Category: English

I was sixteen when the neurotoxin leaked. I saved Liam Blackwood that day, but I inhaled too much of the gas in the process. When I woke up, my memory was gone. In its place was a strange affliction: a peculiar scent that clings to my skin, my hair, everything. A scent that makes Liam retch. He refused to accept it, to believe in a fate so cruel. He’d force himself to hold me, his body rigid, jaw clenched, until one sweltering afternoon, I reached out to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. He recoiled, shoving me back, and collapsed, vomiting until there was nothing left. He knelt there, fists clenched, his eyes bloodshot. “Thea,” he gasped, his voice raw. “Don’t be scared. I’ll get used to it. I promise.” For me, he gave up a scholarship to his dream school, clawing his way up in the business world until he became a self-made titan. He built a beautiful glass conservatory for me, a sun-drenched cage where his fragile, broken burden could be kept safe. He gave me everything he had. Everything, except a genuine touch. I thought this was our tragic, noble battle against destiny. Until the night I heard him in his study, holding his assistant, Serena. His voice was laced with a dependence and relief I had never, ever heard directed at me. “Serena, thank God I have you… After I hold her, smelling your perfume is the only thing that brings me back.” “She saved my life. I owe her that. I have to take care of her forever, I know that, but…” He paused, a long, ragged breath filling the silence. His voice dropped to a choked whisper. “But some days, I really wish I had died in that accident. Anything would be better than living like this, day after day, in this hell.” 1 The diffuser I was carrying slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor. The scent of lavender and my own unshakeable odor bloomed in the air. Liam burst out of the study, Serena right behind him. He saw me and froze. In one swift, practiced motion, he pulled Serena behind him, shielding her. The movement was so fast, so instinctual. A needle of ice plunged straight into my heart. “Thea…” He took a hesitant step toward me, his face a mask of panic, ready to explain. But the scent hit him. The color drained from his face, and a choked, gagging sound escaped his throat as he stumbled backward. Serena was at his side in an instant. She pulled a small, personal respirator from her pocket and expertly fitted it over his mouth and nose. Her voice was calm, her hand steady on his arm. “Breathe slowly, Liam. It’s okay.” He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. I just stood there, paralyzed, feeling like a child who had broken something priceless. “I…” I didn’t mean to listen. The single word was all I managed before his brow furrowed, his face contorting with the effort of holding back another wave of nausea. I clamped my mouth shut, the rest of the sentence dying in my throat. A chill spread through my limbs. Serena knelt, gracefully gathering the largest shards of glass. She moved with an easy confidence, as if she were the lady of this house. “I’ll take care of this,” she said without looking up. I stared at Liam. He was still gasping for air against the doorframe, his eyes shut, refusing to look at me. He was in pain. Because of me. That realization finally broke my paralysis. I turned and fled. Not to the glass conservatory, but straight out the front door of the villa. It was raining, a cold, biting downpour that plastered my hair to my face. His voice, laced with panic, chased after me. “Thea! Where are you going? Come back!” I reached the street, desperately flagging for a car, the rain soaking through my thin dress. A taxi pulled over. I threw the door open and scrambled inside. “The old lab facility, west of the city,” I managed, my voice trembling. In the rearview mirror, I saw Liam run out into the rain. He didn’t have an umbrella; his expensive suit was instantly darkened by the downpour. He slammed his hand on the window. “Thea, get out of the car! We can talk about this!” The driver looked at us, confused. “Please, just drive,” I whispered, lowering my head, unable to watch. The car pulled away. Through the rear window, I saw him chase us for a few steps before stopping, a helpless figure shrinking in the rain-swept darkness. I leaned back against the seat, my entire body shaking with a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. The taxi dropped me outside the abandoned laboratory. It was a derelict skeleton of a building, fenced off and forgotten. I pushed open the creaking gate and stood in the rain, staring at the place that had shattered my life. I couldn’t remember any of it. He had told me the story, but it felt like someone else’s life. The only piece of my past I had was a name: Liam Blackwood. It should have been me, I thought. If I had died, he wouldn’t be in so much pain now. I don’t know how long I stood there before a black sedan screeched to a halt beside me, sending a plume of water into the air. Liam stormed out of the driver’s side, his face pale and furious. He grabbed my arm, his grip so tight it hurt. “What are you doing here?” he roared, his eyes shot through with red veins of anger and fear. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?” He practically threw me into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Back in the driver’s seat, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Thea Reed!” he seethed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Do you have to put me through this? Do you enjoy watching me lose my mind over you?” His voice was a raw thunder in the enclosed space of the car, making my ears ring. I looked at his enraged face, at his rain-soaked, disheveled state, and I could smell it. That scent. My scent. I had made him sick again. I had been thoughtless again. “I’m sorry… I’m causing trouble for you again,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. It was as if all the anger drained out of him at once. He slumped back against his seat and closed his eyes. The only sounds were his harsh breathing and the inescapable scent of me. The rain had softened to a drizzle by the time we got back to the villa. Serena was waiting by the gate, holding an umbrella. She hurried over as our car approached. Liam got out first. She immediately tilted the umbrella to cover him, leaving her own shoulder exposed to the rain. “Liam,” she said, her voice a mixture of chiding and concern as she handed him a glass of water and a few pills. “You know you can’t get chilled. You forgot your medication.” Then, as if just noticing me, she gave me a brief, dismissive glance. I slid out of the car, drenched and shivering, and watched them. Liam took the pills and water without a word, a gesture so practiced it was clear this was their routine. He looked at me then, his mouth opening as if to say something. But I didn’t want to hear it. I walked past them, into the house, up the stairs to my bedroom, and locked the door behind me. Seconds later, his footsteps pounded down the hall. He tried the knob. “Open the door, Thea! We need to talk.” His voice was a low growl, tight with repressed anger and exhaustion. Talk? About what? I walked to the window and pushed it open. A cold, damp wind gusted in, making me shudder. The garden below was a blur in the misty rain. I stared down at the manicured lawn. “If you push me any further,” I said, my voice quiet but clear enough to carry through the door, “I’ll jump.” The rattling of the doorknob stopped. The world went silent, save for the gentle patter of the rain. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest and burying my face. The tears finally came, hot and silent, mingling with the cold rainwater in my hair. I had made him angry again. I was his problem again. What do I have to do, I sobbed into my knees, to stop being his pain? The footsteps outside the door retreated. I stayed there all night, leaning against the cold wood, and drifted into a fitful sleep just as the sun came up. 2 The next morning, a knock came again. It was the maid. “Miss Reed, Mr. Blackwood would like you to come downstairs.” I opened the door. Liam was standing at the top of the stairs, dressed immaculately in a dark suit. His face was drawn and tired, but his expression was calm, resolute. “Get dressed. I’m taking you somewhere.” “Where?” “A clinic. You need to see a doctor.” I looked at him, at the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t slept either. Was it from worry, or from anger at me? “I’m not sick,” I said softly. “You threatened to kill yourself yesterday,” he stated, his gaze unblinking, complicated. “What would you call that?” I lowered my head, unable to argue. The car pulled up to a high-end private clinic downtown. The interior was sleek and sterile. Liam spoke with the doctor in an inner office, leaving the door slightly ajar. I sat on a plush sofa outside, catching fragments of their conversation. “She’s become more and more erratic lately,” Liam’s voice was strained, laced with a weary frustration. “Her moods are unstable. Yesterday, she ran off…” Erratic. Unstable. The words were like thorns pressing into my heart. So that’s what I was to him now. Not just a burden, but an unstable one. The clinic’s front door opened and Serena walked in, carrying a file folder. “Liam,” she said, pushing the office door open without knocking. “These need your urgent signature.” Through the gap in the door, I saw Liam rubbing his temples, the picture of exhaustion. Serena moved behind him, her movements fluid and natural, and began to gently massage his temples. He didn’t pull away. He leaned back into her touch. The sight was so sharp it made my eyes burn. I shot up from the sofa and walked toward the exit. Liam saw me. He rushed out and grabbed my wrist. “The session isn’t over. Where are you going?” His touch was a shock. And at that exact moment, a wave of nausea roiled in my stomach. Maybe it was the empty stomach, or maybe it was the tidal wave of emotion. I doubled over, a violent gag reflex taking over. I threw up right there on the polished floor. Some of it splattered onto his expensive trousers and handcrafted leather shoes. The foul smell filled the air. He recoiled as if he’d been burned, flinging my hand away and stumbling back, his face a mask of undisguised disgust. “Thea, why are you always like this?” he yelled, his voice cracking with a decade of frustration and fury. Always like this. Always making a mess. Always causing him pain. Serena was there instantly, stepping between us with a handful of tissues, carefully dabbing at his trousers. “It’s okay, Liam, don’t be angry. I’ll clean it up.” She knelt at his feet, tending to the mess with meticulous care, as if his suit were a holy relic. And I stood there, covered in my own filth, a repulsive, superfluous piece of trash. I looked at them, a sharp, twisting pain in my chest. I turned and ran from the clinic. The sunlight was blinding. I walked aimlessly, with no destination in mind. I stopped in front of a bridal shop. In the window, a mannequin wore a stunning satin gown, its design simple and impossibly elegant. It looked so familiar. I stared, my mind a blank. Then, a flicker. A hazy, broken memory… A younger me, years ago, standing on this very spot, pointing at this very dress, smiling at the boy beside me. “Liam, that’s the one. That’s the dress I’m going to wear.” Back then, there was no neurotoxin. No scent. No Serena. Back then, when he looked at me, he was smiling. “Thea.” Liam’s voice, coming from behind me. He had followed me. I didn’t turn around, my eyes still fixed on the wedding dress. He came to stand beside me, his gaze following mine to the window. He saw the dress. The anger on his face slowly dissolved, replaced by a complex, unreadable expression. He just stood there, looking from the dress to me and back again. His mouth opened, then closed. He said nothing. The two of us, disheveled and miserable, standing like fools before the brightly lit window of a bridal boutique. The space between us was so much more than a few feet of pavement. 3 In the end, Liam said nothing. He just led me back to the car and drove me to the villa. We didn’t speak for days. The silence was broken on the morning of his mother’s birthday. He knocked on my door early. “Get ready. We’re going to the family estate tonight. Mom wants to see you.” I knew it wasn’t a request. That evening, I wore the new dress he’d had sent over. I sat in the back of the car. He drove, with Serena in the passenger seat. They talked about work the entire way. I didn’t understand any of it, so I just watched the city lights blur past my window. The estate was buzzing with people. As we entered, all eyes turned to me. I caught a faint whiff of my own scent and instinctively tried to shrink away from the crowd. Mrs. Blackwood sat at the head of the dining table, her face a neutral mask. “You’re here. Sit,” she commanded. Serena walked right up to her, presenting a gift. “Happy birthday, Eleanor.” “Serena, dear. Always so thoughtful,” Mrs. Blackwood said, taking her hand. “So much more capable than some people.” A dull ache spread through my chest. In her eyes, I would always be the thoughtless, useless burden. For ten years, I had tried so desperately to earn her approval, and I still couldn’t get a single crumb of it. During dinner, Mrs. Blackwood suddenly set down her fork. “Liam, it’s time to settle things.” The table fell silent. “Serena is the only one fit to be a Blackwood,” she announced, her voice low but carrying to every corner of the room. “She’s capable, she’s from a good family, and most importantly, you can have a normal life with her.” The words struck me like a physical blow. I dug my nails into my palms, the fabric of my dress bunching in my fists. A chorus of relatives chimed in. “She’s right, Liam. It’s time to make a decision.” “You can’t just drag this on forever… What about the family line? An heir?” I kept my head down, tears stinging my eyes. I fought them back. I would not cry here. I would not give them the satisfaction. Liam said nothing. He just took a sip of his wine. I stood, needing to escape. “Excuse me, I need the restroom.” As I passed Serena, she “accidentally” knocked over her wine glass. Red wine splashed all over my dress. “Oh, I am so sorry,” she said, her face devoid of any actual apology. The dress was soaked, clinging unpleasantly to my skin. “Go change in the guest room,” Mrs. Blackwood said dismissively. I nodded, fleeing the dining room. But when I opened the closet in the guest room, it was filled with Serena’s clothes. Business suits, casual wear, even pajamas. It was as if something seized my heart and squeezed, hard. There was no place for me here anymore. Even a closet was a reminder that I was an intruder. So, she stayed here often? “What’s taking so long?” Liam pushed the door open. He saw me staring at the closet and his brow furrowed. “What is it now, Thea?” His voice was heavy with exhaustion. I pointed a trembling finger at the rows of clothes. “There’s no room for me here anymore.” He glanced at the closet and was silent for a moment. “It’s temporary. Serena’s been staying over to keep Mom company.” A burning sensation rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. In his mind, had I already been cleared out, too? It was late when the party finally wound down. Liam turned to me. “I’m giving Serena a ride home. It’s on the way.” Serena stood beside him, a faint, triumphant smile on her lips. I watched their backs as they walked away together. I didn’t move. The staff began to clear the tables, no one paying me any mind. I walked out the front door and sat on the cold stone steps. The night was deep, the wind cold. I just sat there. And waited. I waited as the lights in the great house went out one by one. I waited as the moon climbed high overhead. He never came back. It must have been very on the way. So on the way that he forgot someone was waiting for him. 4 I sat on the steps of the estate until dawn, my body stiff with cold. When Liam’s car finally pulled into the driveway, he saw me, and his brow immediately creased into a frown. “You sat here all night?” he asked, his tone laced with accusation. “Are you trying to make yourself sick? To make me feel even more guilty?” A sharp pain lanced through me. I lowered my head. The next day, he took us to a beach resort. Serena, of course, came along. I was given a detached cabin, the furthest one from the main lodge. “It’s quieter here. You can rest,” he’d said. I knew the truth. He was afraid my scent would disturb the other guests. Especially Serena. That night, the sea wind howled. A familiar tightness seized my throat. My asthma was flaring up. My hands trembled as I fumbled for my emergency inhaler. I pressed it to my lips and sprayed, but nothing happened. It was just a weak puff of air. I held the canister up to the faint light. It had been replaced with a saline solution. Gasping, I stumbled out of the cabin and ran toward the main lodge. On the terrace, Liam’s deep voice drifted on the wind. “Mom, I know Serena is the better choice.” He paused, his voice thick with a conflict that tore me apart. “But Thea… she ended up this way because of me. I can’t just throw her away…” His words were icicles, piercing the last fragile flicker of hope in my heart. So that’s all it was. Responsibility. Just then, Serena stepped out from the shadows, a cold smile on her face. “Did you hear that?” she hissed, backing me toward the top of the stairs. “To him, you are nothing but guilt and obligation. Your life is a stain he can never wash away!” I tried to speak, to fight back, but my throat was closing, no air could get through. She suddenly lunged, shoving me hard. “Why won’t you just disappear?” I cried out as I tumbled backward down the stone staircase. My head struck the sharp edge of a step, and a warm rush of blood instantly blurred my vision. I heard frantic footsteps. Liam. Serena’s expression changed in a flash. She threw herself into his arms, her voice a tragic sob. “Liam! She just attacked me… she tried to push me!” Liam saw the blood streaming down my face. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes before it was consumed by a towering inferno of rage. “Thea Reed! Look at what you’ve become!” he roared. “What are you capable of besides causing endless, endless trouble? What do you want from me? Do you want me to pay for it with my life, right here, right now? Would that finally make you happy?” I looked at him, and the last bit of light inside me went out. My very existence was the crime. I struggled to my feet, blood dripping from my forehead onto my chest. I dragged my injured leg, which felt like it belonged to a stranger, and staggered step by agonizing step toward the dark, churning ocean. The water surged around my ankles, cold as death. My body sank, the icy sea pressing in from all sides, stealing the last of my breath, the last of my warmth. In the final second before consciousness dissolved into an endless dark, I thought I heard a soul-tearing scream from the shore.

