Category: English

Ten years ago, a car crash stole my memory. I was a woman who swore she’d never marry. My parents saw their chance. They handed me over to the man they’d chosen, Ethan Thorne. But Ethan despised me. His heart belonged to someone else—the one that got away. Marrying me was just an obligation, a concession to his family’s pressure. I thought a child might bridge the chasm between us, but after our son was born, Ethan started bringing her home. And Aidan, my son, who used to cling to my leg, slowly turned against me. He learned that insulting me was the quickest way to win his father’s approval, and hers. They looked just like a family. A perfect, happy family of three. Then, over something trivial, Aidan shoved me down the stairs. I hit my head. And in the sterile quiet of a hospital room, I woke up. I remembered everything. 1 The flood of information was overwhelming, a decade of a life I didn’t choose crashing down on me all at once. My mother was sobbing beside the bed, a frantic, grating sound that made my head throb. A vein pulsed violently at my temple. “Stop crying.” Her tears choked off instantly. I frowned, the skin between my brows tight. “How is what you did any different from human trafficking?” “I’m sorry, Clara,” she whispered, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading. “Your father and I… we just wanted to see you settled. To have a family.” My gaze dropped to the burn on the back of my hand, the skin still puckered and angry. I’d gotten it a few days ago, making soup for my husband and son. Neither of them took a single bite. Aidan dumped the entire pot down the toilet, claiming the sight of it made him sick. Seeing my silence, my mother reached for my hand. “Clara, look, you have a child now. He’s a wonderful boy. Can’t you just… try to make a life with Ethan? For Aidan’s sake?” I pulled my hand from her grasp. “I’ll think about it.” My mind was a chaotic storm. I never wanted to get married. I certainly never felt equipped to raise a child. But the facts were unavoidable. The damage was done. It felt like I’d woken up from a long sleep to find my world had ended. Just then, the door swung open and Ethan walked in. His eyes flickered to the white gauze wrapped around my head before his face settled into its usual cold mask. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone flat. “I’m fine.” His voice deepened, already shifting into a defensive posture. “Aidan didn’t mean to push you,” he said. “You can’t put all the blame on him.” He turned toward the door. “Aidan. Come in here and apologize to your mother.” A bitter, ironic laugh caught in my throat. Aidan. For Ava. The son I had given birth to was just another piece of their twisted fantasy. Aidan shuffled in, his face set in a sullen pout. He stood by my bed, silent, refusing to speak. My mother gave him a gentle nudge. “Go on, sweetie. Apologize to Mommy.” He mumbled it, the words barely audible and dripping with resentment. “Sorry.” “Okay.” Aidan’s eyes widened in surprise. He was expecting the usual routine: me rushing to comfort him, absolving him of all blame, probably even apologizing for being in his way. My mother quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Well, that’s that! All settled. We’ll just let bygones be bygones.” She smiled brightly. “I’ll drive you all home.” 2 Back in the house that had never felt like mine, Ethan grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door. “You should get started on dinner. Aidan hasn’t eaten yet.” “I’m heading back to the office,” he added, shrugging on his coat. “Don’t wait up.” He was out the door before I could respond. I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by gleaming appliances and expensive cookware, and felt a strange, detached sense of familiarity. The woman I was before the accident couldn’t cook to save her life. This woman, this ten-year stranger, could apparently prepare a gourmet meal. The hands that had once played piano and held a paintbrush were now covered in calluses, rough as sandpaper. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you cooking? I’m hungry.” Aidan stood behind me, his small face dark with impatience. I pressed my lips together and turned to the sink, my movements stiff as I started washing vegetables. He watched me for a moment longer, then, satisfied, left the kitchen. When the food was ready, I set the steaming plates on the dining room table. Aidan took one bite and slammed his fork down. “This is disgusting,” he spat. “Can’t you do anything right? You’ve been cooking for ten years and you’re still terrible at it.” I sat down and calmly tasted each dish. They weren’t terrible. In fact, they were good—as good as anything our family chef used to make. Aidan muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “Useless. Can’t even cook.” He sighed dramatically. “Not like Aunt Ava. She can paint, and she knows how to race cars. She can do anything.” He looked me right in the eye. “I don’t know why Dad ever married you. You’re nothing compared to her.” His words, sharp and practiced, hung in the air. Expressionless, I reached over and took his plate away. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.” His jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you trying to starve me?” A muscle tightened in my cheek. “You’re the one who said it was disgusting.” “So make me something else!” he demanded, his face flushing with anger. “I’m not your maid.” I turned my attention back to my own plate and continued eating. With a furious scream, Aidan kicked the leg of the table, jumped down from his chair, and stormed off to his room. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. 3 “Why didn’t you feed our son?” Ethan was home, his face a thunderous mask as he confronted me in the living room. “Aidan didn’t mean to push you, Clara. Do you really need to be this petty with a seven-year-old?” I glanced past Ethan’s shoulder. Aidan’s bedroom door was cracked open, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. I could feel him watching, listening. When my eyes met the crack, the door silently closed. “He said my cooking was disgusting,” I said, my voice even. I met Ethan’s gaze directly, without the fear and deference he was used to. He yanked at his tie, his voice rising. “So you make him something else! He’s a child, for God’s sake. You can’t just let him go hungry.” A softer figure appeared behind him. Ava. She slid her arm through Ethan’s, her touch instantly calming him. “Ethan, darling, don’t shout,” she murmured, her voice like honey. “You’ll frighten Clara.” She looked at me, a picture of gentle concern. “We can talk about this calmly.” Ethan’s posture relaxed. He took her hand, his expression softening. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just got worked up.” He looked at Ava, his eyes full of a tenderness I had never seen. “Did I scare you?” She shook her head, her smile serene. “Just don’t get so angry. It’s not good for you.” I was used to this. Used to Ava being a permanent fixture in our home. After Aidan was born, she was here constantly. She spent every Christmas with us. Every New Year’s Eve, the three of them would go outside to light fireworks, a perfect family portrait against the night sky, while I was inside, cleaning up the dinner party they’d left behind. I had swallowed my pride and endured this humiliation for a decade. And in that moment, something inside me finally snapped. I had lived ten years of this pathetic, suffocating lie, all because of a memory I’d lost. Now that it was back, why should I live this way for one more second? “I want a divorce.” “What did you say?” Ethan’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “A divorce.” He stared at me for a beat, then let out a short, incredulous laugh, as if I’d told the most absurd joke in the world. “Your family was the one who forced this marriage on me, and now you want a divorce?” “Clara, don’t be impulsive,” Ava said, her eyes welling with manufactured tears. She let go of Ethan’s arm and stepped toward me. “Is it because of me and Ethan? Did you misunderstand something?” She looked heartbroken. “I’ll keep my distance from now on, I promise. Please, don’t do this. Don’t let Aidan grow up without a mother.” The performance was so flawless it made my stomach turn. I had fallen for it before. The old, amnesiac Clara would have believed her, only for Ava to run to Ethan later, twisting my words and making me seem like the villain. It was a game they played, a game that had steadily poisoned my husband and son against me. “My lawyer will be in touch with you to discuss the details.” I didn’t waste another word. I walked past them and started packing a suitcase. “Stop playing these games, Clara,” Ethan snarled from behind me, his voice laced with contempt. “Your pathetic little schemes don’t work on me.” He stormed out. Ava shot me a triumphant, pitying look before hurrying after him. “Ethan!” 4 Aidan stood in my doorway, beaming. “Are you really leaving?” I didn’t answer him. He clapped his hands together, practically dancing with excitement. “Great! After you’re gone, Aunt Ava can be my new mom!” My hands paused for a fraction of a second over the suitcase before moving even faster. I had to get out of this house. The stupidity of the child, the insanity of the man—it was suffocating. Aidan kicked the side of my suitcase. “Hurry up. Pack your stuff and get out.” He narrowed his eyes, mimicking his father’s disdainful expression. “You’re dragging this out on purpose, aren’t you? Trying to think of some new trick.” He scoffed. “Dad was right. You’re a nasty woman, full of bad ideas.” A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and humorless. For years, I had treated this boy like he was the center of my universe. And now he was telling me to get out, calling me a nasty woman. You could raise a dog for seven years, and it would at least wag its tail when it saw you. I had raised a son for seven years, and he wanted someone else to be his mother. Ethan’s genes were truly something else. I zipped the suitcase shut and walked past him without a word. As I reached the front door, he called out, his voice giddy with victory. “Don’t bother coming back! Nobody wants you here. Aunt Ava is my real mom. She’s the lady of this house now.” 5 After leaving the Thorne residence, I went to my own villa—a place Ethan knew nothing about. A text from him came through: Where did you go? Without hesitating, I deleted and blocked his number, along with all his social media profiles. He didn’t know about the properties in my name; I wasn’t worried about him finding me. But you should never tempt fate. It has a way of slapping you in the face. The next day, Ethan was standing on my doorstep, his face dark as a storm cloud. Without a doubt, my parents had sold me out. Again. “What are you doing here?” I asked, holding the door open just a crack. He reached for my arm. “Come home.” I recoiled, pulling back before he could touch me. “I wasn’t joking about the divorce.” He frowned, his expression a mask of genuine confusion. “You want to end our marriage just because Aidan accidentally pushed you down the stairs? He apologized, Clara. What more do you want?” He sounded exasperated. “Is it really worth throwing everything away over one little incident?” I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage that threatened to boil over. “Mr. Thorne, a divorce is the best option for both of us. You’ll be free to pursue your great love and be with the person you actually want. And I can finally live the life I want.” He laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “The life you want? Isn’t that with me? A happy family of three? Isn’t that why your mother called me, pressuring me to come get you?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low snarl. “Stop the act, Clara. I know your games.” I had told my mother last night I was leaving him. I should have known she wouldn’t listen. His anger washed over me, but I remained perfectly still, my face a blank canvas. “That was their dream, Ethan. Not mine.” My voice was calm, clear. “And I will make it clear to them that they are to stay out of our business from now on.” His brow furrowed, skepticism etched into every line on his face. “I never wanted to get married,” I explained. “My parents took advantage of my amnesia after the accident. They lied to me. Now, my memory is back. And I want my own life back.” I paused, looking him directly in the eye. “I am sorry that you were forced to marry me. I truly am. But for the last ten years… you owe me an apology, too.” Ethan froze. His pupils dilated, his face a kaleidoscope of shock and disbelief. “Pick a day,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Let’s go sign the papers.” 6 After Ethan left, I drove straight to my parents’ house to settle the score. I found them in the living room, sipping tea and watching television, looking startled by my sudden arrival. I dropped onto the sofa without a word. Mrs. Chen, our longtime housekeeper and a master at reading the room, immediately appeared with a glass of my favorite mango juice, a silent offering of peace. “Mrs. Chen, could you give us a minute? I need to speak with my parents alone.” She glanced nervously at the couple, who were practically begging her with their eyes to stay. Then she looked at my face, which was as black as thunder. She wisely chose to obey me, disappearing back into the kitchen. “Clara,” my father began, his voice trembling slightly. “What a nice surprise. What brings you home today?” “Have you decided to formally adopt Ethan as your son?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Planning on handing the company over to him?” They both waved their hands frantically. “No, no, of course not!” my mother insisted. “We’ve doted on you since you were a little girl. Why would we ever do that?” My eyes narrowed. “Then why did you lie to me? Why did you make me marry him?” “We just wanted to see you settled,” my mother stammered. “Happy.” “Happy?” I repeated. “Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the past ten years?” She looked genuinely surprised. “But your mother-in-law always said you two were so happy together. And you seemed to like Ethan so much.” She wrung her hands. “He was always so good to you, so respectful to us. He did whatever I asked.” I held out my hand, showing them the angry red burn. “This is what your ‘good son-in-law’ looks like.” I lowered my hand. “A person with no memory who is forced into a marriage doesn’t fall in love. She becomes dependent on her husband because she has no one else. That isn’t love.” I stood up, my voice hard as steel. “Instead of trying to stop me from getting a divorce, why don’t you do some research into what he’s actually been doing for the last decade.” “I am divorcing him. And I don’t want the child.” My voice didn’t waver. “I will not raise a child who has already betrayed me.”

