Category: English

Three years after breaking up with my ex-girlfriend, she dragged me to court. She wanted me to pay back everything she spent during our relationship. It wasn’t about the money—her husband was just bored and thought it’d be amusing. She knew I was in poor health. She knew I struggled with depression after losing my parents in a car accident and relied on medication to sleep. She knew I’d attempted suicide once and ended up in the hospital, even receiving a critical condition notice. And yet, she did it anyway. In court, I looked at her face—familiar yet distant. I’d known her for seven years. We dated for five. Later, she went to study in the U.S. Through the hardest times, I never thought about giving up on us. Los Angeles was so far, but I flew back and forth a dozen times. The court ruled that I had to repay $15,023. The extra $23? It came from the time I wanted to buy candied fruit on the streets of Chinatown in Los Angeles. It cost $3 per stick. I couldn’t bring myself to spend the money, but she smiled and bought it for me. Now that small, sweet gesture had turned into a blade at my throat. What she didn’t know was that the $15,000 in my bank account was everything I had—money meant for my next cancer treatment. Content

After the court ruling, I ran into Valerie Morgan in the hallway. It had been years since I’d last seen her. She’d changed so much. The struggling student I’d known, working odd jobs in a cramped apartment while trying to launch her career, was now a CEO in the renewable energy sector. She stood there in a cream sweater, her gaze cold and distant as it landed on me. Instinctively, I froze, thinking I could just avoid her and walk past. But then she spoke, her words slow and deliberate: “Do you regret it now?” I hesitated, startled. “What?” I replied. A mocking smile tugged at her lips. “Leaving me for money. You must regret it now, don’t you?” The chill of the late autumn breeze crept into my bones. I clenched my fingers against the cold but still felt its sting. After a moment, I took a deep breath and offered her a perfect, practiced smile. “Miss Morgan, the money’s been repaid, and we’re done. Saying things like that—aren’t you afraid your husband might misunderstand?” I turned my head to find Brian Chambers standing there, his face dark with anger. He quickly masked it with a smile, smoothing over the last traces of venom. Brian strolled over, casually draping an arm around Valerie’s shoulders. “Babe, how should we spend that $15,000? Clothes? Shoes? Or maybe that model I had my eye on last week?” He gave me a pointed look, smirking. “Doesn’t seem like enough, though, does it? You should’ve been more generous with your ex, Valerie. That’s barely enough for a new pair of shoes.” Valerie leaned into him, laughing softly. “It’s fine, honey. Think of it as pocket money. If you need more, I’ll cover it.” Brian’s grin widened as he kissed her cheek. “Babe, you’re the best.” Then he turned back to me, all false cheer. “Ethan, I’m really sorry about this. We don’t actually need the money. Valerie and I just had a little bet, and she wanted to cheer me up, so…” He reached out, gripping my hand with a smug, almost gloating look in his eyes. “Thanks for making me so happy—and for showing me just how much my wife loves me.” My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through me like needles under my skin. I watched them walk away, hand in hand. Valerie would never know. The money she’d used to buy Brian his new shoes was meant to save my life.

I dragged my battered body home. The tiny trailer at the edge of Rustwood, West Virginia, shook with every gust of wind, the sharp clash of metal sheets robbing me of sleep on stormy nights. Summers were worse—an oven with no air conditioning, where I’d collapsed from heatstroke more than once because I couldn’t afford the electricity bill. I never thought Valerie would find me again. But I never imagined our next meeting would be in court. I stared at the newspaper clippings on my wall, then began tearing them down one by one. Each article bore her picture: Valerie Morgan, the rising star of the renewable energy industry; Valerie Morgan, one of New York City’s Top 10 Women Entrepreneurs; Valerie Morgan, radiant at her lavish wedding to Brian Chambers. I swallowed hard, stuffing the crumpled pages into a box beneath my bed. At the bottom of the box was a photo of us—a younger, softer Valerie leaning against me, her shy, radiant smile brimming with hope. The woman in court had been a stranger. Cold. Unforgiving. She was a CEO now, a philanthropist, a beloved wife. Everything but my girlfriend. I laughed bitterly, shoving the photo into the box with the clippings. Then I picked up my phone and called the bar manager. “Put me on the night shift,” I said. At night, the bar drew wealthy women looking for entertainment. Their desires could be twisted, their wallets deep. It was degrading, but it paid well. And I needed the money. I needed to live. What I didn’t expect was to see Valerie there. She stood at the center of a crowd, the spotlight catching her elegant figure. My fingers clenched as my face burned. She saw me too. Her expression flickered—shock, disbelief—and then settled into mockery. “So, this is where you work now.” Sweat pooled in my palms, but I forced myself to stay composed. “Your drink, ma’am,” I said calmly. Her gaze was scornful, like she was watching a rat crawl out of the gutter. “Figures. Women who come here can set you up for life. Fits your style.” I took another deep breath. “Your drink, ma’am,” I repeated. She arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “How long have you been here? Don’t you know how to serve properly?” She pulled a checkbook from her purse, scribbled something, and dropped it at my feet. “Serve my friends well, and this is yours.” Pain shot through my knee as I bent down to pick it up. When I saw the amount—$15,023—my chest constricted, air squeezing from my lungs. It was the exact sum I’d paid her in court. She was using it to humiliate me. I straightened slowly, meeting her gaze. After a long silence, I spoke: “This is payment for my services, Miss Morgan. I assume… I won’t need to repay it?”

The doctor had told me I shouldn’t drink alcohol. But I had no choice—I needed the money. For years, just staying alive had cost me my dignity. I would do anything. What were a few bottles of alcohol compared to that? That night, Valerie’s friends came to the bar. Of course, they all knew our story. Three years ago, when Valerie was desperate, struggling to secure funding, on the verge of being driven to suicide by the banks, I left her. She’d searched for me like a madwoman, even getting into a car accident that landed her in the hospital. She begged me not to leave her, but I didn’t look back. These women hated me for it. They wanted to take revenge on my behalf. They didn’t hold back. I was so drunk I collapsed onto the table, nothing more than a puddle of humiliation. When I reached for another bottle, Valerie grabbed my wrist, fury etched into her features. “Will you really stoop this low for money?” I raised my head, dazed, and held out my hand like a beggar. “Valerie… the money. You said… if I drank, if I took care of your friends, you’d pay me. You said you wouldn’t take it back…” Her gaze softened for a fleeting moment, her eyes trailing to my wrist. Her fingers brushed the scars there. The reminders of my depression, the countless times I’d tried to end it all after my parents’ fatal car accident. It was Valerie who had pulled me back from the brink, holding me close, pleading: “Ethan, you still have me. Live, even if it’s just for me. Please.” Now, though, her touch withdrew like I was filth. She scoffed bitterly, her voice dripping with venom. “I did promise. But tell me—look at my friends. Have you satisfied them?” The room erupted into cruel laughter. Their eyes bore down on me as if I were a circus act, a clown there for their entertainment. I chuckled despite the stabbing pain in my stomach, forcing a smile as I said, “Then I’ll try again. I’ll keep going until you’re happy.” When I reached for the bottle again, Valerie snapped. Her foot shot out, flipping the table. The crash of shattering glass filled the room. I fell hard, shards of broken bottles slicing into my palms. Seconds later, Marcus burst into the room, rushing to my side. “Ethan! Are you okay?” he cried, pulling me into his arms. He turned on Valerie, his voice trembling with rage. “Valerie Morgan, are you even human? After everything Ethan’s done for you, you force him to drink like this?” He paused, his voice breaking. “He has stomach cancer. Do you know this could kill him?!”

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My boyfriend has a buddy who he treats like a sister, and they’re practically inseparable. On the day we were supposed to get engaged for the ninth time, he ditched me at the venue. Why? Because it was their 20th “friendship anniversary.” “It’s just a delayed engagement. No need to rush. Are you really worried that no one will marry you?” Her latest Instagram Story popped up, and it felt like a thorn in my eye. “Twenty years of friendship. How could someone like you ever compare?” They hugged, looking way too cozy for “just friends.” I didn’t cry or create a scene. Instead, I calmly liked the post. Then, without a word, I vanished from his life. Six months later, he called, trying to win me back: “I got you that wedding dress you wanted. Come back, and let’s get married!” But it wasn’t my voice that answered—it was a man’s. “My wife’s pregnant. What do you want with her?” Content The day our engagement fell apart, I tossed the ring into a trash can. A cab driver waved me over and asked, “Where to?” “Just drive,” I replied. “Anywhere but back.” When Carter Delaney’s calls started coming in, I turned my phone off. It stayed off for three days. The night breeze by Santa Monica Pier felt calming, lifting the hem of my red dress. It reminded me of the first time Carter told me he loved me. He had been so young and awkward, his feelings written all over his face, impossible to hide. I had fallen hard for 20-year-old Carter. I even left my hometown of Austin, Texas, and moved to the unfamiliar Midwest for him. I quit a job I loved to become his secretary, a role I held for nine years. Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor. We got engaged nine times. And each time, she got in the way. Her name is Brielle Stokes. We fought about her more times than I can count. “I’ve told you, Brielle and I are just friends. Why are you so insecure?” “We’ve shared everything since we were kids—even baths. Do you really think it’s anything more?” “Skylar Quinn, you’re acting like a jealous maniac! Brielle’s already forgiven you for stalking us. What else do you want?” Carter’s expression darkened during those arguments. After each fight, I’d pick up my feelings, wipe my tears, and apologize. I was terrified of losing him, so I always gave in first. But this time, I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness—just a calm desire to stay by the ocean, doing nothing and feeling at peace. Carter found me without much trouble. I forgot that the hotel I booked was one of his. He burst into my room without warning. “Skylar Quinn, running away is such a childish move.” “It was Brielle and I’s 20th anniversary as friends. We were just celebrating! Can’t I have friends besides you?” Friends. Right. Friends who kiss? I kept that thought to myself. I knew he’d dismiss it as “just a game.” Not like it would be the first time. “Brielle and I have nothing going on. Stop sulking, okay?” His furrowed brows softened as he looked at me, almost concerned. “I’ll make it up to you with a bigger wedding. Brielle can even be your maid of honor. Will that make you happy?” His voice had a soothing tone. I remained silent, making his brows knit together again. “Skylar, if you don’t—” “Fine,” I interrupted. The old me would’ve argued until I caved and apologized. But now? I just smiled faintly. My unexpected compliance caught him off guard, but he quickly masked it with a relieved smile. He reached for my hand. “Let’s go home.” I pulled my hand away coldly and walked ahead of him. Carter paused, stunned for a moment. No fight? He didn’t know how to deal with that. When I reached his car, Brielle was already waiting. “There you are, Skylar! Carter’s been freaking out trying to find you!” She pouted, playfully scolding him. “I told you we should’ve brought her to the anniversary, but nooo. Look what happened—she’s jealous again!” “Skylar, I’m really sorry for him. Don’t be mad, okay? If you are, I’ll hit him for you!” She pretended to punch Carter’s chest but ended up in his arms. “Still the charmer, huh?” Carter smirked at her. “Ugh, stop holding me like that!” Brielle blushed and squirmed, glancing at me. “Skylar’s watching. Are you trying to scare her off again?” 2 I ignored them and quietly took the backseat without looking up. I’d fought so many times over the front passenger seat. If Brielle was around, it was always hers. “She gets carsick unless she’s next to me,” Carter explained. I seethed, baffled. He thought I was being petty. This time, I said nothing, and Carter looked a bit surprised. As the car started, Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’ve lost so much weight in just two days. Let me take you to dinner to apologize for Carter?” “Next time, I promise you’ll be invited to our hangouts!” “No need,” I replied sharply. “Just take me home.” Carter ignored me and drove to a restaurant instead. “You look like you haven’t eaten properly. Stop being stubborn.” The car stopped in a busy area filled with restaurants. Brielle tugged at his arm and said, “Carter, I want a Matcha Latte!” “You’re about to start your period. No iced drinks.” They acted like a couple. He knew her body better than he ever knew mine. At the restaurant, the server brought us lemon water. Brielle grabbed Carter’s glass, sipping it. “Yours is so sour!” she giggled, scrunching her nose. Carter smiled fondly, pinching her cheek. “You’ve got to stop stealing my stuff.” Then Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’re not mad, right? We’ve always shared everything since we were kids.” Carter froze, realizing how inappropriate that sounded. “Doesn’t bother me,” I replied. “You’ve shared everything since you were kids, right? Makes sense.” Carter exhaled in relief, even smiling faintly as if impressed by my “maturity.” For the first time, I didn’t care if they flirted. When Carter peeled a shrimp for me, Brielle snatched it before it reached my plate. “How sweet! You remembered I love shrimp!” she teased, placing it on her plate. Carter shook his head, amused. “Slow down. No one’s taking it from you.” Then Brielle slid the shrimp to my plate. “Here, Skylar. Have some. If it’s not enough, I’ll make Carter peel more for me.” “I don’t like shrimp,” I replied coolly, leaving it untouched. Carter’s brows furrowed. He must’ve been confused—shrimp was my favorite. But I don’t eat food that’s been taken from someone else’s plate. Brielle was allergic to seafood. She took it just to get Carter’s attention. Her face broke out in hives on the way back. Carter dropped me off on the roadside, insisting, “Brielle needs to go to the hospital. Call a cab.” “But—” He didn’t listen, focused solely on her as he drove away. The street was dimly lit. A couple of tall guys emerged from the shadows. “She’s got a nice body. Let’s grab her.” 3 I froze in panic, my heart racing as fear washed over me. My legs felt weak, and when I tried to run, I stumbled and fell. The two men closed in, stinking of sweat and booze. “All my money is in my bag. There’s about two thousand in cash and a few grand on my cards,” I stammered, blurting out my finances, hoping they’d just take the money and leave. Their eyes lit up as they rifled through my bag, confirming my words. “Don’t worry. I won’t call the cops. I didn’t see anything,” I begged, voice trembling. “I’ll leave—right now…”

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In my previous life, I married the wrong person from a blind date. I thought it was fate, orchestrated by the heavens. It wasn’t until he used my father’s influence to climb the corporate ladder and had an affair with my best friend that I realized the truth. It turns out it was all his calculated plan from the beginning. So when he sat across from me again in this life, I politely reminded him, “I’m sorry, but you’re in the wrong seat.” In my previous life, I died in the delivery room. As my soul drifted out, I saw my parents crying uncontrollably outside. The nurse, carrying my newborn son, couldn’t find his father anywhere. At my funeral, my husband Felix shamelessly arrived with my best friend Brynn. My parents, their hair turned white overnight, were so enraged they nearly attacked them with a stick. Felix easily dodged and sneered, “Father-in-law, you should be thanking me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t even have a grandson now.” He left with his arm around Brynn’s shoulders, turning back to glance at my memorial tablet one last time. “Oh, and thanks for all your help these past few years.” My father nearly fainted from anger. I trembled with rage, watching the despicable couple gloat. All I could do was pray to heaven for them to face retribution. Perhaps the gods were equally outraged, because I was truly reborn. I found myself on the day of my blind date with Felix. At this moment, I was sitting in a restaurant, waiting for my date. Of course, it shouldn’t be Felix. My father was a local real estate tycoon, owning countless properties and land. Originally, my family had arranged for me to meet someone from a similar background. But in my previous life, I lost my senses when I saw Felix, and my parents reluctantly agreed to let me marry beneath my status. I glanced at my watch absent-mindedly. Felix should be arriving soon.

A few seconds later, the same voice from my previous life floated down from above. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Felix, nice to meet you.” I looked up through my sunglasses. Lifting them slightly, I couldn’t help but curl my lips. Felix, long time no see. He was still the same as in my previous life, thinking he knew me inside out. For this date, he had deliberately dressed in the clean, sunny style I liked. He wore a sporty outfit that looked out of place in this upscale restaurant. It’s ridiculous how I fell for this mismatch in my previous life. I guess I was tired of seeing men in suits, talking endlessly about luxury brands and profits. Felix gently pulled out the chair and was about to sit down. Before he could utter his second carefully planned line, I coldly put my sunglasses back on. “I’m sorry, but you’re in the wrong seat.” His well-practiced politeness nearly cracked at that moment. Felix was half-squatting, looking unsure whether to sit or leave. I simply took off my sunglasses and looked directly at this scumbag. “This isn’t your seat.” Felix stood up awkwardly and started laughing it off. “Oh, is that so? I must have gotten the wrong table.” I looked him up and down, then pointed with my sunglasses to the large restaurant across the street. “Sir, perhaps you went to the wrong restaurant?” At this point, Felix was still a poor guy. Last time we had dinner, he spent over $300, and then kept asking me for expensive gifts afterward. Unfortunately, I was too naive to realize it then. Living this life again, I knew exactly where Felix’s weak spots were. Sure enough, Felix’s expression changed. The scrutinizing looks from people around made him extremely uncomfortable. I crossed my arms and gazed out the window nonchalantly. I wonder what the man I’m supposed to meet will be like this time.

