels reality TV. My sister and I? Pure, unadulterated hate. I despised her for always being the golden child, acing every test, every competition, leaving me in her dust. She, in turn, loathed me for being the wild one, the troublemaker, yet always seeming to be our parents’ favorite. How deep did the hate run? We wished each other dead. When she got into an Ivy League university, my parents poured all their savings into my art school application. That day, she actually held a kitchen knife to my throat. I shoved her back, hard, and she ended up in the ER. Afterward, she vanished from the hospital, never looking back. Years later, when my marriage imploded and domestic violence landed me in the hospital, I found my attending physician was her. 1 “Skylar Hayes, are you trying to ruin my life?!” Autumn Hayes burst into my room, a gleaming chef’s knife clutched in her hand. Mom and Dad stumbled in behind her, their faces etched with panic. Autumn clamped my arm, pressing the blade against my throat. I felt the cold, sharp edge pierce my skin, a thin line of pain blooming there. Her hand trembled as she screamed, a raw, desperate sound, at Mom and Dad across the room. “How dare you tell me I can’t go to school, giving all our money to her?!” Dad’s brow furrowed, his voice rising to match hers. “Nobody said you can’t go to school! You’re smart, you can retake the SATs, apply again next year! Are you even listening to yourself? Have you no respect for your father?” Mom frantically tried to pull Dad’s arm away, tears streaming down her face. “Autumn, honey, how can you call your sister useless? Please, Mom’s begging you, Skylar’s art school spot… it took so many favors to get. If she doesn’t go now, Professor Davies’ class will be full.” Professor Davies. The renowned art professor at the Mather Institute of Art. A guaranteed path to a prestigious career, if you got into his class. “Autumn, please be understanding this once. Let your sister use the money for tuition. Just two years, sweetheart. We promise, we’ll save up enough for your university tuition, okay? Just two more years.” The warm trickle of blood on my neck intensified, the pain sharper. Autumn was serious this time. She tugged me towards the window, her voice chilling. “What else would you call her? Useless?” She let out a bitter laugh, her gaze fixed on our parents. “Why do I always have to give in to her? Why, since we were kids, has she always been your priority?” “When I was little, I could’ve skipped a grade, but you insisted Skylar was too wild to be alone in kindergarten. So I stayed with her for another two years because she ‘couldn’t keep up’ in first grade.” “You always made us go to the same schools, the same classes, saying I could tutor her. But I’m two years older! If it wasn’t for her, I’d be in college already!” “Every time Skylar struggled, you made me hold back with her. Haven’t I been ‘understanding’ enough?” “Now she’s failing out and needs to go to art school, and I have to sacrifice another year for her?” “What are you complaining about with your sister?!” Dad roared, slamming something onto the floor. “I’ve given you everything, spoiled you both, and this is the selfish, ungrateful daughter you’ve become?” That ignited Autumn completely. All her pent-up resentment poured out. “You never think you’re wrong. You never see how unbelievably biased you are!” Dad pointed at her, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. “Who gave you the right to accuse your parents of wrongdoing?” 2 Autumn ignored Dad, completely lost in her tirade. “Skylar fought, she cheated, she skipped class—how many messes did you clean up for her? I worked myself to the bone just to get an ounce of the attention you showered on her, and still, everything revolved around her.” “Why? Just because I’m the older sister? Am I supposed to be her lifelong blood bank, dragged down by her failures?” The throbbing in my neck was unbearable, and her words ignited my own fuse. “You think I want you as a sister?!” Years of playground brawls had taught me a thing or two. I broke free from her grip, shoving her hard. She stumbled backward, hitting the corner of my dresser with a sickening thud. A faint thwack. My vision was red with rage; I barely registered her trembling form. “You were always perfect, always the best. I could never measure up.” She lay curled on the floor, her face ashen. Dad, still fuming, stood with his hands on his hips. Mom started to move towards Autumn, but Dad held her back. “Don’t touch her! Let her cool off. Holding a knife to her own sister? Unbelievable! What a heartless child I’ve raised!” Tears welled in my eyes, my voice shaky. “Every teacher we ever had said, ‘How could this straight-A student have such a dim-witted sister?’ Every family gathering, relatives would say, ‘Autumn’s the one to count on.’ And me? Everyone just shook their heads.” “They’d all point at me and say, ‘You two are sisters, but one’s an angel, the other’s a devil.’ Autumn, you’re smart, you’re brilliant, but why does everyone have to step all over me to praise you?” “And you call me a parasite? You think I wanted you as a sister?” I stepped over her, pushed past Mom and Dad, and flung open my bedroom door. This house was suffocating. I needed to get out. Professor Davies’ class, tuition money, who cared? Before I even reached the front door, I heard Mom’s horrified scream. “Blood! Oh my God, Miles, Autumn’s bleeding from the back of her head!” I spun around to see Dad scoop Autumn into his arms, rushing towards the exit. Autumn was taken to the hospital. Several stitches in the back of her head. A large patch of her long hair was shaved off. Mom and Dad sat in silence until she woke. Autumn opened her eyes but refused to speak. Mom held her hand, tears of pity streaming down her face. “Autumn, don’t be mad at your sister, she didn’t mean it. You know how she is, always a tomboy, never knowing her own strength. See, you even cut her neck, and she didn’t say a word.” 3 I lowered my head slightly, feeling the bandage around my neck. The cut wasn’t deep; the blood had almost clotted by the time they bandaged it. Autumn still didn’t speak, closing her eyes, shutting us out. Dad, seeing her stubborn silence, stood up, his brows furrowed, ready to erupt again. Mom pulled him and me out of the room. Outside, Mom gently pushed Dad. “Say less, she’s hurting. Don’t argue with her.” Then she looked at me. “Skylar, does your neck still hurt? Don’t blame your sister, going to an Ivy League was always her dream.” I stared at my shoes, then mumbled, “She cut me, I pushed her. We’re even. I couldn’t care less.” Mom patted my head, a relieved smile on her face. “That’s my Skylar. Big-hearted, doesn’t hold a grudge.” I remained silent, listening to the sounds from inside the room. Autumn shifted under the covers, turning away. Dad walked back in, placing a bowl of porridge on the bedside table. His voice was awkwardly strained. “Eat this after your shot. Your mom and I are going to pay Skylar’s tuition. Let’s just forget about this, okay?” “You’re old enough, be sensible. Stop making a fuss. You and Skylar are sisters. If you don’t support each other, who will?” Autumn stayed hidden under the duvet, silent and still. Dad picked up his car keys and left, Mom pulling me along. She paused at the door, speaking to the lump under the blankets. “Autumn, wait for us here. We’re just going to register Skylar for her classes.” In the car, Mom pulled out the thick envelope. “Skylar, you have to work hard for Professor Davies. Our entire savings, every last penny, is riding on you.” I clutched my backpack, a suffocating weight in my chest, and didn’t reply. Stepping out of the car, I looked up at the towering building. Professor Davies’ workshop was on the 33rd floor. I gripped my backpack strap, my voice barely a whisper. “Dad, Mom, maybe Autumn should go to college instead. I’m just not cut out for school.” Dad shot me a furious glare. “If you dare mess this up, I’ll break your legs.” Mom took my hand, pulling me into the elevator. “It’s okay, Skylar. Just focus on your studies. Autumn’s smart; she’ll get into an Ivy League eventually.” When we returned to the hospital after registering, the nurse informed us Autumn had checked herself out. She was gone. By the time we got home, she had taken her ID and university acceptance letter, packed a few clothes, and left. Dad swore, “Neither of you is any help,” grabbed his car keys, and rushed out to search. Mom, terrified, followed him. I tossed my backpack onto the sofa, my gaze falling on Autumn’s open bedroom door. I sat there, the image of her lying on my floor, blood pooling behind her head, replaying in my mind. Whatever. I’d always wished I didn’t have a sister. Now she was gone; I should be happy. Good riddance. Autumn vanished. Mom and Dad searched everywhere she might possibly go, but found nothing. After twenty-four hours, they filed a missing person’s report. Leaving the police station, Mom’s hands were still trembling. “Where could Autumn have gone? Why is she being so difficult? This is too much.” I supported her, saying nothing, as the three of us silently returned home. Hours later, the police called. They had contacted Autumn. 4 Mom panicked, immediately asking for her address. But the police said Autumn had explicitly stated she was safe and did not want her whereabouts disclosed. Autumn was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, so the police had to respect her wishes. They only relayed that she was safe, providing no address or contact information. After they hung up, Dad slammed the phone onto the table. “That girl is completely out of control!” I stared at the still-lit screen, a guess forming in my mind. A City. The place where her beloved Ivy League university was. Autumn had gone to college. But her major there was incredibly expensive, and our family’s savings could only cover one of us. How could Autumn, running away like that, afford her tuition? I knew where Autumn was, but I just sat there, saying nothing. I didn’t want Autumn to come back. “Waiting another year” to retake her SATs? I didn’t want to live in her shadow a moment longer. Thanks to Professor Davies’ connections, and my parents’ endless gifts and cash, the following year, I barely scraped into Mather Institute of Art. Mom and Dad were overjoyed, throwing a lavish celebration. During the party, relatives asked where their elder daughter was. Dad’s face darkened, and he scoffed. “Who knows where she went. Ungrateful child. Abandoned her family.” After college, I asked Mom and Dad for some money and took a grand trip. On the road, I met a guy from my city. We fell in love quickly—a whirlwind romance culminating in marriage. Autumn didn’t show up to my wedding, and no one mentioned her. But as Mom held my hand, wiping away tears on stage, her gaze kept drifting towards the door. I knew who Mom was waiting for, but I wouldn’t say a word. This was my shining moment; I didn’t want her to steal even a fraction of my spotlight. After the wedding, my husband, Adam, got a job transfer, and we moved to A City. My temper was as volatile as ever, and we had our share of arguments. I was still the same—if I couldn’t win with words, I’d resort to insults; if insults failed, I’d get physical. During an unprecedentedly heated argument, he hit me for the first time. He grabbed a vase and smashed it against my head. My temple hit the coffee table. The world went black for a split second. Before I could shake off the dizziness, a sharp pain shot through my lower body. Blood. So much blood. Just like the blood that day, when Autumn lay on my floor. He was terrified. He picked up his phone, but didn’t call 911. He called his mother, his voice trembling as he told her he’d hit me, and there was blood everywhere. I ended up in the hospital. I’d been a month pregnant and had just miscarried. I woke from a daze, my head wrapped in gauze. He wasn’t there. I was alone in the hospital room. I picked up my medical records and a thick stack of reports, seeing the miscarriage diagnosis. And then, clearly visible in the doctor’s signature line: Autumn Hayes. A sharp sting in my arm. My IV drip was empty, and blood was backing up into the tube. A nurse checked the bag, replaced it, and left. After she was gone, the door opened again. I saw Autumn, dressed in a white lab coat, walk in.

