Category: English

I was cuddling the little tabby cat I’d just rescued, burying my face in his soft fur, when a string of text suddenly floated in my vision: 【She has no idea, does she? That little furball is actually her ex-boyfriend.】 【Leo broke up with her because he’d just learned to shift into his human form and couldn’t control his… barbs. He was afraid he’d hurt her…】 【Tsk, tsk, the poor guy went away to practice for a whole year. Even his ‘equipment’ is much more behaved now.】 【If only she knew that her favorite flannel pajamas were already shredded to ribbons by a certain someone…】 【Can’t wait to see her crying and begging for mercy while Leo gets more and more intense…】 My eyes drifted down to the cat currently making biscuits on my chest. I snatched him up by the scruff of his neck. Sure enough, his little pink rocket hadn’t been retracted in time. Well, well. If he’s having that much trouble keeping it to himself, then maybe… I should take him to get the snip. Right now. 1 The cat struggled in my grip for a moment before going limp, staring up at me with a look of pure theatrical betrayal. If it weren’t for those ghostly comments, I never would have thought a cat’s face could be so expressive. Come to think of it, he did look a bit like my ex-boyfriend, Leo. Especially that accusing glint in his eyes. It was the exact same look he’d give me whenever he came crawling back to apologize after a fight. But how could Leo be a cat? In the two years we were together, everything was normal—except for the fact that he never, ever slept with me. He had a respectable job; I’d even met his parents. Then he broke up with me by vanishing into thin air. To this day, I still don’t understand how a living, breathing person could just ghost someone so completely. I even filed a missing person’s report, half-convinced he’d been kidnapped by a backwoods cult. And now these… whatever they are… are telling me he’s not just a man, but some kind of cat-shifter? A cold dread crept up my spine as I replayed the last few days in my head. When I was on the toilet, he’d lounge by my feet. When I took a bath, he’d hop right in and paddle around. When I slept, he’d find the warmest spot right in the crook of my neck. And don’t even get me started on the relentless biscuit-making on my chest. If he really was Leo… My gaze turned sinister as I looked at the tabby, whose ears were now flattened against his head in the classic “airplane” mode of feline terror. I grabbed him and stuffed him into the pet carrier. There was one way to find out for sure. A little trip to the vet should clear things up. 2 I hummed a cheerful little tune as I drove, while the cat huddled in the corner of the carrier, letting out a series of high-pitched, pathetic mews. It was a sound so saccharine it could give you cavities, and normally, I would have pulled over to comfort him. But now, all I could think about was him being Leo, and my teeth started to grind. He ghosts me without a word, and now he sneaks back into my life as a cat to feel me up? Oh, hell no. If he thought he was getting away with that, he had another thing coming. “Don’t you worry, Milo,” I cooed, giving the carrier a little shake. “After today, you’ll be able to start your new, carefree kitty life. Trust me, Mommy knows best!” The tiny body in the carrier went rigid for a split second. But he just stared at me with those wide, innocent eyes, let out a soft “mew,” and started to purr, a low rumble vibrating through the plastic. I hid a smirk. If he really was Leo, I wondered if he’d still be purring in a few minutes. The vet’s office was close. The moment I pushed open the door, the spectral comments flared up again. 【She’s really doing it! She’s going to get him neutered! Mia, you cruel, cruel woman! Leo’s family jewels are in danger!】 【Don’t just sit there, Leo, unleash your powers! Show her who’s boss!】 【I’ll bet a bag of tuna treats the King of the Shifters is about to have his cover blown!】 King of the Shifters? Him? Please. The young woman at the front desk smiled sweetly as I walked in. “Are you Milo’s mom?” she asked, her voice bright. “You’re here for the male neutering appointment you booked online, right?” I nodded, lifting the carrier. “That’s the one.” As the words left my mouth, the tabby’s head snapped up. Through the metal grate of the carrier door, I could see genuine, unadulterated terror in his eyes. The soft purring was replaced by a series of short, sharp hisses. His fur stood on end, making him look like a fluffy, electrified pom-pom, and his little paws, with their bread-roll toes, dug into the plastic floor in silent protest. 【Oh shit, Leo’s panicking. He’s finally panicking!】 【I can feel the terror vibrating through his very soul…】 【Snap out of it, Mia! If you actually get him fixed, think of all the fun you’ll be missing out on…】 【WARNING: SCALPEL AHEAD! HANG IN THERE, YOUR MAJESTY!】 The receptionist peered into the carrier at the bristling cat and giggled. “Oh my gosh, he’s so cute! Do you think he understands what we’re saying? He looks so scared. Aww, someone’s about to lose his little nuts…” A sharp hiss was her only reply. This just seemed to delight her even more. She reached out and poked one of his paws that was clinging to the grate. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. See? When you’re small and helpless, even your threats come off as adorable. 3 After a few minutes in the waiting area, a door to one of the exam rooms opened. A doctor’s deep voice called out. “Next, Ms. Thompson? You can bring the cat in now.” “Coming!” I chirped, feeling like a soldier marching into battle as I scooped up the carrier and headed in. The room was bright, clean, and smelled faintly of antiseptic. Dr. Evans, a kind-looking man in a white coat, adjusted his glasses and took the carrier from me. “Alright, let’s not be nervous. Let’s just take a look at the little guy and see how he’s doing.” The second he opened the door, the tabby shot out of the carrier like he’d been launched from a cannon. He did a few laps around the room, scrambling up the walls like a furry little ninja, before landing right next to my phone on the counter. His pink little paw pads started frantically tapping the screen. He’d already managed to type “9” and “1.” Ha… Was he actually trying to call the cops? I quickly snatched the phone and turned off the screen, giving him a tight, toothy smile. Dr. Evans, recovering from his shock, just chuckled. “Wow, what a spitfire. He’s certainly got good reflexes. The surgery should be no problem at all.” He called in two male assistants wearing thick, bite-proof gloves. The three of them cornered the cat with practiced ease and scooped him up. The tiny animal was pinned to the cold, metal examination table, letting out a series of blood-curdling screeches. His claws were fully extended, swiping wildly at the air. But he was just too small. He was no match for two grown men. He lay there like a furry, furious fish on a cutting board, utterly defeated. His amber pupils had contracted into thin, vertical slits, and his gaze was locked on me. I cleared my throat, pretending not to notice, and studied a chart on the wall. Whether Milo was Leo or not, getting him neutered was the responsible thing to do for any male cat. Dr. Evans seemed unfazed by the drama. He expertly began his examination. “He’s got quite the temper, this one. But don’t you worry, a male neuter is a very simple procedure. It’ll be over before you know it.” After the check-up, he picked up a clipboard. “Okay, Ms. Thompson, if you could just sign the surgical consent form, we’ll run a few pre-op tests and then we can take him in.” I took the pen he offered. As I did, my eyes met the cat’s pleading gaze from the table. Instead of feeling pity, a wicked little flame ignited inside me. Probably my inner troll taking over, but I leaned in close to the cat, who now looked more like a terrified little seal, and spoke in a low, deliberate voice, making sure every syllable landed perfectly in his furry little ears. “You know, Dr. Evans, when you do the surgery… could you make sure to get them… all of it? I just really, really don’t want him spraying. Ever.” The spectral comments went into a full-blown meltdown.

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Everyone in our world knew I’d been chasing Pierce Hayes since we were kids. When he went to boarding school, I followed. When he decided to master eight languages, I mastered eight languages. When he majored in finance, I declared my major in finance. It was an open secret, a foregone conclusion. The Prescott and Hayes empires were so deeply entangled that a union between us was not a matter of if, but when. Then, on our wedding day, on the way to the church, Pierce’s car took a detour. He drove straight to the airport and boarded a flight to save her—the ghost of his first love, the one that got away. Our entire childhood, a lifetime of shared history, became the punchline to the year’s cruelest joke. Dressed in a custom Vera Wang that cost more than a penthouse, I walked down that aisle and completed our lavish wedding ceremony. Alone. In the flood of press that followed, my name, for the first time in our lives, appeared before his. Fool, they probably thought. But men are a dime a dozen. A fully formed corporate empire? There’s only one of those. And I wasn’t just hungry for his body. I was starving for his kingdom. 1 Pierce’s plane was in the air, and I had locked myself in the bridal suite, allowing a single tear to fall. Beyond the door, I could hear my father’s rage, a storm of curses rattling the hallway. Mr. Hayes, his face a mask of fury, was barking into his phone, arranging for Pierce to be apprehended the second he landed. Two texts lit up my screen. The first was from Pierce: [Sloane, wait for me. I’ll make this right.] The second was a photo of him, sent from an unknown number. He was at the gate, head bowed, phone pressed to his ear. He was still wearing the custom Tom Ford tuxedo I had spent months agonizing over with the tailor. The silk tie I’d chosen, a deep charcoal gray, was hanging loose around his neck. His expression was tender, his eyes soft with an indulgence I knew so well, yet had never been directed at me. He was clearly murmuring reassurances to the person on the other end of the line. Anyone looking at him would have sighed and said that the girl he was comforting was the luckiest in the world. I zoomed in, studying his face for a long, quiet moment. It was a shame, truly. A waste. But I had given him a choice, and he had made it. The pieces were on the board. There was no taking the move back. I reapplied my makeup, smoothed down the silk of my gown, and gathered the ridiculously long train. Then I opened the door and faced the gauntlet of anxious, angry family members, a perfect smile fixed on my face. “The wedding,” I announced, my voice clear and steady, “will proceed as planned.” 2 It was three days before Pierce returned. For those seventy-two hours, I was a viral sensation. The tabloids, the financial news, every gossip blog online—they were all dissecting the story of Sloane Prescott, the heiress left at the altar who still went through with the entire, elaborate charade. Some lamented the cold realities of the ultra-wealthy. Some championed my resilience. And, of course, some reveled in my humiliation. Regardless, in the deluge of headlines, my name was finally billed before Pierce’s. To show the depth of the Hayes family’s apology, my father-in-law, Mr. Hayes, Sr., hosted an intimate dinner to personally make amends to my family. As wine was poured and courtesies were exchanged, the atmosphere finally softened. Mr. Hayes, Sr. raised his glass to me. “Sloane, this is from your father-in-law,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity. “You’re every bit your father’s daughter. Thank you. For your decisiveness, for seeing the bigger picture, for saving both our families from total disgrace. We wronged you, and I promise you, I will give you a full accounting for this.” I raised my glass, my eyes demurely lowered. Just as I was about to speak, the doors to the private dining room swung open. Pierce stood there, travel-worn and exhausted. My father’s face instantly darkened. He slammed his wine glass down on the table. The sprawling room fell silent. Mr. Hayes, Sr. shot a look at my father, then gritted his teeth and barked at his son, “On your knees.” Pierce walked, step by deliberate step, until he stood before my father. He gave a slight bow. “Dad,” he said, using the familial term, “I know what I did was wrong.” My father just grunted, refusing to acknowledge him. Pierce straightened up and placed a thick file on the table. “I’ve come to make amends,” he said. “While I was in the States, I acted as a representative of the Prescott family—as Sloane’s husband—and I finalized the partnership with the Blackwood Group.” 3 Prescott Industries had been chasing the Blackwood deal for six months. Every detail had been hammered out, but Blackwood kept dragging their feet on the final signature. We’d used every contact we had, but we couldn’t find a way to break the deadlock. My father had been losing sleep over it for months. I had to hand it to him; Pierce knew how to play the game. That contract was a monumental victory for my family’s company. My father’s anger was caught in his throat, a bitter pill he couldn’t swallow. He was trapped, unable to scowl at Pierce but unwilling to welcome him with a smile. Pierce stood before him, hands at his sides, eyes lowered, a faint, confident smirk playing on his lips. Mr. Hayes, Sr. let out a breath he’d been holding. He began to applaud. “Well, Robert,” he said to my father, “what do you think? My boy comes through, doesn’t he? Landed you the Blackwood deal in one fell swoop. That’s got to be worth something.” Following his lead, the other guests at the table began a hesitant, then more enthusiastic round of applause. The tension in the room began to dissipate. But you don’t get to publicly humiliate the Prescott family and expect to just wipe the slate clean, Pierce. My brow furrowed and I felt my eyes well up with tears. I walked over to him and looked him up and down. “Pierce,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “You’re still in the tuxedo from… from that day. Were you working so hard taking care of Miss Collins that you didn’t even have time to change?” The room went dead silent. The smile froze on Pierce’s face. I forced a brittle smile of my own and gently pushed him toward the door. “You should go home, get a shower, change your clothes. Get some rest. Don’t worry,” I added, my voice catching. “I’ll handle things here.” Behind me, a fist slammed on the table. I didn’t have to turn to know it was my father. “Stay right where you are!” Mr. Hayes, Sr. roared. “You’re not going anywhere!” The standoff was broken by a delicate figure bursting through the door and rushing between Pierce and me. “Please, don’t be hard on him,” she cried. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” 4 It was her. The reason for all of this. His sainted first love, Anna Collins. Even in the late autumn chill, she was wearing a thin, white cotton dress. Her frail body was trembling. In front of everyone, Pierce didn’t hesitate. He shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, pulling her into his arms. “I told you to wait in the car. Why did you come up here?” he murmured. “Are you cold?” Anna’s face was ghostly pale. She leaned against his chest, her eyes red-rimmed. “Pierce, please don’t fight with your father because of me. It’s not worth it. I don’t have much time left. I can’t leave you with a mess.” She’d barely finished the sentence before she was overcome by a wracking cough. Pierce’s brow knitted into a tight knot. Without another word, he swept her up into his arms. “It’s okay, Anna. I’m taking you to the hospital.” He started for the door, ignoring everyone else in the room, his head bent low as he whispered comforts to her. “Pierce Hayes! You stop right there!” His father was apoplectic. “If you walk out that door, everything this family has built will have nothing to do with you!” Pierce stopped. He turned, his gaze cold as ice as he stared down his father. “My biggest regret is letting you send her away all those years ago. You really think you can control me now like you did back then?” Mr. Hayes, Sr.’s face turned a mottled shade of purple, but he was rendered speechless. My father just shook his head. “It seems you’re no longer the one in charge of your own house, Edward.” Pierce’s gaze shifted to my father, a smirk touching his lips. “Robert, the first thing I did when I got back wasn’t taking Anna to the hospital. It was bringing you that Blackwood contract. That is the ultimate proof of my commitment to the alliance between our families. There are some things better left unsaid.” Then, he turned to me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Sloane, I promised I’d marry you, and I did. The title of Mrs. Hayes is yours. I guarantee you a life of comfort and luxury. But affection? Don’t ever expect that from me.” With that, he turned and carried Anna out of the room. As he left, she shifted in his arms, her head turning just enough to look back at me. Her lips curled into a tiny, triumphant smile. 5 Under the stunned gaze of our families, I finally let the tears fall. Pierce and I had grown up together, our lives intertwined like honey and oil. I was his shadow, following him everywhere. I learned languages, business, equestrianism, and wine tasting because he did. I had no hobbies of my own. Pierce’s hobbies were Sloane’s hobbies. Our families’ businesses had been inseparable for a generation. My father and his were partners, friends, rivals. Our marriage was the logical conclusion, a fact accepted by everyone. The only disruption to that perfect plan came in our junior year of high school, when Anna Collins transferred to our class on a scholarship. She was like a wildflower growing in the ruins—delicate but tenacious. She effortlessly captured Pierce’s pity, which quickly blossomed into affection. That budding high school romance was crushed before it could bloom. Mr. Hayes, Sr. intervened. Despite Pierce’s furious protests, Anna was sent to a school abroad, and his father made sure he lost all contact with her. After that, Pierce became quiet, withdrawn. He channeled his silent rebellion into work, quickly growing into a formidable force and shouldering the weight of the Hayes Corporation. When he proposed, I had asked him what he would do if Anna ever came back. His eyes, full of starlight then, had been fixed on mine, deep and sincere. “Sloane, she was just an insignificant detour. Mrs. Hayes will be you. It can only be you.” The ghost of his kiss on my eyelids that day still felt warm. