Category: English

Three years with Ethan Hayes, and our relationship still came with a price list. Dinner: two thousand dollars. A date: ten thousand. One night in his bed: thirty thousand. Then one day, I found out I was pregnant. My brain took a few seconds to reboot. I stared at the man across from me, all aristocratic distance even in a hospital gown, and asked him point-blank: “Ethan, do you have a hundred million dollars?” 1 He was completely baffled. He was wearing an oversized, sterile-white patient gown, but it did nothing to diminish the sharp, handsome lines of his face. His dark eyes, intense and focused, locked onto me. “What’s this about?” “Why are you asking that all of a sudden?” He let a slow, wicked grin spread across his lips, a look that seemed entirely too healthy for a sick man. “What, you want to work your way up to a hundred million?” “Ahem.” I nearly choked on my own spit. “That’s not what I meant, obviously. I mean…” The words what if I had your baby for a hundred million were right on the tip of my tongue, but then his expression shuttered. “If that’s not what you meant, then drop it,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “There’s nothing for us to talk about.” That familiar, heartless indifference sent a chill through me. Right. How could I forget? Ethan Hayes was a devout member of the no-marriage, no-kids club. We’d agreed from day one: no messy feelings, no talk of love. This was purely a physical arrangement. If he found out about the baby… He’d assume I’d engineered the whole thing, a honey trap to secure a payday. Forget a hundred million; he’d probably demand I pay back every cent he’d ever given me. Better not. I silently tightened my grip on the clinic report tucked in my purse, making sure to keep it hidden behind my back. “Oh. It was nothing, then.” Ethan didn’t press the issue. He never had any real feelings for me anyway. He just needed someone to have dinner with. And to share his bed. But this month had been… inconvenient. His two-hundred-thousand-dollar quota for my time had already been maxed out by the middle of the month. So… As the man pinned me against the stiff hospital bed, his lips tracing a path down from my earlobe, my body went rigid. The moment his fingers grazed the top button of my blouse, a jolt of panic shot through me. I scrambled away from him, putting a good three feet of distance between us. “The monthly limit has been reached!” I announced, my voice a little too loud. “We can’t do… that!” Ethan’s handsome face clouded over with irritation. He stared at me, his voice oozing with the casual arrogance of the ultra-rich. “I’ll pay more.” “No!” Pay more for what? So he could accidentally jeopardize the baby? For the first time in our arrangement, me, the girl who would do anything for money, said no. Ethan’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion in their depths. My heart hammered against my ribs. I blurted out the first lie that came to mind. “I’m… I’m not feeling well this month. And I’m swamped with work. The most I can do is keep you company while you’re sick. Nothing else!” With that, I turned to leave, desperate to get away before he somehow discovered the secret I was hiding on my phone. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. His voice was as cold and hard as ever. “So, the only way I can see you this month is if I’m sick?” I thought about Ethan’s year-round gym habit. The man was built like a bull. I nodded decisively. “That’s right! Only when you’re sick!” 2 A shadow passed over Ethan’s deep-set eyes. He looked like he was about to say something else, but just then, the doctor walked in, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Hayes, good news. It’s just a common cold, probably from taking a cold shower in this weather. Nothing serious. You’re clear for discharge.” A cold shower? What kind of maniac takes a cold shower in the middle of winter? Was he nuts? I shot Ethan a look you’d give a complete idiot. I sent a silent prayer to the universe: please, let the baby inherit his father’s looks. But for the love of God, not his brains. “Alright, you heard the man. You can go home,” I said, backing toward the door. “So, let’s just not see each other for the rest of the month, okay? See you next month, Mr. Hayes!” See him next month? Not if I could help it. I fled back to my apartment like a fugitive, frantically throwing a few things into a suitcase. I had to find somewhere to go, somewhere Ethan would never find me while I figured out this whole pregnancy thing. My best friend, Sarah, was stunned when I told her. “You’re… you’re just going to keep it? Just like that?” “Of course!” I said without a sliver of hesitation, stuffing another sweater into my already-full luggage. “You know my story. I grew up with no family, a total orphan. My whole plan was to save up enough money to go abroad, do IVF, and make a family for myself.” I beamed. “Well, look at this! My little family just showed up ahead of schedule!” And with Ethan’s genes, the kid was guaranteed to be gorgeous. My mind made up, I pulled out my phone to book a flight—any flight out of here. Sarah still looked hesitant. “But the month isn’t over yet. What if Ethan gets sick again and calls you?” “Not a chance,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “The guy’s a beast. He works out every single day. There’s no way he gets sick twice in one month…” Before the words were even out of my mouth, my phone rang. It was Ethan’s assistant. “Ms. Miller, good evening. Mr. Hayes has been admitted to the hospital again. He’s asking if you could come by.” As if sensing my hesitation, the assistant added, “This is, of course, within the terms of your monthly retainer. We would appreciate it if you could come promptly.” Same hospital, same private suite. In the span of one week, I made the trip seven times. Yes. Once a day. Monday, it was a fever. Tuesday, another cold. Wednesday, he broke out in a rash. Thursday, he sprained his ankle… After a full week of this, I stood over the hospital bed, looking at the man who was now covered in a patchwork of bandages and minor injuries. For the first time, I began to seriously question the physical fortitude of this titan of industry. “Ethan,” I began, “do you have an inner-ear problem? Maybe an issue with your motor skills?” How else could a man sprain his ankle three separate times just walking out the hospital doors? And dislocate his shoulder? Ethan’s eyes, cold and sharp, flicked up to meet mine. “Are you questioning my abilities?” “No,” I said, speaking the honest truth. It wasn’t his abilities I was questioning. It was his intelligence. Can stupidity be inherited? I wondered, my eyes scanning him from head to toe. My gaze unconsciously paused on a certain area— Suddenly, his hand shot out and yanked me forward. I stumbled, a gasp escaping my lips as his scent—clean, masculine, and overwhelmingly familiar—enveloped me. Before I could react, he cupped my chin, his mouth crashing down on mine in a brutal, possessive kiss. “Mmph—” The force of it was too much. I’d been fighting off waves of morning sickness for days, and the sudden movement sent a violent lurch through my stomach. I struggled, trying to push him away, but his grip only tightened, pinning me against him. He moved against my lips, his voice a low, guttural growl against my mouth. “You won’t even let me touch you…” “Gag—!” And then it happened. I threw up. A splash of indeterminate liquid sprayed across the front of his pristine white hospital gown. He froze, his face a mask of pure fury. “Zoe Miller! Are you that disgusted by me? You actually threw up from a kiss!” 3 I couldn’t explain. There was no way to explain. Looking at his furious expression, the undisguised revulsion in his beautiful eyes, an idea—a desperate, brilliant idea—flashed in my mind. “Yes!” I declared, my voice shaking but firm. “I’m sick of you! I don’t want to play this game anymore! We’re done!” Ethan didn’t try to stop me. He just stared at me, his gaze cold and piercing, for a long, silent moment. Finally, he asked, his voice low and dangerous, “Zoe, are you sure you know what you’re saying?” The deep, powerful timber of his voice was laced with a pressure that was almost physical. And then… Blech. I threw up again. This time, it was more violent, a series of heaves that felt like I was trying to turn myself inside out. Jeez. Ethan’s temper was explosive, and it looked like the baby had inherited it. I was so consumed by my own misery that I didn’t see the flash of raw hurt in Ethan’s eyes. By the time I could breathe again, he was gone. Only his assistant remained, holding out a sleek, black credit card. “Ms. Miller, Mr. Hayes asked me to give you this. He said it’s a severance payment.” A titan to the very end. Even his breakups were generous. But… As I watched his silhouette—limping slightly, impossibly lonely—disappear down the long, sterile corridor, a strange ache bloomed in my chest. “Honey, you’re in love with him.” Sarah’s voice was matter-of-fact from the passenger seat of the taxi speeding toward the airport. “No way,” I retorted, clutching my stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over me. I took a sip of water, forcing it down. “It’s a business transaction, that’s all! How could I possibly be in love with him?” Sarah just shrugged. “No need to get defensive. It’s obvious he’s into you, too.” “Why else would he give you a black card?” “Because he has more money than he knows what to do with!” My heart gave a painful thud. Ethan likes me? Impossible. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, trying to ignore the sour knot of sadness in my gut. “He’s never been anything but cold to me. How could that be love? Besides, everyone knows about his college girlfriend, the great lost love of his life. They say he’s never gotten over her. He couldn’t possibly fall for someone like me.” I bit my lip, a sadness I couldn’t name welling up inside me. Sarah sighed. “I don’t know what kind of soap opera you two are starring in, but I bet you if you called him right now, he’d come running.” Me, call Ethan? You’ve got to be kidding. In three years, I had never once initiated a call. He was always too busy. He wouldn’t pick up. And besides… I rested a hand on my still-flat stomach. “I’m about to leave this city for good,” I murmured. “We’ll never see each other again…” My words were cut short by the deafening screech of tires and a massive, violent impact. My world tilted sideways, then went black. 4 I woke up in a hospital. As my eyes fluttered open, a young nurse holding a chart beamed at me. “You are so incredibly lucky. It was a huge accident, but you just have a small scrape on your forehead and a minor concussion. No other injuries.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes shining. “Your boyfriend was so worried, though. He insisted we run a full battery of tests. Seriously, where did you find a guy who’s that handsome and that devoted?” Boyfriend? Who? Did I have one of those? I was still trying to process her words when Ethan strode into the room. He looked like he’d been through a war. His usually immaculate overcoat was smudged with dirt, and his deep eyes were locked on me with an intensity that felt like it could pull me under. The boyfriend… she couldn’t possibly mean him, could she? The nurse turned to him. “See? The test results are all back. I told you your girlfriend was perfectly fine.” The test results? A jolt of pure ice shot through my veins. I stared at him, my mind racing. Oh God, please don’t let him know. Please. The tests were for the crash, not for… not for inside stuff, right? I prayed, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. But my hope was shattered by the low, cold timber of his voice. “Zoe Miller, you’ve got some nerve.” He took a step closer, his shadow falling over me. “Thinking you could run away with my child?”

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After seven years of marriage, my husband—a decorated police captain—still can’t recognize my face due to his prosopagnosia, or face blindness. He relies on my signature crisp apple blossom perfume to “know his wife by scent.” If I forget to wear it, his voice turns to ice: “Excuse me, who are you?” or “Ma’am, please leave. My wife will be home soon.” Living like this is its own kind of hell. Even in bed, I worry that if I sweat too much and the scent fades, he’ll shove me away as a stranger. Still, I found a twisted comfort: if Robert can’t remember my face, at least he’d never cheat. A husband who couldn’t even recognize another woman. That illusion shattered when I found his hidden sketchbook. Page after page, drawn in his own hand, was a woman’s face, rendered with vivid tenderness. Judy. His first love. And I finally understood: the reason he could never remember my face was because his mind had room for only one. But now, as that very same first love—now a hardened criminal—holds a knife to my back, his gun hand is starting to shake. Robert… can you see my face now? 1 A man’s body was found on the riverbank at dusk. By the time I arrived with my M.E. kit, the crime scene was already wrapped in a triple layer of yellow tape. My husband, Robert Hayes, is the captain of the Homicide division. He was surveying the scene, his focus absolute, the shoulders of his uniform pulled sharp and straight over his tall frame. He cut an impressive figure. I was in such a rush that I’d forgotten my official lab coat and credentials. The moment I ducked under the tape, a hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice, forcefully shoving me back. “Civilian! Stay back! You’re contaminating the scene!” My husband’s voice was as cold and hard as frozen steel. I looked up into his eyes. All I saw in their depths was professional vigilance, not a single flicker of recognition. The other detectives froze. A younger one, Mike, scratched his head and muttered, “Uh… Captain? That’s Dr. Hayes. Leah. Your wife?” Robert’s grip vanished. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck as he struggled for an explanation, for a way to justify the absurdity of a man not recognizing his own wife. “I…” I’m a medical examiner. Perfume is a strict no-go at work. Usually, Robert identifies me by my lab coat and ID badge. Without them, I was just another anonymous face, another potential threat. I quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “It’s fine. Captain Hayes has been burning the candle at both ends. It’s dark, I’m in street clothes… he’s just in the zone.” I set my kit on the ground and crouched, pretending to organize my tools. The truth was, I was hiding my face, willing the burning in my eyes not to turn into tears. Seven years. We’ve been married for seven years. The face blindness started in the third year of our marriage. It was sporadic at first, then became more and more frequent. Once, he’d mistaken me for a burglar as I was cooking in our own kitchen and put me in a takedown hold. My shoulder was dislocated. He has prosopagnosia. A peculiar kind that only affects his ability to recognize women’s faces. Men, he can distinguish just fine. But it’s a dangerous condition, not just for our marriage, but for his career. Department regulations are clear: any severe cognitive impairment is grounds for suspension. He was terrified of being benched, of it torpedoing his career, so he begged me to help him hide it. As his wife, what else could I do but agree? The sun was beginning to stain the horizon by the time I finished my preliminary examination. I climbed into Robert’s car for the ride back to the precinct. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, his voice low. “Thanks. For back there.” He paused. “That was a close call. They almost figured it out.” I turned to look at his rigid profile. 2 “Robert, we can’t keep doing this. Your face blindness is getting worse. Sooner or later, the whole department is going to know.” My voice was pleading. “You need to see a doctor.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. His tone dropped several degrees. “Treat what? So I have face blindness. Has it stopped me from closing cases? Do you want me to get suspended? Shuffled off to a desk job in Logistics?” His voice rose, thick with frustration. “I’m a homicide detective, Leah! My whole life is about solving these cases!” It was always like this. The moment I brought it up, he’d explode. “I’m just worried about you, Robert. I don’t want to see you crash and burn.” I tried again, my voice softer now. “That sting operation last month… you almost shot our female informant because you thought she was the suspect. If I hadn’t screamed your name…” “Enough!” he snapped, cutting me off. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to manage me. Ninety percent of the perps in my cases are men. I don’t see how not recognizing a woman’s face is some critical flaw. It’s not like I’m working Vice!” The conversation died. We drove the rest of the way to the precinct in a heavy, suffocating silence. He went to his office; I went to the M.E.’s lab. Another long day bled into another long night. When I finally got home, Robert wasn’t there. Not unusual. A fresh murder case meant overtime was the new normal. Despite being exhausted after more than twelve hours on my feet, the wifely duties still called. I went into his study to tidy up, gathering the work notes he’d left scattered on his desk. As I picked up a leather-bound notebook, a loose piece of drawing paper fluttered to the floor. It was the profile of a woman. Delicate features, the corner of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile. The lines were drawn with such care, such obvious repetition, that it was clear the artist knew this face by heart. I froze. He couldn’t remember women’s faces. There was a painful familiarity in her features. I rushed to the bookshelf, pulling out our old photo albums. There, in his Police Academy graduation photo, I found her. It was his first love. The academy’s golden girl, Judy Sterling. So, it wasn’t that he couldn’t recognize women. He just couldn’t be bothered to remember me. His face blindness had one exception, and her name was Judy. I stood there, the sketch clutched in my hand, my own foolish words echoing in my head. “At least he’ll never cheat…” What a pathetic joke. I’d been lying to myself for years. He hadn’t cheated on me. To cheat, you have to be on the same path in the first place. Robert had never even been on my track. I knew the story, or parts of it. She was in his graduating class, a beauty who got a cushy public relations job at the main department office. Then, she’d abruptly resigned, saying she was moving abroad to live with relatives. People said Robert was a wreck for months after she left, before he channeled all that broken energy into his work. He became a machine, closing case after impossible case, climbing the ranks until he made captain by thirty. That’s when I met him. A driven detective and a rookie medical examiner. We were like something out of a TV crime drama, the classic pairing. I used to think it was the most romantic thing in the world—partners in life, partners in justice. Now I just saw it for what it was: a fantasy I’d built all by myself. Robert came home around 11 PM, looking drained. He saw me sitting in his study and his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Is that the new cleaning lady? It’s late, why are you still here? I told you, living room, kitchen, and bathroom only. Don’t touch anything in my study!” He didn’t recognize me. Again. “Robert,” I said, my voice level and calm. “It’s Leah. Your wife.” 3 He blinked, processing, then set down his briefcase. “Sorry. It’s been a hell of a day.” He sniffed the air. “Did you change your perfume? You know I only recognize the apple blossom.” My job means I’m surrounded by the smells of death and decay. In my off-hours, I love perfume. My personal favorites are floral—rose, jasmine, lily. But ever since Robert’s condition worsened, he’d made me promise to only wear that one specific apple scent. I’d never thought much of it. Until today. Until I saw her face sketched from his memory. “Robert… was apple blossom Judy’s scent?” My voice was quiet, but it sliced through the air. “You can’t remember my face, so you make me smell like your first love. What does that make me to you? A substitute? A scented doll?” He stiffened, his expression turning cold. “Leah, I’m exhausted. Can we not do this? Why are you suddenly bringing up Judy? That was over a long time ago.” He wouldn’t admit it. But we were both in law enforcement. We dealt in evidence. I was done with pointless arguments. I held up the sketch, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize someone with face blindness could be such a talented artist. It’s as absurd as a mute becoming an opera singer.” His face darkened. He snatched the drawing from my hand, his voice accusatory. “Who gave you permission to go through my things?” “Go through your things?” The bitterness in my laugh felt corrosive. “My own husband can’t remember what I look like, but he can draw his ex-girlfriend from memory with photographic precision! We’ve been married seven years, Robert. For five of those years, I have covered for you, lied for you, put my own career at risk to protect yours. And this is how you repay me?” He was silent for a long moment before he finally gave a slow, defeated nod. “Yes. I never forgot her. She left so suddenly… I never got closure. I know it’s not fair to you, Leah, but I can’t help it. Her face is the only one my mind can hold on to. It’s a prison for me, too. I hoped you could understand.” Understand? What woman on earth could understand that? This wasn’t about love anymore. This was about dignity. About my very existence as a person. “Robert, let’s get a divorce.” His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Leah, you want a divorce over this? I haven’t seen Judy since the day she left! You’re jealous of a memory?” “She’s not just a memory,” I said, shaking my head. “She is a part of our present. And you’re right, I’m not just jealous of a memory. I’m furious that you’ve made me live with her ghost.” I held up a hand to stop his protests. “What you call a beautiful memory, Robert, is a whip you’ve been lashing me with for years. I will not spend another day with a man who has so little respect for me.” Seeing the resolve in my eyes, he let out a long, weary sigh. “Alright. I’ll agree to a divorce. I know I’ve wronged you.” He hesitated. “But can we wait until this case is closed? You know the pressure we’re under—a homicide case has to be cleared. I’m up for the Deputy Chief position, and a divorce right now… it wouldn’t look good. Once this murder is solved, I’ll sign whatever you want.” My mind flashed back seven years. I was a fresh-faced intern out of the academy, on my first real crime scene—a brutal gang fight. One of the thugs, high on adrenaline and cornered, made a run for it, charging right at me with a bloody knife. I was too green, too scared to move. It was Robert who threw himself in front of me, taking the blade in his left shoulder. The scar is still there. That was how we began. 4 A wave of something soft and tired washed over me. “Fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. “We’ll wait until your case is closed. But we sign the divorce agreement now, post-dated for one month from today. If the case isn’t solved in a month, the agreement goes into effect anyway. I can’t wait forever.” I rarely go shopping, but that weekend I went to the mall, desperate for a distraction. I found a beautiful cream-colored dress, and after trying it on, I paid for it at the register. When I went back to the counter to pick up my purchase, a glamorous woman was berating the sales clerk, clutching the very dress I had just bought. “I want this dress. Tell the other customer she can’t have it!” she snapped, her voice shrill and arrogant. “I’ll pay double!” It was Judy. She was back. She looked nothing like a former cop; she carried herself like a spoiled mob wife throwing a tantrum. My husband, I could let her have. The dress was another matter. “Excuse me,” I said, stepping forward. “I believe that’s mine. I’ve already paid for it.” Judy whirled around and, without warning, slapped me across the face. The force of it made my ears ring. “Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take something from me?” I am not the same inexperienced rookie from seven years ago. I’ve seen the worst of humanity laid out on a steel table. I’ve been through combat and self-defense training. I no longer needed a man to protect me. I could handle myself. CRACK. My own hand flew, connecting with her cheek in a slap that was just as hard. “I may not be anyone special, but I’m not someone you can just assault.” The slap was immensely satisfying. A red handprint blossomed on her perfect, porcelain skin. “What the hell are you doing?!” A furious voice cut through the air. It was Robert, dressed in plain clothes, storming towards us. His face was a thundercloud of rage as he pointed a finger at me. “What is wrong with you? Assaulting someone in broad daylight? You think you’re above the law?” His voice was a low growl. “You’re coming with me to the precinct for questioning. This is at least seven days in a holding cell!” He turned his back on me, his voice instantly softening as he fussed over Judy. “Judy, are you okay? Did she hurt you?” “Don’t worry,” he murmured, all protective concern. “I won’t let her get away with this.” Judy, the raging harpy from moments before, transformed into a damsel in distress, her eyes welling with crocodile tears. “I’m fine, Robert. I just wanted to buy a pretty dress to wear for you… I didn’t know she was so violent.” “You’re not fine, your face is already swelling,” Robert fretted, his expression full of pain on her behalf. He turned back to me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Well? What are you waiting for? ID! Where do you work? This is absolutely unacceptable!” The sales clerk tried to intervene, to explain that Judy had started it, but Robert silenced her with a glare. “I wasn’t talking to you! Stay out of it! This is official police business!” Watching my own husband play the white knight for another woman, I felt no sadness. Only a profound, liberating sense of absurdity. “Officer,” I said, my voice steady, “am I allowed to contact my family? If I’m being detained, I think my husband should know.” Robert launched into another tirade. “Fine! Call your husband! I’d love to have a word with him! What kind of man lets his wife run around acting like a common thug? He needs to learn how to control you!” I met his furious gaze, my own calm and clear. I bit my lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood, but I felt no pain. “My husband’s name is Robert Hayes,” I said, each word a carefully placed stone. “He’s the Captain of the Homicide Division for the city. And not only does he fail to ‘control’ me… he can’t even recognize my face.”