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The year I went blind, I was six. It was the same year I found Leo, half-frozen and left for dead in the snow. I begged my mother to save him, lying that I needed a companion, someone to be my eyes. Later, when we were alone, I whispered a promise in his ear. “I don’t want a guide dog. You just have to live. Go wherever you want to go.” But Leo stayed. After my mother remarried and left, he became the only thing I had. He watched over me as I grew up, my constant guide, my walking cane, my eyes. For my sake, he even abandoned his breathtaking talent for painting to study medicine, to become an ophthalmologist. But even after he became a brilliant eye surgeon, my world remained dark. Then came my 25th birthday. That was the day Sloane, a woman Leo once called his kindred spirit, won a major national art prize. He locked himself in his study. I could hear the rustle of paper, the sharp, angry sounds of tearing. “Just writing you a birthday card,” he said, his voice tight, strained with an emotion he was trying to hide. I smiled, wanting to go to him, to kiss the sadness away. But just as I took a step, a line of text scrolled across the darkness of my vision, stark and terrifying. “Don’t be a fool, little blind girl. He’s tearing up his paintings. On the back of every single one, he’s written ‘Audrey, go die.’” “Stop. Don’t take another step. There’s a frayed electrical cord on the floor in front of you. If you step on it, you’ll be electrocuted.” I froze, just for a second. Then I lifted my chin, forced a bright smile, and took a confident step forward. “Leo,” I called out cheerfully. “Whatever you wished for, I know it will come true.” 1 I walked carefully, deliberately, making sure I wouldn’t miss the frayed wire. Suddenly, Leo’s voice cut through the air. “Audrey!” It was a choked sound, thick with tears, but he didn’t say anything more. I pretended not to notice, my tone light and soothing. “Is your head hurting again? Come here, let me rub your temples.” The text in my mind flashed frantically. “Stop walking, you idiot! The wire is right at your feet!” Good. Right where I can’t miss it. But just as I was about to lower my foot, the doorbell rang, a shrill, piercing sound. It was followed by the violent scrape of a chair being shoved back. “Watch out!” A powerful force slammed into me, throwing me to the floor. My head cracked against the hardwood, my brain rattling inside my skull. The pain was a blinding white light in my endless darkness. Leo’s trembling hands helped me up. “Audrey… I’m so sorry… there was a live wire.” The text was a stream of curses. “What the hell is wrong with you, Leo?! You’re the one who wanted her dead, so why are you shaking now?” My own heart ached. You fool, I thought. Why did you have to go soft? I swallowed the pain and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s my fault, I’m the one who can’t see. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt.” The text exploded. “Is she crazy? Apologizing after he tried to kill her?!” But I knew. I knew that right now, Leo was in more pain than I was. I could hear his ragged, broken sobs. He opened his mouth to say something else, but his phone buzzed. A woman’s voice, clear even through the phone. “I know you’re home, Leo. I’m not leaving until I see you.” A pause. “Please. Think of this… as the last time.” I recognized her voice from the TV interviews. Sloane. The brilliant painter. She and Leo had met years ago, volunteering at a community arts program. He told me he’d found a kindred spirit. Sloane once told me that Leo’s art had more soul than anything she’d ever seen. But now, she was a celebrated artist, and he was a doctor trapped with a blind girl. Leo hated being a doctor. After every long surgery, he’d be sick for hours. His hand tightened on mine, a desperate grip, then suddenly released. He stumbled toward the door. The force of him pulling away sent me staggering backward. Disoriented, the back of my head connected with the sharp corner of the dining table. A warm, sticky wetness began to seep through my hair. “Leo,” I whispered, my voice weak. “It hurts…” The front door slammed shut. My hearing has always been sharp, a small compensation for my lack of sight. Even with the door closed, I could hear their muffled, desperate voices from the hallway. Sloane was crying. “Her eyes are a lost cause, and you know it! You can’t fix them! Those hands of yours… they have more talent than mine ever will!” she pleaded. “Come with me. Meet my mentor. It’s not too late, Leo, as long as you just…” “Sloane,” Leo’s voice was shaking as he cut her off. “I owe her my life.” He took a ragged breath. “She’s blind. If I leave her here… where would I go?” Sloane’s voice was filled with sorrow. “What about your dream? What about… me?” A long, heavy silence passed before Leo answered, his voice raw. “No matter what happens… we’ll always be kindred spirits.” I heard her sob, then the sound of her running down the stairs. “I won’t come back again… If you change your mind, use this to find my mentor.” Lying there on the floor, dizzy from the blow to my head, my mind drifted back to when I was thirteen. Some kids from the blind school had cornered me, and I’d come home with bruises blooming on my skin. Leo had been so furious, he’d insisted on transferring to the school himself, just to protect me. He, a brilliant student, giving up a normal high school to spend his days in a place that taught Braille and cane navigation. He stayed up all night, every night, just to keep up with the advanced curriculum of his old school. Then, when I was fifteen, my mother came to say goodbye. She was getting married again. She clutched my hands, her own tears splashing onto my face. “Audrey, your new stepfather… he can’t help me raise a blind child. It’s been so hard, you have to understand, don’t you?” Her voice was a pathetic whine. “Besides, I found Leo for you. He should be the one to take care of you!” She left with her suitcase, leaving me the old house and Leo. He was only eighteen, taking care of a blind girl, and the stress wore him down until he was a bundle of nerves and exhaustion. I used to cry and beg him to leave, to save himself. But he would just smile and stroke my hair. “Little crybaby. Look at the swallows nesting under the eaves. They always come in pairs. One can’t make it without the other.” But now, the little swallow was tired. He deserved to fly away on his own. I was just a blind girl nobody wanted. If Leo hadn’t held my hand all these years, I would have died a long time ago. I just had to make sure I died somewhere he’d never find me. Otherwise, the guilt would crush him. 2 I pressed a hand to the back of my head, smearing the sticky blood, and managed to pull myself to my feet just as the door opened. “What happened to you?” Leo’s voice was hoarse. “Where did all this blood come from?” The text flashed in my vision. “Is he serious? He’s the one who knocked her over!” I tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t see, I must have tripped over something.” The words were barely out of my mouth when a glass shattered at my feet. “Audrey! How many years have you lived in this house? You still don’t know your way around?” I could hear his heavy, ragged breathing. I clutched the hem of my sleeve, my heart sinking. “I’m sorry, Leo. I’m just useless.” He went to the hall closet and pulled out the white cane that had been gathering dust for years. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me out the door. I couldn’t keep up, stumbling, nearly falling down the porch steps several times, but he didn’t slow down. “Leo, where are we going?” I cried, pulling back in fear. He stopped so abruptly that I slammed my face into his back. I felt a warm trickle from my nose. As I fumbled to wipe away the blood, I heard his voice, frayed and broken. “Audrey! There are millions of blind people in the world! Why can they live normal lives with a cane, but you can’t?” His voice cracked. “I’m not your guide dog! I can’t be your dog forever!” A fist seemed to clench around my heart. He gave me a hard shove from behind, and his cold words drifted back on the wind. “If you don’t learn how to walk the sidewalk on your own tonight, don’t bother coming home.” Then he was gone. His scent, his presence, everything vanished. All I could hear was the wind, the rush of traffic, and the murmurs of passersby. “Is she blind? What’s she doing out here? Trying to get hit so she can sue someone?” Darkness and panic swallowed me whole. I clutched the cane, fighting the urge to scream, and whispered his name under my breath. “Leo, I’m so scared.” When I was little, right after I lost my sight, I could never get used to it. I’d wake up to a world of black and start crying hysterically. Leo would always be the first one in my room, his hand finding mine in the dark. “I’m here. Don’t be scared, I’m right here.” Now, only the wind answered. The text in my mind was a torrent of fury. “Unbelievable! He was the one who swore she’d never need a cane, that he’d be her eyes forever! That bastard!” I wiped away a tear. No, it’s not like that. I’d long forgotten how to use a cane, how to feel for the textured paving of the sidewalk. A blind girl like me… I must be such a burden to him. I walked blindly, tapping the ground, moving toward the loudest sound—the blare of car horns at a busy intersection. Maybe if a car hit me, Leo could finally be that free swallow. But the impact never came. Instead, strong arms yanked me back, pulling me into a fierce embrace. Leo’s body was trembling. His voice was laced with despair. “Audrey, you’re blind, not stupid! Why can’t you learn?” His voice broke. “Out of everyone in the world… why did a blind girl have to be the one who found me?” Why? You fool. Then why are you still holding on to me? I finally broke, the sobs tearing out of me. “You’re right, I’m not stupid! So just go! I don’t want you taking care of me anymore!” When I was five, my parents were getting divorced. They fought every day about who would be stuck with me. They were so busy fighting they didn’t even notice I had a fever high enough to burn away my sight. A child nobody wants can’t even keep her own eyes, I thought back then. That’s why, when I saw Leo abandoned in the snow, my heart broke for him. I didn’t want there to be one more unwanted child in the world who couldn’t even keep his eyes. Leo’s arms tightened around me, his grip weak. “Okay, I’m sorry. Don’t say things you don’t mean.