Category: English

I am the fiancée of Nick Howard, a name synonymous with the city’s glittering elite. His escapades were tabloid fodder, and the tell-tale marks of his affairs—bruises and bites from shameless lips—always found their way to the pale skin of his collarbone. I turned a blind eye. I dutifully washed the scent of other women from his shirts, folded his clothes with reverent silence, and never, ever asked a single question. He’d boast to his friends, a cruel smirk on his face, about his perfect, unobtrusive wife-to-be. But he never knew the truth. My heart had always belonged to his brother. 1 Nick stumbled home late, reeking of expensive whiskey and a perfume that wasn’t mine. I winced but moved to help him, guiding his heavy frame toward the sofa. He shoved my hands away with surprising force, his lips moving, mumbling the name of the woman he truly loved. “Evie… don’t leave me.” A familiar numbness washed over me. I knelt and obediently slipped the shoes from his feet, then went to the kitchen to prepare a remedy for his hangover. I was used to this. As his fiancée, I was a ghost in his life, a presence he rarely acknowledged. I brought back a bowl of warm water and a cloth to clean his face. As I wiped away the grime of the night, my eyes snagged on the mess of marks marring his collarbone. A chaotic constellation of lipstick smears and angry red love bites. They were a declaration of his infidelity, loud and obscene. The sight was a physical blow, a sharp, stabbing pain. My fingers clenched the hem of my dress, my knuckles white, the fabric digging into my skin until it hurt. I stood frozen, unable to tear my gaze away from the vulgar display. It was as if the marks were burning a hole right through me. Suddenly, Nick jolted awake, caught in a nightmare. “Evie, no!” he cried out, his voice thick with sleep and desperation. He shot upright on the sofa. His eyes landed on me, then followed my gaze to his collarbone. There was no flicker of guilt, no hint of an explanation in his expression. “Problem?” His voice was ice, his eyes narrowing as he glared at me. The word died in my throat. For a moment, I was speechless. But wasn’t it a wife’s right to care for her husband? I steadied myself. “No. I just saw you were drunk and wanted to clean you up.” Nick slowly, deliberately, fastened the top button of his shirt, hiding the evidence. His voice was smooth and unhurried. “That’s what my assistant, Ms. Davies, is for. You don’t need to concern yourself with these things.” He rose to his feet, towering over me. “And let’s not forget what this is—an arrangement. A merger. We don’t have a marriage certificate yet, which means you’re not my wife.” His words were like shards of ice piercing my heart. I understood the unspoken message: all my efforts, all the care I thought I was showing, were not just unappreciated—they were laughable. In his world, I was worthless. I stared at my pale, trembling fingers. “Fine,” I managed to whisper. “I understand.” He rubbed his temples, then paused as if remembering something. He glanced back at me. “And stop making that god-awful hangover cure. It’s disgusting.” Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the vast, silent living room. I looked down at the calluses on my hands, a bitter lump forming in my throat. I used to be a pampered daughter of privilege, my hands soft and unblemished. I had reshaped my entire life to please him, and this was the result. This broken, pathetic version of myself. I never asked him to be grateful. All I ever wanted was for him to truly see me. My phone buzzed violently on the counter. Nick’s name flashed on the screen. My heart leaped as I scrambled to answer it. “Hello?” The background was a cacophony of music and drunken shouts, but his voice cut through it all, as clear as the day I first met him, making my pulse race. Trying to sound calm, I asked, “What’s wrong?” Silence stretched on from his end. I was about to ask again when one of his friends, Jake, snatched the phone. His voice was rushed. “Aria? Nick’s smashed and he’s calling for you. Says he only wants you to come get him. Can you—” I froze. “Are you sure he asked for me? By name?” “Absolutely,” Jake said, his tone certain. “He’s shouting for his fiancée. That’s you, right?” A wildfire of joy erupted in my chest. I fought to keep my voice even. “Okay. Text me the address.” Maybe, I thought, this is it. The moment the glacier finally begins to thaw. The moment he starts to feel something for me. The bar was on the other side of the city. The night was bitterly cold, but I just threw on a thin coat and ran out. I didn’t waste a second changing into warmer clothes; I couldn’t bear the thought of making him wait. Down in the garage, I was met with the gleaming array of luxury cars—a silent testament to the Howard fortune. None of them were for me. I didn’t have the keys, the codes, the right of use. My life—my food, my clothes, my transportation—was all managed by Ms. Davies. Every small purchase required her approval. I was a marionette, drowning in the gilded darkness of this penthouse. His promises. When would he ever keep them? When would he ever come back and truly look at me? A bitter smile touched my lips. I walked out to the main road and hailed a cab. The city lights blurred past as I huddled in the back seat, the heater doing little to warm the chill in my bones. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Young lady, it’s late and freezing out. What’s the emergency?” I looked down at my hands. “I’m picking up my fiancé…” The word felt wrong, foreign. He wouldn’t like it. “A friend,” I corrected myself quickly. “He’s had too much to drink.” I saw the driver shake his head with a sigh. “Honey, if a man really loved you, would he be making you come out on a night like this to fetch him?” I ignored him, turning to stare out the window, my reflection a pale ghost against the dark glass. It wasn’t certain yet. Nothing was certain. Even if there was only a one percent chance, I had to believe. It was nearly two in the morning when I arrived at the hotel. I called Jake’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. As I walked down the plush corridor, I heard a man’s mocking laughter spill from a suite. “No way she actually came. Hahahahaha.” I recognized the voice. It was Jake. “God, she’s so pathetic, isn’t she?” another voice chimed in. “What do you think, Howard?” I stopped, pressing myself into the shadows of an alcove, my heart pounding against my ribs. Through the crack in the door, I saw him. Nick. He was lounging on a velvet couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips, perfectly composed in his tailored suit. He lifted his head, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “She’s worthless.” My fists clenched, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. It was all a game. A sick, twisted performance, and I was the fool he was toying with. He had never cared. Not for a single moment. The fragile hope that had carried me all the way here shattered into a million pieces. I was the clown in his circus. I gritted my teeth and pushed the door open. Nick’s eyes widened in momentary surprise when he saw me, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of bored indifference. “Well, look at you,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Such an obedient fiancée.” He was surrounded by a flock of beautiful women in slinky dresses, their eyes fixed on him with adoration. “Aren’t you going to explain?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “What’s to explain?” He exhaled a plume of smoke that made me cough. “Lost a game of truth or dare. Simple as that.” I had raced across the city in the freezing cold for this. For a joke. “Right,” I whispered, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. My heart, which had been flickering with hope, finally went out. And I knew, this time, it would never reignite. “Aria,” Nick said, stubbing out his cigarette and adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “Learn to stay out of things that don’t concern you.” I had already turned to leave, but his words stopped me. I looked back at him, a bright, brittle smile on my face. “Don’t worry, Nick. From now on, you’ll get exactly what you want.” My duty to him was over. The curtain had fallen. 2 Jake, a stunning brunette draped over his arm, sneered at me. “You really are cheap, Aria.” He pushed the woman away and arched a brow. “Since Nick clearly doesn’t appreciate you, why don’t you come home with me?” My gaze shifted to Nick. He did nothing. He just watched, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips, as if my humiliation was his evening’s entertainment. Of course. Why would he care? I was nothing more than dirt beneath his shoes. I could drop dead at his feet and he wouldn’t even flinch. A slow smile spread across my face, my eyes locking with Jake’s. “Alright,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. Nick’s face darkened instantly. He rose from the shadows, his expression unreadable but radiating a sudden, violent anger. He crossed the room in three long strides, his hand clamping around my throat. The pressure was immense. “Say that again,” he hissed, his eyes blazing. I found it all so hilarious. Tilting my head, I repeated the words with perfect clarity, “I said… alright.” The veins on his hand bulged as his grip tightened, a raw, hateful force meant to punish me. I didn’t understand. Why this rage? He was an enigma, a puzzle I had spent years trying to solve, only to fail at every turn. But his sudden change in behavior didn’t matter anymore. Nothing about him mattered. He used his free hand to grab my chin, forcing my head up, and then his mouth was on mine. His kiss was an invasion, a conquest, yet underneath the aggression was a ghost of tenderness that disarmed me. The bitter taste of smoke and whiskey filled my mouth, stinging my throat and bringing tears to my eyes. I don’t know when the desperate, bruising kiss ended. I don’t want to know. All I know is that for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, as his lips moved against mine, he felt so much like Leo. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes. “Is it you?” I whispered against his mouth. “Are you back?” He chuckled, pulling back just enough to flick my forehead with his finger. “What are you dreaming about?” The past and present blurred into one. The ghost of the man I loved and the cold reality of the man in front of me became indistinguishable. With tears in my eyes, I reached up on my toes and gently ran my fingers through his hair. Just like old times. He was finally back. Nick watched me with a predatory curiosity, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A dark, dangerous smile played on his face. “Like what you feel?” he murmured. He captured my hand, pulling me closer, intending to wrap me in his arms. I dug my nails into my own palm, fighting to stay grounded in reality. But— He was too much like Leo. The lines were blurring. The psychedelic lights of the bar danced across his face as he held my hand, that reckless, devil-may-care smile still fixed on his lips. I could hear the frantic, deafening beat of my own heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. “No,” I choked out. And then, a traitorous tear escaped, sliding down my cheek.

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The day of my son’s christening, I found a sonogram in my husband’s phone. The woman’s texts were arias of despair, a constant drain that siphoned off half of Ethan’s income every month. I didn’t choose quiet acceptance. I laid the phone on the mahogany desk in his study and demanded an explanation. Ethan sat in that leather chair all night. When he finally emerged in the pale morning light, his face was a gray mask. “I admit it,” he said, his voice raspy. “I owe her. But there’s nothing between us. No feelings.” 1 Ten years together, and now he was asking me to sacrifice our family for a child that wasn’t even real to me. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I put on my dress, a silk sheath the color of cream, and let the christening party begin. And then, in the middle of the reception, his best man, David, burst through the doors of the hall. He was clutching a blood-stained medical transport cooler. “Ethan!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. “It’s Chloe! She saw the pictures you posted of the party… she miscarried at the hospital. The baby’s gone!” The champagne flute in my hand, raised for a toast, slipped from my fingers and shattered on the polished floor. Ethan moved like a lightning strike, a blur of motion toward the door. My voice, sharp with tears, cut through the air behind him. “Ethan, if you walk out that door today, you are no longer this child’s father!” He paused for a single, agonizing beat at the threshold. Then, without a backward glance, he was gone. I stood frozen, our one-month-old son nestled in my arms. Noah was asleep, blissfully unaware that his father had just vanished from his life. The soft jazz music ground to a halt. The murmur of our guests died. The emcee stood on the small stage, microphone in hand, utterly lost. Ethan’s parents rushed to my side, his father’s face livid with rage. “Sophia,” he growled, “that animal! I’ll break his damn legs!” I just shook my head, numb, and handed Noah to the nanny we’d hired. “Let him go, Dad,” I said to my own father-in-law, my voice strangely calm. My own parents hurried over, my mother already weeping. “What is this? At his own son’s christening! He’s humiliated our family!” I stepped down from the dais. “I’ll take you home,” I told them. The grand hall had dissolved into chaos. David, Ethan’s friend, approached me, his face a mess of guilt. “Sophia… I’m so sorry. Chloe… it was an emergency. The baby… it was already formed…” I stared at him, saying nothing. David knew Ethan, but he also knew Leo, the man who had died in prison. And Leo’s sister, Chloe, had become their collective “responsibility.” But responsibility doesn’t choose the middle of a baby’s christening party to make an entrance, holding a dead fetus like a trophy. I grabbed my purse and walked out, leaving the whole farce behind. My phone buzzed in my bag. Again and again. I didn’t look. I knew it was Ethan. He’d be explaining, apologizing, telling me that Chloe was on the verge of death and he couldn’t possibly have stayed. We’d been together for ten years. I knew him. He had a hero complex, a desperate need to be a savior. Leo’s case was the only one he’d ever lost. After Leo died, that guilt became a set of chains Ethan draped around his own neck. He told me he had to take care of Chloe for the rest of his life, to honor his failure. I used to believe him. It was only today that I understood. Some ways of “caring” are just another word for betrayal. Back home, I peeled off the silk dress and changed into sweats. I’m a forensic pathologist. The hospital where Chloe had her… procedure… it was one where I had colleagues. I grabbed my car keys and drove. Outside the OB/GYN emergency room, Ethan was slumped against a wall. His suit was wrinkled, his hair a mess, his eyes shot with blood. A moment later, Chloe was wheeled out of the recovery room, an IV drip taped to her wrist. Her face was bloodless, her eyes closed. Ethan immediately rushed to her side, grabbing her hand. I walked toward them. When Ethan saw me, he straightened up, his eyes swimming with apology. “Soph… you’re here. I’m so sorry about today…” “How is she?” I cut him off, my gaze fixed on the woman in the bed. “The doctor said she hemorrhaged. The baby’s gone, but she’s stable. She’s just… emotionally, she’s a wreck.” I nodded. “Good.” As I turned to leave, Ethan grabbed my wrist. “Sophia, don’t be like this. I lost Leo’s case. I owe them this. I can’t abandon her, not now when she’s lost her only hope.” I pulled my arm free. “I’m not being like anything, Ethan. I’m just realizing that my son’s christening was apparently less important than a woman who just had an abortion.” “That’s not it! You and Noah are the most important things in the world to me! But she was dying! And that was my child, too!” “The doctors said she’s not going to die,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “And another thing. That wasn’t your child.” His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Just then, Chloe’s eyes fluttered open. When she saw me, tears instantly welled. “Sophia,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I didn’t mean to, I just… I saw the pictures of the christening, and it made me think of my brother, of Leo, and…” She broke down into ragged sobs. “I lost control. I’m so sorry I ruined everything.” Ethan immediately sat by her side, his voice a soft murmur. “It’s okay. Don’t think about it. It’s over. Just rest.” He looked back at me, his eyes now holding a hint of reproach. “Look at her. She’s shattered. Can’t you have a little compassion?” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away. It wasn’t until the cold night air hit my face outside the hospital doors that I realized my hands were shaking uncontrollably. 2 The next day, Ethan came home with a folder in his hand. I opened the door but didn’t let him in, blocking the entrance. He held the folder out to me. “Sophia, I’m apologizing on Chloe’s behalf. She had an emotional breakdown yesterday. She didn’t mean for any of it to happen.” “She can’t apologize for herself?” Ethan flinched. “She’s still very weak.” “Let’s not talk about her,” I said. “Let’s talk about us. What about the christening? What do I tell our friends, our families?” He was silent for a long moment. “We’ll throw another party once this all blows over.” “Another party?” I looked at him, incredulous. “You think this is something you can just… redo?” “What else can we do? It happened, Soph. I know you’re hurt. But Chloe… she lost her brother, and now she’s lost a child. Can’t we just try to be understanding?” There was that word again. Understanding. I took the folder from his hand. It was a share transfer agreement. He was signing over twenty percent of his stake in the law firm to me. “It’s compensation,” he said. “Please, don’t be angry anymore.” Seeing me take the papers, Ethan visibly relaxed, mistaking my action for acceptance. “You’ve always had a soft heart,” he said, a weak smile touching his lips. “Don’t worry. Once she’s back on her feet, I’ll make it all up to you and Noah. I promise.” He left. I tore the agreement into tiny pieces and dropped them in the trash. Then I went to work. I had a colleague pull yesterday’s records from OB/GYN. Chloe Vance. Gestational age, 24 weeks. Procedure: Induction of labor. Not a miscarriage. A scheduled, voluntary induction. An abortion. Then I called a friend in the ER. “Hey, remember that pregnant woman who came in yesterday? Hemorrhaging? Chloe Vance.” My friend thought for a second. “Oh, right, that one. Some guy carried her in, frantic, screaming about a miscarriage.” “And the situation?” “Please,” she scoffed. “It was standard post-induction bleeding. Completely within the normal range. We all knew what was up. The whole drama was for the guy’s benefit.” My heart sank like a stone.

