Category: English

I was the backup plan for three different men. Number one was my childhood best friend. His heart still belonged to his high school sweetheart. Number two was the lead singer of an indie band. After we slept together, he lit a cigarette and said, “We’re still just friends, right?” Number three was my boss. He warned me with an icy stare, “Don’t get any ideas. I will only marry a woman from a family of equal standing.” Then, my mom started pressuring me to go on blind dates. Suddenly, my childhood best friend was at my door with a marriage license. The rock star was texting me, “I can’t live without you.” And my boss was on one knee, holding a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. Seriously? I thought we all agreed this was just for fun. * 1 My mom called, nagging me about another blind date. “I know, I know,” I said, trying to get her off the phone. “Just text me the time and place.” As I hung up, Alex came out of the bathroom. He had his beige cashmere sweater pushed up to his elbows, and in his hands, he was holding the underwear I’d left to soak. He walked across the living room and out onto the balcony to hang them up to dry. “Who was that?” “My mom.” He adjusted my lingerie so it would catch the morning sun, then turned to look at me. The soft light framed him in gold, making his amber eyes look like autumn leaves. “So you won’t be home for dinner tonight. I made fish and some vegetables. The fish is staying warm on the stove, and you can just microwave the veggies.” He pulled his sleeves down and ruffled my hair, a gesture that was almost painfully tender. “Don’t order takeout.” I mumbled something noncommittal as I watched him grab his bag and head for the door. I knew exactly where he was going. His one true love was flying in from London today. * 2 I lived with Alex. He treated me like a daughter, hand-washing my delicates, cooking all my meals. I didn’t have to lift a finger. But I wasn’t his girlfriend. He was waiting for Ava. Technically, that made me the backup plan. I used to have more self-respect than this. It’s all those cheesy YA novels’ fault. The ones about the quirky, average girl and the quiet, devoted boy-next-door who secretly loves her. I read one and thought, *Hey, that’s me and Alex.* We were childhood best friends, inseparable. He was kind and gentle, but I was the only one he was ever really close to. I was average in every way—looks, grades, personality. But he was always there, walking me to and from school, helping me with my homework, even bringing snacks for all my friends, telling them, “Please be patient with Rosie.” I let it go to my head. I was a teenager in love. I started keeping a diary, knitting him scarves, baking him cookies. Then came graduation night. Alex showed up at our class party with a bouquet of flowers and a gift. The private room at the karaoke bar was loud and chaotic, but when the boy in the crisp white shirt started singing a soft, romantic ballad, everyone quieted down. He finished the song, his voice full of a sweet, boyish sincerity that almost brought me to tears. “I just want to tell you,” he said into the microphone, his eyes scanning the room, “that I really, really like you—” I jumped to my feet. “I like you too!” I blurted out. “—Ava,” he finished. The room went dead silent. Every single person turned to stare at me. My face was on fire. “I have to pee!” I yelled, then mumbled, “Excuse me, sorry,” as I stumbled out of the room. When I came back, I peeked through the crack in the door. There they were, the beautiful class president and my handsome best friend, standing on the little stage. “Kiss her!” someone yelled. The boy in white leaned down, his voice soft and reverent. “Can I, Ava?” The girl blushed and nodded. I didn’t watch the rest. * 3 After that, I avoided Alex like the plague. He showed up at my house, and I tried to run. He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Rosie.” “I’ve always just thought of you as a sister,” he said. Oh, a sister? What kind of brother helps his “sister” with her homework with his face so close he can feel her breath on his cheek? He was a walking, talking mixed signal. But I was a master of saving face. I forced a smile. “Haha, it’s okay, Alex. You’re a great brother. Thanks for everything.” He just looked at me with those big, sad puppy-dog eyes of his. “So you’re not mad at me? You’ll stop avoiding me?” “Of course,” I said. Then I applied to a college on the opposite side of the country. See ya. * 4 For four years, Alex and I were “friends.” When he texted, he’d reply in seconds. When I texted, I’d reply in days. He said he’d visit during breaks, so I’d book a trip with my roommates. Then, the year after I graduated, he told me he was being transferred to my city for work. I was living alone, and I was not thriving. I was drowning in work, navigating a minefield of office politics, and I was exhausted. I had been up for two straight nights when I opened my door to find him standing there. My apartment was a disaster zone of takeout containers and scattered clothes. He was dressed impeccably, holding a bag of fresh fruit. His eyes landed on the dark circles under mine. He just smiled that familiar, gentle smile. “I knew you wouldn’t be taking care of yourself.” “What are you doing here?” I snapped, my patience worn thin. He just gently nudged me aside and walked in, heading for the kitchen to wash the fruit as if he owned the place. “I didn’t say you could come in,” I grumbled, following him. He just handed me a bowl of strawberries. “Sit. Eat.” Before I could protest, he started cleaning. The dirty dishes in the sink, the hair clogging the shower drain, the mess of tampons and pads falling out of my bathroom cabinet… Four hours later, I was sitting in my sparkling clean living room, the sun warming my skin. On the coffee table was a bowl of chicken noodle soup he had made from scratch. I looked up at him. He was still mopping the floor. He was wearing the silly teddy bear apron I’d bought as a joke, and it hugged his lean waist. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, catching the light. I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the deal, Alex?” He turned to me, his smile as warm as the sun. “Rosie, I’ve been taking care of you since we were kids.” “I’m afraid your girlfriend will come over here and murder me in my sleep,” I said. “Don’t drag me into your drama.” He flinched, the light in his eyes dimming. “Ava and I broke up a long time ago. She went to grad school in London.” I looked down at my soup and started to eat. I didn’t say a word.

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When I found out Jackson was cheating, we were both surprisingly calm about it. He stood there, shielding the girl behind him like some kind of hero. His voice was flat. “Don’t blame her. This was all me. I lost control. She’s innocent.” I just nodded. I got it. Later that night, Jackson came home and slid a folder across the kitchen island. Divorce papers. “I’ve been more than generous with the financials,” he said. “Take a look. If it’s all good, just sign.” I picked up the agreement, glanced at it, and then dropped it neatly into the trash can under the sink. I gave him my most understanding smile. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m not going to blow up our lives over something so trivial.” I mean, it’s just an affair. In the age of swipe-right and situationships, who hasn’t been tempted? God knows I haven’t always been a saint, so who was I to judge Jackson? 1 Jackson had a cigarette halfway to his lips. He froze, then slowly lowered it, looking at me like he’d never seen me before. I knew what he was thinking. This wasn’t the old me. Back in the day, I was the jealous type, the kind who’d check his phone. Jackson always had a magnetic pull on women, and even when we were crazy in love, he had to fend them off. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to be good for me; some girls just don’t care about a wedding ring. We used to fight about it constantly. But that was then. Maybe it was the years we’d spent together, the passion fizzling out into a comfortable, boring routine. Or maybe I just got older and too tired to fight. Our marriage had become like a placid lake on a windless day—not a single ripple. And when life gets too quiet, you start craving a little noise. “Jackson,” I said, leaning against the counter. “We’ve known each other for twenty years, been married for almost ten. The company is thriving. Our parents are practically best friends.” I let the words hang in the air. “Do you have any idea what a divorce would actually mean for us?” It would mean splitting assets, a move that would send our company’s stock into a nosedive. It would mean detonating a bomb in the middle of our two families. Our parents aren’t young anymore; they all have their health issues. A shock like that could be catastrophic. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he mumbled, “I was just trying to respect you.” “Your ‘respect’ involves getting a twenty-something pregnant and making me a cliché?” I shot back, my voice still even. He frowned, getting defensive. “She’s not just some ‘twenty-something’! And I told you, it was me. She knew I was married and tried to end it.” “I get it, you don’t have to explain,” I cut him off, deciding to just lay it all out. “You’re worried I’ll go after her, right? That I’ll use my position as your wife to make her life hell. Don’t be. If I have one virtue, Jackson, it’s that I can be incredibly generous.” He watched me, his eyes narrowed. “You’re really okay with this?” “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘okay’ with it,” I sighed dramatically. “But you two have found true love. That’s so rare these days. Who am I to stand in the way? Consider me a supporter.” 2 My little speech didn’t exactly win him over, but he knew I was speaking facts. He agreed to “reconsider” the divorce. For the next few days, he came home right after work. When his phone would buzz, he’d glance at me and silence the call. I made a point of being magnanimous. “Is that her? You should take it. Don’t let her feel ignored. If you can’t give her the title she wants, the least you can do is not make her feel like a secret.” He clenched his jaw, got up, and shut himself in the study. The closed door was a perfect metaphor for his heart. It hadn’t been open to me in a long, long time. Honestly, I understood. People are incredibly tolerant of those they truly love, and equally tolerant of those they feel nothing for. It’s the people they used to love that they become viciously cruel to. He must hate me right now. Hating me so much that sharing the same air in our living room was probably suffocating. And yet, here he was, playing the part of a husband every night, all because he was afraid of what I might do to his precious new love. Poor guy. What a trooper. That night, like every other night, I slept alone. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d slept together. In the beginning, I tried. I’d wear something sexy, make the first move. He’d always plead exhaustion. But please. Men can be eighty and still get a woman pregnant. They can be paralyzed from the neck down and still try to cop a feel off a nurse. I knew it wasn’t about being tired. He was getting his needs met elsewhere. But a woman in her thirties has needs. I was in my prime. So, I’d found a clean, discreet solution of my own. Just before bed, I got a text. “When are you going to divorce him?” “I told you, I don’t do this. I’m not the other woman. If you’re not leaving him, we’re done. Don’t contact me again.” I thought about his eight-pack and the things he could do with that body, and I licked my lips with a twinge of regret. A divorce was out of the question, but he sounded serious. I wasn’t going to beg. So, I just tapped his name and hit “delete contact.” Oh well. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Bye-bye. The next one will be even better. 3 Monday morning. Quarterly shareholders’ meeting. I hadn’t been to the office regularly since my miscarriage a couple of years ago. After that, I stayed home to “recover,” happy to just collect my dividends. But I never missed a shareholders’ meeting. There were a few new faces since my last visit, but my eyes landed on one immediately. A young woman in the corner, tasked with taking the meeting minutes. She saw me, and her eyes darted around the room in a panic before she shrank in her chair and stared at her notepad. I didn’t feel any animosity toward her. Mostly just a little… pity. She was the first one Jackson had ever brought into my world, right under my nose. But she definitely wasn’t the first one he’d slept with during our marriage. Jackson was usually so good at keeping his work and private life separate. The others were never allowed anywhere near the company. The way he defended her, the way he brought her into this sacred space… I had to admit, this time it really might be love. At ten a.m. sharp, Jackson walked in. But he didn’t start the meeting. A moment later, there was a low murmur outside, and the conference room door swung open. A man in a sharp charcoal suit strolled in. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, though his tone held zero apology. He walked right past everyone and took the empty seat next to Jackson. He must have felt my gaze because his cool, indifferent eyes met mine for a fraction of a second before flicking away. I smirked to myself. That was Caleb for you. A complete poker face. Especially in bed. The more intense things got, the colder his expression became. I think I might have a thing for that, though. The colder he was, the more turned on I got. “Chloe, who’s that?” the shareholder next to me whispered. “Caleb. He was our angel investor,” I explained quietly. “We wouldn’t have gotten the company off the ground without him.” “I’ve never seen him at one of these before.” “He owns a lot of things. We send him an invite every quarter, but he always declines.” “So why is he here now?” I smiled and shook my head. “No idea. Maybe he was bored?” 4 The meeting wrapped up around noon. I decided to stay and have lunch with Jackson. I was washing my hands in the executive restroom when his little girlfriend walked in. She saw me and her first instinct was to bolt. But she stopped herself, shuffled over, and stood with her head bowed. “Mrs. Davis,” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. I took my time, slowly drying my hands, enjoying the hum of the air dryer. The silence stretched, and she started to tear up, her shoulders shaking. Pathetic. “Mrs. Davis, I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I… I didn’t know he was married when we first met…” she sobbed. “I tried to leave him, I really did, but… but…” “But you’re just so in love with him,” I finished for her, pulling a silk handkerchief from my purse. I gently tilted her chin up and dabbed her tears with a patronizing sort of pity. “The thought of leaving Jackson felt like a knife in your heart, a fate worse than death.” I continued, my voice soft and sweet. “So you had to stay. And then he brought you into the company, so you could finally be with him every single day. Am I getting it right?” I’d stolen all her lines. She just stared at me, too stunned to even cry. “Was there something you wanted to say to me?” I asked her. The office building was huge. If she’d really wanted to avoid me, it would have been easy. The girl’s motives were so transparent it was almost cute. “Mrs. Davis… you’re so smart, and beautiful, and you have everything… so… so could you please… just divorce him?” She knew how pathetic she sounded, because the tears started flowing again. “I have to ask. I… I’m pregnant.” “Does Jackson know?” I asked, my voice perfectly level. She nodded. “But he said you won’t agree to a divorce. Mrs. Davis, the baby is innocent… I grew up in a broken home. I just… I really want to give my child a complete family!” Her voice rose with rehearsed desperation. “Call me shameless, call me a homewrecker, I don’t care! I will do anything for my baby!” I offered a small, serene smile. “I see. You should stop crying. It’s not good for the baby.” “Thank you! Thank you for understanding!” she gushed, and actually started to bend her knees as if to kneel. But when she realized I wasn’t moving to stop her, she froze in an awkward, mid-curtsy squat. I glanced at my watch. It was past lunchtime. No wonder I was starving. “Jackson and I will discuss the divorce,” I said, patting her shoulder as I breezed past her. Jackson’s office was spacious. When I pushed the door open, he was in the middle of a conversation with Caleb. He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, perfect timing. Caleb, it’s been a while since you and Chloe have seen each other, right? Let’s all grab lunch.” It hadn’t been that long, actually. We’d just slept together last week. Caleb’s eyes flicked over to me. “It has been a minute,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I was actually going to text you both about lunch today, but it seems Chloe deleted my number?” “No way,” Jackson said, immediately grabbing my phone off the desk and scrolling through it. His face fell. “Huh. You’re not there.” “She must have deleted it by accident,” Jackson said, rushing to my defense. “Chloe never deletes anyone.” “It’s fine. We can fix that now,” Caleb said, holding out his own phone with his contact QR code already displayed. He watched, stone-faced, as Jackson used my phone to scan it and send a new contact request. I subtly rolled my eyes. And who was it, exactly, who swore last night we should never speak again? 5 Just as we were about to leave, there was a timid knock on the door. It was the little girlfriend, clutching her stomach and looking pale. She needed to leave for the day. Technically, she should have gone to her direct supervisor. But when you’re the boss’s darling, rules don’t apply. So, naturally, Jackson had to take care of her. Which meant Caleb and I were left to go to lunch alone. As I left, Jackson gave me a pointed look. “Be nice to Caleb,” he mouthed, “Apologize for deleting him.” They used to be best friends, I’ll give them that. Caleb’s seed money was what started everything. But we’re not college kids anymore. We’re in a different league now, and things get complicated. To show just how sorry I was, the moment we were inside Caleb’s black sedan, I offered my wrists to him. He wordlessly took off his silk tie and bound them. His expression was ice. “So ruthless,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Just delete me like that.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You think you can just come and go as you please? Walk in and out of my life whenever you feel like it? What do you take me for, Chloe? Your dog?” The car’s windows were tinted, but we were still in the company’s parking garage. The familiar setting, the risk, sent a jolt of electricity through me. “You love him that much?” he sneered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You know he’s been screwing her for months, and you still won’t let him go?” He pulled me onto his lap so my back was against his chest, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look out the front windshield. Just then, the elevator doors slid open. Jackson emerged, his arm wrapped protectively around his little lover, his face a mask of tender concern. He was obviously taking her to the hospital. Caleb’s grip tightened on my jaw. “Tell me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. “What do you think he’d do if I rolled down the window and said hello right now?”