Felix left, and I checked my watch. It had been 10 minutes since the appointed time. I took a sip of water to moisten my throat. In my previous life, there was another reason I chose Felix. It was because of my superstitious mother. Mom was anxious that I was still single at 26, so she dragged me to see a fortune teller. The fortune teller said my destined love would arrive soon. My mom was so happy she immediately paid a lot of money, then dragged me off to start arranging blind dates. However, we both ignored the fortune teller’s long sigh as we left. “Whether it’s fortune or misfortune, it cannot be avoided.” I didn’t understand then, but now I do. This blind date was both a blessing and a curse. Unavoidable? This time, I’m determined to avoid it. I crossed my legs and waited for the man who was actually supposed to meet me. While lost in thought, I heard a soft chuckle from the table opposite. I frowned slightly and looked over. A man wore a light suit jacket with a black and white striped white shirt underneath. His collarbone was deep enough to hold water, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down on his long neck. His thin lips were slightly curved, and gold-rimmed glasses sat on his high, straight nose. I raised an eyebrow. He looked every bit the handsome rogue. The starry eyes behind his glasses blinked at me, and before I could speak, the man sat down across from me. Having apparently overheard my earlier words, he first jerked his chin towards the restaurant outside the window. “I certainly haven’t sat in the wrong place.” I widened my eyes in surprise. This man had been sitting across from me the whole time. Was he the one who was supposed to be on the blind date with me? Did I really miss out on meeting him in my previous life?

The man casually picked up the name tag on the table and wrote a few large characters with the pen. When he passed the tag to me, I read the name aloud. “Bodhi Brooks.” I searched my memory for any information about this man. “Are you Mr. Brooks’ son?” My dad and Mr. Brooks were childhood friends. My dad became a businessman while Mr. Brooks took a stable government job. They say handwriting reflects personality. Bodhi’ handwriting looked as bold as he did. It was a bit strange. In my memory, Mr. Brooks was a smooth and reserved person. I followed his example and wrote my name on a tag. “Ava White?” “You seemed quite fierce when talking to that man earlier, but your handwriting looks so elegant?” Mentioning Felix made me feel sick to my stomach. Thinking about how I had missed out on meeting Bodhi in my previous life, I rested my chin on my hand thoughtfully. “That man clearly wasn’t the one I was supposed to meet.” “What if I hadn’t realized and actually hit it off with him? What would you have done?” Bodhi leaned back in his chair casually. “What could I do?” “If my blind date clicked with another guy right in front of me, I’d just accept my bad luck and go home.” I pressed my lips together, feeling a bit embarrassed. No wonder Bodhi hadn’t made a big deal about this in my previous life. Seeing his carefree and nonchalant attitude, I decided to relax and lean back too. “Did your dad force you to come?” “Now that we’ve met and can report back, shall we go home?” Bodhi nodded twice and stood up first. “I’ll drive you back.” Watching his retreating back, I felt a bit confused. Is this handsome rogue what the fortune teller meant by both blessing and curse?

Bodhi knew where I lived and drove directly to the gate of my family’s villa. “Thank you.” I politely thanked him and got out of the car, but was surprised to hear two car doors slam shut. ?? I turned back to look. “Why are you getting out?” Bodhi tugged at his clothes and cleared his throat, standing next to me and dropping his carefree demeanor. I was about to speak in confusion when Bodhi glanced at me. “Who said I was forced to come on this blind date?” As he finished speaking, he opened the gate to my house more skillfully than I could. “Mr. White! Mrs. White! I’m here!!” Bodhi ran into my house in a few quick strides, and his shout brought my parents out. I stood at the door, my mouth twitching, unable to figure out what this guy was up to. If he wasn’t forced to come on the blind date, did he come voluntarily? “Strange.” I shook my head and entered the house, only to see Bodhi chatting animatedly with my parents. “Ava, come in quickly!” “Your father and I were worried at home, but it seems you two got along well!” I stood there speechless, but Bodhi sat properly on the sofa and helped me out. “Mrs. White, Mr. White and my dad are childhood friends. Ava and I used to play together a lot as kids.” “We hit it off right away on this blind date.” I listened in confusion. I could only gather from my parents’ words that Bodhi and I used to hang out together all the time as children. Perhaps because Bodhi was older than me, he remembered more about it. “Stay for lunch, I’ll cook myself!” my mom said happily, the fine lines around her eyes deepening. I looked at Bodhi, feeling a bit lost. Taking advantage of him going to the bathroom, I finally got a chance to corner him in the elevator.

“What are you up to?” I put on an arrogant air, trying to act like the lady of the house. Bodhi tried to leave, but in a moment of impulse, I slapped my hand against the elevator wall behind him. By the time I realized the awkwardness of the pose, it was too late. Bodhi raised an eyebrow, his long phoenix eyes quite captivating. “What are you up to?” he asked, tilting his head to look at my hand next to his ear. I tried to withdraw my hand in embarrassment, but Bodhi caught my wrist with one hand. “This isn’t right.” Before I knew it, I was spun around and pinned against the elevator wall. “This is how it’s done, understand?” I don’t know if it was from embarrassment or shyness, but my cheeks instantly flushed red. After just two seconds of eye contact with those phoenix eyes, I quickly looked away. “Men and women shouldn’t be in such close contact. Get off me!” Bodhi shrugged. “You started it.” “I did not!” I glared at him angrily. But I saw laughter about to burst from his eyes. As the elevator reached the fourth floor, I felt a mix of embarrassment and anger. I raised my foot and stomped hard on Bodhi’ shoe. And ground it in a couple times for good measure. Bodhi clutched his foot and let out an exaggerated yell in the elevator. “Ahhhh!!” “What are you shouting about?!” The elevator doors dinged open, and I immediately darted out. “I told you I wasn’t forced to come on this blind date!” he called after me. I ignored the voice behind me. It was the first time I’d met such a difficult man. Other men I’d met either treated me carefully or subtly bragged about their family background. Bodhi was the first to act so shamelessly and follow me home.

At lunch, I was shocked to see a feast fit for an emperor on the table. “Mom, since when did you know how to cook so many dishes?” My mom beamed with joy and pride. “After getting married, your dad never let me cook. How would you know?” I held my chopsticks, suddenly feeling a loss of appetite. My mom doesn’t love me anymore!! Bodhi, who was drinking with my dad and constantly complimenting my mom’s cooking, immediately chimed in. “Don’t worry, Mrs. White. I’ll definitely learn from Mr. White and take good care of my wife in the future!” ?? My parents exchanged a look, unable to hide their satisfaction. Under the table, I angrily stomped on Bodhi’ foot and twisted it a couple times. Bodhi’ face reddened with pain, but he didn’t take back his words. Instead, he clinked glasses with my dad again. My dad was an old drinking buddy, and today they were drinking some of his prized vintage. By the end of the meal, Bodhi was drunk enough to start shadowboxing on the spot. “Ava, help Bodhi upstairs to rest,” my dad said. I frowned deeply at the drunk man. “Dad, why don’t I drive him back to Mr. Brooks’ house?” My parents’ expressions changed. “How could we do that!” I took a deep breath and pulled Bodhi up. Seeing how drunk he was, I secretly pinched him to vent my frustration. To my surprise, he let out a loud yelp. “Don’t pinch me! It hurts!” My dad puffed up his mustache and raised his arm angrily. Waaaah. Mom doesn’t love me and Dad doesn’t care about me anymore. Bodhi didn’t hold back either, directly leaning half his body weight on my shoulder. This guy must be at least 5’11”! It took all my strength to carry him into the guest room. But when I tried to throw him onto the bed, he pulled me down with him.

I was nearly crushed breathless. “Bodhi Brooks!!” I shouted in a low voice, and only then did he raise his head with a dazed look. Before I could tell him to get off, he put his finger on my lips in a shushing gesture. Meeting those slightly reddened eyes, I was momentarily stunned. For some reason, my heart started racing uncontrollably. “Don’t make noise.” I nodded hurriedly, trying to suppress my pounding heart, and Bodhi finally removed his finger. Bodhi was so close to me, our noses almost touching. A faint fragrance mingled with the smell of alcohol surrounded me. Even though I hadn’t been drinking, I felt a bit dizzy and confused. I suddenly realized this guy was actually quite handsome. Much better looking than Felix. As I stared dazedly into Bodhi’ eyes, I had a moment of clarity. Felix was undoubtedly my misfortune. Could Bodhi be my blessing? “Ava.” Bodhi suddenly spoke in a low voice, and I instinctively responded. “I told you I wasn’t forced to come on this blind date.” “You stomped on my foot really hard.” Hearing this, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Before I could respond, he suddenly closed his eyes and lowered his head. I hurriedly turned my face away in fright. Bodhi’ lips lightly brushed my cheek, and soon I heard steady breathing by my ear. It took all my strength to finally push him away.

Even though I pretended to be calm, my steps were a bit unsteady as I returned to my own room. I sat dazedly on the edge of the bed. Remembering what had just happened made my face flush and my heart race. Having just experienced a painfully devastating previous life, I shouldn’t be able to fall for someone so easily. After much thought, I attributed this abnormal reaction to shock. Yes, I was just shocked. I couldn’t remember the childhood with Bodhi that my parents mentioned. Anyway, in all my years, I’d never met such an unreasonable man! After freshening up, I shook my head, trying to get Bodhi out of my mind. But then my mom came in carrying a glass of warm milk. “Ava dear.” Seeing my mom’s face full of smiles, I turned away sulkily. “Now it’s ‘Ava dear.’ Earlier I thought I must have been adopted.” Mom pretended to glare at me angrily, putting the milk on the bedside table. “I’m just anxious about your marriage!” “Mom thinks Bodhi is quite good. He’s handsome and clean-cut. His dad is your dad’s old friend too. If you marry him, you definitely won’t be mistreated. We only have one daughter, and when you get married…” I gave my mom a long look, and she swallowed the rest of her words. I took a sip of milk without speaking. Remembering what had just happened still made my heart beat faster. Mom gathered her thoughts for a while before patting my hand. “Tell mom honestly, what do you think of Bodhi?” I glanced at Mom and considered carefully for a moment.

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I accidentally sent a message meant for my best friend to my ex-boyfriend while drunk. “Come see me tomorrow. I have something to tell you.” Alex: ? “You think I’ll come just because you tell me to? We broke up, stop treating me like your dog.” “What do you want to say? Having regrets? Begging to get back together?” “Chloe Williams, you dumped me so decisively, there’s no chance of us getting back together!” … “Chloe, I’m downstairs.” “Say what you need to say now. Answer the phone.” “You’re not answering calls or messages, I’ve been worried sick about you, and here you are just sleeping, Chloe Williams!” “Wake up, wake up! I’ve got some crazy news – guess who I just ran into downstairs? Alex! It was Alex Shaw!” Early in the morning, Zoe dragged me out of bed. Zoe is my best friend. We’ve known each other since childhood and are close enough to share clothes and have keys to each other’s places. At the mention of Alex’s name, I opened my eyes briefly. Zoe put her hands on her hips and scolded, “Chloe Williams, you really do care more about guys than friends. I’ve been trying to wake you forever with no response, but the moment I mention Alex you’re wide awake. It’s been six months since you broke up and you’re still hung up on him? Zoe put her hands on her hips and scolded, “Chloe Williams, you really do care more about guys than friends. I’ve been trying to wake you forever with no response, but the moment I mention Alex you’re wide awake. It’s been six months since you broke up and you’re still hung up on him? Have you no self-respect?” I yawned and lay back down to continue sleeping. Alex Shaw appearing downstairs at my apartment? The chances of that were lower than the sun rising in the west. “Stop making noise. Let me sleep a bit more. I drank too much yesterday and my head is killing me. When I wake up, I’ll tell you about the juicy gossip I heard at the class reunion last night. It’s mind-blowing.” I thought Zoe had come over because of the message I sent her last night. Zoe shook me again. “No more sleeping! Alex is really downstairs!” “Are you crazy or am I?” “Neither of us is crazy. It’s Alex who’s gone mad. He really is downstairs! Think about it, when have I ever joked about him with you?” During those first difficult days after the breakup, Zoe had taken time off work to be with me every day. She knew better than anyone how much Alex meant to me. She had indeed never joked about him. “Really?” I started to believe her. Zoe: “Yes, really! I’m not lying, I actually ran into him! He was dressed all fancy, like he might have a new girlfriend. Maybe he’s waiting to pick someone up for a date right now! Oh, by the way, what gossip were you talking about?” New… girlfriend? Of everything Zoe said, all I could hear was Alex dressed up nicely and Alex having a new girlfriend. We’ve only been broken up for six months. I had just started to move on, and he’s already dating someone new? Fine, he can date whoever he wants. But did he have to pick someone who lives in my building? I was furious. I sat up abruptly. “Let’s go! Let’s go see.” I got ready as quickly as possible – washing up, putting on makeup, choosing an outfit, styling my hair… For our first encounter since the breakup, I couldn’t lose face!

Alex Shaw was a year ahead of me in high school. During those years, he was something of a celebrity at school. He came from a good family, had great looks, and was a top student. Many girls had crushes on him. I was just one of many. I also fantasized about winning over this unattainable guy, but it was just a fantasy. The closest I ever got to him was watching him on the basketball court from the bleachers. Even among the crowd of spectators, I was unremarkable. The turning point came on an ordinary hot summer day. During a break in the game, his eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on me. Like a dream, he walked straight towards me and “borrowed” the water bottle from my hand. Then he tilted his head back and drained the entire bottle. “Hey, add me on SnapChat so I can pay you back for the water.” Those were the first words he ever said to me. “N-no… I mean, sure, let’s add each other.” I fumbled for my phone in a daze. And just like that, we connected on social media. Even with his contact info, I never imagined anything would happen between us. I only messaged him on holidays. “Happy 4th of July, Alex.” “Happy 4th.” “Happy Thanksgiving, Alex.” “Happy Thanksgiving.” … Out of politeness, he always replied. During our senior year, I found out he was planning to study abroad for college. After much deliberation, I decided to close this chapter of my youth. I gathered my courage and confessed to him. “Alex, I’ve actually liked you for a long time.” He replied instantly: “Then let’s be together.” Me: ???!!! And just like that, we started dating. Looking back now, it all seems so rushed and impulsive.

I spent over an hour doing my makeup and getting ready. As we headed downstairs, Zoe kept fretting that my hair didn’t look quite right and worrying that Alex might have already left with someone. Zoe: “It’s been so long, he’s probably gone by now.” I also thought Alex was likely gone, but I still wanted to go down and see. Not for any particular reason. I just wanted to know what kind of person could truly capture Alex’s heart. Surprisingly, Alex was still there. After six months apart, he hadn’t changed much. No matter where he stood, he was always the most eye-catching person around. Some girls passing by sneaked glances at him. He seemed oblivious, just looking down at his phone with furrowed brows, appearing quite irritated. Well, of course. Waiting so long for someone who never showed up, who wouldn’t be annoyed? Zoe marveled, “What kind of goddess could make Alex Shaw willingly wait this long?” Indeed, Alex was never a very patient person. When we were together, he had never waited this long for me. It was always me waiting for him. Thinking back to the days before our breakup, my emotions were complicated. My footsteps involuntarily slowed. Finally, I stopped moving altogether. “Let’s go back,” I said, turning around. Zoe: “Hey, wait!” “We’ve broken up. Whoever he’s with now has nothing to do with me.” Zoe: “That’s not…” “Don’t say anything, Zoe. I’ve finally moved on. I don’t want to fall back into old patterns.” Zoe grabbed me: “Shut up! He’s coming this way!” “Chloe Williams.” At the same moment, Alex called out to me. Zoe slipped away upstairs. Alex and I stood face to face, momentarily speechless. Up close, he seemed to have lost some weight. His jawline was more defined than before. Zoe said he was dressed up nicely, and she was right. He even wore cologne, giving off a faint scent of cedar – clean and refreshing. That jerk! I think this cologne might even be the one I gave him! “You said you wanted to see me?” I asked coldly. Alex was visibly confused: “You’re asking me?” “Who else?” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a beautiful woman walking in our direction. My heart sank. “If you have nothing to say, I’ll leave. Don’t want to keep you from your girlfriend.” “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?” Alex looked completely baffled. The woman walked off in another direction. I was bewildered: “You’re not here to meet your girlfriend? Then why are you here?” “Chloe Williams, you’re asking me?” Alex repeated, still confused. “You called me out in the middle of the night, didn’t answer my calls or messages, and I’ve been waiting for you since last night until now. And now you’re asking me why I’m here?” Alex stared at me like I was the one who had wronged him.