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed. 6 I rarely cried in public. Seeing my tears was probably harder on my father than taking a punch. He lost all composure, unleashing a torrent of fury at Mr. Hayes, Sr. before my mother and he flanked me, guiding me out of the restaurant and back to my childhood home. I didn’t forget to take the Blackwood contract with me. Pierce never called. News of him and Anna came through my best friend, Chloe, my ever-reliable source for gossip. Anna had cancer. She didn’t have long, but she refused to be hospitalized. Instead, she made a near-psychotic demand: to live in the marital home Pierce and I were supposed to share. And Pierce, unbelievably, had agreed. Chloe was practically vibrating with rage on my behalf. “Sloane! Aren’t you going to do anything? Doesn’t this make you furious?” Furious? I paused my work, placing a hand over my heart and closing my eyes for a moment. There was a dull ache, but it was distant. Manageable. Seeing Chloe about to burst a blood vessel, I smiled and tapped her on the forehead. “The first payment milestone for the Blackwood deal is coming up. I need to stay on top of it. Money, my friend, is a hundred times more important than a man.” Chloe made a disgusted sound. “Oh, please, Sloane! You’re not exactly hurting for cash! Between the Prescotts and the Hayeses, you could buy a small country!” She looked like she was about to faint from secondhand frustration, so I decided to throw her a bone. “Don’t worry,” I said calmly. “This isn’t over. Anna Collins will be coming to see me very soon.” 7 As I predicted, my complete lack of reaction to her provocations made Anna impatient. She sought me out. We sat in the cafe on the ground floor of the Prescott Industries building. I studied her for a moment before smiling. “You’re looking well, Miss Collins. It seems Pierce is taking excellent care of you.” She slid her hand across the table toward me. On her wrist was a familiar jade bracelet. “Recognize this, Mrs. Hayes? The Hayes family heirloom. If I recall correctly, Pierce gave this to you on the day he proposed.” She smirked. “It was pathetic, really, seeing it locked away in your safe, wrapped in velvet like some holy relic. All I had to do was admire it, and Pierce took it off your dresser and gave it to me. All you have is your family name, a title you use to chain him to you. Other than that, you have nothing. I, on the other hand, have everything but the title.” Her arrogance was almost comical. “Congratulations on living your dream, Miss Collins,” I said smoothly. “But there’s a small detail you might have overlooked, and I feel I should point it out. Mr. Hayes, Sr. sent you abroad all those years ago, and for a decade, you couldn’t reach Pierce no matter how hard you tried. Have you ever wondered who, precisely on the eve of my wedding, leaked the news to you? And why, after ten years of silence, Pierce’s number suddenly started working for you?” Anna froze. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “It couldn’t have been you. You’d have to be insane.” I leaned back in my chair, holding her gaze with a serene smile, and said nothing. She stared at me, and after a moment, a flicker of uncertainty—of fear—crossed her face. She was panicking. “Sloane, what is your endgame?” I laughed as if she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Miss Collins, you just called me Mrs. Hayes. Do you even need to ask? Obviously, I intend to defend my marriage and protect my husband. I spent more than twenty years positioning myself to marry into the Hayes family. Do you really think I’d just hand him over to you?” Anna’s face contorted with rage. She reached for her coffee cup, intending to throw it at me. I slid a document across the table and placed it in front of her. When she saw the letterhead and the words printed on it, the healthy color drained from her face, leaving it a stark, waxy white. “You… you…!” she stammered. “How do you have this?” I smiled, picked up my purse, and stood. “I’m not letting go, Miss Collins. May the best woman win.”

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Two hours before the quarterly performance reviews were posted, I saw my name on the layoff list in the system backend. The submission was from Ava, my direct supervisor and, for the last four years, my fiancée. A chill went through me. I called her. Her voice came through the phone, casual and unconcerned. “Oh, that. Ethan submitted it. He said he was just messing with you, seeing if you’d catch it before it went live.” She sighed, a little impatiently. “Just retract it yourself. It’s not a big deal.” Ethan. The fresh-out-of-college grad who’d joined the team three months ago and insisted Ava be his mentor. I stood there, phone in hand, and let out a short, bitter laugh. So the position I’d poured my life into for six years was nothing more than a game to them. A joke they could just toss around. The day I left, I packed my personal effects with a calm I didn’t feel. Ava grabbed my arm, her voice laced with a frantic edge I hadn’t heard in years. “I told you to retract the submission! Why are you actually leaving?” “Because,” I said, looking her straight in the eye, “I didn’t.” 1 The first time I saw my name on that list, I thought it had to be a system glitch. Just last week, going over my quarterly goals with Ava, she’d smiled and said, “You’re a lock for this review. Once it’s official, we’re getting married.” It was the plan we’d made four years ago. The moment I was promoted to department head, we’d use the bonus to finally buy the mermaid-style wedding gown she’d bookmarked and set a date. But now, the system displayed my employment status as “Pending Termination.” The submitter field was filled with her name, clear as day: Ava Reed. And in the comments section, a single, brutal line: ”Employee demonstrates insufficient role-adaptability. Recommend optimization.” If I hadn’t logged into the backend to double-check some data, I would have been blindsided when the official notices went out. I wouldn’t have even had a chance to defend myself. Taking a deep breath to quell the storm raging in my chest, I called Ava again. This time, her voice was sharp with irritation. “Ethan said he wanted to test your attention to detail. You know how important that is in our line of work, Leo.” A pause. “You can still retract it. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” My eyes were glued to the words insufficient role-adaptability. My throat felt tight. “Ava, this isn’t a molehill. A termination request has to go through an entire approval workflow. How did he even get your credentials to submit it?” The sound of typing on her end stopped abruptly. Her tone turned to ice. “God, Leo, why do you have to be so petty about everything now? Ethan just graduated; he doesn’t know all the corporate red tape. So I’m covering for him. What’s the big deal?” Her voice rose, shrill and painful through the speaker. “Why do you have to fixate on this? Are you going to report him? Can’t you show him a little grace? He’s all alone in this city, and as his mentor, it’s my job to look out for him. I’ve told you this a thousand times! Is that a problem? If you want to file a complaint, you can file one against me, too!” The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in my ear. I sat frozen in my chair, my gaze falling on the project binder at the corner of my desk, its margins filled with notes. Last year, when I was leading that brutal crunch-time project, Ava had stayed with me every night until the early morning hours. In this very binder, she’d scribbled, “Go Leo! We’re going to nail this.” And then there was the ring box tucked away in my desk drawer. I’d secretly bought her diamond last month for her birthday, waiting for this review to pass, for the promotion to finally be mine, before giving it to her. From college sweethearts to colleagues, we had been side-by-side. We’d squeezed onto crowded morning subway cars together, cooked instant noodles in our tiny studio apartment, and mapped out our entire future on late-night city streets. Colleagues always called us the office’s power couple. Our parents had met. The wedding was tentatively set for next spring. Everything was supposed to fall into place. But now, staring at the termination request on the screen, I felt every ounce of strength drain from my body. All I had to do was click the ‘Retract’ button, and my life would snap back onto its tracks. But her words—it was just a joke—were like a shard of glass lodged in my heart, and I couldn’t pull it out. A profound weariness washed over me, so heavy I didn’t even have the strength to lift my hand. 2 The office door creaked open, but I was still staring blankly at the screen. I looked up. It was Ethan, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand and a perfectly calibrated smile on his face. “Hey, Leo. I just finished my debrief with Ava. She mentioned you were in a bit of a mood, so I made you some coffee.” He approached my desk and set the mug down. His fingertips brushed the back of my hand—a fleeting touch he quickly retracted, looking down as if suddenly shy. “Ava said you might have misunderstood. I was honestly just joking around. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The steam from the coffee rose in a soft cloud, blurring the glint of triumph in his eyes. He’d been playing this game for three months. Acting the part of the earnest, respectful subordinate to my face, then running to Ava to whine about how I was “too demanding” and “not as understanding as she was.” I remembered Ava’s first impression of him. “This kid is too fragile,” she’d told me after his first day, when a client had yelled at him and made him cry. “I doubt he’ll even make it through his probationary period.” Then, last month, Ava had a sudden appendicitis attack on her way to a client meeting. I was on a business trip out of state. Ethan was the one who took her to the hospital. He stayed by her bedside for two days straight. After that, everything changed. Ava started bringing Ethan to high-level meetings. She assigned him key responsibilities on our most important accounts. At a team dinner, she’d even announced to everyone, “Ethan is like a little brother to me. I have to take good care of him.” The jokes started soon after. Colleagues would whisper that I was the “king in a coma,” and Ethan was the loyal brother-in-waiting, ready to claim the throne. I’d scowl every time I heard it. Ava would just laugh it off. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she’d say. “Leo and I are solid.” Now, I wasn’t so sure. She’d let him file for my termination and called it a joke. Seeing my silence, Ethan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a softer register. “Leo, I know you’re mad. How about I buy you dinner? As an apology.” Just then, Ava walked in, holding a file. “Ethan, I told you to wait for me in the conference room. What are you doing here?” Ethan immediately snapped to attention, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Ava, I just wanted to explain things to Leo. I was worried he was still upset with me.” The hardness on Ava’s face melted away. She walked over and patted his shoulder. “It’s fine. Leo’s not that petty.” She turned to me, her tone carrying a clear note of reprimand. “And you. Why are you getting worked up over a kid who just graduated? Ethan has already apologized. Can’t you be the bigger person?” Watching her shield him, I felt a surge of absurdity. “Ava, he abused your system privileges to file a termination request for a senior employee. That’s not a childish prank; it’s a serious breach of company policy.” I pressed on, the words tumbling out. “And for the last three months, he’s been bringing you breakfast every single day. He’s all over you in the office, and he stays in your office with you until midnight when you’re working late. Do you really believe that’s just a mentor-mentee relationship?” The color drained from Ethan’s face. His eyes welled up, and tears began to stream down his cheeks like broken pearls. “Leo, I didn’t… I just think Ava’s a great person, and I want to learn as much as I can from her…” Ava immediately stepped in front of him, her voice turning glacial. “Leo, what is wrong with you? Why have you become so cruel? Ethan looks up to you like a brother, and you slander him like this!” She let out a cold, humorless laugh, her eyes filled with disappointment. “I see what this is about. You’re not mad about the termination request. You’re just jealous that Ethan is younger than you, that he knows how to connect with people better than you do!” Her voice hardened into a weapon. “No wonder you haven’t been promoted all these years. With a mindset as small as yours, you’ll never make manager.” 3 That last sentence was a knife, and it found its mark. I never imagined Ava, of all people, would ever call me incompetent or small-minded. Not after all those years I’d spent taking on assignments in remote, undesirable territories just to build our savings, just to give her a better life. Not after all those nights I’d worked on proposals until my nose bled. She had seen it all. And now, she could dismiss it so easily. I stared into her eyes, searching for a flicker of the love I once knew, but all I found was a fierce protectiveness for Ethan and a weary annoyance with me. “So that’s who you think I am?” Ava looked away, her voice losing some of its conviction. “That’s not what I meant. I just think you don’t need to pick on Ethan.” Her gaze hardened again. “He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know any better. You should apologize to him, and we can all move on from this.” “Apologize?” I let out a laugh, hollow and full of self-mockery. “Let me get this straight, Ava. I’m the one who had a termination request filed against me, I’m the one being slandered, and you want me to apologize?” Her tone became rigid, a clear threat. “Leo, are you seriously going to fight me on this? Do you want this to affect our wedding plans?” The wedding. The word was like a needle to the heart. What was once my most cherished dream had just become her bargaining chip. Suddenly, the will to argue just vanished. I stood up and grabbed the cardboard box from under my desk. “There’s no need for that.” Ava stared, taken aback. She hadn’t expected this. “What does that mean? Are you quitting?” “Not quitting,” I corrected her, my voice even. “I’m being laid off. Since you think this is all just a joke, I’ve decided to play along.” With that, I turned and walked toward the door. Ava reached out to stop me, but I sidestepped her touch. The corner of my box hit the doorframe with a dull thud that echoed the beat of my own heart. Heavy, but somehow, free. Back at my desk, there was still an hour to go before the review results were officially published. A system notification was blinking on my screen: “Termination request will be processed at 18:00. Retract now?” I stared at the button for a long time before closing the window. I opened LinkedIn and started browsing for positions at firms nearby. My phone buzzed. It was a message from my buddy, Mark, followed by a video. “Leo. I’m at the downtown promenade. Just saw Ava with that Ethan kid. They’re buying matching bracelets.” The video was shaky, but clear. Ava and Ethan were standing at a jewelry kiosk. Ethan slipped a silver chain onto Ava’s wrist, then leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Ava laughed and playfully swatted his arm, her eyes dancing with a joy I hadn’t seen directed at me in a long time. Another text from Mark popped up. “Dude, now they’re going into a bridal shop! I just saw Ava trying on a wedding dress. Ethan’s standing there watching her with this look on his face… Leo, you need to get down here. Now.” My fingers hovered over the screen, suddenly ice-cold. So when she’d told me, “Once the review is official, we’ll go get the dress,” she had already been trying it on with someone else. My phone rang. It was her. I hesitated, then answered. Her voice was syrupy sweet, dripping with forced affection. “Leo, I’m sorry, my tone was harsh earlier. Don’t be mad. Please just retract the submission, and tonight we can go to that Italian place you love. My treat, okay?” I watched the video again, the image of her in a white gown, glowing under the boutique lights. “Ava,” I said softly. “We’re done.” There were a few seconds of dead silence on the other end, then a furious roar. “Leo, don’t you dare push your luck! You’re going to break up with me over this one little thing?” “A little thing?” I laughed. “You filing my termination is a little thing? You getting cozy with Ethan is a little thing? You trying on a wedding dress with him is also a little thing?” Her voice immediately shifted to panic. “How did you know… Ethan and I are just friends! We were just helping his sister pick out a dress, that’s all…” “Don’t,” I cut her off. “I don’t need your excuses. And I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.” I hung up and blocked her number. Then I blocked Ethan’s. Mark texted again to say Ava and Ethan were now fighting outside the bridal shop. Ethan had thrown something on the ground, and Ava had walked off in tears. I didn’t reply. I just kept scrolling through job listings. Outside, the sky began to darken. My colleagues filed out one by one, leaving me alone in the quiet office. The clock on my monitor ticked over to 18:00. A pop-up appeared: “Termination request has been processed. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.” I shut down my computer, picked up my box, and walked out. The evening breeze hit my face, cool with the last breath of summer. I took a deep breath. For the first time, a future without Ava didn’t seem so terrifying after all.