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1 My husband, Daniel Vance, and I had been at each other’s throats since we were old enough to walk. In preschool, he knocked over my lunch, so I locked him in the bathroom. In grade school, he tripped me during gym class, knocking out my front tooth. Later that day, I tied his shoelaces together. We both went home toothless. In high school, he went after the prom queen, so I reported him for cheating. When I started hanging out with the resident bad boy, he spent weeks trailing us with the dean of discipline. I went to college overseas just to get away from him. He, apparently, had the same idea. We met on the first day of orientation. Somehow, we still ended up married. A twisted arrangement where he publicly chased another woman while I drowned my sorrows over the one that got away. I thought we could continue like that forever—two separate, miserable people sharing a last name. Until he took the girl and stole the specialist appointment I had fought tooth and nail to get for my Liam. My Liam, the love of my life, died because of a delayed treatment. That’s when I understood. There would be no peace between us. Daniel and I were destined to be each other’s personal hell, a living, breathing punishment for one another until the very end. I watched as Liam’s body was pushed into the incinerator, turned to a scoop of ash. I held his urn and buried him myself. Staring at his brilliant smile etched onto the cold stone, the grief I’d been suppressing erupted, a tidal wave threatening to drown me. I collapsed before his grave, tears falling like broken pearls, striking the marble one by one. I traced the outline of his photograph on the headstone, sitting there from dawn until the sky bled to black. “Liam,” I whispered, my voice raw, “I have to go now. Someone has to pay for this. Don’t be in a rush to move on. You wait for me. Once I’ve made them pay, I’m coming to find you.” With one last, reluctant look, I left the cemetery. I would get justice for him, no matter the cost. Even my own life was a price I was willing to pay. The grief in my heart had curdled, hardening into a white-hot rage. Liam didn’t have to die. I had practically crawled on my knees to secure an appointment with the world-renowned Dr. Alistair Finch, only for Daniel to use his authority as my husband to steal it. He gave it to his precious little girlfriend for a common cold. By the time I found out, Dr. Finch had already left the country in a fury. All I could do was hold Liam in my arms as he took his last breath. I slammed the accelerator to the floor, driving like a soul condemned, the speedometer needle trembling at its limit. I dialed Daniel’s number. He answered instantly. “Maya,” he drawled, “finally ready to cry uncle? If you get on your knees and beg, I might just find it in me to forgive you. I might even help out that worthless bastard of yours.” His mocking voice crackled through the phone, followed by a chorus of jeering laughter from his friends. “Sis-in-law finally breaking? See, what’s the point of being so stubborn? Just say you’re sorry. We’ll all be witnesses for you!” “Hey, Maya, bring a good bottle of scotch, will you? Show us you’re sincere.” “And don’t forget a gift for our sweet Chloe. Otherwise, that dying loser Liam can forget about getting any help from our boy Daniel.” The last of my sanity incinerated the moment they said his name. “Fine,” I bit out, my voice raspy. “The address.” He gave it to me. I hung up. The roar of the engine was a symphony with the frantic drumming of my heart. I screeched to a halt in front of the private club, snatched a security baton from the guard post, and stormed toward their private room. I kicked the door open. My eyes met Daniel’s, his gaze lazy and indifferent. “Well, well, Maya. Where’s the gift for Chloe?” Carter, the one who had called Liam a dying loser, sauntered toward me with a smug grin. I lifted the baton and brought it down on his head with all my strength. Blood gushed, a geyser of red. “Maya, you’re insane!” 2 He shrieked, but before anyone else could react, I had Chloe by the hair. She’d been standing to the side, a smug smirk on her face. Not anymore. I swung the baton again, burying it in her stomach. She let out a piercing scream. Only then did Daniel seem to snap out of his stupor. He shoved me away, hard, and gathered Chloe into his arms protectively. “Maya! Have you lost your mind? You’re like a rabid dog, attacking everyone you see!” he snarled, his face contorted in disgust. I ignored his venom and walked toward him until I was standing toe-to-toe, my knuckles white on the baton’s grip. “You’re right, Daniel, I am insane. I went insane the moment you and this bitch stole Liam’s last chance to live.” At the mention of Liam’s name, Daniel let out a short, cold laugh. “Him again? That spineless parasite who lives off women? Did he run crying to you? He’s really mastered the art of being a leech, hasn’t he?” My hand flew, the crack of my palm against his cheek cutting him off mid-sentence. “You don’t get to say his name. You murderer.” The slap finally broke through his arrogant calm. He stood, his eyes blazing, and jabbed a finger into my shoulder. “A bastard. Why can’t I say his name? Have you forgotten, Maya? You are still my wife.” He grabbed me, his grip like iron, and forced me to the floor. “Now, my dear wife, apologize to my sweet Chloe. If you’re good, maybe I’ll be in a generous mood and help that bastard of yours live another day or two.” I struggled, but he was too strong, pinning me to the floor like a dog at Chloe’s feet. A slow, chilling smile spread across my face. “Alright, Daniel. If you can save Liam, I’ll get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness.” His expression darkened for a split second before returning to a mocking sneer. “Good. Let’s see just how far you’re willing to go for that piece of trash.” The moment he released me, I lunged. Not to beg, but to kill. I tackled Chloe to the ground, my teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her neck, aiming for the artery. I wanted to tear her apart. Daniel roared with rage, yanking me off her and throwing me across the room. My head slammed against the floor, but I felt no pain, only a savage, exhilarating joy. A low giggle escaped my lips as I watched Chloe sob in terror, blood streaming down her neck. Daniel stalked over, grabbed me by the collar, and hauled me to my feet. His deep-set eyes were glacial. “Maya, you just don’t know when to quit! Fine. You want to play this game? Strip. Get on your knees and beg Chloe for forgiveness while you’re naked.” “Or else…” I wiped the blood from my lips—her blood—and met his gaze without flinching. “Or else what?” I grabbed his tie and pulled him close, my lips brushing his ear. “You’ll kill me?” A flash of fury crossed his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace Liam had given me, dangling it in front of me. My breath hitched. I lunged for it, but he was faster, grabbing my throat with one hand while the other held the necklace just out of reach, taunting me. “You want it?” he purred, his eyes glinting with malice. “Do as I say.” “Daniel,” I hissed, “have you sunk so low that you’ve become a common thief?” I had torn our home apart looking for that necklace. The guilt of losing it had kept me awake for nights. And all this time, he had it. It was one of the few things I had left of Liam. It was everything. “We’re married, darling. How can it be stealing?” he smirked. “Strip naked, apologize to Chloe, and I’ll give it back to you. Simple.” His hand tightened on my neck, his voice a soft, intimate whisper. I closed my eyes, the humiliation a bitter pill. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Daniel’s lips thinned into a hard line. He sat on the sofa, his expression unreadable, and watched me, rubbing the necklace between his fingers as a silent threat. I walked over to Chloe and, without hesitation, pulled off my shirt. The cold air hit my bare skin, and I shivered. I took a deep breath and unzipped my pants, letting them fall to the floor. Jeers and lewd comments filled the room. “Damn, Maya’s crazy, but look at that body.” “Tsk, tsk… if she wasn’t Mrs. Vance, I’d have to get a piece of that…” Their words were disgusting, but they couldn’t touch me. Nothing could. My hands went to the last piece of my clothing. Suddenly, Daniel shot to his feet. “Enough!” He strode over and grabbed my face, his voice laced with a raw, violent disgust. “You make me sick, Maya.” “Apologize to her like this. The sight of your body is making me ill.” He threw me to the ground. I crawled to Chloe’s feet and knelt. “I’m sorry.” My hands were clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I was apologizing to Liam’s murderer. The shame and rage made me tremble. “Daniel, I’m scared,” Chloe whimpered, her body trembling like a delicate flower in a storm. “Louder!” Daniel roared at me. “On your knees! Bow your head and apologize!” I swallowed the fury that choked me and slammed my forehead against the floor. “Chloe, I’m sorry!” When I looked up, my eyes met Daniel’s. They were dark, unreadable pools of contempt. “You really do love that bastard, don’t you?” he sneered. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I want to give this back to you after all.” And with that, he threw the necklace out the open window. “No!” A raw, agonized scream tore from my throat. I lunged for the window, a moth drawn to a disappearing flame. “Maya!” 3 The chain brushed against my fingertips. For a split second, joy flared in my chest, but it was extinguished as Daniel’s hands clamped around my waist, yanking me back into the room. I watched it fall, slipping through my grasp just like Liam had. “No! My necklace! Give it back!” I thrashed like a wild animal, forgetting we were eleven stories up, my only instinct to reach for the plummeting piece of silver. I lunged for the window again, and again he pulled me back. He spun me around, his face a mask of dark fury, and slapped me across the face. “What is this, Maya? Some tragic performance for my benefit? Playing the heartbroken lover?” he snarled, his nose brushing against mine. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the desolation that crushed me. I slid down the wall, the grief I’d been holding back finally breaking through. Sobs wracked my body, torn from the very depths of my soul. A warmth settled on my shoulder. Daniel’s voice was stiff, unnatural. “Maya… stop crying. It’s just a necklace. I’ll buy you another one.” I looked up, my eyes bloodshot, and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You make it sound so simple, Daniel! We were supposed to stay out of each other’s way! Why did you have to interfere? Why did you have to take his chance to live?” “Why?” My voice was a broken, animalistic cry. “I’m your husband, Maya! Have you forgotten?” he shot back, his own eyes red-rimmed. “You crawl on your knees for that bastard, get yourself beaten and bruised for him! What about my reputation? My pride?” “My husband? Don’t make me laugh, Daniel!” “And what about her? You made headlines buying out an entire auction for her! You used my dignity as your personal doormat! What about my pride?” We were two warring nations, launching volley after volley, giving no quarter. “Chloe is different,” he finally said, his lips a thin, hard line. “So is Liam!” “Don’t you dare compare that trash to Chloe!” “He is not trash! He was your brother! Your own flesh and blood!” Daniel ripped my hands from his shirt. “Enough, Maya.” He straightened his collar and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “It was just a stupid necklace. If you don’t want me to replace it, go ask that bastard to get you a new one.” He fumbled with his lighter. I staggered to my feet, tears streaming down my face. “He’s dead.” “He can’t give me anything ever again.” Daniel froze. The lighter in his hand clicked four times before a weak flame sputtered to life. “Dead?” he said, his voice muffled by a cloud of smoke. “Good. Dead is better. Cleaner.” His words were hollow, empty. I wiped the tears from my face. In that moment, I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone in my life. I didn’t want his casual dismissal. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to feel the same gut-wrenching agony that was tearing me apart. I walked through the smoke until I stood directly in front of him. A twisted smile played on my lips as I gently tapped his abdomen. “Did you know? The kidney in your body right now? It was Liam’s.” “He didn’t want you to feel guilty, so he never told you. The man you despised most in the world… he gave you your life.” I stared into his eyes, my own trembling, and watched his expression shift from blankness to disbelief, and finally, settle into a mask of pure agony. My smile widened. His pain was my only solace. “Why don’t you go and thank him in person?” I whispered, my voice the seductive hiss of a demon crawling from hell. Daniel’s gaze was deep and unsettling, a stagnant pool of despair. “Daniel, don’t listen to her lies!” Chloe rushed to his side, clinging to his arm. “It wasn’t Liam who donated the kidney! If it was, why didn’t he say anything that day, when you… when you had him beaten?” Her words were a steel blade, twisting in my already gaping wound. “What did you say?” My voice was a strangled, ugly sound. Daniel moved, shielding Chloe from my view with his own body. I lost control. I was a caged animal, throwing myself at him, my fists hammering against his chest. “He saved you! How could you beat him? He was dying, and you wouldn’t even let him go in peace!” “Why aren’t you dead? You should be in hell! You should all be dead!” I hit him, bit him, clawed at him, and he just stood there, his lips pressed together, taking it all without a word. Finally, exhausted, I slumped to the floor, my heart a hollow, aching void. “Daniel, I’m scared,” Chloe whispered. “I’ll take you home.” Daniel looked down at me, his expression conflicted, but in the end, he wrapped an arm around Chloe and walked out. The once-raucous room was now silent, leaving me alone with my grief. I swayed to my feet. Life felt pointless, but I couldn’t die. Not yet. Not while my enemies were still breathing. I ran after them, getting to my car first. The moment Daniel’s engine started, I floored it. I rammed their car with everything I had. I wanted them dead.