“I… called you out?” I was dumbfounded. “When did this happen?” “Check your phone,” Alex said irritably. I felt my pockets: “I didn’t bring it.” Alex took a deep breath and pulled out his own phone. He opened it, glanced at it, then quickly put it away. “Last night, you told me to come see you, saying you had something to tell me.” His face was cold, his tone very unpleasant. I tried to recall. A thousand curses ran through my mind. No way, no way. Did I send the message meant for Zoe to Alex instead? “Um, well.” I couldn’t meet Alex’s eyes anymore. Alex was still cold: “Well what?” “Actually…” Alex tilted his chin up, gesturing for me to continue. I hesitated for a moment, then resigned myself: “Actually, that message wasn’t meant for you.” “I’m sorry, Alex. I was really drunk last night.” He froze, then his face darkened like he wanted to strangle me. Back home, I ignored Zoe’s questions and searched everywhere for my phone. When I found it, I realized it had died at some point. Zoe: “So? So? What happened? Huh?” I plugged in my phone to charge: “He came to see me.” “What for? To get back together?” I told Zoe everything that had happened from start to finish. “So, you’re the goddess he waited all night for?” Zoe was shocked. “He came just because of one text message, and waited from last night until now. Could it be… he still has feelings for you?” Zoe’s eyes sparkled with gossip. I turned on my phone, and the screen immediately lit up with notifications. Some were from Zoe, some from Alex. There were over a dozen missed calls, mostly from Alex too. Zoe: “Quick, check what Alex said!” I hesitantly opened the chat. 23:11 Alex: “You think I’ll come just because you tell me to? We broke up, stop treating me like your dog.” 0:0

Alex: “Chloe, I’m downstairs.” 0:0

Alex: “Say what you need to say now. Answer the phone.” “Hahahahaha!” Zoe burst into laughter next to my ear. “Chloe Williams, are you sure he doesn’t like you anymore? Look how well-trained he is now, haha!” 5 The reason for my breakup with Alex was very simple. There was no cheating, no misunderstanding. He just didn’t love me, that’s all. Shortly after we got together, Alex went abroad for college. It’s no exaggeration to say that at that time, we barely even knew each other. Long-distance relationships are hard. A long-distance relationship between two people who barely know each other is even harder. Add in the time difference, and it becomes nearly impossible. Back then, I often felt like I didn’t even have a boyfriend. When I opened SnapChat, our chat history was so bland, without a hint of flirtation. Alex: “Have you eaten?” “Just finished class.” “It’s snowing.” [Video] Me: “The snow looks beautiful.” I’d get his reply the next day: “Still snowing.” [Video] The day after, me: “It’s really coming down.” … A month later, I brought up breaking up for the first time. Three days later, Alex flew back to see me. Looking at his impatient handsome face, I immediately regretted it. Alex: “Can we not break up?” “Okay.” And so we continued our rocky relationship. For a whole year, we never watched a movie together, never celebrated Valentine’s Day. He never forgot to send gifts, but they were always things I couldn’t use. A junior started pursuing me, not believing I had a boyfriend. When I mentioned Alex’s name, he said, “Come on, don’t joke. My ex is Jennifer Lawrence.” I was stunned, suddenly wondering what Alex and I really were to each other. Why couldn’t I have a normal relationship like everyone else? When I’m old, looking back… I’d have nothing to reminisce about. After much thought, I brought up breaking up with Alex again. That afternoon, Alex suddenly appeared before me. With a grim expression, he tossed me a box: “Happy birthday, ex-girlfriend.” My birthday was the next day. He had flown back early, intending to surprise me. I accepted the ugly necklace he said he had spent a long time choosing. The breakup talk was, once again, left unresolved. We truly ended things after he returned to the States. When Alex was abroad, I thought distance was our only problem. With the distance gone, I realized there were other things between us. He was very busy, often forgetting to reply to my messages. We’d make plans to see a movie on the weekend, and I’d end up sitting alone in the theater until the credits rolled. We’d plan a trip, I’d even request time off work, then he’d say he had a business trip. On Valentine’s Day, all I got was flowers he ordered. Seeing him in person was out of the question. … I finally understood. He simply didn’t love me. That’s why everything else came before me. What was the point of a relationship like this? After being stood up yet again, I told Alex we were breaking up and blocked him on everything. Two weeks later, in the dead of night, I quietly unblocked Alex. I went through his TikTok, then his Twitter, then his Instagram. Alex was living his best life. He really didn’t love me. 6 Yes, I was the one who broke up with Alex, but I had my reasons. The way he talked about it made it sound like I was the bad guy. Earlier downstairs, after hearing my explanation, he looked so hurt. What did he have to be hurt about? In our relationship, I was the victim. I opened Instagram and saw he had even shared a very emo song. Me: “…” Utterly speechless, I was about to close the app when I accidentally liked his post. My phone immediately buzzed with a message from Alex. Alex: “?” Come on, man. That reaction was a bit too quick. I didn’t reply, so Alex sent more: “??” “???” He seemed determined to keep going until I responded. Reluctantly, I typed: “Misclick, sorry.” Alex: “Oh. Another misclick.” No matter how I looked at it, it seemed like he was mocking me for last night’s misdirected message. Sending the wrong message was my fault, and making him wait so long was my bad. But when we were together, he stood me up plenty of times too. I only made him wait this once, and it wasn’t even on purpose. Thinking about it this way, my feelings of guilt disappeared. “Didn’t I wait for you countless times before? You only waited for me this once, seems like you came out ahead if you ask me.” Five minutes passed, then ten. Alex didn’t reply. He probably realized he was in the wrong and had nothing to say. I smirked and put down my phone. The phone buzzed with a new message. Alex: “It wasn’t just once.” “I’ve been waiting for you downstairs since we broke up.” “I waited for three days, then saw you come back with another guy.” “Who was he?”

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The night before the SAT Finals, my overachiever boyfriend, Carter Paxton, handed me an “essential” essay topic he guaranteed would appear on the test. Trusting him, I memorized it word for word. Incredibly, the essay prompt was precisely as he predicted. I gleefully wrote it out during the test, sure I’d score top marks. But when the results were released, my perfect record shattered—I scored only 280 overall! Meanwhile, Sloane Whitmore, who usually lagged academically, soared to become the valedictorian, cozying up to Carter in celebration. Devastated, I took my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to 10 minutes before the test started. That’s when I noticed Sloane’s sly, calculating stare. Content I had been reborn, back to 10 minutes before the SAT began. Carter Paxton stood before me, his smile a picture of reassurance. “Hannah, don’t stress. Just write the essay I gave you exactly as it is. I’ll see you at Union State University,” he said smoothly. “You’re brilliant and hardworking as always—I have no doubt in you,” he added. To ensure I would use his essay, Carter had grilled me relentlessly in the previous life. I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. In my past life, he said the same things. And yet, when the scores came out, my essay was flagged as plagiarized, earning me a zero on my English Literature and Composition paper. But why wasn’t it Sloane Whitmore accused of copying me? When I confronted Sloane, she had denied it all, smugly claiming, “Hannah, I turned in my paper early. How could I have copied yours? The surveillance footage even shows you glancing my way repeatedly. If anyone cheated, it was you!” My scores were abysmal—20 in math, barely passing in other subjects. My protests were dismissed as excuses. It didn’t make sense, no matter how I thought about it. Until this moment when Carter handed me a pencil case, inside was a pen, and I realized it had ink that had disappeared within 12 hours. I snatched the pencil case from him without hesitation, masking my revulsion as his grin deepened. “Hannah, I’ll be right here if you feel nervous. Just look over at me and think of us,” Carter said soothingly. In my past life, surveillance footage had caught me glancing out the window—toward Sloane’s desk. I had trusted Carter implicitly, assuming Sloane had sweet-talked him into giving her the essay prompt. Swallowing my disgust, I turned to him with a saccharine smile. “Carter, you’re so thoughtful. I’d be lost without you.” “Of course, silly. We’re forever. Now go ace that test.” I headed toward the exam hall. Along the way, I bought a regular pen at an inflated price from Dane Hargrove, the second-ranking student in our class. It was worth it for peace of mind. As I passed a classroom, I noticed a discarded bottle of red ink on the floor. Picking it up, I grinned—this was divine intervention. This time, I wasn’t just aiming to survive. I was going to make Carter and Sloane pay. In the exam queue, Sloane scanned the crowd until her eyes locked on me, and her lips curled into a satisfied smile at the sight of the pencil case in my hand. “Sloane! Your dress! What happened?” someone exclaimed. Sloane turned to see an unmistakable blotch of red on her skirt—a result of my “accidental” handiwork. Her face drained of color. Flustered, she shoved her pencil case into a friend’s hands and ran toward the restroom. “Let me take it for her. Sloane’s desk is next to mine,” I offered before anyone could respond, snatching the case. Inside, I swapped her pen cartridge with the one Carter had prepared for me. 2 That cursed pen had doomed me to a score of 280 in my past life. While I had used my fountain pen for the essay, I relied on that faulty pen for every other subject, and the results were catastrophic. No one believed me when I denied plagiarism. Without proof, my protests fell on deaf ears. My college acceptance vanished, replaced by blocklisting from every high school in the area. Sloane paraded my “academic dishonesty” online and told reporters, “Hannah’s entire record was fake. I won’t press charges, but her cheating caused real harm. She owes her peers, teachers, and society an apology.” Her words fueled a wildfire of public condemnation. In her pristine white dress, Sloane gave tearful interviews while Carter comforted her, becoming her knight in shining armor. Meanwhile, I endured harassment—death threats, insults, and even packages containing dead animals. Sloane rode her “high-achieving victim” narrative to an acceptance at Union State University and became a media darling. She and Carter were hailed as the perfect couple, while I was painted as a conniving fraud. Even my family believed the lies. My father’s sighs and my mother’s tears broke me. I took my own life to escape the shame. I would ensure they paid the price for everything they took from me. On test day, Sloane finished early, passing by with a smirk. She made small noises to distract me, hoping I’d glance her way for the cameras. This time, I gave her the satisfaction of two deliberate glances—just enough to confirm she hadn’t swapped pens. Watching her write Carter’s pre-prepared essay, oblivious to the vanishing ink, almost made me laugh out loud. Carter and Sloane had no idea I had improved the essay they thought would secure Sloane’s perfect score. Mine was refined and structured for maximum impact. When the results came out, I couldn’t wait to see their faces go pale. 3 The math, English, and composite exams followed in quick succession. I watched Sloane Whitmore tap her foot happily as she scribbled answers during the test. When the final bell rang, we left the examination hall together. Outside, Carter Paxton greeted me with a broad smile and a casual wave. “How’d it go, Hannah? Did the essay I prepared for you come up?” he asked, his tone soft and caring. As he spoke, he took my pencil case from me and discreetly tossed the pen into the nearest trash can. A cheap pen worth a couple of bucks wasn’t worth keeping, and he visibly relaxed after getting rid of it. Trailing close behind me, Sloane saw Carter’s action. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Hannah, what did you write for your essay?” Sloane asked, leaning in with the overwhelming scent of her bargain-bin perfume. Feigning naivety, I recited the essay Carter had drilled into me word for word. Sloane’s and Carter’s initial curiosity transformed into uncontainable glee. “You wrote that? Wow, Carter’s incredible—he predicted it perfectly! And he’s in college already, yet he still cares so much about your SATs. You’re so lucky!” “Seriously, Carter’s amazing. He even helps his girlfriend prep for her college essays! That kind of foresight is rare,” another chimed in. “If Carter had tutored me, I wouldn’t have flunked my essay. Hannah, you’re lucky to have such a talented and thoughtful boyfriend. It’s like he’s one in a million!” The chatter of classmates surrounded me, and Sloane pretended to join in with half-hearted admiration while Carter placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze—a subtle celebration of their scheme. I caught the knowing glances they exchanged, and the smugness in their eyes made my stomach churn. In my past life, I was too blind to notice their unspoken communication and perfectly synchronized acts. “Now that the exams are over, we should all celebrate! One last hurrah before we go our separate ways,” suggested Dane Hargrove, the class president, with cheerful enthusiasm. Of course, I agreed. I knew exactly what was coming next. In my previous life, Carter went on camera and accused me of having a “habit of stealing.” He claimed that my plagiarism of Sloane’s essay was just the tip of the iceberg. But the real thief had always been Carter. He’d stolen money meant for our housekeeper, Mrs. Ellie Carter—$10,000 in cash. No one suspected him back then. When the money went missing, my parents blamed me and cut off my allowance for a month. “Ellie, this money is for you,” my mother had said sternly. “Hannah, if you took it, just admit it. People make mistakes, but honesty is what matters.” “I expected better from you,” my father said, his disappointment cutting me like a knife. I knew I had left the money for Mrs. Carter, but my protests fell on deaf ears. In this life, when I saw Carter eyeing Mrs. Carter’s paycheck again, I replaced the real cash with fake bills. At the dinner celebration, Sloane enthusiastically pointed at the menu, calling for all the most expensive items—wild-caught Maine Lobster and other delicacies. The waiter scribbled down her lavish order. “Carter, you’re finally here! Sloane’s been thinking about your love for seafood and ordered much just for you. I couldn’t stop her!” Jade Ellington chimed in, her tone syrupy sweet. “She even skipped the shrimp because you’re allergic, even though it’s her favorite. She’s always so thoughtful,” Jade added. “Oh, you!” Sloane said with mock modesty, nudging Jade playfully. Carter’s gaze softened as he looked at Sloane with what could only be described as quiet admiration. 4 I wasn’t here for the food. My focus was elsewhere. Feigning confusion, I asked, “Wait, is Sloane picking up the tab? With all this fancy seafood, it’s gotta be pricey!” In my past life, Sloane had publicly accused me of being a homewrecker during a similar dinner. She rallied everyone against me, painting herself as the victim of my supposed interference in her relationship with Carter. What should’ve been a simple “split the bill” dinner ended with me being stuck with the entire check under the guise of “making peace.” Not this time. I flipped through the menu and let my eyebrows rise in exaggerated worry. “Wow, this place is expensive! There’s a more affordable spot nearby. We’re all just broke students—maybe we should go there instead.” I emphasized “broke students,” knowing someone’s ego wouldn’t be able to take it. Sure enough, Jade Ellington sneered at me like I’d just grown another head. “Broke? Speak for yourself. Just because we’re students doesn’t mean we’re broke! Besides, Hannah, doesn’t your family own a business? What’s with the penny-pinching?” I let my gaze linger on the fine print at the bottom of the menu: a $300 minimum per person. Thinking about Carter’s hollow bravado and empty wallet made me almost giddy. “No big deal, Hannah,” Dane Hargrove chimed in. “Let’s enjoy the night! A little splurge won’t hurt anyone, and Carter definitely wouldn’t fit in at a cheap diner.” “Oh, don’t worry about it, Hannah,” Sloane added, her tone dripping with faux kindness. “If you’re struggling to pay, we could all pitch in and cover your share.” That fake generosity burned me in my past life, but I had no shame this time. “Sloane, you’re so thoughtful. Thanks! I’ve been short on cash lately,” I replied with a cheerful smile. “Since we’re celebrating, maybe I’ll add a couple of nice drinks to my order. Cheers to us!” Sloane’s smile twitched. “You… you…” Just then, the waiter arrived. “Would you like to order now?” “Yes,” I said sweetly. “Let’s add a bottle of Dom Pérignon, please.” Sloane stiffened, her grip on her fork tightening. The waiter approached with his notepad in hand. “So far, we have truffle and mushroom wagyu stir-fry, premium black and white caviar…” I glanced at the menu items Sloane Whitmore had already ordered. Nearly every item was the most expensive seafood available. If she was going all out, why shouldn’t I? “Let’s add a bottle of Château Lafite and a round of specialty cocktails,” I said with a saccharine smile. Sloane’s lips twitched as she clenched her fork. Jade Ellington, ever the gossip, seized the moment to strike. “So, Hannah, how long have you and Carter been together?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence. I knew this was a trap. In my past life, I’d answered honestly and ended up branded with a massive “homewrecker” label. “One year? Wasn’t it the summer before senior year?” I had answered back then, and her response sealed my fate. “Oh, so there was no gap at all? That’s proof you swooped in while Carter and Sloane were still sorting things out! Hannah, that’s so gross. Poor Sloane was too kind to say anything,” Jade had sneered. “Yeah, Sloane and Carter were arguing—they hadn’t officially broken up! But you jumped at the chance, didn’t you? How shameless can you be?” another classmate said, feeding off the drama. “Don’t hold me back, Sloane!” Jade had cried dramatically, trying to slap me as tears streamed down her face. Sloane, always the consummate actress, pretended to restrain her. Back then, Carter’s silence was deafening. “Let’s move on, everyone. I’ll do what I can to make it up to Sloane,” he said, his voice full of empty promises. His refusal to defend me was more damning than any accusation. I’d stormed out of the restaurant, humiliated. 5 In this lifetime, I played my cards differently. Feigning shyness, I tugged on Carter’s sleeve, lowering my gaze like a bashful girlfriend. “Almost three years,” Carter replied smoothly, calm and composed. “Three years?!” Jade Ellington nearly dropped her fork. “But I thought it was only one year! Senior year, right?” “I’ve been with Hannah since her sophomore year,” Carter said. “I’ve had a crush on her for a long time.” He added, “I didn’t want to distract her from her studies, so we only went public in senior year. I didn’t want her to deal with unnecessary rumors.” Sloane Whitmore’s face turned ashen. Her brows furrowed deeply as she stammered, “What about… us?” Sloane had basked in the assumption of being with Carter during their junior year. She’d never confirmed the rumors outright but had played along coyly whenever classmates teased her about it. Carter, however, looked directly at her and delivered the blow: “There’s never been an ‘us.’ Hannah has always been my only girlfriend.” His words left no room for interpretation. On the way to dinner, I’d subtly planted seeds with Carter. “My dad mentioned how grateful he is for all the help you’ve given me with my studies,” I said. “He joked about paying you $200,000 for tutoring me.” Carter’s brows had knitted for a moment, but when I continued, “You’ve been so selfless, even keeping our relationship private to protect me,” his tension eased. Now, under the scrutiny of everyone at the table, Carter took my hand and kissed it gently. “Silly girl,” he said, his voice dripping with sweetness. “Three years hardly captures how long I’ve cared about you.” Sloane looked as though she’d been struck by lightning. Her dazed expression only cleared when Jade tugged her sleeve, snapping her back to the present. “This is Carter’s notebook,” Sloane said, handing over a thick stack of notes. “The exams are over, and I don’t need it anymore.” As she passed the notebook to Carter, a receipt fluttered out, landing near my feet. Curious, I bent down and picked it up. It was a Chanel receipt for a limited-edition “Snow White” bag addressed to Carter Paxton. I looked up to see Sloane smirking at me with smug satisfaction. Carter’s nervous glance darted between me and the receipt. “Sloane, a Snow White bag? That’s quite the gift,” I said, holding the receipt. Sloane’s triumphant smirk widened. I turned the receipt over to inspect it closer. “But isn’t this line exclusive? As far as I know, it’s not available in the U.S. It might be worth getting it authenticated.” The color drained from Sloane’s face. Moments later, she called over the waiter, glaring at him. “Be careful with the sauce! Don’t let a single drop touch my bag!” All eyes turned to the white bag she cradled protectively. “That’s a gorgeous bag,” Jade said, touching it. “Careful!” Sloane snapped, swatting her hand away. “This cost over ten grand. It’s not for greasy fingers.” I watched the performance with cool detachment. Having owned the same bag, I knew hers was a counterfeit. I held up the receipt, pretending to scrutinize it further. “Sloane, your receipt dropped. Funny, though—this bag isn’t sold stateside. It’s worth checking out, just in case.” Carter’s expression turned gray, his lips pressing into a tight line.