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On the third day of my business trip, I idly opened my boyfriend’s private Instagram account. He had posted something new just a few seconds earlier. **“Biggest regret in life might be meeting the girl you want to take care of forever, right before you’re supposed to get married.”** The caption was paired with a candid shot of a young woman in a floral sundress. Her name is Lily. She’s my boyfriend’s classmate from his undergrad days. Sweet, innocent, and ten years younger than me. 01 I stared at the screen, my mind going blank for a second. My boss, sitting next to me, nudged my elbow. “Daydreaming again? Pay attention, the clients are talking. Go over the proposal one more time; you’re presenting in five. You got this.” I quickly shoved my phone back in my purse and gave him a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna nail this.” After the meeting, my boss told me to grab a quick lunch. We were heading to the manufacturing plant for a site inspection in half an hour. I pulled out my phone to order something on DoorDash and saw the Instagram icon. I couldn’t resist. I tapped it open again. The post was gone. Just then, my best friend Megan called. “Dude, finally,” she said, her voice a dramatic rush. “You are not going to believe what I just saw.” “Your PhD-candidate boyfriend was at the grocery store with some young girl. They bought two huge bags of groceries, laughing and joking the whole time.” “I followed them. Subtly, of course. They went into your apartment building.” “Oh my god, he’s taking another woman into the condo you guys just bought together!” “Chloe, this is huge. Why are you so quiet?” I rubbed my forehead, a bitter smile on my face. “Meg, I’d love to say something, but you haven’t exactly taken a breath.” “Hold on, I took pictures. Sending them now.” My phone buzzed. A series of photos popped up. The angles were terrible—clearly spy shots—but the faces were crystal clear. The man, with his rimless glasses and handsome, scholarly look, was my boyfriend of eight years, Leo. And the girl… she was petite, radiating a youthful sweetness. Her name is Lily. A fellow student from his alma mater, from the same small town he grew up in. A senior at the local university now. “Did you see them?” Megan demanded. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s it?! Just ‘yeah’?!” My laugh was hollow. “What do you want me to say?” I could practically hear her cracking her knuckles over the phone. “You should be flying back here right now to key her car and make that asshole walk home in his boxers!” I massaged my throbbing temples. “First, I’m in the middle of a business trip. If this deal closes, I get a promotion. I can’t just leave.” “Second, we don’t know for sure if anything is actually happening. I could fly back and find nothing.” “And finally, even if they are sleeping together, so what? I go back and we have a huge, messy fight. Megan, breaking off an engagement isn’t like a normal breakup. It’s exhausting. This whole mess with him might make me cry, but my job just got me a big enough bonus for a new designer bag. You tell me which one’s a better investment.” Megan sighed. “I get it. I do. I just hate this for you. You’ve been with him for so long, supported him through two grad school applications, through his entire PhD program. You were cooking him special ‘brain food’ meals every single day while he was studying for his comprehensive exams. If he dares to cheat on you, I will personally ruin him.” “I know you’ve always got my back,” I said, forcing a smile into my voice. “I’ll bring you back something nice.” After we hung up, I just stood there. My nose started to burn, and I felt tears welling up. I squeezed my phone, forcing them back down. After a few minutes of deep breathing, I put on a smile, pulled out my phone, and ordered a salad. I needed to eat. I had a long afternoon ahead of me. 02 The trip was a huge success. We landed a major contract, and just like my boss promised, I was promoted to Director of Sales for the West Coast. Three days later, we flew back to San Francisco. As a reward, my boss gave me two days off and offered to have his driver take me home. I smiled and told him not to worry about it; my boyfriend was coming to pick me up. I stood at the arrivals curb with my oversized suitcase and called Leo three times. I sent five texts. No answer. The early March rain was cold, like icy needles against my skin. Defeated, I hailed a cab. I punched in the code to our condo and was hit by the rich aroma of a home-cooked meal. There were already four dishes on the dining table. Leo, wearing an apron, was at the stove. And on our new white sofa, a stranger—a man in his fifties—was asleep. He looked tired, his hair graying. A lit cigarette was perched between his fingers. A long column of ash broke off and fell onto our brand-new white shag rug. I slammed the door shut, startling him awake. He sat up, stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray, and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at the wedding portrait on the wall, then at me. “You must be…” The man stood up, smiling. “You’re Leo’s girlfriend, Chloe, right?” Leo heard the commotion and came out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. He looked surprised to see me. “You’re back already?” He walked over, completely naturally, and pulled my suitcase inside. “This is Lily’s dad,” he explained. He pulled a spare pair of men’s slippers from the shoe cabinet and placed them at my feet. “Lily’s mom is in the hospital right now, just a couple of blocks from here. Lily and her dad are taking shifts staying with her, so I told them they could crash here for a few days.” “I see,” I said flatly. Leo had to get back to the stove, so he rushed back to the kitchen. I wheeled my suitcase into the master bedroom. The heat lamp in our en-suite bathroom was on, and I could hear the shower running. The sound was like a punch to the gut. The water shut off. A moment later, the door opened. A young woman in cotton pajamas walked out, toweling her wet hair. Her face was fair and dewy, like a jasmine flower after a winter rain. It was Lily. She saw me and froze. “Ch-Chloe? I thought you were on a business trip.” Just like Leo. The exact same words. My eyes fell to her feet. She was wearing my pink, bunny-ear slippers. Lily shifted uncomfortably, taking a step back. “I don’t know if Leo told you, but my mom’s in the hospital. I couldn’t really shower there, so… I just borrowed your bathroom.” Just then, Leo’s voice called from the other room. “Dinner’s ready!” 03 There were four dishes and a soup on the table, a full-on home-cooked meal. All made by Leo. In eight years, he had never cooked a proper meal. The best he could manage was instant noodles. I had no idea he had this in him. The atmosphere at the table was painfully awkward. Lily and her father exchanged nervous glances and ate in silence. Leo put a piece of braised short rib on my plate. “How was the trip?” “Good,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back today? I would have picked you up.” “I called,” I said, chewing slowly. “You didn’t answer.” He paused. “Oh, right. My phone was charging in the other room. I was in the kitchen, I must not have heard it.” Another suffocating silence. Lily’s dad finally broke it with a cheerful, forced laugh. “Chloe, you’re a lucky woman. A guy like Leo, smart, thoughtful, and he can cook? They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.” I pulled out my phone and opened the HotelTonight app. “Sir, I’ve booked you a hotel. It’s very convenient, just a few minutes from the hospital.” The man slowly put down his chopsticks and turned his head away. Leo nudged my arm. “Her mom is getting out in a few days. Her dad is going through a tough time. It’s just for a little while.” I held up my phone. “I solved his tough time. He can stay at the hotel.” Leo’s face flushed with anger. “Do you have to make such a big deal out of this?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Do I? This is our condo, Leo. The place we’re supposed to get married in. We spent a year renovating it, another six months letting it air out. I’ve lived here for less than two weeks. My slippers aren’t even broken in yet, and you’re moving strangers in without even asking me?” He clenched his fists. “They’re not strangers! They’re from my hometown. Lily is my friend.” At that, Lily, who had been silent this whole time, put down her chopsticks. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.” Her eyes were red. She stood up and pulled on her father’s arm. “We shouldn’t have stayed here without asking you first. We’re very sorry.” She gave me a deep, formal bow. Her father sighed and bowed as well. The slump of his shoulders screamed of shame and humiliation. “We’re sorry, Chloe.” For a moment, my resolve softened. Was I being too harsh? Lily wiped a tear from her eye, her voice choked. “We’re so sorry for the trouble. My mom is still at the hospital… We’ll leave now.” Leo jumped up to stop them. “Lily, don’t cry. Chloe doesn’t mean it. She’s not kicking you out.” The last of my sympathy vanished. “Yes, I am. I don’t like strangers staying in my home.” Lily looked at me, then pulled her father toward the door to get their things. A few minutes later, they were ready to leave, suitcases in hand. Leo was still hovering, trying to apologize. “It’s still raining. Wait, let me grab a jacket for you. I’ll drive you. Just wait for me in the garage.” 04 After seeing them into the elevator, Leo came back into the condo for his car keys. He stood in the entryway, staring at me. I sat at the table, looking at the four dishes and soup, my expression calm. But under the table, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “Chloe, when did you become so heartless?” he demanded. “If you’re mad, be mad at me. Why did you have to humiliate them like that? Her dad is a taxi driver, a good, honest man. He was trying to hide it, but I saw him crying. You were so arrogant.” I let out a cold laugh. “Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me. If they had asked me beforehand, I might have said yes. But this is on you. You made a decision behind my back, and now you have to live with the consequences.” He was cornered, and it made him angrier. “Lily is so shy and sweet. She would never have the guts to ask you. Besides, it’s not a big deal.” Shy? Sweet? I remember about four months ago, it was around 11 PM, and Leo and I were about to get intimate. I had just gotten out of the shower. He looked at me with this awkward, apologetic expression and said he wasn’t in the mood, that he couldn’t… perform. He asked if we could just try another time. What was I going to do, force him? Half an hour later, I pretended to be asleep. He quietly slipped out of bed and went to his study. I heard him get on a video call. It was with Lily. “Which problem are you stuck on?” he asked her. “This one,” she said in this super sweet, girly voice. “I feel like I just can’t get my head around it. Oh no, I’m totally going to bomb the math section of the GRE.” “It’s okay,” he said, his voice incredibly gentle. “We’ll work through it step by step.” “Is Chloe asleep?” she asked. “I hope I’m not bothering you guys, asking for help so late.” “Not at all,” he said quickly. “She has a crazy work schedule. She was out like a light hours ago.” As he was explaining the problem, I saw him discreetly take a few screenshots of her on his screen. … I had tried to rationalize it back then. Eight years is a long time. People say there’s a seven-year itch. He’s only human. I could allow him a moment of weakness, a small crush. As long as he respected our relationship, as long as he stayed on the right side of the line, as long as he still loved me, I could let it go. But he kept pushing that line, further and further, until now, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Just look at the way he was looking at me now. Pure, cold indifference. 05 There was nothing left to say. Leo shot me one last glare, grabbed his keys, and stormed out. The apartment was finally quiet. I looked at the cold food on the table and let out a small, choked laugh. And then the laughter turned to sobs. I hadn’t had a single drink, but my head was spinning. I called Megan. “Hey—” I managed to get one word out before I broke down completely. “What’s wrong? Chloe, don’t cry,” she said, her voice instantly alert. “You’re home, aren’t you? Did you catch them? Did that bastard really cheat on you?” “Hold on,” she said. “I’m coming over right now.” “Don’t,” I managed to say. I told her everything that had happened. She listened patiently. “That son of a bitch!” she finally exploded. “He’s the one who screwed up, and he has the nerve to call *you* arrogant? What a scumbag.” “Do you think,” I said, my voice thick with tears, “that all men just want someone younger?” “No,” she said firmly. “It means he’s a shallow asshole who doesn’t deserve a smart, successful woman like you.” I curled up in the chair and was quiet for a long time. “You know, I always just thought he was the typical nerdy, logical type. Too rational to be romantic.” “Two years ago, when I had the miscarriage… he made me chicken soup. He burned his hand doing it.” “I knew he just bought it pre-made from the grocery store, but I was still so touched.” “Then he had to go to a conference out of state. He asked me if I’d be okay by myself.” “I told him I was feeling better, that I’d be fine.” “So he ordered me a pizza on his phone, and he left.” “And then tonight… seeing him cook that whole meal, watching him chase after that girl…” “I realized it then. It’s not that the nerdy, logical guy doesn’t know how to be romantic. It’s just that his romance isn’t for me.” … I heard Megan light a cigarette and exhale slowly. “From the way you describe it, I don’t think they’ve slept together yet. Chloe, what are you going to do?” What was I going to do? I used to think that we would get married, and that would be that. Every couple has problems. And eight years… you don’t just throw that away. But now… the difference between being loved and not being loved was so painfully obvious. I couldn’t bear the thought of him sleeping next to me, making love to me, while thinking of another woman. “Megan,” I said quietly. “I don’t think I want to marry him anymore.” “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice gentle. Just then, my phone vibrated. A new message. It was from Leo. 06 **“Chloe, I’ve been thinking a lot. I can’t accept your arrogance and the way you treat people. Lily and her dad were my guests. The way you treated them was really a reflection of how you see me. I think we need to seriously consider if our values are even compatible.”** I read the text and laughed. A moment later, my phone rang. It was him. I told Megan I’d call her back and answered. “Hello, Chloe. It’s me.” “Lily is sitting right here next to me. She’s been crying this whole time. The phone is on speaker. I need you to apologize to her. Right now.” “If you refuse to apologize, then I think we need to seriously reconsider whether we should be getting married.” I paused for a beat, a cold smile spreading across my face. “Fine,” I said. “Then let’s not get married.”