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“She’s back. You need to leave.” When Rhys said the words, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I let myself freeze for a moment. One… two… three. I lowered my head, my body beginning to tremble almost imperceptibly. When I looked up again, my eyes were shimmering pools of unshed tears. I bit down hard on my lip, letting the color drain from my face. My slender frame, silhouetted against the afternoon sun, seemed fragile, on the verge of collapse. Rhys’s brow furrowed. He turned, leaned over his massive mahogany desk, and scribbled furiously on a check. “This is for your trouble,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “You knew this was the deal. Isabelle is back. There’s nothing I can do.” Jackpot. I nearly broke character when I saw the string of zeros. I dug my nails sharply into my thigh, forcing a single, perfect tear to trace a path down my cheek. My voice trembled as I asked, “Is there really no chance for us?” The sadness, to be fair, wasn’t entirely an act. In this economy, a golden goose this plump and this guilt-ridden was a rare find. Rhys looked away, a flicker of pity in his eyes. He pressed the check into my hand, then pulled me into a brief, stiff hug. “You’ll find someone better,” he murmured, his voice raspy. No, I really won’t. The thought was immediate and certain. I’d been in this business for years. A mark this wealthy and this sentimental was practically a unicorn. Fearing he might try for some kind of dramatic, drawn-out farewell scene, I gently pushed him away. “I understand,” I whispered, my voice thick with manufactured grief. Without another word, I turned and walked away. I heard him call my name, but I didn’t stop. An hour later, I was gone. My luggage was packed, and the sprawling villa held no trace that I had ever existed. I didn’t relax until the eight million dollars from the check was safely transferred into my bank account. Then, a text from Rhys buzzed on my phone. — Where did you go? I could understand his concern. In his mind, I was a delicate, helpless flower, a girl who was constantly being wronged by the world, a girl who loved him beyond reason. He was probably picturing me sobbing in some cramped, lonely apartment. The reality was slightly different. At that moment, a team of young, handsome male masseuses was diligently working on my shoulders and feet. One was peeling grapes with long, slender fingers and feeding them to me between sips of vintage Bordeaux. I was so blissfully relaxed I couldn’t even be bothered to open my eyes, let alone reply to a text. But then, for the next two or three days, Rhys kept calling. And texting. Over and over. I found it… odd. Wasn’t the ghost of his past love finally back in the flesh? 2 Ordinarily, I would have replied. As a professional girlfriend surrogate, my philosophy was always customer-centric. You never know when a client’s idealized memory might tarnish and they come looking to rent your services again. I glanced at my studio’s financial reports and then at my swelling bank balance. With a sigh of resignation, I texted Rhys back a simple, curated message: I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. The less you say, the more they wonder. The more you tell them not to worry, the more they do. It’s a fundamental flaw in the male psyche, and I knew exactly how to exploit it. The next day, I opted for a bright, vibrant makeup look, baked a cake from scratch, and headed to the Wyatt Corporation headquarters. Wyatt Hayes, one of the city’s most notorious heirs, was the epitome of the reckless playboy. His profligacy was legendary, rivaling even Rhys’s quiet wealth. I pushed open the door to his office and found him with a young, ponytailed woman perched on his lap, the two of them tangled in an intimate embrace. I froze. I didn’t even have to act. A genuine wave of disappointment washed over me. Seeing me, Wyatt panicked, shoving the woman off his lap. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Uh… Lily, why don’t you head out for a bit.” The woman shot me a resentful glare before reluctantly leaving. Unlike Rhys’s preference for the fragile, damsel-in-distress type, Wyatt’s ideal was the stubborn, scrappy Cinderella. So, I just stood there, my eyes downcast, silent. “As you can see,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the empty space where the girl had been. “She looks more like Vivian did back then. We should break up.” I counted to thirty in my head before finally whispering, “Okay.” I sniffled, then walked quickly to his desk. My words came out in a rush, laced with a tremor, a kind of panicked energy as I carefully placed the cake box before him. “I won’t bother you again. I know you love sweets, and I spent a long time on this cake, but…” I lifted my head to look at him, my expression earnest, heartbroken, my voice trailing off. “Could you… not share it with her? I made it for you…” It was a pathetic, desperate plea. My eyes welled with tears that refused to fall as I held his gaze. He looked flustered, grabbing a tissue and taking a step toward me. I took a step back. “Stella…” he sighed. “I’ll eat the cake.” He picked up his desk phone. “Liz, get the paperwork ready. Transfer the title of the downtown Park Avenue condo to Stella’s name.” He looked back at me. “It’s the only thing I can do. Please, take it. Forgive me.” My heart skipped a beat. The next second, I found my voice, shouting through my tears, “You think this is what I wanted?” And with that, I fled his office, not even waiting for the elevator. I ran all the way to the fire escape. Once inside the stairwell, out of sight, I burst out laughing. Sorry, but this was exactly what I wanted. 3 I heard later that Wyatt actually chased after me, that he’d been searching for me everywhere. By then, I was busy moving. The Park Avenue condo was one of the smaller units, but it was still worth over thirty million. The sale I’d arranged wouldn’t close for another month, so I figured I’d live in it for a while. I was so close to my goal. My elation, however, was short-lived. That same afternoon, I was summoned to the office of Titan number three: Declan. His voice, when he spoke, was a cool, magnetic baritone. “We’re done.” A spark of irritation flared through me, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. “You’re breaking up with me, too?!” The moment the word left my mouth, I clapped a hand over it, wanting to smack myself. Declan’s eyebrow arched. A dangerous chill crept into his gaze as he lifted his head. “…Too?” My throat went dry. I couldn’t force out a single word. I watched as he slowly removed his black suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. He leaned against his desk, loosening his tie with a deliberate tug. Then, he extended a hand and beckoned to me with one finger, his face a blank mask. “Come here.” Looking at the set of his jaw, the way his muscles flexed… He wasn’t going to hit me, was he? That broad chest, those powerful biceps… he looked like he could end me with a couple of punches. When I didn’t move, he started walking toward me. I immediately backed away, stammering, “No, no, it’s not necessary. I wish you all the best, good fortune, happy breakup.” I had almost reached the door when his foot shot out, kicking it shut. He braced one hand against the door, trapping me. A slow, cold smile spread across his lips, but his eyes were terrifying. “Why don’t you translate for me? What, exactly, does ‘breaking up with you, too,’ mean?” “It’s… well…” I managed a weak, awkward laugh. “Hmm?” “…” “Are you two-timing me?” I shook my head violently. “Three-timing, then?” I froze. The smile on his face turned to ice. He raised his hand, and I instinctively ducked, covering my head. I started babbling, trying to explain and defend myself all at once. “I know this violates our agreement, but you were chasing your old flame, and I was just doing my job as a stand-in. It’s just a few side hustles in my spare time, that’s all! Fine, I don’t want your money, okay? Wait, no…” My brain caught up with my mouth. “Wait a minute, we never actually signed a contract, did we?” The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. The middleman, old Wang, had just said he was introducing me to a similar gig, the CEO of the Hale Corporation. We’d met, things had started, but the paperwork was never finalized. I’d figured the head of a company that big wouldn’t stiff me over a few bucks, so I hadn’t pushed it. Ha! Perfect! My spine straightened instantly. “Break up, then. Fine. We never signed anything, so you can’t sue me for breach of contract.” “What contract?” He frowned. “The stand-in contract, obviously! I don’t want your money anymore. Ah, what a waste, though. All those dinners, movies, and trips over the last six months…” I trailed off, genuinely mourning the lost income. Declan’s eyes darkened. He enunciated each word, his voice dangerously low. “Are you saying… that for the past five months, our dates, the movies, even…” He stopped, his jaw tight. “You did it all for money?” The last few words were practically ground out between his teeth. He looked like he wanted to hit me again. A shiver went down my spine. “But… I’m a professional stand-in. An actress. A professional…” He lowered his head, closing his eyes. For a long moment, there was silence. Then, he slammed his fist into the door right next to my head. I saw that his eyes were red-rimmed when he looked at me again, his voice trembling slightly. “And them… did you…?” He struggled with the words. “I mean…” “You and the others… did you ever… you know…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, his meaning veiled and hesitant. But it made my heart do a strange little flutter. It was almost as if we had been in a real relationship. “Are you talking about… sleeping with them? No. Never. I sell a performance, not my body.” “Then that time with us…” “All fake. A harmless, non-toxic hallucinogen.” A wave of relief washed over his face, so potent he seemed to deflate like a balloon. “Get out,” he said, his voice hollow. I left, completely bewildered. I thought that was the end of it. Until, at a gala a few weeks later, I saw them. The three men, dressed in starkly different suits, were sitting together, drinking. And then, in unison, they all looked at me. 4 I wanted to run. I truly did. Rhys, in a pristine white suit, looked elegant and coolly detached. Wyatt was in a flashy burgundy number, open at the chest, exuding a roguish charm. And Declan, tall and imposing in a classic black suit, radiated an even more intense pressure than usual. Three of the city’s four most eligible bachelors. Yes, they were handsome. Yes, it was a beautiful picture. But I didn’t dare look. I was terrified they were plotting my demise. I took a sharp breath and turned, planning to melt into a less conspicuous corner of the ballroom. Then I heard my name called from behind me. “Stella.” The voice was sharp, arrogant. It was Wyatt. I froze, took a deep breath, and channeled my inner “stubborn Cinderella.” Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to turn back around. To my horror, all three of them were now walking toward me. Wyatt continued, a smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t chase me? Following me all the way here, huh?” Rhys’s brow twitched. He shot Wyatt a look before turning to me. “Why didn’t you answer my calls? I was worried about you.” I was starting to panic. My eyes darted instinctively to Declan. His face was a mask of cold indifference. “Yes,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’d like to know the answers to both of their questions as well.” I stood there, stunned, for three long seconds. Then, I pressed my hand to my forehead, feigning a sudden illness. “My head hurts.” Rhys reacted first, stepping forward and gently massaging my temples. “You can’t even take care of yourself without me. Isabelle has plans tonight. Will you be my date?” Before I could refuse, Wyatt yanked me away. “She came here for me! Why should she be your date?” As they started to bicker, I tried to catch Declan’s eye, desperately trying to signal him, to ask if he’d told them everything. Instead, he spoke up, his tone leisurely. “I don’t have a date either.” I just… stared. The other two, having reached a stalemate, started escalating their offers. “Stella, be my date. You can walk the red carpet with me next month. I’ll get you a custom couture gown.” Ooh. That was tempting. My eyes lit up. “A dress? What’s that?” Wyatt scoffed. “Stella, a red Ferrari LaFerrari. Think about it.” My eyes got even brighter. It was Declan’s turn. He looked at me, his expression cold and impassive. He uttered a single word. “No.” I mentally waved a little white flag. He was out. “Are you all holding an auction? In that case, I offer ‘Willows and Green Mountains’ by the master painter Su Yunchuan.” The voice was warm and clear. I immediately turned to see him. Ethan Fang. Great. Now the whole set was here. All four of New York’s princes. He was also one of my targets for the evening. I gathered my skirt, ready to glide over and give him my most dazzling introduction, when I heard Declan’s chilling voice. “Stella, you’d better choose… carefully.” The threat was unmistakable. My smile froze on my face. “Maybe you could add a little something to your offer? Like, some Bvlgari jewels or…” Declan swirled the wine in his glass, shaking his head like the world’s most handsome cheapskate. “No.” 5 I was starting to suspect Declan was here purely to sabotage me. Which is why, during our obligatory dance, I “accidentally” stepped on his feet several times. As the orchestra played a sweeping waltz, Declan finally spoke. “What are you doing here tonight?” “Business,” I replied curtly, my eyes scanning the room for my real target. “Scouting for your next meal ticket?” I couldn’t read his tone. I didn’t feel angry, but I didn’t feel like answering him either. Declan let out a short, humorless laugh. “All that ambition and no sense.” My head snapped toward him, my brow furrowed. “Because I’m richer than all of them,” he explained simply. “But you’re cheap!” I shot back, launching into a list of grievances. “On our first date, you took me to your company cafeteria. For holidays, all I got were these awful little pastries. And my Christmas gift was corporate swag with the Hale logo on it!” I continued, “Rhys gave me a six-figure credit card right at the start, and Wyatt just gave me a condo downtown…” Declan’s face grew darker and darker. He cut me off before I could finish. “Do you really want to be discussing your three-timing ways in the middle of a crowded ballroom?” I clamped my mouth shut. Then I lowered my voice, defending myself in a whisper. “Don’t spread rumors. I was a perfectly legitimate contract stand-in. I just took on a few extra clients…” I sighed dramatically. “You capitalists will never understand the struggles of us common folk…” As I spoke, I caught a glimpse of Ethan leaving the room. My heart leaped. I pushed away from Declan. “I have to go to the restroom.” Without a second thought, I hurried after him, completely missing the sudden, predatory glint in Declan’s eyes. 6 The meeting was a resounding success. Even in a place as unglamorous as a public restroom hallway, Ethan’s refined, aristocratic air was undeniable. It took all my willpower to suppress my giddy excitement. But as I rounded a corner… I was slammed violently against the wall. Declan’s pupils were so dark I couldn’t read the emotion in them, but his hands trembled with rage, and his face was a thundercloud. I felt the ghost of his fingertips trail across my neck, making me flinch. Then his husky voice was right beside my ear. “If you’re going to be a gold-digger, you might as well dig in my backyard. Hmm?” The last syllable curled upwards, his breath warm against my skin. For a split second, something exploded in my brain, and my face flushed hot. I couldn’t help it. The leading man was just too handsome. The leading lady was losing control. The air crackled with a romantic, cinematic tension. And in the next moment… Declan was knocked to the ground by a single punch. And I, elegant and beautiful in my midnight-blue gown… ended up on the floor with a bruised tailbone from trying to break up a fight between two grown men. 7 It’s not that Wyatt was deeply in love with me. It was more likely his possessive streak acting up. But his little outburst was enough to snap me back to reality. “Look, whatever. The three of us are done,” I announced, getting to my feet. “I’m just a struggling actress trying to make a living. I’m begging you, leave me alone.” I glared at them both. “If you’re going to fight, wait until I’m gone.” With that, I clutched my aching backside and limped away as fast as I could. When I got to the entrance, there wasn’t a single taxi in sight. Just a familiar black Bentley. I glanced back and saw the two of them heading for the door. Gritting my teeth, I made a decision and hurried to the car. “Driver, let’s go, quick!” I said, sliding into the back seat. The second I sat down, I realized the space felt cramped, the atmosphere… awkward. Rhys was leaning over, fastening a necklace around the throat of a beautiful woman beside him. I had just plopped down right where his ass had been. The posture was mortifying. The delicate beauty saw me and, with an understanding look, immediately scooted over to make room. She and I looked about seventy percent alike. I understood instantly. I offered a sycophantic smile. “Mr. Davies, could we maybe get going?” Rhys looked at me, then at the two men approaching the car, a strange smile playing on his lips. “They’re old friends. We should say hello.” Friends my ass! I immediately reached for the door handle, but Rhys stopped me. I was so frustrated I could have laughed. I really should have checked my horoscope before leaving the house today. “Rhys, my man! Quite the party you’ve got in here,” Wyatt drawled, his smile not reaching his eyes. Rhys’s lips curled. “You flatter me.” Declan, however, was looking straight at me. “So this is your choice?” I had only one option… I turned to the beautiful woman. “Oh! You must be Isabelle, right? Your dress is gorgeous! Who’s the designer? And your makeup is flawless! Your skin is amazing. Mine just can’t handle late nights. Do you have any skincare products or a spa you’d recommend?” The words tumbled out of me at lightning speed as I slowly pressed the button to raise the window. The second it was fully closed, I yelled at the front seat, “Driver, everyone’s here! Let’s go!” 8 The car peeled away from the curb. Rhys’s smile vanished, replaced by a scrutinizing look. “How do you know them?” I tilted my head toward him, then leaned forward again, focusing on Isabelle. “So, what did you study abroad? Are you thinking of getting into the entertainment industry now that you’re back?” Rhys’s patience wore out. “Stella.” “Thanks, you can just drop me off up ahead.” Suddenly, he grabbed my hand. I tried to pull away instantly. “Mr. Davies, we’ve already broken… our contract is over. You don’t want to make Isabelle jealous!” “She’s my sister.” “…” “So you two… you guys… ah… that’s pretty… exciting, huh?” I don’t know if it was the unquenchable fire of gossip burning in my eyes or if Rhys had just reached his limit, but I was promptly kicked out of the car. The moon was bright, the stars faint. I was standing beside a vast, empty field. There were no cars in sight. I might have to walk all night. But my mood was strangely calm, almost cheerful. It was all over. My dream could finally begin. A pair of high beams lit up the road behind me. I couldn’t see anything, so I moved to the side of the road. A black Bugatti, its lights now dimmed, pulled up beside me. “Get in.” His gaze was intense. It was Declan. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted, and frankly, his physique still intimidated me, so I obediently got in the car. When I gave him the address, he looked surprised for a moment, then his expression reverted to its usual cold mask. When we arrived downstairs, I gave a formal bow. “Thank you, Mr. Hale. I appreciate the ride.” Declan didn’t say anything, but he followed me into the elevator. A sense of panic began to set in. “Um, you can just drop me here. Thanks. You don’t need to come up. The building is very secure.” “Don’t come any closer. Stop following me. If you keep this up, I’m calling the police!” I walked faster, trying to get to my door first so I could slip inside and lock him out. I turned around and saw… He was unlocking the door to the apartment next to mine. You have got to be kidding me. So much for burying the hatchet. Wait a second… does this mean Declan and Wyatt have something going on? They even bought condos next to each other?!