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I’ve always known since I was little, that a person could mean less than a dog. To my mom, I was worth far less than her precious dog. Her dog could stay by her side, soaking in her endless care. But me? When I was barely a month old, she sent me to the countryside to fend for myself. A fever, one she ignored, left my left leg permanently damaged. I didn’t cry, didn’t complain. Quietly, I erased all ties between her and me. But later, when she heard I’d found a new mom, she completely lost her mind. Content My name is Gabrielle Hackett. Gabe, for short. My name might as well mean “extra” because, to my career-driven mom and love-struck dad, their perfect little world never needed a kid like me. The year I was born, Mom’s career was soaring. She was set to perform at Lincoln Center, achieving her lifelong dream of being the prima ballerina she’d always aspired to be. When she first found out she was pregnant, she wanted to terminate. But her body couldn’t handle it. The doctors warned her that terminating the pregnancy could cause irreversible damage. That was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. Dad, hopelessly devoted to her, was terrified of losing her. “Once the baby’s born, we can hire a nanny. The baby won’t stop you from dancing,” he promised her. With Dad’s persuasion and the doctor’s reassurance, I—who was never supposed to exist—was brought into the world. However, during delivery, complications arose because of my oversized head. The doctors fought to save her life, but she was left paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her days. Because of me, Mom’s career was destroyed. I became the villain in her story from the moment I was born. She never smiled at me, only met me with endless disdain and bitter words. To console her, once her health stabilized, Dad whisked her away for a vacation to help her recover. And me? They left me in the hospital’s incubator, completely forgotten. Thankfully, a kindhearted nurse called Dad to remind him to pick me up. But in the end, it wasn’t my parents who came for me—it was the nanny they’d hired. Throughout my infancy, my parents never once held me. Mom had plenty of milk to breastfeed me, but she wouldn’t. She’d pump it and pour it all down the drain instead. The nanny tried to persuade her. “Breastfeeding is good for the baby.” Mom sneered. “That thing isn’t good enough to drink my milk.” Maybe her cold, cutting voice upset me, but I cried endlessly in my bassinet. The nanny rushed to comfort me, but Mom was visibly annoyed. “Crying, crying, always crying! It’d be better if she just died already!” That was her go-to line. If not for my eyes—eyes that resembled hers so closely—even the nanny might have doubted I was her child. There are probably few kids in this world who, from birth, are showered with nothing but rejection. Mom made it an art. She’d instead I suffer than let herself endure the slightest inconvenience. But she didn’t know back then that life had a way of balancing the scales. The pain you spare yourself by neglecting your children will one day return to you tenfold.

My constant crying grated on Mom’s nerves so much that when I was only a month old, she packed me off to my grandmother, Dolores Whitaker, in the countryside. But Grandma didn’t love me either. Dad had married Mom against Grandma’s wishes. She despised Mom, blaming her for driving a wedge between them. Her hatred for Mom extended to me, Mom’s child. Living with Grandma meant sharing space with my cousin, Finnigan Wilder, who was two years older than me. Compared to Finn, my life was less than that of an abandoned puppy. Whenever Grandma took us out, she’d plop me on the ground while carrying Finn, gossiping with neighbors while I crawled aimlessly nearby. Once, while her attention was elsewhere, I crawled straight into the middle of a road and was nearly hit by an oncoming car. A kind stranger quickly scooped me up and returned me to Grandma. Her response? A hard slap on my back. “Wild little brat with no mother! If you’re so set on running off, just let the cars finish you!” I couldn’t even talk yet, but the pain made me cry out instinctively. Grandma didn’t soothe me. Instead, she angrily dragged me back home and locked me in a room until I cried myself unconscious. As I grew older and learned to walk, I knew obeying was the only way to avoid punishment. But obedience came at a cost: suffocating humiliation. While Finn got to eat meat, I was lucky to get the broth. When Finn got new clothes every few months, I was left with his torn and patched-up hand-me-downs. Even when it came to pocket money, Grandma had no trouble giving Finn coins for candy, but when I asked, I’d only get a scolding. “Go ask your mom! She makes all that money and doesn’t return a penny to help us. What good is she?” I didn’t know how to ask Mom for help. The only solution my childish mind could think of was sitting at Greenwood Orchard Trail every day, waiting for her to return. Most of what I knew about myself came from the whispered gossip of neighbors. Like how I must have been too disobedient for Mom to want me. Or how I wasn’t sent to preschool because “it wasn’t necessary.” I listened quietly, but my hope stayed stubborn. I kept waiting for Mom to return. The seasons changed, and the years passed. When I was six, during a summer as humid as any other in Clover Hill, my waiting finally paid off. But what I experienced that day was a pain I’ll never forget.

Early in the morning, after hearing that my parents were finally returning, I put on my cleanest dress and hurried to Greenwood Orchard Trail to wait for them. The neighborhood ladies who passed by had grown used to seeing me there. Occasionally, they’d tease me with their sharp tongues. “Gabe, waiting for your mom again? It’s been years. She doesn’t want you anymore, you know!” Most days, I’d bow my head like a scolded puppy, clutch my sleeves, and silently cry. But today, I stood tall, defiant hope swelling inside me. “She does want me! She’s coming back today!” A loud honk echoed in the distance, confirming my words like divine proof. I caught a glimpse of her in the passenger seat and ran as fast as I could toward the car. The vehicle stopped, and my mother, Evelyn Hackett, stepped out. It had been so long since I’d seen her that her voice sounded strangely soft. “Baby, slow down…” I thought she was calling me, and my heart soared. I ran even faster. But as I reached her, I froze. She wasn’t calling me. Gently, she reached back into the car and cradled a small, white dog in her arms. “Baby, the ground’s dirty. Let Mommy carry you, okay?” Her “baby” wasn’t me. It was the little dog swaddled in her arms. Its tiny body was covered in silky fur, and its head was adorned with two dainty pink bows clipped to its ears. The children in Clover Hill had never seen such an elegant dog before. I didn’t know the breed, but Grandma had always said, “A dog is just a dog, no matter how fancy. It’ll never be a person.” I stared at the dog, tears welling up uncontrollably. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Maybe I envied the pretty bows on its head. Mom had never given me anything so lovely. No, she’d never given me anything at all. I remembered her first video call to Grandma after she’d left me in the countryside. I’d purposely wandered into the camera’s view, hoping to see her face and get her attention. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Why does she look worse every time I see her? She can’t possibly be my kid.” Her disdain pierced the screen like a dagger, straight to my chest. Maybe if I looked cleaner, I thought she’d like me better. So, at six years old, I learned to scrub clothes and wash shoes. In the freezing winters, my hands turned red and raw from the icy water, my knuckles cracking painfully so I could be present for her next video call. What did I get for my efforts? Grandma scoffed at me, saying I was only pretending to be hardworking so I wouldn’t get scolded. Mom glanced at my frostbitten cheeks on the call, her look of contempt even more profound than before. “She looks worse every time. What’s wrong with her?” She had no idea how much I longed for her to return day after day, season after season. And now that she was here, calling a dog “baby” while ignoring me completely, the pain hit harder than ever. At six years old, what did I know about jealousy or heartache? I just couldn’t stop crying. My sobs annoyed her immediately. “I told you we shouldn’t have come back. This is exactly why! All she does is cry—so annoying. She’s nothing like my Baby, so obedient and quiet!” As if understanding her words, the dog yapped in my direction, mocking me. Mom didn’t scold it. She scolded me instead. “Stop crying! Look, you’ve scared Baby!” I stared at her, struggling to hold back tears. My voice cracked as I whimpered, “Mommy…” She didn’t even glance at me. She turned her back, holding the dog tighter, and walked away. My father, Nathaniel Hackett, followed close behind her, carrying bags of treats and toys for the dog like her shadow. He, too, ignored me entirely. I was left in the middle of the path, dazed and forgotten. That’s when my cousin, Finn Wilder, snickered behind me. “Your mom’s something, huh? Treating a dog like her daughter. What’s so special about it?” Eight-year-old Finn was full of curiosity. When Mom wasn’t paying attention, he lured the dog away with a bone. Holding it in his hands, he teased it relentlessly. The dog snarled, baring its teeth at him. Startled, Finn flung it aside. The poor creature flailed in the air, landing awkwardly on its feet, only to stumble off the second-floor balcony. It hit the ground with a sickening thud. “Baby!” Mom’s scream tore through the yard. Finn bolted, leaving me standing there, too stunned to react. When Mom looked up, cradling her lifeless dog, her eyes met mine. “Gabe!” At that moment, I knew I was in deep trouble.

Mom’s wailing brought the whole household outside. She clutched her dog, her face red with grief, while Dad dragged me off the balcony and threw me to the ground. “It wasn’t me! It slipped and fell on its own!” I cried, trying to explain. But Mom’s glare cut through me like a knife. “Don’t you dare lie to me! From the moment we arrived, I could see you didn’t like Baby. But I didn’t think you’d be this cruel. She was only a year old! How could you kill something so innocent and sweet?” Her anger made her forget entirely that I was her child. I panicked, terrified she’d disown me, and fell to my knees. “Mommy, it wasn’t me! I didn’t push it…” She turned her back, hugging the dog closer, refusing to listen. “I hate kids who lie. If I’d known you’d turn out like this, I never would’ve had you.” Her words stabbed me more profoundly than any punishment ever could. Desperate, I blurted out an apology I didn’t mean. “Mom, I’m sorry! I just wanted to play with Baby. I didn’t mean for this to happen…” I thought admitting guilt would make her less angry, but it only gave her more ammunition. Turning to Dad, she raised her voice in accusation. “See? I told you she’s the one who killed Baby! And you still thought coming back to see her was a good idea. How could someone as perfect as us produce such a horrible child?” Convinced by her words, Dad began ushering her toward the car, leaving me behind. Frightened, I threw myself at her legs, clinging tightly. “Mommy, please don’t leave me! I swear I’ll be good!” I sobbed uncontrollably, but her expression didn’t soften. She walked away with Dad without glancing at me, leaving me in the dirt. I stumbled after them but collapsed after just a few steps, the world fading into darkness.

The fever that burned through me lingered for two weeks before it finally subsided. Grandma Dolores paraded around the neighborhood, bragging about her “effective homemade remedies.” What she didn’t mention were the awful side effects. It wasn’t until I started school that I noticed something was wrong. My left leg would sometimes go numb without warning. At first, the episodes were infrequent, so I didn’t think much of it or tell anyone. Why would I? I knew no one would care. It wasn’t until I graduated elementary school that the problem worsened. I started tripping over myself, my limp becoming noticeable. That’s when I realized just how serious it was. But by then, it was too late for treatment. Mom’s resentment only grew. Six years had passed since Baby’s death, and she had finally moved on. But she would never accept a daughter with a limp. I was nothing but a blemish to someone as obsessed with perfection as Evelyn Hackett. By then, I was used to it. I had grown so independent I hardly noticed her absence. I walked to school and back, lived on my schedule, and never relied on anyone. It wasn’t all bad. The only thread connecting me to my parents was the monthly allowance they sent. But when I entered middle school, even that tiny tie began to fray. Teenagers can be cruel, and I became the perfect target. A small, frail girl with a limp and no parents to stand up for her? I was easy prey. The bullies stuffed all kinds of disgusting things into my desk. Sometimes it was worms. Other times, it was frogs. But the creatures always shared one thing: their legs were broken. I knew they were mocking me, but I didn’t have the strength to fight back. Like the helpless frogs they left behind, the more I struggled, the more viciously they attacked. The worst incident happened when I found a dead centipede in my backpack. Its body was dry and shriveled, its legs entirely gone. It was horrifying. That day, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I ran to the teacher, sobbing as I told her what had been happening. The school took the bullying seriously. The teacher called the bullies’ parents—and my mom. Her response? It’s as cold as ever. “Why are they only picking on you? Maybe you should take a good look at yourself. Figure out what you’re doing wrong. If you keep causing trouble, just quit school. I don’t want you embarrassing me any further.” I shouldn’t have been surprised, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Her indifference emboldened my bullies even more. After a scolding from the school, they started taking my allowance every month as soon as it arrived. They didn’t care how I’d survive after. With no other choice, I started working in the school cafeteria, trading labor for meals. But even that wasn’t enough for them. Once they had spent all the money they had stolen from me, they pressured me to find other ways to earn more. “See that bar over there? Girls your age can make hundreds in a night dancing onstage.” “I heard your mom’s a dancer. Bet you’re just as good, huh?” I shook my head, stepping back instinctively. I wasn’t stupid. I knew I could never go to a place like that. But they didn’t care what I thought. When I tried to run, one grabbed my hair and yanked me back. Another kicked my leg, sending a jolt of pain through my limp. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to march right in there and do what we tell you, or you’re dead meat!” Gritting my teeth, I snapped back, “Kill me, then! I’m not going!” “Look at you, acting tough,” one of them sneered. “No, Dad,o who will save you now?” Their laughter echoed in my ears as they dragged me toward the bar. I stopped struggling. My vision dimmed, and I felt the last bit of hope leave me. I hated my weakness, but I understood even more clearly that their audacity came from knowing I had no parents to rely on. They were cruel, awful kids, yet their parents enabled them without limits, excusing their every action. And me? I worked hard, stayed obedient, and did everything right. I was the “good girl” every neighbor praised. But still, I was the girl with a mother who gave birth to me—but never raised me.