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I was back at the Cavill Enterprises tech showcase. I knew Tristan would storm the stage crying plagiarism, but this time, I did nothing. Last time, his accusation wiped out ten percent of Cavill’s market value instantly. I was the one who stepped up, turned the scandal into a triumph, and boosted the company’s reputation. My reward? My fiancée Isabel framed me with fake evidence and had me imprisoned. The project I’d bled for was handed to Tristan on a silver platter. I screamed, demanding to know why. She looked at me with sickeningly sweet guilt. “Tristan came from nothing,” she said. “He needs this chance. I’ll marry you when you get out.” I appealed from my cell until I was beaten to death by inmates. This time, with no hero to save them, I watched as panic swept Isabel’s face. “Leo, do something!” she cried. 1 “Leo, did you hear me?” I was still frozen, the ghost of suffocation still clawing at my throat. Isabel’s hand clamped down on my arm, her nails digging into my flesh, and the sharp pain finally yanked me back to the present. The familiar scene of the launch event swam into focus, with Isabel’s frantic expression filling my vision. “Leo, the data was leaked! We’re being accused of plagiarism. You have a solution, right?” she pleaded, her voice a desperate hiss. “You managed this project from the ground up! You have to fix this!” I ignored the chaos erupting around us and forcefully shook her hand off my arm. “I managed the timeline,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “I don’t know the first thing about the science. What could I possibly do?” I let my gaze sweep across the panicked faces in the room. “Besides, only a handful of people had access to the final data. Who, exactly, was in a position to leak it and create this mess?” Isabel’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before she locked them back on me, her lower lip trembling. “Who leaked it doesn’t matter right now! What matters is surviving this nightmare. The marketing department has been pushing this for three years! We have contracts signed, partnerships on the line! It’s all turning to dust!” She mumbled on, her body trembling uncontrollably. The polished smile she wore for the cameras was now a grotesque, frozen grimace, drawing worried stares from everyone nearby. I watched her unravel, not with concern, but with a cruel, satisfying thrill. On stage, Tristan was in his element, radiating passion and conviction as he laid out his “stolen” research. He looked every bit the rising star of the tech world, a stark contrast to the woman who was slowly losing her mind in the front row. Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. In my last life, when Tristan had pulled this same stunt, I was the one who charged the stage. I debated him for nearly an hour, point for point, until I finally produced the original experimental drafts, proving him a fraud. We didn’t just avoid disaster; we ended up closing three more major deals that night because of the “drama.” But later, as the crowds cleared, Isabel had looked at me with pure disgust. “Tristan was giving the performance of his life, and you had to jump up there and turn it into a street brawl. Red in the face, shouting… you had no class at all, Leo.” A client had pulled me away before I could process her words, and I’d missed the simmering, intimate look she exchanged with Tristan. By the time my night was over, I found myself being sued by my own company for leaking proprietary data. Isabel stood against me in court. She produced documents I’d never seen—forged agreements, falsified bank transfers—that sealed my fate. When my appeals failed, she visited me in private. “Leo,” she’d whispered, her eyes wet with tears, “Tristan came from nothing. He needs this. Technically, I was the one who leaked the data. You’d go to prison for me, wouldn’t you?” Her tone was casual, as if asking me to pick up groceries, but her eyes were filled with a terrifyingly convincing devotion. “Don’t worry. The moment you get out, we’ll get married.” “You can forget it,” I’d spat back. “I’m not pleading guilty to anything.” Her expression had hardened instantly. She looked at me like I was an unruly child. Before I knew it, her security team had me bound and dragged away, claiming I was a flight risk attempting to flee the country. Just like that, I was in prison. And to add insult to injury, she transferred ownership of every project I had ever worked on to Tristan’s name. My entire career, my life’s work, became a footnote in his story. A joke. I refused to let it end like that. But my fight for justice ended with a shiv in a dark corner of the prison yard. It was only as I bled out that I learned the worst of it: my parents, trying to clear my name, had died in a “car accident.” Rage was the last thing I felt. White-hot, all-consuming rage. I had saved her company, and for a man she had known for less than three months, she had destroyed me and my entire family. So now, without me to ride to the rescue, I wondered: did she still find Tristan so dazzling? “Wait!” A shaky voice cut through the noise. “Tristan’s accusation of plagiarism is baseless!” I snapped back to the present. Isabel, her face pale as a sheet, was now on stage, dragging the lead researchers with her. For a moment, panic flashed in Tristan’s eyes, but he quickly replaced it with righteous fury. “Ms. Cavill! Are you going to lie to the very end? Every byte of that data, every single equation, came from my own two hands!” he boomed. “I have the original drafts right here! Your family’s money can’t buy my genius or my integrity!” He theatrically slammed a stack of yellowed papers onto the lectern, covered in a frantic scrawl of equations that captivated the audience. Isabel, speechless with fury, shoved one of her lead scientists forward. “Prove it! Prove to them this project was ours from the start!” But it was a fool’s errand. For efficiency, the project had been siloed. Each team worked on a separate module, completely ignorant of the others’ work. They were no match for Tristan, who, armed with my complete dataset, could speak with flawless authority on every single detail. Within ten minutes, her experts were stammering, defeated. The contrast was damning. A wave of murmurs and snickers rippled through the press corps. “Cavill Enterprises is a joke. A three-year hype train for a stolen project. How embarrassing.” “They couldn’t even hire a decent actor to defend them. Look at him, he can’t answer a single question. I’m cringing.” “I heard they leveraged this project to secure massive new contracts. That’s all going up in smoke now.” Camera flashes strobed across Tristan’s face, fueling his performance. He was the crusader, the righteous victim. Isabel just stood there, trapped in the spotlight, her face shifting between shades of crimson and ghostly white. Her research team had already slunk off the stage, abandoning her completely. Watching the beautiful disaster unfold, I felt a profound sense of release. Isabel and I had been inseparable since childhood, our engagement a forgone conclusion. I once believed that even if love wasn’t there, two decades of history had to count for something. But she had stabbed me in the back without a moment’s hesitation. Her eyes found mine across the room, pleading. I could see the stubborn pride in her posture, the way her body trembled on the verge of collapse. The old Leo would have rushed to her side. The new me simply gave her a slow, deliberate shake of my head, then stood up and walked out of the conference hall. On the way home, the news was already breaking, painting Cavill Enterprises as the laughingstock of the tech industry. I watched their stock ticker plummet in real-time on my phone’s screen, and without a second thought, I made a call. “Hello, I need to speak with my asset manager. I want to freeze everything under my name. Yes, all of it. As soon as possible.” Just as I hung up, my phone rang again. It was Isabel. I let out a sigh and answered. “Leo, honey, where are you?” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. “I need you. You’re the only one who can save me now!” “I’m on my way home,” I said, my tone flat, offering zero comfort. Her sobbing stopped for a beat, replaced by a surge of relief. “Okay! I’ll meet you there! Wait for me! Don’t you dare go anywhere!” By the time I’d finished my arrangements and arrived home, Isabel was already waiting on the couch. Sensing this was my chance, I pretended to answer a text, but secretly started a video recording on my phone. The moment she saw me, her impatient frown vanished, replaced by a dazzling smile. She jumped up, pulled me to the couch, and shoved a document into my hands. “Honey, sign this,” she said, her voice breathy. “You won’t let me go down for this, will you?” The words on top screamed at me in bold letters: CONFESSION AGREEMENT. I stared at the document in silence. I waited, letting the silence stretch until the smile on Isabel’s face began to crack. Then, I picked up the pen and signed my name. Relief washed over her face, though she quickly replaced it with a mask of worried devotion. “Don’t worry, Leo. This time, you’re taking the fall for me, but I’ll take care of everything. I’ll get you the best lawyers. And the moment you get out, we’ll get married!” She paused, adding, “And your parents, I’ll look after them…” “Don’t,” I cut in sharply at the mention of my parents. She carefully folded the agreement, her expression still a perfect picture of concern. “I promise, this will stay between us. It won’t be submitted until the hearing in three days.” Then, her tone shifted. “Leo… Cavill is in a really deep hole right now. I might need to… liquidate some of your assets to cover the losses.” “Do whatever you want.” It was all frozen anyway. She could try, but she wouldn’t get a dime. Overjoyed, she lunged forward to hug me, but I sidestepped her embrace. I was done with the charade. “I’m exhausted,” I said, faking a yawn. “I’m going to bed.” I turned to leave, but a man’s voice called down from the top of the stairs. “Bella, darling, I’ve got all my stuff set up!” I looked up. It was Tristan. He was standing there in one of my silk robes, a smug grin plastered on his face as he looked at Isabel. Isabel flinched, then quickly composed herself. “Tristan is getting swarmed by the press, Leo. It’s not safe for him out there. I told him he could stay here for a while,” she explained, her voice a little too high. “Besides, we need his cooperation to navigate the company through this. You understand, right?” Tristan sauntered down the stairs and wrapped an arm around Isabel’s waist, pulling her close. His eyes, fixed on me, were gleaming with open provocation. “Bella, I really don’t like the decor in this house. I’ve already drawn up some new designs. We can start renovating tomorrow.” This house… we bought it with the first real paycheck we ever earned. We had furnished it piece by piece, every item holding a memory. It was supposed to be our sanctuary. Isabel hesitated, glancing at me before shrugging. “You’re right, it’s outdated anyway. Whatever you want, Tristan.” The heavy scent of Tristan’s cologne was making me nauseous. I didn’t want to watch them anymore. I turned and headed upstairs. But when I pushed open the bedroom door, I froze. Everything was gone. All of my belongings had vanished. In their place were piles of luxury brand shopping bags and gadgets—all clearly belonging to a younger man. The large, framed engagement photo that hung above our bed was gone, replaced by a cheap, blown-up selfie of Isabel and Tristan. And tossed on the bed were several pieces of lingerie I had definitely never seen before. The air was thick with a cloying, unfamiliar scent. I lifted my phone and silently recorded everything. Just as I pocketed it, I heard footsteps approaching. “Leo, honey, your things are in the guest room,” Isabel said from the hallway. “You don’t need to sleep in the master…” She trailed off as she saw the state of the room, her eyes widening in feigned surprise, as if she had no idea what Tristan had done. Her gaze flickered to where our engagement photo used to be, a flash of awkwardness crossing her face before she coated it with that same, suffocating affection. “Leo, this was all Tristan’s idea. I just… given that he’s now the public face of the project, I thought it was best to…” Her voice dwindled under my dead, silent stare. I let out a short, humorless laugh and gestured to the lingerie on the bed. “Was this his idea, too?” Isabel’s face went white. “Leo, I swear, I didn’t know about this!” she insisted. “I’ve been running around all day trying to save the company! I just gave him a key! I had no idea he’d do all this! If you don’t want him here, I’ll tell him to leave right now!” “Don’t bother,” I said coldly, my eyes fixed on the fresh, angry-red hickey on the side of her neck. I went to the guest room. My belongings were dumped in a heap on the floor. Important company files were scattered about, some trampled with muddy footprints. Isabel followed me, with Tristan trailing lazily behind her. He saw the mess and a flicker of triumph crossed his face before he draped himself over Isabel, the picture of remorse. “Oh, Bella, I’m so sorry. I’m just terrible at organizing. I didn’t mean to make such a mess of Leo’s things,” he cooed. “But you know, coming from a small town, I’ve never even seen stuff this fancy before. I honestly didn’t know what to do with it.” His words melted her instantly. She hugged him back, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll buy you new things. Leo’s a good guy. He won’t mind, will you, Leo?” The last part was less a question and more a threat. I looked at the scattered files—all sensitive Cavill Enterprises business—and almost laughed. I walked to the door, and under Isabel’s wary gaze, I shut it in their faces. I pulled out my phone and checked the video. Perfect. It had captured everything. I couldn’t show my hand just yet. Untangling my family’s assets from Cavill Enterprises would take time. And I had to warn my parents, to make sure the tragedy of my past life would never be repeated. Around two in the morning, a video call came through. It was Isabel. I enabled screen recording before answering. The first thing I heard was her breathy, exaggerated moans. It was obvious what they were doing. Then came Tristan’s smug voice. “Does it turn you on, Bella? Knowing your fiancé is right next door?” “He loves me so much,” Isabel purred back. “He wouldn’t say a thing even if he knew.” “You’re a genius, getting him to take the fall for you like that. But… after he gets out of prison, are you really going to marry him? What about me?” “Hush, baby,” she crooned. “I was just saying that to keep him quiet. The moment he’s behind bars, I’ll be the one calling the shots out here…” “Hehe, I knew you’d take care of me, Bella.” I had what I needed. I ended the call. I immediately packaged the evidence and sent it to my parents with a detailed explanation, telling them to prepare for the storm. Once I knew they were on board, I pulled a worn business card from my wallet and dialed the number. “Ava? It’s Leo. I need your help. Can we meet?”

