Category: English

On the eve of our wedding anniversary, I found a ten-carat diamond ring in my husband’s coat pocket. This must be my surprise, I thought, and slipped it back where I found it. A moment later, I was scrolling through my social media feed when I saw a new post from Brian’s young secretary. [The North Star. Can’t wait for this ‘surprise’ to land on my finger.] I stared at the screen, then walked back to the closet, took the ring out, and slid it onto my own hand. Some surprises, I decided, you just have to give yourself. 1 In five years of marriage, Brian had never given me a diamond ring, not even on our wedding day. So when I first saw it, I’ll admit, a tiny thrill went through me. I’d heard about this ring before. It was the final masterpiece of a world-renowned designer, a custom piece commissioned and named “The North Star.” I thought the old, stoic tree was finally about to bloom. I just never imagined the flower wasn’t meant for me. The sound of the shower was a steady rush from the bathroom. Acting on some strange impulse, I picked up his coat again. I tried the ring on every finger, from my pinky to my thumb, on my left hand and then my right. The damning conclusion was unavoidable. This ring wasn’t for me. The massive round-cut diamond glittered under the lamplight, but it was nothing compared to the frantic sparkle in my own eyes. My vision blurred for a second. I allowed myself that single second of grief, then scrubbed the tears away with the back of my hand. Five years of my life flashed through my mind. At the end of it, I gritted my teeth and forced the slightly-too-large ring onto the middle finger of my left hand. Then, as Brian emerged from the bathroom, his pupils contracting into pinpricks, I waved my hand in front of his face. “Surprise received,” I chirped. “Happy anniversary!” Brian had spent years navigating the cutthroat world of business; the boyish transparency he once had was long gone. Not a flicker of panic crossed his face. After a long moment, he simply opened his arms and pulled me into an embrace. “Hannah,” he murmured into my hair. “Happy fifth anniversary.” “For our next five years, I’ll get you an even more beautiful one, alright?” I buried my face in his chest, my shoulders shaking with laughter. He mistook it for the happy, emotional little sobs he was used to, thinking I was just being cute. He patted my back comfortingly. “This ring is one of a kind,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “A symbol of my unique and singular love for you.” … Well, thank God for a moment of courage. It had secured me this “unique and singular” love. After all, a moment later, and that “love” would have belonged to someone else. Turns out, you really do have to make your own surprises. When can you ever truly rely on a man? 2 I took a series of photos of the ring and posted a nine-photo grid to my feed—a rare indulgence for me. The caption was simple and blunt: “Big enough, sparkly enough. I love it.” It wasn’t long before a like and a comment appeared from his little secretary, Peyton. “It’s beautiful! But it looks like a custom design. Mrs. Hayes, do you happen to know the story behind it?” Every word was a spark, a blatant provocation. But I didn’t care. When you don’t get what you want, you’re allowed to be a little sour, right? I’m a generous person. So I replied to my own post with a “smirking face” emoji: “The story? The story is that it’s worth a fortune, haha…” Anyone who could see my feed could see that comment. Within minutes, likes from a dozen other socialites started pouring in. [LOL, Mrs. Hayes, you always know what’s important.] [Hannah, you’re hilarious as always.] … The next time I refreshed the page, Peyton’s pathetic little comment was gone. And so was the post she’d made an hour earlier. 3 That night, I lay in bed with my eyes closed, sleep a distant country. Vaguely, I sensed Brian getting out of bed. I shifted, and his movement paused. When I was still again, I heard the sound of footsteps, deliberately softened, heading out of the room. So, he did know how to be considerate of others. He just chose not to be. It was like his habit of waking up at the crack of dawn. He never once thought to move quietly, despite knowing I often worked late into the night. He’d just see me blinking awake, confused, and pat my head with some patronizing advice. “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman healthy and wise.” He knew my work schedule was flexible, that I often had to burn the midnight oil. It was only now dawning on me. This good man, my husband, had probably never loved me at all. I burrowed under the covers and quietly opened the security app on my phone. On the camera feed from the corner of the living room, I saw him standing on the balcony. I couldn’t hear what he was saying through the glass, but I could see the helpless, indulgent smile on his face. I don’t know how much time passed before he came back to bed, bringing the chill of the early autumn air with him. He fell asleep quickly. I couldn’t. The coldness he carried seemed to seep into my bones, freezing me from the inside out. I opened my phone again. His secretary’s feed had been updated ten minutes ago. [Love and companionship are the most important things in the world.] The accompanying image was a screenshot of a voice call. The name and profile picture were blurred out, but looking at the call duration—nearly half an hour—I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. It hurt. Of course it hurt. In my version of the future, Brian and I were supposed to last a lifetime. I never expected some girl to just waltz into the middle of it. I’d met Peyton a few times. She was a vibrant, energetic young woman… just like I used to be. When I first heard he’d hired a new secretary, I’d felt a flicker of unease. But the moment I saw her, I relaxed. She looked so much like me. And that was a good thing. Because Brian had never shown any particular fondness for the way I was. Add his cold, aloof personality to the mix, and I thought, what kind of girl would be foolish enough to fall for her own boss? Apparently, I was wrong. Or maybe men are just that fickle. Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all. He just didn’t like me. Thankfully, over the past five years, on the rare occasions those cold lips of his had uttered the words “I love you,” I’d always treated it as part of the act. The old saying is true: you can’t get hurt if you never believed in the first place. Love is the most important thing, is it? I looked at the man sleeping beside me, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I turned my back to him. Fine. Because to me, money is the most important thing. 4 I didn’t sleep a wink, mentally cursing Brian in a thousand different ways. I finally drifted off in the early morning, only to be pulled from a hazy dream by Brian. Before I could react, his lips were on mine, a hot, demanding kiss that swept over me like a storm. My sleepiness vanished instantly. On pure instinct, I shoved him away. Ugh. What a disgusting way to start the day. Brian, stunned by my reaction, just laughed. “You’re getting grumpier in the mornings.” His smile was a glare in my eyes, like some kind of pathetic compensation for his infidelity. I closed my eyes and rolled over, turning my back to him. “I need more sleep. You should go.” Silence. Then a low sigh from behind me. “Alright. Remember to get up and eat breakfast.” “I had Mrs. Gable make that seafood congee you love.” I burrowed deeper into the blankets, my mind a tangle of irritation. “Got it,” I mumbled. He must have sensed my mood. With another small laugh, he tucked a card into the bedding beside me. “Go out and have some fun. It’s not good to be cooped up at home all the time.” I shifted to show I’d heard him. A soft chuckle, and then, “Okay, I’m leaving.” I clutched the black card, and all my frayed nerves seemed to smooth over. Instantly, I was back asleep. I slept until the afternoon. When I woke up, I scrolled through my phone and saw Peyton’s latest post. It was from that morning. [Who has the most amazing boss? Not only did he give me a ride to work, but yesterday I mentioned I was craving seafood congee, and today, there’s seafood congee!] The picture was of a thermal food jar. It was a limited-edition one I’d bought overseas. I’d never even used it, keeping it as a display piece. And the photo was clearly taken from the passenger seat of Brian’s car. I understood now. This wasn’t just showing off. This was a declaration of war. I looked at the bowl of congee on my nightstand, and my stomach turned. I walked it to the kitchen and dumped it in the trash. It’s fine, I told myself. It’s fine. If she wants the damn congee, let her have it. I have the black card. There’s nothing I can’t buy. I changed my clothes and headed straight for the mall. Money, after all, is only yours once you spend it. I walked into my usual high-end boutique, and the sales associate recognized me immediately. “Mrs. Hayes, perfect timing! The diamond bracelet Mr. Hayes ordered for you has just arrived.” A bracelet? I never wear them. And after yesterday’s lesson, I knew exactly who this was for. As they say, one act of courage is always followed by… a second. I smiled serenely and accepted the box. “Thank you. No wonder Brian told me to go out shopping today.” “Could you help me put it on?” As she fastened the clasp, she chattered happily. “Mr. Hayes was very specific about the design.” “He even had your initial engraved on it.” I can’t blame her for being oblivious. Brian and I used to come here together often. For years, he’d played the part of the devoted husband so perfectly that of course, everyone believed it. I flipped the bracelet over to look at the engraving. An elegant, cursive P. P for Peyton? That didn’t stop me from smiling. “What a lovely surprise.” I immediately took a picture and sent it to Brian. “Another unexpected surprise! Received. Thank you, darling.”

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After successfully completing the mission, I returned to my original world. I woke up from a coma. My children, now grown, were gathered around my hospital bed. My husband pulled me into a tight embrace. My parents and mother-in-law were crying tears of joy. Just as I was about to dismiss the System and choose to stay in my world, a woman who looked almost identical to me pushed the door open. My son and daughter rushed to her, clinging to her affectionately and calling her “Mommy.” Everyone looked at me, their faces a mask of awkwardness. The woman shot me a triumphant smirk. I put the System on hold. “I need to reconsider whether I want to stay here.” 1 My children clutched Claire’s skirt, their eyes wary as they stared at me. It was as if I were some kind of monster. I clenched the thin hospital blanket, a sharp pain blooming in my chest. My husband, Liam, squeezed my shoulder, his grip tightening. I looked around at the others. Just moments before, they had been chattering excitedly about installing a new emergency alert system on my phone. Clearly, they hadn’t expected Claire to walk in. “Eliza,” my mother began, her voice strained with embarrassment, “Claire has been taking care of us while you were… unconscious. We were going to introduce you two properly when we got home.” My mother-in-law chimed in. “Yes, and now that you’re awake, you two should get along. Don’t cause any trouble for us, alright?” Claire smiled and walked toward my bed, her eyes glinting with a challenge. I remained silent, telling the System in my mind, “I’ll give you my answer in a couple of days.” The System sighed softly and went quiet in my head. Seeing that I was ignoring her, Claire’s eyes reddened. A tear traced a path down her cheek as she forced a pitiful smile. “I was being too impulsive. It’s only natural for my sister to hate me. I should go…” She didn’t give anyone a chance to react, turning and walking out. My mother-in-law stamped her foot in frustration and hurried after her. Liam instinctively stood up to follow, but his eyes met mine and he froze, sinking back into his chair. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. “Don’t overthink this,” he whispered, just as he always used to. “You’re the only one for me.” My daughter, Chloe, ran out after Claire. My son, Leo, shot me a look of pure hatred before slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I didn’t understand. My two adorable little babies… how had they turned into this? Seeing my silence, my parents excused themselves to handle my discharge papers. Soon, I was being wheeled out of the hospital. But as the car pulled away, I realized we weren’t heading home. “Dad,” I asked, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. “If I remember correctly, this isn’t the way home.” My father’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He forced a laugh. “Our Eliza’s memory is as sharp as ever.” He took a long, winding route, eventually pulling up to our house. I hadn’t understood his strange detour, but the moment I stepped inside, it all became brutally clear. The large family portrait that used to hang in the entryway was gone. In its place was a new one—of them, with Claire. I stared at the photo, stunned, then rushed upstairs and threw open the door to my old bedroom. Of course. Claire had taken over my room, redecorating it completely. It was now unrecognizable. My chest heaved. Through the doorway, I could see her, sitting on my bed, reading a bedtime story to my son. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. For five years, I had worked tirelessly, completing every mission the System threw at me, all for this moment—to be reunited with my family. And now I knew the truth. There was no place for me here anymore. “You were going to take me somewhere else at first, weren’t you?” I stared at the man who had once been my doting father. He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “I’ll get a room ready for you right now, Eliza. This will always be your home.” As he spoke, Claire’s eyes welled up with tears again. She silently stood up and started gathering her things. But Leo stopped her. When no one was looking, he launched himself at me, shoving me to the ground. He grabbed whatever he could find and started throwing it at me, screaming. “You came back and now you’re bullying my mommy! You’re a bad woman!” “Get out!” “Get out of my house!” I stared at the snarling, unfamiliar child in front of me, completely frozen. 2 Everyone was shocked by Leo’s outburst. Liam grabbed his arm, his brow furrowed in anger. “Leo! What do you think you’re doing?” But Leo just sobbed, continuing to scream at me. The commotion woke Chloe, who started crying loudly. Claire held her, tears streaming down her own face. “Stop it, everyone, please stop! It’s all my fault. I’ll leave, okay? I’ll just leave!” She made a move to walk out. That’s when my mother spoke, her voice sharp. “Everyone, be quiet!” She turned to Claire. “Claire, you’re not going anywhere. You can keep this room.” My breath hitched. I looked at my mother, who was now frowning at me. “Eliza, I’ll have the entire third floor cleared out for you tomorrow. For tonight, you can sleep in the guest room.” She sighed. “Just let’s have some peace and quiet.” Her words brought back a distant memory. I was a little girl, asking her, “Mommy, this is the master bedroom. Why don’t you and Daddy sleep here? Why is it my room?” Back then, my mother had hugged me, her smile full of warmth. “Because this room holds all our best wishes for you, my sweet girl. We want our Eliza to be happy forever.” Thinking of that, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I turned my head, quickly wiping them away before walking out of the room. My mother opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. Back in the guest room, I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow and letting out all the sobs I had suppressed. Suddenly, a warm embrace enveloped me. Liam pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, stroking my hair. “What are we going to do if your eyes are all swollen tomorrow, honey?” he murmured, sighing. I looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. He smiled softly. I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, his shirt was soaked through with my tears. Embarrassed, I rubbed my eyes. “You should go take a shower.” Liam hugged me tightly one last time before grabbing his phone and heading into the bathroom. I expected him to be quick. He usually took less than ten minutes. But this time, the sound of the water went on and on, until I drifted off to sleep. I was woken later by the soft click of the door. I opened my eyes and saw Liam’s phone, which he’d left on the pillow next to me, light up. Claire’s name flashed on the screen. “Waiting for you. 😉 ” My heart skipped a beat. I grabbed the phone, my hands trembling, but when I tried to unlock it, the password was wrong. Liam’s password had always been my birthday. Now… I tried my birthday again, then his, then the kids’. Nothing worked. Then I remembered the birthday he had saved in Claire’s contact information. I typed it in. The phone unlocked. A cold dread washed over me. I opened their chat history. In the hour that Liam had been in the bathroom, he had been on a video call with Claire. The phone slipped from my grasp. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, willing myself not to cry. After a long moment, I got up and walked to Claire’s room. The door was ajar. Through the crack, I saw Claire’s arm linked with Liam’s. She was smiling, leaning in to give him a tender kiss. And Liam… he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her back, with even more passion. 3 I stood outside the door, forcing myself to watch the scene unfold. It was a form of self-torture. I stayed there until my legs gave out and I slid to the floor. A soft noise from the kitchen drew my attention. I turned to see my seven-year-old daughter, Chloe, standing on a stool, clumsily stirring something in a pot. Worried she might get hurt, I went over to her. She was muttering to herself. “Mommy doesn’t like cilantro, no onions…” She carefully lifted the pot off the stove like a little adult, and for a moment, my heart softened. But when she turned and saw me, her expression soured. “What are you doing here, you mean woman?” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. The “Mommy” she was talking about was Claire. My lips trembled. “Chloe, I’m your mother. How could you…” “You’re not my mother!” she screamed. She shoved me aside and carried the hot soup towards Claire’s room. I stumbled back, my spine slamming into the sharp corner of the counter. The pain was excruciating. I found myself back at Claire’s door. Chloe was carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup before offering it to Claire. Claire praised her with a smile, and Liam pulled Chloe into his lap, chuckling. “Our little Chloe knows how to take care of her mommy better than her brother does.” I stood in the hallway, an unwanted ghost watching a happy family that wasn’t mine. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I turned and walked away. The next morning, Liam woke me with his customary good-morning kiss. I turned my head, avoiding it. He paused, then took my hand and led me to the dining table. But my seat was gone. Claire was sitting in my usual spot, a smug smile on her face. Liam looked flustered for a moment before guiding me to his own chair. “Uh…” The housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, spoke up hesitantly. “I didn’t prepare a portion for Miss Claire…” Everyone froze. My mother looked confused. “Claire, didn’t you tell her?” “Oh!” Claire exclaimed, feigning surprise. “I… I slept so late last night, and I was in such a rush this morning, I completely forgot to tell Mrs. Gable… I can give my portion to Eliza…” My mother-in-law placed a hand on hers. “You sit right there.” My father agreed. “You need to eat. You’re too thin as it is.” I felt invisible, a spectator to their harmonious family dynamic. My hands, hidden at my sides, curled into tight fists. My mother sighed and asked Mrs. Gable to prepare another meal. Then she took my hand and started talking about a welcome-home party. “You’re finally awake, so we’re throwing a party for you. Liam will take you to pick out a dress later.” I gently pulled my hand away, nodding silently. I looked at my mother’s face, a question forming in my mind. Do I really want to stay here? 4 At the party, my father was busy introducing Claire to all his business partners and old friends. I started to walk over, but my mother stopped me. “Your father is introducing Claire as his successor,” she whispered, giving me a pointed look. “It’s better if you don’t go over there. We’ll give you shares in the company later, you can live off the dividends.” I froze. “But you always said I would…” “That was before,” she interrupted, her grip on my hand tightening as if to prevent me from causing a scene. “Just be good, Eliza.” She led me to a quiet corner, leaving me there in a daze. My attention was suddenly caught by a familiar figure across the room. It was Liam. The same Liam who had promised me he would never drink again was now smiling, downing glass after glass of champagne as he intercepted drinks meant for Claire. He had a bad stomach. I remembered the time he was rushed to the hospital with severe cramps, and I had cried myself sick with worry. He promised me then that he would quit drinking. His friends even teased him for being so whipped. I watched him drink, one glass after another. Soon, his face grew pale, and he clutched his stomach. Forgetting everything else, I rushed to his side and grabbed his arm. “Have you forgotten everything you promised me?” He looked at my worried face, a flicker of guilt and gratitude in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Eliza, I…” “Don’t talk.” I took a deep breath, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone as I helped him out of the venue. By the time we reached the hospital, he had passed out. The doctor put him on an IV drip. I was about to go pay the bill when Liam grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go…” he mumbled. I couldn’t help but smile. I leaned down to soothe him, but then he whispered a name that wasn’t mine. “Don’t go, Claire.” In that instant, it felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I stood there, paralyzed, a crushing weight squeezing my heart. I pried his fingers from my wrist, paid the bill, and drove straight home. “Claire is pregnant now. We can’t let her get an abortion!” My hand was on the doorknob when I heard my mother-in-law’s voice from inside. “Maybe Liam should just divorce Eliza and marry Claire.” She was seeking my parents’ approval. My mother sighed. “I suppose… If Eliza gets divorced, she’ll still have us. But Claire is all alone. It might be for the best if she marries Liam.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Inside that room, they were deciding my fate in a few casual sentences. I stood there, frozen, until a soft laugh came from behind me. “Eliza, what was the point of you waking up?” I turned to see Claire, a taunting look in her eyes. “In the end, I still replaced you, didn’t I?” I forced myself to stand tall. “A replacement is always just a replacement. How long do you think this stolen happiness of yours will last?” My words seemed to strike a nerve. Her face changed. “We’ll see whose happiness it is in the end!” she spat back. With that, she grabbed my hand, and with a sudden, violent shove, she threw herself backward. A scream echoed through the hall as she tumbled down the stairs. Blood began to pool between her legs. The conversation inside stopped. The door flew open, and the three of them rushed out to see Claire lying at the bottom of the stairs in a bloody mess. SLAP. My father’s hand connected with my cheek, the force of the blow sending me staggering. My mother-in-law shoved me, and I fell to the ground. “What have you done?!” my father roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. I opened my mouth to explain, but they didn’t give me the chance. My mother’s voice was cold and sharp. “If anything happens to Claire, you don’t have to bother coming back to this house ever again!” Tears streamed down my face. I watched my father scoop Claire into his arms and rush her to the car. My mother and mother-in-law followed without giving me a second glance. Something inside me snapped. I don’t know how long I sat there as the wind and rain began to whip around me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “System,” I said, my voice hollow. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. I want to go back to the mission world.” Of course. Here is the remainder of the translation, continuing directly from where the previous part ended.

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My daughter, who had just gotten a full ride to Berkeley, suddenly looked at me and said, “Mom, I think you’re kind of selfish.” I frowned, completely lost. “I mean,” she continued, “I got into this amazing school, and all our friends and family are congratulating *you*, showering *you* with praise. But what about Dad? He gets nothing out of this.” The air went out of my lungs. My heart felt like it had dropped into a block of ice. I stared at her, my face hardening. “And what exactly is it you think your father should be getting?” 1 Asking that question felt like swallowing glass. My daughter, Emily, didn’t even look up from her video game. “It’s not that I think he should get something specific,” she said, tapping furiously at her iPad. “It just doesn’t seem fair.” Her tone was so casual, but the words were suffocating me. I took a deep breath, walked over, and snatched the iPad out of her hands. “Tell me,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “Tell me about your idea of ‘fair.’” That’s when she exploded. Emily shot up from the couch and tried to rip the tablet back from me. “What the hell? I’m in the middle of a raid! Are you crazy?” I threw the iPad to the floor. It shattered with a sickening crack. Emily’s face twisted with rage. She shoved me hard. “I was trying to be nice!” she screamed, her face inches from mine. “I was trying to spare your feelings, but I guess that’s over now.” “I’m your daughter. When I got that acceptance letter, even the mailman was telling you how lucky you are, what a great kid you raised. Relatives who haven’t called in years are suddenly blowing up your phone.” “It feels pretty good, doesn’t it? All that attention. But what about my dad? Just because you two are divorced, he’s not even allowed to come to my graduation party? He has to sneak around to give me a gift, like he’s some kind of criminal, just so he doesn’t upset you.” “He’s my *father*, Mom, not some stranger. This glory, this success? It’s mine. I earned it. And you’re getting all the benefits. Why shouldn’t he get to share in it, too?” “Why do I have to be *your* trophy? Why do you get to control everything? I’m just telling you the truth. You’re a selfish, possessive woman.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. My mind went blank. My teeth were chattering, and the hand I pointed at her was trembling uncontrollably. But Emily didn’t care. She was on a roll, venting years of stored-up resentment. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to talk about how Dad hurt you.” “That was ages ago! How long are you going to hold that grudge? It’s the 21st century, people get divorced all the time. Does every divorced couple have to be mortal enemies?” “He stopped loving *you*, Mom. He never stopped loving *me*. I’m his daughter, and I made him proud. I got into Berkeley…” The sharp, clean sound of a slap echoed in the quiet room. It took every last ounce of my strength. Emily clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. Then came the shriek. “How could you? You have no right to hit me! You are going to regret this!” With one last hateful glare, she spun around, wrenched the door open, and slammed it behind her. My legs gave out. I stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. 2 I will never, ever forgive my ex-husband, Mark. When I was young, I fell for his sweet talk and empty promises. I married him against my parents’ wishes, convinced he was my soulmate. After we were married, I emptied my savings account to help him start his construction business. And it worked. His business took off. Soon after, I got pregnant. The moment he heard, he moved his mother in from out of state, supposedly to “help with the baby.” Behind my back, she sold her house and settled in for good. I tried to be okay with it. Then, I gave birth to a daughter. The sweet, doting mother-in-law vanished overnight. My gentle, loving husband didn’t even show up at the hospital. Before I was even fully recovered, my mother-in-law ground sleeping pills into my food. While I was passed out, she took my baby and drove her to some distant relatives three states away, planning to give her up for adoption. When I woke up and found Emily gone, I went into a panic. I called Mark, screaming and crying. His voice was cold, distant. “Sarah, calm down. My mom talked to a psychic. Said the baby’s bad luck for my career. Besides, she’s just a girl. Let them have her. You need to focus on getting healthy so you can give me a real son.” No matter how much I begged, they refused to tell me where my daughter was. They locked me in the house, telling me they’d let me out when I “calmed down.” I broke a window and climbed out. I called the police. Once things got loud and official, they finally brought my daughter back. I filed for divorce immediately. Mark refused. The look in his eyes when he spoke to me was pure evil. “Divorce? And who’s going to cook my meals? Who’s going to give me a son? Who’s going to be my mom’s maid?” After that, whenever he had a bad day at work, he’d come home and take it out on me. On both of us. He’d hit me, hit our little girl, screaming that we were curses, a pair of black cats that ruined his luck. Eventually, he brought another woman home. She gave him the son he always wanted. He needed to marry her to get the boy on his insurance, so he finally agreed to the divorce. The price was steep. If I wanted to take my daughter, I had to walk away with nothing. No money, no house, no car. Just the clothes on my back and my little girl. I signed the papers without a second thought. I can’t even think about those years without feeling sick. For a long time after, I’d wake up screaming, his snarling face haunting my dreams. Life was hard, raising Emily on my own. I worked double shifts at the diner and cleaned houses on weekends. But we had a roof over our heads, food on the table, and no one was hitting us. I poured everything I had into my daughter. I wanted her to have the best of everything I could afford. I was terrified she would end up like me, making one wrong choice that would ruin her entire life. So when she got that acceptance letter, that full ride, I was so happy I couldn’t sleep for a week. I knew she had done it. She was going to be different. She had an education, a brilliant mind. She was going to build a life of her own. And now, her words were like a thousand tiny knives, stabbing me over and over in the heart. She knew. She knew everything he’d done to us. 3 I shouldn’t have been surprised when Mark showed up at my door. “Sarah, I hear you’ve been putting your hands on my daughter,” he sneered, stepping inside like he owned the place. “Getting a little bold, aren’t you?” I had no patience for him. “Mark, you haven’t claimed Emily as your child for her entire life. Who do you think you’re fooling with this protective father act?” His eyes narrowed, and for a second, I saw the old rage. He took a step toward me, his hand raised, but his new wife, Jessica, grabbed his arm. “Honey, please,” she said in a sickly-sweet voice. Then she looked at me. “Sarah, we know how hard you’ve worked. We really do. But you can’t hit a child. They have feelings, you know. We parents can’t be tyrants.” She gave Mark a subtle look. He got the message. He pulled Emily behind him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a theatrical display of fatherly protection. “I know I made mistakes,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “But I’ve learned from them. And now look at Emily! She’s a star, our family’s lucky charm. Of course I’m going to be there for her. Who else would be?” I didn’t believe a word of it. But Emily did. “Mom, did you hear that?” she said, her voice pleading. “Dad knows he was wrong. I earned his approval, all by myself. Can’t you be happy for me? Why do you always have to be so aggressive?” My face was a grim mask. “Emily, you know what he did to us. You know why he abandoned you. It was because you weren’t a…” “Because I wasn’t a boy?” Emily cut me off, her eyes flashing. “Yeah, I know. And why wasn’t I? If I had been a boy, I wouldn’t have been laughed at my whole life for not having a dad. I wouldn’t have had to watch you struggle for every single penny.” Tears welled in her eyes. “So tell me, Mom,” she choked out, her voice thick with resentment. “Why couldn’t you have just given him a boy?” I couldn’t believe this was the child I had raised for eighteen years. My body started to shake with a fury I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. I raised my hand. This time, Emily was ready. She shoved me, hard. I stumbled backward and fell to the floor. “You were going to hit me again!” she shrieked. Mark rushed forward and kicked me, once, twice, right in the ribs. “You bitch!” he roared. “You dare touch my daughter in front of me? God knows how you’ve been treating her behind my back! You don’t deserve to be a mother!” The pain was sharp, sickeningly familiar. For a moment, I was back in that dark, hopeless place. I looked up at Emily. There was no pity in her eyes. Only a cold, hard hatred. Jessica stood next to her, one arm around Emily’s shoulders, looking down at me with a smirk of pure triumph. I closed my eyes. My heart felt like a dead, gray stone in my chest. “Go, Emily,” I whispered. “Just go. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a daughter anymore.” Emily didn’t answer. Mark did. “Damn right she’s going,” he grunted. “She’s my daughter. I’m taking her. Now go get her birth certificate and Social Security card.” 4 “Her birth certificate?” Faced with my confusion, Emily finally spoke. “To make things fair, I’m moving in with Dad. You took care of me through high school. He’s going to pay for my college.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. She actually believed that. She thought he was going to see her through four years at Berkeley. “So you need the paperwork to legally move in with him? To become part of his family?” Emily didn’t say anything, which was all the confirmation I needed. Jessica piped up in her chirpy voice. “Well, Emily is Mark’s daughter, after all. It’s time for her to come home, to be part of the family officially. I was thinking, we shouldn’t just update the custody papers. We should change her name, too. Back to her father’s.” Mark slammed his hand on the coffee table. “Good idea. She’s a Vance, not a Hayes. Our Berkeley girl shouldn’t be carrying your name.” I looked at Emily. She stared at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. So that was it. She was ashamed to be a Hayes. Ashamed to be my daughter. I laughed again, a hollow, empty sound. What was the point in fighting it? I pulled myself up, ignoring the throbbing in my side, and went to my room to get the documents. The car ride to the county clerk’s office was a special kind of torture. Emily clung to Jessica’s arm, calling her “Jess” this and “Jess” that. Jessica played her part perfectly, stroking Emily’s hair and draping an arm over her shoulder. “You know,” Jessica cooed, “I always regretted not having a daughter of my own. Now, with you, my heart is just so full.” Emily shot a pointed look at me in the rearview mirror. “Some people don’t feel that way. Some people just see me as a trophy to show off.” The words should have hurt, but by then, I was numb. I was strict with her, it was true. I pushed her hard in school. I knew that for a girl from a background like ours, knowledge was the only weapon, the only way out. I see now that some lessons can only be learned the hard way. We got to the government building. It was surprisingly empty. When I handed over the documents, I felt a final pang of doubt. I looked at Emily one last time. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Change your name, everything?” She was five years old when I carried her out of that house. She couldn’t remember all of it, but she knew enough. She’d tried to see Mark a few times when she was older. Each time he’d either insulted her or ignored her. I truly didn’t understand her anymore. Was a father’s approval—this fake, sudden approval—really that important? Or was she just that ashamed of me and our life? Emily hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. But Jessica just laughed. “Oh, Sarah, don’t be so dramatic. Of course she’s sure. Emily is a Vance. This is about her future. When she’s at school, or when she gets married, no one will look down on her. Being part of a happy, stable family is always better than… well, you know.” She gave me a pitying look. That did it. Emily’s face hardened. “Yes,” she said, her voice firm. “I want to change it.” Jessica clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! You know what we should do? We should change it back to the first name we had picked out for you. The one that’s in the family records.” Emily nodded obediently. “Whatever you think is best, Jess.” The process was quick. Mark filled out the form for Emily’s new name. She didn’t even bother to look at it. A few minutes later, a clerk’s voice boomed across the hall. “Emily Hayes?” Emily practically skipped to the counter. “That’s me.” The clerk, a tired-looking woman with kind eyes, looked from the form to Emily, then back to the form. Her expression was strange, a mix of pity and confusion. “Are you sure, honey?” she asked softly. “Are you absolutely sure you want to change your name from Emily Hayes to Charity Vance?”