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “If I don’t take care of you, are you going to let a car kill you?” He led me home. He never mentioned the cane again. But I knew he spent more and more time staring silently at the canvases locked away in his study. The next day, I hid in my room and made a call. The person on the other end exploded as soon as she heard my voice. “Why are you bothering me? I have no legal obligation to you anymore!” I sniffled, my nose burning. “Mom… I don’t need you to take care of me. Could you just… pretend to take me in? Just for a little while?” After I swore up and down that I wouldn’t be a burden, she finally agreed, saying that for old times’ sake, she’d pick me up after my half-sister got back from summer camp. I hung up the phone and smiled. It was good. My mother had a new child to love. And Leo could finally get rid of me. 3 When I knocked on Leo’s study door, I heard him frantically putting something away. “What is it? Did you lose something again?” His voice was sharp with irritation. I swallowed hard, then forced a playful smile. “Leo, my mom called. She said she’s doing really well now and feels terrible about everything. She wants me to come live with her. I said yes.” Disbelief colored his tone. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” “I want to live with my mother,” I repeated, my voice steady. He exploded. “Audrey, have you forgotten what she did to you? Haven’t you had enough of her cruelty?” Of course I hadn’t forgotten. In the years after the court gave her custody, she was always out on dates. Sometimes she’d be gone for days, forgetting to even leave money for food. A young Leo would go out in the dead of winter to collect empty bottles, using the change to buy a piece of bread that he’d feed entirely to me. He was just a boy, his own stomach cramping with hunger, but he’d pat my back and lie through his teeth. “It’s okay. I just ate too much.” I found Leo because I wanted him to live. But chained to me, he hadn’t had a single good day. I stood my ground, and Leo’s anger boiled over, but he refused to give in. Sighing inwardly at his stubbornness, I called Sloane. “Please,” I begged her. “Try talking to him one more time.” The day Sloane called him, I had just returned from another fruitless eye exam. The doctor’s sigh was heavy with finality. “This eye condition… if even Dr. Evans can’t do anything, I’m afraid this is how it will be for the rest of her life.” Leo’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “Audrey, why do you have to be so useless?” Guilt washed over me. All I could say was, “I’m sorry.” Later, I heard Sloane’s heavy voice on the phone with him. “Leo, I’m leaving with my mentor in a few days. Once I’m gone… there won’t be another chance.” A pause. “Is this really… how you want to live the rest of your life?” Leo stared at me, his gaze so intense it felt like he could see right through me. Suddenly, his control snapped. He stormed into his study, grabbed something, and ran out of the house. Listening to the door slam, I felt a strange sense of peace. A day passed, and Leo didn’t come back. Sloane sent me a voice message. “Thank you for letting him go. He’s a natural. My mentor is incredibly impressed.” I was so happy. But I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and the hunger was becoming unbearable. This time, when Leo left, he’d forgotten to leave snacks out where I could easily find them. I used my phone’s voice command to order takeout, but the front door was locked from the outside. Night fell, and Leo still wasn’t back. Acid churned in my stomach. I fumbled my way into the kitchen, trying to find something to eat. But this is how useless a blind person is. I don’t know what I knocked over, but the kitchen caught fire. I scrambled to put it out, but I couldn’t even aim the water in the right direction. The flames spread, and thick smoke filled my lungs. I collapsed, my skin growing numb to the searing heat. “You worthless thing, Audrey,” I sobbed, crawling desperately toward where I thought the door was. “Don’t you die in here!” If Leo came back to find my charred body, he would never, ever recover. The text in my mind screamed directions. “This way, blind girl! Crawl this way, to the left!” I scrambled in the direction it told me, but the smoke was too thick. My consciousness began to fade. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. Leo arrived soon after, with Sloane right behind him. “I was only gone for one day,” Leo murmured, his voice ragged with exhaustion. “Why do you always manage to do this to yourself?” My hands twisted in the starchy sheets. “I’m sorry…” A police officer stood by the bed, his voice stern as he addressed Leo. “How can you call yourself her guardian? How could you leave a blind person home alone?” He gestured at me. “Do you have any idea how close she came to burning to death?” I opened my mouth to defend him, but then I heard Leo’s hollow voice. “Is this it? Every time I try to take a step forward, you pull a stunt like this to remind me that I can never leave your side?” At that moment, Sloane shrieked. “Audrey!” Her voice was sharp with accusation. “You deliberately had me call him, and just when he was about to agree, you do this! You wanted him to feel guilty, to trap him here forever, didn’t you?” I couldn’t see the raw anguish in Leo’s eyes, but I could feel it. And suddenly, I started to laugh. “So what if I did? As long as my eyes are like this, he owes me. He has to be my dog for the rest of his life. Why else do you think I rescued him in the first place?”

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The night my childhood best friend, bankrupt and broken, was about to have her virginity auctioned off, I didn’t raise a single paddle for her. I just sat there and watched. Then I canceled our arranged marriage and flew halfway across the world. I did it because, in my last life, I saved her, and she accused me of holding it over her head. After we got married, she treated me like a stranger for years, only to have twins with the man she truly loved. She even let their children poison me. As I lay dying, her perfect little family of four stood over me. “Finally,” she’d said, “our family can be together.” I died full of hate. This time, I decided to get out of their way and let them have their happy ending. 01 “Next up for auction, the virginity of the former heiress to the Sinclair fortune, Ms. Clara Sinclair.” The burning in my stomach vanished. I snapped my eyes open. I was back at the auction. The night they sold Clara’s virginity. Looking around at the familiar, opulent room, I realized I’d been reborn. On the stage, Clara’s eyes found mine, pleading for help. This time, I didn’t meet her gaze. I just looked down at my phone and scrolled. In my last life, the second she was brought out, I bought out the entire auction just to save her. We’d had an arranged engagement since we were kids, and the Sinclair family, grateful that I’d saved her from public humiliation, pushed for us to get married immediately. I’d been in love with her my whole life, so I’d happily agreed. But after the wedding, Clara’s face was a permanent mask of cold indifference. I thought it was just the trauma of her family’s downfall, so I tried to be even more loving, more patient. I was wrong. It wasn’t until I was on my deathbed, poisoned by her twin children—children she had with her one true love, Ethan—that I finally understood. She didn’t just not love me; she despised me. “If it weren’t for you and your moral grandstanding,” she had sneered, “Ethan and I would have been together years ago.” “Do you know why I never let you touch me? Because every single second I had to spend in the same room as you made my skin crawl.” “Now that you’re dying, our family of four can finally be together.” That’s when I knew. She hated me to her very core. “Two hundred thousand!” “Three hundred thousand!” The shouts from the bidders pulled me back to the present. Most of them were old, greasy CEOs, their eyes devouring Clara on the stage. She looked like she was about to cry. Her eyes met mine again, this time filled with the desperation of a drowning woman clinging to a piece of driftwood. I remained perfectly still, making no move to bid. Her virginity finally sold for a million dollars to Mark Sterling, the fifty-something CEO of Sterling Corp. She collapsed onto the stage floor. Everyone in our circle knew about Sterling. He was old, but his tastes were notoriously depraved. He had a reputation for taking beautiful young women and breaking them. Sterling sent his men to collect her. As they led her past me, her eyes burned with a hatred I recognized. It was the same look she’d given me as I died in our last life. I just hadn’t expected to see it so soon this time around. “Why didn’t you save me?” Her voice was laced with an entitled sort of fury. I knew then that she remembered, too. She was reborn, just like me. “Sorry,” I said, a smirk playing on my lips. “Not interested in your virginity.” I gestured to the diamond necklace that was now being displayed on the stage. “This, however, I am interested in.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I raised my paddle and bought it for a ridiculous price, just to make a point. Clara’s face contorted with rage. “We grew up together! We were engaged! You’d rather buy a stupid necklace than save me?