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The day my childhood sweetheart urged me to divorce my vampire husband, I started seeing the comments. They floated in the air like ghostly text messages, visible only to me. 【OMG, girlie, no! The second you sign those papers, the main characters are going to sell you off as a blood thrall!】 【Sweetheart, you have no idea. You’re about to abandon a Seventh-Order vampire lord to run off with that manipulative jerk?】 【NOOOO, MY SHIP CANNOT SINK! Can’t the female supporting character just… accidentally eat the divorce papers or something?】 The next second, with my vampire husband watching, I stuffed the entire document into my mouth and swallowed. I offered him a weak, sheepish grin. “I guess I was just… really hungry.” 1 Matthew Malins stared at me, his crimson eyes filled with a quiet confusion, trying to decipher my endgame. I suppose anyone would think I was insane. One second he was signing the papers, the next I was swallowing them whole. I guiltily avoided his gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “If I told you I lost a game of Truth or Dare with a friend, and the dare was to ask for a divorce and then eat the papers in front of you… would you believe me?” A fresh wave of comments erupted in derisive laughter. 【LMAO, she would’ve been better off saying she was sleepwalking.】 【Girl, you can’t just take advantage of the fact that he’s obsessed with you and treat him like an idiot.】 【If he actually believes that excuse, I will personally go wash my hair while doing a handstand.】 I wanted to hide my head under the table, to stammer out another, better excuse. But Matthew simply nodded, his expression calm. His tone even held a trace of guilt. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not feeding you enough.” He paused. “What would you like to eat?” Me: “Huh???” The Comments: 【WTF???】 【He is so ridiculously whipped for her!】 【I vote she eats his Adam’s apple!】 【Seconded! Just drink his saliva!】 A rush of blood went to my head, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I want to eat… your cooking?” Damn it. Those perverted comments almost led me astray. 2 Without a word, Matthew rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen. The black apron, cinched at his lean waist, gave him an air of domestic charm that was surprisingly potent. I found myself staring, mesmerized by his efficient movements. The summer air was thick and hot, and he casually undid the top button of his shirt. A single bead of sweat trickled from his temple, tracing a path down the elegant column of his throat. I had never realized how devastatingly attractive a man could be while cooking. Gulp. The sound of me swallowing was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. Matthew’s pointed ears twitched, and he glanced in my direction, a questioning look in his eyes. The moment our gazes met, my toes curled in my shoes with such intense awkwardness I could have excavated a new basement. Just then, my phone rang, saving me from my mortification. It was Alan, my childhood friend. “Elara? I thought we agreed I’d pick you up after you divorced him. Why did you suddenly change your mind? Are you really planning to spend the rest of your life with that… cold-blooded animal?” A loud crash echoed from the kitchen. My heart seized. I frantically lowered the volume on my phone. The comments were unimpressed. 【Why are you bothering? A vampire’s hearing is superhuman. He can hear you even if you whisper.】 【Girl, if you actually listen to this guy, you’re on the fast track to becoming a human raisin.】 【I’m just saying, if she were even a little nicer to him, he wouldn’t have ended up cradling her corpse in his coffin later in the story…】 My fingers tightened on my phone, a chill running down my spine. I raised my voice, making sure Matthew could hear every word. “Don’t you dare spread rumors! My hus-band and I are doing great, thank you very much! Next time, try shaking the empty space in your head before you talk to me. Hearing your whining gives me a headache.” 3 I hung up and, for good measure, blocked and deleted his number. Matthew was standing at the kitchen doorway, holding a plate, a stunned expression on his face. I forced a gentle smile, a stark contrast to my usual cold demeanor. He blushed, the color creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. “The green beans… they might be a little overcooked,” he stammered. “It’s fine! If you made it, I’ll love it.” The next second, I was staring at the unidentifiable black objects on my plate, lost in thought. 【Go on, girl, keep smiling. Why’d you stop? You just naturally hate smiling?】 【LMAO, he heard her say ‘husband’ and got so excited he added five extra spoonfuls of soy sauce.】 I gritted my teeth, speared a… bean… with my fork, and swallowed it whole. “Who said, ugh, these are overcooked? Gag. They’re… fantastic.” It turns out, you can’t fight biology. That night, I was struck with a severe case of nausea and stomach cramps. I distinctly remember Matthew staying by my side all night, but when I woke up, he was gone. 【No way, did he blame himself so much his psychic energy went into a feedback loop?】 【I mean, her blood is supposed to stabilize him, right? She should go to the basement!】 【Please, she hates it when he touches her. You think she’d willingly let him drink her blood? He always just endures it alone.】 The more powerful the vampire, the more susceptible they were to these violent psychic instabilities. If they lost control completely, they devolved into mindless, blood-crazed monsters. 4 When I reached the basement, I found Matthew slumped painfully beside an ornate, velvet-lined coffin. The moment he saw me, he flinched and pulled his jacket tighter around himself, looking like a startled animal. I reached out, wanting to stroke his hair. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was cold, sharp, and it stopped my hand in mid-air. In the year we’d been married, Matthew had never spoken a harsh word to me. The sudden distance was a shock. “You… you just snapped at me?” “I’m sorry, I—I just…” He instinctively moved to comfort me, but as he did, his jacket slipped, revealing his true vampire form. His inky black hair had turned a shimmering silver, and his eyes glowed with an eerie red light in the darkness. He quickly shrank back into the shadows, turning his head away. “Don’t… don’t look at me. I’m hideous…” I took a step closer, trying to soothe him. “No, you’re not. You’re beautiful.” The air was still for a moment. He looked up at me, silver bangs falling over his eyes, looking utterly fragile. His voice was low but certain. “You’re lying.” 【Sigh. A while back, she had a nightmare and stumbled in on his vampire form. She freaked out and screamed that he was a disgusting monster. He hasn’t let her see it since.】 【You can’t really blame her. She watched her mother get killed by a vampire. Anyone would have trauma from that.】 【Am I the only one who’s noticed his psychic energy gets unstable every time she wears that one specific perfume?】 【There are good and bad people, and good and bad vampires. I just wish she would stop being so cold to him.】 I fell silent. 5 Seeing Matthew’s pain intensify, I bit my own finger and held it to his lips. He pressed his lips together, resisting, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead from the effort. I cupped his cheek, my voice a low, coaxing murmur. “Be a good boy. Open up.” He stared at my face, a dazed look in his glowing eyes. Seizing the opportunity, I slipped my bleeding finger into his mouth. The moment the blood hit his tongue, his entire body went rigid. A wave of primal excitement washed over him, and he began to lap greedily at the wound. As he became lost in the sensation, a mischievous thought struck me. I slowly pulled my finger away and used it to tilt his chin up. “Say ‘Master’ for me.” He was hovering in a haze between lucidity and delirium. The corners of his eyes were damp, his voice hoarse. “M-Master.” “Good boy.” As a reward, I offered him my finger again. A moment later, comprehension dawned, and he flushed with a mixture of shame and annoyance, the tips of his ears turning a shade of crimson so deep they looked like they might bleed. But he couldn’t stop himself from gently nipping at my fingertip. If only I had a muzzle for him, maybe a leash… the possibilities were… intriguing.

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After my best friend got a boyfriend, she became a phone addict. One night, her 47th call made me miss a critical work alert, costing me my job. Yet she accused me of being jealous of her happiness. The next day, she “surprised” me by showing up with her boyfriend at my job interview, getting me disqualified. When my mother had a heart attack, her incessant calls caused my phone to crash—I missed the hospital’s update and never saw my mother alive again. At the funeral, she sobbed louder than I did, claiming it was her fault. Driven to despair, I jumped off a rooftop. When I woke up, I was back at the day she started dating him. 01 The name ‘Chloe’ glowed on my phone screen. Memories from my past life flooded back like a tidal wave. This was the first day she started dating him, and the first day of my nightmare. Taking a deep breath, I answered. “Anna!!! I have the most amazing news!” Her familiar shriek pierced my eardrum. “I’m in a relationship! It’s with Mark! You know, that gorgeous guy from the party last week!” “He just asked me to be his girlfriend! Ahhh, I’m going to lose my mind!” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “Anna, are you listening? Why aren’t you saying anything?” “I’m listening,” I said, forcing my voice to remain calm. “You’re not happy for me, are you?” Her tone immediately shifted to wounded. In my past life, this was where it all began. Every reaction, every word, was twisted into an accusation of jealousy. “Congratulations,” I said flatly. “That’s it?” she huffed, dissatisfied. “We’ve been best friends for ten years! Can’t you at least pretend to be a little more excited?” “Chloe, I’m at work.” “Work, work, that’s all you ever care about!” Her voice climbed an octave. “Is your stupid job more important than me getting a boyfriend?” I glanced at the project timeline on my computer. The proposal was due in three days. Last time, her endless calls had made me miss the deadline. “Chloe, can we talk tonight? I’m really busy right now.” “No! I need to share this with you right now!” “Mark just kissed me! In the middle of the coffee shop! Oh my god, my heart is still pounding!” “He said I’m the cutest girl he’s ever met!” “And he wants to take me to the movies!” I silently put the phone on speaker and continued typing. She rambled on for twenty minutes. Finally, I had to cut in. “Chloe, I really have to get back to work.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Then, a quavering, tearful voice. “Anna, you’ve changed.” “You used to be happy for me. Now, all you care about is your job.” “Is it because I have a boyfriend now? You don’t want to talk to me anymore?” The familiar guilt trip. Last time, I would have felt guilty. I would have apologized, dropped my work, and spent hours listening to her. Not this time. “Chloe, I wish you all the best. I’m hanging up now.” I decisively ended the call. The phone immediately rang again. I silenced it and focused on my work. Ten minutes later, a storm of texts. Chloe: “How could you hang up on me!” Chloe: “Anna, you’re being so unfair!” Chloe: “I thought you were my best friend, and this is how you treat me?” Chloe: “Are you jealous of me?” Chloe: “ANSWER ME!!!” I muted her notifications. By the time I left the office, I had 32 missed calls and 156 unread messages. I turned off my phone and went to the hospital to pick up my mom from her check-up. “Annie, you’re so early today!” my mom said, her face lighting up. “The project’s wrapping up. I’m taking you out for a nice dinner.” Last time, I was always late to see my mom because I was too busy managing Chloe’s emotional crises. This time, I was saving my time for the people who truly mattered. At 9 PM, I turned my phone back on. 78 missed calls. Over 300 messages. The latest one read: “Anna, Mark and I are downstairs. Come out and talk to us.” I walked to the window and looked down. Chloe was in a pink dress, nestled in Mark’s arms. The sight of them, so close, was like a needle in my eye. I drew the curtains and texted her back: “I’m asleep.” Her reply was instantaneous: “I can see your lights on! You’re just avoiding me!” “Anna, you get down here right now, or I’m going to keep ringing your doorbell!” Sure enough, the piercing buzz of the doorbell started, sharp and incessant. I picked up the intercom. “Chloe, if you press it one more time, I’m calling the police.” “The police?” Her voice crackled through the speaker, thick with disbelief. “I’m your best friend! You’re going to call the cops on me?” “It’s ten o’clock at night,” I said calmly. “You’re disturbing the peace.” “Disturbing the peace? I just want to see my best friend!” Her voice grew shriller. Then, Mark’s voice cut in. “Come on, babe, maybe she’s really tired.” “She’s not tired! She just doesn’t want to see me!” “I don’t care! She needs to come down here!” Chloe started throwing a full-blown tantrum. The doorbell ringing became more frantic. I disconnected the power to the doorbell and calmly dialed 911. “There’s someone causing a disturbance outside my building.” Ten minutes later, the police arrived. Chloe and Mark were taken to the station to give a statement. As they were led away, Chloe screamed at me, tears streaming down her face, “Anna! How could you do this to me? We’ve been best friends for ten years!” I closed the door, my face a mask of indifference. Ten years of friendship? Or ten years of me being her emotional support animal? 02 The next morning, my phone vibrated violently. A glance at the screen showed 48 missed calls. Chloe had been calling since 2 AM. I turned off the phone and got ready for work. As I opened the door, I found them standing there. Chloe’s eyes were red and swollen, Mark was in a crisp suit. “Anna!” Chloe lunged to hug me. I stepped aside. She stumbled, looking at me with wounded eyes. “Are you still mad?” “I didn’t mean to bother you, I was just so excited and wanted to share.” “We were at the station for three hours last night. I did a lot of thinking.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over so late.” As she spoke, the tears started again. Mark handed her a tissue. “Don’t cry, babe. Anna’s not the type to hold a grudge.” He turned to me. “Anna, Chloe is really sorry. She was worried all night that you were really mad at her. You two have been friends for so long, after all.” I checked my watch. “I have to get to work.” “Wait!” Chloe grabbed my arm. “Have you forgiven me?” “Let go of me first.” “Not until you say you forgive me!” “Chloe, I’m in a hurry.” “Then I’ll go with you!” she insisted, clinging to me. “I’ll drive you,” Mark offered immediately. I wanted to refuse, but Chloe was already dragging me towards the elevator. The whole ride, Chloe chattered nonstop. “Anna, you know what? Mark is so good to me.” “After we left the station last night, he wasn’t mad at me at all.” “He even said it was his fault for letting me go to your place so late.” “He’s honestly the kindest man I’ve ever met.” Mark caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Which company do you work for, Anna?” “Apex Tech,” Chloe answered for me. “She’s a project manager. She’s amazing!” “Impressive, making it to management at such a young age,” Mark said, his tone layered with something I couldn’t quite place. “It’s a shame she’s too busy to date.” “Anna’s 28 and still single!” Chloe said thoughtlessly. “My mom always says a woman’s priority should be her family. No matter how successful you are in your career, it’s pathetic if you don’t have a man to love you.” I stared out the window, not bothering to reply. As we neared my office, Chloe suddenly said, “Anna, let’s have lunch together!” “My treat, as an apology.” “I have a meeting.” “Then dinner! You have to be free for dinner!” “I’m working late.” “Anna!” She was on the verge of tears again. “You just don’t want to forgive me, do you? You’re still mad!” Mark pulled the car over. “We’re here.” I opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.” “Wait!” Chloe scrambled out after me. “When are you free? I really want to have a proper talk with you. It’s been so long since we just sat and talked.” I turned to face her. “Chloe, we’re adults now. I have my work, and you have your life. We can’t be joined at the hip like we were in school.” “But we’re best friends!” “And because we’re friends, we should respect each other’s lives.” With that, I walked into the building, the sound of her crying echoing behind me. For the next few days, Chloe left me alone. She sent a few texts, but they were just casual updates. I thought she had finally gotten the message. Until Friday afternoon. I was putting the final touches on my proposal when the office door swung open. Chloe walked in, carrying a birthday cake, with Mark trailing behind her. “Surprise!” she yelled. The entire office turned to look. “Anna! Happy birthday!” I froze. It was my birthday. But I never, ever celebrated at the office. “What… what are you doing here?” “Celebrating your birthday, of course!” Chloe placed the cake on my desk. “I remembered you love mango cake!” “Make a wish!” My coworkers started to join in. “Make a wish! Make a wish!” My team lead, Sarah, walked over, frowning. “Anna, what’s this?” “My… my best friend,” I managed, my face burning. “I’m sorry, I had no idea she was coming.” “Well, since it’s your birthday, cut the cake quickly,” Sarah said, glancing at the clock. “Don’t let it interfere with work.” Chloe had already lit the candles. “Hurry, make a wish!” With everyone watching, I had no choice but to close my eyes and pretend. When I opened them, I saw Chloe was livestreaming the whole thing on her phone. “Hey everyone! This is my bestie!” she narrated to her phone. “It’s her birthday, and I came to surprise her! Look! She’s so touched, she’s about to cry!” I snatched the phone from her hand and ended the livestream. “Chloe! What are you doing?!” “I’m capturing a beautiful moment!” she said, completely unapologetic. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime memory! Of course, I have to go live!” “This is my office!” I hissed, keeping my voice low. “You can’t just livestream in here!” “Why not?” she shrugged. “It’s not like I’m filming company secrets.” Sarah’s expression was thunderous. Mark finally stepped in. “Babe, maybe we should go. Anna still has work to do.” “No!” Chloe shook him off. “We haven’t even cut the cake!” She grabbed the plastic knife and sliced into the cake. A glob of frosting splattered onto my keyboard. “Oops, sorry about that,” she giggled.