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During the press junket, a reporter from *Variety* leaned into her mic. “Mr. Hayes’s new film has some very intimate scenes with his co-star. As his wife, what are your thoughts on that?” I gave her my best media-trained smile. “I think it looks sweet.” The reporter blinked, thrown for a loop. “And you don’t think that will affect your relationship with Mr. Hayes? Especially since he’s famously never taken on romantic roles before.” “It won’t.” “Why is that?” “Because we’re already divorced.” The interview went viral. And my phone blew up. A voice, tight with fury, crackled through the speaker. “What the hell are you talking about, Ava? Since when are we divorced?” I knocked on his hotel room door, divorce papers in hand. “Since right now.” 1 **#EthanHayesAvaReedSplit** **#EthanHayesScarlettMay** **#ScarlettMayHomewrecker** The interview exploded, dominating the top three trending topics on Twitter. My phone was having a seizure from the non-stop calls and texts. I finally switched it to Do Not Disturb and leaned back in the black SUV, trying to breathe. On the tablet next to me, a steamy BTS clip from Ethan’s new movie played on a loop—him and Scarlett May, locked in a kiss so intense it practically melted the camera. My agent, Jen, stared at me, her mouth agape. “You’re divorced? When did this happen?” “He cheated,” I said, my voice flat. Jen instantly understood. She shut off the tablet, and the car fell silent, the only sound my own ragged breathing. She sighed, wanting to comfort me but not knowing how. “Ava, you and Ethan have been together for seven years. Everyone knows you’re Hollywood’s golden couple. Are you sure there isn’t some kind of misunderstanding?” I didn’t answer. I just lowered the tinted window, letting the cold city air rush in to dry the tears threatening to spill over. Last night, I got a text from a trusted source with a photo. Ethan and Scarlett May, checking into a hotel. I’d spent hours sobbing, my body convulsing with a grief so deep it felt like it was tearing me apart. Then, I called my lawyer and had him draw up the papers. It’s precisely because we were together for seven years that the betrayal was so unforgivable. 2 When I arrived at the hotel, I finally answered Ethan’s call. “Ava, what are you doing?” he hissed, his voice a chaotic mix of panic and rage. “When did we get divorced? Why am I finding out about this from a TMZ alert?” He only ever used my full name when he was furious. The last time was when I’d thrown a glass of red wine in Scarlett May’s face. “Right now,” I said, and knocked on his door. It swung open. There he was, phone in hand, our eyes locking. He was shirtless, with only a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist. I could see every cut of his six-pack, the sharp V of his hips, and the faint, fresh scratch marks on his arms. “What are you doing here?” I ignored him, pushing past into the suite and tossing the divorce papers onto the marble coffee table. “Sign them.” Ethan picked them up, glanced through them, and then tossed them onto the couch. He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his perfectly messy hair. “Is this because of the movie? The scenes with Scarlett? It’s acting, Ava.” He sighed, the picture of exhaustion. “Look, I’m tired. Can you please not be dramatic right now?” “Ethan,” I said, my voice low, “no intimate scenes. That was the deal we made when we got married.” Ethan’s possessiveness was legendary. Any script that came my way with so much as a kiss, he’d either turn it down on my behalf or force the director to rewrite it. Once, during a scene, my co-star got caught up in the moment and improvised a kiss on my cheek. The next day, the actor was replaced. He hasn’t worked since. Ethan Hayes has always been a possessive, controlling monster. But now, for another woman, he had broken his own sacred rule. He gave Scarlett a privilege he’d always denied me. That was all the proof I needed. His expression hardened for a moment before melting back into a practiced smile. He stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my waist and nibbling on my earlobe. “This was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again, okay? As for this divorce nonsense, I don’t want to hear another word about it, understand?” I was about to push him away when a saccharine, girly voice drifted from the other room. “Ethan, honey, I think the shower drain is clogged…” “Oh! Ava! What are you doing here?” Scarlett May stood in the doorway, wearing a silk slip that barely covered her. Her long hair was damp and tousled, and a constellation of fresh hickeys dotted her neck. Noticing my gaze, she nervously tugged at the hem of her slip, a gesture that only made her look guiltier. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink. She bit her lip, the picture of innocence. “Ava, it’s not what it looks like between me and Ethan…” Ethan instinctively reached for the suit jacket on the couch, about to cover her up. I was faster. I whipped out my phone, the camera flash firing several times. “Sign the papers,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Or these photos go straight to every gossip blog in the country. Let’s see… ‘Hollywood’s Golden Boy Caught in Hotel Tryst with Rising Starlet.’ How does that headline sound?” He let out an irritated hiss. “She got drunk at the wrap party last night. It wasn’t safe for her to go home alone, so I brought her here. Nothing happened.” I ignored his pathetic excuse. “You have three seconds.” “Three.” “Two…” He snatched the papers off the couch, scrawled his signature across the line, and threw them at me. “There. Are you done playing games?” I nodded, picked up my copy, and turned to leave. “Ava,” he called out from behind me, his voice laced with a weary frustration. “You never used to be like this. When did you become so unreasonable?” I froze. It was the exact same thing he’d said the first time I met Scarlett. 3 Scarlett May was the new actress his agency had signed. She bore a passing resemblance to me, which had earned her the nickname “Baby Ava” online. At first, Ethan was indignant about it. He’d hold me and whine, “Baby Ava? My wife is one of a kind. That girl couldn’t hold a candle to a single strand of your hair.” He was always complaining about her riding my coattails. When she copied my style, he called it a cheap knock-off. When she copied my makeup, he called it tacky and pathetic. What he didn’t seem to notice was that he was talking about her more and more. This “unimportant” person was becoming a constant presence in our conversations. Even at dinner, he’d bring her up with feigned disgust. “Scarlett hates cilantro, too,” he’d scoff. “So unoriginal.” But how would he know she hated cilantro if they weren’t eating together? I finally snapped, slamming my fork down. “Are we ever going to have a conversation that doesn’t involve her name? What is it with you, Ethan? Do you have a thing for her or something?” He immediately swore his loyalty, even deleting her number from his phone right in front of me. A few days later, at an industry party, a sleazy producer started pressuring Scarlett to drink with him. In front of everyone, Ethan smashed a bottle over the guy’s head. He ignored me, standing there in shock, and wrapped a protective arm around Scarlett’s shoulders, his face dark with rage. “The talent at my agency,” he snarled, “doesn’t do ‘drinks’.” I went to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. When I came back out, Ethan was standing there with Scarlett, her cheek red and swollen. His voice was sharp. “If you have a problem, you take it up with me. Why did you hit her?” “Ava,” he said, his voice dripping with disappointment, “when did you become so unreasonable?” He didn’t come home that night. After a few days of silence, he showed up with a one-of-a-kind vintage diamond necklace from a London auction house. “Don’t be mad, baby,” he cooed. “Seeing her in that situation… it just reminded me of what happened to you, all those years ago. I lost my head.” He couldn’t protect the me from seven years ago, so he would protect the Scarlett of today. He fastened the necklace around my neck and cleared his schedule to spend time at home with me. I smiled for him, and he thought the chapter was closed. What he didn’t know was that I had found Scarlett’s finsta. It was filled with pictures from the three-day “work trip” they’d taken to Vegas together. 4 The way Ethan and I met feels like a scene from a movie. Back then, I was just another struggling actress in L.A., working as an extra. He was the heir to a hotel empire, defying his family to chase his own Hollywood dream. His parents, determined to teach him a lesson, had cut him off completely and were actively sabotaging his career. I saw him for the first time on a street corner at 2 a.m. I had just wrapped a night shoot and was eating a hot dog from a street cart. I felt a pair of eyes on me, and when I turned, I saw a pair of hungry, glowing green eyes staring back from a dark alley. I bought him a hot dog. We squatted there on the curb together, and he told me he was just another transplant trying to make it in the business. We talked all night, feeling that instant, electric connection of two souls who understood each other. After that, we met at that same spot every night, sharing stories from our miserable days on set. Inevitably, we fell for each other. We moved into a tiny, cramped studio in the Valley. In that room that always smelled like stale takeout and mildew, on that rickety metal bed frame, we loved each other with the desperate intensity of two people with nothing else to hold onto. For three years, we were a team. We had each other’s backs, pulling each other up as we clawed our way through the industry. The night he won his first major award, everything changed. He finally got his parents’ approval, and he finally told me who he really was. I was devastated by the lie. I locked him out of our apartment. To win me back, he stood outside in a torrential downpour all night until he collapsed from a fever and was rushed to the hospital. The first thing he did when he woke up was try to rip out his IV to come find me. My heart melted. He gave me a fairy-tale wedding and went public with our relationship at the peak of his career, giving me everything I could have ever wanted. Everyone called it a Cinderella story. After a while, I think even Ethan started to believe it. He slowly began to forget those three years of struggle, poverty, and pain in that tiny, moldy apartment. 5 Leaving the hotel, I checked my phone. The trending topic about Scarlett being a homewrecker had already been scrubbed from the internet. Ethan had posted a clarification on his Instagram: **[No divorce. The wife is just mad at me. Currently in the doghouse and trying to make it up to her.]** The comments were a flood of praise for what a doting husband he was, but there were plenty of people attacking me, too. 【*Seriously? All this over a movie role? Ava is so possessive it’s actually terrifying. Ethan has been a saint for her on screen for years. Her control issues scream ‘desperate for love.’*】 【*Ava is so embarrassing. She hit the jackpot with a rich, famous husband and she should just be grateful. He has to walk on eggshells just to do his job. You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.*】 【*My poor baby Scarlett is just a girl from a small town with a big dream. She gets a chance to act with a top star because she’s talented, and Ava bullies her for it. My heart breaks for her!*】 【*Unpopular opinion but… does anyone else think Scarlett and Ethan have way more chemistry?*】 【*OMG YES! Thank you for saying it! Honestly, if Scarlett does take her place, it’s Ava’s own fault for not being able to keep her man. Useless!*】 Normally, Ethan’s PR team would have deleted comments like these in a second. This time, probably to teach me a lesson, he let them stay. He even “liked” a few of them. Jen was on the phone, trying to get our own team to do damage control. I was too exhausted to care. I fell asleep in the back of the SUV. When I woke up, it was almost midnight. I had dozens of unread messages. As I started to scroll through them, a call from Ethan came in. “Ava, where are you? Why didn’t you come home?” I stayed silent. After a few seconds, I could hear his heavy breathing on the other end. He sighed. “Ava, you don’t really think that piece of paper means we’re actually divorced, do you? I was just playing along with your little game. Now be a good girl and come home.” He was right. Divorcing an heir to the Hayes fortune wasn’t that simple. In his eyes, those papers were meaningless. This whole day had just been him indulging the tantrum of a pet who had dared to show its claws. My voice was steady when I replied. “Ethan, you don’t really think there’s an ‘us’ after this, do you?” The papers might not be legally binding yet, but they were a declaration of war. It was over between us. Even if it got ugly, even if I had to burn everything to the ground, this marriage was ending. He let out a cold, lazy chuckle. “Ava, don’t joke like that. You know what happens when I get angry.” I could hear the rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of his finger against a desk. He was serious now. I smiled, a real smile this time. “I can’t wait to see.” Before he could respond, I hung up. My reflection in the dark window stared back at me—hair a mess, face pale with exhaustion. This was the last time. The last time I would waste a single second of my life on a broken man and a rotten love. I knew how low and disgusting Ethan could be when he was angry. But I wasn’t afraid. And I would not back down. I would be the one left standing at the end of this. I had to be. 6 Ethan didn’t wait long to make his move. The lead role in a major historical epic I was set to star in was suddenly recast. The new lead? Scarlett May. With Scarlett’s star on the rise and her “brand” being so similar to mine, plus the pressure from Ethan, the director didn’t put up a fight. Ethan showed up on the first day of shooting. As the main investor, no one dared to ignore him. He was immediately surrounded by assistants holding umbrellas, portable fans, and handing him iced coffees. During a break, Scarlett perched cozily next to him, chattering away about her ~acting process~. Ethan just gave her noncommittal grunts, his dark eyes fixed on me across the crowded set. I ignored him, standing under an awning and reviewing my script. My assistant fanned me, whispering, “Isn’t Mr. Hayes here to see you? Why aren’t you sitting with him? You guys aren’t avoiding each other in public now, are you?” There was an empty chair right next to him. She didn’t know the whole story, and just assumed he was there on a surprise set visit. I knew he was offering me an olive branch, a chance to come crawling back. But if he was serious about reconciling, would he be letting Scarlett sit that close to him? Not to mention the fact that he’d stolen my role. Threatening my career was a low blow. Unforgivable. Sensing my irritation, Ethan waved over an assistant. “Scarlett loves that plum juice from the cafe down the street,” he announced loudly. “Get one for the entire cast and crew.” The crew immediately started fawning over them, cooing about how sweet their relationship was. Scarlett blushed prettily. She fluttered her eyelashes and glanced my way. “Oh, you guys, stop. Ava is right there.” Everyone suddenly remembered that the actual wife was present. A mortified silence fell over the set. 7 The atmosphere was thick with tension, and it only got worse when we started shooting the next scene. It was a confrontation where the heroine discovers the supporting female character (my new role) has been sabotaging her, and slaps her across the face. It was supposed to be a major, satisfying moment for the audience, so the slap had to look real and hard. I got into character, my eyes filled with hatred as I looked at Scarlett. “So you know it was me,” I sneered. “What are you going to do about—” Before I could finish my line, Scarlett’s hand cracked across my face. The force of it sent me stumbling back. My cheek immediately started to swell and turn red. Scarlett’s eyes filled with tears as she bit her lip. “Oh my god, Ava, I’m so sorry! Your performance was just so powerful, I got lost in the moment…” The director yelled, “Cut!” My assistant rushed over with an ice pack, glaring at Scarlett. “If you were so ‘in the moment,’ why didn’t you finish the scene?” I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I just covered the redness with some powder and told the director I was ready to go again. Over the next hour, Scarlett either “forgot” her lines, “messed up” her performance, or “improvised” new dialogue, slapping me a grand total of six more times. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Scarlett just stood to the side, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I know you’re a professional, but I’m still new to this. I just need a few more takes to really get the emotion right. Thank you for being so patient with me.” The director just laughed nervously. In his eyes, I was the investor’s wife, and Scarlett was the investor’s rumored girlfriend. He couldn’t afford to piss off either of us until he knew who the real winner was. “Uh, you know what? Let’s move on to the next scene for now. Maybe we can tweak this one a bit.” But Ethan, who had been silent this whole time, cleared his throat. He caught my eye and raised a single, challenging eyebrow. He was waiting for me to surrender. I looked away from him, back to the director. “Let’s keep going.” The director glanced at Ethan’s thunderous expression. “Well, maybe… maybe we can just fake the slap? Use a different camera angle?” After a few tense seconds of silence, Ethan spoke, his voice dangerously smooth. “No need.” The director breathed a sigh of relief, but then Ethan added, “We don’t need camera tricks. An actress as dedicated as Ms. Reed wouldn’t want to resort to such unprofessional methods.” He had backed me into a corner. I suddenly remembered a rumor I’d heard a few weeks ago—that Scarlett had been “accidentally” slapped by an actress on another set and had cried for hours. Ethan had stormed onto the set, dragged her into the actress’s dressing room, and made her slap the other girl back. He had said something similar to me once. Years ago, a director had slapped me to “get a better reaction.” That night, Ethan had gently pressed a warm cloth to my swollen cheek, his jaw tight with rage. “Don’t worry, Ava,” he’d gritted out. “One day, I’ll help you slap him back.” He did more than that. He not only returned the slap, but he also made sure that director never worked in Hollywood again. The memory was a sharp, painful sting. It was okay, Ava, I told myself. You never needed him to fight your battles for you. It was just a matter of time. Just like now. As Scarlett prepared to slap me yet again, using a forgotten line as her excuse, a new sound cut through the tense silence on set. The sharp, rhythmic *click-clack* of expensive heels on concrete. A cool, drawling voice echoed through the soundstage, dripping with disdain. “Where in God’s name did you find this talentless hack, and why is she pretending to be the lead in my production?”

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Adrian Shaw, heir to a staggering fortune, spent years chasing me, humbling himself in ways a man of his stature never should. I never said yes. Then, in the seventh year, a new girl appeared by his side. I heard she was beautiful, kind, from a family as prominent as his, and that she only had eyes for Adrian. Adrian’s friends would smirk at me, their voices dripping with schadenfreude. “Careful, Mara,” they’d say. “You keep playing games with him, you might just find he’s been snatched away for good.” 01 Adrian Shaw was in love with me. He had been since we were children. Adrian was born with a silver spoon, carrying an air of quiet nobility from his earliest days. He was used to being the sun everyone else orbited, the one people fell over themselves to please. But he was in love with me. The way the world fawned over him was the same way he followed me, catering to my every whim, orbiting my silent world. And I was always cold, always distant. Some said I didn’t know what was good for me. And maybe they were right. My grandmother was the Shaws’ live-in housekeeper. She’d started working for them long before Adrian was born and had become a personal attendant and confidante to his mother. So, while her title was housekeeper, the Shaws treated her with respect and affection, like family. But no matter how much they treated us like family, Adrian and I were from different universes. His love for me was a ladder I was terrified to climb. I never understood what he saw in me. My personality was a locked room, my temper a slow-burning fuse. I didn’t understand the subtleties of people, the art of connection, and I’d certainly never shown him a moment of warmth. And the girls who adored him were a legion. Ever since kindergarten, little girls in pigtails would trail after him, their voices sweet as candy, “Adrian, Adrian, can we play together?” But he would stubbornly trail after me instead, his little face set with solemn purpose as he rejected the others. “No. I only play with Mara.” This pattern held from kindergarten through elementary and middle school, and then into the years when I finally realized his persistence wasn’t just friendship. I once asked him, my voice devoid of the coyness he probably expected, “Adrian, what is it that you even like about me?” The mouthful of Coke he’d been sipping erupted in a spray. He whipped his head around to stare at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend a girl asking such a question so bluntly. He choked for a moment, his ears turning a furious, fascinating shade of red. He looked away, unable to meet my gaze, and his hand tightened around the soda can, crushing the aluminum in his nervousness. He fiddled with the mangled can, his voice a low mumble, trying desperately for an air of nonchalance. “Liking someone is just… liking them. There doesn’t have to be a reason.” His head was bowed, his hands resting on the railing of the balcony. The wind gently ruffled his hair. The tall, proud boy seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping. “Besides,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.” I watched him, a slight frown touching my lips. He was right. I didn’t understand. In fact, I recoiled from anything related to love. I didn’t believe in its existence. My parents had been childhood sweethearts. They got together at sixteen, and everyone said their love story was something out of a fairy tale. But when I was five, my father—the gentle, scholarly man I adored—fell hopelessly in love with his eighteen-year-old student. To be with her, he used every cruel trick in the book to force my mother into a divorce. They fought for a year. The year I turned six, my mother killed my father with a kitchen knife. Then she used the same blade to sever the artery in her own neck. When my teacher dropped me off from daycare that afternoon, a sticky, crimson tide had already crept from the living room all the way to the front door. The teacher behind me let out a piercing scream and fainted. But I just stood there. I looked down at the blood that had pooled around my little shoes. My hand clutched the strap of my backpack, where I’d carefully pinned a gold star sticker the teacher had given me. I had planned to give it to my mother. She and my father had been fighting for so long. I wanted to tell her that even if Dad didn’t bring her flowers anymore, I would. I would always bring her flowers. But she would never hear it. After that, my grandmother came and took me away to live with her at the Shaw estate. And that’s where I met Adrian. 