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Your virginity? What’s that worth? This necklace, on the other hand, is a solid investment.” “You!” She was sputtering, her eyes blazing. The idea that I, who had always been at her beck and call, would speak to her this way clearly short-circuited her brain. “Julian, stop this,” she pleaded, her tone shifting. “It’s not too late. Just save me, and we can pretend this never happened.” It’s true what they say: the ones who are loved unconditionally are always the most reckless. I felt a cold sneer form in my heart. In my last life, everyone knew I adored Clara. I stood by her even after her family lost everything. And how did she repay me? She ignored me, refused to consummate our marriage, and secretly started a family with another man. The memory was a bitter pill. “Mr. Sterling,” I called out, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Aren’t you going to collect your prize for the evening?” 02 Sterling, looking bemused, finally registered that Clara was still standing by my table. He gestured for his men to take her away. Clara shot me a look of pure contempt before being led out. After the auction, I went to her parents’ house. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes were filled with worry. The moment they saw me, they both fell to their knees. “Julian, please, you have to save Clara,” Mrs. Sinclair begged. “She’s our only child. This is all our fault.” Looking at the two of them, I felt a pang of sympathy. In my last life, when they found out I’d been poisoned, they were the ones who called the ambulance. They were too late, but they tried. They had known me since I was a boy and had always treated me kindly. After Clara and I married, they treated me like their own son. I told them what had happened and gave them a debit card with a million dollars on it, telling them to go get their daughter back themselves. Sterling, for all his vices, wasn’t a monster. The Sinclair family had once been powerful, and he would likely give them that much courtesy. Then, I told them I wanted to break the engagement. I also made them promise not to tell Clara where the million dollars came from. “Julian, you and Clara have always been so close,” Mr. Sinclair said, confused. “Why the sudden change of heart?” “She’s in love with someone else,” I explained. “And they’ve been together for a long time.” Their eyes widened in shock. “Is there some misunderstanding? Clara has never mentioned a boyfriend to us.” “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” They were reluctant, but my sincerity must have convinced them. They agreed to talk to Clara when she got home. Clara was brought home safely, and I started the process of applying for a visa. I was ready to leave this whole mess behind. But while I was waiting for the paperwork to clear, I ran into her at a party. Everyone there had heard about what happened at the auction, but no one dared to bring it up. They just shot nervous glances between me and Clara. The second she saw me, her eyes filled with that familiar hatred. “Julian, playing hard to get has its limits. Don’t come crying to me when you want me back.” I didn’t understand. I was stepping aside, giving them what they wanted. Why was she still trying to humiliate me? I just smiled faintly and said nothing. She seemed to lose interest and walked away. Later that night, as the party was in full swing, Clara’s great love, Ethan, stormed in. He marched right up to me and punched me in the face. I stumbled backward, crashing to the floor. “Julian, what kind of a man are you?” he roared. “Your fiancée’s virginity is being sold, and you just sit there? You bought a stupid necklace instead!” “Clara’s life would be ruined if she married someone like you!” I glanced over at Clara, who was watching from a corner. The moment she saw Ethan, her eyes lit up with a tenderness I had never seen before. My mind drifted back. In our last life, she had never looked at me with anything but disdain. The only time she ever smiled at me was when she needed my help—and even then, it was a pained, forced expression. And the only time she needed my help was when Ethan was in trouble. She would humble herself, play the part of the loving wife, all for him. I used to think that if I was just good enough to her, one day she would see me. I forgot that you can’t melt a block of ice. My silence seemed to enrage Ethan even more. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and hauled me to my feet. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you! Are you even human? You just watched your fiancée get sold off like cattle!” The other guests started whispering. “Julian is usually so obsessed with Clara. How could he not even be willing to spend a million to save her?” The taste of blood filled my mouth. I finally snapped back to reality and shoved his hands off me. “Why do you seem more concerned about my fiancée than I am?” I countered, my voice dangerously low. “Why didn’t you save her at the auction?” 03 The room went quiet. Everyone in our circle knew about my engagement to Clara. They also knew how she had always accepted my devotion as her due. Everyone had assumed we were already a couple. The sudden appearance of Ethan threw everything into question. All eyes were now on him and Clara. Ethan stammered, caught off guard. “I… I just couldn’t stand by and watch you do nothing! I don’t have that kind of money! If I did, of course I would have saved her!” Clara’s face paled as she looked at me. “You knew.” In my last life, I didn’t find out about her and Ethan until our wedding day. Ethan showed up, his eyes red from crying, and Clara’s eyes filled with tears, too. Her parents were there, so the wedding went on as planned. But on our wedding night, she ran off to be with him. She told me I owed them that, that if it weren’t for me and my “hero complex,” they would have been together. But when I finally couldn’t take it anymore and asked for a divorce, she refused, claiming she didn’t want to break her parents’ hearts. I loved her, so I waited, hoping she would come around. But my patience only made her bolder. She went abroad for a “business trip,” had his children, and then brought them home to live with us. When I found out the truth and confronted her, her reply was ice-cold. “I’m married to you, so what if I have Ethan’s children?” And when I finally decided to leave her for good, her twin children poisoned me. A bitter smile twisted my lips. “If I didn’t know, were you planning on playing me for a fool forever? After all, your true love couldn’t afford to save you, could he?” I shot a provocative glance at Ethan. Before he could speak, Clara jumped in. “You’re lying! Ethan was the one who scraped together a million dollars to save me from Sterling!” At that, I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. The audacity of some people was truly something to behold. I had specifically told her parents not to mention my name, because I didn’t want her to feel indebted to me again. I never thought Ethan would swoop in and take the credit. “What are you laughing at? You think that money came from you?” Ethan sneered, trying to sound confident. “Julian, you’re a heartless bastard. You don’t deserve anyone’s love.” I chuckled. “You’re right, it wasn’t me. But it’s pretty impressive that you managed to come up with a million dollars in just a few hours. Especially for a guy who usually can’t even scrape together ten thousand.” 04 A flicker of panic crossed Ethan’s face. Clara froze, her eyes widening slightly. “Clara, don’t listen to him,” Ethan said quickly, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a series of track marks on his arm. They looked horrifying. “I got the money by volunteering for a high-risk medical trial.” The crowd gasped. Clara’s face hardened as she glared at me. “You do nothing to help, and now you’re slandering the person who did! I want you to apologize to Ethan!” Ethan was a scholarship student Clara had sponsored through college. His family was poor. In my last life, he never worked a day after graduation because Clara supported him. Even after her own family went bankrupt, I gave her a huge monthly allowance, enough to maintain her old lifestyle. Most of that money went to him. The whispers started again. “No wonder Clara loves this guy. He really stepped up when it mattered.” “A million dollars is nothing to Julian, and he wouldn’t even lift a finger.” “Clara, we support you! You can’t marry Julian.” “If he’s like this now, imagine what he’d be like after you’re married!” They all condemned me, as if I were the villain. But in my last life, I had cared for Clara for years, and in the end, she let her children murder me. What had I done to deserve that? I frowned. It was such an obvious lie, but everyone seemed to be buying it. What medical trial pays a million dollars, and pays it out in a matter of hours? These rich kids had no idea how hard it was for a normal person to earn that kind of money. Just then, Clara took Ethan’s hand and looked at me defiantly. “Julian, I’m officially breaking our engagement!” Then she kissed him, and he kissed her back passionately. Even now, she thought she was irreplaceable to me, that this would be the ultimate threat. “You can’t break the engagement!” Just as I was about to respond, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair burst into the room. “Clara, we thought you and Julian were just having a little fight,” her mother cried. “Julian was the one who gave us a million dollars to save you! That proves he still cares about you!” “He told us you were in love with someone else, and we didn’t believe him. But it’s true.” Her father pointed a trembling finger at Ethan and threw a stack of photos at his feet. “This man is a drug addict!” Clara seemed to barely register what her father had said. She just stared at me in disbelief. “Was it really you who gave them the money?” I didn’t answer her question. I just said, my voice cold as stone, “I agree to break the engagement. From now on, you and I have nothing to do with each other.” Then I turned and walked out of the room. That night, Clara stood outside my house for hours, but I didn’t even look out the window. I sent a text to both our parents, formally ending the engagement. The next day, my visa came through. I was on the first flight out.