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To enter Sterling City’s elite, I forged a new identity: Hope, the lost granddaughter of master Alistair Finch. My target was Andrew Burke, the city’s untouchable tech mogul. I buried my true self, polishing every rough edge until I was flawless as jade. It was the only way, I thought, to stand beside my radiant, distant moon. I believed if my performance was perfect, we could share a lifetime under that moon. Then I saw my ever-calm husband publicly explode over a wild-haired coffee shop girl, destroying a billion-dollar deal. I stayed to clean his mess at a gallery gala. But on the terrace, I overheard a world-shattering talk: “Andrew, your ‘artist’ wife is quite dutiful, playing nice with the sharks for you.” “She’s the perfect facade for my new-money mansion—a perfect fake.” “A painter from the projects… thinks mixing colors can hide her poverty?” Through the phone, Andrew’s lazy chuckle rang with amusement. He knew. He’d always known. He had been acting, too. 1 My heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water, the shock so cold it was numbing. “I heard that old mentor of hers, the one she supposedly learned from, is desperate for cash. Telling everyone he has a ‘star pupil.’ I give it three months before the whole story blows up. Then Mrs. Burke’s ‘art prodigy’ halo is going to shatter into a million pieces.” “I’ll bet a month!” That was Leo, Andrew’s childhood friend and a well-known gallery owner. “That forgery of Dusk Over Riverstone Ridge was damn good, I’ll give her that. But you can’t hide the soul of a craftsman. You see the way she pontificates about Rembrandt’s use of chiaroscuro? Like she’s cramming from a textbook, desperate to prove she’s read a book or two. It’s pathetic.” Andrew let out another soft laugh, his tone casual. “I’ll bet… a year. Her pride is her weakness. She’ll do anything to keep that secret buried, probably pay the old man off. It won’t be a problem, not for a while.” He sighed, a light, theatrical sound. “Old Mr. Sterling was so insistent I marry his granddaughter, that girl who can’t paint anything but pretty little flowers. I wasn’t having it.” “Then Hope showed up, right on cue. She’s a technician, not an artist, but her hands… her hands are magic. I needed a world-class forger to get Sterling’s Moonglow out of his vault. If she could paint me a flawless counterfeit, he’d be too distracted to meddle in my marriage ever again.” He paused. “And watching her try so hard, every single day, to play the part of the ethereal, secluded artist… honestly, it’s been quite amusing.” The blood froze in my veins. So, Andrew had known from the start. My talent, my skill, was nothing more than a tool for his elaborate heist, a performance for his entertainment. A burst of laughter echoed from the main hall. Andrew suddenly shushed them. Through a gap in a modern sculpture, I saw a young woman sitting on a bench in the lounge area, looking dejected. She was wrapped in Andrew’s cashmere coat, a piece that cost more than my first year of rent. The moment she looked up, Andrew silenced his friends. “Keep it down. Don’t bother her. She pulled three all-nighters for her graduation exhibit. She’s exhausted.” Leo clicked his tongue. “Seriously, Andrew? She’s a student. Her work is… juvenile. What do you even see in her?” Andrew propped his chin on his hand, his gaze fixed on the girl. “Unlike Hope’s work, which is technically perfect but has no soul, Zoe’s is real. An ordinary piece of paper comes alive under her brush. It’s that raw, unmarketable honesty… that’s what draws me in.” Just then, the girl, Zoe, stood up as if to leave. She carefully slipped off the coat and handed it back to Andrew. “Mr. Burke, thank you again for buying my painting at the auction. I promise I’ll pay you back…” “You don’t have to.” “No, I insist,” she said, her lip trembling with a stubborn pride. “I don’t want my first sale to be… charity.” A smile touched Andrew’s lips. He reached out, his finger lightly tracing a stroke of color on her canvas. It was a gesture of incredible tenderness. “Alright, alright, you win. How about this? Host a solo exhibition at my gallery. I’ll give you the main hall.” Zoe’s eyes widened. “But… I’m just a student. My work isn’t ready…” “Forget about résumés. You have a gift, Zoe. You’ll stun them all.” She hesitated for only a second before nodding. A sharp pain, like the edge of a palette knife, twisted in my chest. That main hall at Andrew’s gallery… it had been promised to me. The minimum requirement for an artist to exhibit there was a major international award. My artistic identity was a sham, but the smaller awards I’d won, those were real. I’d entered countless competitions, building a believable history to bolster the lie of my heritage. Andrew was often away on business for his art foundation in Italy. I was so afraid he’d find my knowledge lacking that I devoured books on art history, learned restoration techniques, and spent every spare moment haunting museums and libraries. And now I knew. None of it had ever mattered to him. I finally understood. You didn’t have to be perfect to earn his affection. You just had to be someone else. Andrew gently helped Zoe pack her art supplies. “My gallery always has space for a genius.” 2 Zoe beamed, a genuine, unburdened smile. Hidden in the shadows, my limbs grew numb. I felt like I was about to collapse. I stumbled back to the event organizer’s office. He was still hoping I could smooth things over. “Mrs. Burke, this is a very awkward situation for us. You see…” He gave me a strained smile. In the past, to expand Andrew’s network in the art world, I had endured so much. I’d sipped wine with greasy collectors, listening to their half-baked theories on art, and plastered a polite smile on my face. Not anymore. I wasn’t that fool any longer. I stood up and grabbed my clutch. “Mr. Davies, your business with my husband is your own to solve. I have other matters to attend to. You’ll have to excuse me.” I walked out of the gallery like a zombie, my body moving on autopilot, and returned to the Burke estate. Andrew’s mother was in the living room, perched on a rosewood chair, sipping a rare single-origin tea. She heard me enter but didn’t bother to look up. “The luncheon with the museum board tomorrow, have you confirmed the artist list for the dinner gala?” she asked, her voice crisp. “And for the biennial in Europe next month, the butler has emailed you the itineraries for our family friends. I expect you to arrange everything personally.” “Hope, we allowed you into this family to be its artistic face. You are expected to handle these duties flawlessly. Otherwise, what’s the difference between marrying you and some common craftsman from a print shop?” Craftsman. The word stabbed into my heart again. I stood silently at the entrance, then turned toward the staircase without a word. “Stop! Are you deaf? Or is all that supposed culture you affect just an act?” I paused on the first step, my back still to her. “Find someone else,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m tired.” Her stream of venomous words followed me up the stairs, but I tuned them all out. I slammed my bedroom door shut, the sound a welcome finality. Memories rushed back, and I suddenly remembered the first time I saw Andrew Burke. I was working my way through college as a dogsbody in a small gallery, restoring broken frames. It was my first glimpse into the world of high-end art, a world that made me feel small and crushingly poor. One day, I accidentally smudged the packaging of a client’s painting. He exploded. “Watch where you’re going, you clumsy little gutter rat!” he screamed, his finger jabbing at my face. “Do you have any idea what this is worth? More money than your kind will ever see in a lifetime!” I just stood there, a prisoner in the dock, apologizing over and over, my face burning with a mixture of humiliation and shame. Then Andrew stepped in, his voice as cool and smooth as silk. “It’s a decorative piece, hardly a masterpiece. Is it really necessary to terrorize a young woman over it?” The way he signed the check to cover the perceived damages—effortless, elegant, utterly dismissive—is burned into my memory. My heart had hammered in my chest. For the first time, I felt the chasm between our worlds. I was an art student, just like the names on the gallery walls, but because I was born poor, I was destined to be trod into the mud, a nameless craftsman. But I didn’t want to be a craftsman. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted a life that glittered. And I wanted the man standing before me. In that moment, a dangerous cocktail of desire and ambition gave birth to an audacious plan. I forged paintings. I wove lies. All for a ticket into the hallowed halls of the art world. All to stand beside him. And in the end, I succeeded. Only to discover it was all a game to Andrew. He didn’t love my perfect technique; he was captivated by the clumsy, amateurish scrawls of an intern. All because she was real. How utterly laughable. I picked up my phone and called my lawyer, telling him to draw up divorce papers. It was time to end this. I tossed and turned in bed for hours. Andrew didn’t come home until well after midnight. I could hear his mother’s muffled complaints from the living room before he came upstairs. He still smelled faintly of turpentine. The scent of Zoe’s studio. He unfastened his cufflinks as he spoke. “Mother said you were rude to her today. Go down and apologize later.” I lay still, my back to him. He gently patted my shoulder. “What’s wrong, darling? You seem upset.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. The same gentle touch, but this time, I felt nothing but cold. I forced my voice to be steady. “It’s nothing. I just don’t feel well.” “By the way, how did things go with the auction house?” “They’re not resolved.” Andrew paused for a second. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cut ties with them if I have to. The last thing I want is for you to be upset.” A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. I wanted to ask him, who was it he didn’t want to be upset? But in the end, I said nothing. “Okay.” 3 I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day when I went to the gallery, the girl was already there. Zoe. She was even prettier and more innocent-looking in person, like a wildflower that had never been tamed. She was also completely clueless about the business of art. At the exhibition planning meeting, she didn’t understand the basic principles of lighting design, and her curatorial proposal was a mess of incoherent thoughts. Andrew was notoriously demanding with his staff. But with Zoe, he was a bottomless well of patience. I held my tongue until the meeting was over, then followed Andrew to his office to discuss the next quarter’s exhibition schedule. Zoe offered to pour me a glass of water. Her wrist tilted, and icy water splashed all over my silk blouse, blooming into a dark stain. The documents on the table were soaked. I finally snapped. “What is wrong with you?” She slammed the glass down, her face a mask of defiance and stubborn pride, but said nothing. “Don’t you think you owe me an apology?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Her temper flared. “It was an accident! Why do you have to be so aggressive? Don’t think you can bully me just because you’re the boss’s wife.” Beside us, Andrew watched with an expression of pure admiration. So this was the raw authenticity he found so appealing. I was about to let her have it when he grabbed my hand, running interference for her. “She’s just a kid, Hope. She doesn’t have much experience. Let me apologize to you on her behalf, alright?” My heart stuttered. I pulled my hand away. The matter was dropped, unresolved. After we finished discussing work, I prepared to leave. Andrew cleared his throat. “I have a dinner meeting tonight. You go on home, don’t wait up for me.” I knew him too well. He had a tell—he always adjusted his cufflinks right before he lied. “Alright.” Back in my office, I got Zoe’s number from HR and sent her a friend request. Sure enough, just after eight o’clock, she posted an update to her story. Andrew was in the picture. They had gone to a gritty night market near the art academy. The background was a chaotic jumble of street food stalls. This was a man who drank only one specific brand of imported water, now sitting on a plastic stool, eating spicy street-side noodles with her. It was almost funny. I scrolled through her feed. The few posts she had were all about Andrew. [Turned twenty today, and Mr. V. got me my first set of expensive art supplies! But I still love my old brushes best, hehe.] [The big boss’s first time at the night market! He was frowning the whole time but still remembered to pick the cilantro out of my bowl for me!] The more I read, the tighter the knot in my chest became. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. My heart seized when I read the message. It was him… my old mentor, the one I’d cut all ties with. [Hope. You need to help me. You think just because you’re famous now, you can pretend I don’t exist?] [I’m rotting in a basement, and I swear I’ll drag you down from your pedestal with me!] [Don’t forget where Dusk Over Riverstone Ridge came from. Five million dollars, and I’ll keep your secret safe.] I didn’t reply. My hands trembled as I deleted the message. I suddenly remembered the bet Andrew and his friends made that night at the gallery. They were betting on how long it would take for me to be exposed. My old mentor was a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later, he would explode. But I was done living in fear. So I would be the one to light the match. 4 Andrew didn’t come home until the next morning. He gave a vague excuse about a business dinner that ran all night. But I’d already seen it on Zoe’s feed. There was no dinner. He had driven her out to her favorite spot for landscape painting. They had watched the stars and painted the sunrise together. At breakfast, my mother-in-law spoke up. “The Burke Foundation’s annual charity gala is approaching, Hope. It’s time you started the preparations.” The gala was their family’s most important social event of the year, attended by a who’s who of politics, business, and the arts. I listened as she droned on, then asked, “What date is the gala?” “The twentieth.” My phone was still vibrating. One threatening text after another. [You little bitch! If you don’t answer me, I’m coming to your house!] I hesitated for a moment, then typed a reply: [You want money? Meet me on the twentieth, at the venue for the charity gala.] 5 The days ticked by. The twentieth drew closer. For some, it was a date of dread. For others, a source of joy. Zoe’s social media was a daily diary of her time with Andrew. He skipped out of the office to help her find inspiration in the countryside. He spent a weekend with her at an artist’s market, hawking her little paintings that no one was buying, just to “experience life.” A picture showed the two of them squatting on a curb, sharing a single roasted sweet potato. Every post, every photo, was a poisoned knife twisting in my heart. The threatening texts from my mentor continued unabated. The language grew more and more vile. He called me a treacherous snake, a talentless copyist. He said I was destined to rot in a basement, a ghost painter for the rest of my life. The sealed-off memories broke open again. Him, drunk, tearing up a piece I had spent two weeks on. Locking me in a windowless cellar, forcing me to copy a painting for three days straight without sleep. Beating my hands with the wooden stretcher of a canvas, screaming that I had no real talent. My head felt like it was about to split open. The pain in my chest was so intense I was shaking. I had to dig my nails into my palms, breaking the skin, just to stay calm. The twentieth was almost here. Money couldn’t save me. The glittering dream couldn’t save me. To pull myself out of this swamp of lies, I had to rely on myself. And myself alone.