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1 I converted my family’s old five-story building into a shared apartment complex. It was prime real estate, right in the heart of downtown, complete with a large courtyard. I knocked out all the non-load-bearing walls and redesigned the space from the ground up, creating a mix of single, double, and quad rooms to cater to different needs. The rent was half the market rate for the area. My only rule? Tenants had to be young professionals, no more than three years out of college. Instead of building on the courtyard, I turned it into a gym and a cafeteria. The gym equipment was brand new. I hired two chefs for the cafeteria, and the prices were the same as a university dining hall. For the first month, all meals were free. I thought I was doing a good thing. I was giving these young people, just starting their careers, a place to breathe, a place to call home. They called me their “guardian angel landlord.” They brought me plaques and wrote glowing reviews online. Seeing their bright, hopeful faces made it all worthwhile. Until Liam showed up. He stood at the entrance of “The Haven,” dragging a silver suitcase behind him. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes scanning the name of the building. Then, he smiled. I handled Liam’s check-in myself. His resume was impressive: a law degree from a top university, a string of scholarships. I gave him the grand tour. “The gym is free,” I explained, “and the cafeteria serves three meals a day. Utilities and internet are all included.” I pointed to the menu on the wall. “Two mains and a side for twelve bucks.” He nodded, his eyes lingering for a moment on the kitchen door. As we walked down the hallway, he suddenly stopped and pointed to a fire extinguisher in the corner. “Ms. Chen,” he said, his voice polite but firm, “this fire extinguisher’s inspection tag is out of date.” I was taken aback. “Oh, the maintenance guy must have forgotten to replace it. I’ll get him on it right away.” “Safety is no small matter,” he said. His tone was level, but there was an undercurrent of something that brooked no argument. A flicker of annoyance went through me, but I forced a smile. “You’re right. I’ll have it replaced immediately.” He moved into 301, the best single room in the building, south-facing with a balcony. In the days that followed, a subtle shift began to occur in the building. Liam was always in the common areas, helping the cafeteria staff chop vegetables, playing chess with the security guard, patiently showing a shy new tenant how to use the gym equipment. He quickly became a popular and well-liked figure. Everyone started calling him “Liam.” “Liam knows so much about everything.” “He’s such a great guy, so down-to-earth.” “That’s what you get from a top-tier education.” Hearing their praise, my initial unease faded. Maybe I was just being paranoid. A bright, helpful young man like him was an asset to the community. A week later, I went to the cafeteria after dinner to discuss the next week’s menu with the chefs. A group of tenants was gathered around Liam. He was holding a document, explaining something with a serious expression. As I got closer, I heard his clear, measured voice. “…according to the city’s housing regulations, any rental unit must be a self-contained, original room. Subdividing rooms is not permitted.” A tenant whispered, “But Ms. Chen’s rent is so cheap. The partitioned rooms are fine.” Liam smiled. “It’s cheap because it’s illegal and unsafe. Have you considered what would happen in a fire? These partitions are a major safety hazard. We pay rent, we have the right to a safe and legal living environment. It’s not a gift, it’s a right.” He emphasized the word “right.” Another tenant chimed in. “Liam’s right! That fire extinguisher was expired. I told Ms. Chen about it, and she didn’t even replace it right away!” I distinctly remembered having the guard replace it that same day. I stopped at the entrance of the cafeteria. The evening breeze was cold. I turned and walked away. Back in my office, I sat in silence for a long time. I pulled out all the rental agreements. Attached to each one was a “Safety Disclosure” form, signed by me, which clearly stated: “Some rooms in this building have been modified. The tenant acknowledges this and agrees to rent the unit as is.” Every single tenant had signed it. 2 The next day, the building’s group chat exploded. Liam had posted a three-thousand-word “Proposal for Improving the Living and Safety Standards of The Haven.” It was a masterpiece of legal jargon, citing everything from fire codes to health regulations to contract law, complete with screenshots of the relevant statutes. He concluded with a list of “proposals”: I was to remove all partitions and restore the building to its original layout. I was to register the gym and cafeteria as businesses and obtain the proper licenses and permits. We were to sign new, “legally compliant” rental agreements that explicitly stated the gym and cafeteria were free amenities. The chat was flooded with messages of support. “Yes, Liam! He’s saying what we’ve all been thinking!” “Housing justice! We’re not trying to take advantage, we just want what’s right!” “To be honest, I’ve always been a little worried about the cafeteria’s hygiene.” “Yeah, what if we get food poisoning? Who’s responsible?” I recognized the username of the person complaining about the hygiene. It was Leo, from the second floor. Just yesterday, he’d bought four meals to take to his girlfriend. I put down my phone and rubbed my temples. That afternoon, I called Liam to my office. He was the same as always: gold-rimmed glasses, crisp white shirt, calm and polite. “Ms. Chen, you wanted to see me?” I placed a printed copy of his “proposal” on the desk. “Liam, why didn’t you come to me with this first?” He adjusted his glasses. “Ms. Chen, this isn’t just my opinion. It’s the collective will of the majority of the tenants. A public discussion is more efficient and transparent than a private conversation.” “Transparent?” I picked up the document. “You want me to tear down the partitions. What about the fifty-plus people who live in those rooms? Where are they supposed to go?” “That’s a problem for you, as the landlord, to solve. You can refund their rent and offer compensation, or you can find them alternative housing.” His answer was flawless, and infuriating. “The gym and cafeteria are a bonus, a gift I provide for free. You want me to get business licenses? Do you have any idea what that entails? The taxes, the regulations, the inspections… Do you have any idea how much that will cost?” “Ms. Chen, it’s not a gift,” he interrupted, his voice hardening. “When these facilities are tied to your rental business, they are part of a commercial service. Whether you charge for them or not, they are subject to legal oversight. This is to protect us, the consumers.” Consumers. He used that word. I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “So, you enjoy the cheap rent, the free gym, the subsidized food, and now, as ‘consumers,’ you want me, the ‘business owner,’ to bear all the legal risks and operational costs?” “The law is the law,” he said, his eyes cold. “Sentiment doesn’t trump legality. You should have anticipated these issues when you renovated the building. All we’re doing is bringing things back into compliance.” I took a deep breath. I pointed to the signed contracts on my desk. “Everyone signed the disclosure. They all knew about the modifications. It’s in writing.” A ghost of a smile touched Liam’s lips. “Ms. Chen, you, of all people, should know about ‘unconscionable contract terms.’ When a contract violates a mandatory provision of the law, or exempts one party from their primary responsibility while increasing the other party’s, that clause is void. Those ‘disclosures’ you had everyone sign? They’re not worth the paper they’re printed on in a court of law.” There was a knock on the door. A young woman who lived on the fourth floor, Sarah, poked her head in, holding a lunchbox. She looked embarrassed when she saw Liam. “Ms. Chen… I was just wondering if there was any of that braised pork left from dinner?” Before I could answer, Liam turned to her with a warm smile. “Sarah, I’m just discussing our proposal with Ms. Chen. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure we get a safer and more hygienic dining environment for everyone.” Sarah’s eyes widened. She nodded enthusiastically. “Go, Liam! We’re all behind you!” She backed out of the room, forgetting all about the braised pork. I looked at Liam, a chill running down my spine. 3 The negotiations failed. I rejected all their “proposals.” I told them the gym and cafeteria were a privilege, one I could revoke at any time. The partitions were a known condition of their tenancy. If they were unhappy, they could give a month’s notice and move out, as per their contracts. The next day, a notice was posted on my office door. It was an “ultimatum.” I had 72 hours to respond positively to their demands and begin implementation. Otherwise, they would take “all necessary legal measures.” It was signed: The Haven Tenants’ Rights Committee. Chairman: Liam. The atmosphere in the building changed overnight. The young people who used to greet me warmly now avoided my gaze, hurrying past me in the hallways. The group chat I had created to foster a sense of community had become their war room. I didn’t leave the group. I watched as they assigned tasks, gathered evidence. “Who can get photos of the kitchen? Try to get the grimy corners.” “Check the gym equipment for expiration dates.” “Everyone write a statement. Emphasize that we didn’t know the partitions were illegal, that we were misled by the landlord.” “I have a friend who’s an intern at a local news station. They’re very interested in a ‘graduates’ rights’ story.” Liam was the general, directing his troops. “Remember, everyone, our goal is not to cause a scene, but to ‘defend our rights according to the law.’ All evidence must be obtained legally. And when you talk to Ms. Chen, remember to record the conversation.” I saw Leo, the one who’d complained about the hygiene, was the most active in the chat. “Don’t worry, Liam! I’ve already taken pictures of the cracks in my wall! We can say the building is structurally unsound!” I remembered those cracks. He’d made them himself when he tried to hang a bookshelf. He’d even come to me and asked if I could help him patch them up. I sat in my office, chain-smoking. The ashtray was overflowing. The 72 hours passed. I did nothing. On the fourth day, I was served with a summons. The plaintiffs: Liam and ninety-eight other tenants. The defendant: me. The charges: breach of contract and illegal business operations. I looked at the long list of familiar names. The last one was Sarah, the girl who’d wanted the braised pork. I called my lawyer. “Old friend,” I said, “I have a problem.” He was silent for a long time after I explained the situation. “This is bad,” he finally said. “Very bad. The other side’s leader is a pro. He’s got you on two major points: the structural modifications and the unlicensed businesses. Legally, you have almost no chance of winning.” “What about the contracts they signed?” “Like the kid said, they’ll likely be deemed unconscionable. And with so many young people, the so-called ‘vulnerable group,’ they’ll have the judge’s sympathy. You’re at a disadvantage, legally and in the court of public opinion.” “So there’s nothing I can do?” “Your only option is to settle out of court. Offer them a rent reduction or some compensation, and get them to drop the lawsuit. It’s the least costly option.” I hung up the phone. Settle? I looked out the window. A few tenants were laughing and chatting in the gym, using the equipment I had bought for them. I picked up my phone and typed a single sentence in the group chat. “See you in court.” There was a three-second silence. Then, a reply from Liam: a thumbs-up emoji. 4 The day of the trial, the sky was a gloomy gray. The courtroom was packed. The tenants of The Haven, and a gaggle of reporters. Liam represented himself. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. He stood before the judge and delivered a powerful, eloquent opening statement. He presented a mountain of evidence: photos of the partitions, close-ups of the “unhygienic” kitchen, news articles about the fire hazards of subdivided apartments. And a hundred-page document of a joint testimony from all the tenants, each one a tear-jerking account of how I had taken advantage of their youth and inexperience, luring them into my “illegal” deathtrap. They painted themselves as innocent lambs, exploited by a greedy, heartless landlord. Liam’s speech was masterful. “Your Honor, we are not here to be unreasonable. We are recent graduates, full of hope for our future in this city. We sought a safe haven, but what we found was a web of lies and danger! The defendant, Ms. Chen, paraded herself as a ‘guardian angel landlord,’ basking in the praise of the media while engaging in illegal and dangerous practices, putting the lives of over a hundred young people at risk! We are not seeking monetary compensation! We are seeking justice!” His voice rang with passion. In the gallery, his supporters looked on with expressions of outrage and admiration. The reporters were scribbling furiously. When it was my lawyer’s turn, he presented the signed contracts and safety disclosures. Liam immediately objected. “Your Honor, I have already demonstrated that these so-called ‘disclosures’ are a textbook example of unconscionable contract terms! The defendant used her position of power to impose an illegal living situation on us and then attempted to absolve herself of all legal responsibility!” My lawyer tried to argue, but Liam shut him down with a barrage of legal terminology and flawless logic. The judge’s expression grew colder and colder. I knew I had lost. I had lost from the very beginning. This lawsuit was a perfectly orchestrated performance, with Liam as the writer, director, and star. A perfect hunt, with “the law” as the weapon and “justice” as the banner. During the recess, I was smoking in the hallway. Liam approached me. “It’s not too late to surrender, Ms. Chen,” he said. “If you agree to our terms, we can drop the lawsuit right now. It’s for the best, for everyone.” “And if I don’t?” He smiled. “Then we’ll win. And you’ll lose everything. The building will be shut down. You’ll face massive fines. And your ‘guardian angel landlord’ reputation will be destroyed. You’ll be a pariah. Is it worth it?” I stubbed out my cigarette. “See you in court,” I said again. His face darkened. “You’re a fool,” he said, and walked away. 5 The verdict was no surprise. I lost. The court ruled that the clauses in my rental agreements regarding the structural modifications were void. I was ordered to remove all partitions and restore the building to its original layout within one month. The gym and cafeteria were deemed illegal businesses, and I was fined two hundred thousand dollars. The common areas were sealed off immediately. When the verdict was announced, the courtroom erupted in applause. The tenants hugged each other, celebrating their “victory.” The reporters swarmed Liam, their cameras flashing. “This is not a personal victory,” he said to the cameras, his face flushed with triumph. “This is a victory for the law, for justice! It’s a message to all young people: when you face injustice, do not be silent! Do not compromise! Stand up and fight for your rights!” A reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Ms. Chen, what do you have to say about the verdict? Will you appeal?” I said nothing. My lawyer escorted me through the crowd. As I was getting into my car, I heard Liam’s voice behind me. “Landlord.” I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. He walked up to me, the reporters trailing behind him. He looked at me, a smirk on his face. “It’s a new era,” he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “The days of cutting corners and playing the sympathy card are over. Young people aren’t so easily fooled anymore.” I looked him in the eye. The victory in his was blinding. I said nothing. I just gave him one long, hard look. Then I got in my car and drove away. As I pulled away, I saw him in the rearview mirror, surrounded by his cheering fans, a conquering hero. I took out my phone and turned it off. Then I closed my eyes. One week. That’s all I needed.