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The moment my birth parents found me, bringing the girl who had stolen my life with them, I had a wild Siberian tiger pinned to the forest floor, my knee pressed firmly against its neck as I injected a tranquilizer. They saw me, covered in dirt, taming a predator with my bare hands, and their faces went white with terror. My sister—the girl who had taken my place—was pale with fear. “Mom, Dad, I’m scared! We came to find my sister, but… what is that beast doing here?” My parents shot a wary glance at the tiger, then rushed to comfort their precious fake daughter. “Don’t worry, Vivian, darling,” my mother cooed. “We’re only taking your sister home. We’re not bringing… that… with us.” They instinctively shielded Vivian behind them, as if I were more dangerous than the man-eater at my feet. I let out a short, sharp laugh, patting the tiger’s belly. My gaze fell on Vivian, cold as ice. “You should be scared. Drop any ridiculous ideas you have, or I’ll tear you to pieces.” 1. The air was thick with a dead silence, broken only by the low growl of the beast beneath me. The impeccably dressed middle-aged couple stared in horror at the fanged tiger, their legs trembling. They instinctively shielded the terrified girl, Vivian, taking shuffling steps backward. Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, her voice shaking. “Arden! This is your sister! We all came to take you home. How could you say such a thing?” She wanted to step closer but was paralyzed by the sight of the predator. Her eyes flickered over my worn, tattered clothes, and a flash of disgust crossed her face. I ignored them, finished injecting the sedative, and released the pressure on the tiger. Then, I turned my cold gaze to the uninvited guests. “Isn’t this my home?” The porcelain doll of a girl behind them, who looked to be my age, trembled even more violently. The man, holding her hand tightly, spoke in a panicked voice. “Arden, I’m your biological father, Richard Vance. It was our mistake when you were born… we took home the wrong child. All these years, you’ve suffered out here…” His voice caught with a sob. “We’re here today to bring you home. We’ll make up for all our past negligence…” “Which home?” I cut him off with a sneer, my eyes sweeping over to Vivian. She immediately wiped the venom from her expression, her eyes turning red as she shrank behind the man I now knew was my brother, Ethan. Vivian was the daughter of their former nanny. Twenty years ago, we were born on the same day. To give her own child a better life, the nanny swapped us, dreaming her daughter would become the Vance family heiress. As for me, she tossed me into the deep mountains like a piece of trash, meant to be fodder for wild beasts. Fortunately, I was born with the ability to communicate with animals. It’s how I survived. It’s how I became the Queen of the Beasts. This forest… this is my real home. “Sister… I didn’t mean for this to happen…” Vivian stammered, her face ashen. My mother, who had supposedly come to beg me to return, rushed to her side. “Vivian, darling, this has nothing to do with you. When she comes back, you’ll just have an older sister to protect you. You’ll always be Mommy and Daddy’s precious baby!” Ethan’s face was grim as he stared at me. “Isn’t Vivian a victim in all this, too? We’re all family now. Can’t you stop picking at her wounds?” Richard’s tone grew impatient. “Just come with us. The Vance family can certainly afford to raise you. We can’t have people thinking we’d abandon our own daughter…” Watching their synchronized performance was grating. It was as if my very existence was a threat to their happy family. If it weren’t for their precious reputation, would they have ever even remembered they had a biological daughter? But the life I’d lived had forged me into something far stronger than the delicate flower they saw. I saw the dark, vicious glint in Vivian’s eyes, and I smiled. If I can tame a tiger, how hard can it be to handle a pampered little princess? I was done with their phony sentimentality. I pointed to the beast on the ground, now licking its paws. “Fine. I’ll go back with you. But he comes with me.” “Absolutely not!” My mother’s face drained of color. My father’s brow furrowed. “That’s absurd! What if he…” Ethan met the tiger’s gaze for half a second and immediately backed down. “That’s… that’s too dangerous, Arden. Anything you want, I’ll buy it for you when we get back. Just… let’s not do this…” Vivian burst into tears. “Brother, I’m scared! I don’t want a beast in our house!” I ignored her double-edged comment, casually stroking the tiger’s fur. “Scared already? He’s much better behaved than some of the two-faced cubs in these mountains.” My voice hardened. “And he’s not a beast. He’s my only family.” I looked at my so-called parents. “You want me in your gilded cage? Fine. But we play by my rules.” “Either he and I walk through the Vance family doors together…” “Or you can all go back the way you came.” The silence stretched for a full ten seconds. “Daddy! Mommy! You see?!” Vivian’s wail shattered the quiet. She clutched Ethan’s arm, her body trembling, her head bowed to avoid looking at me and the tiger. “If sister doesn’t want to come home, she should just say so! What good does it do to scare you and Mom to death? Ethan, let’s just go, please… I’m so, so scared…” She peeked at their reactions through her fingers. My parents’ faces were storm clouds. Between the tiger’s low growl and Vivian’s crying, Richard’s resolve crumbled. “This is ridiculous! It’s a wild animal! Who will be responsible if it hurts someone?” “I will,” I answered flatly. My mother, Eleanor, shrieked at the sight of the tiger’s claws. “Can you afford to be responsible? Arden, look at what you’ve done to Vivian! You’ve terrified her!” “Mom!” Ethan looked from the sobbing Vivian to me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Dad, Mom, let’s calm down. Maybe Arden…” Vivian looked at Ethan in disbelief, her wails escalating into a desperate shriek. “Ethan! It will eat people! …I get it. If you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave as soon as she comes home…” She had been showered with affection her whole life; the mere suggestion of her leaving sent them into a panic. I watched, my eyes cold, as a triumphant, malicious glint appeared in Vivian’s. “So, have you decided? The tranquilizer is wearing off. My family is getting impatient.” As if on cue, the tiger let out a deep, rumbling growl, sending them all stumbling backward in fear. My father’s expression was ugly. He looked from Vivian to me, clearly weighing his options. “I agree,” he finally ground out. “But it stays in a cage! If anything happens, you are fully responsible, and then you get the hell out of our house!” He flinched as the tiger shifted. “Now, make it be quiet!” “Richard!” my mother gasped, shooting a pained look at Vivian. Vivian’s eyes were filled with tears. “Daddy! It’s going to hurt someone! And when it does…” Richard’s gaze darted to the tiger, his voice low and final. “Enough! This is how it will be!” Vivian’s crying stopped instantly, though her shoulders still trembled with feigned distress. When we arrived at the villa, the servants screamed and scattered at the sight of the tiger. Click. I led the tiger into an iron cage in the backyard and locked it. Vivian sidled up to me, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “A beast is a beast. Even a tiger has to live in a dog kennel if it enters the Vance home. Everything here is mine. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get lost.” I stared at her without a word, then let out a sharp whistle. The tiger’s head shot up. A threatening rumble emanated from its throat as it lunged at the bars, its massive jaws snapping at Vivian. She screamed, scrambling backward, and tripped, landing hard on the ground. “Ahhh! It’s getting out! It’s going to eat me!” she shrieked, tears and snot streaming down her face. “She did it on purpose! She’s trying to kill me!” My parents came running. “Vivian! Are you alright?!” My mother helped her up, her voice a furious hiss directed at me. “Arden! Are you happy now that you’ve made her cry? How can you be so vicious?” My father’s face was ashen with rage. “You haven’t been here a day and you’re already causing chaos!” Ethan stood protectively in front of Vivian, his eyes filled with disappointment. Vivian, gasping for breath, continued her slander. “She… she told me… that she’s the real heiress and that I should get out… or she’d let the tiger… eat me… She said there’s only room for one of us in this house…” Her pathetic act was nauseating. I turned my gaze to the cold iron cage. In a way, it was my cage, too. But having grown up in the mountains, I’ve never been afraid of confinement. A little white rabbit raised in a greenhouse, no matter how pitiful it acts, is no match for a tiger from the wild. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. After calming the tiger, a maid, clearly acting on Vivian’s orders, impatiently showed me to my room. Less than ten minutes later, a notification popped up on my phone. It was a new post from Vivian. “Sister, can you please not let the tiger eat me? I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t fight with you over anything.” The accompanying picture was a close-up of her tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes. Below, a flood of comments from clueless netizens offered her sympathy while calling for a witch hunt against the “evil sister.” Soon, hashtags like #VanceHeiressIsFeral and #JusticeForVivian started trending. I ignored the torrent of online abuse, letting out a small, contemptuous laugh. “How predictable.” Vivian, you’ve basked in the Vance family’s resources, but the only world you know is the tiny patch of sky above your head. You have no idea how vast the real world is. My screen lit up with several encrypted messages. “Boss, the Vances are discreetly investigating our organization.” “Abnormal fund transfers detected from Vivian Vance’s account, traced to an offshore shell company.” That evening, a sharp knock rattled my door. Dinner was an exquisite spread, but the entire family fussed over Vivian, treating me like a complete stranger. Richard slammed his phone down in front of me. The screen was filled with hateful comments. “If you hadn’t insisted on bringing that beast back, the Vance family name wouldn’t be getting dragged through the mud like this! Can’t you learn to be more like Vivian?” “Do you have any idea what your selfishness is costing us? A major project is about to fall through because of this!” Vivian’s voice was smugly sarcastic. “Dad, let it go. Sister came from the backwoods, after all. She’s used to being wild. What would she know about business projects?” My mother’s tone was sharp. “That’s no excuse! Now that you’re home, you’ll follow this family’s rules! For starters, we need to change that name. What kind of girl is called ‘Arden’? It’s ridiculous.” Vivian’s laugh was louder this time. “She’s right, Mom. People might think the Vance heiress is some kind of savage…” For once, Ethan didn’t defend Vivian. Instead, he looked at me with a spark of curiosity. “Arden… how did you subdue that tiger? Have you had training? Maybe for this project…” My father’s expression shifted. I set down my fork and knife, my gaze sweeping meaningfully over Vivian. “When you have no one to protect you, you learn to fend for yourself. After a while, you pick up a few skills. And, of course… you learn to watch out for things that might try to bite you from behind.” Vivian’s face went pale. Her chopsticks clattered to the floor. Her eyes, red-rimmed and fearful, locked on mine. “Sister, even if I did take your place, do you have to bring up that… that beast every time? You’re home now. Mom and Dad will protect you. You don’t have to deal with terrifying animals anymore…” My father’s face darkened instantly. “Arden! That’s enough of your wilderness nonsense. You are a Vance now. Learn some grace and dignity from Vivian! Stop associating with that animal and embarrassing this family!” Vivian chimed in sweetly. “It’s okay, sister. I can teach you about posture and etiquette. You can just learn from me. After all, what are sisters for? I just want you to be better, to be more accepted by everyone.” I was about to be sick. “No, thanks,” I scoffed. “I have no desire to become a two-faced hypocrite.” “And by the way,” I added, my voice dropping, “after your real mother abandoned me, it was the ‘beasts’ you so despise that raised me. Don’t you feel disgusted, putting on this good-person act now?” Vivian’s dam of tears finally broke. “I’m so sorry, sister!” she wailed. “I stole your life! If you really hate me this much, I’ll leave right now…” She always used their favoritism to needle me, but I never played her games. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” My parents’ heads snapped up, their eyes wide with shock and alarm. “Vivian! Don’t talk nonsense!” Ethan frowned at me, his face a mask of disappointment. “Arden! You’ve gone too far! Apologize to Vivian right now! Her health has always been delicate. As her older sister, can’t you show her some grace?” Delicate health? More like weaponized fragility. And what did her health have to do with me? Vivian hid in my mother’s arms, but not before flashing me a triumphant smile. I looked down at my phone, at the information displayed on the screen, and a slow smile spread across my face. A hothouse flower, no matter how skilled at silent assassinations, is no match for a predator from the jungle, who kills with a single, decisive strike. “If you’re leaving, you’d better do it quickly. Once the investigation into your little asset transfers is complete, leaving might not be an option.” I leaned forward, my gaze locking onto her like a cold, sharp blade. The color drained from Vivian’s face. Her eyes darted around frantically. “Sister, what are you talking about? What assets? I… I…” “Mommy, Daddy, I don’t know what she’s saying! Why is she always targeting me?” she shrieked, her voice echoing through the dining room, her body trembling with fear. “You don’t know?” I asked calmly, placing a file on the table for them to see. “Then how did I find out about the payments you’ve been making to your birth mother’s offshore account? The most recent one was three days ago, wasn’t it? What was that, hush money? Or were you just trying to bleed the family dry before skipping town?” Her face was a mask of pure terror. She forgot to even cry. “You… you’re lying! Slandering me! I didn’t! Daddy, Mommy, she’s making it all up!” I kept my voice even. “Is it slander? A quick look at the bank records would clear it all up, wouldn’t it?” I tapped the file. “Would you like me to provide the account number and transfer records, my dear sister?” Vivian looked as if she were being strangled, unable to utter a single word. Tears just streamed down her face as she swayed on her feet. As my family read the report, their faces contorted with shock and horror. Vivian, who had been sitting on her throne of privilege just moments before, looked completely and utterly broken. “You see?” I said, my voice soft. “There’s your precious little princess. Surprised?” Amidst their pale faces and Vivian’s broken sobs, I spoke again. My quiet voice was like a clap of thunder, making their expressions even more priceless. “If I recall correctly, the International Wildlife Conservation Summit is next month. The Vance family is desperate to land that key government partnership, right? A bit difficult without the right leverage, isn’t it?” The color drained from my father’s face. His eyes were wide with disbelief and suspicion. “How do you know that?” I smiled. When faced with a lucrative deal, what was their pathetic favoritism for Vivian really worth? “A Siberian tiger, tamed and part of a cutting-edge conservation research program… is currently locked in your dog kennel.” “The access rights and data from the ‘beast’ you so despise… that is the leverage you need to win this international contract.” “And the person who holds that leverage, the one with absolute authority in the world of conservation…” I picked up a dinner knife, tapping the cold steel with my fingertip. The sharp ping echoed in the silent room, a sound of absolute control. “…is the very person you’ve been trying so hard to ‘fix’… me.” My gaze shifted from the catatonic Vivian, finally landing on my dumbfounded, suspicious parents. “So, shall we have a new discussion about who…” “…makes the rules in this house?”