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My post-high school graduation trip with my childhood best friend, Ryan, was all planned out. Yellowstone. It was supposed to be epic. But as I was heading to the airport, I got a notification: my flight had been canceled. As I stood there, totally confused, words started scrolling across my vision, like comments on a livestream. 【Here we go! This is the part where the male lead, feeling sorry for the heroine who’s never been on a plane, cancels the side character’s ticket and gives it to her. The side character is about to totally lose it and have a huge fight with him.】 【Even when she buys a Greyhound ticket and finally gets there, the main couple will have already had a super romantic day together. They’ll be all over each other, and he won’t even have eyes for the side character anymore.】 【This is the fight that makes him realize how high-maintenance the side character is. Every time they argue, he discovers another amazing thing about the heroine. He pulls away from the side character, falls for the heroine, and boom, happily ever after. I ship it!】 【OMG, look! She’s about to text him! The drama is starting! Get your popcorn!】 I hesitated, my thumb hovering over Ryan’s contact. Should I text him? Before I could decide, my phone buzzed with a message from him. 【Hey Tatum. Winnie’s never been on a plane before, so I refunded your ticket and gave it to her.】 【Just buy a bus ticket and meet us there. We’ll wait for you in Wyoming!】 When I didn’t reply right away, another one came through. 【Are you mad? I know you’re not used to roughing it, you’re kind of a princess.】 【But Winnie can handle anything. Why is it always such a big deal with you?】 I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. The comments… they were all true. I bit my lip, opened the Greyhound app, and bought a ticket. Only, the destination wasn’t Wyoming. It was Denver. * 1 “Change of plans,” I told the Uber driver. “The bus station, please.” 【Weird. Why isn’t she fighting with him? If she doesn’t throw a fit, how is he supposed to get annoyed and see how much better our girl Winnie is? Ugh, she’s not following the script!】 【Right? She didn’t even text him back. And she bought a ticket to Denver? She’s just trying to make him feel guilty. What a classic mean girl move. No wonder he doesn’t like her. Growing up together means nothing!】 【Seriously, she’s the worst. Not like our Winnie. Winnie might not have money, but she’s strong and independent. A total girlboss.】 【This stupid side character needs to get with the program! Doesn’t she know she’s just an NPC? Her only job is to move the plot forward! How is Winnie supposed to shine if she has no one to contrast with?】 【OMG, switch screens! The main couple is checking in at the airport! Their sweet romance is about to take off in a few hours! Squeee!】 My grip on my phone tightened. Ever since Winnie transferred to our school, I couldn’t count the number of times Ryan had put her first and made me feel small. He always said she was strong and independent, that she knew the value of hard work because her family struggled. Meanwhile, I was just a spoiled princess who didn’t appreciate anything. We’d make plans to see a movie, and he’d cancel last minute. “Winnie said a $15 ticket is what she makes in three hours at her part-time job. She thinks it’s a waste.” “You should just go by yourself, Tatum. My parents work hard for their money, you know?” This from the guy whose parents had just bought him a $1,500 gaming laptop. Lunch for two became lunch for three. The grilled salmon and steak I ordered would somehow end up on Winnie’s plate. “You should eat more veggies, Tatum. You need to watch your figure.” I weighed 110 pounds. It went on and on. It got to the point where he even blew off my eighteenth birthday. I’d waited, refusing to blow out the candles until he showed up. Ten o’clock, eleven, then midnight. Not a single text. I tried to tell myself something important must have come up. Then I saw the video on someone’s Instagram story: Ryan and Winnie on his motorcycle, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as they tore down an empty street, laughing. The next day, all he said was, “Oh crap. I completely forgot it was your birthday.” The boy I grew up with was slowly being replaced, and there was always a Winnie-shaped shadow standing next to him. This trip was supposed to fix things. We’d planned it three years ago. Back then, his grades were terrible, and I was a shoo-in for the best magnet high school in the state. He begged me to go to the same public school as him, and like a fool, my heart melted and I agreed. He promised me then. After graduation, we’d go to Yellowstone. And there, under the big sky, he would officially ask me to be his girlfriend. We’d go to the same college, get married after we graduated. I actually believed him. For three years, I dragged his grades up from the gutter until he was getting the same scores I was. But ever since Winnie showed up, it was like I didn’t exist. He was tutoring her, taking her to do all the things she’d “never done before.” 2 He did well on his SATs, but not quite well enough for the top-tier schools. He just assumed I’d do what I’d always done: stick to our plan and go to the state university with him. He didn’t know I’d already accepted an offer from Georgetown, a thousand miles away. Honestly, giving up that magnet school for him was one of the biggest regrets of my life. After being left behind so many times over the past two years, I wasn’t that same girl who put Ryan before everything else. I was originally going to use this trip to tell him. To tell him that I was going to DC for college. But he ditched me first. For Winnie. 3 It was Ryan who broke our promise first. 4 Getting a last-minute flight to Wyoming in the summer is nearly impossible. Once Ryan canceled my ticket, there was no way I was getting another one. Even the bus tickets were selling out. Luckily, I used an app and paid a little extra to snag a seat to Denver. A nice one, too. I’d just settled in when a text from him came through. 【Tatum, you’re taking the bus, right?】 【Winnie says even though it’s a long ride, like, two whole days, the scenery is amazing. You don’t get views like that from a plane. You totally lucked out!】 I scoffed and put my phone on silent. No reply. To be honest, after he canceled my ticket, I thought about just going home. But after thinking it over, I decided to see it through. The trip wasn’t just about him. It was something *I* wanted to do, a step in my own life plan. I wasn’t going to let him ruin it. And stopping in Denver wasn’t a bad thing. I’d always wanted to see the city. This was the perfect chance. Still. He knew it was a grueling 40-hour ride. And he just went ahead and canceled my flight without even asking. He used my money, my time, my first-time-traveling-alone nerves, all to give Winnie her perfect first flight experience. Even though I knew I had to let him go, my chest still felt tight, a dull ache that wouldn’t go away. The comments flickered back into view. 【LOL, you gotta admit, the side character is obsessed. Even after getting ditched, she’s still chasing after him. Doesn’t even care that she has to take a detour through Denver first. Pathetic!】 【This is perfect! I was worried the romance would stall without the annoying side character there to stir things up. But look, she’s following the plot anyway. A few bumps in the road, but she’s still on her way. Awesome!】 【Does she have any self-respect? He dumps her over and over, and she just sticks to him like glue. This girl is the definition of a doormat, lmao!】 I glanced at the words and then looked away, out the window. 5 The bus ride was actually peaceful. It cost more for the better seat, but watching the landscape change outside my window, my mood slowly started to lift. The next day, I arrived in Denver. I bought a map, circled a few spots I wanted to see, and looked up some guides online. It was getting late, so I booked a hotel near a cool neighborhood I wanted to explore. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I saw Winnie’s new Instagram post. 【They gave the last room to this cute couple, so I guess I have to share with a certain someone tonight! 🙈】 The picture was of a hotel room. She didn’t show the whole bed, but you could see Ryan sitting on it, playing on his phone, perfectly reflected in the glass of a framed picture on the wall. My hand froze. My phone vibrated again. A text from Ryan: 【Where are you? Winnie said the views on the way are incredible, send me some pics.】 When I didn’t answer, a single【?】followed. I let out a bitter little laugh, set my alarm for the morning, and turned off my phone. Time to sleep. 【Ooh, look at her, playing hard to get. Does she really think ignoring him is going to make him miss her?】 【She’s looking up stuff to do in Denver, like she’s planning to stay for a few days. How selfish can you get? Doesn’t she know the main couple is waiting for her in Yellowstone?】 【Right? Didn’t you see how he was barely paying attention to Winnie until he saw the side character’s text? Can she just stop being a drama queen and let them have their moment? God, she’s such a villain!】 【It’s fine, let her pout. By the time she gets to Yellowstone, our couple will have already had their big romantic moment. Let’s see how she feels then, hahaha!】 【Yeah, let her play her games. We’ll get to see her completely lose it soon enough. I can’t wait!】 I ignored the comments and closed my eyes. 6 After a fantastic day exploring Denver, I finally opened the bus app again. There were plenty of tickets from here to Wyoming. But I didn’t buy one. Instead, I booked a ticket to Moab, Utah. Ryan, probably annoyed that I still hadn’t replied, called me. I fumbled my phone and accidentally answered. “Tatum? Where are you?” Hearing his voice, I paused. “What’s up?” I said, my tone flat. There was a silence on his end. He could obviously tell I was cold. He tried to sound cheerful. “Hey, where are you? I’ll come pick you up from the station.” “Don’t bother,” I said. “You guys have fun.” Predictably, he blew up. “Tatum, what is that supposed to mean? ‘You guys have fun?’” “This whole trip to Yellowstone was your dream! I canceled a trip to Florida with my buddies to come to this godforsaken place with you, and now you’re going to act like this?” When I stayed silent, his anger seemed to cool a bit. “Tatum,” he asked, his voice uncertain. “You’re not actually mad, are you? Just because I gave Winnie your ticket?” Before I could answer, he scoffed. “Oh my god, Tatum, that’s enough! How long are you going to drag this out? I already told you, I was just trying to give Winnie the experience of flying for the first time! Is that so much to ask? You have to make everything about you!” “Just keep up this attitude! No one else would ever put up with you but me!” The line went dead. I stared at the phone, a heavy sigh escaping my lips. *I* have an attitude? He’s the one who ditched me. I hadn’t even said a single mean thing to him. How was I the one with the problem? 【Hahaha, she’s so clueless. With our sweet, understanding heroine as a comparison, did she really think he was still going to baby her?】 【Playing games, going to Denver, now she’s trying to go to Moab! She really overestimates her importance to him, lmao!】 【Seriously, doesn’t this girl know when to quit?】 I didn’t bother with the comments. I spent three amazing days in Moab, then took a little side trip to see the incredible rock formations in the national parks. The vast desert landscapes and stunning arches were like nothing I’d ever seen back home on the East Coast. It was breathtaking. I stayed for another three days before finally booking my bus ticket to Wyoming. The weird thing was, over those nine or ten days, I barely thought about Ryan. It was like the moment I decided to let him go, he just faded from my mind. I’d read somewhere that it only takes a week to break a habit. I guess that’s true. Even in the quiet of the night, my thoughts rarely drifted to him. After that angry phone call, he hadn’t tried to contact me again. But his Instagram was blowing up. He and Winnie were together constantly. Sharing a room. Making heart shapes with their hands in front of the mountains. Posing at Old Faithful. They even bought matching flannel shirts in one of the tourist shops. He posted eight times a day, and every single picture was of the two of them. When I saw it, I felt… surprisingly, nothing. In fact, I thought they looked pretty good together.

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1 When the doctor handed the organ donation consent form to Julian Chase, his hand didn’t tremble. “Mr. Chase, Ms. Archer is brain-dead. There’s nothing more we can do. But her heart… it’s a perfect match for Ms. Langford.” Julian’s gaze fell on the name “Sienna Archer” printed on the form, his expression unreadable. He asked only one question. “If I sign this, what are the chances of a successful surgery for Clara?” “Ninety-nine percent,” the doctor replied. “Good.” He picked up the pen. With two sharp, decisive strokes, he signed his name. The black ink bled into the paper, the scratch of the nib a cold, final sound. That name, Julian Chase, was the one Sienna had written a thousand times in her diary, the one she’d whispered in her sleep, the one she’d carved into her heart for ten years. Now, that name was on her death certificate and organ donation form. Like a merciless god, he had sealed her fate. I, Sienna Archer, lay in the intensive care unit next door. My body was still warm. The machines beeped in a steady rhythm, a fragile thread holding onto the last vestiges of my life. But I knew I was already gone. My soul hovered in the air, watching Julian, the man I had loved for a decade. Ten years. From twenty to thirty, the brightest, most vibrant years of my life, I gave them all to him. I learned to cook the dishes he loved, only to find out later they were the favorites of his one true love, Clara Langford. I wore the white dresses he liked, only to learn that white was Clara’s signature color. I nursed him through his chronic stomach pains, cured his insomnia, and turned his cold, sterile apartment into a warm, inviting home. I thought even a stone could be warmed. But when news came that Clara’s heart was failing, that she needed a transplant, I finally understood. I wasn’t the fire meant to warm the stone. I was just another stepping stone. Julian had gone mad searching for a donor for Clara. He’d exhausted every connection, thrown money at every possible solution, praying for a miracle. And then, I had a car accident. How convenient. So convenient, it felt like a scene from a meticulously crafted play. As I lay on the operating table, my consciousness fading, I saw Julian burst in. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of a terror I’d never seen before, mixed with a chilling, unmistakable… elation. He wasn’t worried about me. He was ecstatic that Clara would be saved. My surgeon, a friend of Julian’s, looked at him, his expression troubled. “Julian, are you absolutely sure? Sienna, she…” Julian cut him off. “I just want Clara to live.” His voice was quiet, but each word was a blade of ice, plunging into my soul. I watched him sign the papers, handing the document that legally declared my death back to the doctor. He never once glanced in the direction of my room. He turned and walked straight to Clara’s. His back was still so straight, so handsome. For ten years, I had chased that back, and not once had he ever stopped for me. Now, I didn’t have to chase anymore. And that was a relief. So why did my soul still feel so cold? Cold, as if I had fallen into a black, bottomless lake that would never freeze over. 2 The surgeries began. Two operating rooms, at opposite ends of the same sterile corridor. At one end, a life was being dismantled. At the other, a life was being extended. My soul drifted in the space between. I watched a team of green-gowned surgeons enter my room. They nodded at the still-beeping machines, and then someone picked up a scalpel. A long, piercing beep. The monitor connected to my body flatlined, the jagged peaks and valleys of my life smoothing into a single, unwavering line. Sienna Archer, age thirty, was officially dead. A sterile cloth was draped over my face, leaving only my chest exposed. The overhead lights were blinding. The lead surgeon made a long, clean incision down the center of my sternum. Strangely, my soul felt no pain. Perhaps my heart had already been hurt so much, it had simply gone numb. I watched as they carefully, reverently, lifted the still-beating heart from my warm chest cavity. It was a strong heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It had beaten for Julian for ten years. It beat faster whenever he came home. It threatened to burst whenever he gave me a rare smile. It would shrink into a tight, painful knot whenever he was cold to me because of Clara. Now, it was free. A nurse placed it in a cooler filled with ice, snapped the lid shut, and hurried out of the room, running toward the other end of the hall. There, Clara lay on another operating table. And Julian stood guard outside her door. He leaned against the wall, head bowed, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked exhausted, tense. His friend, my surgeon, came out, wanting to say something. “Julian, it’s… it’s over. For Sienna.” Julian just grunted, his eyes glued to the red “IN SURGERY” light above the door, as if it were the center of his universe. “Aren’t you… going to see her? One last time?” his friend asked, unable to stop himself. Julian was silent for a long time. So long, I thought he might actually nod. But in the end, he just shook his head, his voice raspy. “No. Let her… let her have some dignity.” Dignity? My soul, floating in the air, began to tremble with laughter. He had subjected me to the greatest indignity imaginable, and now, in a final act of hollow charity, he was pretending to grant me a shred of it. The cooler was carried into Clara’s operating room. My heart would soon be beating in another woman’s chest. It would live on for me. It would watch for me, as Julian loved the woman he was always meant to love. How cruel. Not even death could grant me peace. The red light stayed on for eight hours. Julian stood outside for eight hours, a statue of vigil. When the light finally turned green and the surgeon emerged, smiling, to tell him, “The surgery was a complete success,” the tension in Julian’s face finally broke. He slid down the wall, sinking to the floor, and covered his face with his hands. I couldn’t see his expression. I could only see his shoulders, shaking. Was he crying? Tears of joy for Clara’s new lease on life. My soul began to fade, turning translucent at the edges. It was for the best. Why should I watch the man who didn’t love me cry for someone else? Goodbye, Julian. This heart… is no longer mine. 3. He Won, But He Didn’t Seem Happy Clara was moved to a private recovery room. My heart, now hers, began to beat with a steady, powerful rhythm inside her chest. All her vitals pointed to a perfect, textbook transplant. Julian had won. He had traded my life for his true love’s. In the silent, decade-long war between me, him, and the woman in his heart, he was the victor. He should have been happy. But he didn’t look happy. Clara was still unconscious, and Julian sat by her bedside, a loyal sentinel. He gently wiped her face with a damp cloth and tucked the blankets around her, his movements so tender they seemed to ache. It was a tenderness I had dreamed of for ten years but never received. But there was no smile on his face. Only a profound weariness, an unsettling… emptiness. His friend, the doctor, brought him a meal. “You should eat something. You haven’t slept in two days.” Julian shook his head. “Not hungry.” “You saved her. Why the long face?” The doctor sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. “I know. Sienna’s death… it can’t be easy on you.” Julian said nothing, his gaze fixed on Clara’s pale face. “Look,” the doctor continued, “Sienna’s injuries were severe. Even without the transplant, she… she wouldn’t have made it much longer. Don’t blame yourself too much.” He was trying to comfort Julian. Even he thought Julian should feel guilty for my death. But Julian’s reply was flat, devoid of emotion. “I have nothing to blame myself for. This was the best possible outcome for her.” His words sent another chill through my soul. The best possible outcome? Becoming spare parts to save his lover was my “best outcome”? The doctor stared at him, at a loss for words, his attempt at comfort turning into a heavier sigh. “What are your plans for… the arrangements?” “Have her cremated. Scatter the ashes… at sea,” Julian said, as if discussing the disposal of an inconvenient object. “You’re not keeping them?” “What for?” Julian shot back, a hint of irritation in his voice. “She’s dead. What’s the point of keeping a pile of ashes?” The doctor finally snapped. He stood up, his voice rising. “Julian! It’s not a pile of ashes! It’s Sienna! She was with you for ten years!” “So what?” Julian stood too, his eyes blazing with bloodshot fury, his composure finally cracking. “Did I force her? It was her choice to stay with me! Now she’s gone, and her heart saved Clara. Isn’t that a good thing? At least her death wasn’t for nothing!” “You bastard!” The doctor’s fist connected with Julian’s jaw. Julian didn’t even try to dodge it. He stumbled back, hitting the wall, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away, his eyes growing even colder. “Are you done? If you’re done, get out. Clara needs to rest.” He had dismissed him. The doctor pointed a trembling finger at Julian, speechless with rage, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Silence returned to the room. Julian sat back down, picked up a cotton swab, dipped it in water, and began to gently moisten Clara’s dry lips. His movements were still so gentle. But in his eyes, I saw a wasteland. It was the desolation of a man who had won the world, only to find it utterly meaningless. He thought he had won a war. He didn’t realize he had just personally, methodically, destroyed the only world that had ever let in the light. 