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I saw it with my own eyes: my wife, eight months pregnant, fooling around with the new intern in her office. In the fallout, I chose my daughter, not my wife. I raised her with the help of my best friend. Twenty years later, at the equity transfer ceremony, my daughter told me she had a special gift for me. Smiling, I began to sign the contract. Halfway through my signature, the pen ran out of ink. I set it down, about to signal my assistant for a replacement. But my daughter, assuming I had finished, clapped her hands toward the conference room doors. The doors swung open, and a middle-aged woman walked in. A woman whose face haunted my nightmares, a woman I had fantasized about tearing apart with my bare hands a thousand times over. 1 “This is your big gift for me?” The polished, radiant woman standing before me was none other than my ex-wife, Lillian—the woman who had cheated on me during her pregnancy without a shred of shame. The moment she appeared, every eye in the room swiveled to me. Many of them had been there for the spectacular implosion of my marriage, and they had all watched me raise my child alone, through years of tireless work. “Dad,” my daughter, Sophie, said, her voice smooth. “You’ve been through so much, all these years alone. It’s time you and Mom made things right.” I gripped the arms of my chair and pushed myself up, my voice urgent as I reached for Sophie’s hand. “Sophie, you don’t understand what happened back then. You’re old enough now. I can explain everything.” But she pulled her hand away, her face a cold mask. “I already know what happened. Mom had a moment of weakness, and for that, you threw her out and robbed me of a mother for twenty years.” The air was punched from my lungs. I couldn’t believe it. The child I had poured my entire life into was so blind to the truth. Lillian shot me a look of smug triumph. “Ethan, Sophie is my daughter. She came from my body. That’s an undeniable fact. No matter how hard you tried to keep us apart, you can’t sever the bond of blood.” Sophie pulled out a chair for her at the head of the table, guiding her to sit in a director’s seat. It was a gesture of care she had never once shown me, her own father. I took a deep breath, fighting for composure. I looked at my daughter. “After all these years, after everything I’ve done for you, are you really going to betray me for this woman who walked out on us?” Sophie’s brow furrowed in disgust. “She is my mother. You will not insult her like that.” Mr. Davies, one of the board members, finally spoke up, unable to watch any longer. “Sophie, your mother was clearly in the wrong back then. That’s why Ethan divorced her and removed her from the company. For you to bring her back the moment you take over… that’s a hard pill for anyone to swallow.” Other shareholders around the table nodded in agreement. But Sophie was unmoved. “I could have had a happy, complete family,” she declared, her voice ringing with accusation. “But for the sake of his own pride, he stubbornly threw my mother out. Because of him, kids at school bullied me my entire childhood, calling me the girl with no mom.” “If he had just swallowed his pride for my sake—forgiven her for one mistake—I never would have had to suffer like that.” “He already ruined my childhood. Is he going to ruin my chance to finally heal from it, too?” Her words were a blade, twisting in my heart. All these years, I had never spoken of Lillian in front of Sophie. I wanted to shield her from the hatred, to let her grow up happy and healthy. I never imagined that instead of hating the mother who abandoned her, she would grow to hate me for shattering her fantasy of a perfect family. I dug my nails into my palm, a desperate attempt to hold back the tears stinging my eyes. I pointed a trembling finger at Lillian. “If you have to choose between us, Sophie, right here, right now… who is it?” Sophie was silent for a long moment before her voice, firm and resolute, cut through the tension. “You and Mom are the most important people in my life. If you’re going to be as stubborn as you were twenty years ago and try to tear my family apart again, then I’ll have to do to you what you did to her.” My legs nearly gave out. “What does that mean?” She walked over to me and picked up the contract from the table. “The equity transfer is complete. I’m in charge of the company now.” “Dad,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth. “It’s time for you to step down.” “If you refuse to accept Mom back into our lives, then I’ll have to teach you a lesson. You’re going to experience the same suffering she did for the past twenty years. It’s time you learned what karma feels like.” She closed the folder, completely oblivious to the fact that the signature was incomplete. Suddenly, I felt like I was meeting the child I raised for the very first time. Back then, blind with rage, I had landed a few solid punches on that intern. Lillian, despite being eight months pregnant, had thrown herself in front of him, shielding him like a woman possessed. The struggle ruptured her amniotic sac, and she was rushed to the hospital. After the birth, she screamed from her hospital bed that the baby was a cursed thing, that the sight of it made her sick. She warned me not to even think about using a child to tie her down. She never even asked if it was a boy or a girl, or if it was even alive. She just signed the divorce papers and ran off with her lover without a backward glance. For twenty years, I never mentioned her name. I forbade her from ever coming near Sophie. My daughter shouldn’t have even known a person named Lillian existed. Yet here they were, putting on a show of mother-daughter devotion for the entire board, looking as if they’d known each other for years. I couldn’t piece together where everything had gone wrong, but one thing was terrifyingly clear: there was a traitor in my midst. My eyes swept across the faces in the room, searching for a flicker of malice, of sadistic pleasure. I found nothing. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “I can accept Lillian back. On one condition.” Hearing me relent, Sophie’s expression softened instantly. “What is it?” “When did you first find out about her?” Sophie’s eyes lit up, as if she were recalling a cherished memory. “It’s a long story. When I was in elementary school, the other kids would pick on me, saying I was the weird girl with no mom, that they could do whatever they wanted to me.” “One day, a group of them cornered me after school. Mom appeared out of nowhere and saved me. She scared them off, and after that, no one ever bullied me again.” “That’s when I learned the truth. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a mother; she had been watching over me all along, from the shadows.” A tear welled in her eye. “And she couldn’t come home because you, in your selfishness, had cast her out.” I pressed on. “So you recognized each other then? Did she know it was you, or did someone tell her?” I knew Lillian. She couldn’t care less about the child she’d just given birth to, let alone feel a sudden pang of conscience and rush to protect a bullied little girl. A coincidence that perfect could only have been scripted. Someone had been pulling the strings, connecting them. “For that, we have someone very special to thank,” Sophie said, a smile gracing her lips. “And he’s here now.” As she spoke, the conference room doors opened once more. Standing in the doorway was a man in a bespoke suit, radiating an aura of mature, refined confidence. “Godfather!” Sophie cried out, her face breaking into a genuine, happy smile. It was my special assistant, Mark Peterson. For years, he was the one person besides myself I trusted implicitly. He’d been with me through thick and thin. He was my brother in all but blood. Since he never married or had children of his own, I’d asked Sophie to call him her godfather. Mark’s leather-soled shoes clicked against the floor as he walked straight to Sophie’s side. “Is the transfer complete?” Sophie nodded. “Yes. We were just waiting for you to celebrate Mom’s homecoming.” Mark reached out and affectionately ruffled her hair. “Good girl. You did well.” “You were the one who made it possible for Mom and me to reunite,” Sophie said, beaming at him. “You’re the hero of this story. We couldn’t possibly celebrate without you.” Her words shattered what little composure I had left. My voice trembled. “You’re telling me… it was Mark who introduced you to Lillian?” “Yes. Godfather couldn’t bear to see us kept apart. He told me the truth a long time ago.” My gaze, cold as ice, locked onto Mark. “I never thought the one to betray me would be you. You, of all people. You know there’s nothing I hate more than betrayal.” “Don’t make it sound so ugly, Ethan,” he said with a dismissive wave. “I just felt sorry for Sophie, growing up without a mother. Not everyone can be as heartless as you.” I slammed my fist on the table, the sound echoing my collapse. “What did I ever do to you? How have I ever wronged you for you to do this to me?” Mark wasn’t just my colleague; we’d been friends since college. Back then, when he was so broke he was about to drop out, I gave him my allowance to cover his tuition. We survived for months on nothing but cheap bread together. He swore to me then that wherever I went, he’d be there to support me, to repay my kindness. Even when Lillian’s scandal broke, everyone in the company hid it from me. It was Mark who risked his job to tell me the truth. From that day forward, he became the person I trusted most in the world. When his career stalled, I promoted him. I cleared obstacles from his path, gave him power and authority. After me, he had the most influence in the company. When he said he didn’t want a family, I made him a part of mine. I remembered now how Sophie, as a child, would have these strange tantrums, screaming that she hated me, that I was a cruel father. I always assumed it was because my work kept me away, that I wasn’t there for her enough. Now I saw it all. Mark had been poisoning her mind against me, then playing the peacemaker to gain both our trust. My voice was hoarse with disbelief. “You knew everything that happened back then. You knew Lillian was carrying my child when she was messing around in her office. How could you help her get back to my daughter? After what she did, how could you do this to me?” Mark’s face twisted with resentment. “What, you wanted Sophie to live her entire life without a mother? Twenty years was more than enough punishment for Lillian. This day was always going to come.” He gestured around the room. “And now the company is in Sophie’s hands. If you want to live out your days in comfort, you’ll welcome Lillian home.” “The way you say her name… Lillian,” I spat. “What the hell is going on between you two?” A smug, vicious grin spread across his face. He raised his chin, looking down his nose at me. “Well, since we’re laying all our cards on the table…” “Let’s just say the intern wasn’t her only affair back then.” He turned to look at Lillian, his eyes filled with a sickening adoration. The world tilted on its axis. “You two… you were together behind my back all along?” A flicker of pure hatred flashed in Mark’s eyes. “If that new intern hadn’t been so damn brazen, trying to step on my territory, I never would have exposed her in the first place.” I closed my eyes, the pain a physical blow. “I treated you like a brother. Why?” Mark laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “You treated me well? You were always the master, throwing me scraps from your table. You gave me things you had in excess.” “We were supposed to be equals! We both graduated from a top university. I graduated first in our class; you were near the bottom. But you walked straight into a manager position while I had to claw my way up from the mailroom, terrified every single day that I’d be fired.” “Lillian told me she always liked me more. The only reason she chose you was for your family’s money. She wouldn’t have given you a second look otherwise.” His voice rose to a furious shout. “Just because you were born rich, I was supposed to hand over everything that should have been mine. Tell me, Ethan, how is that fair?” “Everything you have now,” I ground out through clenched teeth, “I gave to you!” “Is that all you can do?” he roared back, his face contorted with rage. “Hold your charity over my head? You’re a damned hypocrite, Ethan. You get off on it, don’t you? The feeling of tossing a bone to the less fortunate, having people worship you. But you’re a ruthless, selfish bastard underneath it all.” My body went numb. “This whole thing… you planned this together?” Mark walked to Lillian’s side and wrapped a protective arm around her. “So what if we did?” “The company belongs to Sophie now. Do you have any idea how long we’ve waited for this day?” he sneered. “You have nothing left, Ethan. You can either nod and welcome Lillian home, or you can pack your bags and get out. It’s your turn to see how it feels to suffer.” He kept saying her name, Lillian, and it made my stomach turn. Lillian leaned into his embrace, her face alight with petty victory. “How does it feel, Ethan? To have everyone you trust turn against you and side with me?” I glared at her. “You were the one who cheated! If I were you, I’d be too ashamed to ever show my face again, let alone try to reclaim a daughter you abandoned.” “Enough, Dad!” Sophie cut in. “I know you have no feelings for Mom. I’m not asking you to get back together. I’m just asking you to let her and Godfather be happy.” “If you hadn’t gotten in the way, they would have been married years ago. Since you don’t want her, let Godfather have her. We can still be a family. We can all live together, peacefully.” I laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “A family?” My best friend, one of the men who destroyed my marriage, and now my daughter, the daughter I raised alone for two decades, wants me to give them my blessing. “Let’s all just compromise,” Sophie pleaded. “You accept Mom and Godfather’s relationship, and I’ll support you for the rest of your life.” “What are you saying? If I don’t let these two adulterers have their happy ending, you’ll actually throw me out?” “What happens next is your choice. But I will not let what happened twenty years ago happen again. Anyone who tries to destroy my family will be the one to leave.” She didn’t say it directly, but the threat was clear. I had one option: bless this disgusting union. Otherwise, I would be the villain, the one tearing her “family” apart. And with the company in her hands, she held all the power. One word from her, and I’d be gone. I looked my daughter in the eye, my voice hard as steel. “I will never let them have an easy life.” Hate flashed in Sophie’s eyes. “You have to be this selfish?” “Fine. Then get out of this company. Get out of my house. When you’ve had a change of heart, you can come back.” I leaned back in my chair, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. “Who leaves is still up for debate.” Mark scoffed. “Get a grip, Ethan. The shares are in Sophie’s name. You have no say here anymore.” I raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” “Sophie,” I said, my tone shifting to that of a disappointed teacher. “How many times have I told you? Be meticulous. The details are what matter. Don’t let your victory be undone by a simple oversight.” Panic flickered across her face. “What are you talking about?” “If you’d bothered to look at the contract you just closed, you’d know this is far from over.”