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1 The summer after graduation, Ethan coaxed me into bed. After that first taste, he became insatiable, tangling his life with mine for seven long years. My friends all laughed at how completely whipped he was. “Just marry him already,” they’d say. “The guy would literally die for you.” Then, one night, I stumbled upon his secret blog. Thousands of posts, an endless scroll of sick, obsessive devotion. All for a girl in a white dress, delicate and beautiful. His untouchable first love. And I finally understood. For seven years, he’d given me his body, but he’d given his love to someone else. 2 The night I found Ethan’s blog started like any other. He’d just gotten back from a business trip. The door had barely clicked shut behind him before he was pulling me toward the bedroom. He had a high drive, and a week apart had made him ravenous, his movements rough and impatient. By the time he was finished, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. Ping. A single, sharp notification sound. I watched Ethan grab his phone, his brow furrowing. As he pulled on a jacket to leave, I caught his arm. “Going out this late?” He turned, his voice softening into that familiar, gentle tone he used to soothe me. “Just a quick thing at the office. You go to sleep. Don’t wait up.” Maybe it was a woman’s intuition. Half an hour after he left, I was wide awake. The seed of unease had blossomed into full-blown suspicion. Forcing myself up, I called the security guard at his office building. “Hey, Mark. Are the guys pulling a late one tonight? I was thinking of sending over some food.” “No need, Ms. Wright. Mr. Bush let everyone leave early tonight. The whole place is empty.” “No one’s there at all?” “Not a soul. Is there something I can help you with?” “No,” I said, my voice hollow. “It’s nothing.” I hung up and sat motionless on the edge of the bed. We lived ten minutes from his office, max. It had been thirty minutes. He wasn’t at work. So where was he? 3 Ethan came back the next morning, humming a tune as he unlocked the door, his mood bright and buoyant. He’d brought me pastries from my favorite bakery—an old-school place across town, famous for its quality, but so far away it didn’t even deliver. “Whatever my baby wants,” he said, beaming as he set the box down. “If you wanted the stars, I’d bake them into cookies for you.” I let out a small, forced laugh, shaking my head as if to clear it. I was being paranoid. If I ever suggested Ethan didn’t love me, my friends would be the first to shut me down. “Lily, stop overthinking it,” they’d say. “That man worships the ground you walk on. Could he even function without you?” “In seven years, how many times has he been the one crawling back, begging you to forgive him after a fight?” “Just say yes already. Marry him.” They were right about everything. Ethan had always been the pursuer in our relationship. But they were wrong about one thing. He’d never proposed. “Babe,” he’d said once, his voice sincere, “I don’t want to rush this. I want to give you the world. When my career is truly stable, then I’ll ask you.” I was young then and wasn’t eager to be tied down by marriage myself. So we’d agreed, letting our relationship drift in that undefined space for seven years. As we ate, Ethan scrolled through his phone, a faint, unconscious smile playing on his lips. “What are you looking at that’s making you so happy?” The smile vanished. “Nothing. Just a cat video.” “Let me see.” He quickly locked his phone and pulled me into his arms, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “There’s nothing to see. You’re much better to look at. Are you done eating? Because now, it’s my turn to eat.” In the moment before he pushed me down onto the bed, my eyes caught a glimpse of his screen. A distinctive crimson icon for a blogging app, one used almost exclusively by women. What was that doing on his phone? 4 Once a seed of doubt is planted, it’s impossible to stop it from growing. While Ethan was in the shower, I grabbed his phone. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t have much time, only enough to memorize a username: Fading_Star. The next morning, I locked myself in the study. Using his profile picture and location tags from his main accounts, I cross-referenced and searched. An hour later, I found it. I clicked on the profile. Thousands of posts stretched back for years. It was like opening Pandora’s box. The raw, obsessive longing that poured from the screen was staggering. June 9, 2017. I slept with someone else. But I don’t regret it. You betrayed me first. That was the year Ethan, reeking of whiskey, had stumbled into my dorm room. He’d coaxed my clothes off and tangled us together for the entire night. Our first time. September 1, 2018. I didn’t get into my first-choice school. You think I can’t live without you? You’re wrong. That was the first day of college. Ethan had knelt on the campus lawn with a bouquet of flowers and confessed his love for me, promising to take responsibility for that night. It wasn’t for me. It was because he’d been rejected by the only university he’d wanted to attend. August 7, 2021. You got married? How could you? I will never forgive you. You should burn in hell. That night, Ethan had been brutally rough, fueled by alcohol. He used things on me I wasn’t comfortable with. I’d cried for hours and ended up in the hospital the next day with a fever. December 25, 2023. You’re divorced. Does that mean you’ll finally look back at me? That was the day Ethan, who never celebrated Christmas, posted a picture on Instagram wearing a Santa hat. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely scroll. I jumped to the most recent post, from the night he’d stayed out late. The things you can’t have in your youth will haunt you for a lifetime. The post was accompanied by a photo. A girl in a white dress, ethereal and beautiful. And I finally recognized her. Janice Reddy. Ethan’s childhood friend. The girl next door. I stared at the screen, a profound coldness seeping into my bones, my body trembling uncontrollably. It all clicked into place. In seven years of messy, tangled intimacy, not a single moment of his love had ever belonged to me. Young love, years of secret devotion… anyone would be moved to tears by such a story. Their love was an epic, a force of nature. So, what did that make me? 5 I took screenshots. I recorded videos. I saved everything. That evening, when Ethan came home, he was carrying a bag filled with new toys. He always had a wild imagination, a love for props and scenarios that left me exhausted. “Not tonight,” I said, turning away. “It’s that time of the month.” He paused for a second before pressing against me again. “Then just your hands? Your legs? Please? I’ll be gentle.” “No. I don’t want to.” After a few more attempts, all met with my firm refusal, his good mood soured. He didn’t push it, but the irritation was clear on his face. He brought me a heating pad and made me ginger tea. “Okay, babe. You get some rest. I’m just going to head back to the office to finish something up.” A friend once teased me. “You don’t know how good you have it. A guy only wants you all the time if he’s crazy about you. He’s almost thirty and still acts like a teenager in heat. My husband is like a dead fish.” I used to believe that. Ethan was never shy about his desire for my body, his obsession. But I had forgotten a simple, brutal truth: for a man, sex and love can be two entirely different things. I asked myself a hard question. If I were Ethan, would I be so reckless with someone I truly loved? As his blog post said: You are the moon, untouchable and pure. Just to be bathed in your light is an honor. But our first time was in a cheap hotel room, on scratchy sheets, with a thoughtless, clumsy urgency. The difference between being loved and not being loved. It was a chasm. 