4. Her Funeral Had No Tears for Her My funeral was quick and simple. Julian didn’t hold a service. He said I had no family to speak of, and few friends, so there was no need for such formalities. He took me straight to the crematorium. The sky that day was a flat, miserable gray, a cold drizzle falling from the clouds. The crematorium was empty, save for Julian and his doctor friend, who had apparently come along out of a sense of duty. Julian chose the cheapest urn. “It’s all going into the sea anyway,” he said. “The box doesn’t matter.” I watched as my body was slid into the cold, black furnace. My soul couldn’t feel the heat of the flames, but I felt something deep within me turn to ash. It was the last trace of Sienna Archer, the woman who had loved Julian Chase, being erased from existence. Two hours later, a worker handed the cheap wooden box to Julian. It was so small, so light. Thirty years of life, ten years of love, all reduced to this. Julian held the box, his face a blank mask. The rain fell harder. His friend held a black umbrella over him. “Where to now? Straight to the coast?” Julian shook his head. “No. I’ll keep it at my place for now.” “I thought you were going to scatter them,” his friend said, surprised. “Clara’s not strong enough yet. When she’s better, we’ll go together.” His reasons always, always came back to Clara. Even my final resting place was dependent on the whims of his true love. His friend said no more. He drove Julian back to the apartment we had shared for five years. The place I had once thought was home. As soon as he walked in, Julian placed my urn on the shoe cabinet in the entryway, as casually as if it were a set of keys or a wet umbrella. Then he began to walk through the apartment. He opened the closet and looked at my clothes. So many white dresses, all chosen to mimic Clara’s style. He opened the fridge. Inside were the dumplings I’d made for him, his favorite comfort food for his bad stomach. He walked out to the balcony and saw the succulents I’d been tending to, now wilting from neglect. The apartment was saturated with me. With the presence of the living, breathing Sienna who had loved him for a decade. But now, the mistress of the house was a cold, wooden box on the shoe cabinet. For the first time, an emotion I couldn’t decipher crossed Julian’s face. It wasn’t sadness, or nostalgia. It was… a profound disorientation. Like someone accustomed to a constant background noise, who is suddenly plunged into a silence so absolute it becomes deafening. He tugged at his tie, a restless energy about him, and then he began to act. He ripped all my clothes from the closet and stuffed them into black trash bags. He emptied the fridge of all the food I had made and threw it away. He took my succulents, pot and all, and tossed them into the dumpster below. He was systematically erasing every trace of “Sienna” from the apartment, as if cleaning out the belongings of a dismissed maid. His friend couldn’t watch anymore. “Julian, do you have to do this?” “What else am I supposed to do?” Julian didn’t even look up. “Clara will be discharged soon. I don’t want her to come back to this, to be reminded.” He always had a reason. It was always for Clara. The doctor exploded. “Reminded of what? Reminded of who? Sienna is dead because of you! Even if you were made of stone, you should have some semblance of a heart!” Julian stopped. He turned to face his friend, his eyes filled with a terrifying, hollow calm. “You’re wrong,” he said. “She didn’t die for me. She died for Clara.” “Her death saved Clara’s life. That was her purpose. Her honor.” With that, he took the last remaining item—a framed photo of me—and threw it face down into a trash bag. In that moment, I heard the glass shatter. And I felt my soul shatter with it. 5. Her Things, Like Her, Were Bagged and Thrown Away Julian’s purge was brutally efficient. In less than a day, the apartment that had once been filled with the warmth of my life was transformed into a sterile, impersonal show home. My clothes, my makeup, my books, the scarf I had secretly knitted for him—everything was packed into black trash bags, piled by the door like a small mountain of refuse. When he was done, Julian seemed to have expended all his energy. He sank onto the sofa, staring at the empty room, his eyes vacant. His friend, likely too angry to speak, silently carried the bags of “trash” downstairs. I followed them. I watched as a garbage truck swallowed them whole, its compactor groaning as it crushed my life into a neat, disposable block. Ten years, reduced to garbage, compacted, and discarded. Not a trace left behind. When the doctor returned, Julian was still staring into space. “It’s all gone,” his friend said, his voice hard. Julian grunted in acknowledgment. “There’s one more thing.” The doctor reached into his pocket and tossed a small object onto the coffee table. It was a small, locked diary.

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Late-night storms have a way of waking up a hunger you didn’t know you had. The delivery guy’s voice was… strange. “Human, it’s raining. Please wait.” It was weird enough that I peeked through the peephole when he arrived. Standing outside my door was a drenched little cat. “Human, first delivery for cat. Cat got lost.” “Please don’t give cat a bad rating.” 1 It was late, the kind of late that bleeds into early, and my stomach was staging a protest. I sat curled in my desk chair, the glow of the monitor the only light in the room, my stomach’s empty whines a sad counterpoint to the drumming rain outside. My fingers moved on their own, scrolling through the DashEats app. A picture of a spicy Szechuan chicken bowl glistened under the digital lights, a beacon of greasy hope in the stormy night. Estimated delivery time: one hour. Just as I hit ‘Confirm Payment,’ a low rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. The storm had come out of nowhere. I figured a long wait was part of the deal. My phone buzzed a few minutes later. I answered, and a bizarre, electronic voice crackled through the speaker. “Human, it’s raining. Please wait.” The voice sounded like it had been scraped through a voice modulator with a claw, each word laced with a fuzzy, vibrating hum. I stared at the app’s animation: Your Dasher is on their way! A little orange cat avatar was bouncing up and down under a cartoon raincloud. When the doorbell finally rang, I crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway’s motion-sensor light flickered erratically, illuminating a soggy cardboard box tied with a lopsided, baby-pink ribbon. Beneath the box, four muddy paws were planted on my welcome mat. An orange-and-white tail was curled around a plastic bag, pushing it forward. “Human, first delivery for cat. Cat got lost.” A pair of amber eyes, dripping with rain, blinked up at me. Tiny, crystalline water droplets clung to its whiskers. The food bag was wrapped in three layers of waterproof film. When I peeled it back, a cloud of steam billowed out, instantly fogging my glasses. On the blank space of the receipt, a perfect, tiny paw print was stamped in ink. Next to it, in wobbly letters, were the words: FIVE STARS PLEASE. My food had been delivered… by a cat. I opened the door and knelt. I saw an old, faded scar on the cat’s right hind leg, pale and puckered from the rain. “Do you… need a towel?” Before I could finish, the orange cat had already backed away to the corner of the landing, its tail-tip deftly pressing the elevator button. Just as the doors slid shut, I could have sworn I saw it lift a front paw to its forehead in a comical, clumsy salute, just like a human delivery driver. If it weren’t for the little paw print still on my receipt, I would have thought it was all some ridiculous, hunger-induced dream. A cat… Dasher? 2 The second time we met, it was raining again. This time, it was a Spicy Tom Yum Soup. The order was accepted by the same orange cat avatar. “Human, ventilation shaft is faster.” This time, the electronic voice was mixed with a soft purring. I pressed my ear against the door and heard a faint, scuttling sound from deep within the metal ducts of the building. It was followed by a dull thump—some clumsy idiot had clearly hit a corner. When I opened the door, the orange cat had a cobweb stuck to its head and a single, wilted wildflower tucked into the side of its delivery box. “Passed a garden. This, for human.” It nudged the flower toward me with its paw, then turned, stumbling slightly on its back leg. “Thank you, cat.” I quietly gave five stars in the app. A series of paw print emojis automatically populated the comment box. After that, I ordered a few more times, but they were all delivered by perfectly normal, human Dashers. I started to wonder if maybe I was just overworked, the stress manifesting as feline-centric hallucinations. Then came the third weekend of the rainy season, the kind of downpour that bleeds the whole city into a blurry watercolor. It was raining again. Watching the sheets of water sluice down my window, a strange thought took root. The other times… it had been raining when I saw the orange cat. Was it a special delivery service, a little cat that only worked for humans on rainy nights? I placed another order. By the time I saw the Spicy Cajun Crawfish order had been assigned to the orange cat, the clock had already ticked past one in the morning. The electronic voice on the phone was choppy this time. “Human… overpass is flooded… can you…” The background was filled with the frantic meowing of other cats. My heart seized. I ran barefoot to the balcony. Through the curtain of rain, I could just make out a small orange blur leaping between the branches of the sycamore trees. The cat was clenching the delivery box in its teeth as it scaled a drainpipe, the rain forming a shimmering silver outline around its tiny body. When it finally landed on my air conditioning unit, I saw that the fur on its neck was blown completely backwards by the wind, making it look like it was wearing an ill-fitting straw coat. “Crawfish. Must be hot.” As it pushed the box inside, its tail was so soaked the fur was matted into little clumps. I reached out to wipe a smudge of mud from its nose and my fingers brushed against a small, cold piece of metal. Using my phone’s flashlight, I saw it was a small copper tag engraved with a crescent moon. On the back, in minuscule letters, it read: Rainy Night Covenant · Seventh Delivery Squad. A rainy night… So it was true. It only appeared when it rained. Just then, the storm intensified. A violent gust of wind slammed a sheet of rain against the window. The orange cat’s ears shot up, and the copper tag emitted a faint blue glow. It started pawing anxiously at the fire escape door, its voice turning sharp. “Alternate route is flooded. Seventeen orders will be late!” It was the first time I had ever seen such a desperate look on a cat’s face. This job, whatever it was, was important to it. That’s when I decided. I slipped on my Crocs and grabbed an umbrella. “I’ll help you.” The cat’s golden eyes widened in the darkness. It ducked its head and rubbed against my ankle, a surprising warmth seeping through my cotton socks. “Human… you are good human.” That night, we navigated the labyrinth of apartment buildings together. It led me to every hidden vent and secret cat-path, its paw pads leaving a trail of tiny, flower-shaped watermarks on the tiled floors. When the last order, a hearty beef stew, was delivered, the crescent moon on its tag began to glow with a soft, pearly light. The orange cat sat in a puddle, looking up at the sky as the rain wove a luminous cocoon around its body. I reached down and felt the scar on its hind leg. It was warm to the touch, and the moonlight seemed to be seeping into the fur like liquid silver. The joint effort of the night had made the cat trust me more than ever before. “Why do you only come out during storms?” I asked softly. The cat turned and nudged my arm with its head. “Big rain, humans cannot cross big water. Many humans are still hungry.” It shook its head, its tail held high. “Humans and cats made the Rainy Night Covenant. When rain stops human delivery, the Cat Clans take orders through special paths.” Finished with its explanation, it looked up at me. “Human, please give cat five stars.” I smiled. Under the cat’s bright, expectant gaze, I gave it five stars and even added a small tip. “No need for money, human.” The cat pawed at my phone. “Just stars for cat.” It paused, then added, “The stars humans give… they can heal many wounds.” The cat’s words were a little jumbled, but I understood. During the worst storms, a cat’s small body could slip through vents and hidden passages. When human drivers were stuck, the cats took on the task of feeding the hungry. And the five-star ratings they received became a kind of energy, a magic that could heal their bodies. As the cat’s silhouette vanished into the morning mist, my phone buzzed. A new notification from DashEats: Rainy Night Special Channel is now open. Would you like to subscribe to Cat Delivery? Without a moment’s hesitation, I tapped ‘Yes.’ I hoped that the next time we met, the scar on its leg would be gone completely. 3 After grad school, I’d landed a city job right in my own neighborhood, a Community Liaison at the city council office. Mostly it was quiet, helping residents with their problems. Lately, though, there had been a string of food delivery thefts in our complex. My supervisor, eager to offload the tedious work, assigned the case to me. Such is the life of a public servant; you can’t say no. I was hunched over the security monitors in the management office when Art, one of the older security guards, shuffled over with his thermos of weak tea. “Last month,” he said, pointing a wrinkled finger at a blurry orange shape on the screen, “I saw a calico cat, clear as day, dragging a delivery box out of a ventilation duct.” He squinted at me. “You think maybe it’s these strays? Weather’s been bad, maybe they’re snatching the food.” “No, that’s not it,” I said, a little too quickly. The cats were the ones feeding people on those nights. The image of the little orange cat’s bright eyes, begging for stars, flashed in my mind. Art just shrugged. It wasn’t really his problem. He went back to his chair and his thermos. I stared at the grainy footage for another hour, getting nowhere. The tiny, fleeting shapes were impossible to track. This was an old complex, with ancient cameras, and any long-term resident knew exactly where the blind spots were. The thief had hit multiple times; they knew how to stay hidden. If only… if only the cats could help me. As if summoned by the thought, my phone vibrated. A special notification from DashEats: You have unlocked Rainy Night Covenant · Special Client privileges. The accompanying digital badge was the same crescent moon from the orange cat’s copper tag. Then, a familiar scratching sound from the window sill. The orange cat was perched outside the security grating, a brand-new blue ribbon tied around its neck. In its paws, it held a half-melted ice cream bar. “Human. A thank-you gift.” It turned its head away, a little bashfully, revealing the fluffy white fur where the blue ribbon was tied. That’s when I noticed it: the scar on its right hind leg was completely gone. In its place was a silvery, crescent-moon-shaped mark. “Your leg is healed!” I said, my voice full of surprise. The cat preened, puffing out its chest. “Cat is very punctual. Cat got many, many stars.” I took the sticky ice cream bar and glanced back at Art. He was already dozing in his chair, a radio playing softly beside him. The life of a night guard was a slow one. I turned back to the cat. “There’s a thief in the complex, stealing deliveries. Do you know anything about it?” “Cat does not know.” It tilted its head, then nudged my phone with its paw. “Human is a Special Client now. You can post a commission in the app. Other cats might have seen something.” “That’s a brilliant idea.” My eyes lit up. I grabbed my phone and started typing out a commission notice, describing the situation. I set the reward for any useful information: two cans of premium tuna. It wasn’t long before a cat accepted the commission. A message appeared in the app’s chat. Human, bring the tuna to the west gate. I bought a few cans of tuna and some cat treat sticks from the corner store and headed over. It wasn’t one cat waiting for me, but a whole crew. Leading them was a beautifully marked calico, her movements sleek and confident. She padded right up to my feet. Behind her, an assortment of other cats watched me with curious eyes. She was clearly their leader. I was glad I’d bought extra. I pulled the cans and treats from my bag. The calico let out a soft meow but didn’t touch the food. Instead, she took two steps in one direction, then looked back at me expectantly. She was telling me to follow. No work, no pay. A cat of principle. I packed the food away and followed her. The group of cats led me to one of the residential buildings. A few years ago, during the pandemic, the complex had installed delivery lockers, but now that things were back to normal, nobody really used them. Since they’d installed new elevators that required a key card, most drivers just left packages on a rack next to the lockers for convenience. It was an unsecured, all-you-can-steal buffet. Our timing was perfect. Just as we arrived, an old woman shuffled up to the rack. She glanced around furtively, then snatched a bag of food, ripping the receipt off and tossing it into a bush. I recognized