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A customer ordered a mango smoothie and asked me to hold the ice. I told her I couldn’t. She filed a complaint. My manager called me useless, fired me on the spot, and withheld my entire month’s paycheck. The next day, I walked straight up to the counter and looked my former manager in the eye. “One mango smoothie.” “Hold the ice.” 1 “I’m sorry, what did you say, ma’am?” I held the blender pitcher in my hand, convinced I was hearing things. The woman in front of me, dressed in a chic pantsuit that probably cost more than my entire summer’s earnings, gave me an impatient eye-roll. “Are you deaf? I said, hold. The. Ice. Got it?” I took a patient breath. “Ma’am, a smoothie is made by blending fruit with ice. Without the ice, it’s not really a…” “I’m on my period. I can’t have anything cold,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Just do what I’m telling you! You’re a minimum-wage worker, you don’t get paid to argue.” Her voice climbed an octave, ringing with an astonishing level of entitlement. Trying to find a solution, I grabbed a mesh strainer. “If I strain the ice out, it’s just going to be a cup of sugary syrup. Are you sure that’s what you want?” “Syrup? Are you kidding me?” she shrieked. “Who drinks syrup? I want a smoothie! A smoothie! Don’t change the texture! Understand?” A wave of despair washed over me. She wanted the texture of a smoothie without the one ingredient that creates the texture. This was a mission impossible. I was just a college kid on a summer job. What cosmic joke was this? I shot a desperate look at my coworkers. They were a blur of motion, slinging drinks and rattling shakers, completely oblivious to my predicament. “Maya! What’s taking so long? It’s a smoothie, not rocket science!” Brenda, the store manager, barked my name from across the room. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I just needed to get this woman out of the store. “Ma’am, I really can’t meet your request. How about I refund your money, and you can have this one on the house?” I pushed the perfectly normal, ice-filled smoothie I’d made toward her. The words had barely left my mouth when a flash of icy cold exploded across my face. She had thrown the entire drink at me. “On the house? This cup of garbage?” she sneered, her face twisted in contempt. “Who the hell do you think you are? Am I some kind of beggar?” The store fell silent. Every customer, every delivery driver, turned to stare. Standing there, dripping with mango pulp and sticky ice, a hot, bitter shame pricked at my eyes. I’d never been so humiliated in my life. The service industry… it was brutal. I blinked hard, forcing the tears back, and silently wiped the slush from my cheeks. I processed the refund with trembling fingers. “Your order has been canceled and your money returned. Have a nice day.” The woman exploded. “I never said I wanted to cancel! Who told you to do that?” I ignored her and turned to the next order. That’s when she completely lost it, her voice a hysterical screech. “Oh, so now you’re giving me the silent treatment? Is this your attitude? Do you have any idea who I am? I’ll have your job for this!” A man in the line behind her finally spoke up. “Lady, give it a rest! Can’t you see they’re slammed?” “Yeah, if you’re not gonna buy anything, get lost! You’re holding everyone up!” someone else chimed in. “Is order 987 ready yet? I’m going to be late!” Amid the chorus of complaints, the woman’s face turned a shade of mottled purple. She shot me one last venomous glare before shoving the door open and storming out. I shouldn’t have been surprised when, later that day, I was officially notified of a customer complaint filed against my name. 2 Brenda stormed over to me, holding her phone out like a weapon. Her face was as dark as the bottom of a burnt coffee pot. “Maya! Look what you’ve done! A customer complained about your terrible attitude and said you canceled her order without permission!” “Brenda, you were right there,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “She was being completely unreasonable, demanding a smoothie with no ice. I only refunded her because…” “You refunded her?” Brenda slammed her hand on the counter, and I flinched. “Did the customer agree to a refund? You took matters into your own hands without her consent, and you think you’re in the right?” Her finger was practically in my nose. “The customer is God, do you understand? If God wants a smoothie with no ice, you figure out a way to make it happen!” A bubble of incredulous laughter escaped my lips. “Even God has to obey the laws of physics, Brenda. A smoothie without ice is impossible. Not even a miracle worker could do it.” “Oh, you want to talk to me about physics?” Brenda sneered, her voice dripping with a familiar, acidic sarcasm. “Right. You’re the genius from Northwood University. You’re the one with the fancy education. You understand physics.” She leaned in closer. “We’re just the uneducated idiots here, right? The blue-collar morons. Is that what you think of us, Maya?” And just like that, it all clicked into place. I finally understood why, from my very first day, Brenda had targeted me. Why I always got the worst shifts, the grimiest jobs, why she encouraged the others to give me the cold shoulder. It was because of something the district supervisor had said during his last visit. “Maya’s one of our star hires! A real brain from Northwood. She’s got a different perspective than the rest of us lifers.” Brenda had been holding onto that resentment ever since. I swallowed my anger and tried again. “Brenda, that’s not what I meant. But the customer’s request was literally impossible. I couldn’t do it.” “You couldn’t do it?” She rolled her eyes, her voice rising to a shout for the whole store to hear. “Wow! So that big, expensive university just teaches you how to be useless, huh?” “If you can’t do the job, then get out! Stop wasting my oxygen!” A surge of fury shot through me. I pointed at the blender. “You’re so capable, Brenda. Why don’t you show me how to make a smoothie with no ice?” Her face flushed a deep, blotchy red. For a second, she was speechless. “You… Maya! What is that tone?” she finally sputtered. “Are you talking back to your manager? You think you’ve earned the right to challenge me?” “You get a single complaint, and suddenly you’re this arrogant? This little store is clearly too small to contain your massive ego!” “I’m making an executive decision. You’re fired! Get your things and get out. Now!” 3 “On what grounds? I did nothing wrong! That customer was harassing me!” “Harassing you?” Brenda let out a short, ugly laugh. “Whether a customer is right or wrong is for me to decide, not you! Now get out!” “Fine! I’ll go!” I ripped my name tag off and threw it on the floor. “Just give me my final paycheck, and I’m gone.” “Your paycheck?” Brenda looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “You got a formal complaint filed against you and single-handedly generated a dozen one-star reviews online! Do you have any idea how much damage that does to this franchise?” “You should be on your knees thanking me for not suing you for damages! And you want a paycheck? In your dreams.” “You can’t just withhold my wages.” “That pathetic check of yours doesn’t even begin to cover the cost of your screw-up!” she spat. “Consider the fact that you’re a student, and I’ll be merciful and waive the rest of what you owe me. Now pack your crap and get the hell out of my store!” I was shaking with rage. Brenda had me on the schedule for a full shift every single day for a month. I came in an hour early to prep and stayed an hour late to clean, never taking a single day off. Over ten hours a day, every day. All for her to tell me it was for nothing? I clenched my fists. “Withholding wages is illegal!” “So what? Go ahead and sue me!” Brenda laughed coldly. “You think you know everything, you little brat? I was running scams in this city when you were still drinking from a bottle.” Her eyes narrowed. “You read a few books and think you’re hot stuff. Let me tell you something, sweetheart. Today, I’d sooner feed that money to a dog than give it to a useless waste of space like you.” She shoved me toward the entrance and slammed the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the dark glass, a fire of humiliation and rage burning in my chest. My paycheck. That was my money, earned with every drop of my sweat. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. 4 I went straight to the office of the brand’s regional supervisor, Mr. Peterson. It didn’t take long for Brenda to get wind of it. She burst through the door, immediately launching into her performance. “Mr. Peterson, you have no idea. Maya is completely incompetent!” she cried, playing the part of the long-suffering manager. “Her drinks are a mess, and she argues with customers! She got one so angry they filed a complaint on the spot!” She pulled out her phone, frantically tapping the screen. “Look at this! The internet is flooded with one-star reviews from that one incident! I only fired her to protect the store, to protect the brand’s reputation!” Mr. Peterson held up a hand. “Okay, Brenda, I hear you. But what’s this about withholding her wages?” he asked, his tone weary. “Even if she was terminated, you have to pay her for the hours she worked. That’s basic labor law.” “Oh, I didn’t withhold them! She forfeited them voluntarily.” I thought my lungs would explode. “You’re lying, Brenda!” “When did I voluntarily forfeit anything? Forfeit what? That was my paycheck! Why would I ever agree to give that up?” Brenda suddenly let out a small, condescending chuckle that grew into a full-blown laugh. “What’s so funny?” I demanded. “I’m laughing at you, Maya. The thief who cries thief.” She calmly slid a piece of paper across the desk. “This is the part-time employment agreement you signed on your first day. It’s all right there, in black and white.” Her sharp fingernail jabbed at a line of dense, tiny text. “Open your eyes and read it carefully.” I leaned over the desk. The moment I processed the words, all the blood rushed to my head with a roar. Printed in nearly microscopic font was a single sentence: In the event that my professional misconduct results in financial or reputational loss for the store, I voluntarily agree to forfeit the entirety of my monthly salary as compensation. Brenda’s voice was a syrupy, triumphant purr. “It’s right there, Maya. In black and white. That’s your signature, isn’t it? You’re not going to back out of a signed agreement, are you?” My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles were white. I remembered signing it. Brenda had flipped straight to the last page, tapping it impatiently. “Hurry up and sign! We’re getting slammed, I need you on the floor.” “What about the first few pages?” I had asked. “What’s there to see? It’s all legal boilerplate, you wouldn’t understand it anyway,” she’d said with a dismissive wave. “This is a major franchise, you think we’re going to scam you? Sign it. I’m busy.” I was the new girl. I didn’t dare argue, terrified of being labeled “difficult” or “uncooperative” before my first shift even started. Who could have possibly imagined she’d hidden a clause like that in the middle of the paperwork? 5 Mr. Peterson picked up the paper, his brow furrowing as he read. He let out a long sigh. “Well, Ms.…” he trailed off, forgetting my last name. “Maya… you signed it. Your signature means you agreed to the terms.” He shook his head, his expression a mask of corporate helplessness. “This was a compensatory agreement between the two of you. As a supervisor… there’s really nothing I can do to intervene.” He pushed the agreement back toward me as if it were radioactive. My own sloppy signature stared up at me, a mocking grin. I shot to my feet. “I was never given a chance to read that contract properly!” I said, my voice rising. “I was tricked into signing it! It should be invalid!” Mr. Peterson sighed again. “The agreement was made in duplicate, wasn’t it? You should have your own copy. Why didn’t you notice this clause until now?” He looked at me expectantly. “Bring out your copy, let’s compare.” “I…” I stopped short. It was true, I had signed two copies. Brenda had handed one to me. But somewhere between my shift and getting home that first day, the folded papers in my bag had vanished. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. It was just a contract for a two-month summer job. What did it matter if I lost it? Now I knew. It was all part of Brenda’s plan. She stole my copy. My head drooped. “I… I can’t find it. It’s gone.” “Gone?” Brenda let out a sharp, theatrical gasp. “Or maybe you’re just too scared to show it because you know you’re lying.” She blinked, her face a picture of false sincerity. “Maya, in the professional world, we have something called ‘contractual integrity.’ This is a legally binding document. This isn’t like some game you play at school, you know.” Looking at her smug, fake smile, a chilling realization washed over me. This was a setup. Brenda had been planning this from the very beginning, using the dirtiest trick in the book to steal a month’s worth of my labor. I turned and walked out of Mr. Peterson’s office in a daze. “Look at the pathetic little stray!” Brenda’s voice called after me. She caught up in the hallway, jabbing a finger hard into my chest. “Big shot from Northwood, huh? Still ended up crawling on your knees for me.” “Sue me? Don’t make me laugh. You should take a good long look in the mirror and ask yourself if you’re even worthy.” “You should thank me, Maya. I just gave you an early lesson in how cruel the real world is.” I leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, my entire body trembling. Brenda laughed. “Can’t even handle a little setback like this? What a loser.” Her footsteps faded down the hall. Slowly, I pushed myself upright. I wiped a single, furious tear from the corner of my eye. You think you’ve won, Brenda? You are so naive. You may have fired me, but I have plenty of ways to make you pay. 6 The next day, I pushed open the door to Sip City. “One pineapple smoothie.” Brenda’s head snapped up. I met her shocked gaze, pulling the baseball cap from my head. “Hold,” I said, pausing for effect. “The. Ice.” For a split second, I saw a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes. “Maya… is… is that you?” “Is it customary for employees to address customers by their first name in this establishment?” The color drained from Brenda’s face. It took her a long moment to compose herself, forcing her lips into a brittle, professional smile. “I’m sorry, miss, but we can’t make a smoothie without ice.” “You can’t?” I asked, my voice light and breezy. “But the customer is God. And God’s requests must be unconditionally met.” I took a step closer to the counter, letting my presence loom over her. “Aren’t those your words, Manager Brenda?” “Right now, I am your God.” I adopted her condescending tone from the day before. “And. I. Want. A. Smoothie. With. No. Ice.” With every word, her face grew paler. “The shape and texture must remain unchanged,” I added. “Please, satisfy your ‘God,’ Manager Brenda.” Her face cycled through shades of red and white. “I can’t do it! I won’t sell you a smoothie. Please go somewhere else.” “You can’t do it?” I let out a soft laugh. “You were so high and mighty yesterday when you were calling me useless. But now that it’s your turn to serve God, you’re chickening out?” My eyes swept over the other employees and the curious customers. “Where’s that energy you had when you were tricking me into signing that contract? When you were stealing my paycheck?” I leaned forward. “If you put half that devious energy into your job, I bet you could make me a hot ice cream, let alone a smoothie without ice.” Brenda’s jaw was clenched. “Maya! You’re just here to cause trouble!” “So what if I am?” I shot back. “‘Even if the customer wants the stars from the sky, you have to find a way to get them.’ That’s another one of your lessons, isn’t it, manager?” “I don’t want the stars. I just want a smoothie without ice. For someone of your talents, that should be easy. Right, Manager Brenda?” She looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. “Maya! What the hell do you want from me?” she finally screamed. I smiled. “Simple. Fulfill my request. Or. Apologize. Publicly.” As every eye in the store fixed on her, Brenda’s face went from red to purple to a ghastly pale. A few seconds later, she squeezed a single word through her gritted teeth. “…Fine.” She stiffly removed her apron and walked out from behind the counter. In front of everyone, she bowed deeply to me—the employee she had insulted, cheated, and conspired against. “I’m sorry, I cannot fulfill your request. I apologize.” I reached out and patted her rigid shoulder, my voice dripping with false magnanimity. “See? A true manager. So flexible.” Then, I leaned down to her ear, whispering so only she could hear. “But don’t think for a second, Brenda, that a little bow erases what you did to me.” “I have all the time in the world. And I’m going to enjoy playing with you. Slowly.”