02 Adrian said I wouldn’t understand. When our English class studied Romeo and Juliet, he was completely wrecked by the ending. He read the lines about the star-crossed lovers taking their lives and slumped over his desk, his voice filled with a tragic sigh. “Mara,” he asked, “what do you think love really is?” I paused, then answered with clinical patience. “Dopamine. Endorphins. Phenylethylamine. Norepinephrine. Oxytocin. Our entire lives are dictated by these hormones.” Adrian stared at me, his expression a complex mix of confusion and disappointment. I thought for a moment and added, “These chemicals usually peak in the human body for about six to eighteen months. After that, they fade, day by day. Only a new partner can reignite the surge.” For some reason, that made him angry. He sat up straight, his jaw tight. “I’m not like that,” he snapped. I turned away, saying nothing. Everyone thinks they’re the exception. Everyone, when faced with the one who makes their heart race, swears they’ll never change. Just like my father. And just like I felt the first time I heard the name Isabelle from one of Adrian’s friends. His friends never really liked me. Maybe it was because I was a poor orphan whose only relative was a housekeeper, yet I remained unmoved by years of devotion from their golden boy, Adrian Shaw. They were convinced I was playing some kind of manipulative game, a master of hard-to-get, and they all felt a fierce, protective indignation on his behalf. So, when a girl so perfectly suited for him finally appeared on the scene, my so-called mutual friends couldn’t wait to drop her name into conversation, their teasing words edged with malice. They told me Isabelle was different from all the other girls who orbited Adrian. She was a truly special person—gentle, kind, and, of course, from the same privileged world as him. They told me he’d pulled her from the bottom of the pool during swim class when her leg cramped up, and that she’d fallen for him instantly, a classic damsel in distress saved by her knight. They told me how much she adored him, showing up every day just to see him. And even though Adrian was his usual polite but distant self with her, she never missed a day, rain or shine. They’d say to me, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes: “Mara, Adrian has loved you for so many years. You’ve tested his devotion long enough, don’t you think?” “Yeah, Mara. So many girls would kill to be in your position. If you keep stringing him along, you might just find he’s been snatched away for good. And by then, it’ll be too late for regrets.” I ignored them. Back at the hotel for the academic competition, I pulled out my phone. As expected, it was flooded with messages from Adrian. He told me our physics teacher had worn his shirt inside out today. A moment later, another message: the school groundskeeper had removed the bird’s nest from the window of the science lab on the third floor. Two sparrows had returned to find their home gone and were just circling and circling, looking lost and pitiful. He sent me a picture of them, two blurry specks fluttering against the glass, probably wondering how their entire world could vanish in an afternoon. A little while later, another message popped up. “Mara, when are you coming back?” Then another. “Leo’s already back.” I paused. I was here representing our school at a national competition. Leo had been eliminated in the second round; of course, he was back early. Adrian’s academics were a disaster. In high school, he could never wrap his head around vector calculus or the geometry of conic sections. I remember one summer in middle school when, in a fit of ambition, I spent an hour trying to teach him the basics of sine, cosine, and tangent. I finally slammed the textbook shut in frustration. “You’re hopeless,” I told him coldly. “It’s a terminal case of stupidity.” He’d just looked at me with wounded eyes. “It’s not my fault! You’re just too smart. Isn’t this stuff for, like, juniors?” The truth was, Adrian was brilliant, just not in the same way I was. His intelligence was for a different world. He could read the hidden meanings in the conversations of adults, grasp complex business strategies in an instant, and dissect a convoluted corporate structure with ease. His math was terrible, but he had an intuitive feel for numbers on a financial statement, spotting patterns and discrepancies no one else could. And his emotional intelligence was off the charts. He had a natural charisma that charmed everyone, a public persona of steady, understated confidence. He was born to be the heir to the Shaw empire. It was its own kind of genius. My genius, however, was confined to academics. A trait I likely inherited from the father my mother had hacked to pieces. I snapped back to the present, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I decided not to reply and instead scrolled up through our chat history. It was almost entirely a monologue from him. Since the day I’d left for the competition, his messages had been a constant stream of consciousness—from the first buds on the peach trees by the road to the updated menu in the school cafeteria. He reported every trivial, mundane detail of his life to me. I rarely responded. When he sent me a picture of a math test he’d scored a 65 on—barely passing—I’d replied with a single word: Moron. He hadn’t been offended. He’d replied, beaming with pride, that it was a passing grade on a notoriously difficult test. Only eighteen kids in the whole class had passed. I scrolled all the way back to the day I left. I confirmed it again. The name Isabelle was nowhere in our chat history. He had mentioned going for a swim that first day. He’d sent a picture of some greasy, high-calorie junk food he was eating afterward, complaining about how exhausted he was. I paused. Adrian, the boy who would tell me about sparrows losing their home, had never once mentioned pulling a girl from the bottom of a pool. 03 The first time I saw Isabelle was the day I returned to school after the competition. Our classroom was on the ground floor. As I stepped onto the covered walkway outside, the sky, which had been a clear, brilliant blue just a moment before, cracked open. A sudden, violent downpour began, fat drops of rain splattering against the concrete before blurring into a relentless, deafening curtain of water that swallowed the world in a gray haze. Instead of going straight to class, I stopped by the headmaster’s office to discuss my early admission application—winning the national competition had all but guaranteed my spot. When I came out, the bell for the end of class was ringing. It was on the walk back to my classroom that I saw her. Isabelle. She was holding an umbrella, her back to me, standing across from Adrian. I rarely saw Adrian look so distracted. He leaned against the wall, a lazy, indifferent posture, his brow furrowed with a hint of impatience. When Isabelle offered him the umbrella, he waved her hand away dismissively. And then he looked up and saw me, standing at the other end of the long corridor. His eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face, and in the same instant, he pushed away from the wall, leaving Isabelle behind without a second glance. He strode toward me, his steps long and eager, his voice buoyant with a happiness that was impossible to miss. “Mara, you’re back! How’d the competition go?” I nodded. “It was fine. I won.” His smile widened, his handsome features crinkling with a pride so fierce you would’ve thought he’d won himself. “I knew it,” he said, his voice full of certainty. “We have to celebrate. Let’s go.” “It’s raining,” I said flatly, declining. “And I have to pick up some forms from the dean’s office.” Adrian was unfazed. “In this downpour? Mr. Davies’ office is two buildings over. I’ll walk with you.” He paused, as if just remembering something. He turned and called back to Isabelle, who had since turned around and was watching us with a quiet, unreadable expression. “Hey, you. Can I borrow your umbrella?” I followed his gaze and finally saw her face. The Isabelle that Adrian’s friends had praised so highly. She was beautiful. Even now, after all these years and all the faces I’ve seen, I have to admit that Isabelle possessed a kind of heart-stopping beauty. She had a delicate, small face with exquisite features and skin so pale it made her dark eyes seem like pools of ink. Her long, thick lashes fluttered, hiding the disappointment in her gaze. She seemed to be staring at me, lost in thought. Only when Adrian spoke did she snap out of it. Her eyes darted back to him, and she managed a small, strained smile. She nodded, handing the umbrella over. Then her gaze flickered between me and Adrian. “I should get going,” she said softly. “Mm-hmm,” Adrian replied distractedly, already taking the umbrella and moving to my side. He opened it, tilting the majority of it over my head. “Come on, let’s go.” I stepped out into the rain with him. After we’d gone a little way, I glanced back over my shoulder. For some reason, Isabelle was still standing there, a lone figure watching us through the thick, gray sheet of rain. The mist blurred her features, but I could still make out her solitary, forlorn silhouette. I turned back around. “Did she need something from you?” I asked. Adrian shrugged, completely unconcerned. “We’re in the same SAT prep class. She was just asking if I was going today.” I hesitated. “Since when are you in a prep class?” He suddenly seemed shy, almost embarrassed. But just as quickly, the embarrassment morphed into a flash of indignation. He shot me a resentful look. “Well, it’s your fault for being so smart! Besides, college applications are next year. If I don’t start cramming now, you’ll leave me in the dust.” I stared into the white, hazy curtain of rain and said, deadpan, “That’s because you’re a moron.” Adrian sputtered indignantly behind me, but the umbrella over my head never wavered. I lowered my gaze, a quiet sigh escaping my lips. 04 The news of my early admission to Aurelia University came faster than I expected. Adrian only found out when the celebratory banner was hung in the school’s main hall. He was angry when he came to find me. I was reading a book on functional analysis at the time. The Shaws had given my grandmother and me a small, separate guesthouse on the property, and from my second-floor window, I could see Adrian storming across the lawn, his face a thundercloud of fury. He was clearly mad that I had never mentioned the early admission to him. I watched from the window as he marched toward the guesthouse, looking like he was on his way to avenge a mortal enemy. But then, strangely, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He stood there for a long time. Then he suddenly reached out and started ripping leaves off a nearby decorative shrub, a flurry of violent motion until the ground was littered with green shreds. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and started up the stairs. I returned to my desk with my book. Two minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, the Adrian standing before me looked perfectly calm, all traces of his earlier rage erased. He even offered a small smile. “I saw the banner at school,” he said. “Early admission to Aurelia. How come you never told me? But… congratulations, Mara.” He paused, then asked with studied casualness, “So, when do you leave? You won’t be finishing senior year here, will you?” For years afterward, I would remember the way he stood there, congratulating me. His voice was tight with a sorrow he was desperately trying to hide behind a mask of indifference. I suppose Adrian saved all his patience and gentleness for me. Just as everyone said, he catered to my every whim, bent to my will. The celebrated heir of the Shaw family was, in my presence, willing to lower himself, as the poet once wrote, “into the dust.” I didn’t call him out on his act. I just answered calmly, “I’ll report to Aurelia at the start of the next semester.” “Oh,” he said quietly. Then, again, “Well, congratulations, Mara.” I looked at him and simply said, “Thank you.” After securing my admission, I no longer had to attend school every day. But that year happened to be our school’s 100th anniversary, and I returned for the celebration gala—seated in the front row with the school board as this year’s “outstanding student representative.” It was at the gala that I saw Isabelle again. I’ve always been oblivious to things that don’t directly concern me, so I had never paid any mind to the fact that Isabelle was our school’s reigning “campus belle.” She was in the International Baccalaureate program, a track designed for students planning to study abroad. Grades were secondary to a curriculum filled with international courses and specialized language prep for exams like the TOEFL or IELTS. Adrian was supposed to have been in that program. But I had no interest in studying abroad—my grandmother was getting older, and despite my emotional detachment, I couldn’t bring myself to abandon her for a life overseas. So Adrian stayed. But as I sat in the front row, watching Adrian on the piano and Isabelle performing a contemporary dance, their synergy was breathtaking. A thought struck me: if Adrian had never met me, if he had joined the IB program and met Isabelle there… they would have had a very different story. They were a perfect match. Their performance was the grand finale. Adrian, in a sharp, tailored black suit that made him look even more impossibly handsome, his long fingers flying across the black and white keys. And Isabelle, spinning and leaping under the stage lights, her slender form ethereal, as if she might take flight at any moment. I don’t understand music or dance, but I could see that their performance was flawless. When it ended, the auditorium erupted in thunderous applause and whistles. They took their bows together, side by side at the center of the stage, as a shower of confetti rained down on them. They looked like something out of a movie. In that moment of roaring adulation, Isabelle turned to Adrian, her face glowing with happiness. But Adrian’s gaze wasn’t on her. It was locked directly on me, in the front row. His eyes were so focused, so intense, it was as if the entire world had faded away and I was the only person left. A cocky, triumphant grin spread across his face. He looked every bit the polished performer, but I, and only I, could read the silent words he mouthed at me from the stage. How’d I do? I tore my eyes away from him and looked at Isabelle, standing beside him. Her gaze had followed his to me. Under the bright lights and falling confetti, I saw her head dip, the brilliant joy in her eyes dimming, flicker by flicker, into shadow. She was in love with Adrian. Desperately so. That night, for the first time in a long time, I had a nightmare. I dreamed of Adrian at sixteen, the first time he tried to confess his feelings for me. I saw him looking at me with that same lost expression from the balcony, saying, “You wouldn’t understand.” In the dream, he started backing away, and at first, I just watched him go, cold and unmoving. But just as he was about to disappear, I lunged forward to grab him. My hand passed right through him, and instead, I pushed open a door. It was the door to my house, the summer I was six. Behind it was a world painted in blood. My mother, who had slit her own throat, and my father, whom she had butchered into pieces. The trail of blood that snaked from the kitchen to the front door would stain the rest of my life. I woke up with a gasp, sleep impossible. I threw on a robe and went downstairs. I found a beer in the fridge and was sitting out on the terrace when I heard a voice. “Mara?” I turned. Adrian was standing there, a complicated look on his face. His eyes went from the can in my hand to my face. “You upset?” he asked softly. I didn’t answer. I popped the tab on the can, the fizz a brief hiss in the quiet night. Adrian came and sat next to me. His voice was low and gentle. “What’s wrong? Need a shoulder?” I managed a small, humorless laugh and looked up at the moon. The night was clear, the stars sparse, and a cool breeze drifted by. I took a sip of beer. “Adrian,” I said, my voice light, “Isabelle is in love with you.” He froze, his body going rigid. It took a long moment for him to relax. He reached over and took the beer from my hand. He didn’t deny it. He just took a long swallow and said, “Yeah. But I’m not in love with her.”

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Dr. Phil Croft, the forensic pathologist in our department who was all ice and precision, recently took on a bright-eyed rookie intern, fresh out of college. As a specially contracted criminal profiler, my job was to help him crack the city’s most brutal serial killer case. The first time the intern saw Phil and me discussing the case outside the autopsy suite, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Dr. Croft,” she said, her voice filled with a conspiratorial whisper, “in all the thrillers I’ve read, the beautiful, brilliant woman who’s always one step ahead? She’s always the secret villain! Have you ever considered that the person who killed your family all those years ago… might have been her?” The pen in my hand, the one I was using to document the suspect’s psychological profile, skidded across my notebook, leaving a long, dark gash. Unbelievable. Here I was, a top-tier profiler brought in from FBI headquarters, my time billed by the hour. And for the first time in my career, my professionalism—and my innocence—was being judged by a third-rate paperback thriller. 1 The intern, Chloe Vance, was still talking, her eyes gleaming with a self-satisfied brilliance. “Don’t you see, Dr. Croft? It’s a perfect logical loop! Why did she come back to the country right now? Why did she just happen to join this specific case? And why is every single one of her analyses so spot-on?” She leaned in closer. “Isn’t that exactly what the master villain does in the books? They play God, manipulating all of us good guys from the shadows!” Phil set down his forceps, not even bothering to look at her. “Chloe.” His voice was utterly devoid of warmth. “First, this is a police department, not a book club.” “Second, every analysis Dr. Reed provides is based on forensic evidence and psychological reports you can’t even begin to comprehend. Her insights are worth more than the hundred novels you’ve read combined.” “And third, if your idea of a ‘logical loop’ is forcing reality to fit your storybook fantasies, I suggest you schedule a neurological exam. Immediately.” Chloe’s face turned a shade of crimson usually reserved for bad sunburns. She was stunned into silence, but the look she shot me was more resolute than ever. It was a look that screamed, See? I told you! He’s under your spell! You’re in this together! I put away my pen. I felt no anger, no frustration. In fact, I almost wanted to laugh. Half an hour later, I was standing in front of a projector at the serial killer task force briefing, my voice steady as I delivered my profile. “Our unsub is male, between thirty-five and forty-five. He’s highly educated, with a profound knowledge of classical music. He suffers from severe OCD and delusions of purity, targeting women he deems ‘imperfect’. He…” A hand shot up, cutting me off. It was Chloe. She stood up, looking as if she were about to reveal the secrets of the universe. “I have something to add! I believe the killer is a Scorpio!” The conference room fell dead silent. Everyone stared at her as if she were a newly discovered prehistoric fossil. The chief, who had been taking a sip of water, choked. Chloe, oblivious, pressed on. “I’ve studied countless thrillers. The smartest, most ruthless serial killers? Eighty percent of them are Scorpios! There has to be a criminological basis for that!” I kept my expression perfectly neutral. “Moving on,” I said. “The sheet music from Bach left at the scene contained a single incorrect note. This wasn’t a mistake. It’s a taunt—his unique signature.” As soon as I finished, Phil’s voice cut in. “To add to that, the autopsy is complete. We found trace amounts of rosin dust under the victim’s fingernails, consistent with a long-time string instrument player. Furthermore, the time of death aligns perfectly with the full performance time of that specific piece of music.” Our professional synergy was seamless. The information flowed between us, painting a crystal-clear picture of the killer. Chloe was left standing alone, her face so red it looked painful. She wanted to interject, but she didn’t even understand the technical terms we were using. When the meeting ended, people filed out, casting sympathetic glances her way. Phil stopped me. From a dusty, long-forgotten archive cabinet, he pulled out a yellowed case file and handed it to me. On the cover, two names were written in stark black ink. One was my father’s. The other was Phil’s sister’s. He lowered his voice, and for the first time, those cold, frosty eyes held something other than clinical detachment. “Evelyn,” he said, “that incorrect note you mentioned… it was found at the scene of this case, too.” 2 Phil’s words were a stone dropped into the still waters of my mind, sending ripples through years of unresolved grief. A cold case, dormant for over a decade, had just been linked to an active serial killer by a single, misplaced note. The next day, the third victim was found. At the crime scene, Chloe was practically vibrating with energy. She’d procured a high-powered UV lamp from God knows where and was sweeping it across the walls like a ghost hunter on a reality TV show. “The books all say it,” she muttered to herself. “The really smart villains love to use invisible ink to leave secret messages. You can only see them under a black light!” The lead detective, Captain Miller, winced but didn’t stop her. Suddenly, Chloe shrieked with excitement. “I found it! I’ve got a reaction! Dr. Croft, come look!” We all crowded around. In the corner of the room, under the beam of the UV light, a large, yellowish-green stain was indeed glowing ominously. Phil crouched down, dabbed a sterile swab on the mark, and lifted it to his nose. He then looked up at Chloe with an expression of profound, weary complexity. “Chloe, this isn’t a secret message.” “It’s urine.” He paused. “The upstairs neighbor’s toilet is leaking.” The room once again plunged into that familiar, suffocating silence. But Chloe’s “novel-based” investigation wasn’t over. Moments later, she discovered a small black cat cowering under the bed. “It’s him!” she gasped, pointing a trembling finger. “The killer’s messenger! In gothic thrillers, the killer always uses a black cat as a harbinger of death! It’s a symbol of evil!” I was examining the victim’s hands, my gloves already on. I didn’t even look up. “Chloe,” I said, my voice flat. “Based on the stage of rigor mortis and the ambient temperature, the victim died between fourteen and sixteen hours ago. Based on this cat’s dehydration and empty stomach, it entered this room no more than two hours ago. It’s a stray, drawn by the scent of blood.” Phil’s preliminary report quickly backed me up. “No trace evidence from the killer or the victim was found on the cat’s fur. Also, it’s a domestic shorthair, not some purebred Persian from a gothic horror story.” Chloe’s theories were, once again, brutally dismantled. But she wasn’t convinced. In her mind, Phil and I were conspiring to “hide the evidence” to protect the “real killer”—me. Her paranoia drove her to do something reckless. She started tailing me. That evening, I drove alone to an old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was the place where my father and Phil’s sister had been murdered. I needed to be there, to immerse myself in the atmosphere of the past, hoping to catch a flicker of a memory, a detail I had overlooked for years. Hiding in the shadows, Chloe watched me. Her mind instantly concocted a blockbuster thriller: The Villain’s Secret Rendezvous. Trembling with excitement, she pulled out a burner phone and dialed the private number of the head of Internal Affairs. “Hello? Is this Commander Davies? I need to make an anonymous report!” “It’s the new criminal profiler, Dr. Evelyn Reed! She’s dirty!” “I saw her with my own eyes! She’s at the abandoned warehouse on the west side, meeting with an unknown accomplice! She’s the mastermind behind the serial killings!” On the other end of the line, Commander Davies’s brow furrowed. 3 Davies didn’t fully buy Chloe’s anonymous tip, but protocol was protocol. He sent a patrol car to do a quiet sweep of the warehouse perimeter. They found nothing. I was in there alone for two hours before driving home. The incident obliterated Chloe’s credibility with Internal Affairs. But she didn’t give up. She decided I must have “eyes everywhere” and had “erased the evidence” before they arrived. She started spreading rumors around the department. “Doesn’t anyone else think Dr. Reed’s background is a little too mysterious? Says she’s from the FBI, but who can prove it?” “And her salary? Tens of thousands of dollars an hour? Isn’t that suspicious?” “I’m telling you, she’s not a profiler. She’s a front. There’s a huge conspiracy going on, and she’s at the center of it.” She even started setting little “traps” for me, straight out of her novels. During a case discussion, she’d intentionally misstate an evidence tag number, then watch me from the corner of her eye, expecting me to correct her like a villain who knew all the details. I simply ignored her. Phil’s patience, however, finally snapped. During one meeting, he slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the room. “Chloe! If you bring your storybook delusions into this task force and waste one more second of our time, you are out! Get out!” Tears welled in Chloe’s eyes, but as she looked at me, her expression was a toxic mix of resentment and vindication. He’s completely brainwashed by this black widow, she thought. The real conflict erupted a week later. After cross-referencing all the evidence, Phil and I had narrowed our suspect pool to one man: a music professor named Victor Lynch. He fit my profile perfectly: age, educational background, a pathological obsession with Bach. Most importantly, he had been the mentor of one of the victims and had publicly humiliated her for an “imperfect” performance. Just as we were about to request a warrant, Chloe burst in. She brandished a “report” she’d compiled herself, declaring that the real killer was a harmless-looking librarian from the city’s main branch. “You’re all wrong! The final boss is never this easy to find! In the books, the most dangerous person is always the one who seems the most ordinary!” she proclaimed. “I looked into this guy, Mr. Henderson. His daily routine is so boring it’s practically a blank page. That’s the biggest red flag of all! It’s a disguise!” When she said the name “Mr. Henderson,” a tightly wound string inside me snapped. He was the stooped, kind-faced old man who, during the darkest time of my life—after my parents died and my relatives passed me around like an unwanted package—was the only person who would secretly leave a box of hot food on my doorstep every single day. He was my last remaining piece of warmth in a cold, unforgiving city. For the first time, the calm, professional mask I wore cracked. I would not allow anyone to disturb that good, gentle man based on some lunatic fantasy. “Vetoed.” My voice was quiet, but it held an iron authority. “All evidence points to Victor Lynch. We don’t have time to waste on baseless speculation. I will not be signing off on any investigation into Mr. Henderson.” My unwavering refusal was, in Chloe’s twisted mind, the ultimate proof of my guilt. I was covering my tracks. She decided it was time to “expose” me, to prove that she was the true heroine who could see the truth. That night, she snuck into my office. Staying clear of the security cameras, she put on latex gloves and used tweezers to carefully retrieve the disposable coffee cup I’d thrown away. She lifted my faint lipstick print and fingerprints from the rim and transferred them to a clean sheet of paper. Then, she used a burner computer to type up a document containing Mr. Henderson’s home address, his daily schedule, even the park where he played chess. At the bottom of the page, she added a single, taunting line: Next target. He knows too much. —E.R. My initials. She placed the printout and the paper with my prints into a manila envelope. Like a ghost, she anonymously mailed the package to the serial killer we were hunting. She was trying to use the killer as her weapon. She wanted him to murder Mr. Henderson and frame me for it. It was the perfect plan to destroy my career, my reputation, and my life. And I knew nothing about it. I had just finished an eight-hour interrogation with Professor Lynch. From the micro-expressions flickering across his face and the cracks forming in his psychological defenses, I knew a confession was imminent. Just then, my encrypted work phone vibrated. It was a multimedia message from an unknown number. I opened it. The photo was of Mr. Henderson’s living room. The old man was sitting peacefully in his rocking chair, reading the newspaper through his bifocals. Behind him, outside the window, a hand in a white silk glove was silently sliding the unlocked window open. Beneath the photo was a single line of text: “Dr. Reed, I’ve received your ‘instructions.’ Let the games begin.”