her. She lived in building 39. She was known for her loud voice and her tendency to throw herself on the ground and wail whenever things didn’t go her way. Most residents just avoided her. I’d already started recording on my phone, capturing the whole thing. I would give it to my supervisor later. The old woman turned and nearly ran right into me. Seeing me glance at the bag in her hand, she scowled. “What are you looking at? Get away from me.” The cats, wary of her, had already melted back into the shrubbery. I put on a pleasant smile. “Oh, nothing, ma’am. I was just going to put up a notice. You know how all that food has been going missing?” A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but her voice boomed even louder. “What’s that got to do with me?” I just smiled wider. “Nothing at all. It’s just, a resident told me yesterday that his delivery was stolen. He’d put rat poison in it, you see, for a pest problem. He was just so worried someone might have eaten it by mistake…” “What?” The woman’s eyes went wide. She spun around and sprinted toward her building. “My grandson—!” That night, I heard the entire family had made a trip to the emergency room to have their stomachs pumped. I passed out the cans of tuna. The calico leader gracefully accepted her reward. “Thank you, human.” I smiled. “You earned it.” 4 The rainy season was in full swing. I was seeing the cats more often than ever. Sometimes it was my little orange friend, sometimes a human Dasher. Occasionally, a new cat would show up at my door. Over time, I started to notice a pattern. The later I placed my order, the higher the chance a cat would deliver it. The orange cat, Rusty, was the one I knew best. If I ordered something he liked, he’d hop right into my lap for a moment. “Human, cat is fat. Climbing stairs… makes hungry.” I’d scratch the scruff of his neck, which had definitely gotten thicker, and marvel at the universal truth of chubby orange cats. I’d share a few bites of my dinner, and then he’d be off, delivery box in mouth, to his next stop. Sometimes, a black-and-white cow cat would deliver. They were usually… a bit neurotic. I’d get messages from them periodically: Human, one moment. I’d reply: Is there a problem? Cow Cat: No. Dueling with a Meow Squad rider. I would just sigh. The beautiful and elegant calico, Cleo, would sometimes bring my food. She would give my hand a dignified rub, a gentle reminder to leave a good review. “Human, cat has many little ones to feed. Thank you for your stars.” Thinking of the kittens I’d seen her with, I would mindlessly smash the five-star button under the spell of her grace. The most responsible delivery cat was a tabby named Ash. He was lightning-fast and would even take my trash out for me on his way down. If I happened to order from a place with questionable hygiene, Ash would stand at my door and inform me, “Human, this place is not clean.” I’d scratch his head. “Thanks, Ash. I won’t order from there again.” Good cat. Bad restaurant. The most athletic was a pure white cat I called Ghost. One evening, I was working late at a client’s office across town. I was on the 30th floor when a tapping sound came from the window beside me. It was Ghost, a white blur against the night sky. I nearly had a heart attack. “Ghost! How did you get up this high?” He just looked at me. “Human, cat is very skilled.” I quickly slid the window open and pulled him inside. “Yes, yes, you are. All you cats are amazing.” “…Not all.” Ghost tilted his head, thinking. “Rusty could not climb this. Too… fluffy.” “Hey, don’t say that about the little guy.” Thanks to my Special Client status, I’d become well-acquainted with every delivery cat in a multi-mile radius. Sometimes, on my way to work, a cat would proudly present me with a freshly caught mouse. My hand would tremble as I accepted it. “Thank you, cat. But please, not again.” The rainy season was almost over. I was having a late-night snack at a 24-hour convenience store when Cleo, the calico leader, suddenly leaped onto the table beside me. She was wearing a tiny, reflective safety vest, and her tail was curled around a digital thermometer. “Human,” she said, her voice urgent. “Cat needs your help.”

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They say the granddaughter of the richest man in the city was switched at birth. And then I was picked up by a black town car and taken to his family’s estate. The butler told me I was the real heiress, the one who’d been lost for over twenty years. But my so-called parents didn’t seem very happy to see me. They called me trash, a hick from the sticks. The next time they were beating me for the sake of the fake heiress, my billionaire grandfather came home. When he saw the state I was in, he brought his cane down right on my father’s head. “You worthless bastard! I raised you all these years, and this is how you treat your own sister?” Then he pointed at me. “That’s my daughter! You dare touch her again!” My father froze, stunned. I was just as stunned. Hold on. Let’s just take a moment to straighten out this family tree. 1 Standing at the gates of the Cole family mansion in Greenwich, my stomach was a knot of anxiety. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rabbit beating against a cage. I was excited to finally meet my birth parents, but terrified they wouldn’t like what they saw. Turns out, I didn’t need to worry about that. They made it perfectly clear. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a woman dripping in diamonds and disdain. Catherine. My mother. Her eyes scanned me from my worn-out sneakers to my faded jeans, then back again. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together. “You’re Maya?” Her voice was as cold as the marble floor beneath my feet. “Even if things are rough out in the country, you could have at least worn something clean. Something presentable. Don’t track dirt on our floors.” A sharp sting pierced my chest. I opened my mouth to explain that these were my best clothes, but a girl my age peeked out from behind Catherine. She was dressed in a designer gown that looked like spun sugar, her eyes red as if she’d been crying. She gently tugged on Catherine’s sleeve. “Mom, don’t say that. Maya must have had it so hard. She’s probably never seen a place like this. It’s only natural she’d dress… simply.” Just then, a man strode over, wrapping a protective arm around the girl. Richard. My father. His voice was syrupy sweet when he spoke to her. “Brielle, you’re too kind, always thinking of others. Maya,” he said, turning his flat gaze on me, “I know you’re our biological daughter, but Brielle has been with us since the day she was born. We raised her. She’s everything to us.” So this was my welcome. Not a ‘hello,’ not a single question about the twenty years I’d lost. Just warnings. And I was supposed to learn their names from the way they spoke to each other? What was there to even worry about anymore? My throat tightened, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I never wanted to replace anyone. I just… I just wanted to see you. To know what my real parents looked like.” “See us?” Catherine scoffed, crossing her arms. “Well, you’ve seen us. Don’t get any ideas. The Cole family doesn’t need another daughter. We have Brielle. If you have any sense, you’ll understand where you belong.” Brielle looked up at Richard, her eyes glistening with manufactured tears. “Dad, Mom, please don’t be so harsh. She just got here, she must be so scared. It’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t feel so unwelcome.” Richard stroked her hair, his face a mask of adoration. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. This has nothing to do with you. She just doesn’t know her place. Speaking of which, your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow. There’s a necklace at the Christie’s auction, ‘The Midnight Sun Diamond.’ Valued at fifty million. I’ll take you right now and we’ll get it for you. A perfect birthday present.” Brielle’s eyes lit up. She threw her arms around his neck. “Really, Daddy? I’ve read about that piece! You’re the best!” Catherine smiled, smoothing the skirt of Brielle’s dress. “We’ll go right now, before someone else snatches it up. For my Brielle, any price is worth it.” The three of them chattered away as they walked toward the garage, Richard calling back to the driver to get the heat just right so Brielle wouldn’t be cold. They never looked at me again. I stood alone in the grand entryway as a cold draft swept through, chilling my skin. Arthur, the family butler, approached with a glass of warm water, pressing it into my hands. “Miss, drink this. Warm yourself up. Mr. and Mrs. Cole… they’re just having a hard time adjusting. They’ve been with Miss Brielle for so many years. It’s a deep bond. Just wait until the master gets back from Europe. He’s a reasonable man. He’ll make things right for you.” I clutched the glass, the warmth of it failing to reach the ice forming in my heart. “Thank you, Arthur. But if my own parents treat me like this… why would a grandfather I’ve never met care about me at all?” The old butler sighed. “Don’t lose hope, Miss. The master nearly turned this state upside down looking for you all those years ago. He has never forgotten you. Just wait. When he returns, everything will be better.” I said nothing, just stared out the window in the direction their car had disappeared, my world a silent, frozen landscape. 2 That night, I lay in the guest room, lost in a bed that was too big and too soft. The unfamiliar luxury, the memory of Richard and Catherine’s cold eyes—it all made my skin crawl. Sleep was impossible. A soft knock echoed through the room. It was Brielle. She held a velvet jewelry box, a sweet smile on her face. “Maya, I saw this necklace at the auction today and thought it would look beautiful on you. I had Dad buy it for you. Please, open it. I hope you like it.” I was taken aback. After her performance this afternoon, this sudden kindness was jarring. But then a flicker of hope ignited. Maybe she was as kind as she pretended to be. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I took the box, my voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Brielle. You didn’t have to do that.” “We’re sisters now. Of course, I did.” She smiled and leaned closer. Just as my fingers touched the clasp, she snatched the box from my hands and hurled it to the floor. Pearls scattered across the polished hardwood like tiny, broken teeth. In the next instant, she crumpled to the ground, hands flying to her face as she let out a piercing shriek. “Maya, no! Please don’t hit me! How could you just smash the necklace? I know you don’t like me, but I was just trying to be nice!” Her wail was perfectly pitched to carry. Seconds later, the door flew open and Richard and Catherine stormed in. Richard’s eyes locked on Brielle sobbing on the floor, then to the scattered pearls at my feet. His face contorted with rage as he pointed a trembling finger at me. “Maya! You have no class, no upbringing! Brielle brings you a gift from the goodness of her heart, and you throw it in her face? Did they teach you nothing where you came from?” His accusations rang in my ears. “I didn’t throw it!” I protested, my voice cracking. “She snatched it and threw it herself! She’s acting!” “How dare you lie to our faces?” Catherine rushed forward. “We saw the broken necklace at your feet and Brielle on the floor crying. Who else could have done it? Do you think because you’re blood, you can just walk in here and torment her?” “I didn’t!” My own tears started to well up, hot and furious. “I grew up with nothing, it’s true. No one taught me how to be some perfect little heiress. But I wasn’t taught to be a bully, either! You barge in here, you don’t ask a single question, and you just sentence me? You call that a good upbringing? I’m the one who had my life stolen for twenty years, with no one to care for me. If I have no class, it’s because you weren’t there to teach me!” My words hit a nerve. Catherine’s face flushed a deep red. She raised her hand and slapped me, hard. The sound cracked through the silent room. “You ungrateful brat! We brought you into this house. We could have left you to rot on the street, and this is the thanks we get? You dare talk back to me?” The sting on my cheek was a burning fire. I clutched my face, staring at her with all the hatred I could muster. Richard, shaking with fury, bellowed toward the door. “Arthur! Get in here! Lock her in the old storage house out back. No food for three days. Let’s see if she learns some respect then!” Arthur hurried in, placing himself between me and them. “Sir, the storage house is dark and cold. The young miss just arrived, her health… please, reconsider.” “Reconsider?” Richard sneered at the old man, his voice laced with menace. “I think you’re getting senile, meddling in my affairs. You say another word for her, and you can pack your bags and get out. This family doesn’t support traitors.” Arthur’s face went pale. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Two security guards stepped forward, grabbing my arms. They dragged me out of the room, their grips like iron. As they pulled me through the living room, I saw Brielle nestled in Catherine’s embrace. She peeked over her mother’s shoulder and shot me a look, a tiny, triumphant smile playing on her lips. That smile was a needle to my heart, and the world went cold. 3 The storage house was pitch black, a sliver of weak light bleeding from under the door the only proof that a world existed outside. I lay on the cold concrete, my stomach twisting into painful knots. I hadn’t eaten since the night before. I pushed against the heavy door; it was locked tight. My calls for help were swallowed by the oppressive silence. I stumbled around the space, searching for any way out, but was met only by solid, windowless walls. Hours bled into one another. Hunger and cold became a constant, numbing ache. My body trembled, and black spots danced in my vision. My consciousness began to fray at the edges. Just as I felt myself slipping away, the door creaked open. Blinding light flooded the space. Brielle stood silhouetted in the doorway, arms crossed, the two guards behind her. She walked toward me, her heels clicking on the floor, and looked down at my crumpled form. The fragile, gentle girl was gone, replaced by someone cold and mocking. “Maya, I thought you were tougher than this. Look at you. A few words from me, and Mom and Dad have you locked in here, starving. You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” I used the wall to pull myself up. I was weak, but my eyes were steady. “What are you so proud of? You can only get what you want by lying and performing for them. If we were judged on our own merits, you’d be nothing.” “Merits?” She let out a sharp, ugly laugh and patted my cheek. “Why would I need to compete with you? I’ve been in this family for twenty years. They already see me as their real daughter. You’re just some stray they were forced to take in. They could never truly love you.” I slapped her hand away. “I’m not a stray. And you have no right to say that. If you had any real confidence, you wouldn’t need to frame me to get by.” Her face hardened, her voice turning venomous. “Don’t push your luck. I came here to give you an out. Write a statement saying you’re leaving the Cole family voluntarily and will never come back. Otherwise, I’ll let you stay in here until you starve to death.” “I’m not leaving,” I rasped, my jaw tight. “This is my home, too. Why should I be the one to go?” Seeing that I wouldn’t break, she lunged, her hand raised to strike me. In a last burst of adrenaline, I threw myself at her, clamping my teeth down on her ear. “Aaaah!!!” Her scream was shrill enough to shatter glass. I held on, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I didn’t let go until I heard the heavy thud of footsteps approaching. Richard and Catherine burst in. They saw Brielle clutching her bleeding ear and me with blood smeared around my mouth. Richard roared, his face purple with rage. “Maya! You’re insane! You actually bit her!” Brielle stumbled into her father’s arms, sobbing. “Daddy, it hurts so much! She tried to kill me! She told me to leave the family, and when I refused, she attacked me!” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and smirked. “Before, when you accused me of hurting her, it was a lie. This is what it actually looks like. You love playing the victim, don’t you, Brielle? Well, this time I made sure you’d actually have a reason to cry.” Catherine stared at Brielle’s torn ear, her voice trembling with fury. “You’re an animal. Brielle has been nothing but kind to you, and you do this? I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” Richard yelled to the guards, “Tie her up! Hang her from the rafters in the living room. Let her think about what she’s done!” The guards rushed me, brandishing a thick rope. I fought back, kicking and thrashing, but my exhausted body was no match for them. They bound me tightly and dragged me out of the darkness. 4 I hung from a heavy wooden beam in the center of the living room, the ropes digging into my wrists. Blood flow was cut off; my hands were already numb. Having not eaten in days, my head lolled forward, consciousness flickering like a dying candle. A bucket of ice water shocked me back to awareness. The frigid shock made my teeth chatter violently. Richard stood before me, a riding crop in his hand, his eyes filled with disgust. “Today, you will learn what happens when you disrespect the rules of this house.” He swung the crop, and it struck my back with a sickening crack. A line of fire seared across my skin. I bit back a cry. “You think because you share our blood you can do whatever you want?” Another lash. “You grew up wild, with no one to teach you any manners. Today, I’ll take on the responsibility of a father and beat the filth out of you.” Each blow felt like it was tearing me apart. Tears streamed from my eyes, blurring my vision. Catherine sat on the sofa, cradling Brielle, dabbing at her ear while adding her own venom to the assault. “Maya, you are a true snake. We are the Coles, one of the wealthiest families in the country. Letting you in this door was a gift from God, and you repay us by hurting Brielle? Do you have a soul?” “She… deserved it…” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. “She started it… You just refuse to see…” “Still talking back!” Richard rained blows down on me, again and again. The leather tore through my shirt, and I could feel warm blood trickling down my back. “I see you won’t be satisfied until you’re half-dead! I won’t stop until you admit you were wrong!” His strength was terrifying. Every strike felt like it was breaking my bones. I couldn’t hold on any longer. The world dissolved into blackness. “Throw more water on her!” Richard’s voice was a distant, demonic rumble. “Get the doctor to give her a vitamin shot. I don’t want her dying before I’m done teaching her a lesson! We stop when she begs for forgiveness!” Another splash of icy water jolted me awake. The pain was all-consuming, a blinding white light of agony. I looked at the twisted face of the man in front of me and couldn’t believe he was my father. I regretted it all. I truly regretted it. I should never have listened, never have hoped to find my birth parents, never have come to the Cole estate. All I wanted was to see their faces, to feel a connection I had dreamed of my entire life… But this wasn’t connection. This was torture. Just as I felt the last of my strength give way, the front door crashed open with a deafening bang. A vibrant old man with a thunderous expression, leaning on a heavy cane, stormed into the room. The moment he saw me, he let out a roar of fury and swung his cane with surprising force, cracking it against Richard’s skull. “You degenerate son! How dare you lay a hand on her!”