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Marcus, he found his true love. He was so worried I might hurt her that he kept her under a shield of fierce protection. When his best friend asked him why he didn’t just get a divorce, Marcus sighed. “Claire is the kind of woman you marry. She takes care of everything, the house, our lives. Nina’s too young for all that. She just needs to be with me.” Marcus wasn’t making a choice. He wanted it all. But I have no interest in collecting trash. 1 The first sign was the plant on Marcus’s desk. The money tree in its delicate white lotus pot was gone. In its place sat a succulent terrarium, a miniature, self-contained world. It had been a while since I’d last visited the office. This time, I had to be formally announced by his secretary before I could go in. Inside, a young woman in a crisp white pantsuit stood beside Marcus. She was his new assistant. The moment I entered, she snapped her folder shut and made to leave. I stopped her before she could escape. “Could you get me a coffee, please? Thank you.” She shot a quick, nervous glance at Marcus before scurrying out. I sat down across from him, and we began discussing our social calendar for the second half of the year—birthdays, anniversaries, business dinners. I took notes in my planner as we spoke. From the corner of my eye, I saw the assistant return with the coffee. I reached for it. Before my fingers even brushed the saucer, she let out a sharp cry. I yanked my hand back, but it was too late. Scalding liquid splashed across my skin. Marcus shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm. “I’m fine.” “It’s nothing.” We spoke at the same time. I looked up at the assistant. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she stared at Marcus, a picture of wounded innocence. He grabbed my hand, inspecting the red splotches. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” the assistant stammered, her voice trembling. “I thought Mrs. Thorne had a firm grip on it before I let go—” “Get out,” Marcus snapped, his tone cold and severe. The assistant bit her lip, her face a mask of grievance, and ran out of the room, wiping away tears. I’d never seen an employee so comfortable being emotional in front of their boss. “Should we go to the hospital?” Marcus’s question pulled my attention back. I shook my head. “How did you end up hiring someone so clumsy?” Marcus, for all his polished and gentle demeanor, had zero tolerance for incompetence. Assistants who couldn’t keep up with his train of thought were quickly dismissed. One who couldn’t even carry a cup of coffee should have been fired on the spot. “She’s from a small town, easily spooked,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Her family’s got it rough. It’s not worth making a big deal out of it.” I said nothing more, but my heart began a slow, heavy descent. The company had clawed its way to the top through ruthless efficiency, not charity. And Marcus was never the type to go soft on anyone, especially not for a pretty face. This was uncharacteristic. A woman’s intuition in these matters is a terrifyingly sharp thing. I just needed to know how far it had gone. 2 Marcus’s phone, lying face down on the desk, buzzed a few times. He ignored it, diligently reviewing the gift list with me one last time. As I gathered my things, I asked, “Where should we go for dinner tonight?” “Oh.” He glanced at his phone, a guilty expression flickering across his face. “I’ve got a work thing tonight. You could come along, but… everyone will be smoking.” I waved him off. “You go ahead. I’ll head home.” He walked me to the elevator personally. “I know things have been busy. Thanks for handling all this. I’ll try to get home early tonight to be with you.” His voice was a low, seductive murmur. When he turned on the charm, that soft, devoted look in his eyes, he was irresistible. I smiled and waved as the elevator doors closed. Down in the parking garage, I called our driver. “I left a file in Marcus’s car. Could you come down and unlock it for me?” He arrived quickly. He was a company veteran who had been driving for Marcus since before we were even married. The backseat of the car was my personal storage space—a spare handbag, a jacket, a custom-made neck pillow. I turned on the recording pen, tucked it deep inside the foam of the front passenger seat’s headrest, and grabbed a random folder on my way out. “Thanks for coming all this way,” I said. “Your daughter is graduating this year, isn’t she?” “Yes, ma’am. She said her practice exam scores are looking good. It’s all thanks to the tutor you recommended back then. We wouldn’t have known where to start otherwise.” I smiled. “She’s a smart girl who works hard. And you’ve worked hard all these years for Marcus.” The driver’s expression shifted, becoming uneasy. “Mr. Thorne has been… very busy lately, Mrs. Thorne,” he said softly. “You should take care of yourself.” 3 Marcus was having an affair. The driver’s warning couldn’t have been clearer. By the time I got home, I felt as though all the strength had been drained from my body. A tiny, foolish part of me still clung to a sliver of hope. I just couldn’t understand it. Why would he do this? I hadn’t sensed a single crack in our relationship. He planned thoughtful celebrations for every holiday, every anniversary. My friends all envied me, seeing me as the cherished wife of a perfect husband. But… the truth was likely a bitter joke. Perhaps all those expensive gifts were just his way of paying off his guilt. I rubbed my throbbing temples, my mind frantically sifting through the years, searching for a clue, a forgotten moment, a missed sign. I found nothing. That assistant seemed so… plain. Compared to the other women who had tried to flirt with Marcus over the years, she was bland, almost timid. Suddenly, a memory surfaced. Timid… I sank onto the sofa, covering my eyes with my hand as a hollow laugh escaped me. I knew who she was. 4 Nina. I found her name in the company’s HR system. She’d been hired less than two months ago. But her history with Marcus went back four years. She had once shown up at our doorstep, dragging a burlap sack half-filled with produce from her hometown, wanting to thank the “kind benefactor” who had sponsored her college education. Marcus’s company made charitable donations every year; everyone knew it was primarily for the tax write-offs. It was a win-win. Sponsoring underprivileged students had been my idea. The arrangement was anonymous, so I have no idea how Nina tracked us down. She was thin and dark-skinned back then, with an air of rural simplicity clinging to her. She couldn’t meet our eyes, wouldn’t even step inside. She just mumbled her thanks and pointed at the sack. “We don’t want it. Take it with you,” Marcus had said, appearing in the doorway with a frown. His voice was laced with impatience. “And you don’t need to thank us. Don’t show up here uninvited again.” The girl’s eyes instantly filled with tears. I had nudged him, thinking he was being too harsh. She had come all this way, and it was a sincere gesture. I accepted her gift and had our housekeeper pack a bag of fresh fruit for her to take back. She refused it and ran off. Thinking back on it now, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. She had changed so much. No wonder I hadn’t recognized her. She was nothing if not persistent. 5 Marcus came home very late. He was drunk. The driver helped him inside, and he was calling my name. But this time, I didn’t rush to his side. I let the driver deposit him on the living room sofa. Before leaving, the driver placed the car keys on the console table by the door. “I feel sick… Honey, my head… it hurts so much.” I glanced at him once, then turned and went down to the garage. The car reeked of stale alcohol, but underneath it, I could smell the sweet, cloying scent of another woman’s perfume. Much of the dashcam footage had been deleted. My lips pressed into a thin line, I retrieved the recording pen. Soon, a tearful, feminine voice filled the silence. “Why were you so mean to me?” “Did you spill that coffee on her on purpose?” Marcus’s voice was sharp. Nina didn’t deny it. “You have no idea how much I love you! If you leave me, I’ll die!” she sobbed. “I’m jealous of her! I want you all to myself!” The sound of rustling fabric, a sharp intake of breath from Marcus. “I can do this for you. Can she?” Nina’s voice was a seductive whisper. “Open your mouth.” Marcus’s breathing was ragged, his voice urgent. A muffled gasp from Nina that was anything but pain, followed by sounds that were… unbearable to hear. I clamped a hand over my mouth, bile rising in my throat. It was disgusting. Utterly vile. I sat there, frozen in a cold sweat, forcing myself to listen, a strange form of self-torture. I don’t know how much time passed before the recording picked up new sounds. “You drank that much and you’re still going home?” It was Leo’s voice, our mutual friend from college and Marcus’s business partner. “A CEO taking shots for his assistant? It’s a little obvious, man.” “This isn’t like you, Marcus. Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for her.” Marcus laughed, his voice thick with alcohol. “She’s so naive. She says she doesn’t want anything, she just wants to be with me. Being with her… it’s relaxing. A completely different feeling. I can’t stand to see her get bullied… it makes my chest hurt. Is that… love?” Leo made a sharp sound. “Just have your fun, but don’t do anything stupid. You know Claire doesn’t tolerate bullshit.” When Marcus didn’t respond, Leo’s voice grew urgent. “If you care about this Nina so much, why are you making her your mistress? Why don’t you just divorce Claire?” Silence filled the car. After a long moment, Marcus let out a heavy sigh. “Claire and I… Claire is the kind of woman you marry. She helps me take care of our home, our life. I still have feelings for her, but… it’s not love anymore. It’s family. She’s my family.” “I don’t want to hurt Claire, but I can’t stop thinking about Nina. I can’t control it. It’s a feeling I’ve never had with Claire.” “Jesus,” Leo muttered. “You’re drunk. Stop talking.” “I’m not drunk, Leo,” Marcus mumbled. “My head is perfectly clear right now.” “Nina’s young, and pathetically naive. She loves me so much. She makes me feel free, happy in a way I’ve never felt before. She needs me.” “Claire is great, too. I admire her, but… I’m also afraid of her. She’s not officially in the company, but Finance and HR are filled with her people. She holds all the connections to our biggest clients.” “I have to constantly please her, cater to her. I don’t feel like her husband. I feel like her son. No… more like her slave!” Leo seemed at a loss for words. “Man… that’s not fair to Claire.” “I know,” Marcus said. “That’s why I’ll never divorce her. I’ll give Claire the title, and I’ll give Nina my love.” Leo sucked in a sharp breath. “You want both? What happens when Claire finds out?” Marcus was silent for so long I thought he had passed out. Then, his voice, slurred but firm, cut through the quiet. “I won’t let her hurt Nina.” Leo’s voice was filled with disbelief. “If you had to choose one… who would you choose?!”

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September 8th The day I divorced my cheating husband. The final, signed papers felt hot in my hands. As we stepped out of the courthouse, into the unforgiving sunlight, I turned to Grant Emerson. “I’m pregnant.” He stopped dead, feet bolted to the pavement. He stared at me, his eyes churning with something I couldn’t decipher. His voice was a tremor. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “Tell you,” I said, my gaze level with his, “and let you use a child to chain me to you?” “Grant, remember this.” “This baby is mine. Mine alone.” 1 My marriage to Grant Emerson was a hand-me-down from my sister. Poppy was effervescent and impulsive, a firefly in a jar who refused to be pinned down by something as archaic as a family alliance. So, she took a check for two million dollars and vanished. My mother, Eleanor, doting on her youngest while simultaneously terrified of losing a son-in-law like Grant, shoved me forward to take her place. She acted as if any daughter from the Pierce family would suffice, as if we were interchangeable parts. And Grant Emerson? In a city like New York, where old-money names are carved into library walls and hospital wings, his was etched the deepest. Poppy jilting him was a public humiliation. And now they were offering him… me? It was delusional. But I met with him once anyway. I made my pitch, a business proposal in the guise of a life partnership. And to my unending shock, he agreed. This year marked our fourth anniversary. To the outside world, we were a model couple. In private, we were courteous strangers who shared a bed with the same polite distance we shared a dinner table. Even sex was an exercise in decorum. My mother was constantly in my ear, nagging me about children, about my “uselessness.” If I didn’t secure him with an heir, she’d hiss, what was to stop him from running off? I always wanted to say, Grant isn’t a dog. And even if I wanted to leash him, did she really think he would allow it? But I never said that. I would just nod, my expression placid and agreeable. My meekness always infuriated her. She’d roll her eyes, her lips pursed in disgust, and sweep out of the room. The irony, then, was that I actually did get pregnant. 2 My period was late. First by a week, then two, then a month. Last night, I took a test. Two stark blue lines. This morning, I went to a clinic for a blood test to be sure. The doctor held the report. “You’re nine weeks along. Are you planning on keeping it?” “I think so.” But I hesitated. Grant didn’t know. This child was never part of our meticulously crafted agreement. I had to ask him. So I took the report and went straight to his office downtown. Grant was in a board meeting when I arrived. His assistant, a man of impeccable poise, showed me into the sweeping corner office, furnished me with a coffee and a plate of delicate pastries, and told me it wouldn’t be long. I lifted the porcelain cup to my lips, then paused. Could I drink coffee while pregnant? I had no idea. A quick search on my phone said it was fine in moderation. Good enough for me. I took a small sip, the rich, bitter warmth a familiar comfort. I let out a soft sigh of satisfaction, but it was cut short by a commotion from the reception area—a rising tide of voices and a woman’s sharp, piercing cry. I opened the office door a crack and found myself looking directly at a woman being held back by security. Her eyes, red-rimmed and furious, locked onto the space behind me. “Get Grant Emerson out here!” she screamed. “He knocks someone up and thinks he can just ghost them? Is he going to take responsibility or not?” The volume. The spectacle. The sea of staring faces. The humiliation was a physical blow. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. This has nothing to do with me, I wanted to scream back. And then Grant was there, a sudden calm in the storm. He moved through the crowd, his face a cold mask, and his eyes found me peeking through the doorway. In two long strides, he was in front of me, his large, elegant hand covering my eyes, blocking out the scene. I flinched back instinctively. With a soft click, he closed the door, shutting me inside. I blinked into the sudden quiet. Wait. My husband cheated on me, got another woman pregnant, and the woman was now staging a coup in his lobby. And I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all? 3 As it turned out, I was to be involved. Just not in the way I expected. Grant dismissed the crowd with a single, cutting glance. He murmured something to the woman, then opened the door and ushered her into the office, right in front of me. Watching his cool, unruffled demeanor, I had the absurd urge to applaud. To have an affair and handle the fallout with such brazen composure was, in its own way, a masterpiece of audacity. The woman was striking. Dressed in simple sweats, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail under a baseball cap. She dropped into a leather armchair, crossed her legs, and radiated an aura of “don’t mess with me.” She was also undeniably beautiful, with sharp, exquisite features and a cool, defiant gaze. It was the kind of beauty that made her hard to hate. A shame she had to open her mouth. “So this is your wife?” She didn’t even look at me. Her words were for Grant. “Divorce her.” “I’m pregnant. You have to take responsibility for me.” I felt a wry smile touch my lips. Well, I’m pregnant too. Who’s going to take responsibility for me? By all societal logic, as the wife, I should have had the upper hand. But when a marriage becomes a battlefield, it’s often the one with the least morals who shouts the loudest. “Sigh.” I sighed out loud, reaching for a small, buttery cookie from the plate. It was perfectly crisp, with a hint of vanilla. Delicious. “Want one?” I offered, holding it out. The woman stared at me, her expression one of pure disgust. She pointed a finger in my direction. “Is she insane?” she asked Grant. For the first time, a flicker of something—annoyance? frustration?—crossed Grant’s perfect facade. He frowned, took my hand, and pulled me into the adjoining private lounge. He lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter in tense silence. “It was one time,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly. “I was drugged at a fundraiser. It was an accident.” “Audrey.” He met my eyes then, his gaze unnervingly direct. “This is my fault,” he said. “Completely. So you get to decide what happens next.” “If you can forgive me, we’ll move past this. We’ll make it work.” “If you can’t, we’ll get a divorce.” The word, divorce, hung in the air. My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs. I dug my thumbnail into the soft flesh of my palm, an old, grounding habit. “It’s your fault, right?” I asked, my voice small. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit that it was your fault, won’t you?” 4 Grant watched me, his expression unreadable. He was a handsome man. More handsome than any man I’d ever met. I liked looking at him. Especially in bed, from below, watching the way his eyes would glaze over with pleasure, listening to the raw, unguarded sound of his breathing. Moments like that, I could forget everything else and just feel. A divorce. It was a shame. But it wasn’t impossible. “So, your choice is divorce?” he asked, his voice flat. I nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the office beyond the door. “After all that? It doesn’t seem like there’s much of a choice, is there?” “It’s just… my mother. You’ll tell her it was your fault, right?” I needed to hear it again. His expression shuttered. A cold, unfamiliar distance crept into his eyes, and it made my chest ache. But I was an expert at managing that particular ache. A deep breath in. A slow breath out. And it was gone. Grant stood, brushing invisible dust from his tailored suit. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle it.” Phew. That was a relief. “About the divorce,” I began, my mind already shifting gears. “I don’t need much, but I want Helios Pharmaceuticals.” “Fine.” “And a house would be nice. If it’s not too much trouble.” “Okay.” “Could I also have, say, fifty million?” Grant turned back, his eyes narrowing. “You want everything, and you still want a divorce?” He took a step closer. “Don’t divorce me, and it’s all yours anyway.” I looked away, suddenly fascinated by my own shoes. That’s a nice sentiment, I thought. But you’re the one who cheated. If you hadn’t cheated, we wouldn’t be getting a divorce. If we weren’t getting a divorce, your wife and your child would both be yours. …Wait. Even with a divorce, he’d still have a new wife and a new child waiting for him. Damn. He really was a businessman. He’d done the math. No matter what, he came out ahead. 5 Grant took care of the woman. What they said, what he promised her, I never found out. By the time I emerged from the lounge, she was gone. The delicious pastries were gone too. Not a single crumb left. I eyed the empty plate mournfully. As we were leaving, I couldn’t help but grab his assistant’s arm. “Those little cookies from earlier,” I whispered. “Could you possibly pack some for me?” His expression was a masterclass in controlled bewilderment. Behind me, Grant let out a short, cold laugh. “Pack them for her,” he ordered. The scandal was too big to contain. By evening, my mother’s name was flashing on my screen. The first call, I ignored. The second, I let ring out. On the third, I stared at the screen for a long moment before walking to the kitchen and dropping my phone into the sink full of water. Finally. Peace. In the silence that followed, a single thought crystallized in my mind: I was going to have this baby. This child, a being formed from my own body, nourished by my blood, would grow into a new life. A life inextricably linked to mine. My own flesh and blood. My family. Why wouldn’t I keep him? Yes. I was going to keep him. The decision filled me with a giddy, unfamiliar excitement. I went to the wine cellar and opened a bottle of Screaming Eagle I’d been saving. Could you drink while pregnant? Probably not. But the internet said moderation. So, cheers. 6 At eight o’clock, my mother descended. The pounding on my front door was loud enough to be a public disturbance, but in this neighborhood of sprawling, isolated houses, there was no one to report it to. I put on my headphones and turned the stereo up, letting the music wash over me. Still, I could faintly hear her muffled shrieks through the bass. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew the script by heart. It would be a familiar tirade: “The Uselessness of Audrey” and its companion piece, “The Pointlessness of Audrey’s Existence.” No new material, nothing innovative, yet still profoundly exhausting to hear. After what felt like an eternity, the pounding stopped. Some time after that, the door to my study opened. Grant stood there. He plucked the headphones from my ears. In one hand, he held my waterlogged phone. In the other, a brand new one, still in its box. His face was impassive, his voice cold. “Put your SIM card in this.” “The lab couldn’t reach you, so they called me. Call them back.” I tilted my head back to look up at him. “You know, Grant, you weren’t wrong.” “What?” “You cheated, and that’s why we’re getting a divorce. And my mother still came here to blame me.” He stared down at me, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll handle it.” Grant’s method of “handling it” was, to put it mildly, a catastrophic failure. I was tempted to leave him a one-star review. My mother stormed his office building and was stopped by security in the lobby. I had just come from the lab, having pulled an all-nighter on a sample that was yielding disappointing results. My whole team was demoralized. Grant would say this was a moment for encouragement, for a rousing speech about hope and perseverance. “But they’re human,” I’d argued. “It’s normal to be frustrated.” “Anyone who chooses this work has the courage to fail a thousand times and start over.” It was that resilience that I found so captivating. But my thoughts were interrupted by Grant’s secretary informing me that my mother had arrived, demanding to see me, and vowing not to leave until she did. The truth was, if I didn’t want to see her, she couldn’t make me. I took the private elevator down to the garage, got in my car, and was about to make a stealthy exit when she materialized in front of my vehicle like a phantom, her eyes glaring with feral intensity. There was no escape. I resigned myself to buying her a coffee. As we sat in a sterile cafe, I did a quick mental calculation. It had been 372 days since we had last seen each other. We were so close to a new record. A shame to have it broken. “You’re divorcing Grant Emerson?” she began, no preamble. “Yes.” “Are you mentally ill?” The attack came out of nowhere, a zero-to-sixty of maternal rage. The tirade continued. “Do you have a single functioning brain cell in your head? Who do you think you are, Audrey? What makes you so special? Every man strays, every single one. What, you think you’re different? You’re going to throw this all away over some trivial little thing? You’re not just embarrassing yourself, you’re embarrassing me.” “It’s your fault, you know. You couldn’t hold on to him. You couldn’t manage him.” “I told you, being smart isn’t enough! You have no social graces, no common sense. You’re stubborn, inflexible…” “Everyone always said I favored Poppy, but if you were even half as considerate, half as thoughtful as she is—” “You would still favor her,” I cut in, finishing her sentence. She froze, speechless for a second, before her voice rose to a shriek. “Audrey, must you always be so contrary?” No. I was just tired. I wanted to sleep. I was pregnant, and the tiny cluster of cells inside me needed to grow. I stood up to leave. But it was like I had flipped a switch. She lunged, grabbing my arm, her face contorted with rage. Just as she had done countless times when I was a child, she raised her hand to strike me. In that instant, a cold terror seized me. I could have dodged. I could have blocked her hand. I could have even fought back. But my body refused to obey. It was as if my neural pathways had been severed. I just stood there, frozen. A statue. A puppet with its strings cut. I couldn’t even breathe. 7 “Mom!” The voice was bright and musical. My mother’s hand stopped mid-air. She turned, her angry expression melting into one of delighted surprise. Standing in the doorway was a girl so full of life she seemed to vibrate. Even out of breath, her smile was radiant. “Poppy?” “When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Poppy bounced over and squeezed between us, linking her arm through our mother’s and leaning her head on her shoulder. “I wanted to surprise you! Oh, Mommy, I missed you so much.” Eleanor preened, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening with pleasure. I took a small, subtle step back, giving them ample space for their mother-daughter reunion. My back hit something solid and warm. A wall of muscle. “Poppy, how did you get here? Who picked you up from the airport?” “Grant, of course!” Both of them turned their gazes to the man standing behind me. He had a steadying hand on my back. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low. I took a shaky breath. “When exactly,” I asked, my voice tight, “did you reconnect with your former fiancée?” A muscle feathered in Grant’s jaw. “Right now, she is still my sister-in-law.” “Oh, my mistake. How did you reconnect with your sister-in-law?” He didn’t like that. I could see it in the clench of his jaw. Someone else didn’t like it either. Poppy pouted, stepping between us to take Grant’s arm. “Grant, what are you guys talking about? I called your name and you didn’t even answer.” She clung to her brother-in-law’s arm as naturally as she had clung to her mother’s. Eleanor’s eyes darted between them, a speculative gleam entering her expression. “Poppy, you two…” Poppy’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink before she even spoke. She stamped her foot playfully. “Mom, don’t be ridiculous.” “Grant and I, we’re just… we’re…” “Oh, I can’t talk to you people, you’re so annoying!” The unspoken words, the flustered denial—it was classic Poppy. A slow smile of dawning realization spread across my mother’s face, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes into canyons of delight. “Wonderful, wonderful!” “This is a happy day. Grant, you come with Poppy. We’ll all go home and have dinner together.” Everyone in the room was suddenly very busy. Only Grant spared me a final, fleeting glance. But in the end, he allowed himself to be led away by Poppy. And my sister, from the moment she arrived to the moment she left, never once looked at me. 8 With Poppy’s return, everything suddenly accelerated. That evening, my mother found the time to send me a text. [If you’re so determined to get this divorce, then get it over with.] [But since you’re the one asking for it, you’ll leave with nothing. Don’t be greedy. Our family can’t afford that kind of embarrassment.] At ten, Grant came to the lab. He brought late-night food for the team, and we had a short debrief. As he was leaving, I stopped him. “Is the divorce agreement being drafted? Helios Pharmaceuticals—that’s the one thing I won’t budge on. You can promise me that, right?” “Is there nothing else you want to ask me?” he said, his voice quiet. Actually, there was. “Are you about to be demoted to my brother-in-law? And what happens to the mother of your one-night-stand baby?” Grant let out a cold, humorless laugh. “What’s this? Divorcing me but still concerned about who’s taking your place?” I pursed my lips. He was clearly angry. “I’m just giving you a heads-up.” “If Poppy has her sights set on you, you’d better protect that woman and her child. When my mother gets desperate, even Poppy is afraid of her.” He didn’t respond. I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me. “Audrey.” “Yes?” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but he hesitated. After a long moment, all he managed was: “She has a name. It’s Sloane.” … “Oh.” 9 I never imagined that just hours after learning Sloane’s name, I would run into her. After deciding to keep the baby, I had my first official prenatal visit and a battery of tests at the hospital. As I was leaving, I got a frantic call from a former mentor who now ran a private clinic. “Your mother just dragged someone in here, trying to force an abortion. Do you know anything about this? She’s threatening to ruin my career!” What is the absolute limit of a person’s cruelty? This. This was it. To completely disregard another person’s will, their fundamental human rights. Because my family were major donors to that clinic, my mother believed she held the power of life and death in her hands. I didn’t hesitate. I called the police. Then I called Grant. No answer. After a moment’s thought, I turned my car around and headed for the clinic. The scene I walked into was pure chaos. Two groups of people were in a standoff, one restraining my mother, the other holding back Sloane. “You shameless homewrecker!” my mother screeched. “Destroying my daughter’s marriage, carrying a bastard child! If your mother didn’t teach you how to be a decent human being, I will!” “Who the hell do you think you are?” Sloane shot back, her voice dripping with contempt. “Yelling at me? I’m terrified. I was bitten by a rabid dog once as a kid.” “Who are you calling a dog?” “You, old woman! Get over here and I’ll show you what I can do!” “Ha! You seduce a married man and you think you’re righteous? Why don’t you just strip naked and put on a show for the whole street?” “Is that what you did? Speaking from experience?” … My mother was a storm of fury. Sloane was a hurricane, matching her blow for blow. If not for the people holding her back, she would have launched herself across the room. Then the police arrived. And so did the patriarch of the Pierce family, my father, Arthur, a man perpetually too busy for anything. The police tried to mediate. My mother and Sloane continued to trade insults. My father, ever the decisive executive, strode forward and slapped my mother across the face. “Shut up,” he snarled. “Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” Instantly, Eleanor fell silent, shrinking like a frightened bird. He turned to Sloane. “Ms. Sloane, I apologize for this incident. Name your terms. I only hope we can resolve this quietly. I’m sure none of us want this to escalate.” Sloane, her hair disheveled, looked ragged but unbroken. She let out a cold laugh. “Resolve it quietly? Not a chance. I’m pressing charges. I’m suing her. I want—” Crack. Another slap, this one on my mother’s other cheek. “Is that enough?” my father asked Sloane, his voice dangerously calm. “If not…” Everyone froze. Especially Sloane, her lips pressed into a thin, white line, her face pale with shock. And me, standing just outside the circle of chaos, my feet felt rooted to the floor. The hand at my side clenched into a fist so tight my nails dug into my palm. One slap. “Is that enough?” Another slap. “How about now? Is this enough?” My mother was dragging me by the hair, forcing me to face the little girl and her parents. “If you’re still not satisfied, how about this?” Another slap. It was that girl. She had torn up my test paper. I had pushed her. She fell and started crying, claiming I’d hit her. My mother arrived and slapped me without asking a single question. Asking them, is that enough? Did it hurt? I don’t remember. I just remember a wave of dizziness, a sudden, warm, spreading wetness. In front of everyone, I had wet myself. 10 When I was little, I could never understand why my parents didn’t like me. I got straight A’s. I learned everything quickly. Teachers praised me, and other adults complimented me. But never my parents. My father acted as if I were invisible. My mother’s gaze was always cold. “So you got another A? Are you showing off? Get out of my sight. The sight of you annoys me.” My accomplishments were never acknowledged. But my mistakes were magnified, scrutinized under her relentless lens. She was a quality inspector looking for flaws, and any tiny error on my part was cause for a festival of her scorn. I was lying on the living room rug, my mind drifting, when Poppy appeared above me, looking down. “Did you see my texts? I called you, too. You ignored me!” she said, her voice accusatory. “That’s really rude, Audrey.” I closed my eyes and rolled over. She plopped down on the rug beside me anyway. “When Dad got home, he laid into Mom. Told her if she lost Grant as a son-in-law, he would bring Rhys home for good.” Rhys. My father’s illegitimate son. Two years older than me. “Mom went ballistic. Smashed everything in the house. Now she’s insisting I have to be the one to marry Grant.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “When are you two finally getting divorced?” I didn’t want to talk to her. I started to get up, but she grabbed my arm. “Play chess with me.” I couldn’t hold back a scoff. “You? Play what? Tic-tac-toe? You’re terrible at chess.” Poppy just grinned, her eyes curving into crescents. We played two games. Each one lasted over forty minutes. She would study the board for a minute or two before every single move. Finally, not even halfway through the second game, I drifted off to sleep. Poppy noticed quickly. She waved a hand in front of my face. Then, moving with uncharacteristic quiet, she found a blanket and carefully draped it over me. She tiptoed out of the room, pulling the door gently shut, leaving me in peace. 11 Poppy had asked a good question. When were Grant and I getting divorced? He’d been away on business for a few days. He flew back today and went straight to the office from the airport. As soon as I heard, I drove over. But I was a step too late. His assistant intercepted me, his expression pained. “Dr. Pierce, the president’s office is… occupied at the moment.” “By who?” “Ms. Sloane.” Ah. She was probably here to settle accounts after the ordeal at the clinic. Nothing to do but wait. I waited for thirteen minutes. Grant did not emerge. Instead, Poppy and my mother arrived. The moment they appeared, I saw the assistant’s shoulders tense. He was going to need a raise. Three different women, all here to see the CEO about a divorce. The instant my mother saw me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “What are you doing here?” Her face was still slightly swollen, a faint bruising that no amount of makeup could fully conceal. I looked away. “The divorce.” She let out a dismissive huff and sat down opposite me, pulling Poppy down with her. Poppy was absorbed in her phone, oblivious. “You’re the one who wants this divorce,” my mother hissed under her breath. “Besides, Grant was always meant for Poppy. You were just keeping her seat warm.” “And this is all your fault anyway. If you had managed Grant properly, none of this mess with the other woman and the illegitimate child would have happened.” “Audrey, did you do this on purpose?” Deep breath in. Slow breath out. I’d rather deal with the mistress. I stood up and, ignoring his assistant’s panicked expression, pushed open the door to Grant’s office. Behind me, I heard him trying to block my mother. “Mrs. Pierce, you really can’t go in there.” If the reception area was a warzone, the office was the bloody aftermath. Sloane had Grant pinned against the wall, her hands fisted in his collar, her body pressed against his. Grant’s eyes were smoldering with anger, but the edges were red. Whether from rage or something else, I couldn’t tell. I stopped in my tracks. They both turned to look at me, their expressions equally ferocious.

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I make seven figures as a top sales executive. My husband, Mark, is a stay-at-home dad. Everyone tells me what a huge sacrifice he’s made for our family. But lately, I’ve noticed our six-year-old son growing more and more distant. He even wrote in his journal, “I wish Mommy would disappear.” It broke my heart. I thought maybe I was being too hard on him. Then my neighbor cornered me in the elevator, her face grim. She told me if I didn’t stop beating my son at night, she was going to call the police. But during those times, I was miles away, stuck in meetings at the office. Until the night I came home early, unannounced. And as I stood in the hallway outside my own apartment, I heard it. My own voice, screaming at my child. 1 “Leah, I’m warning you.” In the elevator, Mrs. Gable from across the hall stared me down, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and disgust. “You stop hitting that boy at night! You do it again, and I swear, I’m calling the cops.” I had just gotten out of a six-hour international conference call. I was bone-tired, and my head was pounding. “Mrs. Gable, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” “I’ve been working late all week. I haven’t been getting home until after midnight.” “A misunderstanding?” Her voice shot up, and the other people in the elevator turned to stare. “I heard it with my own ears!” she hissed. “The sound of your voice, screaming at him. And that poor boy’s crying… the whole hallway could hear it!” “What good is a big career if you treat your own son like that?” she continued, her voice dripping with judgment. “To lay a hand on your own flesh and blood… you’re a monster!” The elevator dinged open. Mrs. Gable pointed a trembling finger at my face. “A good man like Mark,” she spat, “must have been blind to marry you!” I stood frozen as the doors slid shut, then walked the final few feet to my apartment on heavy legs. I fumbled for my keys, my hand shaking uncontrollably. The door opened to a scene of domestic warmth. My husband, Mark, was in an apron, carrying a steaming bowl of soup from the kitchen. He saw me and his face broke into that gentle smile I knew so well. “Leah, you’re home. Rough day?” “Come on, sit down. I made your favorite.” He took my briefcase and knelt to help me out of my heels. He’d been like this for seven years, ever since we got married. He’d given up a promising career of his own, despite his Ivy League degree, to be the man behind the woman, managing our home with perfect care. “Mark, Mrs. Gable, she…” I couldn’t finish. Mark sighed and pulled me into a soft hug. “I know,” he said, his voice muffled in my hair. “She came by this afternoon, threatening to call the police.” “Leah, don’t listen to her. She’s just getting old, her hearing’s not what it used to be.” The knot in my chest loosened slightly. “But why would she say that?” “Who knows. Maybe someone had their TV on too loud.” He rubbed my back soothingly. “Don’t even think about it. You’re just under too much stress.” “Go wash up. Dinner’s ready.” I nodded and walked to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror looked haggard, with dark circles under her eyes like bruises. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was just exhausted. At dinner, our six-year-old son, Leo, kept his head down, pushing food around his plate without a word. I put a piece of his favorite honey-glazed salmon on his plate, but he flinched back as if my fork were a hot poker. The fish fell onto the table. “Leo?” I frowned. He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m full,” he mumbled. He scrambled from his chair and ran to his room, shutting the door behind him. A sharp pain went through my chest. The little boy who used to cling to me, begging for one more bedtime story, now couldn’t stand to be in the same room. Mark sighed, picking up the piece of salmon and placing it on my plate. “Don’t be too hard on him, Leah. He’s just a kid.” “You’ve been so on edge lately. He’s a little scared of you.” I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. With the pressure of the new product launch, I knew my patience had been thin. I had been stricter about his reading practice. Was it really my fault? Late that night, I couldn’t sleep. I found myself drawn to my son’s room. He was fast asleep, his cheeks still damp with old tears. His journal was lying open on his desk. I picked it up. In his childish scrawl, a single sentence sent a chill down my spine. “I wish Mommy would disappear.” 2 I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, with my eyes swollen and red, I went to see my best friend, Maya. She’s a child psychologist, the only person I can tell everything to. After I finished my story, her expression was grave. “Leah, this is serious,” she said. “Kids are like emotional barometers. He wouldn’t be acting this way without a reason.” “And your neighbor hearing things? That’s not a coincidence.” I buried my face in my hands. “But I didn’t do it, Maya! I have airtight alibis for all those times!” “I believe you.” Maya took my hands, her gaze steady. “But we have to figure out what’s really going on.” She hesitated. “Mark… is it possible he…?” I shook my head instantly. “No way. Not Mark. He gave up everything for this family. He loves Leo and me more than anything.” Maya sighed. “You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Look, let me help. I have a friend who runs a security company. I can have him install a discreet camera in the hallway outside your apartment. See what it picks up.” “Okay,” I said, nodding gratefully. “Don’t say a word to anyone,” she warned. “Especially not to Mark. We don’t want to tip anyone off if something is going on.” A small flame of hope ignited in my chest. That afternoon, Maya called to say the camera was installed. I spent the rest of the day on edge, checking my phone constantly, waiting for a break in the case. Nothing. When I got home, Mark was his usual perfect self, with a beautiful dinner waiting. Leo was even colder than before. He wouldn’t even eat at the table with me, taking his plate into his room. My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest. At 10 PM, I was in my home office answering emails when my phone rang. It was Maya. Her voice was colder and more brittle than I had ever heard it. “Leah.” “Maya? What is it? Did the camera catch anything?” I asked, my voice tight with anticipation. There was a long silence. “Maya?” “I saw it,” she said, her voice sounding like it was being squeezed through a keyhole. “No. I heard it.” “Just half an hour ago. I heard your voice.” My stomach dropped. “My voice?” “Yes, your voice! You were screaming at Leo, saying the most horrible things. And then… then I heard hitting. And Leo was crying, screaming for you to stop…” “That’s impossible!” I yelled, jumping to my feet. “I’m right here, in my office! I haven’t moved an inch!” “Stop lying to me!” Maya’s voice was suddenly sharp, accusatory. “Leah, I can’t believe you! Do you have any idea what you’re doing? That’s your son!” “I didn’t do it! Maya, you have to believe me!” Tears were streaming down my face. “Believe you? How can I? I spent all these years looking up to you, thinking you were this icon of female empowerment!” “Leah, listen to me. You either go to the police and turn yourself in, get some serious psychological help, or we’re done. Our friendship, everything. It’s over.” “I will not stand by and watch you destroy that little boy, and yourself.” “Beep… beep… beep…” She hung up. I tried calling back, but a cold, automated voice informed me, “The person you are calling is unavailable.” Over and over, I tried. The same result. She’d blocked me. My best friend of fifteen years, the woman who was like a sister to me, had just cut me out of her life. A chilling numbness spread through my body. I collapsed back into my chair, the room spinning around me. Why? Even Maya heard it. Was it… was it possible that I was sick? That I was doing these things in some kind of fugue state, with no memory of them? Fear, cold and suffocating, wrapped around my throat. 