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The day before the wedding. The one that got away, the girl who’d left Grant when he had nothing, was back. I asked him, a playful barb meant to hide a tremor of unease, “Should we postpone?” He feigned a scowl, pulling me close. “Only if the world ends. I’m marrying you tomorrow, Leigh.” The next day, the world must have ended. I waited in my wedding dress from 6 a.m. until noon. His phone went straight to voicemail. It wasn’t until after the wedding was officially cancelled that he finally rushed in. He was a wreck, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “Serena’s ex-husband was trying to blackmail her,” he explained, his voice ragged. “She called my firm, asked for me specifically. We were at the station all morning giving her statement. As her counsel, I had to be there.” He looked me straight in the eye. “It was just work, Leigh. No personal feelings involved.” A cold, brittle thing that might have been a laugh caught in my throat. Looking at his earnest, professional face, I realized Serena Croft wasn’t just the one who got away. She was the one he’d let the sky fall for. 1 By the time Grant finally arrived, the deconstruction of our wedding was already well underway. The grand floral arch was half-dismantled. Our smiling engagement portrait, printed on a large welcome sign, had been knocked over, its frame splintered on the marble floor of the hotel lobby. He stood in the center of the chaos, his face a mask of guilt, and absorbed the fury of my family. To his credit, he took it all, offering no excuses, just quiet, repeated apologies to my parents. Half an hour later, he broke through the perimeter and found me. I was sitting numbly at the vanity in the bridal suite, staring at my own reflection. He stood behind me, his reflection gaunt in the mirror. He chose his words carefully. “I’m sorry, Leigh.” “This was… a truly exceptional circumstance.” He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. On any other morning, if he’d pulled an all-nighter for a case, I would have cupped his face in my hands and fussed over him. But this was our wedding day. And his “exceptional circumstance” wasn’t a natural disaster or a death in the family. It was spending the day at a police station with her. I met his gaze in the mirror. The remorse in his eyes was thick, a potent brew that had always worked on me. In the past, I would have melted. Now, it just felt like a bitter irony. He couldn’t seem to let go of either of us. A slow, cool smile spread across my lips. My voice was calm when I spoke. “It’s fine.” “It’s not a big deal.” It’s fine. Because, thank God, we hadn’t signed the marriage license yet. It’s not a big deal. It’s just the day I finally saw the man I was supposed to marry for who he really was. My placid reaction seemed to throw him. Grant stood frozen, his mouth half-open. He had clearly rehearsed a whole speech, prepared for a barrage of tears and accusations. My quiet composure left him completely disarmed. There was nothing left to say. I stood, intending to walk past him and out of the room, out of this life. He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. His voice was soft, pleading. “Leigh, where are you going?” “Tonight, we still have to…” I turned my head, cutting him off. “I cancelled the flights to the Maldives. I don’t think we’re in any condition for a honeymoon, do you?” My voice was flat. “After all… there was no wedding.” I shrugged, gesturing vaguely at the half-packed boxes and wilting flowers around us. The beautiful, dreamlike setting that was meant to witness our happiest moment now just served as the backdrop to a cruel farce. Grant wouldn’t let go. He started apologizing again, a low, urgent murmur. As we stood there, locked in a silent standoff, another figure appeared in the doorway. I felt the hand on my wrist tighten reflexively. I had never seen a picture of Serena Croft. But as she moved toward us with a kind of liquid grace, I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that it was her. 2 As Serena approached, she arranged her face into an expression of profound regret. She hesitated for a moment before stopping at Grant’s side, turning to him. “Grant, I had no idea today was your wedding,” she said, her voice a soft melody of self-reproach. “You should have told me yesterday. I never would have asked you to be my lawyer. I feel absolutely terrible that my little problem ruined your big day.” I had been about to leave. Her words stopped me cold. Serena Croft. From the moment I met Grant, her name had been a ghost in our house, a whisper in our lives that never quite faded. His friends all told the same story. Grant had been in love with Serena for seven years. She was the brilliant, unattainable girl he’d chased all through high school and college. The one that got away. Then, for one year, she wasn’t. They were the golden couple, until they graduated and everything fell apart. Grant’s mother was diagnosed with a severe illness. His father’s small construction company lost its biggest contract, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and crushing debt. And then Serena, the love of his life, left him. It was the final straw. He drove to the coast and drank himself into a stupor on the beach as the tide rolled in. I was the one who noticed something was wrong, who called for help, who got him dragged out of the surf. He was just so damn beautiful. And I was a hopeless romantic. From that day on, I attached myself to him. I didn’t care about some ghost of a girl he used to know. What good was a distant, shining moon when you had the warmth of a real person right beside you? When Grant’s mother got sick, I found the best oncologist at Johns Hopkins and arranged the consultation for a new treatment plan. When Grant’s father’s company was struggling, I had my family’s venture capital firm make a quiet, anonymous investment to see them through. I did it all from the shadows, worried about wounding his pride. I just stayed by his side, day after day. The day his father’s company finally stabilized was the same day his mother completed her final, successful surgery. That night, he took me back to the same beach. I’d never seen a man in his early twenties cry with such raw, desperate relief. He cried until he was empty, then lay back on the sand and laughed, a wild, unburdened sound. The deep furrow that had been etched between his brows for so long finally smoothed away. In the moonlight, his eyes were impossibly bright. He held me and said it over and over again. He thought his life was over, that he’d hit rock bottom. But then he met me, and miraculously, everything had turned around. He called me his lucky star. That was the night we truly opened our hearts to each other, the night we really began. 3 Serena was beautiful, with an air of effortless sophistication. She could just stand there and command a room’s attention. And now, standing across from them, I felt like a complete outsider. The golden couple, reunited. I had to admit it, a bitter pill to swallow. They looked good together. No wonder he’d been so obsessed with her for seven years. No wonder her return had sent him into a tailspin. Her apology, I noted, had been directed entirely at Grant. Me, the actual bride of the aborted wedding, she hadn’t so much as glanced at. My heart sank. This wasn’t an apology. This was a declaration. Grant seemed surprised that she had followed him here. After a brief moment of stunned silence, his expression hardened. He took a half-step away from her, creating a deliberate distance. “Ms. Croft, you’re overstepping,” he said, his tone clipped and professional. “Our relationship is that of attorney and client. I believe our work for the day concluded at the station. This is a private matter between my fiancée and me. Please leave.” Being frozen out by Grant didn’t seem to bother Serena in the slightest. She smiled, a perfectly calibrated expression of polite contrition. “You’re right. My apologies.” She finally turned, her gaze floating over me. It wasn’t challenging or appraising. It was the look you give a piece of furniture, something irrelevant. “I’ve heard about you, Leigh,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of Grant after I left all those years ago. And I am truly sorry about today. Grant has always been a man who feels things so deeply; he hasn’t changed a bit. He’s a good man. You’re lucky to have him.” Her words, layered with hidden meaning, felt like a slap across my face. When did our relationship become something she, an ex-girlfriend from nearly a decade ago, had the right to comment on? A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Grant sensed the shift in my mood and tried to pull me away. “Leigh, don’t listen to her. Let’s go home and talk.” I yanked my arm from his grasp. “Home? Go home where, Grant?” “You don’t seriously think that after this disaster, I’m going to just reschedule, do you? That I’m going to plan a second wedding with you?” “I’m twenty-nine, not twenty-two. And this was our seventh year together…” The words caught in my throat as a hot surge of tears welled in my eyes. I tilted my head back, forcing them down, refusing to cry in front of her. When the wave of emotion subsided, I ignored Grant completely. My gaze locked onto the woman in front of me. She returned it without flinching, her expression a mask of serene confidence. But I knew better. If she were truly as calm as she appeared, she wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t have sought me out. “Ms. Croft, is it? A pleasure.” My voice was ice. “We’re both women here, so let’s drop the act. Grant and I sent out invitations a month ago. To our friends, our families, and to his entire law firm. Don’t stand there and tell me you ‘didn’t know.’ Your one-word apology doesn’t undo the six months of planning our families poured into this day. It doesn’t stop this from being a humiliating joke.” I took a step closer. “So why are you really here? To offer a sincere apology, or to admire your handiwork? To see if you’ve still got it? Let me tell you, you do. You won. You’ve proven that after seven years, all you have to do is snap your fingers and Grant will come running.” “But you know what? It’s a cheap, pathetic way to do it. If you wanted the man back, you could have just tried to steal him. You didn’t have to humiliate everyone in the process.” My family is in business. How big, Grant never asked, and I never specified. He was proud of his own career. But the legal field had become brutally competitive in recent years, and his firm was struggling to land new top-tier clients. He had no idea how many CEOs and partners from the city’s leading corporations my family had invited today. Many of them were the very same high-value clients his firm had been courting for months. If the wedding had gone on as planned, Grant, with his talent and reputation, would have networked and likely secured them. But now, thanks to a wedding with a missing groom, both our families were the talk of the town, and not in a good way. And no serious company would entrust its legal affairs to a man who bolts on his own wedding day. My verbal assault finally wiped the placid look from Serena’s face. Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, and she said nothing, turning her gaze back to the man caught between us. Grant rubbed his temples, a gesture of pure exhaustion. He turned to me, his voice low. “Leigh, it’s not what you think.” “Serena, she…” The casual, intimate use of her first name burned through me. I dodged his attempt to take my hand again. I picked up the half-full glass of water from the vanity and threw it in his face. “Shut up, Grant,” I seethed. “You’re even worse than she is. You make me sick.” “And don’t worry about making a choice. I’ll make it for you. We’re done.” The commotion brought my parents rushing back into the room just in time to hear me end it. They had never been thrilled with Grant, but they tolerated him because they saw how much I loved him. Now, seeing him not only absent from his own wedding but with another woman in tow… it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. My father’s face went purple with rage, and he lunged forward, his fist raised. I stepped between them and stopped him. A man like that wasn’t worth the trouble. 4 After the cancelled wedding, I cut off all contact with Grant. As for the expenses, we had initially agreed to split the costs fifty-fifty. For my family, the money was negligible. But the public humiliation was not. My goodwill had evaporated. I had my assistant compile every single invoice and sent them to Grant’s parents. It wasn’t an astronomical sum, just over a couple hundred thousand dollars. They could afford it, but it would sting. All that money for a wedding that never happened. Grant’s parents came to our house to apologize. Seeing my resolute silence, my parents didn’t even open the door. After a few failed attempts, Grant’s mother started texting me, making excuses for him. Out of respect for our past relationship, I replied politely but firmly. Once she understood I was serious about not getting back together with him, she sent me a novel-length text at two in the morning. She detailed all the ways they had been good to me over the years and waxed poetic about how brilliant her son was. Then came the final blow. She declared they would only be paying for their half of the expenses, as originally agreed. She pointed out that our guests accounted for 80 of the tables, and that the designer dress, the couture tux, and the specific wedding planner were all my choices and therefore should be my family’s responsibility. She never once mentioned her son’s role in the fiasco. I stared at the wall of text on my phone and laughed. I remembered all the years she was sick, when Grant was buried in work. I was the one who coordinated her appointments, who sat with her during chemo infusions. Back then, leaning weakly against her hospital pillows, she’d said that having me as a daughter-in-law was the greatest blessing her family could ask for. Now that she was healthy, she was lecturing me. “A man in his thirties is in his prime. Grant is so exceptional that of course other women will notice him.” “He missed the wedding, he didn’t cheat on you. A woman needs to be more gentle and forgiving.” I couldn’t read any further. I screenshotted the entire conversation and forwarded it to Grant. Then I blocked his number, and the numbers of his entire family. Maybe their lives had become too comfortable these last few years. Maybe they’d forgotten what it was like to struggle. Sometimes, people need to fall flat on their face to remember who they really are. 5 The next day, a call came through from an unknown number. It was Grant. He sounded sick, his voice thick with congestion. “Leigh, I’ve taken care of all the bills. I didn’t know anything about my mom’s text. I’m so sorry for what she said.” He paused, taking a ragged breath. “I’m out of town for a hearing for the next two days. When I get back, we really need to talk.” To be honest, if it weren’t for the wedding, Grant had been a good boyfriend. He was handsome, emotionally steady, and intelligent. Even when people whispered about his lingering feelings for his first love, I never paid them any mind. How could a seven-year relationship built on shared reality ever lose to a ghost? After all, I was the one who stood by him when he had nothing. But on that day, as I sat alone in my wedding dress, listening to the endlessly repeating, robotic voice on his voicemail, I realized just how foolish I’d been. You only get a few truly monumental days in your life. On one of mine, my groom vanished. While I was sick with worry, imagining the worst, he was running around town solving problems for his old flame. How little must a man care for his fiancée to so casually humiliate her? Remembering the shock and the cold dread that washed over me when I learned the truth, I gripped my phone tighter. “Grant, let’s end this cleanly, while I still have the decency to do so.” My voice was quiet, but final. “Let’s just say I wasted seven years on a bad investment.” 5 In the VIP lounge of a downtown club, my best friend Quinn had ordered eight male dancers for me. A line of handsome young men, all smiles and sculpted abs, was an effective, if temporary, balm for the gloom that had settled over me. “To our beautiful, brilliant, and ridiculously rich Leigh,” Quinn shouted over the music, popping a bottle of champagne. “Welcome back to the single life!” Amid the spray of champagne and the whoops of the dancers, the door to our private room was thrown open. Grant stood there, his face a thundercloud. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he was completely out of place in the decadent, neon-lit room. He kicked an empty bottle out of his path and threw a thick stack of cash on the table. “All of you, out.” The dancers exchanged confused glances. The young man sitting next to me subtly shifted away. “Ma’am,” he whispered, “is this…?” “Ignore him,” I said, taking the glass from the dancer’s hand and taking a sip. “Continue.” The liquor burned. Grant’s face darkened. He threw two more stacks of money on the table. “If you’re not out of here in ten seconds, I’m calling the cops.” Quinn leaped to her feet. “Are you out of your damn mind, Grant? What is your problem with exes? You can’t seem to stay away from them!” she yelled. “This is a perfectly legal establishment. What are you going to report, that we’re having too much fun without you?” Grant glared at her. “I didn’t agree to a breakup.” “Legal is for me to decide, not you,” he said coldly. Quinn laughed, a sharp, incredulous sound. “Oh, so you’re just going to be a psycho about this? The guy who ditches his own bride to go play hero for his high school girlfriend doesn’t get a vote. The fact that Leigh is letting you off with a peaceful breakup is a testament to her kindness. If it were me, I’d have plastered your faces all over the internet and let the entire city drag you both.” Quinn had a fiery temper and rarely lost an argument. Seeing the situation escalate, the eight dancers wisely scooped up the cash from the table and made a hasty exit. Quinn muttered under her breath. “So much for professional dancers.” Grant shot her a withering look. “So all that dirt on your ex-husband that’s been popping up online… that was you, wasn’t it? I hear he’s looking for a lawyer to file a defamation suit.” That stopped Quinn short. Her face flushed a guilty red. She opened her mouth to argue, but I stood up, grabbing my coat from the back of the sofa, and walked towards the door. Quinn moved to stop me, but I gave her a look that said, let me handle this. Grant had been trying to find me for days. It was time to settle this, once and for all. 6 The autumn air had a sharp bite to it. I walked ahead, clutching my coat, with Grant following a few steps behind. We passed the park where we used to take our evening walks. I stopped. Turning to face him, my patience wore thin. “Whatever you have to say, Grant, say it now. Let’s get this over with.” He seemed genuinely thrown by my cold tone. He frowned, looking as if he were the wronged party. For seven years, I had been nothing but gentle with him. Even when we argued, I never shut him out like this. Perhaps it was my unconditional acceptance that gave him the audacity to leave me at the altar. He probably thought I was still just angry, putting on a show. He sighed, a long-suffering sound, and took off his suit jacket, draping it over my shoulders. His expression was serious. “Leigh, you can’t just write me off like this. You can’t pronounce a death sentence on us.” “I admit, part of the reason I went that night was because of our history. And her situation was something I have experience with, legally. I didn’t think it through, I just went to see what was going on.” “The other half was just a massive miscalculation on my part. I honestly thought it would take an hour, tops. It wouldn’t have affected the wedding at all. But I didn’t expect her ex to get violent. That changed everything, it made it a serious offense, and it tied up the whole day.” He looked at me earnestly. “I’ve already transferred her case to a colleague. I won’t have any more contact with her. Ever.” His explanation was logical. Plausible. I nodded slowly. “But Grant,” I said, my voice quiet. “What does any of that have to do with me?” “I only care about the result.” Every decision he made could be justified, but they were still decisions. He wasn’t the only competent lawyer in the city. He had a choice. He understood the finality in my words. The color drained from his face. I looked down, a bitter smile on my lips. “Grant, is it really so hard to admit you still care about her?” “Leigh, I don’t.” The denial was instant, reflexive. Just then, a phone vibrated in the pocket of the jacket he’d put on my shoulders. He didn’t move. I reached in, pulled out his phone, and looked at the screen. Serena Croft. A humorless laugh escaped me. So much for no more contact. I held the phone out to him. He clenched his fists at his sides, refusing to take it. The screen went dark. A moment later, it lit up again with another call. It rang, shrill and insistent. On the third ring, I answered it and put it on speaker. “Grant? Where are you? I think I have a fever. I don’t know any doctors here, I’m not familiar with the hospitals… can you take me to see someone?” Her voice was weak and breathy. I raised an eyebrow at Grant. As if to prove a point to me, he took a deep breath, his jaw tight. “Serena, you need to stop,” he said, each word a low, forced growl. There was a pause on the other end, followed by a soft, wounded whisper. “Grant, I know you’re still angry that I left without a word back then, but I had my reasons. It was complicated.” “And later, when I heard your mother was sick and your father’s business was in trouble, I did everything I could to help. I called in favors, I made connections. How do you think your family managed to pull through so smoothly back then?” “I made a mistake leaving, yes. But you can’t erase what we had, or pretend I didn’t care. Even as an old friend, is it too much to ask for a little help now?” Serena’s words hit me with the force of a physical blow. My eyes widened. I stared at Grant, who looked completely bewildered. I hung up the phone. My lips trembled as I asked, “What did she mean by that? What does she have to do with what happened to your parents?” Grant closed his eyes, a deep, internal struggle playing out across his face. When he opened them, his shoulders had slumped in defeat. “Leigh, let me take you home first.” “No. Answer my question.” My insistence seemed to wear him down. He spoke in a weary, resigned voice. “It’s true. My family owes her. After everything she did for us back then… I can’t just turn my back on her now when she’s in trouble.” A thread of understanding, cold and sharp, stitched everything together in my mind. I looked up at him, my voice barely a whisper. “So, you’re doing all of this because you think she’s the one who saved your family?” Distracted and wanting this conversation to be over, Grant gave a curt, thoughtless nod. His phone rang again. He was ready to leave. I grabbed the hem of his sleeve. Even though we were over, he deserved to know the truth. “Grant, what happened to your family back then had nothing to do with Serena Croft.” “Think about it for one second. She chose to leave you at your absolute lowest point, then immediately moved overseas and married a wealthy businessman. If she didn’t care enough about you to stay, why would she suddenly care about your parents?” “Besides, the investment in your father’s company has increased every year since. If Serena really had that kind of power and influence, why would she have ever needed to leave you in the first place?” “Don’t you think her timing is a little too perfect? Returning now, with this exact story?” Grant’s body went rigid. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing, his voice turning cold. “Leigh, Serena isn’t the kind of person you’re describing.” “Yes, she left me. But that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person with no character. She just didn’t love me anymore. That’s all.” He shook his head, a look of grim certainty on his face. “There was no one else back then who would have cared enough to help my family like that. It had to be her.” “Stop making these wild accusations about her.” I stood before him, feeling as though I’d been struck by lightning.