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I was at dinner with my fiancé-to-be when my arch-nemesis decided to crash the party. As if stealing my contracts wasn’t enough, now he was ruining my date. “Getting married after just one week? I never took you for someone who’s into beanpoles, Vivian,” he sneered, his voice a low rumble. “You could do better. Or is he the best you could find?” His chest, his abs, his biceps—they were all practically flexing in my face, making my head spin. I couldn’t make out the rest of his taunts over the buzzing in my ears. Drunk and utterly annoyed, all I could think was how much better life would be if he were mute. On a dizzying impulse, I stood on my toes and kissed him. And just like that, the world went silent. 1 I was having dinner with Richard Murray, the man I was supposed to marry. My interest was lukewarm at best; his politeness was impeccable. Richard was the optimal solution, the result of a cold, hard cost-benefit analysis. Marrying him would satisfy my parents, which meant the family fortune wouldn’t fall into the hands of my good-for-nothing older brother, Tyler. Sometimes, the unfairness of it all was suffocating. Just because he was born with the right equipment, why did everything I worked for count for less than his mere existence? It was infuriating. I threw back a few glasses of whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction. My phone lit up. A message from my nemesis, Leo Rowling. [Well, well. Enjoying dinner?] Attached was a photo of Richard and me, right at this very table. Another one of his spies, no doubt, lurking in some shadowy corner. I fired back without hesitation. [You’re hilarious. Should I be eating scraps like you instead? And next time you have me stalked, tell your guy to use a beauty filter.] Leo: [That was taken out in the open. You’re in my restaurant. Who’s the guy across from you?] Oh, right. I’d forgotten. Leo had bought this place last week, right after snatching that massive contract that should have been mine. I replied: [My new boyfriend. We’re getting engaged next week.] A flood of over a dozen messages poured in, as if I’d stomped on a dog’s tail. [What new boyfriend? My mom said your mom was just setting you up on dates last week.] [Don’t you hate blind dates?] [Engaged?] [To that beanpole sitting across from you?] [Are you just trying to mess with me?] [For real?] Then, as if talking to himself, he concluded: [Impossible.] [You hate men.] I drained another glass, the frustration boiling inside me. I typed back: [I hate you. I hate dogs.] Heh. He doesn’t believe me? My fingers flew across the screen. [Who sent you that picture? Tell him to wipe his lens and watch closely. I’ll give him a real show.] 2 Of course, I was just trying to piss Leo off. There was no way I was actually going to kiss Richard. He sat across from me, as elegant as a prince, radiating an almost ethereal sense of detachment. We’d only known each other for a week, but he was, without a doubt, the most handsome of all the candidates my parents had paraded before me. When I’d presented him with my absurd proposal—”engaged next week, married next month”—he had simply smiled and said, “Whatever makes you happy.” I couldn’t bring myself to assault a genuinely nice guy. But when I get agitated, my drinking knows no bounds. Richard politely warned me a few times about the toll it would take, but I just waved him off. He really was the perfect gentleman. Even on a date, his posture was ramrod straight. He cut his steak without making a sound. And me? Half a bottle of whiskey down, I was slumped in my chair like a rag doll. Considering all that, I was lucky Richard wasn’t completely repulsed by me. With his family’s standing, he could have his pick of high-society debutantes. What was I? If I had to pick one redeeming quality, it was that I was a straightforward drinker who didn’t play games. With that thought, I went to pour another glass. My hand trembled, spilling some of the amber liquid on the table. “Vivian, you’ve had enough. It’s not good for you,” Richard said softly, his hand gently covering mine. I just shook my head with a weak smile, ready to down it anyway, when the bottle was snatched from my grasp. I looked up. Leo was standing there, panting, his chest heaving. “That’s not how you stop her! You’ve got to be kidding me,” he scoffed at Richard. “Watch and learn.” With that, he tilted his head back and chugged the remaining half of the bottle. Before I could even react, he plucked the glass from my hand and drained that too. Excuse me? Was stealing my business deals not enough? Now he had to come all the way here to steal my alcohol? “Leo Rowling, I’m going to kill you!” I lunged at him, grabbing the collar of his shirt. Richard quickly stood up to restrain me. “Vivian, calm down.” Leo let me claw at him, sneering at Richard. “Who gave you the right to call her Vivian?” Then his gaze snapped back to me. “You’ve known him a week and you let him call you that?” “It’s none of your damn business!” I shot back. “Tomorrow I’ll be calling him ‘honey’!” A faint blush crept up Richard’s cheeks. Leo’s face darkened into a thundercloud. He grabbed my arm. “You’re drunk. I’m taking you home.” Richard took my other arm. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Rowling. I’ll see Vivian home.” Both of them, wanting to take me home. Did neither of them realize that home was the last place on earth I wanted to be right now? I drunkenly pointed a finger at Leo. “Your family owns hotels, right? Get me a room. The most expensive one you have!” Then I swung around to face Richard. “Let’s go. We’re getting a room!” 3 Somehow, I ended up being hauled into a car by Leo. Richard was driving. He was the only one of the three of us who hadn’t been drinking. The moment I was in the car, I passed out. When I woke up again, the first thing I saw was the face of the person I despised most in the world. “Here. Hangover cure.” Leo held a bowl out to me. “Honey, apple, and pear. I had the chef make it specially.” I turned my head away. “I don’t want it! I, Vivian Lin, do not accept charity!” It was only then that I realized I was, in fact, in the presidential suite of one of Leo’s hotels. The living room was big enough to host a track meet. My head was pounding, the alcohol making my vision swim. Everything seemed to have a double. “Why are you still here? I’ll have my fiancé wire you the money for the room. Hey, where is he anyway?” Leo suddenly leaned in close, pinching my cheeks together and forcing the bowl to my lips. “Just drink it. You’ll thank me tomorrow when your head isn’t splitting open,” he muttered. “And stop talking. I haven’t liked a single thing you’ve said tonight.” I choked, sputtering, and swatted the bowl away, sending its contents splashing all over his shirt. “Get away from me!” Alcohol has a way of turning up the volume on emotions, and a wave of raw misery washed over me. This was supposed to be Leo’s moment of triumph, wasn’t it? Last week, he’d swooped in and snatched a major government contract right out from under me. Because of that, I was now fighting a war on two fronts. My father, convinced that a woman could never truly run the company, was demanding I hand over my executive powers to my brother, Tyler—that useless parasite who knew nothing but partying. If I wanted to stay at Lin Corp, my only option was to play nice and secure a strategic marriage. I couldn’t let years of my hard work go up in smoke. So yes, I was willing to gamble my own marriage to win this fight. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. And the source of all my misfortune was standing right in front of me. My words came out in a drunken slur. “I hate you! You’re the person I hate most in this entire world! You sabotage me, you steal my clients, and you love watching me fail! Are you satisfied now? I’m about to get engaged to a man I’ve known for a week. Are you happy?” I grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it at him. “Get out! Just get out!” Having spent the last of my energy, my body gave out. I collapsed onto the sofa and fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep. Well, not entirely dreamless. I’m pretty sure I murdered Leo Rowling at least eight hundred times. 4 From a distance, I could hear the faint sound of running water. I rubbed my temples, trying to clear the fog from my head. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep, but I felt a little more clear-headed. Someone had draped a blanket over me. I pushed it off and stood up, but before I could take two steps, I collided with Leo as he walked out of the bathroom. He was bare-chested, a single white towel slung low on his hips. Seeing my shocked expression, a slow, lazy grin spread across his face. “You’re awake.” My eyes widened. “Were you taking a shower in here?!” He shrugged, completely unfazed. “I paid for the room. Why can’t I shower in it?” As infuriating as always. “I told you I’d pay you back!” “Do I look like I need the money?” I was speechless. There was no one on this planet more insufferable than him. “You’re a pervert!” I seethed. He tilted his head, shaking a drop of water from his ear as if he hadn’t heard me. “No good deed goes unpunished. I try to give you a hangover cure, you dump it all over me. I had to wash it off before I could leave.” I had no memory of that. I just rolled my eyes at him. “What hangover cure? Where’s Richard?” Leo let out a sharp “tsk” and began to close the distance between us. “You wake up and the first person you ask for is him? You really care about him, huh?” I stumbled backward as he advanced, my heart starting to pound for no reason at all. The sudden proximity was unnerving. Luckily, my mouth was as stubborn as ever. “Of course! Should I be asking about you instead?” He continued his slow, predatory approach until my back hit the wall. I was trapped. “I never knew you were into beanpoles,” he murmured, his voice low. “Why are you blushing?” 5 I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze away from the chiseled torso that was mere inches from my face. “I am not!” I retorted, my voice betraying my confidence. A low chuckle rumbled in Leo’s chest. He reached out and pinched my cheek. “You totally are. Raise your standards a little, Viv. You should find someone who actually fits your tastes. Or is that the problem? You can’t find anyone?” He clicked his tongue. “Then again, I guess a bookworm like him is all you can get.” I shut my eyes, silently chanting a mantra. Form is emptiness, emptiness is form. This is just a trick from the enemy. He’s using his ridiculously good body to mess with me. Beneath those eight-pack abs lies a heart full of pure evil. Leo leaned in, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of my head. “Cat got your tongue? Did I hit a nerve? Don’t go crying into your pillow later.” The alcohol still swirling in my system made my head feel like it was floating. He was so close I could smell the fresh, clean scent of his body wash. And he just wouldn’t stop talking. God, it was so annoying. “You bastard…” I muttered under my breath. His voice was a deep vibration right above me. “Such a filthy mouth. I can’t imagine who would ever marry you.” He kept murmuring something, but the words were a jumbled mess in my buzzing brain. But his body… Damn it, his body was undeniably perfect. How could someone so infuriating be blessed with a face—and a body—like that? The universe had made a grave mistake. Leo was still talking, his lips moving, forming words I couldn’t process. They were… surprisingly sensual. If only he were a mute. That thought was the final spark. My brain short-circuited. I surged up on my toes, grabbed his face with both hands, and smashed my lips against his. It was the quickest way I could think of to finally shut him up. 6 Just as things were getting heated, Leo pulled me off him. “Vivian,” he said, his voice strained. “Do you know who I am?” Being interrupted at a moment like this was beyond frustrating. Who in their right mind stops to talk? “You talk too much…” I grumbled. He watched me intently, a nervous energy about him. “You don’t think I’m Richard, do you?” “Do I look blind to you? You’re Leo Rowling.” The mood was instantly shattered. I gave him a shove. “Never mind. If you’re not into it, then get off.” The next thing I knew, I was being pulled into a powerful embrace. In a fluid motion, our positions were reversed. He was now pinning me, his eyes glowing with the intensity of a predator in the night. Just when I expected another barrage of insults, his lips crashed down on mine. … I think I might have gone to war in my dreams. When I woke up, every single muscle in my body ached. As I shifted, I realized I was being held in someone’s arms. I turned my head in a panic and came face-to-face with a man whose features were as handsome as they were infuriating. Then it all came flooding back. I remembered how I had silenced him, and how he, in turn, had made sure I couldn’t get out of bed. If I wasn’t so afraid of waking him, I would have slapped myself silly. Damn my weakness for attractive men. If I was going to have a one-night stand, couldn’t I have picked someone—anyone—else? But now wasn’t the time for self-flagellation. What was done was done. The immediate priority was to execute Operation: Great Escape. I stealthily gathered my clothes from the floor and, after a frantic search, located my purse in the living room. There was no time to find my shoes. I slipped on a pair of hotel slippers and bolted. 7 I had an appointment with Richard today to pick out our engagement outfits. Thankfully, the night of debauchery hadn’t ruined my sleep. I woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed, without a hint of a hangover. After a quick shower and a change of clothes at home, I headed out to meet him. I was trying on the second wedding dress when Leo’s call came through. Normally, I would have ignored it, but today, a tiny bit of guilt gnawed at me. I slipped outside the shop to answer. The fury on the other end of the line was practically melting my phone. “Vivian Lin, what the hell is the meaning of the two hundred dollars on the nightstand?!” I held the phone a little farther from my ear and forced a laugh. “Hey, don’t take it the wrong way. I just thought you… put in a lot of effort last night. It’s for, you know, nutritional expenses. It was all the cash I had on me. I’m not really sure what the going rate is, so if it’s not enough, I can wire you the rest.” Before leaving, I had emptied my wallet onto the nightstand. I’d hoped he would appreciate the gesture of my sincere apology. Clearly, he did not. Then again, for a face and body like that, maybe I had lowballed him. There was a moment of stunned silence on his end, followed by a voice seething with rage. “Are… you… treating me… like a gigolo?!” I glanced nervously back into the shop. Richard was still patiently browsing the racks, oblivious. I lowered my voice. “Those are your words, not mine.” Leo must have noticed my hushed tone. “Where are you right now?” he demanded. “Oh, I’m trying on wedding dresses,” I blurted out without thinking. The line went dead quiet. For a second, I thought the call had dropped. Then, Leo’s voice came back, low and menacing. “Send me your location. Now.” A shiver went down my spine. But then his tone softened slightly. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I just wanted to return the shoes you left behind.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Oh. Well, that’s thoughtful of you. Thanks.” Fifteen minutes after I hung up, a sports car screeched to a halt in front of the bridal shop. The sound was impossible to ignore. I gave Richard an apologetic smile and hurried outside. Leo looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. His face was so dark he could have been mining coal. “Wow, that was fast. Did you fly here?” My awkward attempt at a joke fell flat. He just glared at me, his expression stony, as if I owed him a fortune. I wasn’t in the mood to coddle the big baby. I held out my hand. “So, the shoes? Give them to me so you can get going.” He glanced down at my outstretched hand, then back up at me, his eyes cold. “You sleep with me one night and you’re trying on wedding dresses the next. You’ve got some nerve, Vivian.” “It’s for the engagement party,” I corrected, then immediately regretted it. Why was I even explaining myself? What happened last night was a drunken mistake. That’s an understanding all adults should have, right? I pressed on. “The shoes?” “Is there anything else you want to say to me?” “Uh… thanks for last night?” That seemed to be the last straw. “Vivian!” he roared. I desperately wanted to clamp a hand over his mouth. I shot a panicked look back at the shop and saw Richard walking toward us. My heart leaped into my throat. I yanked Leo’s arm. “Keep your voice down! Are you trying to advertise this?” 8 Richard reached my side and calmly extended a hand to Leo. “Mr. Rowling, thank you for arranging the room for Vivian last night. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add you as a contact so I can reimburse you for the expense.” The ice on Leo’s face seemed to thicken. “Not convenient,” he grunted. I was mortified, my eyes darting between them. Leo was a loose cannon. If he decided to spill the beans right here, right now, I was completely screwed. Sure enough, Leo opened his mouth, a malicious glint in his eye. “Oh, the trouble she caused me last night involved more than just booking a room…” “Ah!” I shrieked, cutting him off. “Leo is my best friend! My gay best friend!” Both men stared at me, dumbfounded. I pressed on, digging my hole deeper. “He’s just here to help me pick a dress! You know, a gay man’s eye for fashion is… sharper.” Leo was frozen in place, utterly stunned by my declaration. It was Richard who recovered first, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Is that so? Well then, please, come inside and help us choose. Vivian’s friend Chloe couldn’t make it today, so your input would be greatly appreciated, Mr. Rowling.”