3 I stumbled out of my office in a daze. Mark was in the living room, holding a glass of milk, watching me with a gentle expression. “What’s wrong, Leah? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I looked at him, my lips trembling. “Mark… am I… am I sick?” “Do I have some kind of disease I don’t know about?” A flicker of something complex—pity? triumph?—crossed his face, so fast I couldn’t be sure I’d seen it. He set the milk down and came to me, wrapping me in his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just exhausted. Your nerves are shot.” “But Maya… she heard it too. She ended our friendship…” I choked out the story of our phone call. Mark’s brow furrowed. “How could she say that to you? What kind of friend is she?” he said, his voice full of indignation on my behalf. Then, his tone softened again. “Leah, listen to me. There has to be a misunderstanding.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Maybe… maybe the stress has triggered something. Like a dissociative episode?” “It’s sometimes called… a split personality.” He said it so gently, as if he were afraid the words themselves would break me. “Sometimes, when a person is under extreme pressure, their mind creates another personality to cope. Maybe… maybe that other personality did those things, and you have no memory of it.” My mind went blank. Dissociative Identity Disorder? “No… that can’t be…” “Leah, don’t be scared.” Mark cupped my face in his hands, his eyes filled with sincerity. “No matter what happens, I’m here with you. We’ll face this together, okay? I’ll make an appointment with the best psychiatrist in the city for you tomorrow.” Looking into his concerned eyes, the chaos in my mind quieted a little. He was right. I still had him. Just then, the doorbell rang. Mark answered it. A young, pretty woman I’d never seen before was standing there, holding a covered dish. “Hi, Mark. I… I just made some lasagna,” she said softly. “Mrs. Gable mentioned Leah’s been under a lot of stress, and I just wanted to bring something over.” Her name was Clara. The new neighbor from downstairs. “Clara, that’s so thoughtful of you,” Mark said, taking the dish. “Come on in.” Clara stepped inside but flinched slightly when she saw me, as if I were a wild animal. She directed her words to Mark. “Oh, no, I can’t stay. I just wanted to drop this off.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, just loud enough for me to hear. “Is… is Leah okay?” She paused. “I heard some noises last night, too… Leo’s crying was just heartbreaking. Mark… you should really look after Leah. Maybe she’s working too hard?” Her words were like a knife in my gut. Even the new neighbor heard it. Mark’s expression darkened. He glanced from Clara back to me and sighed. “I know. Thanks, Clara. We’ll handle it.” After he closed the door, the gentle concern on Mark’s face vanished, replaced by a deep, weary frustration. “You see, Leah? Even Clara heard it.” He rubbed his temples, and for the first time, spoke to me in a tone that was less suggestion and more command. “You have to see a doctor. For your own good, and for Leo’s.” “He’s terrified of you, do you understand that? If you keep on like this, you’re going to destroy this family!” I stared at him. Was this the same man who catered to my every whim? His eyes, his tone… it was all so foreign. My heart sank like a stone. He put his hands on my shoulders, his voice softening again, but with an unyielding edge. “Just listen to me, Leah. Take some time off work. I’ll go with you to the doctor.” “And until you’re better, I think it’s best if you don’t get too close to Leo. Okay?” “It’s for his own good.” 4 I was a prisoner in my own home. Under the guise of “getting better.” Mark called my office and requested an extended leave of absence for me, citing a mental health crisis. He took my phone, my laptop, and my car keys, severing my connection to the outside world. Every day, he brought me meals and a cocktail of colorful pills. They were from the doctor, he said, to help stabilize my mood. After a few days on them, I was in a constant, groggy fog, sleeping most of the time. I wasn’t allowed to see my son. Whenever I tried to leave the bedroom, Mark would block my path with a look of profound sadness and pity. “Leah, please. The doctor said you need complete rest.” “If Leo sees you like this, it will only scare him more.” Trapped, I felt my strength and my will to fight draining away. I started to believe it myself. Maybe I really was sick. Maybe everything Mark was doing was for the best. Until one night, I woke up, nauseous from the medication, and knocked over a glass of water on the nightstand. The water soaked the inside of the drawer. As I frantically pulled it open to wipe it out, my fingers brushed against a small, unlabeled pill bottle tucked away in the very back. I opened it. The pills inside were identical to the “sedatives” I’d been taking every day. A seed of suspicion took root. The next time Mark went out for groceries, I hid a few of the pills in my pocket. Later, I staged a complete breakdown, screaming and crying and smashing a vase against the wall. When Mark came home to the wreckage, his eyes were filled with disappointment. He didn’t yell. He just quietly cleaned up the mess and doubled my dosage. The next day, I pretended the new dose had knocked me out cold. As soon as I heard the front door close—Mark, Clara, and Leo leaving for the day—I shot out of bed. My years in sales had taught me to be cautious and prepared. I always kept a burner phone and a prepaid SIM card hidden in a secret compartment in my closet. I powered it on and called the one person I knew I could trust completely: a private investigator. I asked him to run a chemical analysis on the pills. Then, I started planning my escape. I couldn’t just sit here and let this happen. I had to know the truth. I became the model patient. I pretended to take my pills every day, but flushed them down the toilet. I acted more stable, more compliant. Mark seemed to let his guard down. Finally, my chance came. He told me he was taking Leo to a “family fun day” at the park, and that Clara was coming with them. They would be home late. I smiled sweetly and told him to have a good time. The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from my face. I picked the lock on my office door, where I had a spare key and an emergency stash of cash. I changed into inconspicuous clothes, put on a hat and a mask, and slipped out of my own home. I didn’t run. Instead, I hid in the stairwell, tucked behind the fire extinguisher case. My gut told me something was going to happen tonight. Darkness fell. At 9 PM, the door to my apartment opened. Mark came back. Alone. He didn’t turn on any lights. He walked straight to Leo’s room. A few moments later, I heard it. A sound that was both intimately familiar and bone-chillingly terrifying. My voice. “Leo! You got another B on your spelling test? You’re worthless!” “I work my fingers to the bone for you, and this is how you repay me?” “I told you, if you’re not number one in your class, you don’t get to eat!” The voice was shrill, cruel, filled with a venom I didn’t recognize. It was followed by the sharp crack of a belt and the sound of my son’s muffled, agonized sobs. My blood ran cold. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. That wasn’t me. It was a recording. He was using a recording of my voice to torture my son. Then, I heard Mark’s voice, flat and devoid of any emotion. “Cry louder. Or your real mommy will come back and give you worse.” Tears streamed down my face. My boy… my little Leo… A woman’s voice joined in. Clara’s. She hadn’t left. “It’s okay, Leo, sweetie,” she cooed. “Just do what your daddy says. This way, your real mommy won’t hurt you. We’re protecting you.” “Your mommy is sick, she’s a bad person now. We’re the only ones who really love you.” Vile. Despicable. A white-hot rage erupted in my chest. I clutched the burner phone in my pocket—it was already recording. I shot to my feet. I couldn’t wait another second. I had to expose them. I had to save my son. I rushed to the door, ready to break it down— Ding. The elevator doors opened. Mrs. Gable stepped out, holding a bag of trash. Her head snapped toward the sounds of screaming and crying coming from my apartment. Then her eyes landed on me. The look she gave me was one of pure hatred. She put one hand on her hip and pointed at me with the other, her voice echoing down the hall. “There you are! I knew it! You shameless, sick woman, you came back for more!” “I’m calling the cops right now! They’ll lock you up, you psycho!”

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The moment I was pulled into the book, I was seven years old, wearing a frilly princess dress and clutching a rapidly melting lollipop. A cold, mechanical voice in my head was delivering its final broadcast. 【User Vivian, you have successfully transmigrated. Identity: The Villainess.】 【Primary Objective: In the three male leads’ childhood, you are to shower them with warmth and kindness. This will alter their perception of you as a villain, allowing you to avoid the future where they join forces to destroy you, leading to your tragic death on the streets.】 【Alert: The male leads’ corruption level has reached 50%. User is advised to take immediate action.】 I licked the sickly-sweet lollipop and stared at the three little boys playing in the sandbox a short distance away, lost in thought. The one on the left, crying the hardest with a bubble of snot inflating at his nostril, was the future’s master of manipulation, Sebastian. Right now, he was just a sniveling crybaby, but he’d grow up to use that innocent face and a masterful victim complex to make the original story’s heroine fall hopelessly, obsessively in love with him. The one in the middle, red-faced and hopping mad because someone had stolen his toy, was the future top-tier gaming streamer, Blaze. He was a hot-tempered brat with a vicious mouth. Now, all he could do was stamp his feet, but as an adult, he’d be a lazy, venomous psycho who could verbally decimate anyone who crossed him. And the one on the right, ostracized from the group and quietly reading a book with a detached expression, was the future brilliant and aloof research scientist, Alistair. A certified genius with a mind like a labyrinth. Now, he was being forced to do other kids’ homework; later, he’d be a cold-blooded tactician who could play with your mind until you didn’t know which way was up. And I, Vivian, was the villainess who, during their childhood, embodied every cruel impulse imaginable, painting their dark pasts with an even blacker brush. My future was to have my family ruined and my life destroyed by these three vengeful men, before being run over by an out-of-control truck on a rainy night. The system urged me, 【User, go! Spread the warmth! Wipe Sebastian’s tears, help Blaze get his toy back, invite Alistair to play with you!】 I looked at them, then at my own small, pink hands, and a brilliant idea sparked in my mind. Spread the warmth? What a joke. In stories like this, a helping hand in a crisis is always remembered more than a pat on the back in good times. But… what if I’m the crisis? When they finally clawed their way to the top, the person seared most deeply into their memories would still be me, wouldn’t it? Instead of trying to win over three people destined to hate me, I might as well commit to the role. If I was crazier than them, if I pushed them harder than anyone else, they’d never be able to forget me. So, as the system watched in digital shock, I took off on my stubby little legs and charged. First, I snatched the last half of a cookie from Sebastian’s hand. As his eyes welled up with fresh tears, I leaned in and sank my teeth into his soft cheek, leaving a perfect, pink set of teeth marks. “Stop crying!” I mumbled around the cookie. “Cry again and I’ll bite you again!” Sebastian’s wails choked off instantly. He clutched his cheek, his big eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but he didn’t dare let another one fall. He looked like a terrified little fawn, and it was… ridiculously easy to bully him. Next, I planted my foot squarely on Blaze’s backside. He stumbled and went sprawling face-first into the sandbox, getting a mouthful of gritty sand. I picked up the limited-edition Optimus Prime he’d dropped and, over his enraged roars, twisted its head off with a sickening snap of plastic. “So noisy! Toy’s confiscated!” Finally, I marched over to Alistair. I slapped my workbook down on top of the book he was reading and planted my hands on my hips, mimicking the bullies from TV. “Hey, nerd. You’re doing my homework today. You’re not going home until it’s done.” Alistair looked up, his unnervingly calm eyes meeting mine. He said nothing. His stare made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t lose momentum. I’d filched a leather strap from my dad’s toolbox earlier. I pulled it out and snapped it against my leg with a sharp crack. “You hear me? Or do you want a taste of this?” Alistair’s gaze flickered to the strap for a single second before he silently dragged my workbook toward him. 【Alert! Alert! Male lead corruption levels are skyrocketing! Sebastian: 70%! Blaze: 75%! Alistair: 80%!】 【System has detected user behavior severely deviating from the primary objective! Initiating emergency protocol… Protocol failure! System… system entering dormant mode…】 The mechanical voice in my head dissolved into a crackle of static and then fell silent. Peace and quiet. I looked with satisfaction at the three little boys, all fuming but too scared to do anything. Suddenly, my tragic future didn’t seem so terrifying anymore. From that day on, my reign of terror lasted a decade. My daily routine involved making Sebastian cry, then luring him into the woods and telling him I’d only return his favorite hairclip if he barked three times like a dog. I drew turtles on Blaze’s brand-new sneakers, stole the game cartridge he’d waited in line all night for, and then stood under his window with a megaphone shouting, “Blaze wets the bed!” I smeared ink all over Alistair’s lab reports, forced him to take my place in the advanced Mathletes competition I was failing, and once, when my dad was out of town, I even stole his belt and threatened Alistair to finish building my Lego castle in under ten minutes. They were like my three pathetic little pets. Sebastian went from howling, to silent tears, to simply freezing up whenever he saw me, his eyes red and his hands clutching the hem of his shirt like a cornered rabbit. Blaze went from explosive rage, to screaming matches with me, to eventually just glaring with a dark, simmering hatred that promised he’d one day eat me alive. And Alistair… he was always the quietest. No matter what I did, he accepted it in silence, his deep, unreadable eyes just watching me, occasionally sending a shiver of unease down my spine. Time flew, and puberty hit us all like a truck. The three of them shot up in height as if on fast-forward, their faces sharpening into handsome, defined lines. Sebastian was still the gentle, harmless-looking one, with two shallow dimples that made him the dream crush of every girl in school. Blaze dyed his hair a rebellious crimson and became the infamous school bad boy, an unbeatable gaming legend. Alistair became the untouchable academic god, permanently ranked number one, his aura growing colder and more distant with each passing year. They were no longer the little boys I could easily push around. I could feel the flames of vengeance building. In the school hallways, I constantly felt three sets of eyes on me—one full of resentment, one cold with malice, one dissecting me with unnerving focus. I knew the good times were over. A direct confrontation was out of the question; what could one girl do against three guys who were all over six feet tall? So, I switched tactics. From the arrogant, tyrannical villainess, I became the pitiful, misunderstood victim. I started by getting on their parents’ good side. I went over to Blaze’s house and “happened” to walk in on his mom tearing him a new one for skipping school to play video games. I immediately pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from my bag (pre-planted, of course) and said, my voice thick with heartbreak, “Auntie, please don’t blame Blaze! It’s my fault for not keeping a better eye on him. He’s been hanging out with some bad crowds, and he’s started smoking and getting into fights… I’ve tried to talk to him, but he won’t listen…” Blaze, standing right there, went beet-red with rage, pointing at me and sputtering, unable to form a single word. His mom, seeing his reaction as proof, believed me instantly. She nearly broke his legs and grounded him for a month. Next, Alistair. I arrived at his house to find his parents worrying about his reclusive personality. With a look of deep concern, I pulled out a book titled Understanding Adolescent Psychological Disorders and flipped to the chapter on “Antisocial Personality Disorder.” “Auntie,” I said, pointing. “Look. Alistair is always alone, he never talks, and his eyes are so… cold. I’m not saying there’s a problem, I’m just… worried. Maybe this book could help?” His parents reacted as if I’d handed them a live grenade. The next day, they hired eight different therapists to put him through a week-long psychological blitz. I heard Alistair’s mood was blacker than coal for that entire week. But my masterpiece was Sebastian. I knew his mother was very traditional. I “casually” mentioned to her, “Auntie, has Seb picked up any new hobbies lately? The other day, I saw him hiding this really pretty lace dress… I thought it was a gift for me, but he blushed and snatched it away. I mean, it’s fine for a boy to have a unique sense of style, it’s just… a little different, you know?” His mom exploded. She tore his room apart and, although she never found the dress, Sebastian’s wardrobe from that day forward contained only three colors: black, white, and grey. My plans were a resounding success. The three of them were so swamped with parental supervision and psychological evaluations that they had no time to bother me. I thought I was in the clear. Until one afternoon, when they cornered me in the alley behind the school. The setting sun cast their shadows long and dark, making them look like three insurmountable mountains. Blaze had his hands in his pockets, a roguish smirk on his face, but his eyes were pure ice. Alistair leaned against the wall, fiddling with a metal lighter, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. Sebastian stood in front, still looking gentle, but with a chilling curve to his lips. “Vivian,” Blaze said, his voice a lazy drawl. “Done playing games?” “What?” I immediately switched to victim mode, my eyes instantly welling with tears. My voice was soft and trembling. “Blaze… what are you guys doing? You’re scaring me…” “Scaring you?” Blaze scoffed. “You weren’t scared when you were snitching on me to my mom.” “I… I was just trying to help you!” I choked out, on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to see you go down the wrong path…” “Is that so?” Alistair spoke, his voice quiet but sharp. He stepped forward and tossed the psychology book at my feet. “Was this ‘for my own good’ too?” I froze, then let a single, perfect tear roll down my cheek. “Alistair, I was just so worried about you… You never smile, and I was afraid you were… unhappy inside…” My gaze shifted to my final trump card: Sebastian. I sniffled, my voice filled with the pain of someone betrayed by the world. “Seb… you’re not going to misunderstand me too, are you? I only act this way because… because you’re my best friend. I care about you more than anyone.” As I spoke, I subtly edged toward the alley’s entrance. I knew the student prefects patrolled this area around this time. Sebastian just watched me, his gaze steady. Just as Blaze and Alistair were about to lose their patience, he stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. His hand was cold, but his grip was like steel. “Let go of me!” I shrieked, struggling frantically as the tears flowed freely. “What are you doing? Help! Somebody help!” “Vivian,” Sebastian’s voice was soft, but it carried clearly to all of us. “I know why you do these things. It’s all because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?” I froze. What? Blaze and Alistair were stunned into silence.