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I was with my best friend when she had an abortion. She clung to me, her body wracked with sobs. My heart ached for her, for her foolishness and her pain. I took care of her for a week, meticulously preparing light, nourishing soups for her each day, trying to coax the color back into her cheeks. It wasn’t until the week before my own engagement that I found out. The embryo she had terminated… had been my fiancé’s. 1 A week before our engagement party, a group of us from college were crammed into a booth at a noisy bar, deep into a game of Truth or Dare. The energy was electric, fueled by cheap beer and years of friendship. After a few rounds, the bottle spun and landed squarely on Dan. He offered a resigned smile. “Truth, I guess.” A round of mischievous glances passed between our friends. Someone piped up, grinning, “Alright, since the big day is next week, let’s make this topical. Have you two thought of any baby names yet?” Heat instantly flooded my ears. I couldn’t help but look up at Dan, a shy smile on my face. But the expression I met was not one of shared joy. He was staring into space, a strange, unreadable emotion clouding his eyes. It was a look so complex I couldn’t begin to decipher it. He quickly looked down, lost in thought for a few seconds before shaking himself out of it. When he looked up again, his face was arranged into a warm, wistful smile. “We haven’t decided on a proper name yet, but I’ve always liked the nickname Sol.” The table erupted. Someone slammed their hand down in excitement. “That’s so sweet! You guys have already thought that far ahead!” Annabelle, sitting beside me, joined in the laughter. “Sol… like a wish granted by the sun. It’s a beautiful name.” I glanced shyly at Dan. For a split second, his gaze rested on Annabelle before flicking away. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, a familiar gesture of shared happiness. But I felt her fingers tighten, just slightly, against my side. I turned to look at her, thinking she was perhaps feeling sad about her own recent experience. I squeezed her back, trying to comfort her as I casually changed the subject. The party roared back to life. Later that night, Dan and I went home. I was still basking in the warm glow of his quiet, long-term planning for our future together. As we were getting ready for bed, I couldn’t resist asking again. “When did you come up with that name? You never told me.” The rhythm of his breathing beside me hitched for a moment. Then he rolled over, pulling me into his arms. His familiar scent filled my senses as he whispered against my neck, “We’re getting engaged, Clara. It’s normal to think about things like that, isn’t it?” “I know, but it’s such a lovely name. How did you think of it?” I murmured into his chest, feeling a blush creep up my neck. He didn’t answer right away, just held me tighter. “We can talk about it later. Get some sleep. We have our engagement photoshoot tomorrow.” He was right, he was probably exhausted from the party. I didn’t press him, and closed my eyes. But later, a cold sweat slicked my back and I jolted awake, ripped from a nightmare. I sat up, my hand pressed against my racing heart, trying to calm myself. That’s when I noticed it. In the dim light of our bedroom, the screen of Dan’s phone kept lighting up, pulsing with a steady stream of incoming messages. “Always check your boyfriend’s phone before the wedding.” A stupid meme I’d scrolled past earlier that day slammed into my mind. I never checked his phone. In seven years, I’d never felt the need. I trusted him. I felt cherished by him. But now, watching that insistent, glowing screen, a dark whisper of doubt coiled in my gut. My fingers moved, seemingly of their own accord. Before I could even unlock it, another message preview flashed onto the screen. I only needed a single glance for my blood to turn to ice. The numbness started in my fingertips and shot up my spine, paralyzing me. 2 He must have thought I would never look. The password was still my birthday. The moment the screen lit up, my hand began to tremble uncontrollably. The chat history had clearly been tampered with; only the last two weeks remained. As I scrolled up from the bottom, a fresh wave of cold sweat broke out across my back. She had sent him a picture of herself in a lace nightgown. Dan’s reply: You’re so beautiful, baby. Kisses. Further down, a message from her, complaining about period cramps. Dan’s reply was short and swift: I’m on my way. A roaring filled my ears. My hands shaking, I pulled up my own phone, checking the date and time of that exchange. It was sent five minutes after I had texted Dan a picture of myself with an IV in my arm, telling him my stomach flu was so bad I was in the ER and asking if he could come. He had replied an hour later. Sorry, was in a meeting. Can’t make it. And I, ever understanding, had told him not to worry. I’d managed the check-in, the forms, the waiting, all while doubled over in pain. It was the middle of summer, but I was shivering as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. I kept scrolling, my movements stiff and robotic. Then I reached the most recent message. “I miss our Sol, Dan. I’m in so much pain.” And just like that, I knew. The seven-year love story I had built my life around was a lie, rotten to the core. Annabelle and I had been college roommates, inseparable from the first day of freshman year. We’d watched sunrises from our dorm window and talked late into the night about our dreams, our futures, our hearts. I trusted her completely. She was my person. I introduced her to Dan not long after we all started school. Dan and I had been together since we were sixteen, high school sweethearts who had miraculously ended up at the same university. The day I introduced them, they seemed to hate each other on sight. Annabelle would even pick the food Dan put on my plate and replace it with something she had chosen. I’d brushed it off as the classic “best friend disapproves of the boyfriend” routine and spent the whole dinner trying to keep the peace. Afterward, she’d told me he was nothing but a pretty face, that he didn’t deserve me. Dan, for his part, had seemed equally disgusted by her. We tried gaming as a trio a few times, but they argued so much I eventually stopped inviting them to play at the same time. Then, during our senior year, Annabelle came to me, shaking, and told me she was pregnant. She refused to explain what had happened, who the father was. All I could do was hold her. “Don’t be scared,” I promised. “I’ll go with you.” Terrified of being seen by someone we knew, she refused to go to the reputable, top-tier hospital I had researched. We ended up at a small, anonymous clinic across town. During her recovery, my heart broke for her pale face and hollow eyes. I made her different soups every day. I’d find her staring blankly at the ceiling and quietly place a cup of warm milk in her hands. Now, I gripped my phone, my nails digging into my palm. The message at the bottom of the screen was a dagger twisting in my gut. I couldn’t breathe. Choking back a sob, I stumbled into the bathroom. Every happy memory we had ever shared shattered like a mirror, the sharp, glittering pieces raining down on me. 3 I stared at my disheveled reflection, my knuckles white as I gripped the edges of the sink. I had to be calm. I had to think. What do I do? Our families had already bought our marital home together. They’d met, they’d celebrated, they’d planned. Every friend, every relative knew we were getting engaged. The appointment for our engagement photos was tomorrow. How could I possibly untangle this mess? My eyes were drawn back to the sickening, illicit chat on the phone. My hand shaking, I tapped on Annabelle’s profile picture. Of course. Her feed was filled with posts I had never seen. A private feed, visible only to Dan. It was a meticulous record of their secret love affair. The first post was a screenshot from a video game. The caption read: So much more fun playing with you without a third wheel in the way. Dan had liked it and commented: Stick with me, kid. I’ll carry you to victory every time. Another weekend, a photo of their hands intertwined, showing off matching rings. A pink heart emoji at the end of the caption: They say that making rings with the one you love means you’ll be together forever. ♡ I remembered asking Dan, so many times, if we could do something fun like that. What had he said? It was childish? Pointless? I zoomed in on the rings in the photo and a cold wave of realization washed over me. For a while, he had worn a silver chain around his neck. The pendant… it was that ring. When I’d asked him where he got it, he’d stammered something vague. He never wore it again after that. On Valentine’s Day, while I was overjoyed by the single, wilting rose he’d bought me from a street vendor, she had posted a picture of a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses. Her caption: Sometimes I get so jealous of the person who got to have you all those years before me. Dan had commented with a kissing-face emoji. I’ll use our future to make it up to you. I scrolled further. Annabelle’s birthday. On her public profile, she had posted a standard nine-photo grid of her party. Dan, to avoid suspicion, hadn’t even liked it. But here, on their private feed, was a single, intimate photo. The caption: The best birthday gift ever. Next to a rumpled sheet was the profile of a man, his eyes closed in sleep. It was Dan. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I clutched the phone, gasping for air. That night, Annabelle had thrown a birthday party. Afterward, she was quite drunk, and I’d been worried about her getting home safely. I had asked Dan to drive her. I remember being concerned he would refuse, given how much they supposedly disliked each other. He had made a few token protests, but eventually agreed. After dropping her off, he’d called to say he had an urgent work issue and had to go to the office. He never came home that night. How could I have been so blind? The two people I loved most in the world, the two people who supposedly couldn’t stand each other, had been betraying me all along. Her feed was a diary of their secret life, lived in the shadows of mine. They were like a real couple, deeply in love. It made me feel like the intruder. Her profile was set to show posts from the last year. I had no idea how long their affair had truly been going on. This ugly, secret relationship had been allowed to fester and grow in the dark, hidden in plain sight. 4 The day I won a national award for a competition, I took my best friend and my boyfriend out to celebrate. In her private feed, I now saw the photo taken under the table: her high heel hooked around his pant leg. I saw the picture of her planting a soft kiss on his cheek while I was at the counter paying the bill. When I returned to the table, they were back to ignoring each other, the picture of mutual dislike. They were enjoying the thrill of the forbidden. On her birthday, while I was at home waiting for my boyfriend to return from his “emergency” at work, she was receiving what she called the best gift ever. Such a flimsy excuse, and yet my trust in them had been so absolute that I had never questioned it. A wave of nausea hit me, and I retched into the sink. And then, the worst of it. The week I took off from work to take care of her. The week I spent counseling her, comforting her, helping her curse the name of the shameless man who had abandoned her. Was she just watching a clown perform? That week, Annabelle had posted: You promised me Sol, my shining wish, and Annabelle, your peace. But in the end, I couldn’t keep him. Dan hadn’t commented, but the deleted chat logs had surely been filled with his condolences. Every word was a nail in my heart, but I forced myself to keep reading. The name he had chosen had never been for me. The embryo I had accompanied my best friend to abort, that was Sol. The irony was crushing. If I had never found out, would he have given our future child that same name? I slid down to the cold tile floor of the bathroom, a war of rage and despair raging inside me. The last seven years of my life flashed before my eyes, a highlight reel of my own foolishness. It was so absurd I almost wanted to laugh. It’s over. With numb fingers, I typed out a brief message to my parents. Then I canceled the appointment for the photoshoot. Each tap of the screen felt like the strike of a gavel, delivering a final, heavy judgment. As I stared blankly at my phone, another message from Annabelle popped up on Dan’s screen. “I’m so sad. Can you come be with me?” Even knowing everything, seeing it happen in real-time was a fresh agony. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I scrambled to the sink and turned on the cold water, splashing it on my face. The roar of the water and my own choked sobs filled my ears. The noise finally woke Dan. “Clara? Clare? What’s wrong?” I heard his footsteps approaching the bathroom door. I wiped my face, smoothed my clothes, and ran a hand through my hair. Then I opened the door, looked straight at Dan, and pressed the voice message button on his phone. “Of course, baby. I’m on my way. And just so you know, there are no refunds on secondhand goods.”

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My fiancé’s adopted sister has a talent for pushing me to my breaking point. I like my water ice-cold. She once swapped it for boiling water, leaving my mouth a landscape of swollen blisters. I was rushing to a crucial meeting. She slashed my tires, making me miss the appointment and lose the contract. … This time, at the wedding I had dreamed of, she replaced our wedding march with a funeral dirge, then pouted with a look of feigned innocence. “Oh, my silly brain,” she simpered. “I mixed them up. Which one was it again?” The mournful music looped for half an hour. Before I could even scream at her, my fiancé, Terence, was already soothing her. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll just push the ceremony back a bit. Take your time, Bonnie. It’s your first time managing an event this big, it’s normal for things to go wrong.” I was left standing on the altar alone, my white wedding gown feeling like a funeral shroud. Finally, Bonnie found the right song. Then, the rings went missing. After that, she managed to “trip” and drench me in tea. My expression turned to ice. That was it. I wasn’t marrying him. No man was worth this kind of humiliation. 1 Terence frantically dabbed at my dress with a napkin, trying to make light of the situation for the guests. “It’s nothing, everyone, just a little hiccup! Please be understanding, it’s Bonnie’s first time helping with a wedding.” He then turned to my stony face, his tone teasing. “You’re not going to throw a tantrum over a little thing like this, are you? Look, it’s all clean now.” I looked down. A prominent brown stain marred the front of my gown. It was hideous. Filthy. This dress was my creation. I had poured my heart into it, collaborating with the designer on every single detail. I’d even driven through a rainstorm just to argue over the placement of a single pearl. The boutique staff had grown weary of my perfectionism. “Miss Reed, it’s flawless. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.” And now… Bonnie grabbed my arm, her eyes red-rimmed. “Autumn, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” It was always like this. I would endure, and endure, and a flimsy apology was supposed to make it all go away. Not anymore. The guests were murmuring amongst themselves, the air thick with awkwardness. Terence’s grandfather struck the floor with his cane, then produced a small, ornate box. “Autumn, this jade ring belonged to Terence’s grandmother. I was going to give it to you after your first child was born, but consider it a wedding gift.” He gave Terence a pointed look. Terence grabbed my hand, forcefully pulling me back onto the stage. As the officiant tried to smooth things over, a semblance of festivity returned. Terence gazed at me, his eyes full of what was supposed to pass for love, waiting for me to recite my vows. I just stared back at him and said, my voice cold and clear, “I don’t.” The thorn in my heart was lodged too deep. The smile on Terence’s face froze. He leaned in, hissing, “What are you doing? My grandfather just gave you Grandma’s ring. Don’t blow this out of proportion over a few little mistakes.” Little mistakes. He had no idea how many times I’d listened to our wedding song to ensure it was perfect. He had no idea how many sleepless nights I’d spent poring over every detail of this day, all while juggling my demanding job. I had invested every ounce of my being into this, wanting to give myself the perfect beginning. I had spent a small fortune to fly my family here, to finally show the people who’d always looked down on me that I had made it. Instead, I had become a laughingstock. My stepmother and stepsister were whispering, their smirks venomous. “I knew it. As if she could ever marry into a family like this. We flew business class for this?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, willing myself not to cry. Terence caught my gaze, and the rebuke on his lips died. He took the ring, trying to force it onto my finger, but the size was wrong. It squeezed my knuckle painfully. “How can that be?” I yanked my hand back. “It’s meant for a ring finger after the vows. Of course it won’t fit a middle finger during them.” The jade ring clattered to the floor. Bonnie immediately dove for it. I walked over to her, ripped the veil from my hair, and crowned her with it. “Congratulations.” 2 I ran. The wedding was, of course, canceled. Terence gave me the silent treatment for days, until Bonnie was finally “punished” by the family. See? They thought I was just some girl from a lower-class background who wouldn’t dare make a fuss. Only when they saw I was serious did they make a token gesture of disciplining her. This relationship, with me always on the bottom rung, was exhausting. Terence finally tracked me down, his face a thundercloud. “Bonnie is being punished because of you. I need you to go to my grandfather and ask him to forgive her so we can move on. What’s the point of dragging this out? She’s my sister, not some stranger.” I wrenched my hand from his grasp. “Not my problem.” His patience snapped. He shoved me toward his car, forcing me inside. “You’re the one who started this mess! My family barely agreed to let me marry you in the first place, and now you pull this?” A chilling cold spread through my chest. It was true. I had worked so hard to be accepted by his prejudiced family. But I had dignity. I was a person, not a doormat. If that’s how it was, then it was time to make things crystal clear. At the Vance estate, Terence took all the blame, which was really just another way of protecting Bonnie. “Bonnie is still young,” he told his grandfather. “Ultimately, it was Autumn who didn’t explain things clearly enough. It wasn’t her fault. It was mine, too. You can punish me instead.” The old man ignored him, his sharp eyes fixed on me. Seeing my cold, unyielding expression, he barked, “Bonnie, apologize!” Bonnie was reluctant, but one look at her grandfather’s stern face and she bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Autumn. It was my fault. I’m just so clumsy, I’m always messing things up.” As she raised a hand to wipe away a crocodile tear, the ancestral jade ring flashed on her finger. I took a deep breath. “We’re broken up. The wedding is off. It has nothing to do with anyone else. I’m the one who doesn’t want to continue.” Terence’s face darkened, his body trembling with disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend that those words had come from my mouth. His grandfather gave me a few days to “reconsider.” I walked out without another word. To my surprise, Terence ignored Bonnie’s calls and ran after me. “Autumn, let me drive you home. What did you mean back there? What do you mean we’re broken up? I didn’t agree to it.” It was late and hard to find a cab, so I got in his car. On the way, he rambled on, explaining and justifying, but I tuned him out, staring blankly at the cityscape rushing by. Terence was about to say something else when his phone rang. His expression shifted instantly. “She has a fever? Okay, I’m on my way back right now.” He slammed on the brakes and pulled me out of the car. “Autumn, you’ll have to get a cab from here. Something’s happened to Bonnie. She must have gotten sick from being so upset about her punishment tonight.” The car sped away, leaving me alone in the biting wind. Of course, there were no cabs. I walked the whole way home in a daze, my hands frozen stiff. I couldn’t help but think about how we started. I met Terence one night years ago. After my father remarried, I became the family punching bag. Terence found me crying on a park bench, and after hearing my story, he stormed into my house with a wooden bat and smashed a coffee table to pieces. “Don’t you ever touch Autumn again,” he’d roared at my family, “or you’ll have to go through me.” He was the light that guided me forward. Until his adopted sister returned from overseas. Suddenly, I wasn’t the center of his universe anymore. I couldn’t be carefree, couldn’t be his priority. I was always second place. I decided then and there to refocus my life. My future would belong to my career. 3 When Terence finally came back to our apartment, I had already taken down most of the red “Double Happiness” decorations. He frowned, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “Still angry? You’re the one who put all this up. You’ll just have to put it back later. What a hassle.” He still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. I looked at him calmly. “That won’t be necessary.” He didn’t hear me. He was busy typing on his phone, a bright, carefree smile on his face, just like when we first started dating. “What did you say?” The will to fight had left me. I silently slipped out of his embrace. The next day, I was stopped at the entrance of my office. Our biggest client was inside, screaming. As he stormed out, he threw a contract at me. “You brought me a plagiarized proposal! Do you have any idea the kind of legal trouble you almost got our company into?” My heart plummeted. The proposal was entirely my own work. I had the creation logs to prove it. My boss looked at me with weary resignation. “We all know you’re capable, Autumn. The accusation comes from a small startup, from a new hire. See if it’s someone you know. But for now… we have to let you go.” His words echoed in the sudden silence. “No, you can’t. I gave everything to this job. The early mornings, the late nights… you know how hard I’ve worked…” But the look in his eyes didn’t change. I knew he was already being lenient by not suing me for the damages to the company. I walked home in a stupor. A text from my stepsister arrived, dripping with scorn. “You worked so hard for a decade to get into a good university, and for what? Look at you now, with nothing. You were supposed to be such a role model.” A lump formed in my throat. My fingers went numb. I had no words to fight back. When I opened the door to my apartment, I found Terence and Bonnie celebrating her new full-time job. I couldn’t contain my rage any longer. I stormed up to her. “Did you steal my proposal? Did you?!” Bonnie’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know! I thought it was just some old drafts. Terence said it was okay.” That was the last straw. I slapped her across the face and tried to drag her out the door to go clear my name. Terence grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “If you do this, you’ll ruin Bonnie’s future! She just started her career. You slapped her. Isn’t that enough to make you feel better?” My voice was a raw, broken scream. “Do you have any idea that if she doesn’t go, my future is ruined? Everything I’ve worked for all these years, gone! You think a single slap is a fair trade for my entire life, Terence? How dare you even suggest that?” Tears streamed down my face. Terence flinched under my gaze but stubbornly held his ground. “If you lose your job, fine. I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to work.” My tears felt like a sick joke. The words made me want to vomit. “I don’t want you to take care of me! I want my name cleared! I want justice!” Terence grabbed my shoulders, his voice rising in frustration. “So you’d rather destroy Bonnie’s life instead?” So, once again, I was the one who had to be sacrificed. Bonnie, playing the victim, covered her face and ran from the room, deliberately shoving me as she passed. I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming into the sharp corner of a bookshelf. The pain was so intense I crumpled to the floor. Terence gave me a single glance before chasing after her. Between me and Bonnie, I would always, always be second. I went to the hospital alone. My back was a canvas of deep, ugly bruises. The pain brought fresh tears to my eyes. There was no one to rush through the paperwork for me anymore. No one to gently blow on my injuries, whispering words of comfort. I shut down my emotions and began to gather evidence. I would get my justice. I couldn’t rely on anyone else. From now on, I was my own staunchest ally. 4 I pulled security footage, backend server logs, every digital crumb I could find, and posted it all online. Then I filed a police report. It didn’t take long for Terence to find me. He was holding a tube of ointment, but he didn’t even ask about my injury. “Just let this go. Can you please stop making a scene?” He demanded I take down my posts and withdraw the police report. Bonnie was threatening suicide. He had to leave to be with her, but not before delivering an ultimatum. “Autumn, don’t push me. I’m giving you one hour to take everything down.” I didn’t understand what he meant at first. The story was exploding online. People were rallying to my side. Even my old boss called and promised that once things were cleared up, my job would be waiting for me. A genuine smile touched my lips. I felt a surge of energy. But it was short-lived. Terence turned all the evidence against me. He issued a public statement claiming the laptop, and therefore the original idea, was his. He had the receipts to prove it—it had been a promotion gift from him to me. That gift had just become the sharpest knife in his arsenal. My smile dissolved into a cloud of despair. He was a major player in our industry. And he was the person closest to me. His word was enough to turn the tide of public opinion. “She’s the real thief! This is a criminal offense! Boycott Autumn Reed!” I was doxxed. My personal information was plastered online. My assets were frozen to prepare for the “reputational damages” I owed Bonnie. I became a pariah overnight. The only place I could find a moment of peace was at the cemetery. I looked at my mother’s photograph on the headstone and broke down completely. “Mom, I wanted to build a good life. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was worthy. But it’s all gone. Everything I worked so hard to build has been destroyed.” “I’m so tired. I can’t get back up.” Just a few days ago, before the wedding, Terence had knelt in this very spot and promised he would give me a home. He promised he would make my mother proud. I slumped against the cold marble and drifted off. In my dreams, I was an outcast, with no job, no money… nothing. I awoke to find Terence standing over me, holding an umbrella to shield me from the sun. “I know you’re hurting,” he said softly. “This is the last time, I promise. Bonnie didn’t mean for it to go this far. You have so many other options, other paths you can take.” I didn’t even have the energy to slap him. “Paths? My love, my career, my future… they’re all gone. What paths are you talking about?” His phone rang. He hesitated for a second before answering. It was Bonnie, sobbing on the other end. “Autumn hired bots to attack me online!” Terence spent a few moments placating her, promising he would handle it, before hanging up. I laughed, a pale, brittle sound in the bright sunlight. He looked uncomfortable and tried to help me up. “Once we’re married, everything I have is yours. You don’t need a career to define your self-worth.” The wedding ring wasn’t even mine, and he thought his possessions were? I pushed myself to my feet. “I don’t want your things. I want my life.” He didn’t understand. His frustration boiled over. “Isn’t it a good thing? You won’t have to work at all! What more could you want? We’ll have a few kids… it’ll be a better life than the one you came from. You should be grateful. You were fine with it before, why not now?” The broken window effect… once a boundary is crossed, it’s easier to cross it again and again. I was done. We were never on the same path. As Terence’s face grew darker, I let go of my last restraint. There was one thing that was truly equal for everyone: life itself. “Terence,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “if you keep pushing me, I will drag you both down to hell with me. You can be the pallbearers at my life’s funeral.”