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My husband Leo’s car was blocking the neighbor’s driveway. I grabbed the spare key to move it. He had just left for a three-day conference in the city. I slid into the driver’s seat. The navigation screen was still on, displaying his recent history. One address had been searched repeatedly, and even saved as a favorite. “Annie’s Place: 7 Crescent Moon Bay, Unit 901” I scrolled through the history, my fingertips turning to ice. For the last six months, there were regular trips to that address, with the return time always logged after midnight. He’d told me he was working late, entertaining clients. I took pictures of everything on the screen, then dialed my father-in-law’s number. “Dad, Leo has been going to Crescent Moon Bay a lot recently. Do we have any relatives over there?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. When my father-in-law finally spoke, his voice was tense. “Don’t panic, Sarah. I’m on my way.” 1 Less than half an hour later, the doorbell rang insistently. My father-in-law stood on the porch, his usually immaculate suit jacket buttoned incorrectly. “Where is he?” he demanded, his sharp eyes scanning the room. I held out my phone, the screen facing him. “7 Crescent Moon Bay, Unit 901. Dad, do you know where that is? Leo told me he had work dinners every Wednesday and Friday.” His gaze fell to the screen, and his face turned ashen. He didn’t answer, but I saw his hand tremble slightly. “Maybe… maybe it’s a colleague’s place. He has a lot of young people in his department…” “Dad,” I said, taking my phone back and looking him straight in the eye. “What kind of male colleague would name his home ‘Annie’s Place’?” All the strength seemed to drain out of him. He sank onto the bench by the door and covered his face with his hands. “That bastard,” he rasped. “His mother mentioned something last month, said he was getting a little too close to a female coworker…” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Sarah, it’s my fault. I didn’t raise him right. I’ll handle this for you.” “Dad, this is beyond your control now,” I said, handing him a tissue. “I just want an explanation.” “What are you going to do?” he asked, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. “If this gets out, his career is over!” “Did he think about his career when he was doing this?” My voice was devoid of any warmth. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a scene at his office.” I walked over to the balcony. The city lights were just beginning to twinkle. “He’s away at a conference, right? That gives me some time to pay a visit to this ‘Annie’.” “No!” My father-in-law shot up and blocked my path. “It’s too dangerous for you to go alone! A woman like that, she’s capable of anything!” “What’s she going to do, eat me?” I said, looking at him. “Dad, I’m not going there to fight. I just need to see it for myself. I need the closure.” He stared at me, his expression a mixture of emotions. Finally, he sighed and dropped his hand. “Fine. If you have to go, I’ll go with you. I want to see what kind of trash he’s been messing with.” “You can’t come,” I said, stopping him. “If you go, are you going to disown him on the spot, or are you going to beg on his behalf? Either way, it will just escalate things and make him feel like we’re the ones cornering him.” “So what, we just sit here and do nothing?” “What does Leo care about most? His reputation. His position as a junior partner.” I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my contacts. “What do you think would happen if I anonymously sent his navigation history and the address of that apartment to the DA’s office?” “You wouldn’t dare!” He snatched the phone from my hand. “Do you want to ruin his life?” “He ruined my life first!” I stared him down. “Dad, what do you think his main competitor, that guy Mark, would do with this information? Do you think Leo’s promotion would still be a sure thing?” The color drained from my father-in-law’s face. His hand went limp, and the phone fell onto the sofa. I picked it up and put it back in my pocket. 2 “I’m not actually going to send it,” I said. “But Leo needs to understand that the thing he values most is now on very thin ice.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” “Crescent Moon Bay,” I said, opening the door. “Don’t worry, I’m not going inside. I just want to know the name of the owner of Unit 901.” “And then what?” “And then,” I said, pausing, “I found something else in his car.” I pulled up a photo of a crumpled receipt on my phone and showed it to him. “A receipt from a pharmacy last month. For prenatal vitamins.” “What?” He shot up from the bench, nearly losing his balance. “Sarah, what are you saying?” “He told me he was out of town with his boss on a business trip last month. Dad, who do you think he was really with at that prenatal appointment?” My father-in-law stared at the photo, frozen, unable to speak. I walked out, leaving his heavy, ragged breathing behind me. The elevator’s metal doors reflected my face—expressionless, but with eyes as cold as steel. My phone buzzed. A text from Leo: *“Made it to the hotel, babe. This conference is a big one. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”* I slowly typed back: *“Okay. I have some good news for you too.”* Charging over to Crescent Moon Bay without a plan would only tip them off. I called my sister, Claire. “Claire, I think Leo is cheating on me.” The other end of the line went silent. “Do you have proof? That scumbag!” I told her about the navigation history and the receipt. “Send me the address. I’ll have someone run a check on the owner, the property records, everything. What’s your plan? Are you going to confront him?” “No,” I said. “Not yet. I need to know who this woman is, and if he’s moved any of our assets. When I kick him to the curb, I want to make sure he leaves with nothing but the clothes on his back.” My sister laughed. “Alright, Sarah! Leave it to me. Owner’s info, building access records, financial transactions… I’ll get you everything. You just stay calm. Don’t let him suspect anything.” “He’s back in three days.” “That’s plenty of time. I’ll be in touch.” After I hung up, I went back into the living room. My father-in-law was still sitting there, looking like he’d aged ten years. “Sarah…” “Dad,” I interrupted, “stay out of this. And don’t tip him off. I’ll handle it.” He opened his mouth, then just waved a tired hand. The rest of the day, I acted completely normal. I even cooked dinner as usual. My father-in-law barely ate, his eyes constantly darting in my direction. That afternoon, a message from my sister came through. “Got it. The owner is Annie Wen, 26, single. She’s a VP at a consulting firm that works with Leo’s company. Parking garage surveillance shows her red car parked next to Leo’s every Wednesday and Friday night. The times match.” A few blurry but identifiable screenshots followed. It was him. And a photo of Annie, her arm linked through his, a triumphant smile on her face. I replied: “Keep digging. Especially the money.” I decided to take a drive to Crescent Moon Bay. I told my father-in-law I was just going for a walk. He just nodded, his eyes full of a complicated mix of emotions. I parked across the street from the apartment complex. A few minutes later, a flashy red Porsche Macan pulled up. The window rolled down, and it was her. Perfectly made-up, smiling as she talked on the phone. I watched her disappear into the underground garage, and I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. I texted my sister: *“I just saw her. I need you to check their shared expenses, any money he’s moved without my knowledge.”* She replied instantly: *“On it. I’ll dig up everything. Are you… are you holding up okay?”* I typed back two words: *“I’m fine.”* My heart was dead, but my mind was clearer than ever. Now, it was their turn to suffer. 3 I drove home, my face a mask. My father-in-law was waiting for me. “Sarah, did you… see her?” “Yeah, I saw the car,” I said, my voice flat as I took off my shoes. “I’m tired. I’m not eating.” I went into the bedroom and locked the door, collapsing onto the bed. The tears I’d been holding back finally came, soaking the pillow. Tears for the five years of my marriage, for the trust I’d so blindly given, for the promise of a life together that was now just a lie. When the tears finally stopped, I got up and splashed cold water on my face. My reflection stared back, eyes red and swollen. “Sarah,” I said to myself, “that’s enough. Tears are useless.” He would be back in two days. I opened my laptop and started organizing. The navigation screenshots, the owner’s information, the surveillance photos, Annie’s picture… I encrypted and backed up everything. Messages from my sister started rolling in. “Found regular charges at a high-end sushi restaurant. Every Wednesday or Friday, on Leo’s card.” “Annie posted a picture on Instagram of a new watch. Same model as the one you gave Leo last year, just a different color. The purchase date matches.” “No hotel records. Looks like the apartment is their main spot.” “Still working on the bank records. He’s being careful.” Reading through it all, my heart was numb. This wasn’t a one-time mistake. This was a second life he had carefully constructed. The next day, I went into his home office, pretending to organize his files. In a hidden compartment of his old briefcase, I found a flash drive I’d never seen before. I plugged it into my computer. It contained a single encrypted folder. I called my sister, and she had someone remotely crack it. Thirty minutes later, the folder was open. Inside were stock trading records. My sister called immediately, her voice tight with suppressed rage. “Leo has been liquidating a joint investment account. Over the last six months, he’s cashed out over nine hundred thousand dollars!” “The money was funneled through several third-party accounts and ended up with Annie!” “He used it for the down payment on the Crescent Moon Bay apartment! The deed is in her name!” My hand trembled on the mouse. Nine hundred thousand dollars. That was the money we had been saving to buy a bigger house. Any lingering hope I had for him died in that moment. That evening, I went to the supermarket and bought the freshest ingredients. My father-in-law watched me come in, laden with grocery bags. “Sarah…?” “Leo’s coming home tomorrow,” I said calmly. “I’m making him a welcome-home dinner.” My father-in-law’s lips moved, but no words came out. He just looked at me with a mixture of guilt and helplessness. All the pieces were in place. The evidence, the lawyer, and my own dead heart. Welcome home, Leo. He arrived the next afternoon. I was in the kitchen, the sweet and sour aroma of his favorite pork ribs filling the house. The table was set with all his favorite dishes. My father-in-law sat in the living room, pretending to read the newspaper, his eyes darting nervously toward the kitchen. The sound of a key in the lock. “Honey, Dad, I’m home!” Leo walked in, dragging his suitcase, a weary but happy smile on his face. He kicked off his shoes and headed straight for the kitchen, his arms open to hug me from behind. I picked up a platter of food and turned at the exact right moment, neatly avoiding his embrace. I smiled, a perfectly calibrated, welcoming smile. “You’re back. Go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” He seemed to hesitate for a second, but my movements were so natural, he didn’t question it. “Okay! It’s good to be home!” He walked to the table and reached for a piece of pork. “Wash your hands first,” I said, my voice gentle, betraying nothing. “Right, right, of course!” He went to the bathroom, humming happily. My father-in-law stood up and started setting out the rice bowls, never once looking at his son. The atmosphere at the dinner table was strangely harmonious. Leo was starving. He ate heartily, regaling us with detailed, witty stories about his “conference.” I listened quietly, smiling, nodding, serving him more food, playing the part of the perfect wife. My father-in-law barely touched his food, just stared down into his soup. When the meal was over, Leo leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “I’m so full! Nothing beats a home-cooked meal!” He looked at me, his eyes full of warmth. “Thanks, honey. You worked hard.” I put down my chopsticks, picked up my napkin, and slowly, deliberately, wiped my mouth. The smile on my face faded. I looked him straight in the eye. “Are you full?” I asked, my voice soft. “Huh? Yeah, I’m stuffed.” He was starting to sense the shift in the mood, his expression turning serious. “Good. Now that you’re full, let’s talk.” “Talk about what?” “Let’s talk about Crescent Moon Bay,” I said. “Number 7, Unit 901.”