A low, steady voice broke through the air like a lifeline as we neared the bar. “Gabe, you’re late getting home. Don’t you know your brother worries about you?” We all turned. Standing by the side of the road was a tall, skinny teenager in a faded denim jacket. His clean-cut appearance and quiet strength were undeniable. “Your brother?” one of the bullies asked suspiciously. I hesitated, but seeing my chance, I nodded rapidly. “Yes, that’s my brother! You’d better let me go, or he’ll make you regret it!” I had someone to lean on for the first time and didn’t hesitate to use it. But my bluff was short-lived. One of them squinted at him and laughed. “You’re full of crap! That’s Lachlan Merritt! His dad drank himself to death, and his mom was bedridden. No way he’s your brother!” Lachlan Merritt. The name tickled something in my memory, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. My lie was exposed, and the bullies yanked me forward again. Lachlan wasted no time. He charged forward like lightning, taking down two before anyone could react. The others scrambled to retaliate, but he held his ground, even against all six. By the time the bullies limped away, he was bleeding but unbowed. “Are you okay?” I whispered, holding out a tissue. He frowned, waving me off. “It’s nothing. Don’t make a fuss.” I grabbed his chin firmly, forcing him to face me. “You need to take care of small wounds. Leave them alone, and they’ll get worse!” I knew that better than anyone. If my fever had been appropriately treated, I wouldn’t have a limp today. He softened under my scolding. “How long has this been going on?” he asked. I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Just a month or so.” He looked down, guilt shadowing his face. “This is my fault.” “What?” I frowned, confused. “How could it be your fault?” That’s when I learned the truth. Lachlan was a friend of my cousin, Finn. Before Finn left for culinary school, he’d asked Lachlan to look out for me. Out of guilt for what had happened with Baby and my resulting fever, Finn had carried the weight of responsibility ever since. While Finn’s guilt had grown into overcompensation, Mom’s disdain for me had only deepened.

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On the eve of our wedding, Elliot Starling suddenly became incredibly busy. He couldn’t even attend the wedding venue to oversee the decorations, as we had planned. Feeling guilty, he called to reassure me. “Riverhaven’s got thunderstorms tonight. Be a good girl and stay home, okay? Don’t go out.” “Don’t worry about the setup. All you need to do is show up as the beautiful bride you are.” But I wasn’t convinced. I went to check for myself. And that’s when I saw him. In the massive helicopter parked on the lawn, a woman in a flight attendant’s uniform kneeled between his legs. “Sir, did my service meet your expectations?” Elliot smirked and pulled the woman into his arms. But that was supposed to be my wedding venue. The helicopter? That was supposed to be my dream. …… Content The rain in Riverhaven was relentless, a downpour so wild it shook the skies. By the time I stumbled back home, I was drenched, pale, and shivering like a drowned cat. Feverish and burning up, I fumbled for a fever pill, swallowed it dry, and curled up under a blanket to make a call. “Hello? I’ve changed my mind.” “I want to join Atlantic Skies Airways. Yes, as soon as possible.” I hung up, sneezing hard as the memory of what I’d just witnessed came crashing back. I stayed in Riverhaven for Elliot. Now, I was leaving because of him. The medication kicked in, and I closed my eyes. Not long after, Elliot’s call jolted me awake. His voice on the other end was as soft and soothing as if nothing had changed. “Sienna, I’m swamped. Have you been eating properly?” I coughed twice. Elliot instantly grew concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Didn’t dress warmly enough, or…” His worry stopped short. A new sharpness entered his tone. “Sienna… you went out, didn’t you?” “Mm,” I murmured weakly. “I went downstairs to grab breakfast. Didn’t realize how bad the rain was.” The tension on his end eased. “I told you not to go out in this storm! We’ll have someone bring whatever you need to the villa.” “Our wedding’s just days away. If you’re too sick to stand, where will I find a bride as beautiful as you?” I didn’t respond. All I could think about was the helicopter on the lawn and the woman in uniform. I was sure Elliot would find someone else. If I couldn’t reach the altar “Sienna?” When I stayed silent, Elliot hesitated. Then, muffled noises: a stifled gasp, interrupted breaths. He growled low at someone near him, half-scolding, half-playful. “Sienna, the rain’s awful. Someone bumped into me out here.” “Be careful, okay? Don’t drive too fast.” “Don’t worry.” Elliot’s tone lightened. “Just thinking about finishing these meetings and returning to you makes me want to push seventy on the highway!” “Gotta go. Call you later.” The line disconnected abruptly, his usual sweet nothings cut short. Moments later, a text arrived: “Sienna, the wedding company just called. There’s a problem with the helicopter we booked—they must send it back for repairs. How about we replace it with a giant floral arch?” Repairs, huh? I thought back to the scene in the helicopter. Or maybe it needed fixing because it got a little too steamy during… whatever that was? Honestly, having a helicopter at the wedding was absurdly extravagant. It was Elliot’s idea. When I was 24, in my first year as a flight attendant, I had a rude passenger pour a scalding cup of water onto my hand. I still had to crouch down and clean the cabin, fighting tears. At the time, Elliot was struggling with his startup. I couldn’t afford to take a break, even with bandages covering my burn. That scar is still there. Elliot had held me back then, his voice trembling as he made a promise: “When I make it big, I’ll take you on a helicopter ride.” “No passengers, no service duties. Just the two of us. Something romantic, just ours.” But he didn’t keep that promise. He gave our romance to someone else. Everything else since then? Just guilt-ridden scraps. I didn’t want them anymore. A confused cat emoji popped up in our chat window. I stared at the keyboard, typing a single word: “Okay.”

When Elliot’s assistant dropped off food for me, I was deep in a feverish sleep and didn’t hear the doorbell. By the time I woke up, the takeout outside was cold. When I opened the bag, everything was exactly what I liked: light and easy to eat. The microwave was there, but I couldn’t bring myself to reheat it. I felt nauseous instead. I shoved the containers into the fridge and called Quinn Sawyer my best friend. “I’m leaving,” I told her. For the next fifteen minutes, she unleashed a tirade against Elliot Starling. “Are you serious? He’s sitting on his high horse now, and you’re just going to walk away quietly? Do you know how much that would benefit him?” “If you ask me, you should marry him first! Gather all the dirt on his cheating and sue him for divorce. Take half his fortune while you’re at it!” “You’ve given him ten years, Sienna. Ten years of your life, and for what? To walk away with nothing?” Ten years. That’s how long Elliot and I had been together. I watched him start from nothing, fail, rebuild, and finally create his brand. The most challenging years were during the pandemic. His fledgling company was on the brink of collapse. My flights were cut by more than half. We had no choice but to give up our spacious apartment and move into a cramped basement apartment. Those days were brutal. It was brutal to the point where we practically fought the rats in the walls for scraps. Elliot had to repay suppliers on time, or it would ruin his credit. He took on grueling manual labor to make ends meet. I begged my boss for extra flights. No matter how disgusting, complex, or dangerous, I took every route they threw at me. Somehow, we survived. I’ll never forget the day we paid off our last debt. Elliot locked the door to the basement, dragged a suitcase in one hand, and held my hand in the other. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and said: “Sienna Raine, thank you for staying by my side.” “I, Elliot Starling, swear to God—one day, I’ll make something of myself and give you the grandest wedding imaginable!” Back then, his sincerity was like crystal—pure and transparent. But years of struggling had dulled its shine. Quinn wasn’t entirely wrong. From an outsider’s perspective, I probably should fight for something to justify my ten years with him. But if I said I didn’t hate Elliot, no one would believe me. There was a moment of rage—when I saw him with that woman in the helicopter. But after that, all I felt was exhaustion. I just wanted to leave. To get far away from him, from this place filled with a decade of memories, and start over. “I don’t want to make this ugly,” I said, lowering my gaze. Call me weak, call me a coward. I didn’t want to rip apart the veil of decency between us and destroy the best parts of our ten years together. Because those years were my youth. No matter how rotten he became, Elliot Starling was the man I had once loved with all my heart. Quinn sighed. “So when are you leaving?” I checked my inbox. Atlantic Skies Airways had already sent the offer letter. “Two days.” In just two days, I would be gone. It was 10 p.m., and Elliot still wasn’t home. Since his career took off, we lived on opposite schedules. Sometimes, I flew red-eye flights and returned to an empty house. Eventually, I requested not to fly at night. I just wanted to return home to some semblance of “us.” I’d gotten used to waiting. But tonight, I didn’t want to wait. Just as I turned off the lights, my phone rang. The sound of running water came through the line, sharp and jarring in the stillness of the night. “Sienna, don’t wait up for me.” “I was supposed to fly back tonight, but the moment I landed, they pulled me into back-to-back meetings.” “Everyone’s scrambling to get things done before I go on wedding leave…” “Don’t be mad, okay? After the wedding, I’ll make it up to you with the best honeymoon ever.” I wanted to ask him: What flight takes off from Liberty Tower’s rooftop terrace and lands at this hotel? What kind of meeting requires participants to shower before joining? But I said none of that. “Work’s important. Take care of yourself, too,” I replied instead. He started to say something, but then the sound of water stopped. Bare feet padded across hardwood. Clothing rustled. I could almost hear someone whispering near his ear. A dull thud followed. His phone hit the ground. Through the line came the unmistakable sounds of lips meeting lips. Maybe he was in such a rush he forgot to hang up. I listened masochistically until a woman’s soft, breathy voice broke through: “Elliot, are you getting married?” Elliot likely lit a cigarette. I could hear the exhale. “What else would I do?” he chuckled. “She’s been with me for ten years. I owe her a title. Can’t have people saying I’m heartless.” The woman sneered, her tone mocking. “What a generous older man. You never wondered if she, as a flight attendant, might’ve been with other men all these years?” Elliot didn’t respond. Unaware of his silence, the woman kept going. “I heard she flew a lot of Mexico flights. Aren’t those notorious?” “Plus, no one in her line of work is sponsor-free. Didn’t she bail you out during your financial crisis?” “Enough!” Elliot roared. “Speak out of turn again, and you’ll regret it! I know who Sienna Raine is, and it’s not your place to judge her!” I hung up, trembling from head to toe. I knew Elliot. He didn’t lose his temper without reason. He had listened, taken it in, and let it sink deep into his heart. Memories of those difficult years resurfaced. To pay off his debts, I flew countless Mexico flights. The conditions were beyond nasty. But worse were the leering stares, the feeling of being prey surrounded by wolves. By the end of each flight, my body bore black handprints I couldn’t wash away. Once, a passenger tricked me into coming to the back of the plane and then dragged me into the restroom to assault me. If not for a colleague passing by and hearing my cries for help, I might not have escaped. On the way home, I cried for hours. But when I reached the door, I dried my tears. I didn’t want Elliot to know. I didn’t want him to feel guilty or worried. So I said nothing—not about that, the men who offered to “sponsor” me or the businessmen who tried to date me. I rejected them all. Because I knew Elliot only had me. And I only had him. I believed in every promise he made and every word he spoke utterly. I believed he’d make it one day. And he did. But now, I didn’t want it anymore.

The following day, I woke up early, determined to start packing. I wanted to sort the more significant items for shipping before I left. I didn’t expect Elliot Starling to walk through the door. The photo frame holding our engagement picture from when I was 27 fell to the floor and shattered. I scrambled to pick it up, only to cut my finger on the broken glass. Blood dripped onto the floor. Elliot rushed over to help, his face full of worry. “You’re not feeling well. Lie down and rest. Let the cleaning lady handle this.” As he spoke, he angrily kicked the photo frame across the room. I froze, staring at the shards of glass and the photo now scattered on the floor. Tears welled in my eyes. That photo… was from the day we got engaged. When Elliot earned his first real paycheck, he bought me a simple white sundress and a modest diamond ring. He dragged me to take engagement photos, grinning the whole time. That same day, he promised to take me to the Liberty Tower Rooftop Terrace for their rotating buffet dinner. “That place costs thousands, doesn’t it?” I said, wincing at the thought. Elliot threw an arm around my shoulder and said confidently, “I make the money; you spend it. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?” I shook my head and teased him. “I hate sushi, and that place serves too much of it. I don’t want to ruin my stomach for days.” “How about this: buy me a big bowl of spicy mac and cheese with extra eggs. Save the rest of the money, and you can take me when I want to go.” He laughed, ruffled my hair, and said, “Deal.” But we never did have that bowl of spicy mac and cheese. And the wedding he promised? That had been postponed for seven years. Seven years gone by in a flash. Elliot noticed my tears and panicked. “Does it hurt?” I shook my head, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “Don’t cry, Sienna,” he said gently, wiping my face. “We’ve got to try on wedding dresses today. You’ll look terrible in photos if your eyes are swollen.” I froze. “Didn’t we already pick one out?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “We did, but the boutique just called. They’ve got an even more luxurious, custom-made gown. I want you to have the best.” His gaze burned with intensity, but I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or just another performance. Elliot, you always needed to understand. I never wanted luxury or extravagance. That simple sundress you bought me all those years ago meant more than any couture gown ever could. Still, I didn’t resist. I let him lead me to the boutique. The moment we walked in, the staff recognized him. They glanced at me briefly, then avoided my eyes, shifting nervously. I had a good idea of what that meant. Following Elliot’s instructions, the manager ushered me to the premium section to pick a gown. As we passed the storage area, I saw two employees moving a wedding dress into the back. It was the dress I had chosen. I smiled to myself but said nothing. Dress after dress, Elliot found none to his satisfaction. Finally, I stepped out in a pure white satin, strapless gown. Elliot, who had been sitting with his head down, looked up. He stared at me, speechless for a long time. I saw a whirlwind of emotions in his eyes—admiration, nostalgia, confusion, doubt, disdain, and irritation. Then, he frowned. “Who told you to bring her a plain white dress like this?” My heart sank. Did he see me as unworthy of the purity the dress symbolized? Or was he convinced that my efforts to support him during our most challenging years came at the cost of my dignity? “I told you! I want the most extravagant, sparkling, and ornate gown you have! Don’t try to pass off something so basic!” His contempt cut more profound than any glass shard could. Before the staff could bring another dress, I slipped into the dressing room and leaned against the wall. My chest felt tight, my eyes stung, but the tears wouldn’t fall. Through the curtain, I heard Elliot’s low voice on the phone. “Why are you calling me? You know I’m with her at the boutique.” “If you hadn’t swiped her dress with my black card, I wouldn’t have had to come back here!” “When I see her in plain white… I can’t help but think about what you said…” “Forget it. You’ll be there for me later. As long as she stays put at home, that’s enough.” When he dropped me off at home later, his words still echoed in my head, refusing to leave. Eventually, I snapped back to reality and found myself alone. I went to the closet and pulled out the white sundress Elliot gave me when I was 27. It still hung there. I folded it carefully and placed it in a large bag to donate. Next, I climbed up to the attic and cleared old boxes. Inside were piles of photos from our shared history. I pulled the albums out, tossing the photos into the fire until nothing was left but ashes. The empty albums and boxes went outside for pickup. Then, I found an old notebook at the bottom of a box. Its yellowed pages were filled with Elliot’s handwriting—his accounting ledger from the early days of his business. He had meticulously recorded every penny borrowed, repaid, earned, and spent. I remembered how he used to carry that notebook everywhere. It was like his lifeline. Now, it was buried among our forgotten memories. I brushed off crumbs and stains—remnants of long nights, cheap meals, and tears shed in frustration. Flipping through, I noticed a recurring entry: “2018: Owe Mr. Landon $20,000. Due within a year.” “2018: Owe Mr. Grant $10,000. Due within a year.” “2018: Year-end summary—Owe Sienna Raine one wedding. Lifetime repayment.” I froze, staring at the words. Every year, my name appeared in his notes. On the last page, in bold red ink, Elliot had written: “Elliot Starling, never forget to marry your girl.” “Remind yourself every year until you fulfill this promise.” I didn’t know what to feel. I could only laugh weakly, unsure if it was bitterness or resignation. Sliding the notebook into the hidden compartment of my suitcase, I zipped it shut and prepared for my last flight. A one-way ticket to Montclair. From there, I’d transfer to Greenport and start my new job at Atlantic Skies Airways. But I never expected to see Elliot Starling on that flight.