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I had spent a lifetime with Caroline Price. We made it all the way to our golden anniversary, with two grown children to show for it. As she lay dying, our son asked her if she had any last wishes. “When I’m gone,” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp, “bury me with your uncle. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.” The room fell silent. Every eye turned to me, filled with a pity that burned worse than grief. I just nodded. “Do as she says.” The world called me a joke. A man who’d given everything, only to lose his wife’s heart at the very end. But they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know that if I had the chance to do it all again, I would never, ever marry Caroline Price. When I opened my eyes, I was standing at the altar. It was our wedding day. And just like I knew she would, Caroline had run. She’d left me there, a spectacle for the gossiping crowd. But I didn’t feel humiliated. I felt… relief. A deep, shuddering wave of it. My gaze drifted across the ballroom, landing on a girl in a crimson dress tucked away in a corner. “Sloane Kensington,” I said, my voice carrying in the sudden hush. “I’m short a bride. Are you willing to step in?” 1 The words hung in the air, silencing the whispers. Even the girl herself, who’d been nursing a drink, froze. She looked up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What… what did you just say?” The corners of her eyes were tinged with red. When she looked at me, something fragile and hopeful flickered in their depths. I smiled and walked toward her, my steps sure and steady in front of all our guests. “I said I want to marry you. Will you have me?” Sloane stared, her lips trembling with an emotion I couldn’t yet name. Before she could answer, Caroline’s parents rushed to my side, her mother grabbing my arm. “Ethan, dear boy, I know you’re hurt,” she pleaded. “That girl has made a fool of you today, but I’ve already sent people to drag her back.” “She’s just being immature, throwing a tantrum.” “Don’t you worry, as long as I’m here, you’re the only man she’s marrying. Don’t do this out of spite, Ethan. Don’t throw your life away on a whim.” I gently pulled my arm free. “Mrs. Price, you can’t force these things. And the truth is, I don’t have to marry Caroline. You should let them be together.” In my last life, I wasn’t blind. I knew the great love of her life, her tragic hero, had always been my younger brother, Noah. But Noah had a reputation. He’d left a trail of broken hearts and terminated pregnancies in his wake, and a doctor had confirmed he could never have children of his own. Caroline’s mother turned cold at the mention of his name. She would never consent to their union. But the merger of our two family companies had been arranged for years. And since Caroline and I had grown up together, and I’d harbored a pathetic childhood crush on her, the duty fell to me. Everyone said our fifty years of marriage was a testament to enduring love. But only we knew the bitter truth of it. We had spent fifty-five of our sixty years together sleeping in separate rooms. Caroline hated me. The night our daughter’s fever spiked so high we almost lost her, she never even showed up at the hospital. Every year, on our son’s birthday, she would spend the entire day at the cemetery. She drank herself into oblivion most nights, crying out Noah’s name in her sleep. In the beginning, I thought we could build something. That love could grow, that old wounds could fade. But year after year, we curdled into a bitter, resentful pair, and I realized some things can never be fixed. Now, I have a second chance. And I’m choosing to let her go. To let myself go. Seeing me take Sloane’s hand, Mrs. Price grew frantic. “Ethan, I’ve always seen you as my son-in-law! You can’t just marry someone else!” “I’ve never approved of Noah’s… manipulative act,” she spat. “Whatever stunt he pulled to get Caroline to run off today, I will not allow a man like that to marry my daughter.” In my first life, it was on this very day—our wedding day—that Noah, upon hearing the news, had tried to kill himself by jumping into the ocean. He left behind a note and a short video. “Caroline, I’m supposed to call you my sister-in-law, but the words ‘I love you’ are caught in my throat. I envy my brother. He gets you without even trying, while I always seem to be a step behind. If there’s a next life, Caroline… let me be the one to marry you.” Because her mother dismissed it as melodrama, forbidding her from leaving, the wedding went on. Noah really did jump. By the time they pulled his body from the water, he was cold and gone. This time, Caroline couldn’t bear to watch him die. The moment she received his video, her eyes went red with panic, and she bolted without a second thought. In my past life, that would have crushed me. But after living two lifetimes, I just felt a profound sense of peace. This time, I would choose the girl I wanted to marry. “Sloane Kensington,” I said, my voice ringing with clarity. “If you want to marry me, then come up here. This wedding is for us now.” Sloane’s lips curved into a smile, and her hand tightened around mine. “Okay,” she said. The room erupted. Caroline’s bridesmaids huddled together, furiously texting. “Caro, you might’ve actually overplayed your hand this time. Ethan is marrying someone else.” “I thought he was obsessed with her? That he’d do anything to marry her. How could he just swap out the bride?” “And of all people… he picked Sloane Kensington. The wild child.” “Maybe he’s just trying to get back at Caroline for leaving him at the altar? Just grabbing the first woman he saw to save face?” As Sloane and I walked toward the officiant, our fingers laced together, I could feel the heat of their stares. Her hand trembled in mine, and she ducked her head slightly. I knew what they were whispering. Sloane’s reputation was notorious. She was a fixture in the city’s most exclusive clubs, her name constantly linked in tabloid scandals with various actors and musicians. Her name was mud in our circle. No respectable family would have her. There were even vicious rumors that her chaotic lifestyle had led to her contracting HIV. But I knew that wasn’t the real her. “Ethan, is this an impulse?” she asked, her voice low as she pulled her hand away. Her beautiful eyes were shadowed with vulnerability. “If you need me to help you save face, I will. But… don’t ruin your life just to prove a point.” A pang of tenderness went through me. Before I could respond, the grand doors to the hall were thrown open with a crash. “Ethan, stop this nonsense!” My father stormed in, his face a mask of fury. “A wedding isn’t a game! You don’t just change the bride! Get over here, now!” The remaining guests shot to their feet, some rushing to greet him, to placate him. But his eyes, cold and hard, were locked on me. “What are you waiting for? Didn’t you hear me?” Sloane nudged me gently. “You should go,” she whispered. “Don’t make a scene.” But I didn’t move. For my entire life, that look on his face had been enough to make me fold. He’d tell me to give my favorite toy to Noah, and I would. He’d tell me to give Noah the bedroom with the best light, and I’d pack my things without a word. When he told me to marry Caroline, I agreed without protest. But not today. Today, for once, I wanted to be the rebel. “Dad,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “I’m marrying Sloane.” “I will always listen to you. But this one time, I need to choose the person I spend my life with.” Crack. The sound of his hand striking my face echoed through the silent hall. “You ungrateful child,” he seethed. “If you dare to marry this girl today, then you are no longer my son!” I looked up at him, a slow, tired smile spreading across my face. “Fine. Then let’s cut ties.” No one could believe it. Ethan Rhodes, the family’s famously obedient son, was talking back. My father’s face went white with rage, his chest heaving. “For this… this degenerate? You’d disown your own father in front of everyone for her? I see I’ve been far too lenient with you!” After my mother died and he married my stepmother, who gave him Noah, his fists became a regular part of my life. He raised his hand again. But this time, it never landed. A slender hand, all sharp angles and delicate bones, shot out and clamped around his wrist. Sloane stepped in front of me, her face cold and resolute. “You touch him again,” she said, her voice a low, dangerous growl. “I dare you.” My eyes burned. No one, in my entire life, had ever stood up for me like that. They all wondered why I would choose Sloane Kensington, the disgraced heiress. Only I knew the truth. In my last life, on the day I fell gravely ill, it was also the anniversary of Noah’s death. My wife and my father were both at the cemetery, tending to the memory of the person who mattered most to them. No one cared if I lived or died. The doctors issued a critical condition notice. My dozens of calls to them were met with impatient dismissals. It was Sloane who, like a madwoman, pulled strings to get me medical resources from the next state over. It was Sloane who literally dragged me back from the brink of death. Later, when Caroline’s business dealings made her an enemy, someone set fire to our family home. I was trapped, my leg pinned by a burning cabinet, clutching my two crying children, screaming for Caroline to help us. But she ignored me. She ran straight to the study to save a photograph of Noah. And once again, it was Sloane who came. She charged into the inferno without a second’s hesitation, carrying my children out one by one. As the main beam of the house groaned, ready to collapse, I screamed at her. “Sloane, get out of there!” She was too late. As the flames swallowed her, the last thing I saw was her smile—a smile that told me not to worry. From that day on, I had my own ghost, my own lost cause. The one who had died for me. Only after she was gone did I learn the true depth of her hidden love. So this time, I would protect her. I would choose her, and only her, without a moment’s hesitation. My father’s eyes were practically shooting sparks. “Ethan, I’m asking you one last time. You’re choosing this woman?” “Yes,” I said, my voice firm. He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Fine. You have guts. I hope you don’t live to regret it.” He turned and left. Many of the guests who were there to curry his favor followed him out. Mrs. Price sneered. “This marriage is clearly not meant to be, Ethan. But if you change your mind and still want my Caroline, my offer stands.” I ignored them all. I took Sloane’s hand and led her up to the stage. “We can begin,” I told the officiant. Most of the guests allied with the Rhodes and Price families were gone. Only a handful of friends remained scattered in the vast hall. But I was smiling, truly smiling, as Sloane and I completed the ceremony. “From this day forward, I’m your husband.” “Sloane,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. We’re a team.” She smiled and pulled me into an embrace, her gaze deep and serious. With a weight that felt like a lifetime of waiting, she whispered one word. “Okay.” After the wedding, Sloane had me move into one of her properties, a beautiful house on the waterfront. To make it official, though, I had to go back to my father’s house to get my ID. I was just outside the gate when a red sports car came screeching around the corner, heading straight for me. Before I could react, Caroline lunged, grabbing my arm and shoving me hard to the pavement. “Are you blind?” she snapped, a contemptuous smirk on her face. “I thought you were done with the Rhodes family. What are you doing back here?” “I’m getting my ID so I can get my marriage license,” I said flatly. Her smirk vanished. Her face froze in disbelief. “What did you say? So the rumors are true? You’re actually marrying that train wreck?” Before I could answer, Noah, clad in a flashy red suit, hopped out of the driver’s seat. “Whoa, dude, my bad! Didn’t see you there, Ethan. Almost hit you,” he said, his tone oozing fake sincerity. “It’s my fault. Dad just got me this new car, and I got a little carried away. You’re not mad, are you?” The pride in his voice was sickening. I glanced at the gleaming new Porsche, then looked down and chuckled. “Not at all.” After all, I’d spent years living in that house like a guest. I was used to my father and stepmother doting on Noah. When I needed a simple, practical car for my internship, my father refused. But whenever Noah so much as hinted at wanting something, new sports cars appeared in the driveway like magic. It was then I truly understood the old saying: when a stepmother moves in, your real dad becomes a stepfather, too. “I’m just here to grab something,” I said, turning to leave. I’d only taken a few steps when a bucket of cold water cascaded down over my head. Caroline burst out laughing. Noah covered his mouth, feigning innocence. “Oops, sorry, bro. Everyone’s saying you’re marrying that wild child, Sloane. You know she’s got that… reputation. Probably carrying all sorts of viruses. Can’t have you bringing that into our house. Just helping you disinfect.” I saw the challenge in his eyes and stared back at him, my own gaze turning to ice. He seemed to enjoy it, stepping closer. “Seriously, man, I don’t get what you’re thinking. Caroline chose me, loud and clear. Even if she ditched you at the altar, you didn’t have to pick some random girl just to save face. You have no idea how messed up Sloane’s life is.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “When you’re in bed with her, won’t it make you sick thinking about all the other guys who’ve been there before you?” A cold smile touched my lips. “You should worry about your own woman.” Sloane had intentionally cultivated her wild reputation to keep men at a distance. She had a bad name, but she’d never been with anyone else. Caroline, on the other hand… In our last life, we were married for sixty years. But after our children were born, we lived separate lives. She could never get over Noah, her perfect, lost love. She would constantly bring home young men who bore a passing resemblance to him, parading their affairs in front of me. In my eyes, no one was dirtier than Caroline. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. I leaned closer to Noah. “Little brother,” I whispered, “the women you’re with are just my leftovers. Don’t believe me? She has a small, red birthmark on the inside of her right thigh. I’ve seen it countless times. You’re treasuring something I got tired of. Doesn’t that make you sick?” With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me, Noah’s face went pale. He and Caroline immediately started fighting. “Caroline, were you lying to me? How does my brother know about the birthmark on your thigh?” “Did you sleep with him behind my back?” Caroline, flustered and defensive, tried to explain. “No! That was—that was in our last life… I know that sounds crazy. Noah, believe me, I never touched him…” As their argument escalated, I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s what you get for talking trash about Sloane. Serves you right. Luckily, my father wasn’t home. I grabbed my ID and hurried out. On my way, I couldn’t resist grabbing a bucket of water from the garden hose and dousing Noah with it. Seeing him soaked and sputtering, I grinned. “There, little brother. Now we’re even.” “Get back here!” Caroline yelled, her face livid. For the first time, she left Noah’s side to chase after me. “Ethan, have you really thought this through?” she demanded. “Don’t think this little game of playing hard-to-get is going to make me want you again. I’ve made my choice. The only man I want in this life is Noah. No one can replace him.” I just smiled and turned back to her. “Then I wish you two a happy marriage. Now go back to your fiancé and leave me alone.” Her expression soured. “Ethan, I told you to stop with the games. Noah is pure and kind. He’s not manipulative like you. I’m warning you, don’t you dare hurt him. We may have been married for decades in another life, but you know I never loved you, so I suggest—” “I get it,” I cut her off, waving a dismissive hand. “If it makes you feel better, Sloane and I are planning to leave Boston. You’ll never have to see us again.” A heavy silence fell behind me. I didn’t care to engage any longer. My mind was already filled with the image of getting my marriage license with Sloane, and my steps felt lighter. As I reached the street, a car horn beeped twice. The window rolled down. It was Sloane. “Get in, husband.” I slid into the passenger seat with a smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still tied up at the office.” Sloane was taking a two-month leave of absence for our honeymoon. It was her company, but she still insisted on following procedure. “Had to make sure we get to the courthouse. Can’t risk someone else snatching my husband away if I wait too long,” she said, her eyes glancing lazily out the window. I followed her gaze. Caroline was standing at the gate, her fists clenched, her expression a mixture of anger and confusion. I leaned over, right in her line of sight, and pressed a firm kiss to Sloane’s lips. “Let’s go, wife.” A blush crept up Sloane’s neck. She nodded, smiling, so flustered she forgot to release the parking brake as she hit the gas. We left Caroline’s shrinking figure far behind. I was scrolling idly through my phone when a news alert popped up. “Rhodes Corporation CEO Formally Disowns Eldest Son, Ethan Rhodes.” I glanced at it and set the phone down without a word. “Sloane,” I said, turning to her. “I’m not a Rhodes anymore. Do you still want me? Do you feel like I’m not good enough for you now?” She blinked, then reached over and ruffled my hair. “Don’t be stupid.” She said we could build a different kind of life. We could work odd jobs, travel the world. She said she would never let me suffer. I watched her face, a quiet warmth spreading through my chest. She had ruined her own reputation just to shield herself from unwanted advances. People whispered that she was diseased. But I knew the truth. She’d never been in a real relationship, had never been with another man. It was always her who saved me. I used to think I was just lucky. But after Sloane died in my past life, her mother told me through her tears, “Ethan, my daughter has loved you since you were kids. She decided she would never marry because of you. Have you ever stopped to think… there’s no such thing as that much luck in the world? When your path feels easy, it’s because someone else is carrying the weight for you.” Sloane, I promised myself silently, this time, I will love you right. Married life was quiet and happy. Every day, Sloane came home from work with a small strawberry tart, my favorite. Worried I’d get bored at home, she would whisk me away on weekend road trips. But one night, about two weeks later, I was getting ready for bed when I realized it was nearly 11 PM and she wasn’t home. Then, a video popped up on my social media feed. “Sloane Kensington, Notorious Heiress, Caught in Hotel Raid? Police on Scene for Suspected Prostitution Ring.” A cold dread washed over me. I scrolled through the comments. They were a torrent of judgment and hate. “Guess we’ll never understand the rich. Didn’t she just marry the Rhodes heir? Their wedding was all over the news, and she’s already back to her old ways.” “A leopard can’t change its spots. Guess having a handsome husband at home isn’t enough when you can have a stranger in a hotel.” One username looked familiar. Someone with the screen name “Caro” had tagged me directly. “@EthanRhodes Take a good look at the woman you chose. Bet you don’t even have a shoulder to cry on now.” I didn’t hesitate. I threw on my clothes and called a car to the hotel address. Everyone was saying my wife was cheating. The hotel was surrounded by police cars, the flashing lights painting the scene in grim strokes of red and blue. I pushed my way through the gawking crowd and found her. Sloane was in the hotel room, dressed in a silk pajama set. And there was a man-shaped lump under the covers of the bed. Caroline was there, too. “What are you doing here?” I asked her. “Just passing by,” she said, crossing her arms, a smug look on her face. “Regretting your choice not to marry me now, Ethan?” “Your taste in women is truly awful.” “You’ve been married what, two weeks? And she’s already cheating on you. You’re going to be wearing those horns for the rest of your life.” “I’m actually dying to know,” she continued, her eyes glinting with malice as she stared at the lump in the bed, “what kind of man is worth Sloane Kensington risking it all for in the middle of the night?” A muffled groan came from under the blankets. It was definitely a man. My face went pale. I ignored Caroline and went straight to Sloane. “Tell me what’s going on,” I said, taking her hand. Sloane’s fingers laced with mine. “Ethan, do you trust me?” I nodded without a single flicker of doubt. A wave of relief washed over her face. Then, she pulled back the covers.