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I am the most useless child of the Hayes family. When my sister, Sloane, was closing a ten-billion-dollar semiconductor deal in Europe, I was in the glass conservatory on the top floor of our Connecticut estate, tending to my flowers and herbs that nobody cared about. At my father’s birthday gala, Sloane, as the heiress to the family empire, was on his arm, bathing in the adoration and envy of the entire room. Under the flashbulbs of the paparazzi, she was a diamond, born to dazzle. And I was the gravel in the shadows of the corner, a girl whose name the guests couldn’t be bothered to remember. Someone holding a champagne flute raised it to me, their face a polite mask of distant curiosity. “And this young lady is?” Before I could answer, a Mrs. Gable nearby stepped in with a knowing smile. “A distant relative of Mr. Hayes, I’d imagine. Probably her first time at a party like this.” Her voice was just loud enough for me to hear. For twenty years, I’ve been the punchline to the Hayes family joke. 1 My mother, once the undisputed queen of the Manhattan social scene, married my father, the corporate titan Warren Hayes. A merger of dynasties. They had my sister, Sloane. Sloane was the name my grandfather chose. It was sleek, sharp, and successful. A perfect overture. She never disappointed. At three, she could recite Shakespearean sonnets. At seven, she performed at Carnegie Hall. At fifteen, she was accepted into Wharton, and at twenty-two, she returned to the company and turned her first investment into a nine-figure profit. She was the perfect, flawless heiress. So, when my mother had me in an unplanned second pregnancy, everyone considered it a bonus. “With a daughter like Sloane, the next one is bound to be just as brilliant.” But I let them all down. I didn’t have my sister’s photographic memory or her ruthless business acumen. I was indifferent to numbers, allergic to cocktail parties, and I despised any social gathering that required a plastered-on smile. My name is Audrey. Sloane and Audrey. Even our names felt like a deliberate, cruel irony. One is a declaration of success, the other, a quiet afterthought. My parents are civilized people. They pride themselves on being progressive, and would never admit to playing favorites. But actions speak louder than words. On family outings, my father’s right hand was always reserved for my mother, his left always holding Sloane’s. I could only trail behind them, a forgotten accessory. Sloane’s twenty-fifth birthday party was also a celebration of her being officially named the sole heir to the Hayes Corporation. My father, drunk on champagne and pride, slung his arm around a business rival’s shoulder, pointing to the incandescent Sloane under the chandeliers. “That’s my daughter,” he slurred, his voice thick with emotion. “The greatest achievement of my life.” The man offered a polite congratulations. “You’re a lucky man, Warren. But don’t you have a younger daughter as well?” The smile on my father’s face faltered. He waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of old regret and fresh annoyance crossing his features. “Don’t even mention her,” he said. “Sometimes I wish we’d just stopped with Sloane.” “It’s a shame we had Audrey, too.” The entire ballroom seemed to fall silent for a moment. Standing in the crowd, I felt as if I’d been stripped naked and thrown into a snowbank. Later, my father must have sobered up and realized his mistake. He summoned me to his study, a rare occurrence. “Audrey, don’t take it to heart. Your father had too much to drink.” He handed me a black card with no spending limit. “What I meant was, Sloane can stand on her own two feet now, and I’m very proud.” “But you… you still need us to worry about you. The weight on my shoulders is still heavy.” You see, a rich man’s apology is just another form of charity. I lowered my eyes and took the cold, plastic card. “I know, Dad.” …He didn’t mean it, he’d just finally said what he’d been suppressing for twenty years. 2 The year I turned eighteen, Sloane brought her fiancé, Harrison Pierce, home. The Pierces were true East Coast blue bloods, and Harrison was the brightest star of his generation. His union with Sloane Hayes was billed as “the marriage of two empires.” That day, a severe pollen allergy had confined me to my room. I’d told the housekeeper I wouldn’t be down. So when Sloane led Harrison on a tour of the house and pushed open my bedroom door, everyone froze. Sloane frowned, her voice edged with impatience. “Audrey, what are you doing home?” Clearly, no one had told me we were having such an important guest. And no one had remembered that I, their other daughter, also lived in this house. Harrison stood in the doorway, his gaze traveling past my sister to land on me. He wore a perfectly tailored gray suit, his aura cool and aristocratic, but his eyes were kind. He didn’t show the slightest surprise, just offered a small nod. “Hello. I’m Harrison.” I scrambled to sit up in bed, mortified. I was wearing a pilled, old pajama set, my face blotchy and red from the allergy. And standing next to him was my sister, radiant in a Chanel couture suit, her makeup flawless. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “She’s my sister, Audrey,” Sloane’s introduction was brief, almost reluctant, as if she were pointing out a piece of unfortunate furniture. “She’s not well, stays in her room all day. I didn’t want her to disturb you, so I didn’t have her come down.” My mother quickly smoothed things over with a laugh. “It must be fate for Audrey and Harrison to meet like this.” My excuse of “I’m not feeling well” died on my lips. I was forced to sit at the dinner table next to the elegant, impeccable Sloane, my swollen face a testament to my misery. I didn’t need a mirror to know how cruel the comparison was. While Harrison was on the phone, I whispered to my mother, “Mom, the allergy is getting worse. I’m having trouble breathing. Can we please call the doctor?” My mother shot me a glare, her voice a harsh whisper. “Don’t make a scene. This is Harrison’s first time here, it’s an important day! Can’t you be considerate for once?” I bit my lip. “Then can I at least go back to my room?” “You’ll sit here and behave. Do you want the Pierces to think the Hayes family has no manners?” I ate that meal feeling like I was being slowly suffocated. Harrison was a true gentleman, his good breeding ingrained in every gesture. Even though the conversation revolved around finance and acquisitions, he always managed to steer a sliver of attention my way. “Audrey’s room is very unique,” he said suddenly. “It has a very distinctive scent.” 3 The table went quiet. Sloane laughed, a dismissive, airy sound. “Audrey just likes to mess around with that useless stuff. All those little bottles and jars give me a headache just looking at them.” My father shook his head in agreement. “A young woman should learn something useful. Like finance, or management.” For the first time in my life, I defended myself in front of my family. “It’s not just a scent,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s a perfume I blended myself. The top note is galbanum, the heart is iris and lily of the valley, and the base is oakmoss. I call it ‘First Rain’.” A flicker of surprise, then genuine appreciation, crossed Harrison’s face. “‘First Rain.’ That’s a beautiful name. It’s cool and damp with green notes… it really does smell like a valley after a storm. You have a gift.” In twenty years, that was the first time anyone had ever validated my “useless” passion. My heart, in that moment, felt a small tremor, like a stone dropped into still water, sending out endless ripples. After dinner, as Harrison was leaving, Sloane went to get the car. He walked over to me and handed me a small, elegant gift box. “A little something for our first meeting.” Everyone else assumed it was some expensive piece of jewelry. Sloane glanced at the box, a smirk playing on her lips. I went back to my room and opened it. It wasn’t a luxury item. Inside was a complete, professional-grade perfumer’s organ, along with several vials of rare, raw essences. One of them was Rose de Mai from Grasse, an essence I had been searching for for months. There was also a card, handwritten by Harrison in strong, elegant script. “For the master perfumer of the future.” I clutched the card, my eyes suddenly burning. Sloane pushed the door open, her eyes landing on the kit. Her expression was a mixture of amusement and contempt. “Harrison certainly has a lot of time on his hands, buying you toys for your little games.” She picked up the vial of Rose de Mai, sniffed it, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I thought Harrison had better taste. Turns out he can be fooled by these cheap little tricks, too.” She tossed the bottle carelessly onto my vanity. “Audrey, you’d better learn your place. Don’t think a single compliment from Harrison Pierce means you’ve suddenly made it. In the Hayes family, in the Pierce family, in this entire world, your little hobby isn’t even worthy of being a joke.” I silently picked up the vial of precious essence and placed it carefully back in its box. A voice inside me whispered, At least he sees me more clearly than you, my own sister, ever have. 4 Harrison’s gift became the only light in my gray existence. I began to study perfumery systematically, spending all my days and nights in my glass conservatory. I created fragrances I named ‘Solstice,’ ‘First Frost,’ ‘Harvest Moon’… I named my creations after the quiet, turning moments of the seasons, my only way of fighting back against this cold, sterile mansion. My allergies gradually improved. I became a little brighter. I cut the heavy bangs I used to hide behind, revealing my forehead. My features were nothing compared to my sister’s stunning beauty, but at least now, I could smile at my reflection. My mother was a high priestess of fashion. Normally, if Sloane changed her lipstick shade from a Tom Ford to a Christian Louboutin, my mother could not only identify it but discuss the subtle shifts in power projected by different application techniques. My new haircut went entirely unnoticed for a full week. Still, I tried. At a family dinner, I finally spoke up. “Mom, do you notice anything… different about me today?” My mother’s gaze lifted from a financial journal, swept across my face, and then she waved her hand impatiently, as if shooing away a fly. “Sloane is having some trouble with the European project. I have a headache. Don’t bother me.” In that instant, any desire I had to share my life with them evaporated. From that day on, I don’t think I ever told them another thing about myself. Not even when I won the “Rising Star” award at an international perfumery competition. If they didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. Perhaps my newfound silence was a relief to them. On my twentieth birthday, my father gave me a large check and the deed to a villa with a garden on the outskirts of the city. He called it a “coming-of-age present.” In reality, I knew what it was. I was being gracefully, permanently, exiled. My mother’s talk was cushioned with concern. “Audrey, you’re a grown woman now. You need your own space. With all the business talk and people coming and going here, it must be disruptive for you. It will be quieter for you to move out.” “And your sister and Harrison will be getting engaged soon. We’re redecorating the whole house. It will be a mess, and we wouldn’t want your allergies to act up again.” Every word was for my own good. And every word was telling me that there was no longer a place for me in this house. After a long silence, I quietly accepted. Sloane was there the day I moved. Dressed in sharp riding gear, she had just come back from the stables, a riding crop still in her hand. She leaned against the doorframe, watching the movers carry out my boxes of vials and beakers, her eyes filled with scorn. “Good. You moving out will stop the house from smelling like a swamp.” She paused, tapping one of my boxes of raw materials with the tip of her crop. “Audrey, do you know the difference between you and me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “What I create is value that can double the market cap of the Hayes Corporation. And what you create,” she let out a short, sharp laugh, “is a pile of worthless, fleeting smells.” “Try to be understanding of the family’s decision. We can’t afford to support a freeloader.” 5 I froze, my hands clenching into fists. I’m supposed to be understanding of the family. But who was ever going to be understanding of me? I didn’t voice the question. I knew no one in this house wanted to hear it, and no one would listen. The home I had lived in for twenty years had officially erased my name. I moved into the villa, surrounded by my plants and essences. I thought my life would finally be peaceful. Until the invitation to Sloane and Harrison’s engagement party arrived. It was exquisite, the names “Sloane Hayes & Harrison Pierce” embossed in gold. My name wasn’t on it. I was just a guest. My mother called to give me specific instructions. “Audrey, that day is your sister’s big day. Dress appropriately—not too flashy, but not cheap. Just sit there quietly and don’t embarrass your sister.” I understood what she meant. My very existence was an embarrassment. The engagement party was held at a seven-star hotel owned by the Hayes Corporation, taking over the entire rooftop garden. I didn’t own a suitable gown. Sloane had a walk-in closet full of them, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I used the prize money from my competition to buy a simple, long dress in a shade of lavender. When I arrived at the party and saw my sister, the familiar feeling of inadequacy washed over me. She was wearing a custom-made gown by a Lebanese designer, a ‘starlight’ dress covered in thousands of tiny diamonds that glittered under the lights like a captured galaxy. Her flawless figure was showcased to perfection, her smile radiating the confidence of a queen. Beside my sister’s brilliance, I had always been nothing more than dust. But tonight, the feeling of inferiority was so potent it threatened to swallow me whole. I clutched my small handbag as if it were the last remnant of my dignity. I found a corner to sit in, trying to make myself invisible. But Harrison found me anyway. He navigated the glittering, champagne-fueled crowd and stopped in front of me. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said, and it sounded sincere. “Thank you,” I managed a tight smile. “Congratulations to you and Sloane.” His eyes lingered on me for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but it ended with a soft sigh. The party reached its peak. My father and sister took the stage. “The proudest accomplishment of my life is having a daughter like Sloane! She is my only heir, and the only future leader of the Hayes Corporation!” The applause was thunderous. I watched my triumphant father and my radiant sister on the stage. There was no place for me beside them. There was no role for me in their blueprint for the future. I stood in front of the ladies’ room mirror, a hollow feeling in my chest, and thought, for a girl who is merely average, is having a sister who is extraordinary a blessing, or a curse? Then, a wild, electrifying thought sparked in my mind. If I’m always going to be stuck in the shadows, then I’ll make the shadows bloom with their own unforgettable color. If the only person they can see is my sister, then I’ll stand right next to her. In my own way. I took a deep breath and walked back out. 6 I returned to the main hall and walked directly toward the head table. All eyes were on the stage; no one noticed me. I reached Harrison’s seat, leaned down, and whispered in his ear. “Mr. Pierce, could I have a word? I’ve prepared an engagement gift that I’d like to give to you and Sloane privately.” Surprise flickered in his eyes, but he nodded politely and followed me to a secluded corner of the terrace. From my handbag, I took out a simple, small white porcelain bottle, completely unmarked. “This is the engagement gift I created for you.” I removed the stopper. A strange, indescribable fragrance bloomed in the cool night air. Harrison knew fragrance. He closed his eyes, concentrating. “There’s rose in here… but not a typical rose. And… tuberose and jasmine?” His brow furrowed slightly. “But their scent is being suppressed by something stronger, colder. What is it?” I looked at him and said, word by word: “Datura.” The color drained from Harrison’s face. I let out a soft laugh, a sound that carried twenty years of cold sorrow. “I call it ‘Accomplice’.” “The top notes are Rose de Mai from Grasse, Egyptian jasmine, and Indian tuberose—the three most exquisite, expensive, and beautiful floral scents in the world. They represent my sister, Sloane. She has everything. She is perfect.” “For the heart, I used a heavy dose of white musk and ambergris to create the warm, enveloping texture of skin, like an embrace. This symbolizes you, Mr. Pierce. Your arrival is the final, brilliant coronation of her perfect life.” Harrison’s gaze grew deeper. He listened silently, not interrupting. “But,” my voice turned cold, “can you smell it? Beneath all that extreme romance and beauty, there’s a hidden current. A cold, toxic scent. That is the base note—black datura.” “It represents everything that is covered up by perfection. All the things that can’t be brought into the light. For instance, a life that was never wanted, cries that were always ignored, an existence that was never allowed a name.” I met Harrison’s stunned gaze directly. “This perfume is for you both. When you are basking at the pinnacle of love and success, will you, perhaps, occasionally catch a whiff… of the resentful air from the shadows?” “Congratulations, Mr. Pierce. You are about to marry the light of the Hayes family. From now on, you will have to learn how to coexist with the shadow that this light casts.” I pressed the small porcelain bottle into his cold hand, turned, and walked toward the exit without a backward glance. I didn’t look at Harrison’s expression, nor did I look at my glamorous parents and sister on the stage. From this day forward, I was no longer the awkward footnote in their perfect family story. I am Audrey Hayes. I am the poison in the perfume called ‘Accomplice’. And I am the one and only protagonist of my own life. The moment I stepped out of the hotel, the night wind catching my hair, I felt a lightness I had never known. I took out my phone and dialed the number for the international perfumery competition. “Hello, I’m calling to accept your invitation. I would be honored to serve as a guest judge for the next competition.” Yes, the award notification I had hidden away, the passion they deemed worthless—that was about to become the sharpest weapon in my arsenal. The story of Audrey Hayes was only just beginning. 