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My mom is a madwoman, and ever since I can remember, she’s forced me to pretend I’m mute. She calls me her son, binds my chest with strips of cloth, makes me stand up to pee, and even chains me at home like a dog. When I was eleven, Virgil Thompson, the village chief, brought over four relatives to spend the night with my mother. The bed creaked wildly, and Virgil joked, “What a shame that the mute one isn’t a girl. Then we could all get some fun out of it and have her give us each a kid.” And right then, I felt a rush of warmth between my legs. That was my first orgasm. The woods were thick with mosquitoes, and by the time I got back from picking berries, my skin was covered in itchy red bumps. It was a lively day in the village. Aunt Martha and Aunt Jean had both given birth. By the time I got back, it was all over, and there were two tiny, wrinkled bundles left behind. The midwife lifted Aunt Martha’s baby and announced, “A boy!” Everyone cheered. She then raised Aunt Jean’s child and said, “Another money drain!” Old Man Lee’s face darkened immediately. He lifted the squalling little girl by one foot, squinting at her. “Ugly thing,” he muttered. “Ha!” Virgil Thompson laughed. “What can you expect from a woman you bought for five hundred bucks? Might as well drown her and save some grain.” Mr. Dean Rivers, the teacher, chimed in, “You know, the only decent woman left in this village is that madwoman’s daughter. Too bad she’s broken beyond repair. Look at the mute one’s face, though – not even grown yet, but there’s already a hint of her mom’s sassiness.” Right then, he spotted me and waved. “Hey, Mute, come over here! Got some food for you!” The stone table near the village gate was piled with fresh bread rolls. I couldn’t hold back my drool, so I put down my basket and walked over. Mr. Dean Rivers handed me the crying baby girl and said, “Go on, drown her. Uncle will give you half a roll.”

This wasn’t the first time a girl had been drowned in Coldwater Hollow. According to Virgil, girls were just mouths to feed – they ate a lot, didn’t work as much, and by the time you raised one up, the grain it cost would be more than the price of a wife you could buy from outside. Take my mom, for instance. She went to a top college, and she was sold off for barely two grand. If you raised a girl from birth, between all the food and the work, it would cost you at least three or four thousand. On top of that, farm-raised girls are tougher and darker from working under the sun – none of that fresh, pretty look you’d get from an outsider. So, there usually weren’t girls in the village. Aunt Martha was an exception. She’d been brought in along with her little five-year-old girl. They said her daughter was as pretty as a doll, with a porcelain complexion, and Uncle Harvey spoiled her, fed her the best, and didn’t let her do any chores. By the time she was old enough, the men in the village would go visit her. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups. Sometimes just her, sometimes with Aunt Martha too. They always seemed so pleased afterward, and Uncle Harvey would sit by the door collecting coins, either a dollar or fifty cents a head. With Aunt Martha and her daughter around, Uncle Harvey never had to work in the fields. I remember that the girl had already grown into a young woman by then. When the traffickers came around again, Uncle Harvey showed her off, and they bought her for a handful of fresh bills. That money built their house. When Uncle Harvey’s house went up, everyone was envious. Soon, they were all coming over to spend nights with my mother. My mom was much prettier than Aunt Martha. They all said that if she had a daughter, she’d be even more beautiful. But Mom never got pregnant again.

I took the baby girl from Mr. Dean Rivers. She was all wrinkled, with bruises under her skin, but her cries were loud, and her little arms and legs waved around, reaching out into the air. The stone table near the village gate already had a basin of water waiting. I leaned her back into it. She flailed and cried, almost like she was trying to swim while I held her. People crowded around eagerly to watch. I let go, and she began struggling desperately. Water splashed everywhere, and she choked, her cries louder than before. The men laughed, and the women stayed far back. “Hold her down! Don’t let her splash me!” Virgil shouted. Mom never let me see when they drowned a girl, but I’d watched from high up in the fruit trees on the mountainside. I was just about to press the baby’s arms and legs down like I’d seen, but then someone shoved me hard. It was my mom. She held me down on the ground, scratching and clawing at me, screaming, “You rotten thing! You good-for-nothing!” I curled up on the ground, wailing and crying. But Mom didn’t care. She beat me until she was exhausted, while the village chief and everyone else laughed. “Look, the madwoman’s going off again!” “Mute, hit her back! Beat the crazy out of her!” My mom pinned me to the ground, panting heavily. Her eyes were red, brimming with tears. I didn’t understand why she was so angry. They drowned girls every year here. Just like I didn’t understand why she kept binding my chest every day. I liked the way my chest had started to feel, the way it was slowly rising. Because it made me feel like I looked a little bit like her.

Mom left my face bruised and swollen. While she hit me, the village chief was nearby drowning the newborn girl. The sound of her coughing and gasping mingled with Mom’s crying, and it was terrifying. The girl died quickly. The village dogs began barking, fighting over the tiny body. Mom wrapped a dog chain around my neck and yelled crazily, “Take the dog out for a walk! Chop it up for stew, dog meat stew!” Everyone laughed as they wandered off. Some even joked, “How many pots do you think that’ll make?” Mom rattled the chain, “Go on, boy! Bite him! Bite him!” I didn’t move, and the people asking her laughed and went back to their feast. Mom pulled me by the chain, heading toward the Smoky Ridge Trail on the edge of the village. Mr. Dean Rivers said this was our own hidden Eden. The mountain god, he said, watched over the men here, protecting their livestock, their poultry, and their women from the outside world.

The villagers said that after my dad died, no one repaired our house, so it fell apart. Mom and I lived in a shack at the foot of the mountain. There were guards stationed on the path leading in and out of the village. At first, they wouldn’t let us near, but Mom went off with one of them into the bushes, and after that, we were allowed to stay. I waited a long time for her to come back. When she did, she had a flashlight. She clicked it on, and I saw dust dancing in the beam. Mom reached into my messy hair, “Does it hurt?” It hurt. But not like it used to. I wasn’t really mute. Ever since I could remember, Mom had forbidden me to speak in front of others. If I disobeyed, she’d beat me. So I spoke slowly and haltingly, “N-now it d-doesn’t hurt anymore.” Tears began to roll down Mom’s face. “Oh, baby, how could you take a life like that?” She cradled my face. “It was just a biscuit – just a biscuit!” I looked at her, confused. But it was a biscuit. A soft, warm biscuit that was delicious and didn’t scratch my throat. In my life, how often do I get to eat something like that? I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had one. Mom’s eyes welled up again as she looked at me. She held me tightly, crying as if she’d just lost something precious. She cried for a long time, and my back went numb from holding her. I thought about that baby girl the dogs fought over. Why hadn’t she let me drown her? If I hadn’t done it, someone else would have. If I’d done it, Virgil would have given me that warm biscuit. Then Mom and I could have split it. We’d each get half. No, I’d give Mom most of it. I’d only need a little. Mom worked so hard – farming, cooking, gathering firewood, patching up our shack. If I ever got my hands on one of those biscuits, I’d give Mom most of it. I’d be happy with just a small bite.

Mom cried for a long time before finally stopping. Then she went back to saying the same things she’d been saying for years. She looked at me and said, “Joy, tell me one more time. After you get over the mountain, what will you do?” I didn’t really understand why she kept asking. Everyone knows you can’t get over that mountain. The village is the whole world. But I went along with her anyway, saying, “After I get over the mountain, I’ll go west toward the sunset, and walk for a long time. I’ll pass three towns with lots of people, and then, in the fourth town, I’ll find a store and break everything inside.” “And if the store owner tries to stop you, then what?” she asked. “I’ll call the cops, tell them to call my Grandpa to pay for it. My Grandpa’s name is Samuel Alexander, he lives in Oakwood Estates in Parkland, Illinois. He has a daughter named Rachel Alexander. Rachel, like a home full of books,” I recited. Mom’s tears rolled down her face. “Joy, one day you’ll have all the bread rolls you want. And there’ll be meat, vegetables – things that smell good. You’ll have pretty dresses, and you’ll go to school, meet a man who respects you, loves you, and you’ll have a happy life.” I nodded to comfort her. It was obvious her mind was slipping again. How could there be plenty of bread rolls? I may only be eleven, but I’ve learned enough to understand the way things work in this world. Bread rolls only come out at big gatherings. Only Virgil and the men who bring new wives to the village get meat or vegetables. A “pretty dress” was just another one of Mom’s delusions. A girl is only a tool for men to have children and do work. Why would men respect or love a tool? Even though Mom had always tried to turn me into a boy, I was still just a girl. How could I ever have a happy life? As long as I can sell myself for a good price someday and make life a little easier for Mom, that’s enough for me.

The next day, before dawn, I was woken up by a woman’s desperate cries. “Please! I’m begging you!” “Let me go!” “I’ll give you money!” “My family has money, I can pay you more!” It was delivery day for the new “wives,” and sure enough, the new ones were already fighting. I’d seen this so many times before. Women usually fought when they first arrived. The tougher ones put up a fight, but after a few more beatings, they’d give up. The harder they fought, the worse they got beaten. The other women would tell them, “Stop fighting. Just accept it.” But Mom never said that. She’d told me once, “This place is a trafficker’s village. Every woman here was taken from somewhere else.” She said every man here deserved to die and that they’d all pay for what they’d done. I used to believe her without a doubt. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to wonder if she’s wrong. Is there really such a thing as justice? They all seem so happy. One of the new women was pulled out of the shack, her clothes ripped off, her cries of pain drowned out by the men’s laughter. Virgil’s son, only seven years old, joined in, poking and prodding her, encouraged by the men. Mom covered my eyes. “Don’t look.” But I’d already seen it too many times. The cries of those women never left me; they were always so full of despair, while the men were so full of joy. Mom seemed to be planning something. “Tell me again, what’s Grandpa’s name?” she asked. I repeated, “Grandpa’s name is Samuel Alexander. He lives in Oakwood Estates in Parkland, Illinois. He has a daughter named Rachel Alexander. Rachel, like a home full of books.” Mom nodded through her tears. “Don’t worry. Everything will be alright. Very soon. I promise you, baby.”

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Returning to work after maternity leave, I couldn’t wait to see my baby girl. I gave my manager a quick heads-up and left early to head home. As I approached our front door, voices drifted out from inside. “Don’t worry. She won’t be back for at least another two hours.” That voice belonged to my husband, Jack Hale. “Right. Says the guy who ignored me for half an hour last night to rock his little princess to sleep,” a woman’s voice teased. My mind went blank as I heard Jack soothingly reply, “Once she’s gone, Emily will be your daughter, too. She’s a baby; she won’t know the difference. After all, if you’ve got milk, you’re the mom.” Then, I heard sounds that left no room for doubt. Frozen in place, the devastating truth settled over me. Jack was cheating on me. We’d known each other since high school, growing together from prom to wedding vows. After three years of marriage, our lives had settled into a routine. Jack quit his big tech job earlier this year to open Jack’s Hardware, aiming to help with Emmy after she was born and spare me from solo parenting. I’d cried at his thoughtfulness, and the shop had done well enough that he hired a part-time employee. He’d been a doting partner through my entire recovery. Just last night, we’d been planning our move to the new house we’d remodeled, where the paint fumes had finally aired out. But now, under the searing late-afternoon August sun, reality struck me harder than anything before. Standing outside, I waited until I saw a tall woman with wavy hair strut out of the building. I ducked behind a car, catching my reflection in its window, noting how pregnancy had altered my once-trim figure. I’d always taken pride in my looks. Jack had always said that whether we had a boy or a girl, he just wanted a child of his own. I’d endured countless shots to keep our baby healthy, ultimately blessed with Emmy. At nearly six, I entered our apartment with groceries in hand. Hearing the door, Jack padded out in his slippers. “Hey, hon! I made some iced green bean soup—it’s in the fridge if you want a bowl.” “Sure, I’ll take one.” As I switched my shoes, his words from earlier echoed in my mind: Once she’s gone. Jack wanted me dead. And not only had he cheated, but he was planning to kill me. Somehow, though, my shock turned to an eerie calmness. Over dinner, Jack mentioned his mom wanting to come help with Emmy since I was back at work, and he was juggling the store and caring for her. I thought for a moment, then replied, “There’s only one bed here. When your mom comes, there won’t be space. How about we just move into the new house now?” But Jack hesitated, “I’ll take the couch. It’s summer; I’ll be fine there. You two can use the bed.” I nodded, “Sure, it’ll be nice to have her help.” I’d always found it odd how Jack had been so reluctant to move into the new house, even though it was ready ages ago. Turns out, he’d been planning to get rid of me and move in with her. After Emmy was asleep, Jack handed me an insurance form to sign. He’d mentioned getting life insurance back when I was pregnant, saying we needed to think about Emmy’s future and that this would protect her in case anything happened. So, we both got policies listing Emily as the sole beneficiary. “All right, so if I die in an accident, it’s a million?” I tightened my fingers around the paper. Right then, Carol Wilson, our neighbor, popped by with a few peaches. “A friend of ours brought over a whole box. Too much for us, so we thought of you!” She glanced at the insurance paperwork on the coffee table. “What are you two up to?” “Oh, I’m just talking with Megan about getting a policy,” Jack said smoothly. “Aunt Carol, does it really pay out a million?” I said, feigning innocence. “Jack’s looked at a bunch of policies and keeps bugging me to sign it before prices go up.” Carol’s interest piqued. “Honey, insurance is a pain to pay, but it sure comes in handy when you need it. Just last year, my husband’s cancer was covered under his policy, and we got thirty grand from it.” Jack shot me a look that said, See? “I don’t know much about insurance, but Jack says it’ll give us peace of mind,” I shrugged. “But maybe I’ll study up on it first.” Carol nodded approvingly, “You’re right to think it through. Accident insurance isn’t like health insurance. You’re far more likely to get sick in your life than to get in an accident.” She didn’t notice Jack’s face freeze for a moment as she said it. “Insurance is just a safety net. You never know what might happen tomorrow,” Jack joked, glancing at me. “If I die, at least I’d leave you and Emmy a little something.” I punched his shoulder, “Quit saying stuff like that.” “Don’t tempt fate, Jack!” Carol said, waving us off with a chuckle as she left. That night, I headed to the bathroom. There was a faint humming noise coming from the water heater. Our building was old, built in the early 2000s, and all the units used electric water heaters. Ours was secondhand, bought from the last tenants, and I’d wanted to replace it last year, but we’d planned to move, so we let it be. Holding my toothbrush, I stared thoughtfully at the worn appliance. Back in bed, Jack was scrolling on his phone. When I walked over, he quickly set it face down. On the nightstand, a baby monitor showed Emmy’s crib. “Jack, you really want that insurance?” I asked, raising my voice a bit. Jack rolled over, “It’s a solid policy. I’m telling you…” He launched into a long list of benefits. I yawned, agreeing casually, “All right, sure. Too late now, though. Tomorrow, then.” “Great!” In the dim light, I caught the gleam of excitement in his eyes. The next morning, I headed downstairs for work. Jack hurried out, waving the insurance form, and caught me as I was about to leave. Right then, Carol and some other neighbors walked by, bags of groceries in hand. “What’s the rush, Jack?” Carol asked, eyeing the form in his hand. “Oh, it’s that insurance from last night. He just wants me to sign it,” I said, signing my name with a smile. “Can’t help it; he calls the shots around here. Gotta run—almost late!” Riding away on my e-bike, I caught sight of Jack in my mirror, holding the paper with a grin, even giving it a celebratory kiss. At work, I texted him: Jack, the water heater at home seems off. Can you check it? Ten minutes later, he replied: Sure, babe. Got it. His careless response was exactly as expected. He was probably daydreaming about his life after a million-dollar payout with his new woman, far too busy to worry about an eight-year-old water heater. What causes a water heater to explode? I typed into the search bar, read through the results, and then cleared my history.