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My mother, the tragic supporting character, was about to divorce my stepfather. And me, the certifiable mama’s girl, was right there with her, ready to burn it all down. I was leaving my stepbrother and taking the baby he didn’t even know about with me. “I saw it in a dream, Maya,” she’d said, her voice trembling. “I’m just a stepping stone in someone else’s story. A footnote.” “The great lost love of his life is coming back, pregnant with his child. I’m going to lose my mind, I’ll pick fights with her, I’ll even try to… to hurt her. And Mark will be the one to put me in prison.” She grabbed my hands, her eyes wide and serious. “You and Noah have a good life. I have to go, Maya. I have to save myself.” “No,” I said, my voice firm. “You go, I go. I’m a mama’s girl, remember?” Later that day, when Mark Thompson and his son came home to two empty houses? Confusion. Where the hell did my wife go? Where’s Maya? 1 “Mom, seriously, you need to lay off the billionaire romance audiobooks.” I reached over and paused the dramatic narration streaming from her phone. “You and Mark have been married for twelve years. If this ‘ghost from his past’ was going to show up, it would be for his third marriage, not his second.” I ticked the points off on my fingers. “Besides, she’d have to be in her forties, right? Showing up pregnant sounds… unlikely. More likely, the kid would be my age. Have you been getting into those silver-fox romance novels now?” I studied her face. At forty-five, Eleanor looked like she’d made a deal with time and won. Not a single line on her face seemed out of place; they were marks of laughter, not age. My mom and Mark Thompson were a second marriage for both of them. I was ten when it happened. She was at my school handling my transfer paperwork when Mark, the wealthy single father of a son at the same school, saw her and was, by his own account, completely thunderstruck. At first, Eleanor wanted nothing to do with him. She’d lost her memory giving birth to me, and my biological father had used it as an opportunity to vanish. She’d raised me alone, and her trust in men was nonexistent. Mark didn’t push. He just… started showing up. A lightbulb would burn out, and there was Mark. The propane tank for the grill ran empty, and there was Mark. A circuit breaker blew, and there he was, toolbox in hand. He even sent his fifteen-year-old son, Noah, to the elementary school playground every day to look out for me and chase off anyone who gave me a hard time. The tipping point came when a couple of older kids followed me home from school. Noah took on all five of them for me. He ended up in the hospital with two broken ribs. That was when my mother finally relented. After they got married, Mark was practically glued to her. His life was a straight line between the office and home. Any detour was usually because Eleanor had a sudden craving for takeout from a restaurant across town. The idea that he could love someone else was, frankly, unbelievable. “But what if it’s real, Maya?” she whispered, her voice small. 2 We decided we had to test the dream’s validity. According to my mother’s premonition, Mark and his long-lost love would reunite at a charity gala on Friday. Over dinner, she made her move. “Honey,” she began, her voice casual, “could you spend some time with me this Friday? I was thinking we could go on a date.” “Really, Ellie?” Mark’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Just as I thought we were in the clear, his expression shifted. “Oh, but Friday… Friday might not work. There’s a really important charity auction I have to attend. Could we do Saturday? Please?” My fork clattered against my plate. It was happening. I shot my mom a look. We have to go! This could still be a coincidence. She caught my signal immediately. “Well, can I go with you, then?” Mark looked puzzled. “But you hate those things. You’ve never wanted to come before.” My mom, bless her heart, ditched the excuses and went straight for the kill. “I know,” she pouted, “but I want to go this time, honey.” “Okay, okay, you can come.” He was powerless against her, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Daddy,” I chimed in, “I want to go, too!” “Sorry, sweetie. One guest per person.” I slumped in my chair. “Fine.” “I can take you, Maya,” Noah said, his voice soft. He looked at me, a hopeful, expectant glint in his eyes. “If you ask me nicely. Like you just asked him.” I gave him a flat look. “Take me or don’t. Your call.” Noah’s shoulders slumped, his expression crumbling like a sandcastle against the tide. He looked genuinely hurt. Under the table, his hand found mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “I’ll take you,” he murmured, his voice laced with defeat. “Of course, I’ll take you.” Mark chuckled. “That boy gets worse treatment from you than I ever did.” I couldn’t stand seeing Noah look so miserable. I picked up a roasted potato from my plate and popped it into his mouth. His eyes instantly brightened. “Hey,” Mark said, leaning toward my mom. “I want one, too.” 3 At the gala, Noah and I were seated at a different table. I had to crane my neck to keep an eye on my mom’s. I watched as Mark gestured to a woman beside him. “Eleanor, this is a dear friend of mine, Isabelle Croft. She’s just moved back to the States to oversee a new project.” Isabelle Croft. She didn’t look pregnant. But the way she looked at my mom was odd, like she was watching a particularly amusing science experiment. “Maya, what are you staring at?” Noah’s voice was a low rumble beside me. He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, but his expression was dark. I didn’t notice, my attention still fixed across the room. “Nothing. Just watching Mom.” “Right,” he said, his voice tight. “The auction is starting. See anything you like?” His words snapped me back to the present. The dream. In the dream, my mom and Isabelle would get into a bidding war over a pink diamond. In the end, Isabelle would win. All we had to do was make sure Isabelle didn’t get that diamond. If we could change that one detail, maybe we could change the whole outcome. … A stunning pink diamond ring was presented on stage. Bids started flying, including one from Isabelle Croft. My mom, according to our plan, stayed silent. Soon, Isabelle held the highest bid at $740,000. As the auctioneer was about to close, I tugged on Noah’s sleeve. “I want that one, Noah.” “Done.” He raised his paddle without hesitation. “Seven hundred sixty thousand.” Isabelle didn’t counter. But the man sitting next to her did. “Seven hundred eighty thousand.” He looked to be about my age, dressed in a sharp gray suit. He gave me a small, confident smile as he lowered his paddle. What followed was a battle of wills between him and Noah. When the man bid a million dollars, I put my hand on Noah’s arm, stopping him. “I don’t want it anymore, Noah.” His hand, still holding the paddle, was trembling. “Why?” he asked, his voice strained. “I just changed my mind.” I kept my eyes on Isabelle, making sure she didn’t jump back in. The ring wasn’t worth a million dollars, not even close. As long as it didn’t end up in her hands, that’s all that mattered. Letting some other fool overpay for it was the perfect solution. In the end, just as I’d hoped, the man in the gray suit won the diamond. One small plot point, successfully diverted. 4 As the evening wound down, I excused myself to the restroom. On my way out, I collided with a solid chest. “Sorry about that.” “No problem.” It was the man who’d bought the ring, Isabelle’s companion. He didn’t step back immediately, a gentlemanly smile on his face. “You seemed to really want that ring. Why’d you stop bidding? Was it a budget issue with your date?” Wow. Only an idiot would pay a million for that thing. I took a step back, opting for a polite lie. “No, I just decided it wasn’t worth the fight.” “Oh? I disagree,” he said smoothly. “For the right person, some things are always worth fighting for.” He held out a business card. “I don’t suppose I could get to know you? I’d like to give this to someone who deserves it.” The card read Leo Croft. Before I could respond, Noah appeared from nowhere, pulling me back against his chest. “Sorry,” he said, his voice cold. “No chance.” He took the card and tucked it back into the pocket of Leo’s suit jacket before steering me out of the ballroom. When we got home, he cornered me against the arm of the sofa. “What was that about?” I demanded. “Do you like him?” The question came out of left field, stunning me. “What?” “You were staring at their table the entire night. You gave up the ring because of him. What is it about him, Maya? Tell me, and I can be that way for you. Just tell me what you want.” Tears welled in Noah’s eyes, his voice cracking. “My mom—your mom—and his mom don’t get along. You and he could never work. Just look at me, Maya. Please? Just look at me.” I only caught the most important part. “His mom? Who’s his mom?” I couldn’t remember my mother having any enemies. “The woman he was sitting with. Isabelle Croft.” My breath hitched. So, Isabelle did come back with her son. And that pink diamond was, for all intents and purposes, in her possession. The plot hadn’t changed at all. “Damn it,” I muttered to myself. “I should’ve just taken the stupid diamond.” Noah completely misunderstood. He crashed his lips against mine, his grip forceful and desperate. I struggled, pushing against his chest, but he wouldn’t let go. He held me there, kissing me until all the fight went out of me, until the anger melted into something else entirely. It was late, well past midnight, when he finally relented. He held me tightly, his voice muffled against my hair. “I’m never letting you go, Maya. Not even if you like someone else. As long as you’re by my side, I know I can make you love me. Make you see only me…” I was already drifting off, his words blurring into the edges of a dream. 5 In the days that followed, Noah returned to his usual self on the surface. But at night, he was more intense, more possessive than ever before. He even started wearing a silver body chain he used to hate, the delicate metal a stark, alluring contrast against the hard lines of his abs. He was also home more. A lot more. He used to have guys’ nights, occasional business trips. But for the past two weeks, he was home the second his workday ended. It made it impossible to sneak over to my mom’s apartment across the hall to strategize. According to her, Mark was acting weird, too. In the opposite way. He was working late more and more, constantly traveling for business. My mom called his assistant and found out that many of his recent meetings were related to a new joint project… with Isabelle Croft. Today, my mom was supposed to join Mark on one of those trips, a little reconnaissance mission of her own. But the plan was derailed when I woke up with a wave of nausea so intense I could barely stand. She canceled her flight and took me to the doctor. Mark, for his part, was full of remorse. “It’s my fault,” he said over the phone. “I haven’t been spending enough time with you. I’m so sorry, Ellie. I’ll have someone else cover the meeting tomorrow. I’ll come home tonight and make you dinner.” “See?” I told my mom as we waited. “Mark sounds totally normal. Maybe it was all just a coincidence.” As we sat in the sterile waiting room, a thought occurred to me. “Hey, in your dream… what happens to me? What’s my ending?” She thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I never saw.” “What? You never saw?” “Well, if I’m the tragic supporting character, that makes you the tragic supporting character’s daughter. Maybe you just weren’t important enough to the main story.” “Wow. Okay. Fair enough.” Before I could dwell on my newfound insignificance, another piece of news hit me like a ton of bricks. I was pregnant. Now it was my mom’s turn to be the comforting one. “Okay, let’s just… put the other stuff aside for a minute. I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandma this soon.” A huge smile spread across her face. “We have to tell Noah! He’s always so worried you’re going to fall for some other guy, he practically wants to lock you in the house. This will finally put his mind at ease.” 6 We went straight to the company building. Noah wasn’t in his office, so we decided to find Mark first. The door to his corner office was slightly ajar. I reached out to push it open, but my mom grabbed my arm, pulling me back. Through the crack, I could see my stepfather sitting in his leather chair. Isabelle Croft stood before him, her back to us. One of her hands rested on the back of his chair, the other… on his thigh. The air was thick with an intimacy that made my stomach churn. So much for the business trip. He’d just brought her to the office instead. What was it they say? The safest place to hide is in plain sight? I could feel my mom’s chest heaving with ragged breaths beside me. She turned and walked away without a word. Furious, I crumpled the ultrasound report in my fist, shoved it into the nearest trash can, and ran to catch up with her. Of course, that’s when Noah appeared. “Mom? Maya? What are you guys doing here?” My mom ignored him, stepping into the elevator. I followed her in, forcing a casual tone to avoid suspicion. “We were just in the neighborhood.” The doors slid shut on Noah’s confused face. “You see?” my mom whispered, her voice cracking. “I told you the dream was real. You kept saying it was a coincidence, but you saw them. You saw them together. Do you believe me now?” I let out a long, slow breath. “I believe you.” “I have to get out of here, Maya. For my own sanity. Before this ‘story’ forces me to do something crazy, like actually take a swing at her.” She smoothed my hair, her touch full of a familiar, heartbreaking tenderness. “You’ll be okay. You and Noah… he’s a good kid. I know he’ll take care of you.” “No. I’m going with you. I’m not letting you go alone.” I wrapped my arms around her, holding on tight. “But you love Noah. And you’re carrying his child. You can’t just leave, sweetie.” “I haven’t figured that part out yet, Mom. But he’s not more important than you. You’re my choice. Always.” I hesitated, then added the final, terrible thought. “And if Isabelle is Mark’s… you know… then Noah might not even be his son. You said you never saw my ending? It’s probably because they get rid of me. They’re the perfect family of three. I’m just a loose end.” That did it. The hesitation in my mom’s eyes turned to steel. “You’re right. Let’s go. We’ll hit an ATM, get as much cash as we can, and we’re gone.” “Okay.” 7 With forty thousand dollars in cash stuffed into our bags, we returned home. It was 4:15 PM. Mark and Noah wouldn’t be home for another hour, at least. Plenty of time. We packed our passports, documents, and the cash into a shared suitcase. Dressed in hoodies and baseball caps, we were ready to make our escape. I pulled open the front door and came face-to-face with Noah, his thumb poised over the fingerprint scanner on his own door across the hall. “Mom? Maya? Where are you going?”