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The words appeared in the air right as the new girl started her introduction. Bright white, shimmering like a glitch in my vision, like subtitles for a movie I was suddenly trapped inside. 【Here we go. The female lead falls for the male lead at first sight. She’s going to chase him relentlessly, even though he already has a girlfriend.】 【He’ll go from annoyed to completely captivated by her! God, I can’t wait for this to start!】 【Look, they just made eye contact!】 And then, as if on cue, the transfer student, Lila Jensen, finished her “hi, my name is” and walked straight toward my desk. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice a little too sweet. “Can I sit here?” Beside me, my boyfriend, Liam, let out an annoyed scoff. “Who the hell do you think you are, asking to sit next to me?” The subtitles exploded in a frenzy. 1 【Ugh, the male lead is so harsh! I can’t wait until he’s hopelessly in love, begging for forgiveness and apologizing for this very moment!】 【Seriously, this side-piece has no self-awareness. Just get up and give her the seat. Maybe Liam will spare you later if you do!】 The information flooded my brain, delivered by this bizarre, impossible feed. I was the villain in a romance novel. The “evil girlfriend.” The childhood friend. The story was simple: Lila, the heroine, falls for Liam at first sight. I, consumed by jealousy, try to sabotage her at every turn, framing her, humiliating her, until I become a twisted, unrecognizable version of myself. My descent into wickedness would, of course, make Liam despise me. He’d finally see Lila for the tenacious, pure-hearted girl she was and fall for her instead. To make his new love happy, he would systematically destroy me and my family, pushing us to the brink until we had nothing left, culminating in a family suicide by jumping off a bridge. I frowned, the phantom words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. As Liam’s insult landed, Lila’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Her body swayed as if she’d been struck, and a wave of whispers washed over the classroom. I stood up, shrugging. “Whatever. You want the seat? It’s yours.” He’s just a boy. A boy whose heart, according to my new paranormal ticker tape, was destined to change anyway. Why should I care? Besides, Liam was the one who’d chased me. Lila stared at me, her expression a perfect mask of disbelief. But Liam grabbed my wrist, his eyes shooting daggers at her. “Get lost,” he snapped. “You’re ruining my day.” Lila’s face went pale, a picture of delicate heartbreak. She looked at Liam, her voice trembling. “I-I just thought… you seemed familiar. I’m new here, I don’t know anyone, so…” Then, as if pumping herself up, she added, “And I’m a really good student. I was first in my class at my old school. I could help you with your work!” Liam let out a short, brutal laugh. “First in your class? Paige is first in our class. You think you’re qualified to tutor me?” In the end, she didn’t get the seat. Lila walked to the only empty desk, the one by the trash cans in the back corner of the room. 2 The moment class ended, Lila returned with a large bag filled with boba tea. She passed them out, her cheeks flushed with a shy smile. “I’m new here, so I just wanted to thank everyone for being so welcoming. This is for you guys.” The class erupted in cheers. But when she got to my desk, the bag was suddenly empty. Lila looked at me, her face a canvas of remorse. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Paige. I must have miscounted. Here, you can have mine.” She held her cup out to me. I instinctively raised a hand to refuse. “No, that’s okay, thank—” Before I could finish, the cup tilted. Icy, milky tea cascaded down the front of her shirt. Lila gasped, her eyes instantly filling with tears as she stared at me. “Paige… I know what I did this morning was presumptuous, and I already apologized. You already made me sit by the garbage cans. What more do you want from me?” Her words were a lit match in a gas-filled room. The class turned on me. “I knew she was a bitch. She always acts so high and mighty just because Liam likes her. And now she’s bullying the new girl?” “So that’s why Lila is sitting by the trash! I thought there were other seats. Paige must have forced her!” “Doesn’t Paige’s family have money? Why is she tormenting someone over a cup of boba?” Lila was only wearing a thin, white blouse. The dark tea made the cheap fabric translucent, revealing the outline of her bra. The subtitles scrolling in front of my eyes were all praising her genius, not a single one calling her out for being a homewrecker. They saw it as a noble sacrifice for love. I opened my mouth to explain, to say that I hadn’t touched her, but Liam, who had been silent until now, cut through the noise. He pulled off his own jacket and threw it at her, then glared at the rest of the class. “All of you, shut up! Get out!” The other students, intimidated by Liam, fell silent but continued to stare at me with open hostility. After Lila scurried away, clutching his jacket, Liam leaned closer to me, his voice a low murmur. “I only love you, Paige. You don’t have to go after her.” I blinked. “What?” He just turned away, pretending to sleep on his desk. A heavy, frustrating pressure built in my chest. The subtitles were right. This was exactly how it was supposed to go. To avoid a worse fate, I decided to go to our guidance counselor and request a seat change. If I couldn’t fight this narrative, maybe I could outrun it. But when I returned to the classroom, I found Lila sitting in my chair, her body pressed against Liam’s as she pointed at something in his textbook. She was drowning in his oversized jacket, the entire scene an intimate portrait of dependence and protection. The second they saw me, they sprang apart. Lila jumped to her feet, her voice laced with panic. “I’m so sorry! Liam helped me earlier, so I just wanted to return the favor by helping him with this problem!” Then, she did the most theatrical thing I had ever seen. She knelt and started wiping down my stool with the sleeve of his jacket. “You don’t like me here, I’ll clean it for you!” Before I could speak, Liam pulled her to her feet, his voice cold and pointedly directed at me. “We’re all human beings. You don’t have to be afraid of us.” He turned to me then, his expression flat. “It’s not what it looks like.” I managed a smile. “I know.” With as much grace as I could muster, I walked to the desk, gathered my books, and moved them to an empty seat in the very front row. Liam shot up, his hand grabbing my arm. “What are you doing?” Lila’s voice was a wounded whisper. “Do you hate me that much?” I sighed, looking at the faces around me, all poised to condemn me again. “You’ve misunderstood,” I said, my voice calm and even. “Finals are coming up, and I want to focus. Sitting in the front will help. Besides,” I added, glancing between them, “Lila wanted to sit next to you, Liam. This way, everyone gets what they want, right? And I’d hate for her to have to sit by the trash cans. We wouldn’t want that to affect her grades.” Liam’s jaw tightened. “Can you just stop it?” I stared at him, genuinely confused. He let out a cold laugh and, without another word, walked to the back of the room, grabbed Lila’s things, and dumped them on my now-empty desk. “From now on, you’re my deskmate.” The class hooted and whistled as Lila’s face turned a triumphant shade of crimson. I thought that if I just removed myself from their orbit, I’d be safe. But then, the subtitles began to scream again. 3 【Lila is so clever! She realized Liam is just using her to make the villainess jealous. So, she’s decided to completely destroy the villainess’s reputation during tomorrow’s midterms!】 【Ruin her image in Liam’s eyes completely!】 A cold dread washed over me. What was she planning? The day the midterm results were posted arrived far too quickly. Our teacher, Ms. Albright, stood at the front of the class, beaming. “I’m thrilled to announce that the top score in our grade belongs to one of our own, Paige Miller! Congratulations, Paige!” A stunned silence fell over the room, followed by a ripple of whispers. Ms. Albright continued, “And in second place, our new student, Lila Jensen, with an impressive score herself! Come on up, you two, and get your academic awards!” Lila stood up, but she hesitated, her eyes downcast. “Ms. Albright,” she said, her voice just loud enough to carry. “I… I can’t accept this.” I felt a familiar knot of dread tighten in my stomach. The teacher paused, her smile faltering. “What’s wrong, Lila?” Lila glanced at me, her expression a mess of inner turmoil, before finally speaking. “I saw Paige with a cheat sheet during the exam. This test wasn’t fair. I want to give my award to the next person on the list.” The room exploded. In seconds, someone had posted the accusation on the school’s unofficial gossip blog. Ms. Albright’s face grew stern. “Lila, that’s a very serious accusation. You need proof to say something like that.” Lila burst into tears. “But I saw her! If you want to protect her, there’s nothing I can do, but it’s wrong! It’s not fair to the other students, and it’s not fair to herself!” The tide of opinion turned against me in an instant. “I knew her grades were too good to be true. She probably cheated her way through high school!” “Lila is a goddess! So brave for speaking up!” Even Liam was looking at me, his face a complicated mask of doubt and disappointment. Ms. Albright called for quiet, then turned to me. “Paige? Do you have anything to say?” I stood up, my gaze locked on Lila. “You’re saying you saw me cheat?” Lila, with the air of a martyr facing down a tyrant, nodded defiantly. A small smile played on my lips. Thank God for the subtitles. I had come prepared. “Okay,” I continued. “Which subject was I cheating in? And at what point during the exam?” “All of them!” she declared. “You were cheating the entire time!” “Funny,” I said, pulling a small USB drive from my pocket. “Because I have evidence that someone else was the cheater.” The triumphant look on Lila’s face froze, replaced by a flicker of panic. “What… what do you mean?” I handed the drive to Ms. Albright. “This is the security footage from the exam hall. I got a copy from the office this morning. It’s the full, unedited, high-definition recording.” As Ms. Albright walked to her computer to plug it in, Lila suddenly cried out, her eyes pleading with me. “Wait! Maybe… maybe I was mistaken!” I smiled sweetly. “Seeing is believing, right? And the camera doesn’t lie. Besides, I don’t particularly enjoy being framed. What are you so afraid of, Lila?” Her face went ashen. The subtitles, ever loyal to their heroine, were in full-blown meltdown. 【When is this bitch finally going to get what she deserves? Why isn’t the plot working?】 【Lila was just a little stressed from chasing Liam, that’s why her test scores were a bit off and she felt the need to cheat. Why does the villainess have to be so petty and expose her?】 【Why isn’t she falling for it? If she’d just let herself be framed, Liam would be completely won over by Lila’s righteousness! Lila has worked so hard these past few days, he’s already falling for her! Our Lila is so adorable!】 4 But it was too late. The video was already playing on the projector screen. Halfway through, the camera’s view clearly showed Lila, hunched over her desk, furtively taking pictures of the test paper with her phone. Then, she looked up, shooting a venomous glare directly in my direction. The entire class gasped. The video continued, showing me completing my test, never once looking at anything other than my own paper. The so-called cheat sheet never appeared. The atmosphere in the room shifted. A girl in the front row muttered, “Oh my God, she’s one of those psycho girls. And isn’t Liam officially Paige’s boyfriend? What’s with this chick bringing him lunch and hanging all over him every day?” “Right? Anyone who didn’t know better would think she was his girlfriend.” Lila’s face was chalk-white. Her eyes, brimming with tears, rolled back in her head, and she collapsed gracefully into Liam’s arms. Liam’s expression hardened. He scooped her up, then turned to me, his voice dripping with contempt. “You went too far. You’re the one who moved away, and now you come back and bully her like this. Why do you have to be such a bitch, Paige?” He carried Lila out of the room without a backward glance. I didn’t care. All that mattered was that the truth was out. But then, the subtitles flashed a new spoiler. 【Lila looks like a heartbroken child in the male lead’s arms. But she just fell in love with him, what did she do wrong?】 【Look! To comfort Lila, Liam just promised her he’d make sure the villainess fails her finals!】 【Lila is too soft. If it were me, I’d just have her killed.】 【Don’t worry. Even if Lila doesn’t do anything, that bitch won’t get off easy. The school gossip blog is already full of people calling her a cheater. That’s definitely going to mess with her head.】

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The night my husband cried into his pillow for the third time in a week, I pretended to be asleep. Again. It started six months ago, the day his old flame, Isabelle, moved back from Europe, newly divorced. From that moment on, something in him shifted. His gaze, his moods, his very essence became tethered to the ghost of the girl he once loved and lost. He was a good husband, a wonderful father. Every asset we owned—the house, the savings, the investment accounts—was in my name. His entire salary was direct-deposited into my account without him ever seeing a dime. He fought it. I know he did. He was trying so hard to be honorable, to respect the boundaries of our marriage, to keep his feelings for her locked away. But then he sold one of his kidneys behind my back. He took the money and bought Isabelle a small condo. That’s when I placed the divorce papers on the table, along with a bank check for half of our liquid assets. “You don’t have to sell your organs to fund your romance, Ethan,” I said, my voice calmer than I felt. “This should be enough to cover it.” 1 Panic seized him. He didn’t touch the papers. Instead, he shot his hand up as if taking an oath, his eyes wide and frantic. “Nora, I swear on my mother’s life, on my whole family, nothing happened with Isabelle. We haven’t slept together. We haven’t even kissed. We haven’t held hands.” He looked like a child caught in a lie, terrified by my composure. His eyes, usually so steady, began to swim with moisture. In ten years of marriage, with an eight-year-old son between us, this was the first time the word ‘divorce’ had ever been spoken. It was the first time I had ever seen him look so broken, so utterly unlike himself. “What about holding her?” I asked quietly. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He dropped his gaze, his voice thick with shame. “Twice. We hugged twice. Not for more than a minute either time.” He looked back up at me, his voice pleading. “Nora, I know I messed up. I lost my sense of perspective. I don’t want this family to fall apart. Please… please don’t leave me.” A sharp pain, more ache than anger, tightened in my chest. Even now, with his heart emotionally cheating on me, my first instinct was to protect him from the very torment he was putting himself through. I couldn’t erase ten years of his goodness, of his devotion, just because of this. I forced myself to remain steady. “I don’t hate you, Ethan. Even if we divorce, you’ll always be Sam’s dad. Always. But more importantly, I want you to be happy.” I took a breath, the words tasting like ash. “If our marriage has to end, I’d rather it be with a clean cut than a slow, painful death.” His panic intensified, a thousand unspoken arguments dying on his lips. I left him there, giving him the space to process. I didn’t expect Isabelle to come to me. She arrived at my front door holding a fruit basket and a six-pack of the specific organic probiotic yogurt my son loves—a brand that’s hard to find, one you’d only know about if someone told you. Ethan had obviously been doing his homework for her. “Hello, I’m Isabelle,” she said, her smile gentle. “May I come in?” She was more polite than I’d imagined. More beautiful, too, with an effortless elegance. A decade hadn’t touched her. She looked exactly the same as she did in the photograph Ethan kept hidden in a password-protected file on his laptop. “Please,” I said, battling the storm of emotions inside me as I led her to the living room and poured her a glass of water. Her eyes drifted around our home, a subtle, scanning appraisal. I met her gaze directly. “If you like this house, I can make sure Ethan gets it in the settlement.” I meant it. This wasn’t me being generous; it was me being realistic. I’d been a stay-at-home mom for ten years. The savings, the properties—they were all the result of Ethan’s relentless hard work. I had seen the blood, sweat, and sleepless nights he’d poured into building this life. I couldn’t bear the thought of him walking away with nothing. Isabelle’s composure faltered. “Oh, no, you’ve misunderstood. That’s not what I meant at all.” She leaned forward, her expression a mask of sincerity. “I heard from Ethan that you were talking about divorce. I came to talk you out of it.” She sighed, a delicate, practiced sound. “I truly never intended to disrupt your family. I had no idea Ethan was still… holding on to that time in our lives. He told me you two had an arranged marriage. That while there wasn’t love, there was a deep family bond. You shouldn’t throw that away over an impulse.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. “He told you there was no love between us?” Isabelle fell silent, her silence a deliberate confirmation. Just like that, the sliver of respect I might have had for her vanished. She was just like all the others, hiding her thorns under a layer of soft wool. As she stood to leave, she “accidentally” tripped on the leg of the coffee table, crying out in pain as she crumpled to the floor. And right on cue, the front door opened. Ethan was home. 2 Isabelle let out a soft sob, making a show of trying to push herself up, her body seemingly too weak to manage it. The worry in Ethan’s eyes was a physical thing, a wave of raw emotion he desperately tried to suppress the moment he saw me watching him. He schooled his features into a mask of neutrality, but it was too late. The shift was a needle to my heart. I kept my own voice even, a deliberate act of calm. “What are you waiting for? Go help her.” Isabelle looked up at him, her eyes glistening with manufactured tears. “Ethan, don’t be mad at Nora. It’s not her fault. I’m fine.” The implication hung in the air, a poisonous suggestion that I had pushed her. I offered a small, dismissive smile. Ethan was frozen, torn. He, who always listened to me, hesitated, his eyes screaming that he wanted to rush to her side but was terrified of my reaction. He was trying to spare my feelings, but he didn’t realize his eyes had already betrayed him. “I’m just going to use the restroom,” I said, my voice level. I was offering them a moment of privacy, an act of grace I wasn’t sure they deserved. When I returned, Isabelle was gone. The fruit basket and the yogurt were gone with her. Ethan rushed to explain, his words tumbling out. “I didn’t ask her to come. She just wanted to help, to explain. She doesn’t want us to divorce either.” I managed a faint smile. How could a man so brilliant be so blind to her intentions? “Honestly, Ethan, I think she loves you more than I do. You two are a better—” “I bought that salmon you like,” he interrupted, holding up a grocery bag. “I’ll start dinner. You go watch some TV.” He fled to the kitchen before I could finish my thought. A better fit. For ten years, he had taken care of me so completely that I still didn’t know how to cook a proper meal. I used to think that kind of care was love. Now, whether it was love or not didn’t seem to matter anymore. From the perspective of family, of someone who genuinely cared for him, I was willing to step aside and give him what he truly wanted. Our son, Sam, came home from school, and we ate dinner together, the conversation flowing as it always did. The first piece of fish Ethan picked up with his chopsticks, he placed in my bowl—a habit so ingrained that Sam had picked it up, too, often adding his own contributions to my plate. “Mom,” Sam said suddenly, “can we go to Grandma’s this weekend?” The thought of facing Ethan’s mother while we were navigating a divorce was too much. “Maybe in a little while, honey.” Sam’s face fell, his lower lip pushing out in a pout. Ethan saw the flicker of annoyance in my eyes and immediately turned on our son. “Hey, you listen to your mother. In this house, Mom is the boss. I listen to her, and you listen to her. Don’t you dare make her upset, you hear me?” Sam, used to this dynamic, just rolled his eyes. “Dad, you’re so whipped. You’re always sucking up to Mom.” It was true. Ethan had always, without fail, put me first. He shot a nervous glance my way now, as if seeking my approval. Later that night, in bed, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the curve of my neck. His voice was a heavy murmur against my skin. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost focus. I’ll fix it. I promise.” How could he fix it? A part of his body was already gone. I said nothing, my heart aching with a dull, persistent pain. Just after midnight, her call came. Inevitable. Ethan, thinking I was asleep, tiptoed out of the room, phone in hand, and shut himself in the bathroom. Two minutes later, I heard the faint click of the front door closing. He said he would change, but the ghost of his past had beckoned, and he had followed. 3 The next morning, I was in the kitchen, awkwardly following a YouTube tutorial for making pancakes, when Ethan returned. He rushed straight to the bedroom first, and only when he didn’t find me there did he track the smell of burning batter to the kitchen. He gently took the apron from around my waist, like a parent shooing a child away from the stove. “Let me do it. You go back to bed for a little while.” He handed me his phone, a video already cued up. “Isabelle had an emergency appendectomy last night. She doesn’t have any family here, so she had to call me to take her to the hospital. I recorded it so you wouldn’t misunderstand.” He watched me, his expression earnest, desperate for me to believe him. I handed the phone back without watching. Whether it was true or not no longer mattered. “You just had major surgery yourself,” I said softly. “You need to take it easy. You only have one kidney now; you can’t overexert yourself.” His face crumpled with guilt. “I’m sorry. I was being stupid.” “If you’re really sorry,” I said, my voice firm, “then let me do this.” I pushed him out of the kitchen and locked the door from the inside. After a long struggle, I emerged with a plate of burnt, salty pancakes and a fresh cut on my index finger. Ethan’s eyes filled with tears when he saw it. He gently cleaned the cut, applying antiseptic and a bandage with a tenderness that made my own eyes burn. Sam saw the scene and piped up with his usual refrain, “Mom, you’re the luckiest woman in the world. Dad treats you like a princess.” It wasn’t just our son. Everyone said it. Everyone told me how lucky I was to have a husband like Ethan. If this were just a simple case of emotional infidelity, maybe I could have looked the other way. But I had seen the evidence of his struggle. The prescriptions for antidepressants hidden in his desk drawer. The research on electroconvulsive therapy on his browser history. He was torturing himself, caught between his guilt and his obsession. Ever since Isabelle returned, he hadn’t had a single night of peaceful sleep. He called her name in his dreams and woke up crying silently in the bathroom. He was drowning in a severe depression. I knew he was trying, with every fiber of his being, to hold our family together. But I was more afraid of losing him to his own private hell than I was of losing his love. The next day, he came home with a duffel bag half-full of cash. “Isabelle gave the money back,” he said, his voice hopeful. “Nora, can you please just forgive me this one time?” He didn’t know that fifteen minutes earlier, I’d received a text from her. Thanks for making this so easy for us. Don’t worry, the money Ethan gave me for the condo can just come out of your joint assets. That way, you won’t lose out. Attached was a photo. It was the inside of a closet, filled with brand-new men’s clothing—Ethan’s size. Taped to the closet door was a picture of her, radiant in a white dress, clinging to Ethan’s arm. I looked at the crisp, new bills in the bag. “Give it back to her, Ethan. You know I don’t care about the money.” I went to our bedroom and retrieved a debit card. “We have about six million in savings. This card has three million on it. The other half is for me and Sam.” I tried to have the conversation again, to be calm and rational, but the moment he saw the card, he panicked, shoving it back into my hand. “I am not getting a divorce. Just give me some time. We can go back to how things were.” His grip on my hand was tight, trembling. His eyes were wet again. My heart broke for him. I pulled him into a hug, stroking his back. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “Don’t be afraid of hurting me. We were an arranged match, remember? There was no great love story. We have a family bond, not a romance.” I pulled back to look him in the eye. “You’ve given me so many good years, Ethan. I’m grateful. And because I’m grateful, I want you to be happy, not shackled by duty. I truly believe we both need to be free.” He clung to me, his tears soaking the collar of my shirt. “I want this family,” he choked out. “I don’t want a divorce.” 4 I couldn’t get through to him. My only other option was Isabelle. She couldn’t quite figure me out, but she was clearly delighted that I was willing to step aside. “Ethan is a man with a powerful sense of duty,” I told her over coffee. “A powerful sense of responsibility to his family. Even if there’s no love left in our marriage, he’ll hold on for our son’s sake.” I paused, letting the next words land. “If you really want to be with him, your best bet is to get him drunk and get him into bed. It’s probably the only way to force his hand.” Her eyes narrowed, searching my face. “Are you seeing someone else? Is that why you’re in such a hurry to end it?” “No,” I said honestly. “I’ve seen how much he loves you. It’s killing him. After ten years together, I don’t want to watch him suffer. And my son deserves a father who is mentally healthy. So I’m willing to let you have him.” My words seemed to move her. She placed a hand over mine. “I will love him with everything I have,” she promised. “We’ll be so happy.” It didn’t take long for her to make her move. She sent me a photo from her bed, the sheets tangled around Ethan’s sleeping form. Come and catch us. It’ll make the divorce go faster. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength. I was already in the ICU. Lying on the cold operating table, my consciousness fading, I could faintly hear a doctor on the phone with Ethan. His voice was strained with terror. “We have the money. Just please, you have to save my wife.” A tear slid from the corner of my eye. Oh, Ethan. Why does your sense of honor have to be so damn strong? I wish you could have just been a complete bastard. It would have made letting you go so much easier. He rushed to the hospital, Isabelle trailing behind him. The doctor’s voice was grim. “Your wife has had a major heart attack. The chances of saving her are low. Even if we do, she’ll likely be in a persistent vegetative state.” Ethan didn’t hesitate for a second. “Save her. Even as a vegetable, save her.” The doctor pressed on. “It’s not just the heart attack. She has an underlying heart condition that’s causing other complications. The medical bills will be in the millions. It could be a bottomless pit. I have to be honest with you—you’ll most likely lose both her and the money.” The fear in Ethan’s eyes was overwhelming, but his voice was firm. “Save her.” “Okay. The nurse will bring the consent forms. You’ll need to sign.” The moment the doctor finished speaking, Ethan pulled out his phone and dialed his real estate agent. “I have five properties. I need you to sell them all. As fast as you can.” Isabelle’s face went pale. “Ethan,” she said, her voice a low, urgent whisper. “I know you’re a good man, and you can’t just let Nora die. But you have to be realistic. The doctor is telling you it’s hopeless. Risking everything you have is… it’s reckless.” She took a step closer, her voice dropping. “Have you thought about me? About us? Today is my ovulation day. We were just together. I get pregnant easily, Ethan. There’s a ninety percent chance I’m carrying your child right now. You’re not just going to walk away from that responsibility, are you? Please, listen to me. Don’t do this. We’ve done all we can.” She tried to frame it as logic, as caring for him. “If you ignore me, if you choose to bankrupt yourself for Nora, then it means she’s more important to you than I am. And if that’s the case, we should never see each other again.” It was a blatant power play. She was so sure he would choose her that she even made a show of turning to leave. Just then, a nurse hurried over with a clipboard. “Have you decided? Do you want us to proceed with resuscitation?”

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On the third day of our reconciliation, I suddenly realized I didn’t have feelings for Liam anymore. We were at a dinner party. Liam’s childhood friend, Olivia, was watching him peel shrimp for me. “Look at our Liam, all grown up,” she said with a nostalgic sigh. “Putting his wife first. Not like when we were together. Back then, all he wanted to do was fart on me.” She quickly corrected herself, realizing what she’d said. “Oh, not that we were *together* together. We were just kids, you know, playing house. He was so dumb back then, he didn’t even know how to put on a condom. Almost got me pregnant.” The whole table went silent, all eyes on me. When I didn’t say anything, Liam frowned. “Are you really going to get jealous over something that happened a million years ago? If there was anything real between us, you wouldn’t have even been in the picture.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just said, calmly, “No, I’m not.” Suddenly, the glass in Liam’s hand shattered. 1 “Let’s break up.” I glanced at the blood dripping from his palm, my voice flat. He froze for a second, then the veins in his arm bulged, his fist clenched tight, blood pouring from between his fingers. “Ava, what the hell is your problem? We just got back together. Olivia was just joking. Who are you trying to piss off with that face?” “What, are you addicted to breaking up with me now?” Everyone at the table held their breath. In the past, whenever he got angry, I would immediately back down, apologize, and beg for his forgiveness. But now, I didn’t even bother to look at him. I just slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin. “No, a real breakup,” I said. “I don’t love you anymore, Liam.” I pushed my chair back. “I’m full. I’m leaving.” He let go of the broken glass and grabbed my arm, his grip like a vice. He shoved the small bowl of peeled shrimp in front of me. “Sit down and eat.” I cried out in pain, but when I looked up, his face was a mask of sneering contempt. All those times we had broken up and gotten back together, I was always the one to crawl back. He actually thought this, this command, was his way of asking me to stay. When I didn’t immediately sit down, his face darkened. I just laughed at his arrogance, and with a sharp twist, I pulled my arm free. “Give them to your precious Olivia.” The whole table gasped. They had never seen me, the quiet, submissive Ava, publicly humiliate Liam before. He stared at me, his face turning from red to purple, his whole body trembling with rage. Olivia, seeing her chance, tugged on his sleeve. “Liam, don’t be mad. You two just got back together. Don’t let me be the cause of another fight.” Her words were like fuel on the fire. “Ava, don’t push your luck,” he snarled. “Apologize to Olivia. Now.” Olivia looked at me, a triumphant glint in her eyes, but her voice was all sweetness and reason. “You don’t have to apologize, Ava. It’s my fault. I’m just so used to joking around with Liam…” I couldn’t stand her fake innocence for another second. “If you don’t know how to talk,” I said, cutting her off, “then don’t.” She was speechless, her fists clenched, her face red with suppressed anger. I ignored both of their furious glares and walked out. “Ava!” Liam’s voice was like ice. “This better be a real breakup this time. Don’t come crying to me in a few days, telling me how much you love me, begging me to take you back!” His words were like daggers in my back. I had loved him so much, I had lost myself. And now, that blind love had turned into a weapon he used to humiliate me. I fought back the tears, and after a long moment, I managed a small, bitter smile. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’m already over you.” I heard the sound of dishes shattering behind me as I ran out the door. His roar echoed down the hallway. “Get out! And don’t ever let me see you again!” I just laughed. I wanted that more than he did. I was on the curb, trying to hail a cab, when I realized I had left my phone on the table. I had to go back. As I approached the door to the private room, I heard one of his friends speaking. “Liam, man, I think she’s really mad this time. You’re not going to go after her?” “Aren’t you supposed to be proposing on your anniversary in a few days?” “Yeah, what if the bride doesn’t show up?” I peeked through the crack in the door and saw Liam, a smug, cruel smile on his face. “Ava? She won’t last the night. She’ll be on her knees, begging me to take her back. But this time, I’m not going to give in so easily.” “She’ll probably come back with the anniversary ring any minute now.” The room erupted in laughter. I pulled the custom-made ring from my purse and threw it in the nearest trash can. *Happy anniversary, Liam. Marry yourself.* Then I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 2 The room went silent. A moment later, everyone looked at Liam with a new respect. He just sat there, a smug look on his face, and said, in a long, drawn-out voice, “Ava. We’re broken up. What are you doing back here? Having second thoughts already?” I ignored the sneers and whispers and walked straight to him. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, waiting for me to beg. I just laughed, grabbed my phone from the table, and said, “You wish. I’m going home to write my resignation letter.” He hadn’t expected that. His eyes turned red, and he hissed, “Don’t bother. You’re fired. And Ava, I think I’ve been too nice to you lately. You need to go home and think about what you’ve done.” He was still waiting for me to apologize. I just shook my head and walked out. The next morning, I went to the office to pack up my things. My colleagues were whispering and pointing at me. Then I saw her. Olivia, sitting at my desk, eating a piece of cake off my keyboard. She saw me and pushed the half-eaten cake toward me, her red lipstick smeared on the frosting. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I accidentally reformatted your computer. Here, have some cake. My treat.” She leaned back in my chair, a triumphant smirk on her face. I glanced at my desk, which had also been “reformatted.” There was nothing left to pack. The lost files were the company’s problem, and the personal items were mostly gifts from Liam. Good riddance. I just gave her a look of pure pity and turned to leave. My indifference seemed to bother her more than any anger would have. “Wait!” she called out. I sighed, exasperated. “Olivia, Liam and I are broken up. I’ve been fired. Can you please stop using him to try and get to me?” She picked up the piece of cake and was about to throw it at me. I instinctively put up my hand to block it, and the cake went flying, right into her face. She stood there, covered in frosting, tears streaming down her face, a ridiculous, pathetic sight. The whole office was staring. Liam rushed over, gently wiping the cream from her face. He looked at me with daggers in his eyes. “Ava, are you insane?! Apologize to her right now!” Olivia, a look of pure victory on her face, leaned into his chest and started to sob. “It’s my fault, Liam. I broke her computer, and she got mad and threw the cake at me.” “I can’t believe you,” he roared at me. “I never knew you were such a petty, vindictive person!” He grabbed my wrist and pointed to the mess on the floor. “Now, you’re going to get down on your knees and eat that cake.” I tried to pull my arm away, but he just held on tighter, forcing me to the ground. “Apologize!” I wouldn’t bend. The pain in my arm was excruciating, but I wouldn’t give in. A cruel, vicious look came over his face. “Ava, why have you been so difficult lately? Do I have to… personally teach you how to be sorry?” He dragged me toward the storage room. He was so much stronger than me, my struggles were useless. He threw me inside and locked the door. I looked around. We were alone in the dark, cold room. He picked up a roll of duct tape. I tried to run, but he pinned me against a shelf and wrapped the tape around my hands. I was trembling. “Liam, you can’t…” The tape went around my legs. He looked at my terrified face, a satisfied smile on his. He gently stroked my hair, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, his voice like ice. “You’ve been so spoiled lately, Ava. Why do you keep embarrassing me in public?” “You’re going to stay in here and think about what you’ve done. When you’re ready to apologize, I’ll let you out.” “I have nothing to apologize for!” He kissed me then, a hard, punishing kiss. When he finally pulled away, he tore off a piece of tape and sealed my lips. “Be a good girl, Ava. You’re about to be Mrs. Hamilton. You need to learn to behave.” I shook my head, my eyes wide with terror, as the heavy iron door slammed shut. 3 Suddenly, a blast of cold air hit me. Someone had turned on the freezer unit. I was bound and gagged, unable to call for help. I curled into a ball, shivering. I don’t know how long I was in there, but just as I was about to lose consciousness, the door opened. “Oh my god,” Olivia gasped. Liam rushed in and scooped me into his arms, his usual composure gone. “Who the hell turned on the freezer?!” he roared. He held me close, his warm body a stark contrast to the icy cold. He was tearing at the tape on my hands and feet, his eyes wet with tears. “Ava, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re going home.” For a moment, I was disoriented. His gentleness was so familiar. For five years, I had mistaken his gentleness for love. I saw Olivia and a group of our colleagues walk into the room, and Liam immediately let go of me. Olivia looked down at me, a smug look on her face. “I forgive you, Ava.” I looked at Liam, confused, but he had already moved to her side. “Don’t let it happen again,” he said, his voice flat. He walked out with her, leaving me on the cold, concrete floor. I pulled myself up and staggered out of the storage room. My phone, finally back in range, started buzzing with notifications. The company group chat was blowing up. “I was wrong. I apologize to Ms. Olivia Vance. My jealousy, my pettiness, my shameless behavior has caused her great harm…” It was a thousand-word apology, written by Liam, from my work account, painting me as a monster. In the past, I would have been furious. I would have demanded an explanation. But now, I just wanted to go home, pack my things, and get as far away from him as possible. On the way home, I booked the earliest flight to London for the next morning. This time, it was really over. I donated all the things he had ever given me, all the clothes I couldn’t take with me. In the end, I had just one suitcase. The next morning, as I was about to leave, he came home. He was in a tailored suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. He was clearly planning on proposing to me today. He saw my suitcase, and his face darkened. “Where are you going? Are you really going to throw a tantrum today of all days?” I just sighed. “Where I’m going is none of your business.” He tried to placate me. “Come on, don’t be like this. You’ve always wanted a proper proposal, right? I promise, you won’t be disappointed.” “And you’re already packed. Perfect. After it’s over, we can go to that resort for the weekend.” He pushed me toward the door. I was trying to figure out how to get away when his phone rang. It was Olivia. “Liam, my stomach hurts. I don’t think I can make it today.” “Don’t worry, I’m on my way,” he said, his voice full of concern. He started the car. “Just take a cab,” he said to me, his attention already elsewhere. Before I could react, the automatic door closed, trapping the hem of my coat. My heart lurched. I pounded on the window, but he was too preoccupied with Olivia to even notice I was there. The car started moving, and I was dragged along, stumbling and falling. The gravel tore at my skin, the world a blur of motion. My coat finally ripped, and I was thrown to the pavement. I lay there, unable to move, my jeans torn and bloody. Any last shred of guilt I had about leaving him vanished. I ignored the pain, hailed a cab, and went straight to the airport. Just as the plane was about to take off, he called. His voice was full of a happy, expectant excitement. “Where are you? We’re all waiting for you.”