At 5:30, Julie, the new intern, noticed I hadn’t budged. “Megan, aren’t you in a rush to get home and see Emmy?” “Oh, Jack’s with her,” I replied, showing the baby monitor app on my phone, where Jack was entertaining Emmy. “I figured I’d stay late and finish up my report.” Julie gave me a wistful smile. “Must be nice! One day, I’m finding a guy who’ll pull his weight with the baby, too!” I just smiled back. Starting today, I wanted everyone to know that Jack and I were the picture of domestic bliss. After wrapping up, I was about to leave when Greg Summers from IT walked over. “Hey, just a heads up—don’t use company computers for personal stuff right now.” “What’s going on?” I asked. “With last quarter’s slump, leadership’s monitoring web use more than usual, like to see if people are shopping or browsing news sites…” Greg trailed off, then asked, “By the way, what’s up with your water heater? Saw you searching about it.” My pulse raced, but I kept calm. Why should I be anxious? It was completely reasonable to check out potential safety issues with an old appliance. “Oh, I saw this video about a heater exploding, and it freaked me out a bit,” I replied casually. Greg nodded. “I think they say to replace them every eight years or so.” His phone buzzed, and he walked away. My fingers shook as I gathered my things to leave. By the time I got home, it was almost eight. Jack was taking photos of Emmy on the couch. When he noticed me, he quickly looked away, seeming almost flustered. “Is that new?” I pointed at the outfit Emmy was wearing. “Yeah, it arrived today,” he set the camera down. “Hungry? Let’s go grab some noodles from that place downstairs.” “When’d you get a new camera? You didn’t mention it.” I reached over to pick it up, flipping through the photos. The quality was so professional; Jack had clearly gotten good at composition. Jack hesitated, “Well, I didn’t want you to think I was wasting money… I wanted to capture Emmy’s moments, you know?” “You could’ve asked me instead of hiding it,” I said, continuing to look through the photos. Jack snatched the camera from my hands. “Hon, you’ve been working all day; don’t get worked up over a small thing. Let me make it up to you. Here, strike a pose for me!” Then, Emmy started fussing. I quickly scooped her up. “Could you take out the trash? And grab us two noodle bowls on your way back?” “Sure.” Jack reached for his phone. “Leave it charging,” I said, pulling out some cash. “Here, just use this.” He shrugged, took the money, and grabbed the trash. The moment he was out of sight, I unlocked his phone—password, Emmy’s birth date, worked on the first try. I’d never felt the need to check his phone before, but now, there was no hesitation. He’d been so sure I’d never intrude on his privacy. One contact caught my eye: “AAA Style Master Linda Cross.” Her latest message read: Hiking’s the easiest way to create a happy little ‘accident.’ There’s no… The rest was hidden, and since Jack hadn’t opened it, I couldn’t read further. But I didn’t need to; the picture was clear enough. With the policy signed, they’d locked and loaded. I placed his phone back and resumed scrolling through the camera, finding photos of Emmy bundled in thick baby blankets. The focus wasn’t even on her, but rather the details of the clothing. Given the summer heat, Emmy’s hair was damp with sweat. When Jack returned, I confronted him, “Why wrap her up like this? It’s over 90 degrees out—she’ll overheat!” He froze, trying to recover, “They’re sending us another one for free if I post a picture with this one.” “So you’d risk her comfort for a cheap promo?” Jack’s anger flared, “She’s my daughter! You think I’d hurt her?” “Relax. I didn’t say that.” I pressed, raising my voice. Jack knocked the camera to the ground, slamming the door behind him. When he finally returned around midnight, he hugged me from behind, whispering, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” I said nothing. He softened, adding, “How about a weekend hiking trip, just the two of us? Mom can watch Emmy. It’s been forever since we had time alone.” There it was: that sickening sweetness, like when we first started dating. Even after years of building a life together, you can never fully know the person lying beside you. “Camping? But I thought you hated hiking?” I asked. “That was back then,” he chuckled, “But now we’re our own bosses with flexible schedules. Hiking’s a good way to stay fit.” “Which trail?” I tested. “Stonehill Ridge,” he said. “I read it’s less crowded, got beautiful old scenery, and is far from the city. They say the air there is amazing.” I nodded, “You really did your homework.” “Of course. I have to make it up to you.” He pulled me close. “We could get a tent and camp under the stars, just like college.” I pushed him back, “Fine. But if we go, it’ll be once your mom’s settled with Emmy.” He brightened, “Done!” The stronger he pressed, the firmer my resolve became. Around 2 a.m., I finished feeding Emmy and went to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, the water heater emitted its usual hum, old and worn. If its temperature controls, overheating protection, and pressure release valves were all damaged, well… anything could happen. I placed a hand under the hot stream, deep in thought.

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Hot! Why is it so hot? I vaguely remember that before I lost consciousness, the temperature on Earth had plummeted to minus 80 degrees Fahrenheit. There’s a saying that right before someone freezes to death, they feel a strange warmth. Was I already dead? No! I can’t die just like this! Those three despicable people are still alive, so how could I die before them? Suddenly, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was my husband, Lucas Johnson, standing beside the couch. He was wearing a thin t-shirt, his face glowing with warmth, clearly enjoying life without a care. He looked down at me and said casually, “Since you’re awake, go ahead and make dinner. My parents will be home soon.” The scene was so familiar, almost identical to the moment a month ago when I had slipped while mopping the floor, hit my head on the corner of the table, and passed out. And Lucas’s expression right now—it was the exact same as it had been back then! “Hey!” Lucas, seeing that I hadn’t moved, yanked me up forcefully, pulling me off the couch. “Faye, it’s already 5:15! Mom and Dad will be here by 5:30. What are you standing around for?” With that, he turned and walked back into his room to play his game, leaving me standing there with my heart racing. Lucas’s well-toned arm had gripped me so tightly that the pain in my arm was real. My heart pounded as I quickly grabbed my phone. The screen showed the date—it really was a month before that fateful day! Just then, a news alert popped up on my phone, reporting a conflict in some region. It was eerily similar to the chaos that had erupted just before the apocalypse in my previous life. Those painful memories came rushing back. In my past life, Lucas had been laid off. After that, he struggled to find a job, meeting failure after failure. As the only son of a rural family, his parents had moved in with us when they heard he’d lost his job. They were furious that as his wife, I wasn’t catering to his every need—especially that I wasn’t cooking for him every day. So, they decided to move in under the pretense of helping us. But instead of helping, they turned Lucas into a lazy, good-for-nothing man. Back then, I was trapped by “years of love” and couldn’t bring myself to leave him. I didn’t divorce him when I should have. But now—I’ve come back to the past! God finally heard my cry of frustration and gave me another chance! With gratitude filling my heart, I glanced around the room. The family heirloom furniture my parents left behind was still intact, and the sunlight was pouring in through the windows. I checked the weather forecast: it was 116°F (47°C)—even for a scorching summer, this was unusual heat. This extreme heat is why, when the Great Freeze hit half a month later, people didn’t see it coming. They felt too comfortable to notice. The temperature would drop rapidly—first by 9 or 18 degrees each day—until one day people would wake up to find it snowing in the middle of summer, with the temperature plunging to -30°F. That’s when the panic would finally set in. At first, you could still buy food if you had money, but before long, people would realize the danger, and everyone would have to fend for themselves. I remember suggesting to Lucas that we should stock up while we could still go to Costco Warehouse Store. But my in-laws overheard this from outside the room. They stormed in, hands around my throat, accusing me of trying to kill their son. “Don’t you know how deadly it is to go out in this cold?! You go if you want to die!” They yanked me roughly out of bed. “Let’s see how you like freezing to death, you wicked woman!” I was devastated, but Lucas remained silent. His mother’s grip on my throat tightened. I scratched at her hands in desperation, but Lucas stopped me cold. “That’s my mom! How could you lay a hand on her?” At that moment, I was shocked, but I finally understood. He had changed long ago. The moment I agreed to let his country-bumpkin parents move in with us, I had made a mistake. Maybe even marrying him had been the wrong decision from the start. In the days that followed, they dropped the masks they wore and became like demons. They hoarded all the warm clothes, forcing me to go out in -40°F weather to scavenge for food while they burned my family’s heirloom furniture for warmth. My hands were covered in frostbite, my exposed skin cracked from the cold. If I didn’t bring back enough food, I was met with scorn or beaten. If I tried to explain myself, they would strip off my down jacket and lock me outside until I begged for forgiveness. When there was no more food to find, they made a deal with the local gang to trade me for supplies. I fought back with all my strength, but I was left locked out on the freezing balcony. That’s how I froze to death. The humiliation and agony of those final moments felt as vivid as if it had happened yesterday, and tears rolled down my face uncontrollably. Just then, the sound of keys turning in the lock reached my ears—Lucas’s parents had come home.

As soon as they stepped inside, their eyes immediately went to the dining table. Seeing nothing, their faces darkened. I took a deep breath, wiped away my tears, and put on a cheerful smile to greet them. It wasn’t time to reveal my hand yet. I had to bide my time. I flashed my phone at them as I spoke. “Dad, Mom, something urgent came up at the factory, and I completely lost track of time. Why don’t I give you some money, and you can take Lucas out to eat something nice? I still need to go back to the factory to handle some things.” Right then, Mr. Johnson’s phone chimed with a notification. He unlocked it, and the amount he saw made him smile. “I’ll be back late tonight. Enjoy your dinner.” Ever since my parents passed away in that tragic accident, I had been running the furniture factory they left me, fresh out of college. It took countless sleepless nights, but eventually, I managed to bring that dormant production line back to life. Good thing I had been smart enough to never transfer ownership of the factory to Lucas. Now, the factory’s profits were my strongest leverage. Sure, it hurt a little to hand over $10,000 just like that, but to catch a big fish, you have to be willing to sacrifice some bait. I calculated the liquid cash I had left—just over a million dollars. Before Lucas lost his job, we had been pretty comfortable. But this past year, we had nearly eaten through all our savings. Still, between the property, the car, the stocks, and the debts the factory was owed, I could piece together enough to stay afloat for now. With that sorted, I rushed out the door, ready to get down to business. The elevator doors slid open, and standing inside was a young man. He had short hair, wore a black t-shirt, and his skin was a deep bronze. He stood quietly in the corner. If you didn’t know him, his presence might feel intimidating, unsettling even. But I knew he was a kind man. In my past life, when I was locked out on the balcony, it was him who dropped a heat pack down to me from above. But my mother-in-law had seen it, snatched it up, and gave it to Lucas instead. The three of them then conspired to frame me, accusing me of having an affair with him. That one small act of kindness had meant more to me than all the years of what I thought was an unbreakable marriage. I gave him a small smile and pressed the button for the basement. As the elevator descended, I casually remarked, “Seems like the weather’s been pretty weird this year, huh?” He glanced at me in surprise before nodding. “It sure has.” I feigned nonchalance. “I read an article recently about how this heat is just a backlash from rising global temperatures. Environmental damage is causing strange fluctuations in the weather, and they think it might lead to a sudden and drastic drop in temperatures.” He shot me a puzzled look and responded with a simple, “Oh.” I gave him one last glance before stepping out of the elevator. Ignoring the curious stares from others, I headed straight for a rental service and picked up a spacious old van. After that, I drove to Hillcrest Realty to rent a secluded private estate that I could move into right away. I wanted somewhere remote, with strong security. The agent looked out the window at the beat-up van I had rented, clear skepticism in his eyes. How could someone who was about to rent a luxury estate be driving such a rundown vehicle? I handed him an envelope stuffed with cash. “Relax, it’s all above board. You get your cut , I handle my business.” The agent’s expression shifted to one of sharp understanding. “Actually, I do have a place. It’s nearby.” I nodded, signaling him to lead the way. Sure enough, the agent brought me to an upscale neighborhood. I knew this area well—it wasn’t far from my home, but due to some silly superstitions about bad feng shui, hardly anyone had moved in. Rich people were obsessed with such nonsense, and it had turned this into a notorious money-losing project. And because of that, during the apocalypse, it had become an untouched safe haven. Though I was on a budget, I was still determined to haggle. “This place has quite the reputation as a ‘ghost town,’ so the price better reflect that.” The agent gave me a sideways look before forcing a smile. “You know your stuff. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of overcharging you.” When we arrived, he pulled out the keys and opened the door, stepping aside to let me in. “The owner moved overseas, barely lived here. Fully furnished, with a private yard. The neighbors are far apart—very quiet.” Before stepping inside, I took a moment to survey the yard. The soil was rich and fertile—ideal for building a greenhouse to grow my own food. Inside, I inspected every corner, knocking and testing for durability. The solid wood furniture was well-built, and the windows were top-quality. But what delighted me the most was the enormous fireplace. The previous owner clearly had excellent taste. As the sun began to set, I stood on the terrace, looking out at the darkened windows of my current house in the distance, squinting my eyes thoughtfully. Turning to the agent, I said, “Let’s sign the lease for five years.” His eyes lit up with excitement. After paying the deposit and seeing him off, I took my time examining every inch of this soon-to-be apocalypse refuge. I mapped out where I would install security grilles and where to fortify weak points, planning everything meticulously. Just as I was about to explore the space under the stairs, an inconspicuous door caught my attention. My mind began to race with ideas… I pushed the door open. As the hinges turned, lights along the walls flickered to life, illuminating a path downward. To my amazement, this mansion had a hidden basement! It was clear that the previous owner had some foresight, creating this secret space during construction as a bunker of sorts. The agent hadn’t even known about it, which meant I now had a secret base—a valuable asset, especially with the apocalypse looming. The basement was roughly 1,300 square feet, fully furnished, and equipped with a state-of-the-art ventilation system. The air circulated freely, without any oppressive feeling. All it needed was enhanced insulation, and it would be the perfect shelter. Now, it was time to start stockpiling supplies. Carefully locking the basement door, I moved an old metal cabinet in front of it to keep it hidden. Then I pulled the curtains tightly shut and drove off to the nearest Costco Warehouse Store.