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It all started because my six-year-old son tripped and fell in the garden, crushing a single rose bush. For that, Ethan, my husband, flew into a rage. He ordered our son, Leo, locked inside the garden’s wrought-iron gates, demanding he plant 999 new roses as penance. What he didn’t see was the bee that stung Leo’s leg. He didn’t see our son collapse onto the manicured lawn, his small body convulsing. I screamed, pounding my fists against the cold iron bars, my voice tearing itself raw. “Ethan, for God’s sake, open your eyes! A bee stung Leo! He’s allergic! Open the gate, or he’ll go into shock—he could die!” Ethan stood on the veranda, his arm wrapped around Tessa, his high school flame. He stared down at me, his face a mask of cold disappointment. “Leah, I’ve told you. This is my garden, built for Tessa. It’s not a playground.” His voice was calm, which made it crueler. “You let Leo run wild, and now you can’t handle a little bee sting? This allergy nonsense is just another thing you’ve coddled into him.” Tessa, nestled against his chest, rolled her eyes with theatrical boredom. “Honestly, Leah. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Your son has destroyed dozens of my flowers. A little lesson in consequences is long overdue.” They turned and walked back into the house, their silhouettes merging into one. I grabbed a rusted garden spade and slammed it against the lock, again and again, the metal screeching in protest. But it was too late. Through the bars, I watched the red welts bloom across my son’s skin. I saw his frantic struggles grow weaker, smaller, until they stopped completely. The terrible silence that followed was louder than my own screaming. I collapsed, my pleas turning to dust in my mouth. I begged him to wake up, to say “Mama” just one more time. He never did. An hour later, the lock finally shattered. I stumbled through the gate. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. A notification. Ethan had posted on Instagram. It was an ultrasound photo. The caption read: One more precious life to protect. @Tessa, my hero. My heart didn’t break. It just turned to ash. I walked back inside the cold, silent house, found the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, signed them, and left them on his desk in the study. Then, I arranged for the funeral home. And under his post, I tapped out a comment and hit send. 【May your little miracle have a long and happy life.】 1 A second later, my phone rang. Ethan’s voice, incandescent with rage, exploded into the solemn quiet of the funeral home. “Leah, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” The sound was a desecration in this quiet, sterile place. “Tessa and I have history. It’s my duty to take care of her. You know that!” he bellowed. “And what did you do to the garden? You break the gate, you drag Leo out, and then you stomp holes all over the lawn? What is wrong with you two? Is destruction your only purpose?” He took a breath, his fury gathering steam. “Don’t think for a second I’m letting this go. You get Leo and you bring him back here to plant every single one of those roses, or you can forget about ever setting foot in this house again!” I looked down at my hands, swollen and red from battling the gate. The pain was a dull, distant throb, a faint echo of the gaping wound in my chest. Across the room, the mortician was gently removing the stinger from my son’s small, still body. The very thing that had stolen his life. “Ethan,” I said, my voice hollow. “Leo is dead. And I will never set foot in your house again.” There was a pause. Then, a short, sharp laugh of disbelief. “Wow, Leah. You’ve really taken this whole victim act to a new level, haven’t you? Cursing our own son to death just to win an argument?” Then I heard it. A soft, feminine gasp in the background, cutting off whatever I might have said next. The ultrasound photo flashed in my mind. He had a new child with his new love. He didn’t actually care if our son was alive or dead. I let out a long, shuddering breath. “Ethan, the divorce papers are on your desk. I’ve already signed them. Sign them, and you can be with your childhood sweetheart forever. No one is stopping you.” Just as I finished speaking, the doors to the viewing room swung open. Two stooped, elderly figures hurried in, leaning heavily on their canes. Ethan’s grandparents. “Where’s my Leo?” his grandfather demanded, his voice trembling. “What is this nonsense? What happened?” Seeing their faces, etched with genuine love for my son, the dam inside me finally broke. The tears I’d been holding back streamed down my face as I collapsed into Grandma Blackwell’s arms. “It’s my fault,” I sobbed. “I’m a terrible mother. I couldn’t protect him. He was in so much pain.” She wept with me, holding me tight. Grandpa Blackwell, his face pale, forced himself to walk to the small casket. He stood there for a long moment, his shoulders shaking, before two lines of tears carved their way down his wrinkled cheeks. “I had every beehive on this property removed!” he rasped, his voice thick with grief and rage. “I hired men to patrol the grounds! Where did this bee come from? It was that bastard’s private garden, wasn’t it!” A bitter smile touched my lips. Ethan knew. Of course, he knew Leo was deathly allergic. Years ago, after the first bad reaction, Ethan had torn up the entire estate, poured concrete over every flowerbed, terrified that a stray bee might find its way to our son. But that was before Tessa came back. After she moved in, everything changed. Ethan didn’t just allow her to replant the gardens; he let her install beehives, calling it a “return to a natural symbiosis.” When I’d come to him, holding Leo, his face swollen from another, milder sting, Ethan had barely looked up. “Fine,” he’d said with an annoyed sigh. “I’ll have a fence put up. That way Leo can’t get in, and he’ll be safe.” A fence. As if an iron fence could stop something with wings. The image of Leo’s final moments flooded my mind again. His body twitching on the grass. My desperate, useless assault on the gate. His big, beautiful eyes, wide with a final, lingering look at a world he didn’t want to leave. I had begged the mortician to cover the marks, the horrifying welts and rashes. As if hiding the evidence of his pain could somehow bring him back, as if the sweet boy who whispered “Mama” would just wake up from a bad dream. It was all a fantasy. The mortician covered the last red mark on his cheek and set down his brush. He walked toward me, his expression full of a gentle sorrow. “Ma’am,” he said softly. “The young master is ready. He’s at peace now.” It was only then I realized the line was still open. Ethan’s voice, dripping with sarcasm, crackled through the phone. “Are you serious, Leah? You’re really putting on a show. Dragging my grandparents into your little melodrama wasn’t enough? Now you’ve hired an actor to talk about him being ‘at peace’? What, are you guys actually at a funeral home?” I was too tired to fight anymore. “Yes, Ethan. Our son is at the funeral home. If you come now, you can see him one last time.” He scoffed. “Leah, have some damn self-respect! It was a bee sting. If he had a reaction, you take him to the emergency room. It’s not a death sentence. Do you think I’m that stupid?” He wasn’t finished. “Like mother, like son. No wonder Leo’s become such a liar lately. So needy.” That was it. Grandpa snatched the phone from my hand. “You bastard!” he roared. “Are you still with that little tramp? You get your ass over here right now!” He’d barely gotten the words out before he clutched his chest, gasping, and the phone crashed to the floor. “Arthur!” Grandma cried, rushing to his side, but he pushed her away, his face contorted in agony. “Our family is cursed!” he wailed, tears of rage and sorrow streaming down his face. “The grandson you raised… he just told me… he said it doesn’t matter if Leo is dead. He said that tramp has another one in her belly, a better one! That animal!” Grandma froze, her own tear-filled eyes wide with shock. She turned to me, her voice a desperate plea. “Leah, don’t you listen to him. Don’t you dare. You are our family. Leo is our only grandson.” She squared her shoulders. “Your grandfather and I are going home right now. We’re throwing that witch out on the street, and we are going to drag that boy here to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness!” A sourness rose in my throat. I shook my head. “Grandma, it’s okay. Ethan’s heart is somewhere else now. It’s better for Leo and me to just go.” I looked at them, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m so tired. It’s time to go.” They stared at me, their faces a portrait of helpless grief. There was nothing left to say. The three of us stood before the cremation chamber all night, a silent, heartbroken vigil, until a technician handed me a small, heavy box. I held it tight, hailed a taxi, and went home. Leo’s things were still in that cold house. I would be damned if I was going to leave them for the father who didn’t love him. But when I pushed open the front door, I was hit by a wall of sound and light. It was a party. “Whoa, Tessa, you’re amazing! A little princess for our man Ethan!” 2 The entire house was draped in pink. Ethan and Tessa’s friends were raising champagne flutes in a toast. One of them was waving my signed divorce papers in the air. “Hey, Ethan, this charity case wife of yours has some nerve. Divorcing you, and she’s even walking away with nothing.” “She’s insane,” another laughed. “A broke single mom? Does she have any idea what she’s getting into?” “Hey, if she wants to take the kid, let her,” someone slurred. “That little brat was always so… common. An embarrassment to the Blackwell name.” “Exactly! Cheers to Tessa! Let’s hope the next one’s a boy—a real Blackwell heir!” The room erupted in laughter. I pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. The noise died instantly. Ethan glanced at me, his eyes cool and dismissive, then tightened his arm around Tessa, deliberately turning away. “Heir, princess, what’s the difference?” he said to the crowd, pretending I wasn’t there. “My daughter will be brilliant. Tessa and I are starting her education in the womb.” He picked up a small model airplane from the coffee table and held it against Tessa’s slightly rounded belly. My breath caught in my throat. It was Leo’s favorite toy. The first model Ethan had ever built with him. I had bought him dozens of newer, more expensive toys since, but Leo insisted on sleeping with that little plane every night. Because, he said, it smelled like Daddy. And now, his beloved father was giving it to another woman’s child. Something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, my voice a raw scream. “Ethan! Our son’s body isn’t even cold! How could you do this to him?” The air around Ethan dropped ten degrees. His hand flew out, and the crack of his palm against my cheek echoed through the room. “Leah, what did I tell you about the theatrics? Hasn’t this ‘dead son’ act gone on long enough?” My head snapped back, hitting the sharp corner of the console table. A warm trickle of blood slid down my neck. And the model airplane, Leo’s most precious treasure, fell to the floor. Ethan brought his heel down on it, crushing the delicate wings into splinters. “It’s just a toy! What’s the big deal about giving it to his sister? Is this how you raised him? To be selfish?” He sneered, his face ugly with contempt. “He didn’t plant a single rose, just left a mess of holes in the lawn. And now you two think you can defy me?” Looking at his face, all I could see was the agony on my son’s. A wave of hatred so pure washed over me that I wanted to drag him by the hair and force him to kneel before Leo’s ashes. But then, my son’s voice from that terrible afternoon echoed in my ears. He had been holding a tiny rose seedling, his eyes puffy from crying, trying to comfort me. “Don’t cry, Mama. Don’t be mad at Daddy. It’s my fault. I can do it.” “He was a little mean, though. He didn’t even hug me when I fell, he just yelled. If he does it again, I’m not going to talk to him anymore.” “Mama? Can we not talk to him together?” I closed my eyes, forcing down the tidal wave of grief. When I opened them, my voice was steady. “You’re right. I’m not fit to be a mother. And I’m not fit to be a Blackwell. Just sign the papers. Then we are done with each other, forever.” A cruel smile twisted Ethan’s lips. “You want me to sign? Fine. Get on your knees. Apologize to Tessa. Tell her you’re sorry for letting your son ruin her garden. Tell her you’re sorry for ruining her party.” He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper. “When she’s satisfied, I’ll sign.” At his words, Tessa straightened up, a smug, triumphant look on her face. The other guests leaned in, their eyes gleaming. Someone started placing bets. “A hundred bucks says she won’t do it. She really thought she could drive Tessa away. Idiot.” “Nah, she’ll be bawling in a minute, begging Ethan for forgiveness. Maybe that kid she’s hiding will come crawling back, and they can plant the roses together.” The next sound was the soft thud of my knees hitting the floor. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I was wrong.” I bowed my head, and my forehead struck a shard from the broken airplane. A sharp, searing pain, and then more blood. I didn’t feel it. I began to crawl, moving toward them, bowing my head to the floor with each movement. But it was a game. As I moved forward, Tessa would take a laughing step back, leading me around the room like a dog on a leash. The mood in the room shifted. The drunken jeers turned to nervous murmurs. “Ethan, man… maybe that’s enough. She’s bleeding a lot. This is getting out of hand.” “Yeah, look at her face, she’s white as a ghost. What if something really happens?” “Just sign it, man. She wants to leave, let her leave. It’s time you made things official with Tessa anyway.” I paused, glancing behind me. A long, dark smear of blood trailed behind me on the polished floor. It looked shocking, even to me. I ignored it and prepared to bow again. But this time, a foot shot out, and Ethan kicked me onto my side. The signed divorce papers fluttered down onto my face. “Fine! It’s signed!” he snarled. “Stop playing the martyr. You think I was afraid to do it?” “Get out,” he spat. “Take your kid and get out! But you remember this: the second you walk out that door, your son forfeits every penny of his inheritance. Don’t ever come crawling back to me.” 3 I’d lost too much blood. The room spun as I struggled to my feet, clutching the papers in my hand. Ethan’s eyes were locked on me, daring me to break. I just opened the document to the last page, saw his signature, and smiled. “Good,” I said. “Now I’m going to pack Leo’s things.” I turned and walked to my son’s room. The moment I closed the door, the noise of the party vanished. I sagged against the wood, a film of tears blurring my vision. Leo’s little quilt was still rumpled on his bed. The fairy tale book we were reading was on his nightstand, open to the page we’d left off on last night. It felt like at any second, he would leap out of the closet, pretending to be a ghost, trying to scare me with his giggles. Wiping my eyes, I pulled a suitcase from his closet and began to pack. His clothes, his toys, his books, the little clay animals he made in preschool. I cried and I smiled, placing each precious item inside, until my fingers brushed against a small, glass bottle. Inside were slips of faded paper. I tipped them out, my hands trembling. They were IOUs, written in two different hands—one a man’s elegant script, the other a child’s clumsy scrawl. It was from when Leo was three, when he was so attached to me that he refused to sleep anywhere but in my bed. Ethan, frustrated, would sneak into the room in the middle of the night and carry me back to ours. “This is ridiculous,” he would mutter, half-joking. “I gave birth to my own rival.” “I miss my wife,” he’d whisper. “Can’t you spend a little time with me?” But our little boy would wake up, toddle after us, and pummel Ethan’s legs with his tiny fists, calling him a “Mama thief.” So they made a deal. They would take turns. If one of them wanted an extra night, he had to write an IOU to the other. Ethan, with his charming, silly arguments, always managed to convince Leo, and soon, he had a thick stack of IOUs from his son. Then Tessa came back. The nights I spent in Leo’s bed grew more and more frequent. I thought he would be happy to have me all to himself, but instead, a shadow fell over him. “Mama,” he’d asked one night, his voice small. “Did you and Daddy have a fight? He hasn’t come to see me in a long time.” He took my hand and led me to the master bedroom, knocking softly on the door. He told me he would write an IOU to Daddy, so I could sleep with him. When the door opened, Tessa was on the bed, her face flushed, her body languid. The memory of that night, a new and different kind of pain, stabbed at me. I shook it away, my hands fumbling with the last slip of paper from the bottle. It was from Leo. The crayon letters were wobbly and huge. 【I want Mommy and Daddy to take me to Disneyland to see the fireworks!】 He’d been asking since the beginning of the year. But Ethan always had an excuse, always something to do with Tessa, and we never went. And now, he never could. Swallowing the regret that burned in my throat, I booked a flight for the following afternoon and closed the suitcase. On impulse, I lay down on my son’s little bed, pulling his quilt up to my chin, trying to breathe in the last trace of his scent. Exhaustion washed over me, a deep, pulling tide, and I fell asleep. I was woken hours later by a rhythmic rocking. I opened my eyes, my mind thick with sleep. And saw Ethan and Tessa, kissing, on my son’s bed. “Ethan,” Tessa purred, noticing I was awake. “I thought we were just looking at how to redecorate this room for our little princess. You’re being naughty.” I shot upright. Ethan met my gaze with a defiant smirk and didn’t stop kissing her. Tessa’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Don’t be mad, Leah. We just want Leo to get used to the idea of having a little sister. After all, they’ll be growing up together.” Her voice was sickly sweet. “Can’t we all just be one big, happy family?” They were on my dead son’s bed, defiling the last sacred space I had, and a violent nausea rose in my throat. Seeing me tremble with rage, Ethan pulled back, not with guilt, but with accusation. “Leah, I had my assistant check. Leo was never admitted to any hospital for an allergic reaction. Where are you hiding him?” He scowled. “This has gone far enough. If you keep this up, I swear to God, I will be done with both of you for good.” I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A wretched, guttural sound escaped my lips, and I vomited all over them. Ethan froze. Tessa’s face twisted in disgust, and then, suddenly, she clutched her stomach, her expression contorting in pain. “Ethan,” she gasped. “My stomach… it hurts… it hurts so much…” Instantly, Ethan was all frantic concern. He scooped her into his arms, knocking me aside as he rushed for the door. “If anything happens to this baby, I’ll make your son pay with his life!” he yelled over his shoulder. And then I was alone again. I stood up, took the handle of the suitcase, and walked out of the house. The sky was still dark. The streets were empty. A cool night wind snaked under my collar, making me shiver. Every step sent a wave of dizziness through me from the blood loss, but I didn’t stop. By the time the sun rose, I had reached the cemetery. The plot I’d bought for Leo held an empty coffin. I knelt beside it, opened the suitcase, and began to place his favorite things inside, one by one. When I was finished, only one space remained, a spot for the small box I held in my hands. I cradled the urn, as if I were holding my son one last time. “We’re going to see the world, baby,” I whispered. “And when we’re done, we’ll come back here to rest. Okay?” At the hospital, Ethan paced anxiously while Tessa underwent a battery of tests. It was only after the doctors confirmed the fetus was unharmed that he finally let himself breathe. He sank onto a chair outside her room, rubbing his temples. The vomit on his clothes had dried, but the foul smell lingered. Normally, he would have dragged me back by my hair to clean it up, but in that moment, for some reason, he felt a flicker of fear. He’d seen the empty closets, the packed suitcase. He’d seen the bottomless grief in my eyes. Just then, Arthur, the long-time family butler who looked after his grandparents, hurried down the hall. Ethan waved a dismissive hand. “Arthur, if you’re here to sell me the same story about my son being dead, you can save your breath. I don’t believe it.” A complicated, sorrowful expression crossed Arthur’s face. He gave a slight, formal bow. “Sir, this isn’t about Master Leo. It’s your grandparents. They’ve both been hospitalized with heart trouble. They’re asking for you.” Ethan rushed to the cardiac wing. The second he pushed open the door to his grandfather’s room, a water glass flew through the air and shattered against the doorframe. His grandfather, a breathing mask strapped to his face, glared at him with pure hatred. “You animal,” he rasped, his voice weak but full of venom. “You killed your own son, and you have the nerve to show your face here? Get out!”