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“I was helping my daughter with her homework, and I pronounced ‘forte’ as ‘for-tay’ when talking about someone’s strength. My wife, Claire, corrected me. ‘It’s pronounced ‘fort,’ Leo.’” So I asked for a divorce. Claire looked at me, completely baffled. “Over a single word?” I was about to nod when a series of comments suddenly materialized in the air in front of me, like a Twitch chat overlaying my vision. 【Here we go! This is the part where the loser side-character gets all pedantic about a word and tries to divorce the main character!】 【I feel so bad for her. Everyone knows it’s pronounced ‘fort’ when it’s a strength. Is it her fault he doesn’t know that?】 【NGL, we gotta thank this guy. If he didn’t throw this tantrum, she’d never realize how confident and charming the *real* male lead is and get her happy ending.】 【LMAO, he has no idea. He thinks he’s making a point, but he’s just handing his wife over on a silver platter. Later, he’s gonna be on his knees begging, but she won’t take him back. Even his own daughter will disown him!】 My face went rigid. I instinctively glanced at my daughter, Chloe. Her brow was furrowed in pure, unfiltered disgust. “Godfather Ethan says people who don’t know that are basically illiterate.” She scowled. “Daddy, you can’t get mad at Mommy just because you’re illiterate.” So the pop-up comments were real. The “male lead” had already woven himself into our lives, and I’d been completely oblivious. I turned and went to pack a bag. “That’s right,” I said, my voice cold. “Over a single word.” 1 The love letters Claire wrote me? I left them. The anniversary gifts she’d given me over the years? Didn’t want them. Even the matching hoodies we bought in college, the ones she used to love wearing? I left them in the closet. I packed only the absolute necessities into a single carry-on suitcase. When I wheeled it out of the bedroom, the warm yellow light of the living room was still on. Claire was half-turned towards me, the other half of her body swallowed by the shadows. She was wearing a thin silk robe, lounging on the couch with her laptop open. She was in a meeting, but there were only two people in the video call. Her. And the man my daughter Chloe called “Godfather Ethan.” He was in a crisp white shirt, a cigarette held between his long, elegant fingers. His voice was deep, detached. “The project is on track. Let’s move on from business, shall we? Chloe called me earlier, said she wanted my help with her homework. What’s going on? Where’s her dad?” I was rolling my suitcase toward the front door as Claire answered him. A small smile played on her lips. Her eyes met mine, and she raised an eyebrow, a clear glint of challenge in her gaze. “He says he wants a divorce.” She paused for effect. “Because I corrected his pronunciation.” I opened the front door, my voice flat. “Claire, I’m leaving.” “Fine,” she shot back. “When do you want to go to City Hall?” “Tomorrow. 2:30 PM. I’ll meet you there.” I pulled the door shut, closing off the look of sudden shock on her face, sealing it in another world. The comments in front of my eyes exploded. 【??? Wait, what? He’s not following the script! Isn’t he supposed to see them in a private meeting and throw a massive, jealous fit?】 【Dude, c’mon, stick to your role! You have one job! We need your unreasonable tantrum to highlight how calm, cool, and collected our leading man is! Go back in there and start a fight! A huge one!】 【Y’all need to chill. You know what a drama queen this side-character is. He packed a tiny carry-on and left all the ‘important’ stuff behind. He’s just putting on a show. He totally thinks he’ll be back. It’s a classic manipulation tactic.】 【I’ll bet you twenty bucks he comes crawling back in less than three days.】 【You’re giving him too much credit. I bet he doesn’t even last the night!】 I closed my eyes, my hand gripping the handle of my suitcase so hard my knuckles turned white. They didn’t know. I didn’t leave those important things because I planned on coming back. I left them because they weren’t important to me anymore. 2 To get me to go out with her, Claire wrote me 99 love letters in college. Back then, I wasn’t interested in dating. I was a scholarship kid from a small town, laser-focused on getting into a top-tier grad program, joining my professor’s research lab, and dedicating my life to astrophysics. But she was persistent. It was like she brought every romantic movie cliché to life right in front of me. For a guy like me, who’d only ever known textbooks and late-night study sessions, it was a whole new world. Fireworks over the Magic Kingdom at Disney World. Watching the stars from a boat in the middle of the ocean. A ridiculously over-the-top declaration of love on a trip to the desert. After I’d turned her down again and again, she’d just smile, her eyes sparkling. “Leo, I can wait. Whenever you’re ready to look my way, I’ll be here.” In the end, I couldn’t resist. We started dating. Those were the three happiest years of my life. I, the guy who never cared about appearances, even bought us matching hoodies. Claire would pretend to complain about my taste while preening in the mirror. “This way, the whole world knows you’re mine, Leo.” Everyone said we were perfect. I was the “genius campus heartthrob,” and she was the “stunningly rich and popular girl.” They’d say, “If you two don’t make it, I’m giving up on love forever.” So, when we graduated, she proposed to me. Saying yes meant giving up my spot in the PhD program in Boston. It meant moving with her to a new, unfamiliar city—Seattle—and starting from scratch to find my own way. I didn’t hesitate. I found a job in Seattle, and my work ethic got me promoted to department manager in record time. Starting with our first anniversary, Claire always got me a gift. Every year, she’d pick out something perfect, something that spoke right to my soul. With a great career and a loving marriage, I naively thought that even without my research, I could build a meaningful life. Then Claire got pregnant. I was so excited I picked her up and spun her around, but I stopped when I saw the strained smile on her face. A flash of disappointment crossed my own. “I know,” I said softly. “This is a huge time for your career. If you don’t want to… it’s okay.” She forced another smile, but as she turned away, I heard the faint, involuntary sigh escape her lips. I stayed up all night. As the sun came up, I gathered all her anniversary gifts, the love letters, the matching hoodies, and put them in a box. I sealed it shut, and with it, I sealed away the ambitious, bright-eyed young man I used to be. A year later, after a difficult birth, our daughter Chloe was born. My life became completely anchored to our family. I traded my suits and dress shoes for sweatpants. I gave up my three-times-a-week gym sessions and my bi-weekly hikes. I became a full-blown stay-at-home dad. The first time I realized something was deeply wrong was late one night. Claire came home drunk, sliding into bed next to me. Her hands slipped under the waistband of my pajama pants. As I leaned in to kiss her, she suddenly seemed to sober up. In the dark, she instinctively turned her head away, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Leo… have you gained weight?” Yeah. I had. I had no time for the gym anymore. I ate whatever was fast and easy while taking care of Chloe. My metabolism had slowed to a crawl. Over time, the pounds had crept on silently. When I sat down, my stomach folded into three distinct rolls. I wasn’t the same brilliant, dazzling Leo anymore. I didn’t say anything. But then Claire got out of bed, walked to the balcony, and lit a cigarette. The cool moonlight mixed with the smoke. I couldn’t see her face, but I saw her shoulders relax. She was thinking of someone. She flicked the ash off the end. “I’ll transfer you some money. Go buy yourself some decent clothes tomorrow,” she said, her voice distant. “Ethan was saying that the new collection at Nordstrom is pretty good. You shouldn’t just be cooped up at home in pajamas all day.” That was the first time I’d ever heard her mention the name Ethan. I didn’t think anything of it. Not until tonight, when I saw him for the first time in that private meeting with my wife. 3 Taking care of Chloe consumed my entire life. I trusted Claire completely, so I never asked about her work. As a result, I learned everything I knew about Ethan from the pop-up comments. He’d been brought into her company as a senior executive three months ago. At first, no one was impressed, including Claire. But in ten days, he’d won everyone over. They all called him “Ethan,” said he wasn’t just handsome but brilliant. A true “leading man.” I looked at my own reflection in the window. 190 pounds, wearing a stretched-out t-shirt and cargo shorts, with rough skin and dry, unkempt hair. Of course Claire and Ethan would end up together. I wasn’t surprised at all. She always did love people who shined. And I, worn down to a numb shell by domestic life, had almost forgotten… I used to shine, too. I found my old professor’s number and called him. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms when I chose to leave. I had a Plan B ready. But to my surprise, the moment he heard my voice and my idea about coming back, he sounded genuinely excited. “Leo, it’s not too late,” he said. “Compared to tomorrow, today is never too late.” I gripped the phone tighter, taking a deep breath. “Okay, professor. I’ll book a flight to Boston as soon as I can to discuss it with you in person.” After I hung up, the comments were scrolling so fast I could barely read them. 【Is this guy for real? A stay-at-home dad who’s completely out of touch with the world wants to go back to academic research? Is he crazy, am I crazy, or is the whole world crazy?】 【No, guys, you’re missing the point. He’s just jealous of our boy Ethan. A handsome, successful, powerful rival shows up, and suddenly he feels threatened. So now he has to ‘improve himself.’ Pathetic.】 【LMAO, I can’t. Where does he get the nerve? Our boy Ethan is the main character. What makes this washed-up, passive-aggressive side-character think he can even compete?】 【I think he should just go kneel and apologize to Claire right now. It’s probably his only chance to save his marriage.】 【Too late! Remember last night? Ethan comforted Claire all night after their fight. She’s already falling for him! She even brought him a homemade sandwich for breakfast this morning.】 My hand on the doorknob tightened. I suddenly remembered a time, long, long ago, when Claire, who couldn’t cook to save her life, learned how to make sandwiches just for me. “If you like them,” she’d said, “I’ll make them for you forever. Just for you.” But at some point, she’d stopped. Her excuse was always that she was too busy in the morning. But one time, when I pressed her, she snapped, the truth slipping out. “Leo, can’t you just eat less? Do you know how many calories are in a sandwich?” So, her disgust with me started that long ago. It had been there all along. And somehow, I’d just… taken it. For years. I had to ask myself: was this really me? Was this the Leo I was supposed to be? 4 Before going to City Hall, I got a haircut. The comment-stream was a wall of mockery. 【LOL, told you so! All you guys who bet against me yesterday, pay up! He’s getting all dressed up to go beg for forgiveness.】 【Ugh, so cringey. Couldn’t even last 24 hours. What a simp.】 【No wonder she fell out of love with him. Who wants a whiny, manipulative loser like that?】 I ignored them, a phantom buzzing in my ears, and just focused on my plan. At 2:30 PM, I arrived at City Hall right on time. Claire was ten minutes late. A sleek, unfamiliar Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, and Ethan was behind the wheel. He looked me up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. “Leo. Good to meet you.” Claire got out of the passenger seat. “Sorry, a meeting ran long,” she said coolly. I smiled faintly. “Another private two-person meeting?” She frowned. “Leo, you don’t have to be like this.” “Ethan got his JD/MBA,” she explained, gesturing back at the car. “Since we’re getting divorced, we need to be clear about the division of assets, and also…” Her gaze shifted to the back seat. “Chloe’s custody.” The comments seemed to sense my hesitation. 【Here it comes. The side-character is gonna lose it now. His daughter is his whole world. No way he gives her up.】 【Too bad for him, Chloe is already Team Ethan. When you have a cool, handsome, generous godfather, who wants to live with their broke, ugly, loser dad?】 Even with my god-like view of the situation, the comments didn’t completely control me. Chloe is seven. For the past seven years, I’ve poured every ounce of my energy and my heart into raising her. She was my everything. The thought of letting her go was a physical pain. But just as I was about to speak, Chloe clutched Claire’s jacket, hiding behind her. She peeked out at me, her eyes wide with what looked like fear. “Mommy,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Daddy doesn’t even know how to pronounce words right. How is he supposed to raise me?” Something inside me snapped. All my hesitation vanished. I let out a short, bitter laugh and turned towards the entrance of the building. “Fine,” I said over my shoulder. “You can have her. I don’t want her.” 5 When it was time to sign the papers, the clerk did her due diligence. “Are you two sure about this? Divorce is a major life decision. You shouldn’t sign just because you’re angry about something trivial.” Claire, holding the pen, leaned back in her chair. A smirk touched her lips. “Did you hear that, Leo?” she drawled. “It’s just one word. Don’t be so petty.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your entire life has revolved around Chloe for years. Are you sure you can live without her?” Her tone was so dismissive, so utterly confident. Even here, sitting at a table with divorce papers between us, she still thought this was all just a game. A tantrum I was throwing to get attention. It was only then that I realized how long we’d been together. So long that it wasn’t just me who had lost sight of the person I used to be. Claire had forgotten, too. She had no memory of the man I was before I became just… her husband. Chloe’s dad. Without a moment’s hesitation, I uncapped the pen and signed my name.