As soon as I entered the store, memories of hunger and freezing from my previous life flooded back, making my eyes gleam with a ravenous desire as I stared at the shelves of food. The key to preparing for the apocalypse was choosing items with a long shelf life that were easy to eat. So, instant meals like mac and cheese, turkey-flavored ramen, and various heat-and-eat meals were my top picks. I headed straight for the bulk section and, posing as a small-scale retailer, I ordered large quantities—ten cases of mac and cheese, ten cases of turkey-flavored ramen, and ten cases of heat-and-eat meals. Of course, a balanced diet was important, too. Fresh fruits and vegetables were a luxury I couldn’t afford or easily store. Growing them myself would be tricky. So, I focused on vacuum-packed, high-protein options and added twenty cases of preserved goods—chicken wings, chicken legs, jerky, duck products, and hard-boiled eggs. Next, I had to stock up on water. In my previous life, after Lucas and his family had betrayed me and left me trapped in the snow, the thirst I felt was indescribable. This time, I was ready. I reached out to Samantha Foster, my factory’s secretary, and had her connect me with a German company that made custom water barrels, designed to store as much water as possible in a compact space. The barrels would line the walls of the basement, and with the addition of a greenhouse and a water collection system I planned to install in the yard, I could survive for at least a year on my own. If worst came to worst, I could always melt and purify snow. Beyond food and water, medical supplies were critical. I drove around the city, visiting every 24-hour pharmacy. Every time I tried to buy ten boxes of medicine, I had to endure the suspicious or even alarmed looks from the clerks. One time, someone almost called the cops, thinking I was a drug dealer. I had to come up with an excuse, telling them I was part of a nonprofit organization collecting emergency supplies for a small town hit by a car accident. After much explaining, they reluctantly sold me what I needed. I left each store with a mountain of antibiotics, wound powder, vitamins, disinfectants, bandages, and antidotes. As I stared at the pile of medical supplies, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. In my previous life, Lucas and I had met during a volunteer relief mission. Back then, he wasn’t the selfish and cold person he later became. But people change. Fear of the apocalypse and his parents’ toxic influence had twisted him, turning his once kind heart into something ugly and greedy. This time around, I could have faced the apocalypse with him by my side, but… The me that had once cared for him was long gone. He had killed that part of me with his own hands. After gathering all the medical supplies, I picked up a few fire extinguishers and some emergency escape gear, preparing for any situation that might arise. Before long, my old van was packed to the brim. Since the estate’s storage space was limited, I decided to stop my first round of shopping here. Feeling worn out, I grabbed a few bags of long-lasting pastries and bread to fill the remaining space in the van. Then, I stopped at a late-night diner for a hearty meal before heading back home. The van was full, not just of supplies but also of a cautious optimism for the future. Even though tonight seemed normal, and the apocalypse was on its way, as long as I lived for today, I could find hope. Humming a little tune, I drove through the quiet streets, cherishing this seemingly ordinary, yet precious, night. Driving back to the Private Estate in Rural Georgia, I hauled load after load of supplies down to the basement. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the floor, gazing at my “spoils of victory” with a long sigh of relief. The apocalypse would last a long time, and I urgently needed to gather more resources. But with only myself, my energy was limited, and time was slipping away. This house still needed further modifications. After paying the rent and buying food and medicine, my bank account had dwindled to just over $800,000. To avoid running out of funds for the renovations later, I decided to rely on my family’s factory for production. The first priority was to get some high-quality bows and arrows as weapons. Decent ones only cost a few thousand dollars. As for the arrows, that was simple—my factory specialized in woodworking, and it wouldn’t be hard to whip up a batch of shafts in a pinch. Last month, the factory had bought some bamboo for making chopsticks. I could easily repurpose some of it and combine it with ball bearings to create a makeshift slingshot launcher. For firepower, the garage, which was sealed and secure, could store some fireworks to be used as emergency explosives. In an apocalypse, after all, human nature was often more dangerous than the environment. As for the house modifications: installing steel plates, adding solar panels, and creating indoor insulation—$800,000 would barely cover it all. While pondering this, I drifted off to sleep without realizing it. When I woke, I was drenched in sweat, having forgotten to turn on the basement’s ventilation system. My clothes were soaked through. I glanced at the time—it was already past 2 a.m. Quietly, I slipped out of the basement and peeked out through a small gap in the curtain, seeing that the lights in the house were still on. After freshening up a bit, I drove back home. I could already predict how Lucas and his parents would react. A “submissive housewife” disappearing for half a day with her phone turned off was bound to trigger a round of questioning. But what they didn’t know was that I was no longer the same Faye Johnson they were used to. When I got home, Lucas was glued to his video game, the room filled with the sounds of gunfire and explosions. I ignored him, took off my coat, and changed my shoes. Interrupted by the noise, Lucas paused the game and angrily threw down the controller. “Where the hell have you been? Coming home this late and not answering your phone?” “Do you even care that Mom and Dad didn’t get dinner tonight?” Without looking at him, I walked straight to the bedroom and tossed out, “I was working late at the factory. There was an emergency.” My father-in-law shuffled out of the adjacent room, letting out a cold snort. “What kind of ‘emergency’ makes you work so late? What, that little wood factory of yours has some earth-shattering business that can’t wait until Monday?” Funny, he didn’t have this attitude when I handed him that money earlier. I rolled my eyes inwardly but didn’t say anything. Lucas suddenly threw his phone onto the table. “You say you were working late, but I called the office so many times—nobody picked up! What kind of work are you doing?” His mother chimed in, raising her voice. “I told you, son, this kind of woman who’s always out and about is no good. Always talking about ‘working late.’ Who knows what kind of people she’s really meeting—men or women.” With her words, Lucas’s expression darkened further. No wonder, in the past, whenever I worked late, he’d ask about it over the phone but never came to pick me up. It was all just surveillance. Looking at the three of them sitting in a row on the couch, their faces made me sick. I chuckled, “It’s business, right? I deal with both men and women. What, Lucas, would you like to go in my place next time?” “And Mom, didn’t you say you were here to take care of the both of us?” “Well, I’ll leave that to you. From now on, when I’m not home, you can cook for your son.” “After all, those hands of his are only good for video games, right?” Since we got married, I had always believed in keeping the peace in the family, treating my in-laws with respect. But now, I was done. If it weren’t for the fact that I needed time to stockpile supplies, I wouldn’t bother dealing with them at all. My mother-in-law, caught off guard by my defiance, shot up from the couch, her finger nearly poking my nose. “So, you think you’ve found some rich sugar daddy, huh? Daring to talk to me like this! You’re finally admitting you’re no good, right? If it wasn’t for my son, who would even care about an orphan like you—Ah!” Her nasty rant was cut short when I threw my bag at her face. My expression was cold and my voice even colder: “Look at yourself before you point fingers at me. Without my parents, your son wouldn’t be living so comfortably.” “Mom!” Lucas rushed over, catching his mother as she collapsed into his arms, trembling. My father-in-law, also shaking, got up and started shouting at me. I ignored their outburst and calmly went to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. There were only 29 days left until the apocalypse. Don’t expect me to tolerate any of you ever again! Lucas’s family raged and cried well into the night, but I put on earplugs and slept soundly.

Monday morning dawned, and with it, a new day. I got myself ready and prepared to head out. Lucas was still snoring on the couch, and his parents, having stayed up late after last night’s argument, were also still asleep. Quietly, I slipped out the front door. Another day closer to the end, the tension inside me tightening with each passing hour. First on the agenda was heading to the factory to handle some things—collecting outstanding payments and contacting construction teams. As soon as I walked into the office, I headed straight to my computer. I reviewed yesterday’s shopping list, then carefully categorized everything, making sure to cover every aspect of daily life and ensure I didn’t miss anything. The house renovations would take time, and I needed to lock down the construction teams today. Fortunately, during the factory’s recent renovations, I had kept contact information for a few reliable crews. For security reasons, I decided to hire several different teams to work on separate parts of the project. That way, no one would be able to connect the dots about my “apocalypse shelter.” As long as no one linked the information, my secret would be safe. With that in mind, I made a few calls, explaining that I was helping a friend remodel a workshop, and quickly wired $50,000 in deposits, making sure they started work that very afternoon. For the heavy machinery and specialized materials, I needed a lot of cash, so I sold all my stocks in one go, disregarding the fluctuations in the market. Next, I contacted an agent to sell the factory’s company vehicles and an out-of-town property I had in my name, keeping only an SUV, which I planned to send to the shop for upgrades and modifications. After that, I sent out instructions to the department heads, ordering them to recover all outstanding debts within a week, with a promise to reward 40% of any amounts collected as a bonus. The sales team exploded with excitement. Within minutes, action-oriented staff were already heading out the door. With this careful planning, I expected to recover close to a million dollars—enough to cover the renovation costs. That afternoon, I brought the first construction crew to the estate and discussed the details of the modifications. The top priority was reinforcing the perimeter fence, which would take two days. I explained that the “owner” was planning to raise large dogs, so the wire mesh needed to be extra dense. For the second team, I instructed them to install bulletproof glass, giving them a five-day deadline. The supervisor broke into a sweat. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Bulletproof glass installed in five days? That’s impossible!” “And what’s this friend of yours up to, installing bulletproof glass in their house?” I pulled him aside and spun a story about how my “friend” was a war correspondent with some PTSD from working in conflict zones. He bought it, though it meant double the cost. But if money could solve the problem, then it wasn’t really a problem. I transferred the funds without a second thought. The third and fourth teams were in charge of adding insulation, fireproofing, reinforcing the walls, and upgrading the garage. Even with the minimalist design I wanted, by the time the renovations were finished, my budget would be almost depleted. I rented a warehouse near the estate to serve as a storage hub for supplies and headed straight for the mall with a massive shopping list. Within three days, I needed to have all the goods delivered to the warehouse: high-end winter clothing, heat packs, portable heaters, and more. I had six solar panels installed on the roof in one go. Even if it got unbearably hot, freezing was not an option. By the time I finished, it was 5 p.m., right in the middle of rush hour. I collapsed into the driver’s seat, breathing heavily. Reviewing the checklist, I still felt like something was missing. I had to make sure there were no gaps in my plans. In the rearview mirror, I saw my flushed face, realizing that my health had deteriorated over the years from overworking. That’s it! Fitness equipment! Staying physically strong would be essential to survive the unknown challenges ahead. I headed to a sporting goods store and ordered dumbbells, an elliptical machine, and a multi-functional training rack, requesting delivery to my home. The store even threw in a complimentary guidebook called “Complete Fitness Guide for Women”, which covered exercises for all muscle groups—a very practical gift. This also reminded me that in a future of freezing temperatures and no internet, reading might be my best form of entertainment. So, I went to a bookstore and bought hundreds of books across various genres, having the staff load them all into my trunk. As night fell, I stopped for dinner before finally heading back home. Opening the door, I found Lucas and his parents happily seated at the dining table, enjoying a meal of lobster. His mother peeled a lobster and placed it in Lucas’s bowl. But when they saw me, all three of their smiles froze. “Faye, listen to me…” “Wait. Let me finish first.” I pulled out the divorce papers from my bag and placed them lightly on the dining table. “I’ve done everything I could for you over the years. Let’s get a divorce. You can keep the house, and I’ll just take my parents’ old furniture.” “No way!” Lucas suddenly exploded in anger, snatching up the papers and tearing them into pieces. “Son!” Mrs. Johnson hurriedly stopped Lucas, who was almost out of control. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear. “Mom!” Lucas started to speak but stopped when Mrs. Johnson shot him a commanding look, like a general in charge of a battlefield. “Fine, you can get a divorce,” she said with a calm, calculating smile. “But besides the house, we’ll need an extra million dollars in compensation.” Compensation? I let out a cold laugh. I hadn’t even begun to charge them for the emotional damage they had caused me over the years. “You can have the car too, along with the house. That’s it. I’m going away on business, Lucas. You have three days to think it over. Let me know your decision.” Before they could react, I went to the bedroom, packed some clothes and personal items, and left with my suitcase. As I drove out of Greenwood Apartments, I noticed a shadowy figure lurking nearby. Thank goodness I had planned to stop by the grocery store first instead of driving straight to the Private Estate. Otherwise, I might’ve been caught. If they want to play games, I’ll play along. I pulled over and quickly sent out a few texts. The replies came swiftly, with a confirmation emoji. Good thing I’d kept contact information handy for just such an occasion. Watching the figure getting closer through the rearview mirror, I pretended to take a phone call and raised my voice. “Yes… Room 1705 at the Hilton Nashville Downtown? Sure, I’ll be there in half an hour. You go ahead and wait for me.” I hung up the phone, cranked up the music, and sped off, feeling lighthearted. I drove straight to the hotel. After parking, I hurried inside, slipping into a quiet corner of the lobby where I could watch the elevators. Sure enough, Lucas stormed in a few minutes later, his face dark with anger. Hooked! I immediately dialed 911. “Hi, I’d like to report suspicious activity in Room 1705 of the Hilton Nashville Downtown. There might be something illegal going on. Please send someone to check it out. Thank you.” Since the hotel was located in a busy part of the city, and with the local authorities eager to maintain public safety, the police responded quickly. Within the time it took to drink a coffee, Lucas and a woman dressed provocatively were escorted out of the hotel by the police. “Let go of me! I’m here to see my wife!” Lucas protested, struggling against the officers. A young officer sternly questioned him, “Where’s your wife? Is she really your wife? Can you even tell me her name?” Lucas was at a loss for words. An older officer sighed, “Son, just admit your mistake and move on. It’s not that big of a deal.” Then, they were all loaded into the police car and taken away. Problem temporarily solved, I headed to the grocery store, buying whatever I felt like. By the time I checked out, I had two carts full. As I was loading the items into my car, my phone rang. “Hello, is this Lucas Johnson’s family? This is the police department. Your husband has been detained for illegal behavior. Please come down to the station to arrange bail.” “What? Lucas would never do something like that!” I feigned shock. “I’ll be there right away.” Who was I kidding? I quickly hung up and called Mrs. Johnson. “Hi, Mrs. Johnson. The police just called. Your son has been arrested for some misconduct. If you don’t want him to suffer, you’d better bring money to the station!” I hung up before she could respond. As the night settled in, I parked the car in the private garage of the estate and quietly returned to the apartment building. I watched from the shadows as Lucas’s parents hurried out of the building, shouting and cursing the whole way. Once I was sure they were far enough away, I took the elevator back up to the apartment and quickly set up a few hidden cameras in some discreet spots. I wanted to make sure I could catch every humiliating moment of their downfall. My heart pounded. It was my first time doing something like this, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous. Time was ticking. I had to hurry. I took a deep breath to calm myself and connected the cameras to my phone. Even if the internet cut out, I could still monitor them in real-time through the device. Before leaving, I double-checked that the cameras were well hidden. Satisfied, I quietly left the apartment. By the time I returned to the Private Estate, it was late. To avoid disturbing the neighbors, the construction crews had stopped work promptly at 8 p.m., as per regulations. I inspected the progress and was pleased with the results. At this pace, the place would be ready in just ten days. Money, after all, was the ultimate motivator. I had converted most of my remaining cash into gold. As any basic economics course would teach, gold and silver were always the safest currencies. I hid the shiny treasures in the most secret corner of the basement. Unless someone drained the entire three-month water supply, no one would ever find them. After a long bath, I curled up on the couch, snacking and watching TV, savoring the peaceful moment. Looking at myself in the mirror post-shower, I couldn’t help but notice how different I looked. I had money, I had looks—why had I ever settled for a man like Lucas for three whole years? Love really did blind women. We could turn trash into something shiny and clean, fooling ourselves completely. Checking the time, I pulled out my phone and opened my messaging app. The three-person “loving family” had returned home and were sitting in the living room, recounting the events of the evening. Mrs. Johnson flicked Lucas on the forehead. “I told you to keep an eye on her, and instead, you got yourself arrested?” Lucas scratched his head, frustrated. “I really did hear her say she was going to the hotel! Otherwise, why would I have gone there… Mom, I told you this kind of thing isn’t for me. You made me do it!” Mrs. Johnson sighed heavily, clearly disappointed. “I wanted you to catch her cheating so we could get more in the divorce. Do you even know how much money she has? If you let her walk away without giving you anything, all you’ll have left is this old house and that beat-up car. Don’t be stupid, son!” “I’m not getting a divorce!” Lucas shouted. “Yeah, I admit I went after her because of the money at first, but after all this time, I do have feelings for her!” So, it had all been a scheme from the start. I almost felt sorry for my past self. Almost. Mr. Johnson put his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “Feelings? What good are feelings? You think she loves you? The house, the car, the money—it’s all in her name. You care about her, but does she care about you? Divorce would be better. At least you’d walk away with something.” “Exactly!” Mrs. Johnson clapped her hands, already imagining their future. “That house is in a prime location. It’s only going to go up in value. And that car is worth tens of thousands. Talk to her, ask for more compensation, and find yourself a better girl.” Mrs. Johnson was practically giddy with excitement. “Besides, do you even know what she’s doing when she’s out? She could’ve been with someone else this whole time. You trust her too much! A woman running her own business? You think that’s easy? Without paying some kind of price, where’d all that money come from?” “Son, the only people who truly care about you are your parents!” “Would we ever steer you wrong?” Watching Lucas waver under their barrage of manipulation, I quietly turned off my phone. A man with no backbone would always be controlled by others. The next day, I went to work with dark circles under my eyes. As I tried to sleep that night, memories of Lucas’s tenderness and the cold reality of his family’s true nature swirled in my mind. Perhaps I hadn’t grown enough, because their words still stung. By the middle of the night, I gave up on sleeping and got out of bed to bury myself in work. The factory workers were my partners, people who had stood by me through thick and thin. With the apocalypse looming, I couldn’t let them down. Carrying a rough draft of my plans, I walked into the office. My assistant, Samantha Foster, immediately brought me a cup of water. “Faye, did you not sleep again? Your dark circles are so bad,” she said with concern. I smiled and asked her to tally up yesterday’s collections and calculate the performance bonuses for each employee as we discussed. By the afternoon, my phone was ringing off the hook—calls from various wholesalers I’d ordered supplies from. I wolfed down my lunch and texted Samantha, letting her know I’d be heading out of town on a business trip to Miami, Florida, and would return in three days. That would be enough time to handle everything. At the warehouse, the delivery trucks were already lined up. I quickly unlocked the doors and directed the workers to unload the goods. One of the truck drivers, eyeing the piles of clothes, food, and electronics, asked curiously, “What’s all this for? Planning something big?” I smiled. “We’re doing a company retreat and taking some supplies to a community in need.” The driver’s expression turned serious, and I felt a bit guilty for lying. Lately, I’d been spinning a lot of these half-truths. Maybe it was time I did something good for a change, to balance things out. Once everything was unloaded, I noticed a few missed calls from Lucas and Samantha. I quickly called Samantha back. “What’s up?” I asked. “Faye, Lucas showed up at the office looking for you. I told him you were on a trip to Miami, but he didn’t believe me. He made quite a scene before finally leaving.” Ugh, what a headache. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” I assured her. “Are you two okay?” Samantha asked. “Oh, just the usual marital spat. Nothing serious,” I lied casually. After hanging up, I noticed the trucks were long gone, leaving me alone in the now-empty warehouse. Staring at all the supplies, I realized I couldn’t just leave them scattered everywhere. So, I started organizing, loading up my car with boxes and driving straight to the Private Estate. On the way, I stopped at the hardware store and ordered sturdy shelving units that would fit perfectly in the basement. I paid an extra $10,000 to have them delivered and installed the next afternoon. On the way back, I also stopped at a rental company and secured a small truck, agreeing to park it near the estate at 8 p.m. Once everything was arranged, I drove home, feeling the summer evening’s breeze brush against my face, the future now seeming just a bit brighter.

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