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I’m the male lead in a tragedy, and my beautiful, tyrannical girlfriend has a “little brother” who’s practically lived in a hospital his whole life. It was past midnight when her phone buzzed again. She slid out of bed, pulling on her clothes in the dark. “It’s Sebastian,” she whispered, her voice already distant. “He’s not feeling well. I have to go.” According to the script of my life, this was my cue to break down, to beg her not to leave me alone in our cold, sterile bed. Instead, I just watched her retreating back, a yawn fighting its way up my throat. The moment the front door clicked shut, I picked up my own phone and dialed the number of her fiery arch-nemesis. The next day, I timed it perfectly. I knew she’d be at the hospital, sitting vigil. I sent her a video call request. When her face appeared, etched with concern that wasn’t for me, I let the camera pan slowly around our living room. Her expression soured, the color draining from her cheeks. I gave her a lazy, unconcerned smile. “What’s wrong, Gen?” I asked, my voice deliberately placid. “You went to take care of your brother. The house felt so empty, so I just asked a friend to come keep me company. Is that not normal?” I held the phone up so she could get a better look at Isla Croft, lounging on my—our—sofa, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe, a wine glass dangling from her elegant fingers. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” I continued, a cold satisfaction spreading through me. “It’s a purely platonic friendship. Honestly, I’m exhausted. Can you please not be so unreasonable?” Before she could unleash the storm brewing in her eyes, I ended the call. After all, if you can have a “brother,” why can’t I have a “sister”? 1 The moment the call disconnected, the silence in the living room was absolute. Isla arched an eyebrow, slowly tying the belt of her robe, concealing the captivating lines of her collarbone. A low laugh rumbled in her chest, her voice laced with the thrill of watching a good show. “My guess? Genevieve will be back in ten minutes, ready for war.” I leaned back against the plush cushions of the sofa and took a slow sip of my Bordeaux. “I’ll bet you five.” The words were barely out of my mouth when the front door slammed open with a deafening crash, as if someone had kicked it in. Genevieve Astor was back. Her eyes were bloodshot, her chest heaving with rage. Her gaze sliced across Isla, who looked utterly unbothered, before landing on me. Her voice was a low growl, each word forced through clenched teeth. “Ethan Rhodes, you better have a goddamn explanation.” I swirled the deep red liquid in my glass, pretending not to notice the inferno in her eyes. “Explain what?” I met her gaze, feigning innocence. “I just had a friend over. What’s wrong with that?” “A friend?” Genevieve laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. She stormed forward, her fingers wrapping around my wrist like a vice. “Is it normal for a ‘friend’ to be in your house, in your bathrobe? Ethan, have you lost all sense of shame?” The disappointment and fury in her eyes were meant to annihilate me. If I were the man I used to be, her words would have shattered me. I would have been on my knees, sobbing, trying to explain. But I’m not him anymore. I calmly pulled my hand from her grasp, rubbing the red marks she’d left on my skin. My tone was light, almost bored. “Genevieve, don’t be so dramatic. We just watched a movie. She took a shower, that’s all. Your constant suspicion is exhausting.” Every single word was a weapon she had used against me in the past. Genevieve flinched as if I’d slapped her. Her face cycled through shades of white and red. She seemed incapable of believing those words were coming from my mouth. Isla chose that moment to sigh dramatically. “Gen, please don’t mind me. Ethan and I have always been like this. He honestly doesn’t even see me as a woman.” She gave a helpless shrug. “But since you clearly hate the sight of me, I’ll just go.” Her performance of the wronged party, the graceful exit, was flawless. “Don’t go,” I said immediately, grabbing Isla’s arm. I turned to Genevieve, my voice laced with disapproval. “Why are you being so hostile to her? When did you become so petty?” “Petty?” Genevieve was trembling with rage. “There is another woman in our home in the middle of the night! And you’re defending her!” “And what about Sebastian?” The final card. I played it with a serene smile. “Is he not a man? He calls you in the middle of the night, and you run to his side without a second thought. Are the two of you not a man and a woman, alone in a room together?” I took a step closer, looking directly into her blazing eyes, pinning her in place with my words. “If you can treat Sebastian like a brother, then I can have Isla as my sister. You can’t have it both ways, Gen.” Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Trapped by her own twisted logic, she was left speechless. Finally, with a guttural cry of frustration, she spun around and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. As silence returned to the living room, I let out a long breath. “Thanks, Isla. Sorry you had to be part of the show.” Isla’s playful demeanor vanished. She poured herself a glass of wine, her gaze complex as she looked at me. “Ethan, do you remember that debate tournament in college? You were my opponent, and you argued me into a corner so completely I couldn’t speak.” I blinked, surprised. She gave a self-deprecating smile. “I thought then that you belonged in the spotlight, confident and brilliant. Not… not like this. Trapped here, letting your light be snuffed out for one woman.” She set her glass down, her eyes full of a startling sincerity. “Genevieve doesn’t value you. That’s her loss. I’m helping you, not just for the drama, but because this isn’t who you’re supposed to be.” I looked into her earnest eyes, and for a moment, the ghost of resentment that lived in my chest felt a flicker of peace. She was right. This isn’t who I am meant to be. And that poor, broken man whose life I now inhabited… he never deserved that ending. I touched my hand to my chest, my resolve hardening like steel. Just wait. This is only the beginning. All the pain the male lead in this tragedy endured? It’s your turn to feel every last drop of it. And then some. 2 Genevieve didn’t come home the next day. I enjoyed the peace and quiet. For the first time in months, I slept soundly through the night. It wasn’t until dusk that the front door of the villa opened again. Genevieve walked in, supporting a frail figure I’d only ever seen in photographs: Sebastian Hayes. He was dressed in an all-white lounge set that hung off his thin frame, his face so pale it was almost translucent. He radiated a kind of sickly, artful fragility. Genevieve avoided my gaze as she placed Sebastian’s suitcase on the floor with a thud. “The doctor said Sebastian is still very weak and needs absolute rest. He’ll be staying here from now on, so I can look after him properly.” She paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought, “You can just make an extra portion at meals. It’s not much more effort.” Sebastian offered a weak, triumphant smile. His eyes flickered over to me, a flash of victory in them, before he tightened his grip on Genevieve’s arm. “Gen was so worried about me being alone, she insisted I come here. I’m sure Ethan won’t mind, right?” He drew out my name, slow and soft, the provocation unmistakable. As I was about to respond, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest. It was the shattered soul of the man who used to live here, screaming in outrage. He was urging me on, demanding I ask Genevieve why she would bring this man into his home, demanding I throw him out. The intensity of it almost overwhelmed me. I took a deep breath, pressing a hand to my heart to soothe the ghost within. I forced down the wave of inherited fury and stretched my lips into a bright, welcoming smile. “Mind? Of course not. Why would I mind? Welcome, Sebastian.” My enthusiasm clearly caught both of them off guard. Ignoring their stunned expressions, I continued cheerfully, “Genevieve is right, you need to be taken care of. Besides, it’ll be nice to have more people around. It gets lonely here all by myself.” Then, I shifted my tone, pretending to have a sudden, brilliant idea. “And you know, what a coincidence! I was just about to tell you, the house is about to get even livelier!” Genevieve’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” I gestured toward the front door. “Isla’s company and her apartment are both being renovated right now. It’s a mess of dust and noise, terrible for her health. I couldn’t stand the thought of her staying alone in some hotel, so I’ve already asked her to move in with us for a while.” As if on cue, the doorbell rang. I pressed the button on the remote, and the door swung open to reveal Isla, casually pulling a silver suitcase behind her. She was dressed in chic athleisure, and she feigned a look of surprise as she took in the scene. “Oh, is everyone here?” She winked at me, then turned her gaze to Genevieve, whose face had turned to stone. “Gen, I hope you don’t mind me crashing for a bit. We’re all friends here, right?” The air in the room felt thick enough to choke on. Sebastian’s smile was frozen on his face, and Genevieve looked like she’d just swallowed poison. Oh, yes. This was going to be fun. On the first day of our new living arrangement, the war began in the kitchen at dawn. Sebastian was already up, a blue apron tied neatly around his waist. He was presenting Genevieve with a bowl of meticulously prepared abalone porridge. “Try this, Gen. I simmered it all night,” he said, his voice soft and cloying. “I just hope Ethan likes it. He seems to sleep in rather late.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard the dig, walking straight to the stove and pulling four eggs from the refrigerator. Genevieve frowned, her voice laced with an unspoken command. “Sebastian made you breakfast. Sit down and eat it.” I ignored her. I turned on the burner, heated a pan, and drizzled in a bit of olive oil. With a satisfying sizzle, the rich aroma of frying eggs filled the air, a stark, hearty contrast to the bland, watery smell of his porridge. I expertly cracked the four eggs into the pan, frying them until the whites were set and the yolks were perfectly runny. I slid two onto my plate and two onto another. A vein throbbed in Genevieve’s temple. “Ethan,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed anger, “do you have to be like this?” “Like what?” I pierced one of my yolks with a fork, watching the golden liquid ooze out. I took a deliberate, satisfying bite before looking up at her with an innocent smile. “You have your brother’s breakfast, made with love. I have my high-protein meal. And,” I gestured to the second plate, “these are for Isla. She’s taking me through a heavy lifting session later. We’ll need the energy.” 3 Carrying both plates, I turned my back on them and walked into the villa’s home gym. Isla was already there, finishing her warm-up. Her fitted tank top hugged the sleek muscles of her back, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin. She radiated a potent, healthy energy. “Your fuel,” I said, handing her the plate. She took it without ceremony and began to eat. An hour later, Genevieve appeared at the gym door, her face a thundercloud. She had clearly come for a confrontation, but the sight before her stopped her cold. I was on my last set of weighted squats, my muscles screaming in protest. Isla was standing directly behind me, her own body clad in a sports bra and yoga pants, sweat tracing a path down the elegant curve of her spine. Her hands were planted firmly on my waist, her warm palms pressing against the thin, sweat-soaked fabric of my shirt, spotting me. “I can’t… I can’t get up,” I gasped. “Don’t give up,” Isla’s voice was a low, sultry murmur next to my ear. “Feel it in your glutes. Squeeze. That’s it… I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid.” Her body was flush against my back, rising and falling with my movements, an intimacy so complete there was no space between us. From Genevieve’s angle, it must have looked like a full-body embrace. Bang! Genevieve’s fist connected with the doorframe. Isla and I turned in unison. My face was flushed and beaded with sweat from the workout. Isla slowly straightened up, wiped the sweat from her chest with a towel, and shot Genevieve a provocative look. “Something wrong, Gen? You seem a little tense this morning.” Genevieve’s glare could have killed. Her eyes were fixed on the damp outlines of Isla’s handprints on my shirt. Her lips pressed into a thin, white line, but she couldn’t say a word. What could she say? That we were being improper? Her darling Sebastian was sitting in the dining room right now. That our position was inappropriate? Just last night, she had personally massaged Sebastian’s “sprained” ankle for him. I watched her, the fury twisting her features as she was forced to swallow her rage, and the ghost in my chest finally felt a sliver of relief. Still breathing heavily, I turned to Isla and gave her a deliberately sweet, grateful smile. “Thanks, Isla. With you here, I feel like I can do anything.” I heard the sharp crack of Genevieve’s knuckles as she clenched her fists. … Later that night, I had just stepped out of the shower when my bedroom door was thrown open. Genevieve stood there, reeking of alcohol, her eyes burning red. She stalked toward me, her expensive perfume mingling with the scent of whiskey, enveloping me. Before I could react, she had me pinned against the wall. “Ethan,” she hissed, her voice rough and frayed. “What the hell do you want from me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her lips crashed down on mine. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an invasion, a punishment, the desperate bite of a cornered animal. I grimaced in disgust, turning my head away sharply as she tried to deepen the kiss. She froze, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. After a long moment, she buried her face in my neck, and her voice, when she spoke again, was shockingly vulnerable. “Do we have to be like this? This isn’t who you used to be.” I almost laughed out loud. When the old Ethan gave her his entire heart, she treated it like garbage. Now that I was giving her a taste of her own indifference, she was playing the victim? I placed my hand on her chest, feeling the frantic pounding of her heart through her silk blouse. “Are you jealous?” I asked softly. Her body went rigid. She jerked her head up, her eyes wide and searching in the dim light. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Finally, as if my question had struck a nerve she didn’t know she had, she scrambled away from me and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. The next day, I was in the city’s most exclusive luxury boutique, picking out a silk scarf for Isla as a thank you for her stellar performance. When I went to pay, the cashier handed my black card back to me with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sir. This card has been declined.” Before I could say anything, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Genevieve, dripping with her usual arrogance: [When you figure out how to be a proper husband, you can come and talk to me. Until then, all of your accounts are frozen.] She thought she had me. She thought I was the same man who would panic, who would crawl back to her, begging for forgiveness, lost without her financial support. I looked at the text and a smirk touched my lips. I pulled out a different phone and made a call. “Mr. Davies? It’s Ethan Rhodes. The trust fund my mother left me. I’m ready to activate it.” … At three o’clock that afternoon, at a major investment press conference, the camera flashes were blinding. I stood on the stage in a sharp, tailored black suit, right beside Isla, positioned as her most crucial new business partner. I smiled brightly for the cameras, knowing Genevieve would be watching. After the successful launch, Isla handed me a glass of champagne. “Congratulations, Ethan. A beautiful counterattack.” As I raised my glass to hers, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate uncontrollably. I pulled it out to see a screen full of missed call notifications—more than twenty of them, all from Genevieve. I ignored them, about to turn the phone off, when the screen lit up again. This time, it was the private line from the Astor family estate. I answered. There was a second of silence, then a stern, aged voice boomed through the speaker. “Ethan Rhodes, have you had enough of this nonsense?!”