6 I followed him. I watched him walk into a small, elegant cake shop. Janice, wearing a pristine white dress, came out to greet him. She looked thrilled, her hand clutching his arm possessively. But Ethan’s reaction was uncharacteristically cold. He gently pushed her away. “The shop is yours now. Don’t contact me again.” Janice just laughed, winding her arm back around his. “I don’t believe you. You couldn’t stay away from me if you tried.” They went back and forth, a tense dance of push and pull, until Janice’s eyes welled up with tears. With a sigh of frustration, Ethan finally cornered her against the wall. “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” he muttered. Under the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight, they kissed. Hidden in the shadows across the street, I raised my phone and took several pictures. The Ethan I knew didn’t like kissing. Or so I’d thought. I stared at their entwined silhouettes. So, it wasn’t that he didn’t like kissing. He just didn’t like kissing me. He wasn’t unwilling to propose; he was just waiting for someone else to get divorced. Just as his hand started to slip under Janice’s dress, he stopped himself. “Go home. I’ll come see you tomorrow.” She clung to him, pouting. “What? Going home to get your fix from her?” “I won’t touch her tonight.” “I don’t believe you. Am I prettier, or is she?” Ethan was silent for a long moment. “You, of course,” he said finally. “She can’t compare to you.” A satisfied smile spread across Janice’s face. “Do you have any little cakes left in the shop?” Ethan asked. “Yeah, why?” “I’ll take one.” At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan. Baby, is your stomach still hurting? I’m getting you a little cake. What flavor do you want? 7 The man was a walking, talking joke. Cheating on me, then offering me a consolation prize made by the other woman. I texted back: Don’t want cake. I’m craving that key lime pie from the old place on the West End. I saw his brow furrow from across the street. The West End was a forty-minute drive, easy. But on a day like this, a little something green felt appropriate. Ethan: Okay. I’ll go get it. I ordered you some takeout to tide you over. Love you. I shut off my phone, my face a mask of indifference. I was morbidly curious. How long was he going to keep up this act? 8 When Ethan got home, he had the key lime pie. He also had his best friend, Bob, in tow. Bob was drunk and quickly passed out in the guest room. Later that night, I got up for a glass of water and heard them talking. “I’m not bailing you out again if you keep this up,” Ethan said, his voice cold. Bob was a notorious playboy, cycling through women like they were seasonal trends. “You don’t get it, man. Women are like clothes. You can’t just walk around naked.” “You’re going to catch something from one of those girls,” Ethan reprimanded. “Find a nice girlfriend and settle down. It’s cleaner, less of a headache.” Bob, still slurring, laughed. “Like Lily, you mean? She’s great, I’ll give you that. Obedient, and her body is insane. You’re a lucky bastard. But now that Janice’s back, when are you dumping her?” There was a long pause. “I’m waiting,” Ethan said. “Janice hasn’t said yes yet.” “Well, after you break up, you should pass Lily my way. I’ve had my eye on her for a while.” Suddenly, there was a thud, and Bob grunted. Ethan had hit him. Bob didn’t seem to care. “What are you getting all high and mighty for? You’re the one who’s always telling me how wild she is in bed. Don’t tell me you’re getting possessive now.” I stood frozen outside the door, ice water flooding my veins. I never imagined that the man who was so tender and loving to my face would be so casually, crudely discussing our private life with his friends. Then, Ethan’s voice, colder than I’d ever heard it, cut through the silence. “Go ahead and try. She’s an orphan. Starved for affection. An easy conquest. A bouquet of flowers and she’ll fall right into bed. Good luck.” 9 I went to the cake shop alone. It was charming and exquisite, exactly Janice’s style. She looked surprised to see me but quickly recovered, greeting me with a warm smile. I took one bite of the cake and set my fork down. “How long have you been back?” Janice smiled sweetly. “Not long. Just got here.” Yes, Janice and I knew each other. I’d found out about her in my second year with Ethan. He kept a shoebox full of boarding passes to San Francisco, a trip he made almost monthly. He said he had to; it was a family obligation to look after her. So, when I was sick with the flu, Ethan was in San Francisco. On my birthday, Ethan was in San Francisco. We fought about her constantly. But every time we broke up, he would fight tooth and nail to win me back. It all stopped when she got married and moved abroad our junior year. And now, she was divorced and back. And so was the old Ethan. “It’s a beautiful shop,” I said, my voice even. He saw the look on my face and immediately launched into a defense. “Lily, when I was struggling in high school, her father paid my tuition. Janice’s back now, and I just wanted to repay that kindness with this shop. That’s all.” Ah, a debt of gratitude from his formative years. No wonder the bond was so deep. How could I ever compete with that? “I see,” I murmured. 10 “Have you found a place to live yet? Are you adjusting to the weather here?” I asked Janice, my voice dripping with concern. “It must be so inconvenient living on your own. Why don’t you come stay with us?” Janice’s polite smile faltered. She kept darting nervous glances at Ethan. He finally cut in, his voice tight. “That won’t be necessary. She’s fine here.” As we left, I bought a cake and bid Janice a polite farewell. Ethan’s face was a thundercloud. He practically dragged me to the car. The second the doors were closed, he shoved me against the backseat, his anger finally erupting. “What the hell was that? You’re tracking my every move now? Was it Bob? Did he tell you about this place?” “What’s the matter?” I shot back. “Is this some sacred place I’m not allowed to visit? Or are you hiding something?” He punched the seat next to my head, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes, visibly trying to rein in his temper. “Lily, can you just talk to me like a normal person for once?” I was done. So incredibly done. “What does it matter who told me?” I pulled the printed photos from my purse and threw them in his face. “Let’s settle this right now. Is this what you call ‘working late’? Does a business trip involve making out with your ex-crush in an alley?” He didn’t flinch as the sharp corner of a photo paper sliced a thin red line across his forehead. I looked him over, my voice dripping with the same disdain he’d used on me. “You really are an easy conquest, aren’t you? All she has to do is crook her little finger, and you come running like a pathetic dog. You’re so damn cheap, Ethan.” After I said we were done, Ethan was silent for a long time. He started the car and drove us to our favorite restaurant. “You must be hungry. Let’s eat first.” He ordered a table full of my favorite dishes. And I was hungry, so I ate, keeping my head down. Seeing me eat seemed to soften him. “Slow down,” he said gently, starting to peel a shrimp for me. When I was finished, I got straight to the point. “When we get back, pack your things and get out.” The apartment was mine; I’d bought it years ago. Ethan’s body went rigid. “Besides that one kiss, I haven’t touched her,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Giving her the shop was just repaying a debt.” “Oh,” I said lightly. “Well, kissing is still pretty dirty.” That shattered his forced composure. He smashed his plate on the floor. “Lily, why do you have to talk like that?” I flinched away from the shattering porcelain. “You’d better remember to pay for that.” A shard of the plate had dug into his palm, drawing blood, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Bob told you, didn’t he?” “Why are you so obsessed with who told me?” “Who else could it be?” he sneered, his fist clenching. “One day he tells me he’s going to pursue you, and the next day you show up at the cake shop. It had to be him.” My own anger flared. “It doesn’t matter who told me! The fact is, you were the one who betrayed me!” I threw the printouts of his blog posts on the table. “Just admit you love her. Lying about it just makes you look pathetic.” He lost it completely, slamming his fist on the table. “I did not betray you!” he roared. “There is nothing going on between me and Janice now!” I remained unmoved. Men would lie with their dying breath. He stared at me for a long moment, and then a chilling calm settled over him again. “This is just an excuse, isn’t it? You just want to be with Bob.” He agreed to the breakup with a shocking ease. As he was leaving, he shot me one last look. “You’re always smiling at other guys at parties. Who knows who was unfaithful first? Don’t come crying to me when you want to get back together.” He looked me up and down, a lewd smirk on his face. “Besides me, who else could possibly satisfy you?”