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Three years I’ve spent trying to save the resident gloomy villain, and his darkness score is still maxed out. He won’t talk to me. Won’t let me get close. Every gift I give him, he cuts to shreds and throws away. But when the story’s heroine appeared, he was the one blushing, head bowed, offering her a piece he’d poured his soul into. That was when I finally gave up hope. I found the heroine and laid my cards on the table. “I’m planning on leaving the country,” I told her. “From now on, could you take Matt Croft into your family’s care?” 1 Matt had run away from home again. It was the third time this month. After a whole afternoon of searching with no leads, I reluctantly had to summon the System, who was supposed to be on vacation. Being dragged back to work on your day off would sour anyone’s mood, and the System was no exception. The moment it materialized, it launched into a tirade. “Are you kidding me, Summer? You have got to be the worst Host I have ever seen!” “It’s been this long, and Matt’s darkness score is still off the charts?” “Can you please, for the love of god, tell me how you managed to make him hate you this much?” I lowered my head in shame. The System was right. I was useless. Three whole years. The word Matt had said to me more than any other was “hate.” He hated seeing me. Hated talking to me. Hated me being anywhere near him. Hate, hate, hate… Maybe it was the miserable look on my face, but the System’s tone softened slightly. It sent an address to my phone. “Here,” it said, its voice calmer. “He’s at this location.” “Don’t worry too much. It’s not like he’s going to disappear for good.” “Let me just run a quick diagnostic on his current emotional state—” The System paused. A moment later, its voice was filled with confusion. “What the hell?” “Why did Matt’s heart rate just skyrocket? His darkness score is plummeting!” “This… This is the signature of attraction, isn’t it?” 2 The System told me Matt must have met someone incredibly important, someone extraordinary to him. By the time I rushed over, more than half an hour had passed. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. I found Matt sitting in an old gazebo tucked behind a rock garden on the estate, his sketchbook resting on his lap as he drew with intense focus. And standing beside him was a girl with a high ponytail. She was wearing a simple white dress, looking cute and vibrant. Every few moments, she would let out a gasp of admiration. “Oh my god, this composition is absolutely flawless.” “I’m an art student too, and I can tell you right now, you’re a genius!” “Where do you go to school?” “My mentor is on the board of the European Art Association. I could recommend you to him, you know!” “And of course, I know plenty of professors at the top art schools here in the States. They would all be blown away by your talent!” … A genius? Yes. I knew that from the day I accepted this mission. Matt Croft was, without a doubt, a genius. The kind of once-in-a-generation painter whose exhibitions could ignite the artistic soul of an entire city, whose most casual doodle could fetch a fortune at auction. But this was also the same person who showed signs of autism from a young age, which by his teenage years had morphed into an atypical form of bipolar disorder. Sometimes he was manic and anxious. Other times, he was consumed by a deep, depressive gloom, capable of not speaking a word for days on end. Then, in high school, disaster struck. The Croft family’s corporation faced a sudden economic crisis and was on the brink of bankruptcy. Matt’s parents had died in an accident shortly after he was born, leaving only his elderly grandfather to manage the vast family enterprise. The old man couldn’t withstand the pressure. He suffered a stroke that landed him in the hospital. Before he passed, he used the last of the family’s assets to hire a caretaker for his grandson—someone to look after Matt’s daily life and his fragile mental state. He also entrusted this caretaker with one final task: to find a real estate mogul by the name of Miller. Mr. Miller was an old friend, a brother-in-arms from their youth to whom his grandfather owed his life. The Miller family had moved abroad years ago, and they had somehow lost touch. “But he’ll remember,” Matt’s grandfather had said, his voice a ragged whisper. “Our grandchildren, Emily and Matt, they even had a childhood engagement pact.” “With the Croft family in such dire straits… I can only ask them to take Matt in and look after him for a while.” 3 The System’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Host.” “I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, right?” “The girl in the white dress standing next to our young villain is the heroine who just returned to the country.” “Emily Miller.” Yeah. I’d figured. Because the heroine, Emily, was an art student. In the original story, the caretaker the Croft family hired was no good. He was a two-faced grifter, skimming from the top, and treated Matt horribly. When the Croft empire finally crumbled, he took the money and ran, leaving the already psychologically fragile teenager stranded and alone in the middle of nowhere. As for finding the Miller family? He never even tried. Matt suffered immensely after that. He couldn’t even afford to stay in school. He worked odd jobs, saved every penny, only to be scammed and beaten, even having one of his legs broken. Finally, he met a true mentor, a brilliant art professor at a university. His talent was discovered, and he clawed his way up from the very bottom… only then did he become the revered artist everyone knew. By that time, the heroine had already become a rising star in the design world. And at last, Matt finally met Emily Miller. He learned about the childhood engagement pact. But by then, looking at his own scarred and broken body, he no longer had the courage to pursue her. In the story’s tragic conclusion, on the eve of Emily’s wedding to another man, Matt leaped from the roof of a skyscraper. His suicide note read: My life was ruined by that caretaker. If only he had found Emily back then, my life could have been perfect, without a single regret. 4 To change Matt’s fate, I took the place of that corrupt caretaker when I entered this world. In this reset timeline, Matt’s grandfather met me at the orphanage where I grew up and sponsored my education. When he passed away, he left me a portion of his remaining assets and begged me to look after his grandson. So, I began to take care of Matt with every ounce of effort I had. He didn’t know how to manage money, so I opened a bank account in his name, researching investment strategies to make his grandfather’s inheritance last as long as possible. His mental state was fragile, so I devoured books on psychology and took him to see specialists. He loved to paint. I, a STEM major who knew nothing about art, dragged myself to nearly a hundred exhibitions in a single year, all for the slim hope of having something to talk to him about. … But even with all that, Matt’s attitude towards me remained cold and dismissive. It was as if no matter how hard I tried, he would never let me into his world. Even during his manic episodes, he’d rather smash everything in sight than let me bring him his medication in the studio. The reason was simple: I didn’t understand art. He didn’t want a boring, mundane person like me trespassing in his creative sanctuary. But now… His attitude toward the heroine was completely different. He listened intently to her opinions on his work, slowly articulating his own thoughts in return. When Matt finished the piece, he carefully removed it from his sketchbook. He held it out to Emily, an offering. The tips of his ears were tinged with red. “Can I… Can I get your number?” he stammered. “My name is… Matt. Matt Croft.” Emily paused for a second. As she pulled out her phone, she tilted her head and scratched her nose thoughtfully. “Huh?” she said. “You know… I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere before.” 5 In the original story, the heroine had her own destined partner. Even when she met Matt again later in life, her feelings for him never went beyond friendship. That’s why the System’s mission wasn’t for me to deliver Matt to Emily. It was for me to guide him away from the main characters, to reshape his personality outside the confines of the original plot and change his tragic ending. But now… I think I might have messed things up. Matt had met the heroine ahead of schedule. And it seemed to be love at first sight. The System started screaming in my ear. “Go get that dark-hearted brat back here, you useless block of wood!” “If you just stand there spacing out any longer, Emily’s radiance will only make him hate you more, you idiot!” Right, right. I was supposed to drag Matt back. I sighed, bracing myself. I walked over and stood between him and Emily, gently tapping Matt’s shoulder. “Matt,” I said softly. “There you are. Let’s go home, okay?” “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. I made dinner. Aren’t you hungry?” 6 The moment he saw me, the faint smile on Matt’s face vanished, replaced by an icy mask. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line as he shot me a look of pure annoyance, his brow furrowing deeply. It was Emily who spoke, her tone surprisingly warm. She turned to me, her eyes blinking with curiosity. “You know Matt? Are you two friends? Do you have a date tonight or something?” I was about to answer when Matt cut me off sharply. “No!” His voice was laced with an urgency, as if he couldn’t distance himself from me fast enough. “She’s not my friend. She’s just the hired help,” he spat. “Just some kid my grandfather picked up from an orphanage.” “She’s nobody.” … As the words hung in the air, I heard the System suck in a sharp, embarrassed breath. Even Emily looked taken aback, shifting uncomfortably. She shot me an apologetic glance before looking at her watch, trying to smooth things over. “Does being the hired help mean she can’t be your friend?” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “What’s with the high-and-mighty tone? Besides, she’s been looking for you all afternoon. You should at least let someone know when you go out.” “Don’t do that again. You’ll make her job much harder than it needs to be!” Her voice was so kind. Even her scolding was laced with warmth, making it impossible to be angry. She really was the heroine. She’d extend her kindness even to a complete stranger like me. And thanks to her, Matt, who had been teetering on the edge of a manic episode, visibly calmed down. He lowered his head and quietly began packing his things. Slinging his art portfolio over his shoulder, he threw a glare my way. “What are you staring at?” he muttered, striding ahead. “You’re the one who wanted to go back so badly.” 7 If I hadn’t shown up, Matt and Emily could have spent more time together. Naturally, his animosity towards me deepened. On the way back, he deliberately kept his distance, his voice dripping with contempt as he questioned me. “You looked for me all afternoon?” “Summer, how are you always so free? Don’t you have a life of your own?” “I know my grandfather left you a salary, but there wasn’t that much money left. It can’t be worth you dedicating your entire existence to this job…” “Look at that girl back there. She has her own passions, her own talent.” “Not like you. All you do is hover around people, like a pathetic little shadow. It’s so damn annoying.” … I kept my head down, unable to find the words to defend myself. Before the car accident that led me to the System, I was just an ordinary person. Now, in this world, I wasn’t part of the main cast, had no special abilities, and no family. My college tuition came from the inheritance my grandfather left for Matt’s care. And even then, I had to endure his scorn. The System chose that moment to twist the knife. “Host.” “Matt’s darkness score just went up again.” “His mood was perfectly stable when he was with the heroine…” “Looks like she makes him a lot happier than you do!” —It was obvious, really. But if the heroine could soothe him better than I ever could, then what was the point of a disposable NPC like me? The Miller family was already looking for Matt anyway, now that they knew about the Crofts’ bankruptcy. If I just delivered him to Emily, wouldn’t that solve everyone’s problems? Once the thought took root, it was impossible to shake. I ran to catch up with Matt, grabbing his sleeve. “Matt,” I asked, my voice direct. “If I quit this job, if I wasn’t around anymore… would you be happier if someone else took care of you?” It was a stupid question, I know. I’ve never been good with words. He looked down at me, his expression turning cold and hard. After a long moment, he let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Summer, are you insane?” he sneered. “Who do you think you are? Someone irreplaceable?” “If you want to leave, then leave. Get out right now.” “I don’t need you.”