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I was the backup plan for three different men. Number one was my childhood best friend. His heart still belonged to his high school sweetheart. Number two was the lead singer of an indie band. After we slept together, he lit a cigarette and said, “We’re still just friends, right?” Number three was my boss. He warned me with an icy stare, “Don’t get any ideas. I will only marry a woman from a family of equal standing.” Then, my mom started pressuring me to go on blind dates. Suddenly, my childhood best friend was at my door with a marriage license. The rock star was texting me, “I can’t live without you.” And my boss was on one knee, holding a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. Seriously? I thought we all agreed this was just for fun. * 1 My mom called, nagging me about another blind date. “I know, I know,” I said, trying to get her off the phone. “Just text me the time and place.” As I hung up, Alex came out of the bathroom. He had his beige cashmere sweater pushed up to his elbows, and in his hands, he was holding the underwear I’d left to soak. He walked across the living room and out onto the balcony to hang them up to dry. “Who was that?” “My mom.” He adjusted my lingerie so it would catch the morning sun, then turned to look at me. The soft light framed him in gold, making his amber eyes look like autumn leaves. “So you won’t be home for dinner tonight. I made fish and some vegetables. The fish is staying warm on the stove, and you can just microwave the veggies.” He pulled his sleeves down and ruffled my hair, a gesture that was almost painfully tender. “Don’t order takeout.” I mumbled something noncommittal as I watched him grab his bag and head for the door. I knew exactly where he was going. His one true love was flying in from London today. * 2 I lived with Alex. He treated me like a daughter, hand-washing my delicates, cooking all my meals. I didn’t have to lift a finger. But I wasn’t his girlfriend. He was waiting for Ava. Technically, that made me the backup plan. I used to have more self-respect than this. It’s all those cheesy YA novels’ fault. The ones about the quirky, average girl and the quiet, devoted boy-next-door who secretly loves her. I read one and thought, *Hey, that’s me and Alex.* We were childhood best friends, inseparable. He was kind and gentle, but I was the only one he was ever really close to. I was average in every way—looks, grades, personality. But he was always there, walking me to and from school, helping me with my homework, even bringing snacks for all my friends, telling them, “Please be patient with Rosie.” I let it go to my head. I was a teenager in love. I started keeping a diary, knitting him scarves, baking him cookies. Then came graduation night. Alex showed up at our class party with a bouquet of flowers and a gift. The private room at the karaoke bar was loud and chaotic, but when the boy in the crisp white shirt started singing a soft, romantic ballad, everyone quieted down. He finished the song, his voice full of a sweet, boyish sincerity that almost brought me to tears. “I just want to tell you,” he said into the microphone, his eyes scanning the room, “that I really, really like you—” I jumped to my feet. “I like you too!” I blurted out. “—Ava,” he finished. The room went dead silent. Every single person turned to stare at me. My face was on fire. “I have to pee!” I yelled, then mumbled, “Excuse me, sorry,” as I stumbled out of the room. When I came back, I peeked through the crack in the door. There they were, the beautiful class president and my handsome best friend, standing on the little stage. “Kiss her!” someone yelled. The boy in white leaned down, his voice soft and reverent. “Can I, Ava?” The girl blushed and nodded. I didn’t watch the rest. * 3 After that, I avoided Alex like the plague. He showed up at my house, and I tried to run. He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Rosie.” “I’ve always just thought of you as a sister,” he said. Oh, a sister? What kind of brother helps his “sister” with her homework with his face so close he can feel her breath on his cheek? He was a walking, talking mixed signal. But I was a master of saving face. I forced a smile. “Haha, it’s okay, Alex. You’re a great brother. Thanks for everything.” He just looked at me with those big, sad puppy-dog eyes of his. “So you’re not mad at me? You’ll stop avoiding me?” “Of course,” I said. Then I applied to a college on the opposite side of the country. See ya. * 4 For four years, Alex and I were “friends.” When he texted, he’d reply in seconds. When I texted, I’d reply in days. He said he’d visit during breaks, so I’d book a trip with my roommates. Then, the year after I graduated, he told me he was being transferred to my city for work. I was living alone, and I was not thriving. I was drowning in work, navigating a minefield of office politics, and I was exhausted. I had been up for two straight nights when I opened my door to find him standing there. My apartment was a disaster zone of takeout containers and scattered clothes. He was dressed impeccably, holding a bag of fresh fruit. His eyes landed on the dark circles under mine. He just smiled that familiar, gentle smile. “I knew you wouldn’t be taking care of yourself.” “What are you doing here?” I snapped, my patience worn thin. He just gently nudged me aside and walked in, heading for the kitchen to wash the fruit as if he owned the place. “I didn’t say you could come in,” I grumbled, following him. He just handed me a bowl of strawberries. “Sit. Eat.” Before I could protest, he started cleaning. The dirty dishes in the sink, the hair clogging the shower drain, the mess of tampons and pads falling out of my bathroom cabinet… Four hours later, I was sitting in my sparkling clean living room, the sun warming my skin. On the coffee table was a bowl of chicken noodle soup he had made from scratch. I looked up at him. He was still mopping the floor. He was wearing the silly teddy bear apron I’d bought as a joke, and it hugged his lean waist. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, catching the light. I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the deal, Alex?” He turned to me, his smile as warm as the sun. “Rosie, I’ve been taking care of you since we were kids.” “I’m afraid your girlfriend will come over here and murder me in my sleep,” I said. “Don’t drag me into your drama.” He flinched, the light in his eyes dimming. “Ava and I broke up a long time ago. She went to grad school in London.” I looked down at my soup and started to eat. I didn’t say a word.

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When I found out Jackson was cheating, we were both surprisingly calm about it. He stood there, shielding the girl behind him like some kind of hero. His voice was flat. “Don’t blame her. This was all me. I lost control. She’s innocent.” I just nodded. I got it. Later that night, Jackson came home and slid a folder across the kitchen island. Divorce papers. “I’ve been more than generous with the financials,” he said. “Take a look. If it’s all good, just sign.” I picked up the agreement, glanced at it, and then dropped it neatly into the trash can under the sink. I gave him my most understanding smile. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m not going to blow up our lives over something so trivial.” I mean, it’s just an affair. In the age of swipe-right and situationships, who hasn’t been tempted? God knows I haven’t always been a saint, so who was I to judge Jackson? 1 Jackson had a cigarette halfway to his lips. He froze, then slowly lowered it, looking at me like he’d never seen me before. I knew what he was thinking. This wasn’t the old me. Back in the day, I was the jealous type, the kind who’d check his phone. Jackson always had a magnetic pull on women, and even when we were crazy in love, he had to fend them off. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to be good for me; some girls just don’t care about a wedding ring. We used to fight about it constantly. But that was then. Maybe it was the years we’d spent together, the passion fizzling out into a comfortable, boring routine. Or maybe I just got older and too tired to fight. Our marriage had become like a placid lake on a windless day—not a single ripple. And when life gets too quiet, you start craving a little noise. “Jackson,” I said, leaning against the counter. “We’ve known each other for twenty years, been married for almost ten. The company is thriving. Our parents are practically best friends.” I let the words hang in the air. “Do you have any idea what a divorce would actually mean for us?” It would mean splitting assets, a move that would send our company’s stock into a nosedive. It would mean detonating a bomb in the middle of our two families. Our parents aren’t young anymore; they all have their health issues. A shock like that could be catastrophic. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he mumbled, “I was just trying to respect you.” “Your ‘respect’ involves getting a twenty-something pregnant and making me a cliché?” I shot back, my voice still even. He frowned, getting defensive. “She’s not just some ‘twenty-something’! And I told you, it was me. She knew I was married and tried to end it.” “I get it, you don’t have to explain,” I cut him off, deciding to just lay it all out. “You’re worried I’ll go after her, right? That I’ll use my position as your wife to make her life hell. Don’t be. If I have one virtue, Jackson, it’s that I can be incredibly generous.” He watched me, his eyes narrowed. “You’re really okay with this?” “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘okay’ with it,” I sighed dramatically. “But you two have found true love. That’s so rare these days. Who am I to stand in the way? Consider me a supporter.” 2 My little speech didn’t exactly win him over, but he knew I was speaking facts. He agreed to “reconsider” the divorce. For the next few days, he came home right after work. When his phone would buzz, he’d glance at me and silence the call. I made a point of being magnanimous. “Is that her? You should take it. Don’t let her feel ignored. If you can’t give her the title she wants, the least you can do is not make her feel like a secret.” He clenched his jaw, got up, and shut himself in the study. The closed door was a perfect metaphor for his heart. It hadn’t been open to me in a long, long time. Honestly, I understood. People are incredibly tolerant of those they truly love, and equally tolerant of those they feel nothing for. It’s the people they used to love that they become viciously cruel to. He must hate me right now. Hating me so much that sharing the same air in our living room was probably suffocating. And yet, here he was, playing the part of a husband every night, all because he was afraid of what I might do to his precious new love. Poor guy. What a trooper. That night, like every other night, I slept alone. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d slept together. In the beginning, I tried. I’d wear something sexy, make the first move. He’d always plead exhaustion. But please. Men can be eighty and still get a woman pregnant. They can be paralyzed from the neck down and still try to cop a feel off a nurse. I knew it wasn’t about being tired. He was getting his needs met elsewhere. But a woman in her thirties has needs. I was in my prime. So, I’d found a clean, discreet solution of my own. Just before bed, I got a text. “When are you going to divorce him?” “I told you, I don’t do this. I’m not the other woman. If you’re not leaving him, we’re done. Don’t contact me again.” I thought about his eight-pack and the things he could do with that body, and I licked my lips with a twinge of regret. A divorce was out of the question, but he sounded serious. I wasn’t going to beg. So, I just tapped his name and hit “delete contact.” Oh well. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Bye-bye. The next one will be even better. 3 Monday morning. Quarterly shareholders’ meeting. I hadn’t been to the office regularly since my miscarriage a couple of years ago. After that, I stayed home to “recover,” happy to just collect my dividends. But I never missed a shareholders’ meeting. There were a few new faces since my last visit, but my eyes landed on one immediately. A young woman in the corner, tasked with taking the meeting minutes. She saw me, and her eyes darted around the room in a panic before she shrank in her chair and stared at her notepad. I didn’t feel any animosity toward her. Mostly just a little… pity. She was the first one Jackson had ever brought into my world, right under my nose. But she definitely wasn’t the first one he’d slept with during our marriage. Jackson was usually so good at keeping his work and private life separate. The others were never allowed anywhere near the company. The way he defended her, the way he brought her into this sacred space… I had to admit, this time it really might be love. At ten a.m. sharp, Jackson walked in. But he didn’t start the meeting. A moment later, there was a low murmur outside, and the conference room door swung open. A man in a sharp charcoal suit strolled in. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, though his tone held zero apology. He walked right past everyone and took the empty seat next to Jackson. He must have felt my gaze because his cool, indifferent eyes met mine for a fraction of a second before flicking away. I smirked to myself. That was Caleb for you. A complete poker face. Especially in bed. The more intense things got, the colder his expression became. I think I might have a thing for that, though. The colder he was, the more turned on I got. “Chloe, who’s that?” the shareholder next to me whispered. “Caleb. He was our angel investor,” I explained quietly. “We wouldn’t have gotten the company off the ground without him.” “I’ve never seen him at one of these before.” “He owns a lot of things. We send him an invite every quarter, but he always declines.” “So why is he here now?” I smiled and shook my head. “No idea. Maybe he was bored?” 4 The meeting wrapped up around noon. I decided to stay and have lunch with Jackson. I was washing my hands in the executive restroom when his little girlfriend walked in. She saw me and her first instinct was to bolt. But she stopped herself, shuffled over, and stood with her head bowed. “Mrs. Davis,” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. I took my time, slowly drying my hands, enjoying the hum of the air dryer. The silence stretched, and she started to tear up, her shoulders shaking. Pathetic. “Mrs. Davis, I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I… I didn’t know he was married when we first met…” she sobbed. “I tried to leave him, I really did, but… but…” “But you’re just so in love with him,” I finished for her, pulling a silk handkerchief from my purse. I gently tilted her chin up and dabbed her tears with a patronizing sort of pity. “The thought of leaving Jackson felt like a knife in your heart, a fate worse than death.” I continued, my voice soft and sweet. “So you had to stay. And then he brought you into the company, so you could finally be with him every single day. Am I getting it right?” I’d stolen all her lines. She just stared at me, too stunned to even cry. “Was there something you wanted to say to me?” I asked her. The office building was huge. If she’d really wanted to avoid me, it would have been easy. The girl’s motives were so transparent it was almost cute. “Mrs. Davis… you’re so smart, and beautiful, and you have everything… so… so could you please… just divorce him?” She knew how pathetic she sounded, because the tears started flowing again. “I have to ask. I… I’m pregnant.” “Does Jackson know?” I asked, my voice perfectly level. She nodded. “But he said you won’t agree to a divorce. Mrs. Davis, the baby is innocent… I grew up in a broken home. I just… I really want to give my child a complete family!” Her voice rose with rehearsed desperation. “Call me shameless, call me a homewrecker, I don’t care! I will do anything for my baby!” I offered a small, serene smile. “I see. You should stop crying. It’s not good for the baby.” “Thank you! Thank you for understanding!” she gushed, and actually started to bend her knees as if to kneel. But when she realized I wasn’t moving to stop her, she froze in an awkward, mid-curtsy squat. I glanced at my watch. It was past lunchtime. No wonder I was starving. “Jackson and I will discuss the divorce,” I said, patting her shoulder as I breezed past her. Jackson’s office was spacious. When I pushed the door open, he was in the middle of a conversation with Caleb. He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, perfect timing. Caleb, it’s been a while since you and Chloe have seen each other, right? Let’s all grab lunch.” It hadn’t been that long, actually. We’d just slept together last week. Caleb’s eyes flicked over to me. “It has been a minute,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I was actually going to text you both about lunch today, but it seems Chloe deleted my number?” “No way,” Jackson said, immediately grabbing my phone off the desk and scrolling through it. His face fell. “Huh. You’re not there.” “She must have deleted it by accident,” Jackson said, rushing to my defense. “Chloe never deletes anyone.” “It’s fine. We can fix that now,” Caleb said, holding out his own phone with his contact QR code already displayed. He watched, stone-faced, as Jackson used my phone to scan it and send a new contact request. I subtly rolled my eyes. And who was it, exactly, who swore last night we should never speak again? 