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For six years, I was the best-kept secret of Admiral Grant Dempsey. To everyone else at Naval Base Coronado, I was just the lovesick surgeon, the woman who couldn’t take a hint, pathetically clinging to a man who would never have her. He allowed them to believe it. He never once said a word. It all came to a head at the gala celebrating the successful conclusion of a joint naval exercise. One of the officers’ wives, emboldened by champagne, cornered me by the bar. “Dr. Ross,” she said, her voice dripping with condescending pity, “everyone knows the Admiral’s fiancée is Victoria Price, the diplomat’s daughter. You should really stop embarrassing yourself.” I looked over at Grant. He was holding his glass, his gaze as distant and cold as the deep ocean. “Audrey,” he said, his voice carrying just far enough to cut. “Stop wasting your time on me.” In my last life, I screamed. I pulled our marriage certificate from my purse, my hands shaking, and waved it in their faces. All it earned me was a single word from him: “Preposterous.” To protect Victoria Price’s delicate sensibilities, he had me thrown in the brig for seven days. Later, I was deployed on a medical ship. We were attacked by pirates in the Gulf of Aden. As I bled out on the deck, I managed to send a distress signal. But Grant was busy attending the opera with his fiancée. He missed the window to save us. Only then, in my final moments, did I understand. I wasn’t his secret love. I was a tool, to be discarded when no longer useful. Now, reborn into this same moment, I looked at his familiar, indifferent face and I smiled. A real smile. “Of course, Admiral,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “My sincerest wishes to you and Miss Price for a long and happy life together.” I paused, letting the silence hang for a beat. “On that note, my transfer request was just approved. It’s been a pleasure.” 1 For the first time, a crack appeared in Grant Dempsey’s icy facade. Beside him, Victoria Price’s triumphant smirk froze on her lips. She shot a panicked look at Grant. “Grant, darling, what is she…” I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. I simply turned and walked away. Last time, I had a hysterical meltdown at this gala, waving our marriage certificate like a lunatic. They all just stared. Then Grant took the red-bordered document and ripped it to shreds in front of everyone, claiming it was a forgery. I was confined to the brig for seven days and came out a ghost of myself. This time, I didn’t even bother with the proof. There’s no point trying to win an argument with someone who has already sentenced you. “Audrey!” Grant’s voice echoed behind me. I didn’t slow down. The sound of his dress shoes grew closer, and a second later, his fingers clamped around my wrist. I stopped, but I didn’t struggle. I just turned my head to look at him, my expression placid. His face was a mask of thunder. “What is this? Another one of your games? This transfer… who approved it?” He’d said something so similar in my last life, when I’d grabbed his lapels and screamed, demanding to know why he’d left me to die. Audrey, what are you making a scene about now? I pulled my thoughts back to the present and used my free hand to retrieve a folded document from my clutch. “Admiral Dempsey,” I said, my voice clinical. “Read it carefully. It’s a direct order from Walter Reed. Your authority doesn’t extend that far.” His pupils constricted. I’d earned this transfer. A year ago, I’d performed a life-saving field surgery on the grandson of a very powerful man at the Pentagon. Last time, I asked for nothing in return, but the man insisted he owed me a debt he could never repay. This time, I called in the favor. Grant snatched the paper from my hand, his eyes scanning the text. His expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and finally settled into a dark, brooding anger. “Rescind it,” he commanded, his eyes locked on mine. “I won’t allow it.” I laughed. A short, bitter sound. I pulled my wrist, now red and throbbing, from his grasp and took a step closer. “On what grounds, Grant?” I tilted my head up to meet his gaze. “On the basis of our marriage certificate that you keep locked in a safe? Or the six years you let the entire base humiliate me while you stood by and said nothing?” His jaw worked, but no words came out. I took another step, closing the space between us. “You mean nothing to me anymore.” From the end of the hall, the click-clack of heels announced Victoria’s arrival. She positioned herself between us, her face a perfect mask of feigned concern. “Dr. Ross, how can you speak to Grant like that? After everything he’s done for you… the tolerance he’s shown… you should be grateful…” “Move,” I said, cutting her off. “Excuse me?” “I said, move.” My voice was quiet, but something in it made her take an involuntary step back. She bit her lip, her eyes welling up with practiced tears. “Dr. Ross, I never wanted to be your enemy. I just love Grant. Is that so wrong?” “No,” I conceded. “But standing in my way is.” With that, I brushed past her. “Audrey!” she called after me. “Without Grant’s protection, you’re just a common surgeon! You’re nothing!” I stopped and looked back at her over my shoulder. “Is that so? Well, then I guess I’m just making room for you.” Victoria’s face contorted with rage. She lunged, her hand raised to strike me, but an arm shot out and caught her wrist. Grant had moved silently behind her, his expression grim. “Victoria, that’s enough,” he said. Her tears spilled over instantly. “Grant, did you see that? Did you see how she spoke to me? She has no respect for you at all.” Grant didn’t answer her. His gaze was fixed on me. “Admiral,” I said with a small, final nod. “I wish you and Miss Price all the happiness you deserve.” And then I walked away without looking back. 2 My transfer was blocked. The official reason was beautifully crafted. The base was launching a new, top-secret medical research initiative, and as a core member of the team, I was restricted from leaving my post. I stared at the notice and almost laughed out loud. I was a surgeon. I hadn’t touched a research protocol since my residency. I wasn’t a core member of anything except the local gossip circuit. I knew it was Grant’s doing. He was a man accustomed to control, to a world that bent to his will. The phone rang while I was organizing patient files. It was his mother, her voice carrying its usual tone of aristocratic condescension. “Audrey, I hear you’ve been… restless lately.” I said nothing. “I understand that young people can be temperamental,” she continued, “but you need to be sensible. The Dempsey family is not a ladder for a girl of your background to climb. And it’s certainly not something you can just walk away from. Come back, apologize to Grant, and we can all pretend this never happened.” My fingers tightened on the receiver, then relaxed. “Ma’am, I think I’ll leave that particular blessing for you to enjoy.” I hung up. The retaliation was swift. The next day, the rumors started. They said I was corrupt, that I used my position to harass a superior officer, that I was a shameless gold-digger trying to claw my way into a powerful family. The stories were viciously detailed, woven with just enough truth to be believable. In the mess hall, I heard the whispers behind me as I got my food. “They say she’s been some admiral’s secret mistress for six years. Now she’s trying to force his hand.” “So pathetic. The man’s engaged and she still won’t give up.” I carried my tray over to their table and sat down. They immediately fell silent. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the Dempseys were behind this campaign. They wanted to ruin my reputation, to make my life in the Navy so unbearable that I would come crawling back to them, begging for mercy. Too bad for them. A person who’s already died once doesn’t scare so easily. Three days later, the base hosted a delegation of foreign military attachés. As a diplomat’s daughter, Victoria was there, of course, playing the charming hostess. As the on-duty physician, my job was to remain in the clinic, on standby. In the afternoon, chaos erupted. One of the attachés collapsed, gasping for air, his face turning a terrifying shade of blue. Anaphylactic shock. Someone burst into the clinic, screaming for a doctor. I sprinted to the scene, took one look, and yelled, “Get me a crash cart! I need epinephrine, now!” A corpsman ripped open the emergency kit, then froze. “Doctor… there’s no epi in the kit.” My blood ran cold. How was that possible? I had personally inspected that kit yesterday. Every single medication was accounted for. The attaché’s breathing grew fainter. The people around me started to panic, their fear turning to accusation. “What do you mean there’s no epinephrine? What kind of clinic are you running?” “If he dies, it’s on you!” “Get a chopper ready for emergency evac to the nearest hospital, now!” I commanded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Get him on oxygen, keep his airway clear.” I knelt on the floor and began chest compressions. The meds arrived just in the nick of time. The attaché was stabilized and airlifted out. He would live. The investigation report placed the blame squarely on me. The logbook clearly showed my signature from the day before, confirming the kit was fully stocked. But now, that page was missing. In its place was a forged entry, dated three days prior, suggesting the kit hadn’t been inspected at all. I looked up and saw Victoria standing in the doorway of my office. She was holding a cup of coffee, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Dr. Ross, I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything rash,” she said sweetly. “After such a monumental failure, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.” I got to my feet and walked toward her. “You think this is going to destroy me?” “Destroy you?” She laughed, a sound like ice cubes clinking in a glass. “Oh, Audrey, you give yourself far too much credit. You’re just a mistake Grant made, a stain he needs to erase. I’m just helping him clean up the mess a little sooner.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you considered what would have happened if that attaché had died? Malpractice? Manslaughter? An international incident? You would have been court-martialed before the sun went down.” I stared at her. This woman, in her obsession to marry Grant, had gone completely insane. That evening, I received my official orders. Suspended from duty, pending further investigation. 3 The heavy steel door of the brig slammed shut behind me. Grant came on the third day. “Admit it was negligence,” he said from the other side of the bars. “If you do, I’ll step in. I’ll make sure you’re protected.” He paused, letting the offer sink in. “You’ll get a formal reprimand, a demotion, but you’ll get to stay in the Navy. It’s the best you can hope for.” I didn’t move. “Audrey, don’t be stubborn,” he pressed on. “You can’t win against my family, and you certainly can’t win against the Prices.” “Just admit you made a mistake, and this will all be over.” He was offering me a lifeline, on the condition that I get on my knees and confess to a crime I didn’t commit. Confess that I was a bad doctor, that I was incompetent, that I was unworthy of the uniform I wore. A strange laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t believe I had ever loved this man. I was fresh out of med school, an intern at the naval hospital, when I first met him. He was a SEAL commander back then. A training exercise went wrong—an IED explosion—and he was brought in with shrapnel in his chest, bleeding out and unconscious. On a makeshift operating table, I was the one who pulled three pieces of metal from his thoracic cavity. When he woke up, the first thing he asked was my name. After that, he pursued me with a clumsy, almost boyish intensity. I thought his cold exterior was just a shield. I was wrong. The coldness wasn’t a shield; it was who he was. “What if I told you it was Victoria?” I asked, my voice calm as I met his eyes. His brow furrowed instantly, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “Audrey, don’t be ridiculous. Don’t drag innocent people into this.” “I know Victoria,” he continued, his tone final. “She would never do something like that.” In his world, Victoria was forever the innocent princess, and I was forever the one making scenes, telling lies, making excuses. “You know her?” I stood up and walked to the bars separating us. “Grant, what do you really know about her?” I stared into his eyes. “You know that I would never shirk my duty. You know that in six years as a naval surgeon, I have a flawless record. You know how much my honor as an officer means to me. And yet, you choose to believe her, not me.” “The evidence is against you,” he said, his voice turning colder still. “You were responsible for the emergency kit. You managed the inventory. How am I supposed to believe you?” I laughed until my eyes burned. “What if I told you the kit was tampered with the night before the delegation arrived? What if I told you Victoria knew about the attaché’s severe peanut allergy? What if I told you she specifically requested the catering include snacks made with peanut flour?” His expression didn’t flicker. “Do you have proof?” My heart stopped for a beat. He didn’t care about the truth. All he wanted was my submission. “No,” I said, letting all emotion drain from my voice. “But I will find it.” “Audrey,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Stop fighting this. It’s pointless. Admit your mistake, accept the punishment. It’s better for both of us.” I took a step back from the bars. “Grant, when have you ever once considered what was better for me?” He fell silent. I looked at the man who had once made my heart race, and all I felt was a profound sense of pity. “Mark my words, Grant,” I said softly. “The day will come when you will beg me for help. Remember that. You will come begging to me.” He stared at me for a second, then a look of pure contempt crossed his face. “It seems seven days in the brig isn’t enough for you,” he sneered, turning to leave. “Keep dreaming, Audrey.”

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I was dating a man five years my junior. We’d been together for two years. Liam was proud and prone to drama, picking fights with me every few days over something or other. And because of that devastatingly beautiful face of his, I was always the first to back down, to soothe him, to indulge him. The ninth time Liam told me he wanted to break up, I agreed. That was when he panicked, his wolf-cub eyes turning a desperate, bloodshot red. “Audrey, no,” he’d pleaded. “I’ll be your stand-in… I don’t care. Just… soothe me again. Please.” 1 The night was a boundless stretch of black, pricked with only a few scattered stars. I lifted my head from my computer screen. Eleven o’clock. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I shut down my laptop and prepared to head home. I had just started the car when my phone rang. It was Liam. I raised an eyebrow; I hadn’t expected him to be the one to break our current cold war. But when I answered, the voice on the other end wasn’t his. It was a man’s voice, vaguely familiar. “Is this Audrey?” It took me a second to place it. One of Liam’s bandmates. “This is she. What’s wrong with Liam?” “Liam’s wasted,” the voice said, rushed. “He keeps yelling your name, but he won’t leave with us. Is there any chance you could come get him?” “…I know where you are. Give me ten minutes.” My office was thankfully close to the bar where his band had a regular gig. By the time I pulled up, the clock read 11:30. I blinked my tired eyes, my only thought to get Liam home as quickly as possible so I could finally fall into bed. I never expected to push open the door to their private rehearsal room and see the supposedly “wasted” man leaning intimately toward a girl. His bandmate spotted me first and gave a nervous cough. Liam froze, then slowly turned to look at me. The girl he’d been cornering scrambled away from him, rushing over to me with a look of pure exasperation. “Audrey, I swear, Liam is having a psychotic episode,” she said, her voice a frantic whisper. “He just lunged at me. There is nothing going on between us!” She leaned in closer. “You can hate him right now, but you can’t hate me.” It was Zoey, the drummer for Liam’s band. We’d met a dozen times, and I’d always liked her. “I know,” I said, a small, tired smile touching my lips. I patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry.” I knew this was a performance, staged entirely for my benefit. He was still angry that I’d accepted a project at work that involved a partnership with my ex-boyfriend, ignoring his furious protests. But it was a corporate directive, a major opportunity. If this project succeeded, it would mean a significant promotion and a huge boost to my resume. I couldn’t sacrifice my future over the ghost of a long-dead relationship. 2 Liam shot a single, cold glance in my direction before slumping back onto the sofa and pointedly taking another swig of his beer. My brow furrowed. I walked over and snatched the bottle from his hand. “We’re going home.” He let me take the beer without a fight, but his tone was laced with venom. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” A wave of exhaustion washed over me. “You don’t want me here?” “…” “You’d rather get home by yourself?” “…” He turned his head away, refusing to look at me, refusing to speak. I gave in. “Fine. Then I’m leaving.” I turned on my heel and walked decisively toward the door. I’d just reached the threshold when the sound of shattering glass exploded behind me. I spun around. Liam’s foot was still resting on the coffee table where a row of empty bottles had been lined up. His eyes, rimmed with red, were locked on me. He looked like a wounded wolf cub, brimming with a hurt he was too proud to ever voice. My heart, as always, softened. I walked back to him, took his hand, and softened my voice. “Come home with me?” It took a long moment before he gave a stiff, reluctant, “Mm.” Only then did I turn to his wide-eyed, shell-shocked bandmates. “I drove. Do you guys need a ride back to campus?” “No! No, we’re good! We’ll grab an Uber!” Zoey said, and the others quickly chimed in with agreement. “Alright. We’re heading out, then.” I nodded and left, Liam letting me lead him by the hand, his tantrum seemingly subdued for now. 3 “Mmph…” The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind us, Liam, who had been silent the entire ride home, suddenly spun me around, lifting me onto the console table in the entryway. Before I could even process it, his lips were on mine. I have to admit, the speed of a man’s progress in this particular area is astonishing. He’d gone from clumsy, innocent first kisses to this—a practiced, predatory confidence. He kissed me until my legs went weak, my body feeling like it was melting. The heavy scent of alcohol on his breath made my head spin. It wasn’t until his warm hand slid from my waist toward the hem of my skirt that I snapped out of the daze and stopped him. “Go take a shower.” Liam froze, his eyes dark with a barely concealed desire. He bit my lower lip, a small act of petulant protest. After a few ragged breaths against my ear, he relented and trudged obediently to the bathroom. By the time Liam emerged, wrapped in a cloud of steam, I was lying in bed, already half-asleep. I squinted at him, and my breath hitched. As if deliberately trying to seduce me, he had come out with only a towel slung low on his hips. Droplets of water still clung to his skin, tracing paths down the well-defined planes of his abs before disappearing into the V of his torso. Liam seemed oblivious, leaning over me with his dark, damp hair falling into his eyes. He whispered my name, his voice soft and low. “Audrey…” I fought to suppress the direction my thoughts were heading and reached for the hairdryer on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed, and I began to dry his hair, running my fingers through the wet strands until they were soft and fluffy. I set the hairdryer down. “All done.” But Liam didn’t move. He just stared at me, his eyes shimmering, the corners of his mouth turning down in the prelude to a pout. “Audrey, my head is killing me.” “And whose fault is it that you drank so much?” “…” He didn’t argue, just wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face against my stomach and letting out a few pathetic whimpers. “It hurts.” I had never been able to resist him. I sighed, my hands going to his temples, gently massaging them in slow circles. After a while, I asked, “Is that helping?” “Mm-hmm.” We stayed like that in silence. I don’t know how much time passed, but my hands started to ache. The moment I stopped, Liam nuzzled his fluffy head into the crook of my neck, his hands beginning to roam again. “Liam—” I tried to stop him, but the man in my arms was already deploying his ultimate weapon: a wounded, pleading tone. “Audrey, it’s been three days. You haven’t sent me a single text.” His voice was a mumble against my skin. “I’ve missed you so much.” I was exhausted from a long week at work and had no intention of giving in, but I was already losing the battle against temptation. As he spoke, he began nibbling on my earlobe, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the small of my back. “Audrey…” I sighed, defeated. “Just once.” I don’t remember if he agreed. I don’t remember who turned off the lights. All I remember is a room filled with the rise and fall of bodies, lost in the dark. 4 The next morning, the room was flooded with bright sunlight. I clutched my aching lower back and glared at the utterly satisfied expression on Liam’s sleeping face. I couldn’t resist giving him a light kick. Liam didn’t even open his eyes. He just grunted, pulled me closer, and wrapped his arms around me. His voice was a sleepy, morning-after rasp. “Audrey, let’s sleep a little longer.” “Didn’t we agree on ‘just once’?” Perhaps sensing the edge in my voice, Liam’s eyes fluttered open. He knew perfectly well I had to work today. He gave me a look that was pure, drowsy charm, fully aware that he had pushed things too far last night. He started nuzzling my hand like a cat seeking forgiveness. “I just love you so much.” My anger, which hadn’t been that serious to begin with, completely evaporated. I disentangled myself from his embrace, refusing to get drawn into another lazy morning in bed, and hurried to get ready. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw that the man who had been feigning sleep was already busy in the kitchen. He’d only pulled on a pair of sweatpants. I leaned against the doorframe, watching the smooth, powerful lines of the muscles in his back as he moved. Even after seeing him bare countless times, I still felt my mouth go dry. God, there was just something about a man in his early twenties. I took the breakfast he’d prepared for me, ready to rush out the door. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw the droop of his shoulders, the slight downturn of his lips. Damn it. I forgot the goodbye kiss. I quickly leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You be good, okay? The project will be over this week. No more being angry, alright?” “Okay.” A smile spread across Liam’s face, his eyes lighting up. He cupped the back of my head, deepening the kiss. I felt something begin to stir against my leg and, blushing, quickly pushed him away and fled the scene. As I left, I tossed a final word over my shoulder. “Pervert!” I could hear Liam’s delighted laughter behind me. “Only for you, Audrey!” 5 Five days later, the project was a success. It was a win-win for both companies, and a joint celebration dinner was planned. As the lead representatives from our respective firms, my attendance—and Mark’s—was mandatory. I gave Liam a heads-up beforehand. An hour of schmoozing and clinking glasses passed. I finally found my seat at the table and took a moment to check my phone. In that short time, a flood of messages had come in from Liam. Don’t you dare talk to him! Don’t even look at him! When is it over? Can I come pick you up? I miss you, Audrey~ A smile bloomed on my face as I read them, and I quickly typed out my replies. You can come get me now. I haven’t talked to him. Haven’t even looked at him. I miss you too. Just as I sent the last message, a low male voice murmured beside me. “Is your phone really that interesting?” I turned. At some point, the colleague sitting next to me had been replaced by Mark. He was leaning his head slightly, trying to peer at my screen. I had a privacy screen protector, so he probably couldn’t see anything, hence the question. When we were working together, I could maintain a professional distance. Now that the project was over, I had no desire to interact with him at all. Luckily, my junior colleague, a sweet girl named Holly, jumped in. “Oh, you don’t know, Mr. Davis? Audrey’s been dating a guy five years younger than her for two years now! They’re still totally in their honeymoon phase!” Mark’s face immediately darkened. But Holly, young and oblivious to social cues, continued to gush about her “ship,” sharing all the cute couple moments she’d witnessed. I have zero interest in sharing the sweet details of my current relationship with my ex. I glanced at the time and stood up. “I’m going to head out. You all have a good night.” Holly’s voice grew even more excited. “Going to see your boyfriend?” I smiled and nodded. “Yep. The kid at home gets a little clingy.” 6 I was waiting by the hotel entrance, leaning against a pillar and scrolling through my phone, when I saw that Liam hadn’t arrived yet. Suddenly, a hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me violently to the side. I was wearing heels and nearly twisted my ankle. Once I regained my balance, I followed the arm up to its owner and found myself staring at Mark. The annoyance I was feeling curdled into disgust. “Mark, what the hell is wrong with you?” I tried to wrench my hand free, but his grip only tightened. “Let go!” He ignored me, his brow furrowed in a tight knot. “You have a boyfriend? Since when?” His tone—as if he’d just caught me cheating on him—was so absurd I almost laughed. Is this guy for real? “Mark, let me remind you, since your memory seems to be failing: we broke up three years ago. Why on earth would I need to inform you that I have a boyfriend?” I stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t possibly be so arrogant that you thought we were just on a three-year break, did you?” Mark stared back, a look of dawning, painful confusion on his face. Oh my god. He actually did. I suddenly wondered just how pathetic and clingy he must have thought I was all this time. I really wasn’t, was I? Just then, a group of young people walked out of the hotel. I seized the opportunity and raised my voice. “Mark, I already have a boyfriend. Are you sure you want to keep holding my hand like this in public?” Mark is obsessed with his public image. Noticing the curious glances from the group, he immediately dropped my hand. I took two quick steps away from him, my voice ice-cold. “Stay away from me. I don’t want my boyfriend to see this and get the wrong idea.” Speak of the devil. A black Range Rover pulled up right in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Liam, sunglasses on, looking straight at me. Just the sight of my boy’s beautiful face was enough to dissipate the foul mood Mark had put me in. Ignoring the man-shaped statue of melodrama standing beside me, I walked straight to the car and got into the passenger seat.