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“So, you must be the legendary ‘girl best friend,’ right?” “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me a bunch of Liam’s little secrets?” “Then you’ll swear up and down you’re just ‘one of the guys’?” “Listen, I’ve read a hundred stories just like this. Your little act won’t work on me.” She said it with a smirk, like she had me all figured out. I was speechless. I turned to Liam. “You need to tell your girlfriend to delete Wattpad.” 1 Hailey chewed on her straw, tilting her head as she looked at me. Curled up in Liam’s arms, she cooed, “Zoe, honey, when you’re a guy’s ‘girl best friend,’ is it like in the stories? Do you guys, like, sleep in the same bed and play video games all night?” She sighed dramatically. “I’m so jealous. I can’t even talk to a guy without blushing!” My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. Liam, who had been texting, chuckled without looking up. “What are you talking about? Back in middle school when she came over to study, my mom kicked me out to the living room couch.” “But in the stories, the girl best friend always sneaks in to tuck the guy in,” Hailey pouted, her eyes suddenly welling up. “And she’ll pretend to be drunk and lean on his shoulder… Zoe, you wouldn’t do something like that, would you?” The private dining room went silent. Under the table, our friend Ryan kicked me, his eyes wide as he gestured toward my phone. The group chat was blowing up. “Is this girl for real? Is she auditioning for a soap opera?” “Zoe, DESTROY HER.” I slowly lifted my gaze. Hailey was blinking her big, innocent eyes, waiting for my answer. I put down my fork and turned to Liam. “Tell your girlfriend to delete Wattpad.” Hailey’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Liam, did I say something wrong? Is Zoe mad at me?” she whimpered. “Does she think I’m intruding? Does she want you to send me home?” “It’s all my fault, I’m so stupid, I don’t know how to talk to people! Please don’t let me make things awkward for you and Zoe, okay? I’ll be more careful next time!” Liam dropped the shrimp he was peeling for her and fumbled for a napkin. He shot me a glare filled with reproach. “Zoe! Why would you joke like that? Can’t you see she’s about to cry?” He pulled Hailey into a hug, murmuring sweet nothings. “Baby, don’t cry, she’s just messing with you. She didn’t mean it.” Then, he started making frantic faces at me. “Apologize to Hailey! Now!” 2 I sighed. It was the first time Liam had brought a girlfriend to meet us. I forced a tight smile in Hailey’s direction. “It was just a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” I added, “Just a suggestion, maybe try reading something else. Sci-fi, history… you know, expand your horizons.” The rest of the guys at the table choked back laughter. Hailey’s face went from pale to beet red. The rest of the meal gave me indigestion. When we were leaving, I grabbed a big paper bag from my car and tossed it to Liam. “Here. Your sneakers.” His eyes lit up. “Whoa, Zoe, you’re the best! I thought for sure you didn’t manage to get them!” He was about to tear open the box when Hailey let out a loud sob. “Is that… a gift from Zoe? They’re so beautiful…” she wailed. “It’s not like me… my family doesn’t have much money. All I could afford to get you was a twenty-dollar keychain. I’m so sorry, Liam!” I had no idea what she was on about now. I frowned. “It’s not a gift. He has to pay me back. He asked me to pick them up for him when I was studying abroad this summer.” But Hailey acted like she hadn’t heard a word. Tears streamed down her face like a broken faucet. “Zoe, I know you don’t mean to, but when you do things like this… are you trying to remind me that I’m not in the same world as you guys? That I can’t afford to buy Liam limited-edition sneakers? That I’m not good enough for him?” She turned back to Liam, her crying escalating. “Liam, this is your secret little world with Zoe, isn’t it? I feel like such an outsider. Maybe I should just leave and stop bothering you two!” Liam stood there, helplessly trying to wipe her tears with his sleeve, the sneaker box in his hand feeling like a hot potato. “Liam, how could you accept a gift from another woman?” she accused. “You just like having her pop in and out of your life whenever she wants, don’t you?” He turned to me, his voice deliberately low. “Zoe, did you have to give them to me right in front of her? You know how she overthinks things.” He shot me another desperate look, silently pleading. I locked eyes with Ryan. He shivered and practically ran back to his own car. I rolled my eyes. “Do whatever you want with them. But you’re still paying me. They were expensive.” 3 In the end, Liam didn’t have the heart to get rid of the sneakers. He sent me the money right away, along with a sticker of a cartoon character groveling for forgiveness. I figured that was the end of it. We were all in different majors, so it wasn’t like we’d see each other often. But the next day, I went viral on the university’s confessions page. Ryan sent me the link. “Zoe, you’re famous.” I clicked on it. It was a long, rambling post, every line dripping with manufactured angst: *”Am I being too sensitive and petty? My boyfriend has a ‘girl best friend’ he’s known for years, and I honestly don’t know how to deal with her…”* *”We just started dating, and she’s already given him a pair of sneakers that cost more than my budget for an entire semester. I’m not jealous, really, I’m just… feeling a little insecure and sad.”* *”It’s my fault for coming from a normal family. I can’t just casually drop that kind of money on a gift to maintain a friendship. I’ve been saving up to buy him something for a couple hundred dollars, but compared to her gift, mine feels so pathetic…”* *”My boyfriend said it was an old promise they made. It turns out they have so many secrets and so much history I don’t know about… Is she doing this to remind me that I’m the outsider?”* *”I really, really like my boyfriend, and I want to try to get along with his best friend, but I feel so anxious all the time. I’m so scared every day. What should I do? Should I just break up with him so they can be together after all these years?”* The comments section was already a warzone with hundreds of replies. “Wait, isn’t the OP Hailey, the prettiest girl in the English department? Then Z.L. must be Zoe Lin!” “Definitely! I saw Liam wearing a new pair of Jordans today that have like, a four-figure price tag!” “Seriously, can the ‘girl best friend’ just disappear already?!” Before I could even finish reading, I got a friend request. The profile picture was a girl in a white dress with long, straight black hair. The second I accepted, a message popped up: *”Zoe, don’t get the wrong idea! I forgot to post it anonymously! I was just sharing something from a story I read.”* 4 I replied: *”Then you should probably clarify that on the page.”* The message was sent. And then, radio silence. Hailey never wrote back. The next day, Liam dragged Hailey to my dorm to ambush me. He looked apologetic. Hailey hid behind him, her eyes red and puffy. “Zoe, I’m so sorry, Hailey didn’t mean to…” Liam started. “Then she can go to the confessions page, delete the post, and issue a clarification,” I interrupted. Hailey’s shoulders trembled, and tears immediately started rolling down her cheeks. Liam instantly shielded her. “Hailey’s very timid. If she deletes it and apologizes now, think of what people will say about her! Come on, Zoe, be the bigger person and let it go! Look how scared she is!” As if on cue, Hailey suddenly gagged and covered her mouth. I took a step back, not wanting to get blamed for whatever this was. “I’m sorry, Zoe, please don’t be mad at me… I… I didn’t mean to,” she gasped. “It’s just, when I see that you hate me, I get so anxious my stomach turns… I’m sorry, my body is just so weak…” She stumbled dramatically into Liam’s arms. I almost laughed. With acting skills like that, why was she an English major? She should have gone to film school. “Maybe you should lay off the romance novels for a while. And stop making things up.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, I could hear Liam’s soft, comforting words, and Hailey’s faint, whimpering voice. “Liam… you’re not going to listen to Zoe and break up with me, are you?” 5 During our shared elective class, Ryan nudged me. “Are you really just going to let this go?” he whispered. I was focused on the professor’s PowerPoint. “He’s going to put his girlfriend before his friends,” I said without looking away. “It’s understandable.” The words had barely left my mouth when we heard a sob from the row behind us. Ryan and I turned around. Hailey was sitting there, clutching a textbook, tears streaming down her face. She looked at me, her lips trembling. Then she shot up, covered her mouth, and ran crying from the lecture hall. “What’s her problem now?” Ryan asked, completely bewildered. I just shrugged and went back to my notes. I found out that afternoon. I was in the dining hall when Liam stormed up to my table, his face a mask of anger and disappointment. “Zoe, do you have to be like this? Hailey is trying so hard to be your friend, and you’re making passive-aggressive digs at her behind her back? Now she’s so upset she couldn’t even stay in class. Are you happy now?” Ryan and I exchanged baffled looks. Ryan frowned. “Liam, what the hell are you talking about? All Zoe said was that she understands you have to prioritize your girlfriend. How is that a dig?” Hearing that only made Liam angrier. He sneered, his eyes darting between me and Ryan. “Of course, you two stick together! You’ve been friends since you were kids, so now you’re ganging up on the outsider, is that it?” His gaze landed back on me, full of disappointment. “Zoe, I never thought you were that kind of person…” I pursed my lips. “What kind of person is that?” 6 Liam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ryan had seen enough. He grabbed Liam’s arm. “Alright, I’m done eating. Let’s go shoot some hoops.” He dragged him away without waiting for an answer. Staring at my now-cold food, I suddenly lost my appetite. When I got back to my dorm, Hailey was there, talking to my roommate. The second she saw me, she rushed over, her eyes red. “Zoe, I’m so sorry, I came here to apologize… I didn’t realize you and Liam were so close. It’s my fault for ruining your friendship… If you want, I can break up with him! Just please, don’t tell his parents bad things about me, okay?” She spoke between sobs, making it sound like I was bullying her, but the message was crystal clear. My roommate was staring at us with a weird expression. “What you and he do has nothing to do with me,” I said flatly. “And for the record, Liam and I are just friends. Our parents don’t get involved in our personal lives. And I have no interest in guys who already have girlfriends. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.” Hailey’s face flushed, and she started crying even harder. I pulled a tissue from the box on my desk and handed it to her. “Don’t cry in here. I’m not Liam. I’m allergic to your tears.” I knew explaining was pointless. I didn’t want to waste another breath on her, so I kicked her out. 7 The week after Fall Break was Liam’s birthday. Ryan insisted on organizing a party, dragging me along because he didn’t want our friend group to fall apart. When I walked into the private room at the karaoke bar, Liam and Hailey were already there. As soon as she saw me, Hailey let go of Liam’s hand and started nervously twisting her fingers. “I know this is supposed to be a friends’ thing, and I shouldn’t be here…” she began, her voice soft and sweet. “But it’s the first birthday I’m celebrating with Liam…” Liam, his heart melting, pulled her into his arms but looked at me. “Don’t be silly. You’re my girlfriend, of course you’re supposed to be at my birthday party. Zoe’s my best friend. She won’t mind, right, Zoe?” I didn’t say anything, just pointedly sat as far away from them as possible. When it was time for the cake, Hailey clapped her hands together before Liam could. “Liam, I want to make a wish with you!” Naturally, he agreed. Through the flickering candlelight, Hailey’s gaze locked onto mine. “I wish,” she said, “that Liam and his best friend can stay… purely platonic. Forever.” She drew out the word “platonic,” her voice slow and sweet. The air in the room froze. But Liam just laughed. He ruffled Hailey’s hair and added, “You hear that, Zoe? Hailey made a wish for us. We’d better keep our friendship purely platonic!” Ryan broke the awkward silence. “Blow out the candles, man!” A little later, Hailey approached me, holding a glass of wine. “Zoe, I’d like to make a toast to you.” She staggered, then lunged straight at me. Before I could react, there was a dull thud, followed by her piercing shriek. Liam was on his feet in a second. He shoved me back, hard, and glared at me. “Zoe, what the hell?! She was trying to be nice to you! Even if you don’t like her, did you have to push her?” 8 Hailey collapsed into Liam’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “Zoe, why did you push me? I was just trying to toast to your friendship!” For the first time, Liam looked at me with genuine anger. “Zoe, you went too far this time! Hailey told me before we even got here that she wanted to properly apologize to you!” He shielded her with his body, his brow furrowed. “You know she’s fragile! I never thought you could be so vicious!” I didn’t even bother raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t push her.” My gaze went past him, to the corner of the ceiling. I lifted my chin. “This room has a security camera. I don’t appreciate being framed.” The moment I said that, Hailey’s crying stopped cold. Liam instinctively started to look for a waiter. But Hailey grabbed his sleeve. “Liam… don’t! I… I mean, it’s fine. Let’s just say I lost my footing!” I watched her act, saying nothing. Hailey’s voice grew more frantic. “It’s your birthday! Let’s not ruin everyone’s night over something so small.” She was still sniffling, trying to move on. But the more she tried to stop him, the calmer Liam became. “It’s okay, Hailey,” he said, his voice steady. “I need to clear your name.” He might be in love with Hailey, but he wasn’t an idiot. As he said it, he gave her a long, hard look. Then he pulled his arm free and walked out of the room to find the manager and check the security footage.

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Rhys was sick of me clinging to him. At his own birthday party, in front of everyone, he made sure I knew it. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Is following me around all day really that interesting?” That same night, I suffered a miscarriage at the party. Rhys, however, was with Isabelle’s parents. As I was being rushed into the emergency room on a gurney, I saw him pushing Isabelle’s father in a wheelchair. I called to tell him I’d lost the baby. His response was a careless drawl. “Call a doctor. What good is telling me?” The day he had his own car accident, he lay in a hospital bed, the corners of his eyes red as he begged me to just look at him. I smiled, a cruel, dismissive curve of my lips. “Call a doctor. What good is calling me?” Later, when I finally stopped clinging to him, he was the one begging me to speak. 1 I was married to Rhys Sterling for three years. He was the golden boy of Manhattan’s elite, and I was just a small-town girl who got her ticket to the big city because my grandfather had saved his. At Rhys’s birthday party, a crowd of his friends swarmed him, their laughter slick with privilege. “Bro, why’d you marry her anyway?” one of them asked. “Yeah, man. You and Isabelle were so good together. What made you let her go?” Rhys took a delicate sip of his champagne, his gaze lifting to flick over the person who’d asked. “It was to repay a family debt,” he said, his voice smooth and bored. “Now that she’s pregnant, I guess my duty is done.” My marriage into the Sterling family was a transaction, an arrangement made because my grandfather had once saved Rhys’s grandfather’s life. On the night Rhys proposed, he lit up the entire city skyline with fireworks just for me. The gesture had moved me for a very long time. Only later did I learn that the multi-million-dollar display was never for me. I stood there, in a world where I didn’t belong, clutching my champagne flute so tightly my knuckles were white. In the three years I’d been married to Rhys, his entire circle had frozen me out. I was an outsider, a ghost at their banquet. I’d heard whispers of a name—Isabelle. Rhys’s ex-girlfriend. From the moment we were married, Rhys had been obsessed with me getting pregnant. On our wedding night, he held me with an impatient urgency, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “Summer, let’s have a baby. Soon.” I thought he loved children. It wasn’t until today, hearing him dismiss our marriage as a debt and our child as a completed task, that I understood the truth. “But you still set off all those fireworks for her,” someone pressed. “That show on your proposal night cost millions. Don’t try to tell us there weren’t any feelings involved.” Rhys looked down, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. “That was just because Isabelle loves fireworks.” He paused, letting the cruelty land. “And I wanted to piss her off.” That spectacular, city-stopping display… everyone had said it was proof that the great Rhys Sterling had finally bowed to love. The media had crowned me the luckiest woman in New York. I had believed it, too. Today, Rhys taught me a brutal lesson. The damned fireworks were never for me. They were a move in his twisted game with another woman, a way to make her jealous. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than a tool, a pawn in their love story. 