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My boyfriend was a boy genius, cold and brilliant, with a pathological aversion to physical touch. We’d been together for years, but we’d never done any of the intimate things couples do. Not a single one. I’d convinced myself that was just his nature, and I was prepared for a life of platonic love. That is, until his birthday. I took a forty-hour trip in a cramped coach seat, all the way across the country, just to surprise him. And I saw him. Standing under a streetlamp. He was smiling as he gave the ponytail of the girl next to him a playful tug, then laced his fingers through hers. In that single, shattering moment, I decided I was done with him. “I don’t do sloppy seconds. Any man another woman has touched is dirty to me.” And the calm, self-possessed boy genius I thought I knew… finally broke. 1 It was the fourteenth day of the silent treatment between Jerry and me, and it was also his birthday. I clutched the gift I’d spent six months of part-time work saving up for and tried to rub some feeling back into my backside, which had gone completely numb after forty hours on a train. Two thousand miles, from my state university in the Midwest all the way to his prestigious campus in the city. Standing under a flickering streetlamp on the edge of the Blackwood University athletic fields, I couldn’t help the nervous flutter in my chest as I imagined his reaction. He’d probably be the same as always. Expressionless. A slight, almost imperceptible nod in my direction. That was just him—an automaton, seemingly devoid of emotion. I sighed, thinking back to what started our fight. Distant figures swam in the hazy light, and then I saw him, a silhouette so familiar it ached. I started forward, but then I froze. He wasn’t alone. A girl in a high ponytail and a sleek tracksuit was looking up at him, laughing at something he’d said. And Jerry… I don’t think I had ever seen such a relaxed, easy expression on his face. As the girl chattered away, he reached out and gave her ponytail a gentle tug. She let out a playful squeal and slapped at his hand. Instead of recoiling, he laughed and joined in her game, their movements light and carefree. The lamplight cast a soft halo around them, a perfect portrait of youth and beauty playing under the moon. It was a scene straight out of a rom-com, but it filled me with a cold, hollow dread. There was a reason for that. The very reason for our fight was Jerry’s… condition. He was the boy genius who’d made headlines back home, fast-tracked into Blackwood University at seventeen. Now, at twenty, he was already a rising star in his academic field. But geniuses have their quirks. Jerry’s was a pathological aversion to physical contact. He avoided all team sports, never took public transit. In middle school, he’d beaten a classmate bloody just because the kid had jokingly touched his hand. And I, his girlfriend, was no exception. We never kissed. We never hugged. We had never even held hands. Once, on our first anniversary, beneath a sky bursting with fireworks, I stood on my toes and stole a quick kiss on his cheek. His eyes remained as flat and calm as a frozen lake, but the way he instantly took a half-step back was a wound that festered for a long time. I always told myself, That’s just Jerry. But sometimes, a bitter resentment would bubble up. On Valentine’s Day, my roommate made her new relationship Instagram official. The picture of their clasped hands was flooded with hearts and congratulations. I couldn’t resist taking a screenshot and sending it to Jerry. I tried to make a joke out of it. Three years together and we’ve never even held hands. I must be one of a kind. His reply was a single, devastating letter. “K.” I was so hurt, I decided not to message him. Fourteen days of silence. And of course, he would never be the one to reach out first. In the end, though, I caved. Just like I always did. I convinced myself it was fine, traveled halfway across the country for him, only to be greeted by this scene. The disconnect was so vast it felt like the ground was splitting open beneath me. A motorcycle suddenly roared past, coming dangerously close to the girl. In a flash, Jerry’s arm shot out. He pulled her behind him, his hand firmly gripping hers. That protective, instinctual gesture was another knife in my heart. And at that same moment, his eyes lifted and found me, standing alone across the street. 2 His face remained a mask of indifference. His movements hitched for a fraction of a second, and then he started walking briskly toward me. The girl, Chloe, let out a little cry and tugged on the corner of his jacket. “Hey, Jerry! What’s the rush?” He didn’t pull away. He just let her hold on as he crossed the street. He stopped in front of me, his gaze traveling down to my worn-out sneakers. “What are you doing here?” The faint light danced in his dark eyes. Before tonight, I would have mistaken that for a spark of warmth. I tried to stretch my lips into a smile. It felt like pulling taffy. I held out the carefully wrapped gift. “Jerry. I came to wish you a happy birthday.” He reached for it, but Chloe’s voice cut through the air. “Oh my god, Jerry! We’re going to be late for our reservation! We have to go, now!” His hand stopped in mid-air. Pulled along by Chloe’s insistent tugging, he took a few steps before pausing and looking back at me. “Well? Are you just going to stand there? Come on.” My feet felt like lead as I trailed behind them, my mind replaying that scene under the streetlamp on a dizzying loop. I knew I was the third wheel, the awkward extra sitting in the front seat of the taxi like a piece of forgotten luggage. But how do you just give up on someone you’ve loved for so many years? From the back seat, Chloe’s cheerful chatter filled the car. She was talking about lab gossip, inside jokes I couldn’t understand. Jerry would murmur a soft response now and then, the atmosphere between them easy and familiar. I couldn’t help but remember. I used to love sharing little bits of my day with him, too. He never really responded, but I didn’t care. Then one day, as I was excitedly telling him about the stray cat that lived near my dorm, he cut me off. “Lily, do you have nothing better to do with your time?” I never bothered him with “pointless chatter” again. I never knew that he would listen so intently to someone else’s. My knuckles were white as I gripped the handle of the gift bag, the plastic digging painfully into my palm. A wave of exhaustion and sorrow so profound washed over me, I thought I might collapse. The taxi driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, noticing my red-rimmed eyes. He chuckled, trying to be friendly. “Hey, son, don’t just talk to your girlfriend back there,” he said, nodding toward Chloe. “Your little sister’s about to cry from being ignored.” The chatter in the back seat died instantly. My vulnerability exposed, I hastily wiped away my tears, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck. After a moment of silence, Chloe let out a soft, tinkling laugh. “Oh, I am so sorry. We completely forgot you were there.” She leaned forward slightly. “I’m Chloe Sherman, by the way. Jerry’s junior in the program. Though I skipped a grade, so we’re in the same graduate lab now. If all goes well, we’ll be doing our PhDs together, too.” She was still smiling, but there was a sharp, mocking edge to it now. “And you are? What school do you go to? Who’s your advisor? Published anything interesting? Funny, Jerry’s never mentioned you.” So this was Chloe. It was pathetic, I know, but I used to stalk the student forums for Jerry’s university. He was popular, a campus legend, and there were always threads about him. Since he never shared his life with me, it was the only way I could feel close to him. Her name, Chloe, always appeared alongside his. They called them the “Golden Couple of the Materials Science Department.” I’d even seen a photo of them. It was from some competition, the two of them on the winner’s podium, holding a trophy together, their smiles wide and triumphant. I’ll admit it. That picture made me burn with jealousy. The wind whistled past the car window. Jerry remained silent. He didn’t lift a finger to defend me against Chloe’s blatant provocation. “I’m Jerry’s… girlfriend,” I whispered. 3 The restaurant was an exclusive private kitchen specializing in fusion cuisine. A quick glance at the menu made my legs feel weak. Chloe ordered with the practiced ease of a regular. “The heirloom tomato tart, pan-seared scallops, and the duck confit for sure. Jerry loves those.” Did he? I had no idea. Before he was a genius, Jerry was just a kid from a normal family, like me. Our dates were usually at cheap noodle shops or diners. A real splurge for us was hot pot. I’d never even heard of a place like this. Chloe handed the menu back to the waiter. Just as he was about to leave, Jerry stopped him. “And add an order of the Nashville hot chicken. Extra spicy.” Chloe turned to him, her smile unwavering. “Jerry, I thought you never ate spicy food.” He just took a sip of his tea, offering no reply. But I knew. The person who loved spicy food wasn’t him. It was me. I felt that familiar, treacherous sting behind my eyes again. He always did this. Just when I was about to give up, about to walk away, he’d give me the tiniest crumb of hope to keep me chasing after him. Just like that night with the fireworks. After he’d flinched away from my kiss, he’d leaned in, just for a second, and pressed his lips softly to my hair. 4 The food was exquisite, but it tasted like ash in my mouth. After forty straight hours on a train, fueled only by a single pack of crackers to save money, my body was too exhausted to even feel hungry. Soon, the clock struck midnight. Chloe clapped her hands, and a group of waiters wheeled in an enormous, three-tiered cake. It was intricately decorated, with tiny fondant figures in lab coats dotting each layer. They must have been people from their lab. On the very top stood two figures, a boy and a girl, shoulder to shoulder, beaming. As the cake was placed in front of Jerry, Chloe began to speak. “Happy twentieth birthday, Jerry.” Her eyes sparkled as she pointed to the figures on top. “And here’s to us, reaching the summit together.” An entirely inappropriate toast. But that one order of spicy chicken had planted a foolish seed of hope in my heart. I prayed he would reject the cake, that he would say something, anything, to defend my place at his side. He just smiled faintly and thanked her. Then, he closed his eyes, hands clasped together, and made a wish. The candlelight softened the sharp, usually severe lines of his face. He had smiled more tonight than I’d seen him smile in all the years I’d known him combined. Was his wish about me? Or was it the same as Chloe’s toast—a wish for them to conquer the world together? They were geniuses. I was just an ordinary, broke student from a no-name college. The chasm between us had never felt so vast, so brutally real. I had my answer. The candles went out, plunging the room into darkness. And in that moment, my feelings for him dimmed, too. Chloe cheered and applauded. I forced a smile and clapped along weakly. She scooped a dollop of frosting with her finger and playfully smeared it on Jerry’s cheek. He just laughed, telling her to stop messing around. “Oh no, look what I did! I’ve ruined that perfect face of yours,” she giggled. “To make it up to you, I got you a proper gift!” 5 Like a magician, Chloe produced a large, sleek box from behind her chair and presented it to Jerry. The moment he opened it, my vision tunneled. I instinctively shoved the box at my own feet further under the table. Inside her box, nestled in black foam, was a brand-new, top-of-the-line laptop. It was the exact same one I had bought for him. “Your old one is so slow, Jerry. So, I got you a new one,” she said breezily. “I didn’t get anything too expensive, because I knew you wouldn’t accept it. Just picked one at random. You don’t mind, do you?” That laptop cost $1,299. To afford it, I’d spent six months tutoring. Every weekend, I’d take a two-hour bus ride to the other side of the city to teach, just because that tutoring center paid ten dollars more per hour than any place near my campus. The product of all my sweat and sacrifice, something I had treasured and protected… was just something she had “picked at random.” My hand, still holding my fork, began to tremble. Chloe’s eyes suddenly darted to me, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Oh, right! We haven’t seen what our guest of honor brought for Jerry yet.” Before I could react, she circled around behind me. Her hand shot out and snatched the box from under the table. I gasped and lunged for it, trying to get it back. The half-opened box slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor. The laptop—the one I had cradled in my arms for two thousand miles—hit the polished hardwood with a sickening, final thud. “Oops, sorry,” Chloe said. Her tone held not a shred of apology. I dropped to my knees, fumbling to open the box. The chassis was bent, the screen was a spiderweb of cracks. I pressed the power button. Nothing. Jerry knelt beside me, reaching out to help me up. “Lily…” For the first time all night, I heard a trace of guilt in his voice. I shoved his hand away and numbly placed the broken computer back in its box. Then, I stood up and walked out of the private dining room. The moment I was through the door, I broke into a run. “Lily!” Jerry’s voice, sharp with alarm, echoed behind me. 6 I wasn’t fast enough. He caught me just outside the restaurant’s main entrance, his fingers digging into my shoulders. He was panting, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps. I looked up, meeting his eyes. For the first time, I saw genuine shock in them. His hand trembled as he reached up and touched my cheek, his thumb wiping away a trail of moisture. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. So this is what it felt like to be touched by him. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Tears streamed down my face, soaking the collar of my shirt. Jerry tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming. Finally, in a move that stunned me, he pulled me into his arms. “Lily, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry…” he murmured, his voice laced with a frantic edge I’d never heard before. He repeated my name over and over again. In my moment of utter heartbreak, I had finally become his exception. But I was no longer the only exception. For all I knew, in all the moments I couldn’t see, he had been breaking his own rules for Chloe, time and time again. “Jerry.” I had been rehearsing this in my head for what felt like an eternity. When the words finally came out, my voice was shockingly steady. “Let’s break up.” He froze. When he pulled back to look at me, his eyes were filled with confusion. “Really, Lily? Over this?” A flicker of something—annoyance?—crossed his face before he sighed, a sound of weary resignation. “Lily, are you trying to get me to comfort you? When did you get so childish?” he asked, his tone flat. “This thing with Chloe… it’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand. Don’t make a scene.” He spoke as if I were a simple equation he could solve without effort, arriving at the perfect answer. He clearly thought I was too simple-minded to grasp the nuances of his relationship with Chloe, and that it wasn’t worth his time to explain it to a mere mortal like me. He just wanted me to stop being “childish” and pretend, like all the other times, that nothing had happened. Like a well-behaved pet. A hysterical laugh tried to bubble up, but it was choked off by a sob. Tears dripped into the corner of my mouth. I raised my hand, fully intending to slap him. But in that instant, all the strength drained out of me. My fingers just scraped across his cheek, leaving a thin, red line. “Jerry, you’re not a genius. You’re just an arrogant, self-righteous asshole.” He stood there, stunned, and slowly raised a hand to his face. Then, a strange look crossed his features. “There. Do you feel better now?”

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