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The text confirming my canceled flight popped up just as I was heading to the airport for the graduation trip Chloe and I had been planning for years. As I stood there, dumbfounded, glowing text boxes started to float in front of my eyes. 【Here we go! This is the part where the FMC, feeling bad that the MMC has never been on a plane, cancels the best friend’s ticket and gives it to him. Then the best friend totally loses his mind and they have a huge fight.】 【Even when the best friend buys a train ticket and rushes to meet them, the FMC and MMC have already had a super romantic day together. They’re inseparable, and she barely even notices the best friend is there!】 【Yep, this is the trip that makes the FMC realize how dramatic the best friend is. Every fight they have just makes her see another one of the MMC’s good qualities. Eventually, they drift apart, and the FMC and MMC get their happily ever after. I ship it!】 【OMG, look! The best friend is about to text the FMC! The plot is starting, people! Get your popcorn!】 I was still hesitating, wondering if I should text Chloe to see what was going on, when a message from her lit up my screen. 【Hey Leo, Ethan has never been on a plane before, so I refunded your ticket and gave it to him.】 【You can just buy a train ticket and meet us there. We’ll be waiting for you in Zion!】 When I didn’t reply right away, another one came through. 【Are you mad? I know you’re not used to roughing it. You can be a little sensitive.】 【But Ethan can handle anything. Why is it such a big deal for you?】 I stared at the messages on my phone. The floating text boxes were right. It was all real. I pursed my lips, opened a travel app, and bought a train ticket. Only the destination wasn’t Zion. It was Denver. 1 After changing the cab’s destination to the train station, I put my phone away. 【Uh, weird. Why isn’t the best friend freaking out on her? If he doesn’t cause a scene, how is she supposed to get annoyed with him and see how amazing our MMC is? Ugh, he’s not following the script!】 【Right? Not only is he not fighting, he’s not even texting her back. And he bought a ticket to Denver? He’s totally trying to make her jealous! What a drama king. No wonder she doesn’t like him. Childhood friends means nothing!】 【The best friend is so manipulative. Not like our MMC. Ethan might not have money, but he’s independent and strong. Total main character energy, hehe.】 【This stupid side character needs to get with the program! Doesn’t he know he’s just an NPC? His only purpose is to move the plot forward. If he doesn’t cooperate, how is everyone supposed to see how great our boy Ethan is?】 【OMG you guys, look at the other feed! The main couple just checked in for their flight! In a few hours, their sweet love story officially begins! So excited!】 My hand holding the phone tensed. Ever since Ethan had transferred to our school, I couldn’t count the number of times Chloe had put me second for his sake, always calling me “sensitive” or “spoiled.” She said Ethan was independent and resilient, a real fighter despite his tough background. I, on the other hand, was privileged and didn’t know how good I had it. We’d make plans to see a movie on a Saturday, and she’d bail at the last minute. “Ethan said a single ticket is over fifteen dollars,” she’d text. “That’s like three hours of work at his part-time job. He’s not going.” “You can go by yourself, Leo. I agree with him. We shouldn’t waste our parents’ money.” This, from the girl whose parents had just bought her a fifteen-hundred-dollar laptop. Lunch for two became lunch for three. The steak and salmon I ordered would somehow end up on Ethan’s plate. “Leo, you should eat more salads,” she’d say. “It’s good for you.” I’m six feet tall and a hundred and eighty pounds. I’m not exactly overweight. The list goes on. Eventually, she even bailed on my eighteenth birthday party. I stubbornly waited for her to show up before I would blow out the candles. But eleven o’clock came and went. Then midnight. Not a single text from Chloe. I told myself she must have gotten held up, that something important came up. Then I saw it on someone’s Instagram story: a video of her and Ethan, joyriding late at night, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as they laughed on some empty suburban street. It wasn’t until the next afternoon that she finally texted, saying she completely forgot it was my birthday. Our two-person world had been invaded by Ethan. And now this. This graduation trip was something Chloe and I had promised each other three years ago, back when we were freshmen. Her grades weren’t great, and I was on track for a top-tier magnet school. She begged me, practically in tears, to go to the same public high school as her. I caved. As a thank you, she promised me that when we graduated, we’d go to Zion National Park together. She said that’s where she was going to officially ask me to be her boyfriend. We’d go to the same college, get married after graduation. I believed her. I spent the next three years tutoring her, pulling her grades up until she was getting the same scores as me. But the moment Ethan showed up, it was like I became invisible. It was all about tutoring Ethan, helping Ethan, doing all the things with Ethan that *he’d* never done before. 2 She did well on her SATs, but not quite well enough for the top out-of-state universities. She just assumed I’d stick to our old plan, that I’d stay in-state with her. She didn’t know I’d already accepted my admission to UCLA. Honestly, I regretted giving up that magnet school for her. After being left behind so many times over the past couple of years, I wasn’t the same guy who put Chloe first anymore. My original plan was to tell her on this trip, to let her know that I was moving to California. But she left me behind again. For him. 3 It was Chloe who broke our promise first. 4 Flights to Utah in the summer are a nightmare to book. After Chloe canceled mine, there was no way I was getting another one on short notice. Even the train was sold out. Luckily, I used a booking app and paid a little extra to snag a last-minute ticket to Denver. A private roomette, even. I had just settled in when a text from Chloe came through. 「Leo, you’re taking the train, right?」 「Ethan said the seats are uncomfortable and it takes like two days to get to Zion.」 「But the scenery is incredible! You can’t see this stuff from a plane. You totally lucked out!」 I let out a bitter laugh and put my phone away without replying. After the initial shock of the canceled ticket, I did wonder if I should just scrap the whole trip. But after thinking about it, I decided to go anyway. The decision to see Zion wasn’t just about Chloe. It was a step in a plan I’d made for myself, and I wasn’t going to give it up for her. And stopping in Denver wasn’t so bad. I’d always wanted to see the Rockies. This worked out perfectly. Still, she knew how long and tiring the train ride was. But she went ahead and canceled my ticket without even asking, using my money and my time—not to mention my anxiety about traveling alone for the first time—all to give Ethan his “first flight experience.” Even though I had decided to let her go, there was a dull ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away. The floating text boxes appeared again. 【Hehe, you gotta admit, the side character really does love the FMC. Even after being ditched countless times, he still follows her without a second thought. He doesn’t even care that he has to go to Denver first, tsk tsk!】 【This is great! I was worried the main couple’s romance wouldn’t move as fast without the best friend there as a catalyst, but look at him, he’s following the plot anyway! A little detour, but he’s still chasing after her. Perfect!】 【Seriously though, this guy has no shame. Ditched so many times and he still sticks to her like glue. What a pathetic simp, hahaha!】 I glanced at the comments and then looked away. 5 The roomette was quiet and peaceful. It was more expensive, but watching the landscape transform outside my window, the knot in my stomach slowly started to unwind. The next day, I got off in Denver. I bought a map, circled a few spots I wanted to see, and looked up some travel guides online. It was already late when I arrived, so I booked a hotel near a scenic overlook I wanted to visit in the morning. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I saw Ethan’s new Instagram post. 【Had to give up the last room to a cute couple, so I guess I’m stuck sharing with this one… 😉】 The picture was of their hotel room. He wasn’t aiming the camera at the bed, but you could clearly see Chloe’s reflection in the window, leaning against the pillows on the *one* bed in the room, scrolling on her phone. My hand tightened on my own phone. At the same moment, it buzzed. It was Chloe. 【Where are you? Ethan said the views on the way are amazing, send me some pictures.】 When I didn’t answer, a single【?】followed. I scoffed. I set my alarm for the morning, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. 【Ooh, look at him, playing hard to get. Does he really think ignoring her is going to make her worry?】 【And he’s looking up tourist stuff? Like he’s planning to stay in Denver for a few days? What is wrong with this guy? Doesn’t he know the main couple is waiting for him in Zion? So selfish, only thinking about himself!】 【Yeah, didn’t you see? Chloe was totally distracted when he didn’t text back, she was barely listening to Ethan. Can this side character stop being so extra? Will he die if he doesn’t try to ruin their relationship? Such a jerk!】 【Whatever, let him be dramatic. By the time he gets to Zion, the main couple will have already fallen for each other, hahaha. Let’s see how he feels then!】 【Right? It’s so annoying seeing him all relaxed and happy. The more of a brat he is now, the more heartbroken he’ll be in Zion. Can’t wait.】 【Let him have his fun. We’ll get to see him lose his mind soon enough, lol!】 I ignored the comments and closed my eyes. 6 After a fantastic day exploring Denver, I finally opened my phone to book my next train ticket. There were plenty of options to get to Utah from here. But I didn’t buy a ticket to Utah. I bought one to Flagstaff, Arizona. In the meantime, Chloe had tried calling me since I wasn’t answering her texts. I fumbled my phone and accidentally answered. “Leo? Where are you?” Hearing her voice on the other end, I paused. “What’s up?” I asked, my tone flat. There was a silence on the other end. She must have noticed my coldness. She tried to sound cheerful. “Leo, where are you? I can come pick you up from the station.” “No need,” I said. “You guys have fun.” Predictably, she exploded. “Leo, what is that supposed to mean? ‘You guys have fun’?” “Wasn’t it your dream to come to Zion? I canceled my trip to Florida with my friends to come to this godforsaken desert with you, and now you’re giving me an attitude?” When I still didn’t say anything, her anger seemed to cool slightly. “Leo,” she asked, her voice uncertain, “are you actually mad? Just because I gave Ethan your plane ticket?” Before I could answer, she let out a cold laugh. “Leo, that’s enough! How long are you going to keep this tantrum up?! I already told you, I just wanted to help Ethan fulfill his dream of flying on a plane! You’re really going to hold a grudge over that?! You are so impossible! No one else would ever put up with your terrible attitude!” I listened to the dial tone, and sighed. My terrible attitude? She was the one who abandoned me. I hadn’t even said a single rude thing to her. 【Hahaha, look at the side character, he’s so confused. He really thought she’d keep coddling him, especially with our understanding and kind MMC as a comparison.】 【Acting all high and mighty, deliberately staying in Denver, now going to Arizona! He really thinks he’s that important to her, lmao!】 【Tsk, tsk, doesn’t this guy know when to quit?】 I ignored the floating text and spent three days in Arizona, then took a bus up to the Grand Canyon. The scenery was something I could never have imagined back home in Illinois. The vast, sweeping canyon and the endless sky were breathtaking. I even took a tour to see the ancient petroglyphs. It was absolutely worth the trip. After another three days there, I finally boarded a shuttle bus to Zion. The strange thing was, over the past week and a half, I had barely thought about Chloe. It was like the moment I decided to let her go, she really did fade from my mind. I read an article once that said it only takes twenty-one days to break a habit. I think they were on to something. Even in the quiet of the night, she rarely crossed my mind. After that angry phone call, Chloe hadn’t contacted me again. Her Instagram, however, was a different story. She posted constantly. It was all her and Ethan. They were sharing a room. Making heart shapes with their hands in front of the cliffs. Posing at all the famous trailheads. They even took pictures in matching hiking outfits. Eight posts a day, and every single one was a photo of the two of them. But when I saw them, I felt surprisingly… nothing. In fact, I thought they looked pretty good together. 7 The moment I got a cell signal in Zion, a text from my mom came through. 「Leo, your acceptance letter from UCLA arrived!」 「By the way, Chloe’s mom just called to ask if we wanted to do a joint graduation party. Does Chloe not know you’re going to California?」 I was trying to figure out how to reply when someone slapped me hard on the shoulder. “Leo! It’s really you!” Standing in front of me were Chloe and Ethan. Chloe’s eyes lit up when she saw me, and she started to walk toward me. I gave them both a brief, indifferent glance and headed to the lodge’s front desk to check in. Ethan, seemingly oblivious to my cold shoulder, followed me. “Dude, what took you so long? Zion is awesome! Chloe and I have seen almost everything. Where do you want to go next? I’ll have Chloe take you.” I got my room key and started walking toward the elevators with my suitcase, ignoring him. As I passed Chloe, she grabbed my arm, her grip tight. She was frowning, her face clouded over. “Leo, are you done with your little tantrum? I’ve been deliberately ignoring you for days. Haven’t you figured out what you did wrong yet?” Her voice grew sharper. “What is your problem? Didn’t you hear Ethan talking to you? Or do you think you’re too good for him?” Ethan suddenly looked frightened, waving his hands and trying to defend me. “Chloe, don’t yell! You’re being so mean to him!” Then he looked at me sheepishly. “Leo, don’t get the wrong idea. She’s like this with everyone… except me. She doesn’t have much patience. I know you guys are childhood friends, and I know I can’t compare to you in her heart. I would never try to get in the way of your relationship, I promise!” He reached out to grab my arm again. But as I pulled my arm back, he stumbled backward dramatically, falling to the ground in a heap. “Ethan!” A hard shove sent me staggering. I lost my balance, and my suitcase and I went down with a crash. “Leo! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Chloe shrieked, standing over me. “You’re going to bully him right in front of me?! After he spent all this time worrying about you, wondering when you’d get here? If I’d known you were this toxic, we would’ve left days ago! Who cares what happens to you!” A sharp, fiery pain shot through my knee. I took a deep breath and pushed myself up. When I looked up, Chloe was cradling Ethan in her arms, glaring at me with pure disappointment. “Leo, apologize to Ethan. Right now.” Her voice was ice. “Otherwise, you can forget about us having a joint grad party.” I froze.

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