2 I looked down at the birthday gift in my hands. Rhys’s mother had given it to me, insisting I deliver it to him personally. As I approached him, his friends eyed me up and down, their faces alight with the smug anticipation of a good show. Their smiles were laced with ridicule. I thrust the gift into his hands. Rhys frowned slightly. Remembering his mother’s instructions to make him drink less, I glanced at the glass in his hand and said casually, “Rhys, you should drink less.” I quickly added, afraid he’d misinterpret my concern, “It’s not good for you.” Rhys watched me, a flicker of amusement in his narrow, assessing eyes. “Summer, don’t you have anything better to do? Is following me around all day really that interesting?” The people around us whispered and snickered, their laughter a low hum of mockery. They all said I was using the life-debt between our grandfathers to guilt-trip him, that my whole family was full of social climbers. They called me a small-town girl trying to play princess. That, and Rhys’s complete and utter indifference, was a special kind of humiliation. I lifted my chin, straightened my back, and forced a smile. “Yeah,” I said, my voice brighter than I felt. “I must be bored out of my mind to actually care about you.” He shot me a dismissive glance just as his phone rang. He answered, and his face instantly changed. “I’m on my way.” He was the guest of honor, the star of the show. Every person here was desperate for a moment of his time, a chance to secure an investment for their family’s business. As Rhys rushed out, a crowd surged after him. In the shuffle and push of the throng, I lost my footing and fell. A sharp, twisting pain ripped through my abdomen as a warm gush of red spread beneath me. As they loaded me onto a stretcher, a familiar figure caught my eye. It was Rhys. And next to him was Isabelle. He was pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair, who was beaming up at him. “You must be Izzy’s boyfriend! So thoughtful, rushing over the moment you heard I was in trouble.” Rhys didn’t deny it. He and Isabelle simply exchanged a small, knowing smile. Our paths crossed for a fleeting, brutal moment as the nurses wheeled me past them. After the surgery, I called him. “Rhys, I had a miscarriage.” There was a brief silence on the other end, then his voice, casual and distant. “A miscarriage, huh? Call a doctor. What good is telling me?” A single tear slid from the corner of my eye. I closed my lids and let out a bitter, silent laugh. Before I married Rhys, my mother had told me, “Even though your grandfather saved his, the Sterlings are a powerful family. I can’t protect you, so you have to be agreeable. Don’t fight with him. Rhys works hard, so take good care of him.” I opened our message history. A sea of green bubbles, all from me. [Have you eaten?] [Remember to take your medicine.] His replies were curt, perfunctory ‘k’s. Sometimes, he didn’t even bother with that. I, his wife, was lying in a hospital bed after losing our child, while my husband was playing the doting son-in-law at his ex-girlfriend’s parents’ bedside. I remembered when my own mother broke her leg, right after Rhys and I were married. He never even showed his face, just hired a nurse to look after her. But today, for Isabelle’s father, he was bowing and scraping, running errands like a devoted servant. The difference between love and its absence is stark when you have a control group. 3 After the procedure, I packed my bags and went home. The moment my mother saw my ghostly pale face, her eyes reddened. “Summer, honey, what happened to you?” she asked, her voice trembling. I was holding it all together, but the moment I saw my mom, the dam broke. Yet, in her arms, I found the strength to stop. I choked back my tears. “Mom, I want to divorce Rhys.” My mother had always been afraid I wasn’t being treated well. She would constantly cook Rhys’s favorite dishes and have them delivered to the Sterling estate. I told her to stop, but she’d do it secretly anyway. I thought she genuinely liked him, until I found her diary. She thought that if she was a little nicer to Rhys, he might be a little nicer to her daughter. She stroked my forehead. “Okay,” she said, her voice firm. “We’ll get a divorce. We’re not afraid of them.” From outside the room, I heard Rhys on the phone, arguing with his grandfather. “What do you want for your birthday?” the old man asked. Rhys let out a cold laugh. “I want a divorce, so I can marry Isabelle. Would you allow that?” His grandfather’s roar was audible even through the door. “Nonsense!” I waited for him to hang up before pushing the door open. Rhys looked at me, his eyes cold. “How long have you been eavesdropping?” “Not long.” I stood in the doorway and smiled. “Rhys, I have a birthday present for you.” He looked amused. “What could you possibly give me? A cheap, hand-knit scarf?” I placed a single white document on the table in front of him. I shrugged. “Of course, I’m giving you your freedom. What, you don’t like your present?” When he saw the bold letters—DIVORCE AGREEMENT—his expression hardened, his eyes turning dark and cold. Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets, and a harsh, grating laugh escaped him. “Summer, does your family really want to let go of the Sterling money tree? Even if you’re willing, is your mother?” He assumed my mother’s kindness was just her sucking up to him. Rhys had been surrounded by love and adoration his whole life; he had no need for more. In his eyes, my mother’s efforts were just a calculated ploy to secure my position in his family. It was laughable, really. I looked him straight in the eye. “Rhys, are you even worthy?” I left the papers on the table and walked out. A few minutes later, I saw Isabelle’s new post. It was a picture of Rhys’s back, with the caption: [A third wheel is still a third wheel.] It was quickly followed by a screenshot of a years-old chat between them. Rhys had texted Isabelle: [There will be fireworks over the city tonight. If you call me and tell me you want to come back, I’ll call off the wedding.] I didn’t know how she had the audacity to imply I was the other woman. She was the one who took a payout from Rhys’s mother to study abroad. I didn’t even get together with Rhys until a year after they had broken up. 4 The divorce dragged on. During that time, Rhys paraded Isabelle around at every high-profile event. The entire city now knew the epic love story of Rhys Sterling and Isabelle Thorne. And I was cast as the villain, the shameless social climber who used an old family debt to trap him. The rumors nearly sent Rhys’s grandfather to the hospital. He immediately summoned both of us back to the family estate. The old man was lying in bed. The moment he saw Rhys, he grabbed the glass from his nightstand and hurled it at him. “You ungrateful brat! You have a wife, do you understand that? Who gave you permission to run around with that… that floozy?” Rhys’s gaze drifted over to me, a cruel smile touching his lips. “Isn’t the woman who schemed her way into the Sterling family and charmed you the real floozy here?” I shot him a look. If his grandfather hadn’t been there, I would have punched him in the face. Old Mr. Sterling’s face flushed with anger. He pointed a trembling finger at the door and told Rhys to get out. “Summer, you stay.” A cold stare from my side. Rhys’s voice was a low warning. “Don’t say anything stupid.” I clenched my fists. After he left, his grandfather took my hand. “My dear, you’ve been wronged. It was my fault for insisting on this marriage. I could see that you liked the boy, but I never imagined he would be so foolish.” It was true, I had liked Rhys once. But that affection had been systematically destroyed by his blatant favoritism, time and time again. When I was in elementary school, the Sterling family went through a financial crisis, and Rhys was sent to live with my family in our small town. The first time I saw him, he was this clean, pale city boy. He was so beautiful. All the other kids in the village were tanned and weathered from the sun, not delicate and perfect like him. He was supposed to sleep in the same room as me. He looked at me with disdain. “I’m not sleeping with her.” A spanking from his grandfather shut him up. After the adults left, he drew a line down the middle of the bed. No one was to cross it. He wet the bed that night. When he woke up, I was trying to stifle my giggles. His face was a thundercloud. “Don’t laugh. And don’t you dare tell anyone.” Later, I told my mom I had wet the bed. I was always so careful around him, never daring to meet his eyes. He was just too beautiful, like a porcelain doll. My hands were rough, my face was dark from the sun. In a small village, news travels fast. The other kids started teasing me, calling me his little child bride. When Rhys heard it, his young brow furrowed in anger. “She is not my wife. I don’t have a wife that ugly and stupid.” He stayed for one summer. Before he left, his face was still a mask of cold indifference. “If you ever come to the city, look me up. I’ll show you around.” The next time we met, I was eighteen. My mother got sick, and I was sent to live with the Sterlings, a guest in their house. His friends would tease him. “Hey Rhys, isn’t that your little bride from the countryside?” Rhys would shoot me a cold, sideways glance. “No. Don’t talk nonsense. She’s not my type.” “What is your type, bro? I can set you up.” His eyes, full of a strange disgust, would lock on me. “Anyone but her.” My face would burn with shame. I couldn’t look at him. One of his friends laughed. “Well, she’s my type. How about you introduce me?” Rhys sneered. “Be my guest.” Later, he got a girlfriend, Isabelle. Every time our eyes met, I felt a hot wave of shame, as if I were coveting someone else’s man. So I kept my distance. Until I was twenty-two. Isabelle dumped Rhys for money, and the Sterling family decided he should marry me. But the thing is, Rhys was the one who proposed to me. I never forced him, never even confessed my feelings. I took a deep breath and looked at his grandfather. “Grandpa, I want to divorce him.” The old man sighed. “Alright.” 5 As I was leaving, his grandfather insisted that Rhys take me out for the night. He said if, after this one night, I was still disappointed in him, he would grant us the divorce without another word. Rhys was annoyed, clearly not wanting to be saddled with me. He drove recklessly, flooring it all the way to a raucous nightclub. His friends immediately surrounded us. “Summer,” he began, his voice laced with contempt. “If you want to go find a boy toy, be my guest. I’ll even pay for it. Just stop clinging to me all the time. It’s annoying.” His words were like tiny needles pricking my heart. I smiled brightly and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Okay! Give me the money. I want one who’s handsome, 6’2”, with an eight-pack.” He seemed taken aback by my cheerful agreement. After all, I used to follow him around like a shadow, nagging him not to drink so much when his ulcer acted up, telling him not to smoke. He always complained I was too controlling. My easy acceptance now seemed to stun him into silence. He always accused my mother and me of being gold-diggers, but in all these years, we never took a single penny from the Sterling family that wasn’t earned. A man holding a drink approached me. He had a fox-like beauty, sharp and captivating. Rhys called out to him, then glanced at me. “Leo, you’re here. Perfect. She’s all yours. I’m leaving.” After Rhys walked away, I looked at the man in front of me and turned to leave as well. He grabbed my wrist, leaning in close. “Today is September 28th.” I looked at him, confused. “Nine times twenty is one-eighty. Plus eight… one-eighty-eight. My height, in centimeters.” Suddenly, he was even closer, his voice a low murmur only I could hear. “I also have an eight-pack. I fit your criteria. Want to see?” My heart stuttered as our eyes met. His smile was dangerously alluring. There was something so familiar about his gaze, but I couldn’t place it. I pushed him away, taking a step back with an awkward laugh. “No, thank you.” He just raised an eyebrow at me as I hurried away. As I reached the entrance, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Ms. Summer Anderson? Your mother has been admitted to New York General. We need you to come and sign the consent forms for surgery.” Panic seized me. I frantically tried to hail a cab, but the club was in a remote area, frequented by the rich kids who drove their own cars. No taxis were in sight. After ten minutes of fruitless waiting, I swallowed my pride and called Rhys. My voice was tight with urgency. “Rhys. Can you give me a ride to the city?” It was Isabelle who answered. A sweet, triumphant smile was audible in her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Rhys just had to defend my honor and drank a little too much. He’s in no condition to drive.” The line went dead. Despair washed over me. A black G-Wagon pulled up in front of me. “Get in.” It was the handsome man from the bar. My voice trembled. “Can you take me to New York General? Please, thank you.” I didn’t have time to think twice. I jumped in. The whole way there, my mind was a blank canvas of fear. Twenty years ago, it was my grandfather. Ten years ago, my father. Today, my mother. Every time I got a call from a hospital, a cold dread filled me. When we arrived, my legs were like jelly. I ran inside, signing papers in a daze. As they wheeled my mother into the ICU, I collapsed onto a bench in the hallway, covered in a cold sweat. Rhys called. “Where are you? Did you really go off with your new boy toy?” I ignored him and hung up. Staring at the closed doors of the ICU, a profound sense of helplessness consumed me. This was the third time. The last two times I sat outside these doors, I said goodbye to my grandfather, and then to my father. When my grandfather passed, I was too young to understand the adults’ grief. When my father died, I was old enough to understand everything. I cried and screamed, begging him not to leave me. Now, I was shaking with fear. If my mother left, I would be completely alone in this world. 6 I was only wearing a thin dress, and the night air was cold. A coat was draped over my shoulders. I looked up and met his eyes, but said nothing. A nurse called me over to pay the bill. I stared at the number, my mind reeling. So many zeros. The nurse glanced up at me. “Don’t bother counting. It’s two hundred thousand. And with your mother’s condition, the costs are only going to go up. Every time we turn on a machine, it’s tens of thousands. You need to be prepared.” I mentally tallied up every dollar I had saved from years of work. I was still twenty thousand short. I called Mr. Sterling, my voice thick with unshed tears. A moment later, a million dollars was deposited into my account. After paying the bill, I felt utterly drained. This stranger, Leo, sat with me all night. He had rushed back at some point, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, carrying two containers of hot porridge. “Eat something. It’ll warm you up.” I ate numbly. I was starving, but I had no appetite. He didn’t touch the other container. When I asked why he wasn’t eating, he just pointed to the ICU doors. “I’m waiting for your mom to wake up.” When they finally wheeled my mother out, I jumped up so fast I nearly fell. The man beside me steadied me with a firm hand. I whispered a thank you. The next day, the Sterlings arrived in full force, including the old man. When Rhys saw Leo, he froze. While I was busy running home to pack some things for my mom, it was Leo who stayed by her side, taking care of her. He was feeding her porridge, his movements gentle and practiced. Rhys stepped forward, reaching for the bowl. “I’ll do it.” Leo pulled the bowl back. “No need.” In the hospital room, Leo politely greeted the Sterling family as if he were the husband, while Rhys stood awkwardly to the side, looking like an intruder. After the family left, only Rhys remained. He and Leo were about the same height, and standing together, they created an oppressive atmosphere. “Leo, this is my mother-in-law. You can go now.” Leo let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Mr. Sterling, you must have a short memory. You’re the one who asked me to take care of her.” Rhys’s face hardened. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of my own wife. You can leave.” The light in the bar had been too dim to see him clearly, and on the frantic drive to the hospital, my mind had been consumed with worry for my mother. But looking at him now, he seemed incredibly familiar. “Leo, thank you. You should go. You’ve done more than enough these past few days.” After he left, I looked at Rhys, my voice calm. “Let’s get a divorce. I don’t want a single penny of the Sterling money.” Rhys was silent for a long moment. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. We can talk about the divorce later. I’m going to go take care of Mom.” He started to walk past me, but I grabbed his arm. “My mother doesn’t want to see you right now. Go home.” Suddenly, the squeak of a wheelchair approached. Isabelle’s father called out to Rhys. “Look, it’s my Izzy’s boyfriend, here to see me!” I gave Rhys a cold smile. “Go take care of your future father-in-law. My mother doesn’t need you.” A look of panic flashed across his face. I immediately shut the door, leaving him on the other side. He came to the hospital every day. I refused to speak to him. I used to be the one who chattered endlessly, following him around like a lost puppy. I was the one who stopped him from drinking, worried about his health, who forbade him from street racing. “Summer, please say something. I’m not seeing Isabelle anymore. I was only helping her father because of our past.” Whenever I saw him, my face became a mask of cold indifference, the same look he used to give me. But somehow, he couldn’t stand it. I had endured that look for years. “Summer, please don’t look at me like that. It hurts. I won’t drink anymore. I won’t go to clubs. And I will never see Isabelle again.” No, please drink, I thought. Drink until your stomach bleeds. I didn’t say a single word to him until the day my mother was discharged. During that time, Isabelle and her father had even come looking for him at the hospital. In front of me, Rhys had told Isabelle’s father that there was nothing between them. Isabelle, unwilling to give up, kept coming back. Rhys just told her, coldly, to leave and never return.