7 I blocked every number from my family. But I forgot to block my mother’s personal assistant. At three in the morning, the assistant’s call came like a death knell. I answered, and my mother’s voice, seething with a barely contained hysteria, shot through the phone. “Audrey! Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what you’ve done tonight?” I held the phone away from my ear, listening calmly to her shrill accusations. “Your sister’s engagement party! The Pierce family’s reputation! The Hayes family’s reputation! You’ve ruined it all!” “How could you… how dare you do something so classless? Giving them that… that unlucky thing, saying those passive-aggressive words! Do you think we’ve been too good to you? Have you forgotten who you are?” I said nothing. My silence seemed to enrage her further. “You get yourself back here right now! Apologize to the Pierces, and to your sister! Now! Immediately!” “I’m not coming back,” I said softly, my voice devoid of emotion. “What did you say?” She sounded as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “I said, I’m not coming back,” I repeated. “From the day I moved out, I never planned on returning. That house belongs to Sloane, not me.” The line went dead silent. After a long moment, my mother’s voice came back, exhausted and cold. “Audrey, you will regret this.” The call ended. Immediately, an unknown number rang. It was my father. His voice was much calmer than my mother’s, but it was a calm laced with ice, a pressure that felt like it could shatter the phone. “I’m giving you two choices.” “One, you delete all of your ridiculous social media accounts and go abroad for a few years. You are not to interfere in this family’s affairs again. When this blows over, I’ll arrange a marriage for you. I’ll guarantee you a comfortable life.” “Two,” he paused, his tone one of absolute authority, “I will take back the villa and the credit cards, and cut off all your financial support. The Hayes family will no longer have a daughter named Audrey. You can go out into the world and see how far your ‘hobbies’ get you. See if they can even buy you a meal.” It was the final ultimatum. And it was the same threat I had been hearing for twenty years. It used to make me tremble and obey. But this time, I smiled. “Dad,” I said, “the truth is, I’ve only ever had one choice.” “And that’s to become myself.” I hung up and turned off my phone. The world was finally quiet. I lay in bed, watching the inky black sky outside my window, my heart pounding in my chest. It was a chaotic mix of fear and the exhilarating thrill of a new beginning. As dawn approached, I turned my phone back on. A single text message had come through. It was from Harrison. “I received the perfume. But I don’t think ‘Accomplice’ is the right name.” I assumed he was calling on Sloane’s behalf to condemn me. My fingers hovered over the screen, unsure how to reply. A few seconds later, a second message arrived. “It belongs to you alone. It shouldn’t be tied to anyone else.” “It should be called ‘Monologue’.” My eyes burned. Monologue. Yes. That’s what it was. A grand, sorrowful, twenty-year-long monologue that no one had ever bothered to listen to. And Harrison was the first, and only, person to understand.

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The night Mia was broken, I was there. I watched it all happen. I even filmed it. Eventually, the horror shattered her mind. She was admitted to Mercy General. A few days later, her mother found me. She fell to her knees on the pavement in front of my apartment. “Ethan,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “Mia said she was going to meet you that night. The night she was… attacked. She said you were nearby. You must have seen who did it. Please.” I looked down at the woman clutching my jeans, her body shaking with sobs. Then I kicked her hand away. “Sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I didn’t see anything.” 1 Mrs. Miller sprawled back on the concrete, stunned. “You’re lying, Ethan.” Her voice trembled, but she bit down hard, refusing to let the tears fall. “Ever since Mia was admitted, she does nothing but clutch her pillow and whisper your name.” “She says she saw you that night, standing at the end of the alley. She keeps asking why you didn’t save her!” I pulled a cigarette from my pocket. It took three clicks of the lighter for the flame to catch. “Look, I told you,” I said, taking a long drag. “I wasn’t there. Mia’s not… well right now. You can’t take her word for it.” She scrambled to her feet, lunging for my arm. I sidestepped, and she stumbled, catching her balance at the last second. “My daughter has always been honest. She’s never told a lie in her life! Even now, confused as she is, she wouldn’t make up something like that!” My fingers tightened around the cigarette, the heat searing my skin. The sudden pain brought me back. Of course, I knew better than anyone. Mia wasn’t lying. The rain was coming down in sheets that night. I was waiting it out under the awning of the Quick Mart, and I saw them. I saw someone drag her into the dead-end alley next to the store. “I was in my dorm all night,” I said, my voice hard. “I never went near that alley.” I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my shoe. “Ethan, I’m asking you one last time. Who was it?” Before I could answer, a car pulled up. Mr. Miller got out. He’d taken a bad fall when he heard the news about Mia, and he still walked with a heavy limp. “You and Mia were together for two years,” he said, his voice strained. “She loved you. How can you watch her go through this and not even tell us the truth?” Seeing him like that, frail and limping, felt like a stone in my stomach. But I forced the words out. “I honestly don’t know, sir. If I knew, I would have called the cops myself. I wouldn’t be wasting my time here with you.” “Wasting your time?” His voice erupted in a roar of anger. He shoved me, hard. The force of it threw him off balance, and he crumpled to the ground. Mrs. Miller screamed and rushed to his side. “David! Are you okay? Ethan, you monster!” A small crowd was starting to form. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. “Isn’t that Ethan? He’s Mia Miller’s boyfriend, right?” “I heard what happened to Mia. Something about a breakdown… So he knows who did it and won’t talk?” “Jesus, what a coward. His own girlfriend gets attacked, and he won’t stand up for her? Then he pushes her dad over?” Mia’s best friend, Chloe, suddenly appeared, pushing her way to the front. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Are you even a man, Ethan? Do you have any idea how many guys envied you when you and Mia got together?” “She was the girl every guy on campus was in love with, and she chose you! How can you do this to her? Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Of course, I knew they envied me. At last year’s Founder’s Day ceremony, Mia gave a speech as the student representative. Every man in that auditorium was glued to her. “What good is envy?” I shot back. “You all saw how good she was to me. You have no idea what I did for her. Now that something’s happened, you all line up to point the finger. Do any of you have a clue what really went down?” “It’s because you’re scared, isn’t it?” Chloe spat. “You’re afraid to piss off her attacker. I heard the guy comes from a powerful family. You’re afraid of what they’ll do to you, so you’re keeping your mouth shut.” Her words hit their mark. A raw nerve. I saw Mia again in my mind, curled on the wet asphalt after it was over, her clothes torn, her face a mess of rain and tears. The look of utter despair in her eyes as she grabbed my arm. Mr. Miller, helped to his feet by his wife, was shaking with rage. “You remember this, Ethan. You refuse to talk today? Fine. But I will search this entire city if I have to. I will find the man who did this. And when I do, I don’t know how you’ll ever face Mia again.” “Do whatever you want.” I turned to leave, but Chloe grabbed my arm. “You’re not going anywhere! We already called the police. They’re on their way. Let’s see you tell your story to them!” I yanked my arm free, sending her stumbling back. The crowd’s muttering grew louder, a chorus of “coward” and “bastard.” I glanced toward the Quick Mart at the end of the street. Next to it was the alley where her life fell apart. Mia used to come here all the time. She’d stand right there by the entrance and call me. “Ethan, I got you something special.” Her smile back then… it could light up the whole damn world. A dry, painful laugh scraped its way out of my throat. Because I knew the truth better than any of them. I was hiding everything. 2 “She’s my only daughter, Ethan.” Mr. Miller’s anger had dissolved, replaced by a raw, aching despair. In front of everyone, the big man started to weep. “Mia was always such a good kid. A straight-A student. Never gave us a moment of trouble.” “And now? She’s in a psychiatric ward. Half the time, the only name she says is yours. The rest of the time, she just holds a pillow and cries. She doesn’t even recognize us anymore.” “As her father… seeing her like this… I don’t even want to live anymore.” The eyes of the crowd on me hardened with contempt. Mrs. Miller sniffled, her voice thick with emotion. “The only reason I’m still going is to find out the truth. To find the person who did this and clear her name. Then, even if I die, I can face her in the afterlife.” “You were with her for two years. Even if you have no feelings left, you can’t just stand by and let this happen without saying a single word of truth, can you?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Just then, my academic advisor, Dean Evans, arrived. After a quick briefing from Chloe, his face grew grim. He turned to me, his voice stern. “Ethan, withholding information makes you an accessory. If the perpetrator gets away because you stayed silent, you could be charged with a crime. Do you understand?” “You’re a university student. Do you know what a criminal record means? It’s a permanent mark on your file. Forget about grad school, forget about a decent job. It’s over.” I met his gaze. “Dean Evans, if you think I’ve committed a crime, then by all means, call the cops.” “When they get here, I’ll tell them the same thing I told everyone else. I didn’t see anything. What are they going to do to me?” My defiance left him speechless, his expression darkening. Mr. Miller, however, trembled with renewed fury. “How can you be so cold-blooded, Ethan? Mia is in the hospital, talking about you day and night. She says you were right there. She couldn’t have been mistaken!” I let out another cold laugh. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter doesn’t even recognize her own parents right now. Can you really trust what she’s saying?” “Maybe she was hallucinating. Maybe she saw someone else and thought it was me. If you really want to help her, you should be at the hospital, not here harassing me.” My words detonated in the small crowd. “Are you even human, Ethan? Mia’s in that state, and you talk about her like that?” “Yeah, even if she’s not lucid, you don’t have to slander her!” Mr. Miller’s face went white with rage. He lunged forward and slapped me across the face. The sting was sharp, electric. “I’m going to kill you, you heartless piece of scum!” he roared. “Mia must have been blind to ever love you!” The students around us murmured their agreement, that a bastard like me deserved it. I stared back at them, a cold smile on my lips. They didn’t give a damn about helping Mia. They’d always been jealous. From the day Mia and I got together, I’d heard the whispers in the hallways, the talk about how a guy like me didn’t deserve a girl like her. This was their chance to tear me down, and they were loving it. I took a deep breath and let the smile spread across my face. “You think I wanted to be with her?” “The truth is, I’ve wanted to break up with her for a long time.” “She’s a goddamn curse!” 3 The moment the words left my mouth, the murmuring exploded into chaos. Mr. and Mrs. Miller looked as if I’d just stabbed them, their faces drained of all color. Mrs. Miller was the first to react, clawing at my hair. “You ungrateful monster! How dare you! What did my daughter ever do to you but love you?” “When you had that terrible flu, she stayed up all night making you broth from scratch! She knew your family didn’t have much, so she was the one helping you pay for things these last two years!” Mr. Miller landed another punch, this one square on my jaw. I stumbled back, my spine slamming into the brick wall behind me. A sharp pain shot through my back. “I used to think you were a decent kid,” he seethed. “I was happy Mia was with you. Now I see I was blind. You call her a curse? You’re the one who’s an animal in human skin!” I rubbed my aching back. As I started to form a retort, Mr. Miller’s eyes narrowed, a strange look clouding his features. It was a mix of suspicion and dawning horror. He took a shaky breath, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “Ethan, tell me something. Was it because she wouldn’t sleep with you? Is that why you did it?” I froze. I never imagined he would think that. The crowd quieted, all eyes on me, waiting. “Mia has always been… a good girl,” he continued, his voice thick. “Did you get angry because she said no? She went to meet you that night… and when you couldn’t have her, you took her by force!” Beside him, Mrs. Miller began to sob, nodding frantically. “It must be! Oh, Ethan, you are a devil!” “We already agreed. We were going to let you two get married right after graduation. How could you do this to her?” I looked at them, a feeling of grim, hopeless absurdity washing over me. They would rather believe this insane theory than accept the simple fact that I hadn’t seen the attacker. I fumbled for another cigarette and lit it. “Married?” I let out a puff of smoke and a cold, cruel laugh. “Please. A girl like Mia? Even if you offered her to me for free, I wouldn’t want her now. She’s dirty.” A dead silence fell over the street. Every single person stared at me, their faces a mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated fury. Mrs. Miller was shaking so violently I thought she would collapse. But just then, a weak voice cut through the tension from behind me. “Ethan… why are you saying that about me?” It was Mia. Hearing her voice, my entire body went rigid. 4 Everyone turned. Slowly, I did the same. Mia was standing there, flanked by a relative and a doctor from the hospital. She was so much thinner. Her cheeks were hollowed out, making her eyes seem huge and vacant, all their former light extinguished. A dark, bruised purple shadowed the skin beneath them. The oversized hospital gown hung on her frame like a sheet on a scarecrow, as if a strong gust of wind could carry her away. The sight of her was a punch to the gut. Mrs. Miller ran to her, sobbing, and threw her arms around her daughter. But Mia’s gaze was fixed on me. Tears welled up in her haunted eyes and began to trace silent paths down her pale cheeks. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Ethan… I loved you so much. I was so good to you. Why would you say that? Why would you call me dirty?” I looked at her, and the words caught in my throat like gravel. I wanted to turn and run, but my feet felt nailed to the pavement. Seeing my silence, her tears fell faster. “That night… someone pulled me into the alley,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I saw you. I thought you would save me. Why didn’t you save me?” She paused, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a new wave of despair washing over her face. “And… I saw you. You were holding your phone. You were filming it.” “Ethan, the proof is on your phone. Why won’t you just admit it?” Her words were like gasoline on a fire. The crowd erupted. “What are you still standing there for, you bastard? Hand over the phone!” “Mia remembers the details! What else can you say?” “He did it on purpose! He has the video and he’s protecting the attacker!” I gritted my teeth, my eyes locked on Mia. It took all my strength to force the words out. “She’s talking nonsense! She’s mentally unstable. How can you believe a word she says?” But the doctor accompanying her immediately stepped forward. “Ms. Miller suffers from intermittent psychosis, not total delusion,” he explained calmly. “During her lucid periods, her logic and memory are intact. What she has just said has a high degree of credibility.” The doctor’s words demolished my only defense. Mr. Miller charged at me, his hands grabbing for my pocket. “Give me the phone, Ethan! Give it to me!” I instinctively recoiled, pushing him away. That was the signal. Several of Mia’s male relatives closed in, their faces tight with rage. “You’re going to pay for what you did to Mia.” A fist slammed into my face. I felt a hot, wet crack in my nose, and blood streamed down my mouth. “Get him! Make him talk!” “Beat the hell out of that bastard!” More people surged forward. Fists and feet rained down on me from every direction. I curled into a ball on the ground, covering my head, my body screaming in protest. Every bone felt like it was about to shatter. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and salty. I tried to shout, but a kick to my stomach stole my breath, leaving me gasping in silent agony. A pool of blood spread on the pavement beneath me. My vision started to blur at the edges. Through the haze of pain, I saw Mr. Miller finally snatch my phone. He grabbed my hand, forcing my thumb onto the sensor to unlock it. But a moment later, as he looked at the screen, he froze. The color drained from his face, leaving it a ghastly, bloodless white. The crowd pressed in, desperate to see what was on the screen. Suddenly, Mr. Miller snapped back to reality. With a guttural roar, he hurled the phone to the ground.