5 Just as we were about to leave, there was a timid knock on the door. It was the little girlfriend, clutching her stomach and looking pale. She needed to leave for the day. Technically, she should have gone to her direct supervisor. But when you’re the boss’s darling, rules don’t apply. So, naturally, Jackson had to take care of her. Which meant Caleb and I were left to go to lunch alone. As I left, Jackson gave me a pointed look. “Be nice to Caleb,” he mouthed, “Apologize for deleting him.” They used to be best friends, I’ll give them that. Caleb’s seed money was what started everything. But we’re not college kids anymore. We’re in a different league now, and things get complicated. To show just how sorry I was, the moment we were inside Caleb’s black sedan, I offered my wrists to him. He wordlessly took off his silk tie and bound them. His expression was ice. “So ruthless,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Just delete me like that.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You think you can just come and go as you please? Walk in and out of my life whenever you feel like it? What do you take me for, Chloe? Your dog?” The car’s windows were tinted, but we were still in the company’s parking garage. The familiar setting, the risk, sent a jolt of electricity through me. “You love him that much?” he sneered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You know he’s been screwing her for months, and you still won’t let him go?” He pulled me onto his lap so my back was against his chest, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look out the front windshield. Just then, the elevator doors slid open. Jackson emerged, his arm wrapped protectively around his little lover, his face a mask of tender concern. He was obviously taking her to the hospital. Caleb’s grip tightened on my jaw. “Tell me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. “What do you think he’d do if I rolled down the window and said hello right now?”

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1 My husband, Daniel Vance, and I had been at each other’s throats since we were old enough to walk. In preschool, he knocked over my lunch, so I locked him in the bathroom. In grade school, he tripped me during gym class, knocking out my front tooth. Later that day, I tied his shoelaces together. We both went home toothless. In high school, he went after the prom queen, so I reported him for cheating. When I started hanging out with the resident bad boy, he spent weeks trailing us with the dean of discipline. I went to college overseas just to get away from him. He, apparently, had the same idea. We met on the first day of orientation. Somehow, we still ended up married. A twisted arrangement where he publicly chased another woman while I drowned my sorrows over the one that got away. I thought we could continue like that forever—two separate, miserable people sharing a last name. Until he took the girl and stole the specialist appointment I had fought tooth and nail to get for my Liam. My Liam, the love of my life, died because of a delayed treatment. That’s when I understood. There would be no peace between us. Daniel and I were destined to be each other’s personal hell, a living, breathing punishment for one another until the very end. I watched as Liam’s body was pushed into the incinerator, turned to a scoop of ash. I held his urn and buried him myself. Staring at his brilliant smile etched onto the cold stone, the grief I’d been suppressing erupted, a tidal wave threatening to drown me. I collapsed before his grave, tears falling like broken pearls, striking the marble one by one. I traced the outline of his photograph on the headstone, sitting there from dawn until the sky bled to black. “Liam,” I whispered, my voice raw, “I have to go now. Someone has to pay for this. Don’t be in a rush to move on. You wait for me. Once I’ve made them pay, I’m coming to find you.” With one last, reluctant look, I left the cemetery. I would get justice for him, no matter the cost. Even my own life was a price I was willing to pay. The grief in my heart had curdled, hardening into a white-hot rage. Liam didn’t have to die. I had practically crawled on my knees to secure an appointment with the world-renowned Dr. Alistair Finch, only for Daniel to use his authority as my husband to steal it. He gave it to his precious little girlfriend for a common cold. By the time I found out, Dr. Finch had already left the country in a fury. All I could do was hold Liam in my arms as he took his last breath. I slammed the accelerator to the floor, driving like a soul condemned, the speedometer needle trembling at its limit. I dialed Daniel’s number. He answered instantly. “Maya,” he drawled, “finally ready to cry uncle? If you get on your knees and beg, I might just find it in me to forgive you. I might even help out that worthless bastard of yours.” His mocking voice crackled through the phone, followed by a chorus of jeering laughter from his friends. “Sis-in-law finally breaking? See, what’s the point of being so stubborn? Just say you’re sorry. We’ll all be witnesses for you!” “Hey, Maya, bring a good bottle of scotch, will you? Show us you’re sincere.” “And don’t forget a gift for our sweet Chloe. Otherwise, that dying loser Liam can forget about getting any help from our boy Daniel.” The last of my sanity incinerated the moment they said his name. “Fine,” I bit out, my voice raspy. “The address.” He gave it to me. I hung up. The roar of the engine was a symphony with the frantic drumming of my heart. I screeched to a halt in front of the private club, snatched a security baton from the guard post, and stormed toward their private room. I kicked the door open. My eyes met Daniel’s, his gaze lazy and indifferent. “Well, well, Maya. Where’s the gift for Chloe?” Carter, the one who had called Liam a dying loser, sauntered toward me with a smug grin. I lifted the baton and brought it down on his head with all my strength. Blood gushed, a geyser of red. “Maya, you’re insane!” 2 He shrieked, but before anyone else could react, I had Chloe by the hair. She’d been standing to the side, a smug smirk on her face. Not anymore. I swung the baton again, burying it in her stomach. She let out a piercing scream. Only then did Daniel seem to snap out of his stupor. He shoved me away, hard, and gathered Chloe into his arms protectively. “Maya! Have you lost your mind? You’re like a rabid dog, attacking everyone you see!” he snarled, his face contorted in disgust. I ignored his venom and walked toward him until I was standing toe-to-toe, my knuckles white on the baton’s grip. “You’re right, Daniel, I am insane. I went insane the moment you and this bitch stole Liam’s last chance to live.” At the mention of Liam’s name, Daniel let out a short, cold laugh. “Him again? That spineless parasite who lives off women? Did he run crying to you? He’s really mastered the art of being a leech, hasn’t he?” My hand flew, the crack of my palm against his cheek cutting him off mid-sentence. “You don’t get to say his name. You murderer.” The slap finally broke through his arrogant calm. He stood, his eyes blazing, and jabbed a finger into my shoulder. “A bastard. Why can’t I say his name? Have you forgotten, Maya? You are still my wife.” He grabbed me, his grip like iron, and forced me to the floor. “Now, my dear wife, apologize to my sweet Chloe. If you’re good, maybe I’ll be in a generous mood and help that bastard of yours live another day or two.” I struggled, but he was too strong, pinning me to the floor like a dog at Chloe’s feet. A slow, chilling smile spread across my face. “Alright, Daniel. If you can save Liam, I’ll get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness.” His expression darkened for a split second before returning to a mocking sneer. “Good. Let’s see just how far you’re willing to go for that piece of trash.” The moment he released me, I lunged. Not to beg, but to kill. I tackled Chloe to the ground, my teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her neck, aiming for the artery. I wanted to tear her apart. Daniel roared with rage, yanking me off her and throwing me across the room. My head slammed against the floor, but I felt no pain, only a savage, exhilarating joy. A low giggle escaped my lips as I watched Chloe sob in terror, blood streaming down her neck. Daniel stalked over, grabbed me by the collar, and hauled me to my feet. His deep-set eyes were glacial. “Maya, you just don’t know when to quit! Fine. You want to play this game? Strip. Get on your knees and beg Chloe for forgiveness while you’re naked.” “Or else…” I wiped the blood from my lips—her blood—and met his gaze without flinching. “Or else what?” I grabbed his tie and pulled him close, my lips brushing his ear. “You’ll kill me?” A flash of fury crossed his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace Liam had given me, dangling it in front of me. My breath hitched. I lunged for it, but he was faster, grabbing my throat with one hand while the other held the necklace just out of reach, taunting me. “You want it?” he purred, his eyes glinting with malice. “Do as I say.” “Daniel,” I hissed, “have you sunk so low that you’ve become a common thief?” I had torn our home apart looking for that necklace. The guilt of losing it had kept me awake for nights. And all this time, he had it. It was one of the few things I had left of Liam. It was everything. “We’re married, darling. How can it be stealing?” he smirked. “Strip naked, apologize to Chloe, and I’ll give it back to you. Simple.” His hand tightened on my neck, his voice a soft, intimate whisper. I closed my eyes, the humiliation a bitter pill. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Daniel’s lips thinned into a hard line. He sat on the sofa, his expression unreadable, and watched me, rubbing the necklace between his fingers as a silent threat. I walked over to Chloe and, without hesitation, pulled off my shirt. The cold air hit my bare skin, and I shivered. I took a deep breath and unzipped my pants, letting them fall to the floor. Jeers and lewd comments filled the room. “Damn, Maya’s crazy, but look at that body.” “Tsk, tsk… if she wasn’t Mrs. Vance, I’d have to get a piece of that…” Their words were disgusting, but they couldn’t touch me. Nothing could. My hands went to the last piece of my clothing. Suddenly, Daniel shot to his feet. “Enough!” He strode over and grabbed my face, his voice laced with a raw, violent disgust. “You make me sick, Maya.” “Apologize to her like this. The sight of your body is making me ill.” He threw me to the ground. I crawled to Chloe’s feet and knelt. “I’m sorry.” My hands were clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I was apologizing to Liam’s murderer. The shame and rage made me tremble. “Daniel, I’m scared,” Chloe whimpered, her body trembling like a delicate flower in a storm. “Louder!” Daniel roared at me. “On your knees! Bow your head and apologize!” I swallowed the fury that choked me and slammed my forehead against the floor. “Chloe, I’m sorry!” When I looked up, my eyes met Daniel’s. They were dark, unreadable pools of contempt. “You really do love that bastard, don’t you?” he sneered. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I want to give this back to you after all.” And with that, he threw the necklace out the open window. “No!” A raw, agonized scream tore from my throat. I lunged for the window, a moth drawn to a disappearing flame. “Maya!” 3 The chain brushed against my fingertips. For a split second, joy flared in my chest, but it was extinguished as Daniel’s hands clamped around my waist, yanking me back into the room. I watched it fall, slipping through my grasp just like Liam had. “No! My necklace! Give it back!” I thrashed like a wild animal, forgetting we were eleven stories up, my only instinct to reach for the plummeting piece of silver. I lunged for the window again, and again he pulled me back. He spun me around, his face a mask of dark fury, and slapped me across the face. “What is this, Maya? Some tragic performance for my benefit? Playing the heartbroken lover?” he snarled, his nose brushing against mine. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the desolation that crushed me. I slid down the wall, the grief I’d been holding back finally breaking through. Sobs wracked my body, torn from the very depths of my soul. A warmth settled on my shoulder. Daniel’s voice was stiff, unnatural. “Maya… stop crying. It’s just a necklace. I’ll buy you another one.” I looked up, my eyes bloodshot, and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You make it sound so simple, Daniel! We were supposed to stay out of each other’s way! Why did you have to interfere? Why did you have to take his chance to live?” “Why?” My voice was a broken, animalistic cry. “I’m your husband, Maya! Have you forgotten?” he shot back, his own eyes red-rimmed. “You crawl on your knees for that bastard, get yourself beaten and bruised for him! What about my reputation? My pride?” “My husband? Don’t make me laugh, Daniel!” “And what about her? You made headlines buying out an entire auction for her! You used my dignity as your personal doormat! What about my pride?” We were two warring nations, launching volley after volley, giving no quarter. “Chloe is different,” he finally said, his lips a thin, hard line. “So is Liam!” “Don’t you dare compare that trash to Chloe!” “He is not trash! He was your brother! Your own flesh and blood!” Daniel ripped my hands from his shirt. “Enough, Maya.” He straightened his collar and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “It was just a stupid necklace. If you don’t want me to replace it, go ask that bastard to get you a new one.” He fumbled with his lighter. I staggered to my feet, tears streaming down my face. “He’s dead.” “He can’t give me anything ever again.” Daniel froze. The lighter in his hand clicked four times before a weak flame sputtered to life. “Dead?” he said, his voice muffled by a cloud of smoke. “Good. Dead is better. Cleaner.” His words were hollow, empty. I wiped the tears from my face. In that moment, I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone in my life. I didn’t want his casual dismissal. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to feel the same gut-wrenching agony that was tearing me apart. I walked through the smoke until I stood directly in front of him. A twisted smile played on my lips as I gently tapped his abdomen. “Did you know? The kidney in your body right now? It was Liam’s.” “He didn’t want you to feel guilty, so he never told you. The man you despised most in the world… he gave you your life.” I stared into his eyes, my own trembling, and watched his expression shift from blankness to disbelief, and finally, settle into a mask of pure agony. My smile widened. His pain was my only solace. “Why don’t you go and thank him in person?” I whispered, my voice the seductive hiss of a demon crawling from hell. Daniel’s gaze was deep and unsettling, a stagnant pool of despair. “Daniel, don’t listen to her lies!” Chloe rushed to his side, clinging to his arm. “It wasn’t Liam who donated the kidney! If it was, why didn’t he say anything that day, when you… when you had him beaten?” Her words were a steel blade, twisting in my already gaping wound. “What did you say?” My voice was a strangled, ugly sound. Daniel moved, shielding Chloe from my view with his own body. I lost control. I was a caged animal, throwing myself at him, my fists hammering against his chest. “He saved you! How could you beat him? He was dying, and you wouldn’t even let him go in peace!” “Why aren’t you dead? You should be in hell! You should all be dead!” I hit him, bit him, clawed at him, and he just stood there, his lips pressed together, taking it all without a word. Finally, exhausted, I slumped to the floor, my heart a hollow, aching void. “Daniel, I’m scared,” Chloe whispered. “I’ll take you home.” Daniel looked down at me, his expression conflicted, but in the end, he wrapped an arm around Chloe and walked out. The once-raucous room was now silent, leaving me alone with my grief. I swayed to my feet. Life felt pointless, but I couldn’t die. Not yet. Not while my enemies were still breathing. I ran after them, getting to my car first. The moment Daniel’s engine started, I floored it. I rammed their car with everything I had. I wanted them dead.