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It happened right after I liked my husband Ryan’s latest photo on Instagram. The whispers from my coworkers started instantly, a ripple of quiet hisses spreading through the office. In his new post, there he was: Ryan, the man who claimed washing a single dish was beneath him, now dressed in an expensive Patagonia jacket, diligently pruning grapevines in some rustic, sun-drenched vineyard. But it was the caption that really sealed it. He’d written, so proud of himself: A real man can close a deal in the boardroom and handle a shovel in the backyard. This morning, before he left, he told me he had to fly out of state for an urgent project meeting. Apparently, the “project meeting” was at his female colleague’s family home. I stared at the smug, self-satisfied look on Ryan’s face in the photo, and I felt… nothing. A perfect, serene void. I quietly liked the post, then locked my phone. I didn’t know what kind of storm was about to break, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty. We were finished. 1. It didn’t take long for his call to come through. His voice was a mixture of post-manual-labor exhaustion and a sharp edge of anger. “Alice, what the hell? We’re all colleagues here. What’s with the passive-aggressive crap online for everyone to see?” “Jenna’s family is struggling. So what if I came back to her hometown to help out? You wouldn’t get it. A princess like you, who’s had everything handed to her, what do you know about how hard life is for people in the country?” “Delete the comment right now. Stop making a fool of yourself in front of the whole office. If you’re not embarrassed, I am!” “Next holiday, I promise, I’ll take you to see your parents. Okay?” Next holiday. I’d heard that empty promise a thousand times. My heart was numb to it now. Besides, there wasn’t going to be a next holiday for us. Because the day after Thanksgiving, our divorce waiting period would be over. I was about to tell him not to bother when I heard a sudden yelp on his end of the line, like he’d tripped over something. He hung up in a hurry. I frowned, set my phone down, and tried to focus on the project proposal in front of me. A few minutes later, my phone started buzzing relentlessly, like a death rattle. I opened it to see that Jenna had tagged me in the company-wide Slack channel. She’d screenshotted my “like” on Ryan’s post and was demanding an explanation, her words dripping with faux outrage. “@Alice, what is this supposed to mean? If you have a problem with me being from a small town, just say it. Don’t hide behind these petty, sarcastic jabs.” “Ryan was kind enough to put aside his pride and help me prune grapevines, and all you can do is sit behind a screen and mock people? What kind of woman does that?” The channel exploded. People I knew, people I didn’t, all chiming in to support Jenna, their words sycophantic and eager to please the boss’s new favorite. Then, the unbelievable happened. Ryan himself jumped into the chat. “Alice, I expect you to apologize to Jenna immediately. If you don’t, consider yourself suspended for two weeks.” His favoritism was blatant, shameless. What stung more was that the colleagues I’d considered friends, the ones I shared lunches and inside jokes with, were all silent. Not a single person spoke up for me. It was like they’d all made a pact. The arrows were all pointing at me. Someone even accused me of being a snob who “discriminates against people from rural areas,” calling me petty and jealous of the new girl. I let out a cold, humorless laugh. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. If this was how Ryan wanted to fire me, it would actually be doing me a favor. After all, three months ago, he’d already signed the divorce papers with his own hand. 2. It was a normal Friday. When I handed him the papers, I was still clinging to a sliver of hope. I thought he might at least glance at them, maybe even ask why. But Ryan took the folder without ever looking up from his phone, scribbled his signature in a few quick strokes, and handed it back as if he were approving a routine expense report. I just stood there, frozen. I looked down at his messy, illegible signature, and a pain so sharp it felt like a physical blade twisted in my gut. I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Did you even read it?” His brow furrowed in annoyance, his thumbs still flying across his phone screen. “It’s a document from Jenna. What could possibly be wrong with it? If there’s nothing else, you can go.” My fingers, still clutching the papers, turned white. An invisible hand was squeezing my chest, making it impossible to breathe. So that’s what I was to him. Not even worthy of a second of his attention. The only person he trusted was Jenna. I glanced down and saw the tension in his face melt away, replaced by a soft, gentle smile. He looked like a teenager with a crush. I risked a peek at his screen. Even though they were in the same building, he was texting Jenna. Flirting. The messages were intimate, full of inside jokes. They were making plans for drinks at some trendy cocktail bar tonight. A phone ringing violently yanked me back to the present. It was Ryan again. Probably calling to force me to issue that public apology to Jenna in the Slack channel. I ignored it. But he called seven, eight times in a row. Finally, a colleague walked over and held her phone out to me, whispering, “It’s Mr. Henderson. He says it’s urgent.” I took the phone, my voice flat and cold. “What is it?” “Alice, you’ve got a lot of nerve, don’t you? Ignoring my messages, my calls? You really want to go against me?” He launched into a tirade, his tone that of a CEO reprimanding an insubordinate employee. “What do you want, Ryan?” He scoffed. “I just got a call. Someone from the county clerk’s office, saying they wanted to schedule our final divorce mediation. Do you know anything about this?” My breath caught in my throat. Had he finally remembered? 3. But his next words rained down on me like a hailstorm. “Alice, I thought you had some class, but I never imagined you’d stoop this low.” “Hiring someone to impersonate a government official? Threatening me with a divorce? You’ve really outdone yourself.” I was stunned into silence. I could hear Jenna’s voice in the background, a slow, sweet drawl. “Take it easy, Ryan. She’s probably just worried about you working so hard at my family’s place. She just wants you to come home sooner.” Ryan laughed, a cruel, cutting sound. “Her? Worried about me? If she gave a damn about me, she wouldn’t have thrown a fit and kept me up all night when I was exhausted and just trying to get some rest!” I laughed too, a hollow sound that chilled me to the bone. I remembered that night. He had been with Jenna at a gallery opening. He came home reeking of champagne, completely oblivious to the fact that I was in the middle of a severe allergic asthma attack, wheezing so badly I was on the verge of passing out. What he called “throwing a fit” was me, gasping for air, desperately dialing 911. When he heard the knock on the door, he didn’t even ask if I was okay. He stormed out, screamed at the paramedics for making a racket, and slammed the door in their faces, locking it. The next day, when he found me too sick to get out of bed, he complained that I was going to ruin his focus for the week. He packed a bag and went to “stay” at Jenna’s apartment. I was alone in that apartment for six days, surviving on leftover inhalers and medication. The illness finally subsided, but it left me with a permanent tightness in my chest whenever the air got damp. He didn’t remember any of that. All he remembered was that I had disturbed his peace. “Alice, what I said in the channel stands. You’re suspended for two weeks. Do you have a problem with that?” “You can fire me, or I can quit. Either works.” Ryan seemed taken aback by my response. He paused, then his tone softened, clearly mistaking my decisiveness for surrender. “Look, it doesn’t have to come to that. Since you’re showing a little remorse, we can change the punishment.” “Jenna said she’s willing to forgive your little online outburst. But from now on, your project commissions will be transferred to her as compensation for emotional distress.” “Now, aren’t you going to thank Jenna for giving you a second chance?” 4. I had to laugh at the sheer audacity. They were the ones who had publicly humiliated me, yet somehow, they had twisted it to make it my fault. Ryan was a master at this kind of gaslighting. Like the time Jenna missed a client proposal deadline and insisted I never told her the date. Or the time she got drunk at a client dinner, smashed the client’s phone, and nearly got us sued. Ryan didn’t blame her. He chewed me out in front of the entire company for not “training her properly.” I was so done with this life. So I replied calmly, “Thanks for the generous offer, but I think I’ll just quit. It’s better for everyone.” I hung up before he could respond. My coworkers shot furtive, gossipy glances my way. I met their eyes, and they quickly ducked their heads back down, pretending to be busy. Just then, an unknown number called. “Hello, this is the county clerk’s office. We’re calling for a final confirmation. Do you and Mr. Henderson require divorce mediation services?” “No, that won’t be necessary.” “Very well. You can come to the courthouse to pick up your final divorce decree on any business day next week.” I hung up the phone and let out a long, slow breath. This seven-year relationship was finally, truly over. I finished up my pending tasks, typed out my resignation letter, and took it to HR. Ryan wasn’t in the office, so I had to leave it with them to process. I didn’t want to spend another second in that building. As I passed the HR manager’s desk, my eyes caught on a small decorative object on her shelf. A gilded magnolia flower, now covered in a thin layer of dust. It was a memento from seven years ago, back when Ryan and I had just gotten together. He had given one to every employee in the company. He’d spent days choosing it, settling on the magnolia because, he said, it symbolized our love: pure and enduring. I can still remember him holding my hand, smiling. “Alice,” he’d said, “we’ll be like this magnolia. We’ll never wilt.” Now, the flower was forgotten in a corner, collecting dust. Just like our love, eventually replaced by time and someone new. The HR manager noticed me looking. She sneered. “Don’t bother staring. It’s not yours anymore.” “Your paperwork is processed. You can go now.” I snapped back to reality and gave a bitter smile, saying nothing. Leaving her office, I went back to my desk to pack my things. I found it buried under a mountain of trash. Wastepaper, empty soda cans, snack wrappers. All of my personal belongings—my photos, my favorite mug—had been thrown on the floor. I looked around. My coworkers watched me with smirks on their faces, enjoying the show. They must have figured that since I was officially on the outs with Ryan and leaving the company, they didn’t have to pretend to be civil anymore. The coldness of human nature, on full display. I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. I swept the entire pile of garbage off my desk and onto the floor with one clean motion, clapped the dust from my hands, and walked away without looking back. The moment I was out of the building, I called a real estate agent. I put the apartment we lived in on the market. Then I went and applied for a passport. Seven years ago, I gave up my dream of traveling the world to stay in this city for Ryan. Now that I was free, it was time to get my dream back. 5. I used to tell Ryan I wanted to travel, to hold his hand and see every corner of the globe. But he never took me on a single proper vacation. He was always busy with a project, always putting it off. I felt sorry for him, for how hard he worked. So I stayed, working as his assistant for seven years. Everything changed when Jenna arrived. Ryan started pushing all his work onto me while he took Jenna on trips all over the country. At first, I believed they were business trips. Until Jenna started posting photos of them together on her social media. In every picture, they were smiling, intimately close, with famous landmarks in the background. Her captions were filled with romantic, suggestive undertones. My sympathy had just been his excuse for betrayal. Just like now. Knowing she had Ryan’s full support, Jenna was flaunting their relationship all over Instagram. Ryan, who never cooked, was personally making fruit wine for Jenna’s family, laughing like a teenager by the fire pit. Ryan, who was always so aloof, was humbly serving coffee to Jenna’s relatives, even sharing a cup with her as they all cheered. Ryan, who was so picky about beds he could never sleep anywhere but home, was now pictured sleeping peacefully in a hammock in Jenna’s backyard, his head resting on her shoulder. I was smarter this time. I just liked the posts, no comments. Then I blocked both of their accounts. Out of sight, out of mind. I spent a few days exploring a nearby city. As soon as the divorce decree was in my hands, I would start my trip around the world. The day I picked it up, I felt calm, almost euphoric with relief. But when I got back to the apartment and pushed open the door, I heard voices inside. “Ryan, I know that Jenna girl is from the country, but she seems a lot more dependable than Alice.” “She doesn’t have any bad habits, either. Just a little drink now and then, but she’ll grow out of that once she has a baby.” “Mom, what are you talking about? Alice and I are married!” Ryan’s voice was laced with a smug tone, but there was an undercurrent of dismissal. I sneered. I don’t drink. I have no bad habits. But in his parents’ eyes, I was somehow not woman enough. “So what if you’re married? You can get a divorce!” “That Jenna seems like a good, solid girl. Much better than Alice, who’s just been living off you all these years!” Ryan’s father’s voice cut in, dripping with contempt. It was clear they had already accepted Jenna as their future daughter-in-law. They had completely forgotten how, seven years ago, they had praised my master’s degree and my potential to help Ryan build his career. I couldn’t listen to any more. I pushed the door open and walked in. 6. All three of them turned to look at me, their expressions shifting rapidly from surprise to annoyance. Ryan was the first to react, pointing a finger at me, his voice booming with authority. “Alice, you finally decided to come home? Disappearing for days without a word, are you trying to end this marriage?” “You pull another stunt like this, and I swear I’ll lock you out for good!” I froze, looking up at his arrogant, self-righteous face. It seemed he hadn’t processed the fact that we were already divorced. In the past, whenever I did something that displeased him, he would lock me out of the apartment. It didn’t matter if it was freezing cold or scorching hot, or what I was wearing. One time, just because I used a little less tea than Jenna preferred when I made her a cup, he flew into a rage and told me to get out. He and Jenna then spent the entire night alone in the apartment, their laughter seeping through the crack under the door, each sound a needle in my heart. Right on cue, as if summoned, Jenna herself emerged from the master bedroom. She was wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and rubbing her eyes, as if she had just woken up. She glanced at me, her voice thick with annoyance. “What’s all the shouting about? Just throw her out. What’s she going to do about it?” Hearing her, Ryan hesitated for a split second. But his parents immediately jumped in. “Exactly! What right does a useless woman have to stay here?” “Ryan, you’re just too soft on her. A freeloader like Alice would never dare to actually defy you.” Goaded on by his parents, the flicker of doubt in Ryan’s eyes was extinguished, replaced by pure irritation. Finally, he turned his head and waved a dismissive hand at me, like shooing away a stray cat. “Just go. I need a few days to cool off. Jenna will be staying here with me for a while.” “And if you don’t learn to behave, by the time I actually decide to divorce you, it’ll be too late for tears!” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “You don’t have to wait.” Under their stunned gazes, I pulled the two copies of our official divorce decree from my bag and slapped them down on the coffee table. “As you wished. We’re already divorced.” The four of them stood there, mouths agape, staring at the documents on the table, utterly speechless. Jenna eyed me suspiciously, then snatched one of the papers and examined it closely. “A pathetic woman like you? You’d willingly give up your meal ticket? This has to be fake.” Ryan’s expression relaxed slightly, and he glared at me. “Alice, why do you always resort to these cheap tricks? Didn’t I tell you to stop? Do I have to call the cops to get you to act like a sane person?” He made a show of reaching for his phone, as if expecting me to break down and beg for forgiveness. But I remained perfectly calm, a slight smile playing on my lips. Ryan’s brow furrowed. He sensed something was wrong. “What are you smiling at?” “I’m smiling because you can’t even remember the divorce papers you signed.” “When did I ever…” Ryan started, but his words died in his throat. His face went pale as a sheet, as if he was finally remembering the document I’d handed him three months ago. 7. To my surprise, he didn’t look relieved. He looked panicked. A flicker of disbelief crossed his face as he mumbled, “No… that’s not possible… I never meant for us to actually…” Hearing this, Jenna realized the papers were real. A flash of triumph lit up her eyes, but she quickly masked it, adopting a scornful tone. “Well, at least you have some self-awareness. Leaving Ryan is the best thing for both of you.” “But,” she added, her eyes narrowing, “Ryan barely glanced at those papers. Who knows what kind of tricks you pulled with the division of assets?” And then it clicked. Ryan wasn’t panicking about the divorce itself. He was panicking about his money. In his world, his fortune would always be more important than me. Realizing this, I felt a wave of exhaustion. There was no point in arguing. I turned to go pack my bags. But Jenna stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “What’s the matter? Feeling guilty? Trying to run away?” “Let me give you some advice. Be smart about this. Sign another agreement waiving your right to any assets. Pay back everything you owe Ryan for these past few years. If you don’t, things are going to get ugly.” I glanced at Ryan, who stood silent, and for a moment, I saw a complex emotion in his eyes. It looked like… regret. Or maybe disappointment. He probably believed it too. That I was the kind of person who would resort to cheap tricks. He was the one who had betrayed our marriage, yet here they were, trying to paint me as the villain and send me away with nothing. The injustice of it was staggering. Ryan’s parents snapped out of their shock, grabbing the divorce decrees and throwing them at me. “Jenna’s right! Either you walk away with nothing, or we’ll see you in court for fraud!” “Enough! All of you, shut up!” It was Ryan. He spoke before I could, his voice sharp and loud, cutting through their tirade. The three of them stared at him, stunned. Their aggressive posture deflated. “Ryan, we’re just looking out for you…” his mother stammered. “What if this woman took advantage…” “Alice is not that kind of person!” Ryan cut Jenna off, his voice so firm it surprised even me. But when he turned to face me, his expression softened into one of sorrow. “Alice,” he said, his voice low, “I don’t care about the money. But can you just tell me why? Why did you have to do this?” “Just because I went to help Jenna at her family’s vineyard instead of going to see your parents with you… is that really enough to end us?” “I won’t hold it against you that you tricked me into signing the papers. We can go back to the courthouse right now and undo this. Whatever you want as compensation, I’ll give it to you.” 8. His voice was as gentle as it used to be. Every time he and Jenna had crossed a line, he would use this same sweet, placating tone to win me over. Once, I had been so fed up I had actually dragged him to the courthouse. But he had become uncharacteristically tender, holding me close and whispering apologies, promising he would change. And like a fool, I believed him. I abandoned the idea of divorce. He knew. He knew I couldn’t bear to throw away seven years of our life together. He used my love as a shield, pushing my boundaries again and again. But not this time. I wasn’t going back. Seeing my silence, Ryan must have thought I was wavering. A blush crept up his neck as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, haven’t you been wanting me home more? I’ll clear my schedule. I won’t go anywhere for the next few days. I’ll stay right here with you…” I let out a cold laugh and took a step back, putting distance between us. “No, thank you. You should go build a family with Jenna. Didn’t you say you two wanted a baby? I’m just setting you free.” Ryan’s eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. A flicker of triumph crossed Jenna’s face, but she saw Ryan’s resolve faltering and quickly jumped in to play peacemaker. “Alice, Ryan and I are just colleagues. What’s this about a baby? Why don’t we all just sit down and talk this through? I’m sure there’s a better way to solve this.” She reached out, trying to take my arm. I recoiled, disgusted by her touch. But Jenna was quick. She grabbed my wrist and then violently pulled my hand toward herself, stumbling backward and throwing herself to the ground. Her head hit the corner of the coffee table with a sickening thud.