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1 My mother always said my father’s eyes were for her and her alone. No other woman was allowed to look at him, not even me, his daughter. The first time I called him “Daddy,” she sealed my lips shut with superglue. “You just have to have his attention, don’t you?” she hissed. “Let’s see you call for him now!” When he came home from a business trip and I ran to hug him, she beat me with a coat hanger until I was covered in blood. “You little slut, trying to steal my husband? Not on my watch!” And the time he took me to Disneyland? When we got home, she threw me out the eighteenth-story window. “Let’s see you seduce my husband when you’re dead!” As my shattered bones lay on the pavement, I prayed with every ounce of my broken soul. A thousand lifetimes of punishing evil and upholding good, I’ll take it. Just please, please give me a different mother next time. And the universe, in its infinite mercy, granted my request. Darkness, then a voice, filled with pure, unadulterated joy. It was my aunt, Claire. “Oh my god, I’m really pregnant? I’m going to be a mom!” “Please, please, let it be a girl!” Thank you, thank you, thank you. The universe had made my aunt my new mother. Aunt Claire was a human sunbeam, her only sorrow being her struggle with infertility. She had seen how miserable I was and had tried to adopt me. I would have given anything to go live with her. But my mother, Jessica, would never allow it. It was a fantasy I held onto until the day I died. And now, my fantasy had come true. I curled up contentedly in my new, safe home, trying not to giggle with glee. But then, a familiar, nightmarish voice shattered my peace. It was Jessica. “We’re pregnant at the same time, sis-in-law,” she said to Claire. “Honey,” she cooed to my father, Mark, “what if we have a girl too?” My father’s voice was full of happiness. “That would be great! A sweet, adorable little girl.” Jessica’s voice tightened. “You’re already so in love with her and she’s not even born yet. What about me? Will you even look at me after she’s here? It’s like I’m giving birth to your mistress!” Claire was stunned. “Jessica, what are you talking about? This is your daughter!” “It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl!” Claire added, trying to smooth things over. But Jessica wasn’t having it. “What if it is a girl?” she whined. “I have a feeling it is. A little home-wrecker!” She dug her sharp nails into her own stomach, as if trying to kill the fetus inside. A cold suspicion crept over me. Could Jessica have been reborn too? Was that why she thought she was pregnant with me again, and was trying to get rid of the baby from the start? “Honey, this baby is bad luck,” she pleaded with Mark. “It’s a curse. Let’s just get rid of it and try again. I’ll give you a son, I promise!” The doctor cut in. “Mrs. Miller, you have a very specific condition that makes it difficult for you to conceive. This pregnancy is a miracle.” Mark’s voice was stern. “You’re a grown woman, Jessica. Stop talking nonsense. It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. Don’t you dare hurt yourself or my child. My parents are so excited to be grandparents.” Claire added, “Jessica, get a grip. Do you really think Mark would have trouble finding someone else to have his children if you can’t?” The message was clear. If she couldn’t or wouldn’t have this baby, plenty of other women would be lining up to take her place. And her husband was her entire world. Jessica immediately changed her tune. “Oh, honey, your angry face is so scary! I’m pregnant, you know! I’ll be good, I’ll take care of the baby, I promise!” In front of Mark, she was the picture of maternal devotion. The second he left, she grabbed her stomach and cursed. “You little bitch. You think you’re safe just because I’m not getting an abortion? You’re not stealing my husband from me this time. Not for one second.” Her venomous words sent a chill through me, dragging me back to the misery of my past life. As if sensing my fear, Claire gently stroked her belly and began to hum a lullaby. This, I thought, this is my real mother. I relaxed. Jessica and Claire were both sent to the same exclusive private hospital, with VIP maternity packages. In front of Mark, Jessica would rub her belly with a beatific smile. But when he wasn’t around, she did everything she could to induce a miscarriage. She spit out her prenatal vitamins, flushed her specially prepared nutritional meals down the toilet, and secretly smoked and drank, and binged on ice cream. “You think you can make me have morning sickness?” she’d mutter to her stomach. “Let’s see how much nutrition you get now! I hope you’re stillborn! Or at least born a wrinkly, ugly little alcoholic that no one will ever want!” She even ordered a set of dumbbells and did endless crunches, her face pale with pain, refusing to stop. When Claire and the nurses tried to intervene, she had a ready excuse. “I’m strengthening my core! It’ll make for an easier delivery and a quicker recovery! I’m not letting this little home-wrecker steal my husband and my figure!” Listening to her, I felt a familiar dread. This must have been what it was like for me last time. My suffering had begun long before I was even born. But this time, I was safe with Claire. So who was the poor soul in Jessica’s belly? Maybe it was a boy. Maybe things would be different for him. If he survived her abuse, that is. Claire’s pregnancy was the complete opposite of Jessica’s self-inflicted nightmare. She ate well, had no morning sickness, and her appetite was only slightly larger than usual. My development was perfectly on track, but her belly was barely showing. From the back, you couldn’t even tell she was pregnant. By the second trimester, Claire was glowing. No complications, not even a single stretch mark. Her skin was radiant. This, of course, was my doing. The other expectant mothers in the hospital were amazed. They gathered around Claire, desperate to know her secret. “Dr. Evans said you’re the most relaxed pregnant woman she’s ever seen!” “You’re even sleeping through the night? If it weren’t for your belly, I wouldn’t even think you were pregnant!” “Look at her face! Not a single blemish!” Claire just laughed. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a well-behaved baby.” My uncle, Tom, was overjoyed. “This baby is a gift. She knows not to cause her mother any trouble!” He was right. I was here to be cherished, and to cherish in return. To finally have a loving mother, and for my aunt to finally have the daughter she’d always wanted. I nudged against Claire’s hand as she rubbed her belly, wishing I could be born right then and kiss her. As if she could feel my joy, she kept her hand there for a long time. Jessica watched from the edge of the crowd, her eyes full of envy. She punched her own stomach, then pushed her way through to Claire. “You know, you’ve been craving sour things,” she said loudly. “Sour for a boy, sweet for a girl. You’re definitely having a boy. I’m having a girl. You always wanted a girl, right? Let’s just swap. Everyone will be happy!” Claire stared at her, dumbfounded. “Jessica, what are you talking about? Are you feeling okay?” Jessica rolled her eyes and stuck out her stomach. “I’m having a girl and I don’t want her! You can have her! You can raise her! And you can give me your son. It’ll save you a fortune in college tuition later.” Even Claire’s legendary patience had its limits. “You smoke and drink and do everything you can to hurt your baby, and now you want to just give her away? Don’t you have any love for the child inside you?” Jessica stamped her foot. “Love? That little bitch is trying to steal my husband! You think I’m going to love her for that? Who are you trying to impress with your sanctimonious act? Fine, don’t swap. See if I care!” She stormed back to her room and started slamming an iPad against her stomach, as if she could beat the baby to death from the outside. She got even worse after that. Coffee, shellfish, intentionally falling down the stairs. The nurses were terrified of her, and started watching her around the clock. But Jessica didn’t care. “It’s my body, my baby. I can do whatever I want!” she’d shriek. “I have to protect my marriage! I’m not giving that little slut a chance!” But the baby stayed put. No miscarriage, not even any spotting. Jessica, furious, ordered a cocktail of dangerous herbs online. “I’ll get rid of you one way or another, you little bitch!” Claire noticed the strange package and immediately told Mark. He came storming into the hospital, his face like a thundercloud, and threw the herbs in the trash. “Have you forgotten this is my child too? What the hell is wrong with you?!” He threw out everything she’d bought and said, his voice deadly serious, “If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I’m done. With you, and with the baby. You can both get out of my life.” Jessica fell to her knees, sobbing. “No, honey, please! I love you! I just can’t stand the thought of you caring about anyone else! Let’s just have a son, please?” Mark sighed and helped her up, wiping away her tears. “Jessica, listen to me,” he said, his voice full of a weary sincerity. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. You are the woman I love. Nothing and no one will ever change that.” He meant it. And he had kept his word. In my last life, he had seen how Jessica tortured me, but he had looked the other way. He was an accomplice to my abuse. And now, more than ever, I was grateful to be free of both of them. The second Mark left for the office, Jessica was back to her old self, slamming her pregnant belly into the corner of a table. “You little bitch! You’re not even born yet and you’re already making him yell at me! Just you wait!” Claire watched her, a deep frown on her face. She was finally starting to see how truly unhinged her sister-in-law was. What she didn’t see was the strange, calculating smile on Jessica’s face as she watched Claire walk away. I knew Jessica wasn’t done. And I was right. That afternoon, while Claire was napping, Jessica found one of the delivery nurses. “See her?” she said, pointing at Claire’s room. “We’re probably going to give birth around the same time. When we do, I need you to do me a favor. Swap our babies.” The nurse pocketed the thick wad of cash Jessica handed her. “That’s a big risk,” she said. “If I get caught, I’ll lose my job.” Jessica sneered. “If anyone asks, just say I asked you to bring the baby over so I could see my new niece. We’re family. What’s the big deal?” The nurse nodded. “Why do you want to swap, anyway? You don’t even know if you’re both having girls.” Jessica’s eyes were full of a venomous jealousy as she looked at Claire’s door. “She’s already flirting with my brother. Now she’s trying to get cozy with my husband too? And why should she have such an easy pregnancy while I’m suffering? She wants a daughter? Fine, I’ll give her a daughter. Let’s see how she likes it when her own husband starts to stray!” After the nurse left, Jessica muttered to herself, a chilling, evil sound. “Last time, I let you live for a few years. This time, I’m going to kill you the day you’re born. No, no, I can’t even wait that long. The very first day…” My blood ran cold. Was I destined to be killed by this monster, no matter what? But what could I do? I was just a fetus. Thankfully, my limbs were fully formed now. So whenever Jessica came near Claire, I would give a little kick. At first, Claire didn’t notice. She just thought I was finally getting active. “Oh, you’re getting strong in there! Come on, baby, give Mommy a high-five!” It was the only thing I could do. I stayed perfectly still at all other times. But whenever Jessica was around, I’d kick and squirm. After the twentieth time, Claire started to look confused. She didn’t say anything, but she quietly asked Tom if they could switch hospitals. I was overjoyed. Tom was confused. “Why? This is the best hospital in the city.” Claire just said it was a mother’s intuition. In the end, Tom convinced her to stay, worried that the stress of moving so close to the due date would be bad for the baby. But he did get her a larger, more private room at the opposite end of the hall from Jessica. After that, whenever Jessica came by, Claire would pretend to be asleep. Eventually, Jessica got the hint and stopped coming around as often. I finally felt a small measure of relief. I spent my days practicing my positioning, getting ready for the big day. Eight days before my due date, I decided I was ready. Okay, Mom, for my sake, let’s do this thing. I promise I won’t make it too hard on you. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and gave a mighty kick downwards. “Nurse! Doctor! My water just broke! I’m in labor!” Claire’s voice was louder and more powerful than I’d ever heard it. The hospital staff rushed in to take her to the delivery room. Jessica, hearing the commotion, came out of her room. She stared for a second, then ran over and blocked the gurney. “It’s too early! Claire, you can’t have the baby now! We were supposed to give birth on the same day! You have to wait!” Mark, mortified, pulled her away. “What are you talking about? Are you insane?” As the delivery room doors swung shut, Jessica cursed Claire, hoping for a stillbirth. But twenty minutes later, the doors opened again. My cries filled the hallway. Mom! I’m here! The doctors and nurses were all smiling. “I’ve never seen a delivery so fast and so easy! You’re a lucky one!” The family crowded around, cooing over me in my mother’s arms. “Come on, Jessica, come see your new niece. It’ll be your turn in a few days. I’m sure it’ll be just as easy for you!” Jessica forced a smile and walked over. The second she saw me, her face froze. The thermos in her hand slipped, and a stream of boiling water came flying towards me.

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