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My husband’s ‘one that got away’ is hooked into some kind of hustle-culture cheat code, and all the exhaustion from her relentless ambition gets funneled directly into my body. She once worked for seven days straight without sleep to land a multi-million-dollar deal, becoming a legend in their field. Meanwhile, I was rushed to the emergency room with heart failure. When I tried to explain the impossible connection to my husband, he looked at me with pure disgust. “You’re just lazy,” he spat. “You’re jealous that she’s so young and successful, so you’ve invented this crazy story to curse her.” After that, every all-nighter she pulled chipped another piece away from my health. It escalated from nervous exhaustion to organ failure, until I was on the brink of death. The doctors could find no physical cause; they gently suggested I was suffering from persecutory delusions. Then came the final push for their company’s IPO. She locked herself in the office for two solid weeks. While she was doing that, I died in our home from exhaustion-induced cardiac arrest. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the night of her very first all-nighter. This time, I locked the bedroom door and took out a full blister pack of sleeping pills. “Sweetheart,” I whispered to the empty room. “It’s time for bed.” 1 A phantom hand squeezed my heart, a violent, crushing grip that stole my breath and shot me upright in bed. Cold sweat soaked through my pajamas in an instant. I gasped for air, my eyes darting around the familiar shadows of our bedroom. I wasn’t dead. A glance at the clock confirmed it. I was back. Back to the night it all began, the first night Chloe pulled an all-nighter. In my first life, that night was the start of a slow, deliberate execution. Chloe was Ethan’s ‘one that got away’—the brilliant college friend turned business partner. She was a natural-born workhorse, the hustle-culture queen worshipped by everyone at their startup. She could go seven days without sleep to land a multi-million dollar deal, then stand in the spotlight, radiant, soaking in the applause. And I, Ethan’s wife, was the one who ended up in the emergency room after every one of her manic sprints. First, it was crushing anxiety. Then heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and finally, congestive heart failure. I tried to explain the bizarre connection to Ethan. He dismissed it as petty jealousy. “Ava, can you be an adult for once?” he’d said, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Chloe is killing herself for our future. The least you could do is be supportive, not fake an illness for attention.” His eyes were cold, full of a contempt that cut deeper than any illness. “If you’re jealous, just say so. Don’t resort to these pathetic little tricks.” From that day on, every late night Chloe worked was another nail in my coffin. My health deteriorated. Insomnia bled into heart palpitations, which led to a constant struggle for breath. Every hospital visit was the same: batteries of tests that revealed no physical cause. My doctors eventually suggested I see a psychiatrist, gently implying I was suffering from a persecutory delusion. And Ethan’s disgust for me grew. In his eyes, I had become a lazy, spiteful shrew who couldn’t stand to see another woman succeed. The end came just before their company’s IPO. Chloe locked herself in the office for two weeks, a final, brutal push to the finish line. And I died. Quietly, alone, from exhaustion-induced cardiac arrest in the home we had once filled with love. My soul lingered, a spectator to my own tragedy. I watched Ethan hold Chloe, pressing a reverent kiss to her forehead. “We did it, Chloe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Once the company is stable, I’ll divorce that lazy woman and give you the wedding you deserve.” And now, I’m back. The familiar, suffocating pressure returned to my chest. I knew, with chilling certainty, that somewhere across town, Chloe was burning the midnight oil. If her exhaustion transfers to me, I thought, then what happens if I go to sleep? Does she have to sleep, too? This time, there was no panic. No desperate calls for help. I calmly walked to my dresser and took out a full blister pack of sleeping pills. As a therapist, I’d gotten them for a research paper on insomnia. I popped out every single pill. Without a moment’s hesitation, I swallowed them all with a glass of water. The drug hit my system quickly, a heavy, syrupy wave of drowsiness. I lay down, closed my eyes, and just before the darkness consumed me, I whispered into the silence. “Good night, Chloe.” 2 I expected to sleep until morning, but a spike of pain, sharp and blinding, ripped me from the darkness in the middle of the night. It felt like someone was driving steel needles into my temples, twisting them again and again. Pain. It was a pain that went bone-deep. I fought my way into a sitting position, my body trembling. I’d been asleep for hours, yet I felt more exhausted than before I’d taken the pills. The medication hadn’t worked. I had forced myself to sleep, but it hadn’t stopped the transfer of fatigue. In fact, the sedatives had only heightened my senses, amplifying the agony and weariness tenfold. Just then, Ethan’s phone lit up the nightstand. A new post from Chloe. It was a photo of her at her desk, bathed in the glow of a lamp, pen flying across a page. The caption read: Burning the midnight oil for the dream. This is when the magic happens. In the picture, her eyes were bright, electric. Not a hint of sleepiness. And in the comments, the first like and reply were from Ethan: Go get ’em, my girl. So proud of your hard work. My hands shaking, I grabbed my own phone, found Chloe’s contact, and hit the video call button. She answered almost immediately. Her face, crisp and clear, filled my screen. “Ava? It’s late. What are you still doing up?” I fought through the searing pain in my head, my eyes locked on hers. “Chloe, what did you do to me? Why does it hurt me when you work late?” She was silent for a few seconds, and then a small, cruel smile played on her lips. Her soft laugh was undisguised mockery. “What on earth are you talking about, Ava? Did Ethan praise my work ethic again? Did that make you jealous? I have to say, for a grown woman, your jealousy is really something else.” “I’m just built different,” she continued, her voice syrupy sweet. “I have more energy than most people. It’s a gift. You can’t learn it, and you certainly can’t fake it.” “Stop lying! You know exactly what’s happening!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “Please,” I begged, my voice breaking as the pain crested. “Stop. I’m begging you…” My grip on the phone was failing. “You’re just pathetic, Ava.” Her voice turned sharp as ice. “But what can you do? You’re useless. You do nothing but hold Ethan back.” “Oh, and by the way,” she added, her eyes glinting. “I’m planning on pulling an all-nighter tonight. I’m going to finish this whole proposal in one go. You better hang in there, Ava.” Before I could say another word, she ended the call. I stared at the black screen, a roaring sound filling my ears. The world tilted, went dark, and the phone slipped from my grasp. I tumbled from the bed and knew nothing more. 3 When I woke up, it was to the sterile smell of a hospital VIP room and the cold, rhythmic beeping of machines. Ethan was sitting by the bed, his face a mask of irritation and disgust. He didn’t ask how I was. He didn’t offer a word of comfort. He launched his attack the moment my eyes opened. “What the hell is your game now, Ava? Do you enjoy pulling these stunts in the middle of the night?” My heart still ached with a thousand tiny needles. Every breath was a chore. “I…” “You what?” he snapped, cutting me off. “The doctor said you’re suffering from exhaustion and stress. I told you to just stay home and relax. What could you possibly be so stressed about?” “It’s Chloe…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “It’s always Chloe!” Ethan shot to his feet, looming over me. His eyes burned with disappointment. “Can’t you just be happy for her for once? The company is at a critical stage, and she is carrying the whole thing on her back! Instead of encouraging her, you’re here pulling this childish, manipulative crap!” He leaned in closer, his voice a low threat. “I’m warning you, Ava. Stop using these disgusting tactics to go after her. She is the most important partner I have. If you do anything to ruin her, I swear to God, I will make you regret it.” I was discharged after three days. During that time, Chloe hadn’t pulled any more all-nighters, and my body had started to recover. I used Ethan’s phone to send Chloe a text, perfectly mimicking his tone. I told her he wasn’t feeling well and needed her to swing by the house to pick up an urgent file for him. She didn’t suspect a thing. Half an hour later, she was at our door. She was dressed in a sharp power suit, her makeup flawless, radiating energy. The contrast with my own pale, fragile state was stark. “Ava. The file?” she asked, her tone polite but distant. I ignored her question and handed her a glass of water instead. “You must be thirsty. Have some water. You look like you were rushing.” Chloe hesitated for a moment, then took the glass and drank. I had dissolved a mild hypnotic I used in my therapy practice into the water. The air in the room was already filled with the calming scent of sandalwood, another part of my preparation. I began to speak in the low, soothing cadence I used with my clients, guiding her toward the sofa. “Chloe, look at my eyes.” “You’re so tired. You just want to sleep…” Her gaze started to soften, to lose focus. Her breathing steadied. “Tell me,” I pressed, my voice a hypnotic whisper. “Why do I feel your exhaustion when you stay up all night?” Her lips parted, and just as the truth was about to spill from them, the front door crashed open with a deafening bang. Ethan stormed in, his face contorted with rage. He shoved me aside and rushed to Chloe, frantically checking if she was okay. “Ava! You psychotic bitch! What are you doing to her?!” He spun around, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me as if he wanted to tear me apart with his bare hands. “I should have known! You’re just jealous! You can’t stand that she’s better than you, so you resort to this… this witchcraft to destroy her!” He had pushed me so hard I stumbled backward, the corner of the coffee table digging sharply into my hip. “That’s not…” “Don’t you dare lie to me!” He rifled through my purse, pulling out the empty blister pack of sleeping pills. His face was a mask of fury. “You say you’re tired? I think you’re just bored! Since you love sleeping so much, I’ll help you get all the sleep you want!” He lunged at me, grabbing my chin in a vise-like grip. He brutally forced the remaining pills from the pack I’d left in my purse into my mouth, then grabbed the glass of water and poured it down my throat. “Swallow! Swallow it all!” Icy water and bitter pills flooded my airway. I choked, coughing violently as tears streamed down my face. He watched my desperate struggle without a flicker of pity. “If you ever touch a single hair on her head again,” he snarled, “I will make you disappear from this world.” He then lifted the still-drowsy Chloe into his arms as if she were a priceless treasure and carried her out. The door slammed shut, sealing me in. I collapsed to the floor, jamming my fingers down my throat, forcing myself to vomit up the pills he’d tried to kill me with. My stomach heaved, but I ignored the searing pain. With the last ounce of my strength, I crawled to the front door, unlocked it, and collapsed onto the welcome mat, surrendering to the encroaching darkness. 4 I woke up in a hospital bed. Again. A nurse told me a neighbor had found me unconscious in the doorway. They’d pumped my stomach, but the overdose had kept me in a coma for three days and three nights. I lay there, feeling weightless, boneless. But even after all that sleep, the bone-deep exhaustion was still there, a constant companion. My chest was tight, every breath a dull ache. Ethan never came. Good. Lying in that sterile room, I raised a weak hand to block the harsh fluorescent light. And then, I saw it. I shot up in bed, ignoring the nurse’s protests as I ripped the IV from my arm. Of course. That was the truth. That was how she was siphoning the life out of me. I finally understood. A few days later, I checked myself out of the hospital. I didn’t go home. I took a cab straight to my grandfather’s wellness clinic. My grandfather was a renowned acupuncturist and herbalist. When I was a child, my health was fragile, and he was the one who nursed me back to strength with his traditional remedies. The clinic smelled of dried herbs and earth, a scent that always calmed me. He took one look at my ghostly pale face and his own grew grim. He took my pulse, his brow furrowed. “My dear girl, how did you let yourself get into this state? Your energy is scattered, your pulse is weak… this is a severe depletion of your vital essence. If this continues, it could be life-threatening.” I didn’t explain. I just begged him to help me. He sighed and wrote out a long, complex prescription of herbs to nourish my blood, calm my spirit, and strengthen my body. Besides the foul-tasting teas, he taught me a series of gentle movements. “Tai Chi,” he said. “Practice every morning and every evening. It will rebuild your foundation, slowly bring back the energy you’ve lost.” He performed acupuncture, and as the silver needles found their points, a warmth spread through my limbs. For the first time in months, the hollowed-out feeling of exhaustion began to recede. For the next few weeks, I lived with my grandfather. My days were simple: I drank my herbal brews, practiced my movements, and let the needles work their magic. I blocked all calls and texts from Ethan and Chloe, vanishing completely from their world. I needed to conserve my strength. I was waiting for the perfect moment to watch the show. So, Chloe. You’re the queen of the grind, are you? You love to burn the candle at both ends? Let’s see how long you can last on your own.

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