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I was basically working as a professional girlfriend for two brothers at the same time. For the older one, Julian, it was all about seduction. I’m talking lace bodysuits, a fluffy little bunny tail—the whole nine yards. For the younger one, Caleb, it was the complete opposite. He wanted the good-girl act. For him, it was crisp white blouses and stockings, the picture of innocence. I was good at my job, really good. So good that I kept the two worlds completely separate. No one had a clue. Until one day, I got sloppy. A paparazzi photographer got a lucky shot. The next morning, this headline was all over the gossip blogs: “NYC’s Thorne Brothers Sharing a Girlfriend?” And when a furious Caleb came storming over, I was sitting right on his older brother’s lap, playing the part of a kitten who wanted cream. * 1 All the other girls in my line of work felt sorry for me. They knew me as Caleb Thorne’s girl, the one he kept in a gilded cage but never touched. “Sadie’s such a knockout,” they’d whisper over brunch. “Why is she with a guy as cold as Caleb Thorne?” “I heard he’s saving himself for his one great unrequited love. That’s why he never sleeps with Sadie.” “Poor girl. So young and basically living like a nun. How does she stand it?” Listening to them, I’d grab a napkin and dab at my dry eyes, playing along. It was true, Caleb never laid a finger on me. He paid me ten grand a month just to have dinner with him, go for drives along the coast, and make small talk. Honestly, it was the easiest money I’d ever made. But because I had so much free time, I did something a little…unethical for our profession. I picked up a second client. I kept it a secret, of course. I couldn’t let the other girls know I was breaking the rules. Right now, my friend Maya was hugging me, full of sympathy. “Sadie, this can’t be healthy for you. You should find a new guy. What about the older Thorne brother, Julian? He’s worth billions, single, and ridiculously hot. You should go for him.” “No way,” another girl, Chloe, chimed in. “I heard Julian Thorne already has a girl. She’s super mysterious, though. No one’s ever seen her. You don’t want to get caught in that mess.” I took a long sip of my iced tea, saying nothing. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Julian. “Come to the penthouse tonight. Be waiting for me.” I quickly typed back, “Okay.” Yeah, about that mysterious girl Julian was keeping… that was me, too. * 2 Julian was nothing like his brother. He was pure, unrestrained energy, a force of nature who loved to push every boundary. When I got to his penthouse, I slipped off my black trench coat, revealing the little fox costume I had on underneath. I’d even made a pair of fuzzy ears on a headband to complete the look. Julian’s eyes darkened, his breath catching in his throat. He slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, then pulled off his leather belt with one fluid motion and beckoned to me with his finger. “Come here,” he rasped. I obeyed, settling onto his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. “I made the ears myself,” I purred. “Do you like them?” His hand, hot against the fabric of my tiny skirt, tightened. “I love them,” he said, his voice thick. I took my chance, nuzzling against his neck. “I saw a new limited-edition handbag yesterday…” “Hmm, buy it,” Julian murmured, his focus elsewhere. His fingers traced lazy circles on my waist, sending shivers down my spine. As we kissed, he tugged sharply at my fluffy tail, pulling it off. He lifted my chin, his lips brushing against my ear. “Is my little fox a bad girl?” “What?” I asked, blinking up at him, feigning confusion. A slow grin spread across his face as his hand moved to the zipper on my skirt. “I think I need to investigate.” In the heated haze of the moment, with Julian holding me tight, I decided to push my luck. “I want to buy a condo downtown,” I whispered. “I’ll have my assistant send you the listings tomorrow,” he said, his eyes flashing with mock annoyance as he tightened his grip, making me gasp. “You little gold-digger. Stop thinking about money and focus on me.” Honestly, I didn’t want to be like this. Julian was good to me. He showered me with gifts, with affection, with a passion that felt real. I was dangerously close to falling for him. But then I found out the truth about my world. It turns out, I’m living in a book. A trashy, steamy romance novel. The Thorne brothers are the male leads, and their long-lost love is the heroine. I’m just the stand-in, the disposable placeholder they use while she’s away. The book said that when she comes back, the brothers will fight over her, tear the city apart for her. And because she’ll hate me, they’ll turn on me. They’ll lock me away, torment me, and eventually have me committed to a mental hospital where I lose my mind. In the end, the three of them live happily ever after. And me? I die alone on a cold winter night. Knowing all that snapped me right out of any romantic fantasy. My new goal was simple: make as much money as I could, as fast as I could. The heroine wasn’t due back for another year. If I hustled, working both jobs, I could save enough to disappear. Back in the penthouse, the mood was heating up again when my phone started buzzing relentlessly. It was like a fire alarm in the middle of a dream. Julian pulled back, annoyed. “Handle it.” I was about to silence it when I saw a string of frantic texts from Maya. “Sadie, you snake! How could you not tell me?” “We’re all out here struggling and you’re pulling double duty? Earning twice as much?” “And I felt SORRY for you! You’re living better than any of us!” I slowly typed a single “?” She replied instantly. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re Julian Thorne’s girl too.” Julian was right there, shirtless and waiting. I didn’t have time to ask her how she found out. I just begged her, “Please, keep it a secret. I’ll explain everything later.” “Too late, Sadie. Everyone knows.” A cold dread washed over me. My heart started pounding in my throat. The next second, she sent me a link to a gossip blog. The headline was blaring: “NYC’s Thorne Brothers Sharing a Girlfriend?” * 3 My hand was shaking as I clicked the link. There were two photos. The first was me and Caleb at a quiet restaurant. He was feeding me a bite of his food, gently wiping my mouth with a napkin, his eyes full of a soft, protective look. The second photo was way more explicit. It was me and Julian, kissing on a rooftop balcony, me dressed as a Playboy bunny. Damn the paparazzi. They’d finally caught me, and my whole world was about to implode. Maya was still texting me. “Do they know? The brothers?” “No,” I typed back, my blood running cold. Maya: “Are you insane?! You need to run. Get out of there NOW.” Maya: “Julian might not have seen it yet, but my guy just told me Caleb already knows.” Just then, a message from Caleb popped up on my screen. It was only four words. “We need to talk.” I flinched like I’d been slapped. Caleb looked gentle, but his anger was terrifying. Over on the bed, Julian was getting impatient. He reached out, pulling me back into his arms. “Are you done? Because it’s my turn now.” He took my hand and guided it down his chest, over his rock-hard abs, and lower. “Sadie,” he whispered, his voice a low growl. “Help me take these off.” But with my life on the line, who had time for foreplay? I pulled my hand back. “Julian, not tonight.” “I just got a call,” I lied, my mind racing. “My sister is sick, she has a high fever. I have to go take care of her.” I scrambled away from him, grabbing my trench coat. “Next time. I promise, we’ll do this next time.” Julian stared at me for a long moment, the fire in his eyes slowly dying out. He sighed, then grabbed his car keys. “I’ll drive you.” “No, you don’t have to—” I started to say, but just then, the doorbell buzzed. Through the intercom, a voice, cold and devoid of any emotion, echoed through the room. “Julian? You home?” It was Caleb. * 4 The second I heard Caleb’s voice, I dove behind the couch like a cornered animal. Julian opened the door. Caleb’s tone was sharp, cutting straight to the point. “Brother. Do you know a woman named Sadie?” “I do,” Julian said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. “You can call her your future sister-in-law. Why, you know her too?” A cold, sarcastic smile touched Caleb’s lips. “I do. And you can call her your future sister-in-law.” The silence that followed was so thick I could feel it pressing down on me. My heart was hammering against my ribs. “What the hell are you talking about?” Julian demanded. “You haven’t seen the news?” Caleb said, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up for Julian to see. “To put it simply, your girl and my girl… are the same person.” The world stopped. I didn’t hear what they said after that. I was already sneaking toward the service exit at the back of the penthouse. I had to get away from these two psycho brothers. Once I was out, I ran. I just ran, my mind already calculating my next move. The handbag and the condo were gone, obviously, but over the past year, I’d managed to save up a few hundred thousand dollars. It was enough for me and my sisters to live on for a few years. It was a shame, though. I was so close to my goal. As the penthouse grew smaller in the distance and no one seemed to be chasing me, I started to relax. I kicked a stray pebble on the sidewalk out of frustration. “Two rich idiots,” I muttered. “Can’t even keep their own business private, and now I’m the one paying for it.” Just as the words left my mouth, a cold hand closed around the back of my neck, fingers hooking onto my necklace. Caleb was standing in front of me. He advanced, forcing me backward until my back hit a lamppost. His voice was dangerously soft, laced with a chilling amusement. “Tell me, Sadie. Was it fun? Having one brother who’s so easy to fool, and another who’s so easy to please? Playing us both like that?” I tried to bolt in the other direction. But Julian was there, blocking my path. He was wearing just a white dress shirt, a fresh red scratch mark—one I’d made earlier—visible on his neck. He was slowly, deliberately, rolling up his sleeves. His expression was unreadable. “Sadie,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I suggest you start explaining. Right now.” I was trapped. Leaning against the lamppost for support, my palms sweating, I forced myself to look calm. “I was working two jobs. Is that a crime?” I shot back. “When you hired me, neither of you said I couldn’t freelance.” Caleb almost laughed, a humorless, terrifying sound. He reached for my wrist. “Do I really need to spell out the basics of professional ethics for you?” But he never touched me. Julian stepped between us, his jaw tight. He shot me a look so cold it froze me to the spot. I couldn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at our long shadows stretching out under the streetlight. Caleb was about to say something else when his phone rang. In the dead silence of the street, the voice on the other end was perfectly clear. “Caleb, it’s me. I’m back. I just landed at JFK.” “I tried calling Julian, but he didn’t pick up. Can you let him know for me?” Well, what do you know. The leading lady was back a year ahead of schedule. Caleb was so engrossed in the call that I saw my chance. I ducked under his arm and ran. He was too busy talking to catch me. As for the other one, I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. Julian was still standing in the same spot. His head was slightly tilted, his hand slowly tracing the scratch on his neck. The lamplight cast a shadow over his face, making his expression impossible to read. He wasn’t going to chase me. Not anymore. His real love was back. Who had time for a substitute? I figured as long as I stayed away from her—Clara—I could probably avoid the tragic ending from the book. It was almost 10 PM when I got back to the children’s home. The younger girls were already asleep. I handed an envelope stuffed with cash to the director, Mama Elena. This was a private home for abandoned girls. Some were sick, some came from families who couldn’t afford them, and some were there simply because they weren’t boys. This home was the only family I’d ever known. Mama Elena was my mother. She was everyone’s mother. Two years ago, she was diagnosed with a serious heart condition that required emergency surgery. The cost was astronomical. I gave her every penny I had, but it wasn’t enough. That’s when Caleb Thorne found me. * 5 He’d just stared at my face for a long time, a polite, unreadable smile on his lips. “Sadie,” he’d said. “You look a lot like a girl I care about.” “I have a business proposition for you. Are you interested?” The deal was simple: I’d be his companion for dinners and social events. In return, he’d pay me ten thousand dollars a month, with a one-year minimum contract. I had no reason to say no. His assistant gave me a dossier on the real girl, Clara. It had everything: her favorite foods, her allergies, her fashion sense, her pet peeves. I was told to memorize it. Be the perfect copy. But I messed up on our very first dinner. He’d ordered a feast. I helped myself to the shrimp scampi four times. With each serving, the look on Caleb’s face grew darker. Finally, he lifted my chin with his fingers, pointing at the shrimp. “Sadie,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Your performance is off tonight.” “No matter how much she loves a dish, she would never take more than three helpings.” His voice was light, but his words were heavy. “A poor performance means a pay cut, you know.” He docked me five hundred dollars, just like that. My heart ached. Later, when Mama Elena’s body started rejecting the transplant and she needed expensive anti-rejection drugs, I begged Caleb for an advance. He just smiled that placid, terrifying smile. “Sadie, it’s a bad habit to ask for more than you’re given. *She* would never do that.” He wouldn’t give me the money, and I was desperate. So when Julian Thorne offered me a hundred thousand a month, I said yes without a second thought. With Julian, there were no rules. He never mentioned Clara. And I pretended I didn’t know who she was. Now, holding the thick envelope, Mama Elena tried to give it back. “Sadie, you’ve given this home so much over the years. You paid for my entire surgery. I can’t take any more from you.” I gently pushed it back into her hands. “There are so many other girls to take care of. Please, just keep it. And don’t worry about me, I have my own savings set aside.” I gave her a tight hug. “Besides, Mama Elena… I have to go.” “I’m moving to Los Angeles. I don’t think I’ll be back for a few years.” In New York, the Thorne brothers could ruin me with a single phone call. I needed to be far, far away. I booked a flight for three days later. In that time, neither of the brothers contacted me. But Maya did, full of gossip. “Man, there’s a real difference between us stand-ins and the real thing, huh?” she said over the phone. “Did you see the fireworks over the Hudson last night? It went on for over an hour. Cost millions. I heard Julian Thorne set it up to celebrate Clara’s return.” I suddenly remembered a conversation I’d had with Julian. I was lying exhausted in his arms, and he was toying with a lock of my hair. “Sadie,” he’d asked, his voice rough with sleep, “besides money, is there anything else you like?” I thought for a moment. “Fireworks,” I’d said. “The kind that light up the whole sky.” He hadn’t seemed satisfied with that answer. He buried his face in my neck, and after a long pause, he mumbled, “Okay. Next time, I’ll set off a fireworks show over the Hudson for you.” Right. A man’s promise. The fireworks happened, they just weren’t for me. “Sadie? You listening?” Maya was still talking. “And tonight, Caleb Thorne is throwing this massive welcome-home party for her at The Plaza.” “She gets what she wants, and you get what you need! You’re leaving for LA, so I’m throwing you a going-away party!” Maya texted me an address. I figured it would be nice to see her one last time before I disappeared. So I went. But the moment I walked in, I knew something was wrong. The party was… huge. Way too fancy. Way too many people. And there, in the middle of the glittering ballroom, stood Clara, dressed in a stunning gown of blue, sparkling diamonds. On either side of her, like two sentinels, were Caleb and Julian Thorne. All three of them turned and looked directly at me. I froze, pulling out my phone. A new text from Maya had just come in, a second too late. “OMG WRONG BALLROOM NAME! That’s Caleb’s party for Clara! DON’T GO IN! So embarrassing!” She sent a new location. “Come here instead! All the girls are waiting. Don’t be jealous of her fireworks, I got you sparklers!” I cursed Maya a thousand times in my head. I knew she was a mess, but this was a new level of incompetent. I kept my head down, trying to back out unnoticed, but it was too late. Clara was already walking toward me. She held a glass of champagne, a brilliant, practiced smile on her face. “You must be Sadie,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

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I’ve been divorced nine times, and I’ve used the same lawyer for every single settlement. So, when I walked in for my tenth divorce, the stoic man of law finally cracked. “You’ve had a busy year, haven’t you?” I arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Isn’t this the career path you opened up for me?” He let out a sharp sigh and tossed the divorce papers onto the desk in front of me. “I’m your first ex-husband, Mila, not your personal divorce attorney. Stop coming to me for this.” Later, when all nine of my other ex-husbands showed up trying to win me back, he was the one who blocked their path, grabbed my hand through gritted teeth, and declared, “That’s it. We’re going to Vegas. The kind of married you can’t get out of.” I pulled my hand away and echoed the same cold tone he’d used on me years ago. “Sorry. You were just a substitute.” 1 I strolled into the law firm, designer bag swinging from my arm, and placed the necessary documents on the polished mahogany desk. “Mr. Watson, darling. I need you to draft a divorce agreement for me.” The man, previously engrossed in a file, looked up. The eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses narrowed almost imperceptibly. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Hah.” I met his gaze, a playful smile on my lips. “Is that how you treat your clients now, Julian? Should I file a complaint?” Julian glanced at me, his expression an unreadable mask. I tapped my nails impatiently on the desk, and he finally fixed me with a look of pure exasperation. “This firm has plenty of excellent attorneys who specialize in family law. You don’t have to come to me every single time.” “But I only trust you,” I said, my expression one of utmost sincerity. He was the first to break. “IDs, marriage certificate. Any children? Division of assets?” I calmly pulled up a chair. “No kids, no marital assets. I’m the at-fault party. I’ll walk away with nothing.” The rhythmic clacking of his keyboard stopped. Julian took a deep, controlled breath, clearly reining in his temper. “This is the tenth time, Mila. What the hell are you playing at? Ten divorces in one year. Every time, you’re the one ‘at fault.’ Every time, it’s right after the one-month cooling-off period. Is marriage just a game to you?” I looked at him, my face a picture of innocence. “Have I broken any laws?” “…No.” “Well, there you go. Consenting adults can get married and divorced as they please. It’s my right. What does it have to do with you?” Julian’s jaw tightened. “It has nothing to do with me. Except for the fact that I’m one of your ex-husbands. Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate to keep coming to me?” 2 “Inappropriate? But didn’t you teach me this was how it’s done?” I asked, tilting my head with a saccharine smile. He ignored me, slapping the freshly printed divorce agreement down on the desk. “I hope this is the last time.” “I’ll take that as a blessing.” I scooped up the papers and headed out. Leaning against a sports car parked outside was a young man in a baggy baseball jacket and a cap pulled low. He watched me approach with a lazy, roguish grin. This was my current husband, Leo Sterling, the rebellious younger son of the Sterling empire. A notorious playboy who valued his freedom above all else. And, very soon, my ex-husband. “All settled?” he asked. I waved the papers. “Done. Take a look, make sure it’s all good. If so, our marriage is officially over.” He took the agreement, his eyes scanning the text. “Huh. I thought you’d try to find some excuse not to sign, like all the other girls who tried to trap me. No demand for a payout?” I gave him my best professional smile. “Please don’t insult my work ethic. This is part of the service. You can still contact me during the cooling-off period if needed.” Leo pouted, a flicker of genuine disappointment in his eyes. “Right. Well, thanks for this. If it weren’t for you, my family would be forcing me down the aisle with some heiress I can’t stand.” I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep our divorce quiet for now. How long we can keep up the charade is up to you.” That’s right. I’m a professional wife. My clients are almost exclusively from the upper echelon: single, wealthy, handsome men who, for one reason or another, need a wife but don’t want a real marriage. Some are fending off pressure from their families; others are high-powered executives who need a spouse for corporate events but fear a messy attachment. That’s where I come in. I play the part of the perfect, flawless wife. We sign a detailed prenuptial agreement. When my services are no longer needed, we divorce, and they pay me a very generous fee. It’s purely transactional. No messy feelings involved. I was about to bid farewell to my latest client when a sleek limousine pulled up to the curb. 3 A stunningly beautiful woman with delicate features stepped out. She froze for a second when she saw me, because we were dressed almost identically: a soft pink knit dress paired with a light mocha-colored cardigan. The trendy, gentle “cool stepmom” look. The only difference was that her outfit was a limited-edition designer original, and mine was a high-end replica. She shot me a glance, a smirk of pure disdain playing on her lips. I knew her. Isabelle Croft. Hollywood’s new “it girl,” fresh off her win for Best Actress at the Crystal Spire Awards. A bona fide superstar. A moment later, a tall, impeccably dressed man emerged from the law firm. It was Julian. Isabelle’s face lit up as she rushed to his side, linking her arm through his. “I’ve been waiting forever. You didn’t answer my texts, so I just came to find you. You’re not mad, are you?” A rare, faint smile touched Julian’s usually cold face. “Let’s go. I just finished up. What are you in the mood for tonight?” Isabelle didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes drifted back to me, a sly smile on her face. “Your ex-wife was pestering you again, wasn’t she? I wondered why you weren’t responding.” Her voice was just loud enough for the four of us to hear. It wasn’t surprising that Isabelle and I knew each other. We went to the same acting conservatory. Her career skyrocketed from day one. And me? With my uncanny resemblance to her, I became her official body double after she hit it big. Yep. I was the one who took on all the scenes she deemed beneath her. Even my bizarre, short-lived marriage to Julian was her doing. She was the goddess, the one that got away. I was just the stand-in. Julian and Isabelle’s college romance was the stuff of campus legend. But after she became a star, she dumped him, fearing he would tarnish her image. In a fit of rage and heartbreak, Julian found me—the budget version of Isabelle—and married me. I was clueless for the longest time. It was only after a drama-filled saga worthy of a 50-episode TV show that they finally reconciled their misunderstandings and got back together. Julian generously gave me half of his assets and kicked me, the budget wife, to the curb so he could be with the premium model. That whole sordid affair was a revelation. It hit me: if being a substitute wife was this lucrative, why stop at one? Ten would be even better. It was a clear path to financial freedom, and it paid a hell of a lot more than being a body double. Julian’s gaze flickered from me to Leo, his voice laced with ice. “She was here to file for another divorce.” “Another one?” Isabelle looked me up and down with contempt, then sized up Leo. “Tsk, tsk. Looks like your standards have slipped. You’ll take any street punk you can find now. First, you were my stand-in to marry Julian, and now you’ve found a new way to grift, have you?” I snapped my fingers and grinned shamelessly. “You’re right. I can’t compete with your market value. My ex is just a plain, unassuming trust-fund kid.” My eyes darted to the man beside me. The “plain, unassuming trust-fund kid” in question, Leo, raised an eyebrow in mock confusion. Then he whipped off his baseball cap, revealing a face handsome enough to grace magazine covers, and slung an arm around my shoulders. “She’s right. I’m just a regular guy with a few billion to my name. Nothing special.” He winked at me. “By the way, ex-wife, what are you planning to do with the fifty million I’m giving you in the settlement?” 4 I had to physically restrain myself from applauding. The man was a genius. Isabelle, for all her fame, had only been a big name for a few years. She came from a modest background and had clawed her way to the top. Just last week, she’d boasted to the media that she didn’t need to marry into wealth because she was the wealth. A bold claim from someone whose net worth probably hadn’t even hit nine figures yet. I knew Leo was backing me up, so I played along. “First, I’ll buy a yacht. Then a private estate. Then maybe I’ll acquire a production company and hire a certain A-list actress to be my body double.” Leo nodded thoughtfully. “Good. You’re thinking about your career, not just squandering it. My guidance is clearly paying off.” Predictably, the smile on Isabelle’s face froze. Her eyes flickered towards Leo, as if she was suddenly trying to place him. She was an actress, after all, and she recovered quickly. Her expression shifted from aggressive to one of gentle, pitying concern as she addressed him. “You probably don’t know this, handsome, but that’s just how Mila is. Money means more to her than anything. You should be careful. Don’t let her fool you.” She then delicately tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tightened her grip on Julian’s arm. “Darling, we’re going to be late for our reservation. Let’s not let irrelevant people ruin our evening.” Before leaving, she even had the audacity to ask Leo for his number. Right in front of Julian. I watched with a smirk. Leo just shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a married man. We’re in our cooling-off period, but I can’t be unfaithful to my wife. I must politely decline all advances from beautiful temptresses.” Isabelle’s face turned a shade of puce as she stalked off. Julian’s expression wasn’t much better. He shot me a final, complicated look before they sped away in their luxury car. Perfect. Our little performance had clearly gotten under their skin. As the car disappeared, I turned to Leo and held out my hand. “So, ex-hubby. About that fifty million…” He gave me a high-five. “Are you kidding? I don’t have fifty million. What about the two million we agreed on for my fee? Can I pay you in installments?” Great. I’d met someone who was an even bigger bullshitter than me. “No way. No delays, not one penny less. If you’re short, I’ll show up at your family’s estate and make a scene.” He was even more shameless than I was. “Or… we could make this marriage real. Then all my money would be your money. What do you say?” In his dreams. I was a career woman, and my career was making money. 5 After parting ways with Leo, I went straight to the bank. Sure enough, a short while later, two million dollars appeared in my account. I took a deep breath and checked the balance. Excellent. My first major financial goal was within reach. Soon, my phone rang again. The caller ID read: ‘Ex-Husband #9.’ “Hello, Ms. Thorne? There’s a family gathering this Saturday at 8 p.m. that requires your attendance. The usual fee will be deposited into your account.” Ex-Husband #9 was a top-tier surgeon named Dr. Aris Thorne, age 32. Consumed by his work, he had no time or interest in dating. Like my other clients, he was using me to fend off relentless pressure from his family to get married. We had finalized our divorce last month, but our contract stipulated that for six months post-divorce, I was still obligated to play the part of his wife as needed. Business was booming. I pushed all thoughts of Julian and Isabelle out of my mind. No man, no matter how infuriating, was going to get in the way of me making money. My one and only focus was the hustle. 6 On Saturday evening, I dressed in a very domestic, yet subtly expensive, outfit. A certain level of investment in my appearance was necessary; I couldn’t embarrass my clients. Aris was a busy man with a touch of social anxiety, a love for quiet, and a severe case of germaphobia. So, I took a cab to the address he provided. He was waiting outside, dressed in a casual white jacket. At 6’2”, he was tall and lean, his hair impeccably styled. His handsome face had a cool, distant air. As I got closer, I caught the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic. I glanced down at my own outfit. Good. Also white. For a true germaphobe, any color other than white was just a different shade of dirty. He gave me a slight nod and, like a gentleman, offered his arm. I saw the pristine white gloves on his hands and chuckled nervously. I didn’t dare place my bare hand on him. I slipped on the pair of lace gloves I’d brought for this exact purpose before taking his arm. The slight frown on his face instantly relaxed. I followed him into a grand European-style villa in an opulent neighborhood. He’d called it a “family gathering,” but there were at least thirty or forty people already seated. How awkward. We were the last to arrive, putting us right in the spotlight for public scrutiny. As soon as we sat down, a wealthy-looking woman next to Aris’s mother began her attack. “Well, look who finally decided to show up. We never see you at our get-togethers. I hear you’re a housewife? What do you do all day?” What do I do? I count money, lady. My time is billable by the second. Aris frowned, glaring at the woman. I kept my composure and replied softly, “Aris works such long hours. As his wife, it’s my duty to manage our home. But I also focus on my own intellectual pursuits. He calls me a housewife because he worries about me and respects my choices. I’m actually quite independent.” The subtext was clear: Mind your own business. My husband is happy to support me. The woman was effectively silenced. I reached over and placed a hand on Aris’s. “Isn’t that right, darling?” A rare smile touched his lips. “My wife is absolutely correct.” The atmosphere had just settled when a discordant voice cut through the room. “Oh? A housewife? So, you have no other source of income, Ms. Thorne? You just rely on Dr. Thorne to support you? That doesn’t sound very independent to me.” I looked up and, to my astonishment, saw Julian. And next to him was Isabelle. He was in a tailored suit, she in a lavish evening gown. In this so-called “family gathering,” they looked ostentatiously out of place… and frankly, ridiculous. Julian’s gaze on me was colder than ever. I hadn’t expected to see him at Aris’s family event. He wasn’t on the guest list Aris had prepared for me. 7 Aris leaned in and explained. Julian was the high-priced legal counsel for his mother’s company. She had apparently taken a liking to him and invited him personally. In a year and a half of doing this job, this was the first time I’d had two ex-husbands in the same room. But it was fine. I could handle this. So, Julian wanted to humiliate me? Just you wait. I pasted on a smile and instinctively snuggled closer to Aris. “Honey, it sounds like someone is questioning my integrity.” Two could play at the innocent, manipulative game. Aris proved to be an excellent employer. He spoke in a calm, level voice. “Of course, she has other income. But my wife’s personal ventures are just small hobbies. Nothing compared to the businesses you all run. We wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.” Julian scoffed. After taking his seat, he made it clear he wasn’t done with me. “What kind of investments are we talking about? Perhaps I could offer some analysis, Ms. Thorne?” He kept calling me “Ms. Thorne,” making it painfully obvious to everyone that we knew each other. Even Aris noticed. He squeezed my hand, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You know him?” Know him? He’s ex-husband #1. The man who started it all. “Mr. Watson is a competent lawyer, is he not? I’m sure he has a code of ethics. Since when did you branch out into investment banking?” I stared him down. If he said one more word, I was going to lunge across the table and rip his smug mouth off his face. He fell silent. But Isabelle, who had been quiet until now, couldn’t resist. She was a big star, but among these old-money matriarchs, she had zero clout. She was desperate for attention. Seeing me next to Aris, she put a hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my goodness, Mila! Wait a minute. I just saw you at Julian’s office a few days ago, getting divorce papers. How are you Mrs. Thorne today? Julian, darling, have I been filming too much? Tell me I’m not seeing things.” Her words were a grenade thrown into the quiet dinner party. Every head turned, eyes wide with gossip-hungry curiosity. Beside me, Aris’s body went rigid. His handsome brow furrowed, and he began to rub his wrist—a nervous tic. My employer was angry. This was not good. My cover was about to be blown. I shot to my feet, my eyes instantly welling with tears as I fixed my gaze on Isabelle. My voice trembled with righteous indignation. “Ms. Croft, I have no idea what you mean by that. As a public figure, you should be more careful with your words. Aris and I have been married for over a year. And I will not stand by and let someone spread malicious rumors about our relationship!” Isabelle stared at me, momentarily stunned, before a sly, triumphant smile spread across her face. “Rumors? Is that what you call it? You’ve already moved on to another man, and you’re still trying to play the victim?” Damn it. She wasn’t taking the bait. She was determined to destroy me. Aris’s parents, recovering from their shock, now looked furious. “Ms. Croft, is what you’re saying true?” Isabelle lifted her chin smugly. “Dr. and Mrs. Thorne, don’t be too upset. I know this woman. We were classmates. You probably don’t know about her glorious past. While we were still in school, loan sharks came looking for her. Her own mother jumped from the roof of our university’s main building.” Her voice dripped with false pity. “What kind of person could come from a family like that? I felt sorry for her, so I hired her as my body double. And what do you think she did? She tried to seduce a producer in the middle of the night, trading her body for a role… heh.” She paused, looking at me with relish. “Mila, do I need to go on? Stop deceiving everyone.” In an instant, every gaze in the room turned on me, filled with the same contempt and disgust I remembered from all those years ago. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. I tightened my grip on my wine glass. 8 I started calculating. If I scarred her face, how many months would I get? Just then, Aris, who had been silent, stood up. He gently placed his hand over mine, pulling me into his side. He looked at the room, his expression calm and unwavering. “I apologize to you all. My wife and I have had some disagreements recently, but we have never considered divorce. I had no idea our private matters would be used by someone with malicious intent to stir up trouble. I am so sorry. Had I known, I never would have brought her to this dinner, only to have her slandered and unjustly accused.” He turned to me, his eyes filled with sincere concern. “Darling, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” I was so moved I could have cried for real. I leaned against his shoulder, squeezing out a few fake tears while secretly patting his back in gratitude. Where else could I find such a perfect client? My mistake had almost blown our cover, and here he was, this socially anxious man, stepping up to defend me. I decided right then and there: I was giving him a 30% discount on my fee. At that moment, Julian also stood up. He grabbed Isabelle’s arm, stopping her from saying anything more. He adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. “Isabelle, you’re drunk.” He then addressed the room. “My apologies, everyone. My girlfriend has been working too hard lately and seems to be confusing reality with her movie scripts. I have never seen Ms. Thorne in my office. We only know each other from a brief conversation at a banquet some time ago.” Isabelle stared at Julian in disbelief. I was just as shocked. I never thought Julian, of all people, would have a sudden attack of conscience and cover for me. 9 The dinner party, needless to say, ended on a sour note. Aris led me out, but as we reached the garden, we ran into Julian, who had used the excuse of taking a drunk Isabelle home. He had clearly been waiting for us. The two men faced each other, the air crackling with tension. Aris took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “It’s getting chilly. Don’t catch a cold.” Only then did he look up at Julian. “Mr. Watson. Can I help you?” Julian’s eyes were fixed on the jacket around my shoulders. His voice was hard. “I need to speak with Mila.” A corner of Aris’s mouth lifted in a scornful smile. “I’m afraid that’s not convenient. Your girlfriend has deeply upset my wife. She needs to rest.” “Is that so? My apologies. In that case, would Ms. Thorne herself be willing to speak with me and accept my apology?” I wanted to say no, but I knew I needed to talk to him. He had drafted all my previous divorce agreements; he knew every one of my ex-husbands. His presence here tonight felt too calculated to be a coincidence. I gave Aris an apologetic look. “Wait for me in the car. Give me five minutes.” Aris was a gentleman. Even though I could feel his anger, he just squeezed my hand tightly before letting go. He smoothed down a stray piece of my hair and leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here. Call me if you need anything.” Then, in a clear act of possessiveness, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. His breath was warm against my skin, and I was stunned. It was the first time Aris had ever initiated such close contact. Before he left, he shot one last, cold glare at Julian. The moment he was gone, Julian strode toward me, backing me against the garden wall. “Mila, are you going to tell me what you’re doing or not?” he hissed. “Three days ago, you were filing for divorce from that rich kid, and now you’re playing wife to your ex-ex-husband. What kind of sordid business are you running?”

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By the time I realized I was living in the pages of a political tell-all, the story was already over. The brilliant, disgraced doctor had retreated to a quiet life in rural Vermont, while the charismatic President and his First Lady governed from the White House. I was supposed to be a footnote, a tragic local girl with a ticking clock on her life. But somehow, against all odds, I married the doctor. I always knew who he was, that his heart belonged to the First Lady. I knew I was living on borrowed time. Yet for three years, his care was absolute. He promised me a lifetime. And just when I started to believe him, just when I thought his love was real, the First Lady was poisoned. He rushed to D.C. to save her. He forgot that today was the day I was supposed to die. 1 Another attack. I bit down hard on the duvet, my hair plastered to my forehead with sweat. The man who was usually here in an instant, the one who held my hand through the fire, was gone. Chloe, my best friend and live-in nurse, dabbed my face with a cool cloth, her eyes red. “He’s never, ever forgotten this date,” she muttered, her voice thick with anger. “How could he not be here today?” I hadn’t felt pain like this in three years. Not since he came into my life. The young assistant I’d sent out for help returned, trembling as he handed Chloe a note. She snatched it and read it aloud, her voice shaking with rage. “‘First Lady Isabelle Vance has been poisoned. They’ve asked for my help. My wife… take care of yourself.’” The ink was still slightly damp. Chloe’s knuckles were white. “When did he leave?” “This morning,” the assistant whispered. Everyone knew what today was. “You can go,” I managed to say. Chloe closed the door, and another wave of agony crashed over me, forcing a tear from the corner of my eye. The moment I heard her name—Isabelle Vance—I knew I had lost. “I’m calling a specialist,” Chloe said, seeing my torment. She turned to leave, then froze. Dr. Julian Croft was the specialist. A world-renowned geneticist, a miracle worker. My condition was something only he could manage. In this high-tech medical sanctuary he called a home, there was no other doctor. I knew his story. I’d read the biography that rocked the nation—the brilliant doctor, the rising political star, and the secret, unrequited love he held for his best friend, Isabelle, who went on to marry the future President. I just never thought his story would end up destroying mine. My chest was a vise, each breath a new torment. I’d known my life was a bit strange—a rare genetic disorder, a life of sterile rooms and careful calculations. It wasn’t until I met Julian that I realized just how strange. My father, desperate after exhausting every medical expert in the country, had tracked down the reclusive Dr. Croft. Dad begged him to take me on as his sole patient. Julian’s price was… unconventional. He wanted a life of total seclusion, a wife to manage his home, a shield against the world that still hounded him for gossip. Dad looked at me, his eyes pleading, and I agreed to the marriage. At first, I kept my distance. I remembered the book. He was the tragic hero who loved the heroine. No matter how brilliant or kind he was, I refused to let my heart get involved. But hearts aren’t made of stone. For three years, he was my everything. He mapped my genome, developing treatments that silenced the ticking clock inside me. He designed my diet, my exercise, my entire world. And on the days the attacks were scheduled to come, he never left my side. Everyone had said I wouldn’t live past my sixteenth birthday. Julian promised me I’d outlive them all. I was eighteen now, a miracle of his making. The tell-all was old news. The President was in his second term. I thought Julian had truly left that story behind, that he had genuinely fallen for me. His love was a quiet, intense force, and it had slowly, meticulously, picked the lock on my heart. But just as I was ready to admit it, fate played its cruelest joke. This was supposed to be my last scheduled attack. Julian had said this was the final phase of the treatment. After this, I would be cured. But if the therapy was interrupted, the disease would come back with a vengeance. It would be fatal. He knew that. Last night, he’d held me, whispering against my hair, “Ava, when you’re all better… can we finally be a real husband and wife?” I’d blushed and answered with a soft kiss. And today, he left me to face my death alone, all to save her. The White House has an army of doctors. Why did it have to be him? 2 My vision blurred. When it cleared, fingers were resting on my wrist, checking my pulse. A surge of warmth flooded my chest. I turned my head, the name “Julian” on my lips, but it died in my throat. I looked away, disappointed. “Ava, I got Dr. Albright on a video call. He’s the best we could get on short notice,” Chloe said, trying to soothe me. But I knew it was useless. Sure enough, the doctor on the screen sighed. “I’m sorry. Her condition is beyond my expertise. All I can advise is to manage the pain.” “Manage the pain? You’re the head of immunology at Johns Hopkins, and you can’t even do that?” Chloe’s voice was sharp. I squeezed her hand, giving the screen an apologetic look. Thankfully, the doctor understood. “I’ll try to get another…,” she started, but I shook my head. “Don’t. It’s only a few hours.” No one else could treat me. That’s why my life had an expiration date in the first place. Julian had saved me. And now, he had just pushed me back into the abyss. If he knew this would happen, why did he ever bother to save me at all? A few days passed. My body regressed to its old, fragile state—three steps and I was breathless, five and the world would start to spin. I lay on a chaise lounge on the patio, the sunlight offering no warmth to my pale skin. A dull ache throbbed constantly in my chest. Then, one of the staff said he was back. My heart leaped. I looked up towards the driveway and saw him. He was carrying a woman wrapped in a blanket out of his car, her dark hair stark against the white wool. He carried her into the house without a single glance in my direction. “Ava, that man…” Chloe was furious, ready to charge after him, but I held her back. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I swallowed it down and pulled Chloe away. She might not recognize the woman, but I did. There was only one person whose love for the color blue was so profound it was mentioned in a bestselling biography. The First Lady, Isabelle Vance. Back in my suite of rooms, I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I coughed, and a spray of red dotted the white tissue in my hand. Chloe’s eyes widened in terror. “I’m getting him!” “Chloe, no,” I said, my grip on her arm surprisingly strong. “You are not to go to him. And he is not your boss anymore.” His actions were a billboard. Why should I go looking for more pain? “But he cared so much about you. I saw it.” She wasn’t wrong. I’d seen it too. I’d felt it. But that was conditional. It was real only as long as Isabelle Vance was safe and sound. Compared to her, I was nothing. I could still feel the ghost of our three years, the warmth and the tentative hope. Our first night, our wedding night, I had laid out the terms. “You are the doctor. I am the patient. This is a contract, not a marriage.” He had just smiled, his fingers gently finding my pulse. “We’re already husband and wife, Ava. How could it be anything else?” he’d said, his voice a low hum. When I told him I wouldn’t live past sixteen, his smile only widened. “We’ll see about that.” After that, the symptoms that had plagued my entire life began to vanish, one by one. I tried to pay him, to repay the immeasurable debt, but he always returned the money, bringing me gifts instead. A rare first edition book, a delicate necklace, pastries from a New York bakery he knew I loved. He was wooing me. When I realized my own heart was betraying our contract, I started to pull away. But then came the day of the storm. He stood in the pouring rain, calling my name, shielding a small box of macarons from the deluge. My resolve crumbled. The story was over, I told myself. He’s free. I opened the door. He pulled me into a fierce embrace, his eyes red-rimmed as he promised me forever. The love in his eyes that night was a tidal wave. I thought we could truly have it all. I was wrong. 3 “So, are we going home?” Chloe asked softly, understanding my silence. “I miss Dad.” I wiped the last trace of blood from my lips and asked her for a pen and paper. I wasn’t a fighter, not in that way. A footnote character versus the heroine of the story? There was no contest. When we arrived at Julian’s wing of the house, two grim-faced men in dark suits stood by the door. Secret Service. Before I could process it, one of them stepped forward, blocking my path with a firm arm across my chest. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.” “Ava!” Chloe gasped, rushing forward, but I held her back. “I’m his wife,” I said, my voice quiet. The agent’s expression didn’t change, but his tone was cold steel. “Dr. Croft has forbidden all visitors.” I stood frozen, a bitter taste filling my mouth. This wing of the house, his private sanctuary, had always been open to me. He’d had powerful patients, dignitaries with their own security details, but his standing order was always the same: “My wife is never to be stopped. She can go wherever she pleases.” Now, “all visitors” included me. The whiplash of the last three years, the quiet intimacy replaced by this cold exclusion, was a physical blow. I fought back the tears that pricked my eyes and took a step back. “My apologies.” Chloe, who had been with me since we were children, understood. Swallowing her anger, she stood with me, waiting outside the door. The afternoon sun was hot. I felt dizzy, my legs weak, but I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I was afraid if I walked away now, I’d lose my nerve and stay. So I stood there, swaying on my feet, as the world swam in and out of focus. I don’t know how long we waited. The sun was beginning to set when Julian finally emerged. He looked exhausted, his normally immaculate hair disheveled. I had only ever seen him look this worn down when he was fighting for my life. I used to think that look was reserved for me alone. The irony was suffocating. All his whispered promises, all his declarations of love, they were all lies. “What are you doing out here? Have you had dinner?” He looked surprised to see me, and his hand moved instinctively to rest on my shoulder, a familiar gesture of comfort. I stepped away. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of my mouth. The bruise on my neck from the agent’s arm, which had started to fade, now throbbed with a fiery pain. “Who hurt you? Why are you bleeding…?” He looked at me, truly looked at my frail form for the first time in days, and a flicker of confusion crossed his face. He hadn’t seen me this sick in years. I didn’t answer. I just held out a folded piece of paper. He frowned as he took it. His face went white as he read it. “Ava, you want a divorce?” He sounded incredulous, his cool grey eyes darkening. “Yes.” I calmly wiped my lips, my other hand gripping Chloe’s arm to keep her from launching into a tirade. A clean break. That was my style. I was never one to martyr myself for love. There were other men in the world. I wasn’t going to let my life end for a man who was just one chapter in it. “But why? You promised…” He trailed off, the memory of our conversation, of the day he was supposed to be here for me, finally dawning on him. “I’m sorry, Ava. The First Lady’s life was in danger. I had to go.” He stared at me, his eyes pleading. I avoided his gaze. “Just sign it, Julian. Let’s go our separate ways.” He was the tragic hero, of course he was devoted. But I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that his devotion was not for me. 4 “Sign it.” My legs were shaking. I didn’t want to hear any more of his excuses. “Ava, don’t be childish.” He sighed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Your body can’t handle this stress. This was my fault, I admit it. I promise, I will find a way to fix this.” He was apologizing, but his apologies were worthless to me now. “Julian,” I said again, my voice devoid of all warmth. He stared at me, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Ava, let me check your pulse. Let me help you, please.” He reached for me, but I stumbled back again, my face growing paler. His expression shifted to alarm. He moved to catch me, but a soft, feminine voice called out from behind him. “Julian, it hurts.” That single sentence was all it took. He spun around and rushed back into the room. “Where does it hurt? Let me change the dressing.” He helped her sit up, his voice thick with worry. I looked up and my eyes met hers. Isabelle Vance. Her features were gentle, but her eyes were sharp as knives. The triumphant heroine of a political thriller. Her gaze held a cool disdain, a clear message: Here, with him, I am what matters. Chloe didn’t scream or shout. She simply picked up the divorce papers from the ground where Julian had dropped them, scribbled his name on the signature line, and pulled me away. “We’re going home, Ava,” she said, her voice firm. We walked away slowly, and for the first time in days, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. A smile touched my lips. I should have known. The tragic hero always loves the heroine. The story was over, but the characters hadn’t changed. Loving a man tied to a narrative like that was a fool’s errand. If I didn’t get out now, I’d be destroyed. “Do we need to pack anything?” Chloe asked as we reached the main gate. I took her hand and stepped out of the wrought iron gates of the estate he called a sanctuary. There was nothing here I wanted to keep. It was dark by the time we got back to my childhood home. My father, having heard the news, rushed to meet me, his eyes red. “Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice filled with worry. Then he saw my pale face, the blue tinge under my eyes, and he fell silent. He hadn’t seen me look this fragile in years. “Let’s get you inside,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He turned away to wipe his eyes, and I pretended not to see. My father was a good man. My mother had died when I was young, leaving him with a sickly daughter everyone said was a lost cause. But he never gave up on me. No one wanted me to be healthy more than him. That’s why he’d agreed to Julian’s insane terms. He just wanted me to live. And now I had returned, a broken contract. He didn’t need to ask to know that something had gone terribly wrong. “Dad, you should get some rest,” I said, walking into my old bedroom. It was exactly as I had left it, clean and untouched, as if waiting for my return. Looking at his heartbroken face, I suddenly felt like it was all going to be okay. Whatever happened with the characters in the book, my father was mine alone, untouched by the plot, his love unconditional. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Get some rest, sweetie. Dad’s here for whatever you need.” That was all it took. The dam of my composure threatened to break. “Okay,” I whispered, turning into my room before the tears could fall. I wasn’t a child anymore. I couldn’t let him worry. It wasn’t until the door was closed that the tears finally came. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and the blood I’d been suppressing rose in my throat. I eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. But the first thing I heard when I woke up was Chloe’s voice, tight with dread. “He’s here. Julian is here.”

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Six years after I cut off my parents, my adopted sister secretly reached out to my husband. She told him my parents missed me terribly and wanted nothing more than for our family to be whole again before it was too late. I traced the thin scar on my forehead. I got it when I was eight, the same day my sister slammed the piano lid on my fingers. My dad gave me the scar when I tried to hit her back. My husband, unable to bear the sight of my sister’s sad, pleading face, tried to reason with me. “Honey, that was so long ago. Just let it go.” My son, clutching a brand-new model airplane my parents had sent him, added his own ultimatum. “Mommy, I can’t live without my grandma and grandpa and Auntie Nora. You have to make up with them!” His little face was red with anger. “If you don’t, I don’t want you to be my mommy anymore!” A profound weariness washed over me. I gave a small, tired nod. “Okay.” 1 The moment I slid the divorce papers across the table, Mark’s face was a mask of disbelief. “You’re doing this? Just because I want you to reconcile with your parents?” “Yes,” I said. “Because of that.” “What about Leo? He’s only five. What’s supposed to happen to him?” Before I could answer, Leo charged at me like a little bull, ramming his head into my stomach. A sharp pain shot through me. “You’re evil, Mommy!” he shrieked. “Grandpa and Grandma didn’t raise you to be a monster!” I gritted my teeth against the pain, my voice cold. “Who taught you to talk like that?” Leo’s bravado wavered. He glanced nervously toward the hallway, where Nora was hiding just out of sight. She was the daughter of my dad’s army buddy, and we’d grown up together. “Oh, Sarah, it’s all my fault!” Nora stepped forward, her face a picture of innocence. “I was telling Leo the story of Snow White and the evil queen, and he must have picked up some of the bad words.” It was the same act she’d always pulled. The same damsel-in-distress routine that had caused me a lifetime of misery. And just like always, Mark and Leo rushed to her defense. “Sarah, you’re always so busy with work,” Mark said, his voice laced with disappointment. “You can’t blame Nora for helping take care of our son.” “I like Auntie Nora best!” Leo declared, sticking out his chin. “If you’re mean to her, I’m not gonna be your son anymore.” I hadn’t said a single word against her, but they were already leaping to her defense. I saw a flicker of triumph in Nora’s eyes, and the disgust and hatred I’d suppressed for years came boiling to the surface. 2 I was done talking. I pushed a pen toward Mark. “Sign it. Who you choose to be a son-in-law to is your business now.” His face fell. “Can you please stop being so dramatic? I just want our son to have more family in his life. They’re your own flesh and blood.” My head felt like it was going to explode. Flesh and blood. The day Nora came to live with us, my parents had said the same thing. “She’s only three months younger than you, Sarah. From now on, you have a sister. She’s your flesh and blood. You have to take care of her.” Back then, her name wasn’t Nora. My dad said her parents had died in a car crash, and that he was adopting her, giving her his name. She was so small, so fragile. I shared everything with her—my favorite books, the chocolates my dad brought home from his business trips, the new dresses my mom bought for me. “Can I really think of this as my home from now on?” Nora had asked, her eyes wide and innocent. I remembered my parents’ words and nodded. From that day on, my life became a living hell. She was always crying, always looking at me with a wounded expression. My parents assumed I was bullying her. They called me selfish and gave all my things to her. When I was six, my room became Nora’s room. My closet, filled with my dresses, became hers. When I was eight, the piano lessons I’d taken for four years were canceled. It was because Nora had “accidentally” slammed the lid on my fingers, breaking two of them. When I was twelve, my birthday party was canceled and turned into a celebration for Nora’s win at a dance competition. My cake was replaced with a mango-flavored one—her favorite. No one remembered that I was deathly allergic to mangoes. When I was eighteen, my parents refused to pay the entry fee for a prestigious math competition I’d qualified for. “We need to save that money to hire a better dance coach for Nora,” they’d said. When I was twenty-two, years of stress-induced malnutrition caught up with me. I had a severe stomach condition that required surgery. My parents refused to help, instead buying business-class tickets to Europe to accompany Nora to an international dance competition. I nearly collapsed on my way to the hospital. That’s when I met Mark. He was horrified by my story and swore he would protect me for the rest of my life. And now, six years later, he was the one pushing me back into their arms. 3 “I’m not signing this, Sarah,” Mark said, his jaw set. I ignored him and went to our bedroom to pack. In the back of the closet, hidden away, I found a stash of expensive gifts. A handcrafted tea set, a high-end massage chair for the elderly, a pair of designer ballet slippers. Mark rushed in, as if suddenly remembering. “What is this?” he asked, still clutching the divorce papers. He couldn’t meet my eyes. Leo ran in, holding his model airplane triumphantly. “Those are presents Daddy bought for Grandma and Grandpa and Auntie Nora!” he announced. “And that’s not all! But you don’t get anything ’cause you’re not a good girl, nya-nya-nya-nya-nya!” He stuck his tongue out, deliberately trying to provoke me. I took a slow step toward him. Nora immediately threw herself between us, shoving me hard. “Don’t you dare touch him! He’s their only grandchild. Even if you are his mother, you have no right to hit him.” That was it. I snapped. I grabbed her wrist and slapped her across the face, hard. “Aaaah, that hurts!” she shrieked, a theatrical, high-pitched wail. Leo immediately activated his smartwatch. “Mommy’s hitting Auntie Nora!” he yelled into the device. “Grandpa, Grandma, come quick and punish her!” He started to sob. “Mommy’s a psycho! I don’t want her to be my mommy anymore!” 4 I snatched the watch from his wrist. Of course. They had a group chat. Leo and his favorite people: Grandpa, Grandma, Daddy, and Auntie Nora. I was the only one left out. The chat history was a revelation. My son, who barely spoke to me about his day anymore, was telling them all about the new girl at his preschool. My husband, who was supposedly working late every night, was taking our son to “family dinners” several times a week. He’d used his bonus to pay for my parents’ annual checkups and to book Nora a two-week tour of Europe. Everyone in the group was so happy. My stern, unsmiling father was gushing about how his grandson was just like him, a great judge of character. My mother, always so easily swayed, was commenting on how handsome and capable Mark was, and what a shame it was that he hadn’t met Nora first. Nora, of course, was all coy sweetness, calling him “Marky” and filling the chat with blushing emojis. And Mark, my husband who hadn’t bought me a gift in years, was showering them all with praise and virtual red envelopes. “Honey, let me explain,” Mark stammered, insisting he’d only bought the gifts to pave the way for my reconciliation with them. “Nora isn’t as bad as you think. Why can’t you just try to get along with your parents?” Get along? I turned and slapped him, too. 5 Leo, seeing me strike his two favorite people, went berserk. He launched himself at me, kicking and punching. “Grandpa was right, you’re a devil! You broke your own fingers and blamed Auntie Nora! You deserve to have nobody love you!” he screamed. “Get out! Get out now! I don’t want you to be my mom! I like Auntie Nora better, and so does Grandpa and Grandma and Daddy!” I just stared at him, stunned. This was the child I had carried for nine months. I had pureed every spoonful of his baby food, bought every toy and book in this house, rocked him to sleep almost every night of his life. Five years of my heart and soul, and this is what I got in return. You deserve it. It hurt. More than I could say. “Leo,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m going to give you one chance to take that back.” “No! I hate you! I don’t want you to be my mom!” he yelled. “I want Auntie Nora! She’s prettier than you, and she can dance, and she gives me candy! I like her more than you!” I was strict about candy, trying to protect his teeth. Mark jumped in. “He’s just a kid, Sarah. Don’t take it so seriously.” In his mind, a mother’s love was unconditional. In his mind, he was doing what was best for me by forcing this reconciliation. This divorce, this ugliness, it was all my fault. But I was done. 6 “Sarah, why are you still so stubborn?” For a second, I thought I was dreaming. It was my father’s voice. The front door opened, and they walked in. I’d forgotten they still had the code. Leo’s face lit up. “Grandpa! Grandma! You’re finally here to punish Mommy!” Seeing them all standing there together, a happy little family unit, a chill went through me that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. My mother started to speak, a hint of apology in her eyes. “Sarah, six years ago, I didn’t know you were that sick…” But then she saw Nora, clutching her red, swollen cheek, and her expression hardened. “Honey, who did this to you?” she asked, her voice turning sharp, like a lioness protecting her cub. My father roared, “Who else? It had to be Sarah! Mark, get her out of this house, now! If she’s not taught a lesson, what’s to stop her from hurting my precious grandson next?” Mark, looking like a chastised schoolboy, tugged on my sleeve. “Honey, hitting people is wrong. Why don’t you just apologize?” He knew I was packed and ready to leave, and he was still waiting for me to be the one to back down. 7 I met Nora’s triumphant gaze and gave a bitter laugh. “Is it any piece of garbage I have? Do you just have to have it for yourself?” Her eyes widened in fake panic. “Sarah, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” Suddenly, a hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. “Sarah,” my father’s voice boomed in my ear, “I am ordering you to apologize. And don’t you dare threaten my good son-in-law with divorce. He works hard to support this family. If you want to leave, you can leave with nothing.” “Dad, this is between Sarah and me,” Mark said weakly. “Please don’t interfere.” “Hmph! If it wasn’t for her faking that illness back then, you never would have missed Nora’s performance,” my father sneered. “You two would probably be together by now.” I shot a sarcastic look at Mark. No wonder the photo he kept hidden in his desk—a picture of a ballerina’s silhouette on a stage—had always looked vaguely familiar. It was the girl who had captured his heart at first sight. He’d told me not to be jealous, that she didn’t even know he existed. The last flicker of feeling I had for him died. I signed the papers, grabbed my suitcase, and walked toward the door. Mark tried to stop me, but my parents held him back. Leo clung to his father’s leg. “Daddy, don’t listen to her! She’s just a housewife! She has nowhere to go without you! Grandma and Grandpa said she’ll come crawling back after a few days of being hungry!” While Mark hesitated, I walked out the door and didn’t look back.

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