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My post-high school graduation trip with my childhood best friend, Ryan, was all planned out. Yellowstone. It was supposed to be epic. But as I was heading to the airport, I got a notification: my flight had been canceled. As I stood there, totally confused, words started scrolling across my vision, like comments on a livestream. 【Here we go! This is the part where the male lead, feeling sorry for the heroine who’s never been on a plane, cancels the side character’s ticket and gives it to her. The side character is about to totally lose it and have a huge fight with him.】 【Even when she buys a Greyhound ticket and finally gets there, the main couple will have already had a super romantic day together. They’ll be all over each other, and he won’t even have eyes for the side character anymore.】 【This is the fight that makes him realize how high-maintenance the side character is. Every time they argue, he discovers another amazing thing about the heroine. He pulls away from the side character, falls for the heroine, and boom, happily ever after. I ship it!】 【OMG, look! She’s about to text him! The drama is starting! Get your popcorn!】 I hesitated, my thumb hovering over Ryan’s contact. Should I text him? Before I could decide, my phone buzzed with a message from him. 【Hey Tatum. Winnie’s never been on a plane before, so I refunded your ticket and gave it to her.】 【Just buy a bus ticket and meet us there. We’ll wait for you in Wyoming!】 When I didn’t reply right away, another one came through. 【Are you mad? I know you’re not used to roughing it, you’re kind of a princess.】 【But Winnie can handle anything. Why is it always such a big deal with you?】 I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. The comments… they were all true. I bit my lip, opened the Greyhound app, and bought a ticket. Only, the destination wasn’t Wyoming. It was Denver. * 1 “Change of plans,” I told the Uber driver. “The bus station, please.” 【Weird. Why isn’t she fighting with him? If she doesn’t throw a fit, how is he supposed to get annoyed and see how much better our girl Winnie is? Ugh, she’s not following the script!】 【Right? She didn’t even text him back. And she bought a ticket to Denver? She’s just trying to make him feel guilty. What a classic mean girl move. No wonder he doesn’t like her. Growing up together means nothing!】 【Seriously, she’s the worst. Not like our Winnie. Winnie might not have money, but she’s strong and independent. A total girlboss.】 【This stupid side character needs to get with the program! Doesn’t she know she’s just an NPC? Her only job is to move the plot forward! How is Winnie supposed to shine if she has no one to contrast with?】 【OMG, switch screens! The main couple is checking in at the airport! Their sweet romance is about to take off in a few hours! Squeee!】 My grip on my phone tightened. Ever since Winnie transferred to our school, I couldn’t count the number of times Ryan had put her first and made me feel small. He always said she was strong and independent, that she knew the value of hard work because her family struggled. Meanwhile, I was just a spoiled princess who didn’t appreciate anything. We’d make plans to see a movie, and he’d cancel last minute. “Winnie said a $15 ticket is what she makes in three hours at her part-time job. She thinks it’s a waste.” “You should just go by yourself, Tatum. My parents work hard for their money, you know?” This from the guy whose parents had just bought him a $1,500 gaming laptop. Lunch for two became lunch for three. The grilled salmon and steak I ordered would somehow end up on Winnie’s plate. “You should eat more veggies, Tatum. You need to watch your figure.” I weighed 110 pounds. It went on and on. It got to the point where he even blew off my eighteenth birthday. I’d waited, refusing to blow out the candles until he showed up. Ten o’clock, eleven, then midnight. Not a single text. I tried to tell myself something important must have come up. Then I saw the video on someone’s Instagram story: Ryan and Winnie on his motorcycle, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as they tore down an empty street, laughing. The next day, all he said was, “Oh crap. I completely forgot it was your birthday.” The boy I grew up with was slowly being replaced, and there was always a Winnie-shaped shadow standing next to him. This trip was supposed to fix things. We’d planned it three years ago. Back then, his grades were terrible, and I was a shoo-in for the best magnet high school in the state. He begged me to go to the same public school as him, and like a fool, my heart melted and I agreed. He promised me then. After graduation, we’d go to Yellowstone. And there, under the big sky, he would officially ask me to be his girlfriend. We’d go to the same college, get married after we graduated. I actually believed him. For three years, I dragged his grades up from the gutter until he was getting the same scores I was. But ever since Winnie showed up, it was like I didn’t exist. He was tutoring her, taking her to do all the things she’d “never done before.” 2 He did well on his SATs, but not quite well enough for the top-tier schools. He just assumed I’d do what I’d always done: stick to our plan and go to the state university with him. He didn’t know I’d already accepted an offer from Georgetown, a thousand miles away. Honestly, giving up that magnet school for him was one of the biggest regrets of my life. After being left behind so many times over the past two years, I wasn’t that same girl who put Ryan before everything else. I was originally going to use this trip to tell him. To tell him that I was going to DC for college. But he ditched me first. For Winnie. 3 It was Ryan who broke our promise first. 4 Getting a last-minute flight to Wyoming in the summer is nearly impossible. Once Ryan canceled my ticket, there was no way I was getting another one. Even the bus tickets were selling out. Luckily, I used an app and paid a little extra to snag a seat to Denver. A nice one, too. I’d just settled in when a text from him came through. 【Tatum, you’re taking the bus, right?】 【Winnie says even though it’s a long ride, like, two whole days, the scenery is amazing. You don’t get views like that from a plane. You totally lucked out!】 I scoffed and put my phone on silent. No reply. To be honest, after he canceled my ticket, I thought about just going home. But after thinking it over, I decided to see it through. The trip wasn’t just about him. It was something *I* wanted to do, a step in my own life plan. I wasn’t going to let him ruin it. And stopping in Denver wasn’t a bad thing. I’d always wanted to see the city. This was the perfect chance. Still. He knew it was a grueling 40-hour ride. And he just went ahead and canceled my flight without even asking. He used my money, my time, my first-time-traveling-alone nerves, all to give Winnie her perfect first flight experience. Even though I knew I had to let him go, my chest still felt tight, a dull ache that wouldn’t go away. The comments flickered back into view. 【LOL, you gotta admit, the side character is obsessed. Even after getting ditched, she’s still chasing after him. Doesn’t even care that she has to take a detour through Denver first. Pathetic!】 【This is perfect! I was worried the romance would stall without the annoying side character there to stir things up. But look, she’s following the plot anyway. A few bumps in the road, but she’s still on her way. Awesome!】 【Does she have any self-respect? He dumps her over and over, and she just sticks to him like glue. This girl is the definition of a doormat, lmao!】 I glanced at the words and then looked away, out the window. 5 The bus ride was actually peaceful. It cost more for the better seat, but watching the landscape change outside my window, my mood slowly started to lift. The next day, I arrived in Denver. I bought a map, circled a few spots I wanted to see, and looked up some guides online. It was getting late, so I booked a hotel near a cool neighborhood I wanted to explore. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I saw Winnie’s new Instagram post. 【They gave the last room to this cute couple, so I guess I have to share with a certain someone tonight! 🙈】 The picture was of a hotel room. She didn’t show the whole bed, but you could see Ryan sitting on it, playing on his phone, perfectly reflected in the glass of a framed picture on the wall. My hand froze. My phone vibrated again. A text from Ryan: 【Where are you? Winnie said the views on the way are incredible, send me some pics.】 When I didn’t answer, a single【?】followed. I let out a bitter little laugh, set my alarm for the morning, and turned off my phone. Time to sleep. 【Ooh, look at her, playing hard to get. Does she really think ignoring him is going to make him miss her?】 【She’s looking up stuff to do in Denver, like she’s planning to stay for a few days. How selfish can you get? Doesn’t she know the main couple is waiting for her in Yellowstone?】 【Right? Didn’t you see how he was barely paying attention to Winnie until he saw the side character’s text? Can she just stop being a drama queen and let them have their moment? God, she’s such a villain!】 【It’s fine, let her pout. By the time she gets to Yellowstone, our couple will have already had their big romantic moment. Let’s see how she feels then, hahaha!】 【Yeah, let her play her games. We’ll get to see her completely lose it soon enough. I can’t wait!】 I ignored the comments and closed my eyes. 6 After a fantastic day exploring Denver, I finally opened the bus app again. There were plenty of tickets from here to Wyoming. But I didn’t buy one. Instead, I booked a ticket to Moab, Utah. Ryan, probably annoyed that I still hadn’t replied, called me. I fumbled my phone and accidentally answered. “Tatum? Where are you?” Hearing his voice, I paused. “What’s up?” I said, my tone flat. There was a silence on his end. He could obviously tell I was cold. He tried to sound cheerful. “Hey, where are you? I’ll come pick you up from the station.” “Don’t bother,” I said. “You guys have fun.” Predictably, he blew up. “Tatum, what is that supposed to mean? ‘You guys have fun?’” “This whole trip to Yellowstone was your dream! I canceled a trip to Florida with my buddies to come to this godforsaken place with you, and now you’re going to act like this?” When I stayed silent, his anger seemed to cool a bit. “Tatum,” he asked, his voice uncertain. “You’re not actually mad, are you? Just because I gave Winnie your ticket?” Before I could answer, he scoffed. “Oh my god, Tatum, that’s enough! How long are you going to drag this out? I already told you, I was just trying to give Winnie the experience of flying for the first time! Is that so much to ask? You have to make everything about you!” “Just keep up this attitude! No one else would ever put up with you but me!” The line went dead. I stared at the phone, a heavy sigh escaping my lips. *I* have an attitude? He’s the one who ditched me. I hadn’t even said a single mean thing to him. How was I the one with the problem? 【Hahaha, she’s so clueless. With our sweet, understanding heroine as a comparison, did she really think he was still going to baby her?】 【Playing games, going to Denver, now she’s trying to go to Moab! She really overestimates her importance to him, lmao!】 【Seriously, doesn’t this girl know when to quit?】 I didn’t bother with the comments. I spent three amazing days in Moab, then took a little side trip to see the incredible rock formations in the national parks. The vast desert landscapes and stunning arches were like nothing I’d ever seen back home on the East Coast. It was breathtaking. I stayed for another three days before finally booking my bus ticket to Wyoming. The weird thing was, over those nine or ten days, I barely thought about Ryan. It was like the moment I decided to let him go, he just faded from my mind. I’d read somewhere that it only takes a week to break a habit. I guess that’s true. Even in the quiet of the night, my thoughts rarely drifted to him. After that angry phone call, he hadn’t tried to contact me again. But his Instagram was blowing up. He and Winnie were together constantly. Sharing a room. Making heart shapes with their hands in front of the mountains. Posing at Old Faithful. They even bought matching flannel shirts in one of the tourist shops. He posted eight times a day, and every single picture was of the two of them. When I saw it, I felt… surprisingly, nothing. In fact, I thought they looked pretty good together.