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My cover of my sister’s original song went viral overnight. After I got my big break, I gave her everything she ever wanted. Designer clothes, sports cars, a penthouse apartment. But when a famous actor sneered that she’d never be as good as me, she started to hate me. The night I was named “Artist of the Year,” my sister stormed into my dressing room and drove a razor blade across my throat. “If you hadn’t stolen my song, you’d be nothing!” she screamed. “That award was supposed to be mine!” After I bled out, she took her own life in despair. But somehow, we both woke up. Back in our freshman year vocal class. This time, my sister scrambled to her feet before I could. She was going to sing her song. “This time,” she whispered to me later, “I’m the one who’s going to be a star. And you? You’re just the footnote in my story.” 1 After a long, suffocating darkness, a voice cut through the void. “Seraphina? Are you with us? It’s your turn.” My eyes flew open. I was in my freshman year vocal class at the Kingswood Academy of the Arts. Our professor stood on the stage, looking at me expectantly. The girl sitting next to me nudged my arm, her eyes wide with excitement. “Sera, snap out of it! Weren’t you going to sing ‘Echoes of Time’? I heard you practicing in the dorm—it was incredible. I’ve got my phone ready to record and everything.” Her hopeful gaze met mine, and a dizzying mix of shock and joy washed over me. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, a blur of white shot past me. My sister, Selene, rushed onto the stage, snatching the guitar from our professor’s hands, her face flushed with a feverish excitement. “Professor, my sister’s not feeling well,” she announced, her voice ringing with false concern. “I’ll sing for her today. Besides, ‘Echoes of Time’ is my song anyway. I can sing it better than she ever could!” Without waiting for a reply, she began to strum the chords, her voice filling the room with a practiced, emotional melody. A wave of dizziness hit me. It wasn’t a dream. I was reborn. In my past life, in this very class, I was the one who sang Selene’s song, “Echoes of Time.” We both came from a family of musicians, but Selene always insisted she was the one with the real creative genius. We both had music channels online, but neither of us had more than a handful of followers. Selene had posted “Echoes of Time” nearly a year ago, but it had gone nowhere. Impatient and hungry for fame, she quickly abandoned her original work, filling her channel with covers of trending pop songs instead. What she didn’t know—what none of us knew—was that this particular class was being secretly live-streamed. 2 After I sang “Echoes of Time” in that class, my life changed. I went viral. The flood of online attention quickly led to an invitation to compete on a national music show. I was supposed to be the unknown underdog, the cannon fodder. But against all odds, I battled my way through the competition and placed second. That was the beginning. I signed a record deal, released albums, and sold out concerts. I became a household name, and I made a fortune. Selene, however, never caught her break. Even when she tried to ride my coattails, her follower count barely budged. Eventually, she gave up and let me support her, her favorite refrain becoming a constant echo in my life: “Sera, if it wasn’t for my song, you’d be nobody. Anyone could have sung it and become famous. I gave you that chance. At least eighty percent of your success is because of me.” “So what if I ask for a little money? You get all the fame, all the fans. You should be thanking me for everything you have.” “Honestly, your talent was never even half as good as mine. If I had sung that day, I would have been the star. Don’t you dare forget where you came from.” Armed with that narrative, she demanded designer bags, luxury cars, and sprawling mansions. Bound by a sense of sisterly duty, I gave her almost everything she asked for. But then, she set her sights on the one thing I couldn’t give her: Leo Vance, the famously untouchable, award-winning actor. She demanded I set them up. For the first time, I said no. So she went behind my back, using my name to get close to him, hoping for a one-night stand that would launch her into his orbit. It was a disaster. Leo had her wrapped in a bedsheet and thrown out of his hotel room. “You think you’re your sister?” he’d sneered, his voice dripping with contempt as she stood humiliated in the crowded hallway. “A woman like you isn’t worth a single strand of her hair.” Selene never forgave the world for that humiliation. But she blamed it all on me. So on the night I won the “Artist of the Year” award, she stormed into my dressing room. Her eyes were wild, her face a mask of madness as she sliced my throat open with a razor blade. Before the police arrived, she killed herself. As my life faded, her face, contorted with hatred, was the last thing I saw. “If you hadn’t stolen my song, you’d be nothing!” she spat, her voice a venomous hiss. “The award, the fame, even Leo… it should have all been mine!” The memory of her vicious snarl blurred and merged with the serene expression she wore now, her eyes closed as she sang. Perhaps my stare was too intense. Her eyes snapped open, locking with mine. And in their depths, I saw a flicker of defiant challenge. In that instant, I knew. She was reborn, too. 3 Selene and I had studied music together our whole lives, but our styles were worlds apart. She focused on technique, on flashy high notes and vocal acrobatics meant to show off. I poured my soul into the melody, saving the technical flourishes for just the right moment to leave the audience breathless. But now, as she sang “Echoes of Time,” she was a perfect imitation of me. Her voice was soft, delicate, weaving a story with every note, just as I had in my past life. She wasn’t even halfway through the song before the live-stream chat exploded. OMG OMG OMG, this is heavenly! Her voice is unreal! I thought Kingswood Academy was just for pretty faces this year, but this girl is a hidden gem. That storytelling quality in her voice… I haven’t heard anything like this in years. Her voice is so healing. I’m screen-recording this to listen to every night before bed. Send me that recording! I need to make it my ringtone. GOOD NEWS, I found her music channel! And this is her original song?! She’s incredible. Instant follow. The viewers flooded Selene’s channel. Quick-fingered fans had already clipped the performance and spread it across every major social media platform. It was all happening exactly as it had for me. When the song ended, Selene set the guitar down and returned to the seat beside me. Before I could say a word, she leaned in, her voice a low, taunting hiss. “You’re furious, aren’t you, Seraphina? Feeling like I stole your thunder? Well, now you know how I felt. Watching you shine under the spotlights while I was trapped in your shadow… every second was torture. Because all of it—all of it was supposed to be mine!” She leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Don’t blame me. I’m just setting things right. You never had my talent. I was always the better singer. Why shouldn’t I be the one who’s famous? This time, I’m the one who will conquer the music world. And you? You’re destined to be nothing more than the forgotten sister.” 4 Riding the wave of being the “original songwriter,” Selene’s rise was even faster, even more explosive than mine had been. It wasn’t long before she became the first freshman in our class to receive a contract offer from a major record label. I walked into our dorm room during lunch break, carrying takeout, and was met with Selene’s triumphant voice. “Olympus Records is the biggest music label in the country! With them backing me, becoming a star will be a piece of cake.” Hearing that, I frowned, unable to stop myself from asking, “You’re signing with Olympus?” The cheerful atmosphere in the room instantly froze. Selene shot me a defiant look, her lips curling into a cold smirk. “That’s right. Are you jealous? I guess a second-rate influencer farm like VibeFlow Media can’t really compare to a giant like Olympus, can it?” She said it because, in my past life, VibeFlow was the only label that had offered me a contract initially. They were known for social media influencers, not serious musicians, and their reputation in the industry was nothing compared to the prestige of Olympus Records. I met her venomous gaze, pressed my lips together, and said nothing. But Selene took my silence as confirmation, her smugness growing. “It figures. Someone like you, who only got lucky by stealing someone else’s work, could only ever sign with a place like VibeFlow. Olympus doesn’t just let any stray in. I told you, Seraphina. I’m the one with the real talent. I’m the one who was made for this.” Our other two roommates looked confused. “Selene, what are you talking about?” Selene scoffed. “Oh, you didn’t know? My dear sister here was planning to get famous by covering my song. She even has delusions of becoming Artist of the Year. Pathetic, isn’t it?” 5 At her words, both of our roommates shot me looks of pure disdain. “You’re famous because you’re amazing, Selene. If she’s so talented, why doesn’t she write her own songs?” “Seriously, some people will do anything for attention.” “The way she said that, acting so concerned about you signing with Olympus… I thought she had some better offer in mind. Turns out it’s just a trashy company like VibeFlow.” “Don’t listen to her, Selene! Sign with Olympus! With all their Grammy-winning artists, you’re guaranteed to be a star! That’ll show Seraphina!” In this industry, fame is a magnet for friends. Our little dorm room was already proving to be a microcosm of the entire entertainment world. Basking in their flattery, Selene smiled victoriously. “Alright, I’ll sign with Olympus. And since you’ve all been so supportive, there’s a music competition next month. I’ll see if I can pull some strings and get you two spots in the first round.” The competition she was talking about was The Ascent. It was a brutal series of auditions, eliminations, and live shows. In my past life, placing second on that show cemented my career and took me to the next level. The show was open to anyone—amateurs, online singers, anyone with a dream. But if you had a label and connections, you could skip the grueling open auditions and go straight to the televised first round, where the real exposure began. My roommates’ eyes lit up. “Really? Oh my god, Selene, you’re so talented and generous!” “You’re going to be a huge star! Someone like Seraphina, sick with jealousy, will never be on your level!” Selene shot me one last triumphant, mocking smile before heading off to finalize her contract with Olympus Records. I finished my lunch in silence and climbed into my bunk. Lying there, memories from my past life flooded back. It was true that at first, VibeFlow was the only company that would take a chance on me. But after I made a name for myself on The Ascent, Olympus had come knocking too, offering me a lucrative deal. I turned them down. By then, I had heard things about them, about their predatory contracts and how they chewed up and spat out young artists. Seeing Selene’s smug satisfaction, all I could do was wish her good luck. She was going to need it. 6 News of Selene’s contract with Olympus Records spread like wildfire among the freshmen. The same people who envied her also heard the story of my “jealousy” and began to ostracize me, treating me with open contempt. I didn’t care. After years of fighting my way through the cutthroat music industry, I was used to slander and backstabbing. My heart had only ever belonged to one thing: the music. Soon, the open auditions for The Ascent were announced. Kingswood Academy was one of the first to get the news, and our class president stood at the front of the room with a stack of registration forms. “Who else wants to sign up?” Nearly every student at Kingswood was aiming for a career in music, so the entire class registered. I remembered from my past life that several of them had even made it to the top 100. I took a form. As soon as I finished filling it out, I felt Selene’s dark gaze on me. “Seraphina,” she hissed, “don’t tell me you’re still delusional enough to think you can repeat your past life.” I didn’t answer. She sneered. “With what? You have nothing.” I lifted my chin. The confidence forged by years of walking red carpets and commanding stadium-sized audiences created an invisible pressure that made her flinch. “With myself,” I said, my voice ringing with certainty. Someone snapped a photo of that moment. A second later, a shoulder slammed hard into mine. “Who do you think you are, Seraphina? You’re nothing compared to Selene! You’ll just embarrass yourself on that show!” “I heard you only got into Kingswood because of Selene’s help. It’s a disgrace to have someone like you in our class.” “You have no talent! Go home! Without your sister, you’re nothing!” Their words were just echoes of what Selene herself had told me countless times in our past life. “Sera, you only got famous because of my song. Your success is my success.” “You could never have made it on your own. Everything you have, I gave to you. Understand?” Her words had been a poison, brainwashing me until I almost believed them myself. I clutched the registration form in my hand, my knuckles white. This wasn’t just about chasing the award I had almost won. This was about proving to myself, once and for all, that I was enough. No matter what, I would see this through to the end. 7 The open auditions passed in a blur, and just as I’d expected, I made it through to the first televised round. Frankly, it would have been pathetic if I hadn’t. After years of competing against industry titans and seasoned professionals, I could handle a simple audition in my sleep. Two hundred contestants advanced from the auditions. The show’s producers quickly posted the official list of competitors on their social media channels. The roster was filled with popular music bloggers, viral internet singers, and even a few indie artists with albums and tours under their belts. The hype for the show was already building. Selene’s name was all over the comments section. Her acoustic performance video had amassed over five million likes; there was hardly anyone online who hadn’t seen it. Selene! I remember her! The super talented original singer. She’s got a bright future. FINALLY, some fresh blood instead of the same old faces. I’m putting my money on Selene. I bet she makes the top three. Her vocals and songwriting are honestly better than some established artists out there. WHOA, you guys need to see Selene’s latest post. I feel so bad for her. When the show starts, I’m voting for her and boycotting her psycho sister. Who’s her sister? That Seraphina girl! Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from one of The Ascent’s producers, along with a link. His message was blunt. [Is this true?] The link was to a trending news article. The headline was plastered in bold letters: #ViralSinger’sSister Vows to Ride Her Coattails to the Top? 8 The story was based on a social media post from Selene. In it, she tearfully accused me of being consumed by jealousy. She claimed I was trying to steal her spotlight, copying her every move, and that my only reason for joining the competition was to leech off her newfound fame. At first, the public was skeptical. But then, our classmates and roommates began to chime in, one by one, corroborating her story. I can vouch for this. Seraphina totally tried to sing Selene’s original song in vocal class to get attention. I’m their roommate. Seraphina is constantly undermining Selene. She was so bitter and passive-aggressive when Selene signed with Olympus Records. They had a huge fight in the classroom! I saw it! Seraphina was screaming at Selene in front of everyone. It was disgusting. How can someone be so shameless? And then they posted the picture they’d taken—the one of me and Selene in the classroom. The angle was perfect for their narrative. I looked cold and intimidating, my gaze sharp and commanding. Selene looked small, fragile, and innocent. To any outsider, it was clear who the bully was. By the time I saw it, the story had already spiraled out of control. Worse, someone had dug up my audition video, and the comments were flooded with hate. I didn’t believe it at first, but after hearing Seraphina sing, it’s obvious. She’s a total copycat of her sister. Well, they grew up together. She’s a damn good mimic, I’ll give her that. Honestly, if she had sung the song first, she might have gone viral too. Please. A knockoff is a knockoff. Even if she sang it, she’d just be a thief. She doesn’t deserve an ounce of fame. #TeamSelene #CancelSeraphina With the scandal blowing up online, the show’s producers were getting nervous. The show hadn’t even premiered yet, and it was already drowning in negative press. The producer messaged me again: [Maybe you should withdraw. If you appear on the show now, you’re just going to get torn apart by the public. You’ll never build a career this way. You’ll just become a target for their hate.] Looking at the endless scroll of vicious comments, I knew anyone else would have quit. But I had clawed my way through the darkest corners of this industry before. This little storm was nothing. I replied instantly: [I’m not quitting. And don’t worry. I have a way to prove my innocence.] This was my second chance. I wasn’t about to give it up. 9 The day of the first round arrived. Backstage was a chaotic symphony of nerves. The 200 contestants were a whirlwind of activity—some perfecting their makeup, others warming up their voices, every face etched with anxiety. Every face, that is, except for Selene’s. She wore a smile that radiated absolute certainty. A crowd of sycophants had already gathered around her. “Selene, you look so gorgeous and confident today! Can you give us a hint? What are you singing?” “It has to be another one of your originals, right?” Selene tilted her chin up, her gaze sweeping over them with a touch of arrogance. “Of course. And trust me, the song I’m performing tonight will blow everyone away.” Her admirers gasped in unison. “If you’re saying that, it must be incredible! Is it even better than ‘Echoes of Time’?” “I can’t wait to hear it! It’s killing me that we have to wait. If it weren’t for the NDAs, I’d be begging you to sing a few lines right now.” “You’re a shoo-in to advance. You’ll probably make the top ten, easy.” Then, their collective gaze shifted, landing on me as I sat in the makeup chair. Their voices dripped with malicious glee. “Look at her, still bothering with makeup. I guess if you know you’re going to lose, you might as well look good for your farewell performance.” “I can’t believe she still has the nerve to be here. I wonder what she’s planning to sing. A copycat like her is destined to live forever in Selene’s shadow.” Their voices were loud enough for me to hear every word. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my expression blank. I refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Thankfully, the competition started soon after, and we were all herded to the waiting area. A stagehand went down the line, confirming our song choices one last time. Selene was a few spots ahead of me, close enough for me to overhear the staff member confirm her song title: “Dream Fulfilled.” The name was unfamiliar. I wracked my brain, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t a hit song, that was for sure. Maybe some obscure track. I dismissed it and confirmed my own song with the stagehand: “Azure Wings.” Just then, the host’s voice boomed from the stage, calling Selene’s name. She stood up, and as she passed me, she shot me a sharp, provocative glance. I frowned, a flicker of unease stirring within me. A moment later, the opening notes of her song filled the backstage area. A gentle, soaring melody… accompanied by a clear, ethereal vocal harmony. It was the intro to my song. My “Azure Wings.”

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