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I fronted $5,600 for a project. When I submitted my expenses, they were gutted. I got $500 back. Faced with a $5,100 loss, I didn’t scream. I didn’t curse. I laughed. My boss sneered at me. “See? So much better when you don’t make a scene. Young people need to learn how to take a loss.” I nodded in agreement, my gaze steady. Two days later, an urgent, multi-million-dollar project required an immediate cross-country flight. The work order was assigned to me. I clicked “Do Not Accept.” The ticket was then pushed to the department’s open pool. No one touched it. No one was stupid enough to gamble another five grand on the company’s conscience. The finance director’s call came quickly. She was frantic. “That $5,100 from the other day—I’ll approve the full amount right now. Just take the assignment.” 1 At three in the afternoon, the air in the finance office was thick enough to choke on. I walked in and placed a thick stack of receipts carefully on Ms. Finch’s desk. That stack of paper represented two weeks of running myself ragged and a full month’s salary: $5,600. It was all money I had fronted for the company’s urgent “Project Sirius.” Ms. Finch, a woman in her forties with a face devoid of expression, wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses, her eyes were like two cold, polished stones. She picked up the receipts and flicked through them, the crisp rustle of paper sounding like a mockery of my naivete. Her expression shifted from procedural scrutiny to undisguised impatience. “Leo, are you new here?” she asked without looking up. “Ms. Finch, I’ve been with the company for a year,” I replied calmly. She snorted, pulling out a hotel receipt. “This is over the limit. Company policy states that standard employees on business travel have a lodging cap of three hundred dollars per night.” “But the situation was urgent. There was a major convention in Stanton City, and every hotel under three hundred was booked solid. I cleared this with Mr. Davis before I left. He approved it.” I pulled a printed email from my folder—an internal approval request—and slid it in front of her. It clearly stated I was requesting an exception for real-cost reimbursement due to special circumstances. Mr. Davis was CC’d. He hadn’t replied to the email, but he’d told me over the phone, “No problem, the project is the priority. Get it done.” Ms. Finch glanced at the email, a disdainful smirk playing on her lips. “Verbal approval?” She let out a dry, grating laugh. “Verbal approvals don’t count. It’s policy.” Right in front of me, with a crisp, deliberate rip, she tore my copy of the hotel receipt in two and tossed the pieces into the trash can by her feet. My heart felt like it had been ripped in half along with it. She continued her review, a red pen striking through every receipt she deemed “non-compliant.” A dinner with the client: “Over budget.” A car service I took to make a deadline: “Non-compliant. Why didn’t you take the subway?” An invoice for emergency replacement parts: “Purchasing protocol wasn’t followed beforehand. Denied.” I could feel the blood draining from my face. The arguments died in my throat because, through the glass wall of the finance office, I could see my direct supervisor, Mr. Davis, sitting in his plush executive chair, casually sipping tea. He saw me. He saw what Ms. Finch was doing. He simply raised an eyebrow and did nothing. “Ms. Finch,” I said, my voice tight, “these were all necessary expenses to ensure the project’s success. Every single one is documented.” “Your documentation is irrelevant. Company policy is what matters.” She finally stopped, tapping furiously at her calculator. At last, she scribbled a number on the reimbursement form and pushed it toward me. “Approved Amount: $500.00.” The number felt like a dagger in my eye. Out of $5,600, I was getting back $500. A sharp pain bloomed in my chest, as if I’d been hit with a sledgehammer. $5,100—that was a month and a half of my rent and living expenses. It was savings I had scraped together. Gone. “This is unreasonable,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I want to speak with Mr. Davis.” Ms. Finch leaned back, crossing her arms with the smug look of a spectator at a gladiator match. She picked up her desk phone and dialed his office. “Mr. Davis, Leo has an issue with the approved amount.” I stared through the glass as Davis put down his teacup. He didn’t even bother to walk over. He picked up his phone, and his cold, oily voice drifted from the receiver, just loud enough for me to hear. “Ah, Leo. Just do as finance says. Times are tough for the company. We all need to show a little dedication.” Dedication? I thought with a humorless sneer. Was my dedication supposed to be funding the company out of my own pocket? I looked at the flimsy approval form, my mind racing, calculating the devastating impact this would have on my life. I also saw, with perfect clarity, the shameless face of the company I worked for. There was no shouting. No pleading. I took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and signed my name on that humiliating document: Leo. Ms. Finch’s face broke into the condescending smile of a victor. She probably thought she had just broken another naive kid. Satisfied, Mr. Davis hung up and strolled out of his office. He walked over to me and clapped me on the shoulder with a hand that was both greasy and adorned with a gold watch. “See? So much better when you don’t make a scene,” he said, his voice oozing with the false wisdom of a mentor. “Young people need to learn that taking a loss is good for character.” His eyes, however, held nothing but contempt. It was as if I weren’t a key employee who generated value for him, but a beggar he could dismiss at will. I felt the muscles in my shoulder tense, the urge to throw his hand off me screaming against the bars of my self-control. But I didn’t. I didn’t even curse. I looked up at Mr. Davis’s smug face, and a strange thing happened. I smiled. It was a perfectly calm, almost pleasant smile. A laugh escaped my lips. It was quiet, but it was cold, utterly devoid of warmth, like frost crystallizing on a windowpane. Both Davis and Finch stared, momentarily baffled by my reaction. Without another glance, I turned and walked out of the finance office, their low murmurs and Davis’s triumphant chuckle following me. I knew they interpreted my laugh as the breaking point of humiliation, the final surrender after a powerless rage. They were wrong. This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. 2 Back at my desk, the atmosphere in the department was tense. My colleagues shot me looks of sympathy, pity, and for some, a touch of morbid curiosity. Davis, never one to miss a chance to make an example of someone, paraded around the office with his teacup. “This is how it is with the younger generation,” he announced to the room. “You have to knock them down a peg or two before they learn their place. Look at Leo, so cooperative. One word from me, and the matter was settled. You should all learn from this. Don’t sweat the small stuff with the company. Think about the big picture!” A few of the guys who usually called me a friend chimed in with agreement, becoming his instant yes-men. I stared at my monitor, my fingers flying across the keyboard, acting as if I were in a world of my own. During the afternoon coffee break, Sara, a junior assistant on the project team, quietly placed a mug on my desk. She was a recent graduate, her eyes still clear and unmarred by the cynicism of the corporate world. “Leo,” she whispered, her voice full of genuine concern. “They really screwed you over. Davis and Finch went too far!” She added, “Be careful on your next trip. Always ask for an advance.” I looked up and offered her a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Sara. I’m fine.” And I was. The anger and humiliation had been compressed and sealed away the moment I signed my name, transformed into a colder, more potent kind of fuel. I wasn’t wallowing in my loss. I was doing something far more important: taking inventory of my leverage. My fingers flew as I navigated the company’s project management system, pulling up the schedule for the next three days. One project code, bold and red, caught my eye: “Project Aegis.” It was an urgent, multi-million-dollar contract with an industry titan. The terms included strict deadlines and crippling penalties for failure. The core technical bottleneck of Project Aegis was an encryption algorithm I had single-handedly developed. The on-site equipment debugging and code implementation had to be done by me. I, Leo, was the only person in the entire company who could solve any sudden issues with this algorithm—remotely or on-site—within 48 hours. I, the “cooperative” young man Davis thought he could handle with a single glance, was the irreplaceable heart of Project Aegis. Next, I reviewed the company’s ticketing system. The rules were clear: urgent tasks were assigned directly to the key stakeholder. Once assigned, the ticket was locked. It couldn’t be reassigned unless the designated person refused it. The penalty for refusal? A single “performance warning” in your file. I looked at that penalty and laughed. For a multi-million-dollar project whose failure could get a regional director fired, a performance warning was a joke. My cold laugh hadn’t been one of surrender. In that moment, I had confirmed two stark realities: First, this company and my boss would, for a mere $5,100, crush a key employee’s loyalty without a second thought. Second, they had gravely, almost stupidly, underestimated my true value. That evening, I stayed late. I quietly organized all my personal work notes, debug logs, and conceptual frameworks related to Project Aegis—nothing that constituted a core company secret. Then, I wrote a simple script and set up a timed email. If I chose to push the button, all of it would be sent to my personal address. It was a contingency plan. If the company chose to burn everything down, I would have the proof of my work and expertise to pave the way for my next job. After I was done, I went to get some water. As I passed Davis’s office, I could hear him laughing on the phone with a client, his voice full of swagger, as if his $5,100 “victory” had put him in a particularly fine mood. I watched his bloated silhouette and calmly did the math. A cash loss of $5,100, plus an immeasurable dose of personal humiliation. To balance that equation, it would take a multi-million-dollar project and the career of a regional director. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message in the work group chat. It was Ms. Finch, and she had tagged me specifically. “@Leo, the $500 reimbursement you applied for this afternoon has been processed. Please confirm receipt.” She followed it up by tagging everyone. “A reminder to all staff: please ensure all expense reports strictly adhere to company financial policy. Leo has confirmed and accepted the outcome of this review. We hope you will all learn from this example.” It wasn’t enough to take my money. She had to use me as a cautionary tale, to publicly crucify me and cement my reputation as a pushover. The chat was silent. No one dared to speak. I looked at the screen, my fingers tapping lightly on my phone. A few seconds later, my reply appeared. “Received. Thanks for the company’s consideration.” Those words landed like a drop of water in a sizzling pan of oil. Seemingly calm, but containing the promise of a violent explosion. Sara immediately sent me a private message: a single, face-palming emoji. I didn’t reply. My patience was the calm before the storm. Now, all I needed was for the wind to blow. And I knew it would, very soon. 3 The wind began to blow exactly when I predicted. The next day at 4:30 PM, just an hour before quitting time, a piercing red alert erupted from the company’s work-order system. It sounded like an air-raid siren, shattering the office’s drowsy peace. A massive, blood-red pop-up dominated every screen. URGENT TASK: ‘PROJECT AEGIS’ CORE ALGORITHM ON-SITE DEBUG LOCATION: STANTON CITY DEADLINE: 48 HOURS PROJECT VALUE: $12 MILLION ASSIGNED TO: LEO My name was lit up like it was on a Broadway marquee. Davis’s office door flew open. His face was a mask of tense excitement as he strode toward my desk. “Leo! You see this? Project Aegis just got fast-tracked! The client’s equipment is down; you need to get on a flight immediately!” His voice was a booming command. In the project group chat, messages were flying. Davis: @Leo, accept the ticket! Now! This is a top-priority mission! The air in the office went still. I calmly looked at the pop-up. Below my name were two large buttons: a green “Accept” and a red “Do Not Accept.” A sixty-second countdown was ticking away above the red button. Those ticking numbers weren’t just seconds; they were Davis’s bonus, the company’s profit, and the rapidly increasing risk of a twelve-million-dollar failure. My hand hovered over the mouse. I savored the moment—the feeling of holding everyone’s fate, including that of the man who had just humiliated me, at my fingertips. “Leo! What are you waiting for? Move it!” Davis’s voice was turning ragged with anxiety. He leaned so close I could smell the stale coffee and nicotine on his breath. I turned my head slightly. Then, as Davis and the entire office watched, my cursor moved with unshakable certainty to the red button. Click. I pressed “Do Not Accept.” Time seemed to freeze. The expression on Davis’s face cycled through confusion, disbelief, and finally, a deep, puce-colored rage. A warning window appeared: [You are rejecting a Level-SSS Urgent Task. This action will be logged and will severely impact your annual performance review. Are you sure?] Without hesitation, I clicked “Confirm.” The work order was instantly kicked back into the system and broadcast to everyone in the project group. A chorus of notification chimes echoed through the office. The ticket’s status changed from “Assigned to Leo” to “Open Task.” And in the ticket’s history, the first entry was a line of glaring red text: [Task rejected by assigned user Leo.] The office was dead silent. Everyone stared at me like I had lost my mind. A few seconds later, something even more dramatic happened. Another chime. [Task rejected by assigned user Mark.] Then another. [Task rejected by assigned user Jessica.] [Task rejected by assigned user David.] The ticket was a hot potato, being tossed around the department with no one willing to catch it. No one was a fool. Yesterday, I had charged into battle for the company and had come back with a $5,100 personal loss and a public shaming. Today, with a high-stakes, high-cost, high-risk project on the table, who would be willing to gamble their own money on the company’s integrity? My refusal was a bomb that had detonated the company’s facade of corporate camaraderie, exposing the bloody reality underneath. Davis’s face was the color of raw liver, a vein throbbing in his temple. His phone buzzed furiously with notifications from the group chat. He glanced at it, then quickly sent me a direct message. Davis: Leo! Are you out of your goddamn mind? Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Accept the ticket right now! I could feel his apoplectic rage through the screen. I picked up my phone and slowly typed my reply. Leo: Mr. Davis, my apologies. Leo: As you taught me yesterday, “young people need to learn that taking a loss is good for character.” I find your advice very insightful and feel I need some time to truly appreciate this “character building” experience. Leo: Furthermore, the expenses for this trip will certainly be substantial. As someone who just “took a loss” of $5,100, I simply cannot afford the risk of another financial write-off. On his end, the “typing…” indicator appeared and disappeared several times, but no message came through. He was probably too furious to form words. He looked up and roared at the entire office, “Some people better not get arrogant just because they have a little technical skill! This is deliberate sabotage! If this project is delayed, none of you will be able to bear the responsibility!” His voice echoed, full of bluster and impotence. No one responded. The red ticket hung in the queue, a digital pariah. Each rejection notification was another slap across the face of Davis and the company’s management. I leaned back in my chair, took a sip of the now-cold coffee Sara had given me, and savored the bitter taste. A strange, almost sick sense of satisfaction washed over me. The show was just getting started.

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