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385194”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m a massage therapist. And my only clients are young women. For every session, I wear compression leggings. The look on their faces when they see the outline of my body is always the same. A flicker of shock, a blush of shyness, and then… the unmistakable spark of desire. But the client today, her face was a mask of pure terror. And in that moment, a wave of relief so profound it almost buckled my knees washed over me. Because the one I’ve been waiting for, for three long years, had finally walked through my door. 1 My hands, slick with aromatic oil, moved with steady, powerful pressure across her pale, delicate skin. The woman on the massage table let out a series of low, suppressed moans that filled the quiet room, but my expression remained a perfect blank. When the session was over, I meticulously wiped the excess oil from her body. Her face was flushed, her eyes darting constantly toward my lower body. As she was leaving, she bit her lip and gave her phone a little shake in my direction. “Want to add me? We could grab a drink tonight?” I shook my head, declining. Her gaze fell one last time, disappointed, to the front of my leggings before she turned and left. I let out a long sigh and wrote a number in my notebook. 1000. Then I scratched it out with a single, heavy line. After carefully sanitizing the massage table, I dimmed the lights in the studio. I lit a stick of incense, the smoky scent of sandalwood curling into the air, and put on a playlist of melancholic classical music. Then, I pressed the buzzer on the wall. A soft chime echoed, and the door to the studio swung open. The woman who entered made me catch my breath. Long dark hair, a short skirt, exquisitely fine features, and skin so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light. I gestured toward the massage table, indicating she should lie down. But she didn’t move. Her eyes were locked on my lower body, a tremor running through her entire frame. Seeing that expression of raw terror on her face, I clenched my jaw, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it felt like it might stop. Three years. My one-thousand-and-first client. The one I was looking for was finally here. 2 My name is Noah, and I’m a massage therapist. If you want to book a session with me, you have to follow two rules. First, I only work on women under the age of twenty-three. Second, I must wear compression leggings during the massage. When I first opened my studio, people assumed the worst. That the rules were just a pretext, a way for me to take advantage of my clients. People gossiped, saying my business would fail within a month. But a month later, not only was my studio still open, business was booming. Clients had to book a month in advance to get an appointment with me. There were three reasons for this. One, I am exceptionally good at what I do. I studied under a master therapist, but I also taught myself holistic medicine, combining ancient acupressure techniques with modern massage. I create my own proprietary blends of herbal-infused oils and aromatherapy sachets that not only rejuvenate the skin but can also soothe the chronic pain of old injuries. Two, I am… gifted. The leggings leave little to the imagination, and my physique is an undeniable distraction. Once women look, they find it hard to look away. Some have even offered me obscene amounts of money to spend a night with them. I’ve refused every single one. Three, I have a face that people tend to trust. I was born with fine features and fair skin. On top of that, I understand women. I know what they want to hear, what makes them feel seen. Almost every client becomes a repeat customer. They recommend me to their friends, creating a steady stream of new business. When my story eventually made its way online, I became the object of envy for men everywhere. They were jealous that I could make good money while being in such intimate contact with beautiful young women. But they have no idea. I have no interest in any of them. I’m doing all of this to find one person. And today, I finally found her. 3 Looking at the woman trembling with fear before me, I took a deep breath and managed a gentle smile. “What’s wrong?” I asked softly. “Are you not feeling well?” She finally spoke, her voice shaking. “Could you… could you maybe change into some looser pants?” I shook my head. “That’s my rule. I can’t change it.” She hesitated for a long moment before finally, with a look of grim determination, she slowly closed the door behind her. “I heard your technique is incredible for old injuries,” she said. “I have a lot of them. I’m counting on you.” I nodded and directed her to the changing room to put on the shorts and tank top I provided. When she emerged, she followed my instructions and lay face down on the table. I brought over a basin of steaming water, a fragrant herbal bath. I wrung out a towel that had been soaking in it and draped it over her back. As I worked, I kept my voice calm and professional. “First, we use a gentle heat to open up the pores and promote circulation. It makes the skin more receptive,” I explained. “You have to prep the canvas before you can create the art. This will allow my work to be much more effective.” “I’ve also added some calming herbs to the water. You’ll likely drift off for a little while,” I continued. “When you wake up, your body will be in its most relaxed state. That’s when the real massage begins.” Once the warm towels covered all of her exposed skin, she gradually closed her eyes and drifted into sleep. I looked down at the beautiful, vulnerable form on my table, and the corner of my mouth twitched into a small, cold smile. 4 When the woman woke up, I placed my phone on a tripod and started a livestream. I’d built up a decent following by posting short videos explaining different massage techniques. As soon as the stream went live, over a thousand people flooded in. The chat immediately exploded. WTF, is he really going live with a client like this? Damn, that woman on the table is a work of art! That skin, those legs… I can’t look away! Bro, you call that a massage? Let a real man show you how it’s done! I smiled at the screen. “Hello, everyone, and welcome. The purpose of today’s stream is to demonstrate a few techniques for all of you at home.” “Let’s get right to it.” I placed my hands on her back and began to knead the muscles. As I worked, I kept an eye on the chat. God, I would kill to be that massage table right now. Wait a second, you guys… does that woman look familiar to you? OH MY GOD, THAT’S THE INFLUENCER ARIA! HOLY SHIT, IT IS! I’m so jealous of this dude right now! Even though I don’t follow influencers, I’d heard of Aria. She had tens of millions of followers, earning tens of thousands of dollars in donations every time she went live. I never imagined she would become a mega-influencer… I had to bite down hard on my jaw to suppress the bitter jealousy that rose in my throat. Aria’s body is insane. Better than most celebrities. Never seen her from this angle before. This is a blessing. Look closer, guys. Look at all those scars on her body. Whoa, what the hell happened to her? Faint, silvery scars crisscrossed Aria’s skin, a dense network that looked almost like a monstrous tattoo. Looking at them, memories I had locked away deep in my mind began to stir, to rise, to surface. I froze for a moment, biting my lip until I tasted blood to bring myself back to the present. I shook my head, trying to force the memories back down. Pouring more oil onto my hands, I let my palms glide over her skin, which was now flushed pink from the heat. From her shoulders down to her ankles, until every inch of her was slick and gleaming. I began to apply gentle pressure to her lower back and both of her knees. With each press, she let out a sharp, stifled cry of pain. I spoke, my tone casual. “You have significant chronic injuries in these three areas.” “Looks like they were caused by some kind of severe impact, right?” When Aria nodded silently, I increased the pressure. “For years, these injuries must have caused you unbearable pain every so often,” I said. “I understand that kind of pain, because I have old injuries of my own.” “And when the pain comes, the memory of how you got the injury comes flooding back, doesn’t it? Which only makes the suffering worse.” Aria’s body went rigid. She said nothing. I gave a faint smile. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take very good care of you.” 5 My touch became gentler, and Aria’s body slowly began to relax completely under my hands. Feeling the give and take of muscle and skin beneath my fingertips, I glanced back at the screen. “I imagine this is getting a little boring for some of you,” I said to the camera. “So, why don’t I tell you all a story? Something I did a long time ago that I regret to this very day.” “Even though it’s been years, every time I think about it, I’m filled with remorse.” My fingers continued their dance across Aria’s back as I began to speak. “A lot of you probably envy my job. You think I get to look and touch beautiful women all day.” “But it’s not like that at all.” “You see, I was diagnosed with gender dysphoria when I was young. My body is male, but my mind, my identity, has always been female.” “To put it simply, for those of you in the chat, I’m gay.” “So, no matter how beautiful a woman is, my body doesn’t react. At all.” As I said this, I felt Aria’s body give a distinct, sharp shudder. In the chat, some people offered support, while others spammed homophobic slurs. I smiled faintly, ignoring them. “Growing up, I always got along better with girls,” I continued. “I was part of their circle, we were incredibly close. Several of them became my best friends.” “The guys were all jealous. They’d mock me and call me names behind my back.” “I pretended it didn’t bother me, but inside, it hurt. A lot.” “Because there were a few guys I had crushes on, but I had to bury those feelings deep down. I knew that if I ever let it show, I’d be treated like a freak, an outcast.” The chat went quiet. It seemed everyone was listening intently. Thanks to Aria’s fame, people were sharing the stream. The viewer count was climbing steadily. I went on. “My senior year of high school, I turned eighteen.” “The hormones of adolescence were like a volcano erupting inside me, melting away all my reason. I wanted to be in love like a normal person. I wanted someone I could confide in, someone whose arms I could fall into.” “And so… I made a decision that I will regret for the rest of my life.” 6 As I spoke, Aria’s body began to tremble more violently. At the same time, I slowly increased the pressure of my hands. “I downloaded a dating app and started pretending to be a woman online.” “I never played sports and didn’t spend much time in the sun, so my skin was already fairer than most girls’. My bone structure is small, too. If you only saw my hands or my legs, you wouldn’t guess I was a boy.” “So, I learned how to do my makeup. I bought a wig and a set of prosthetic breasts and put on a dress.” “With the help of some beauty filters, the person in the photos and videos I took was, for all intents and purposes, a beautiful woman.” “I posted them on my profile, and guys started messaging me immediately. I scrolled and scrolled, filtering through them, looking for my type.” The chat, which had been silent, came alive again. What a fucking creep. This is wild. First time I’ve ever heard a gay guy’s confession live. Keep talking! What happened next? The number of viewers kept rising, the stream’s popularity soaring. I moved to a new position and began working on Aria’s calves. Just as I was about to continue, a faint noise came from the storage cabinet in the corner of the room. Aria lifted her head, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at the cabinet. I offered her a reassuring smile. “It’s an old building, we have a bit of a mouse problem. I had an exterminator in, but it looks like one of them got away.” I stomped my foot hard on the floor, and the noise from the cabinet stopped. I nodded, satisfied, and continued my story. “Soon, I was talking constantly with one guy. He was exactly my type. We had the same taste in movies, music, books… we just clicked.” “He was seventeen years older than me, but I didn’t care about the age gap. In fact, I was drawn to the mature, stable presence he had, so different from the awkward boys at my school.” “But as we got closer, a sense of dread started to build inside me. I knew my entire identity was a lie. No matter how beautiful I looked in my pictures, it didn’t change the fact that I was a boy.” “And just as my anxiety reached its peak, the thing I feared most finally happened.” “He asked if we could meet in person.” 7 I could feel the muscles in Aria’s body tightening, all the previous relaxation gone. The chat was in a heated debate. LMAO, I can’t even imagine that guy’s reaction. Guarantee you the storyteller got his ass kicked. So disgusting. Deceitful gay men are the worst. I wiped the oil from my hands, picked up a small massage roller, and began to slowly work it over the areas of Aria’s old injuries. “Heh, anyone who’s ever dated online knows that when you want to meet someone, the urge is impossible to resist,” I said. “I imagined the meeting a thousand times. He would be disappointed, angry, furious at my deception…” “He might even scream at me, or hit me.” “But in the end, I decided to go.” “I was tired of hiding behind a screen. I wanted to see him in real life.” “I prepared for that meeting for weeks. I practiced my voice and the way I walked, trying to seem more feminine. I got a full-body wax, bought the highest quality wig and prosthetics I could find. I would get fully dressed and made up and walk around outside for hours, until I was certain that no one could tell I was a boy.” “Finally, the day we had agreed to meet arrived.” “It was May twenty-fourth. A Sunday.” “There were fourteen days left until my final exams.” “That date… I don’t think I will ever forget it for as long as I live.” As I said the date, fragmented memories flashed through my mind. My heart seized in my chest, and the roller almost slipped from my grasp. Seeing me fall silent, the chat went wild. ???? What happened?? Tell us! This dude isn’t a masseuse, he’s a storyteller. He knows how to leave a cliffhanger, damn. Can you focus on the massage? Our Aria is in so much pain she’s gripping the sheets! I glanced at Aria. The veins on the back of her hands were bulging as she gripped the white sheet. But I knew the truth. I was barely applying any pressure at all. 8 “That day, I met the man I’d been dreaming of in a park.” “He was tall, and even more handsome than in his photos. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he hadn’t seen through my disguise. In fact, he seemed very pleased.” “For the first time in my life, a man held my hand.” “My heart was pounding so fast I could barely speak…” At this point, the chat was in an uproar. Ugh, that’s just sick. Is it sick? I dunno, I’m kinda shipping this. So what happened between you two?? I continued. “The man’s voice was gentle, he was well-spoken, and his clothes and cologne were expensive and refined. We sat on a bench in a quiet corner of the park, his arm around me, as he whispered sweet things in my ear.” “In that moment, I wished time would stand still.” “Eventually, he suggested we go back to his place. I wanted to spend more time with him, so I agreed. I got into his luxury car, and we drove to his villa in the suburbs.” “My family was working-class. Seeing his wealth only made me fall for him harder. Once we were inside the villa, he wrapped his arms around me from behind and started kissing me.” “It was my first kiss. The strange, new feeling was intoxicating.” “The next thing I knew, we were in his bedroom. And he had taken off all my clothes.” “He stared at my male anatomy and the prosthetic breasts. His expression turned terrifyingly dark.” “In that instant, it felt like I’d been plunged into ice water.” 9 I cleared my throat. The chat was now mostly filled with mockery. Hahaha, if that was me, I would’ve beaten him half to death. For real! So gross, anyone would lose their mind. You play with people’s feelings, you deserve to get beat. Wait, is it just me, or does the guy sound like the real problem here? Yeah, a man in his thirties online dating an 18-year-old? That’s predatory. Just as I was about to continue, Aria spoke. Her voice was a thin, trembling whisper. “Can you… please stop talking…?” I ignored her and kept going. “In that moment, my mind went completely blank. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. Looking at the expression in his eyes, I knew it was over between us.” “Just as I was about to offer a sincere apology, he walked toward me.” “His face had changed. It was sinister, twisted, horrifying…” “I was terrified. It hit me all at once that I was in a strange, isolated room with a powerful, unfamiliar man. Before I could even think about what to do, his hand flew out and he slapped me across the face.” “He used all his strength. I slammed against a wardrobe and crumpled to the floor. My face burned, and my head was ringing. Before I could even get the words ‘I’m sorry’ out, he kicked me hard in the stomach.” “The pain was so intense I nearly passed out. It felt like my insides were tearing apart. As I lay on the floor, gasping in agony, I saw that the wardrobe door had been knocked open when I hit it.” “And in that instant, all the physical pain seemed to vanish, replaced by a bottomless, soul-crushing terror.” “Do you want to guess what I saw inside that closet?” 10 Bang. The cabinet in my studio rattled again, much louder this time. I stood up and started walking toward it. Halfway there, the sound stopped. The chat, meanwhile, was buzzing. Okay, now things are getting interesting. HOLY SHIT! He was just talking about a closet, and the one in his room made a noise? I’m getting scared… I thought this was just a boring catfish story. It’s turning into a thriller. Stop dragging it out, just tell us! I took a deep breath, fighting to control the emotions churning inside me. “The wardrobe had two levels, separated by a wooden shelf. From where I was on the floor, my line of sight was level with the bottom shelf.” “There were three enormous glass jars.” “And floating in a clear, colorless liquid were the severed heads of three young women.” “Three pairs of wide-open eyes were staring right at me.” “My heart stopped.” By now, a tidal wave of comments had completely flooded the screen. WTF, is this story even real? Obviously fake. He’s making it up for clicks. Everyone report this loser, let’s get him banned. Feeling Aria’s body grow even more rigid, I didn’t bother explaining myself to the viewers. I just continued the story. “The intense fear jolted my memory. I remembered a news report from a few weeks earlier. Three high school girls had gone missing, one after another. They were still gone…” “The man in front of me… he was their killer.” “Chatting with me online to lower my guard, meeting me in a secluded park, bringing me to his isolated villa… he had used the same tactics on the other three girls.” “Looking at the torture instruments gleaming on the top shelf of the closet, at the marks on the girls’ heads, it wasn’t hard to imagine the horrors they had endured. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what this man, feeling deceived and enraged that I was a boy, would do to me.” “I struggled to sit up. I saw the man was now holding an axe, and he was walking slowly toward me.” Just then, one comment made me pause. I remember this. Three years ago, in that ritzy suburban area between my city and the next one, something big happened. There were cops everywhere, but you can’t find anything about it online now. The story was suppressed. What this streamer is saying… could it be real? A wave of “Holy shit” and “WTF” comments scrolled by. I continued. “In that moment, I couldn’t see any way out. No way to survive. No matter how I fought, I was no match for a large man with a weapon. But the will to live, it’s a powerful thing. Staring into the abyss, I managed to claw out a path.” “And that path was…” Before I could finish, Aria shot up from the massage table. She scrambled to the floor and fell to her knees in front of me, slamming her forehead against the hardwood with a sickening thud. Again and again. The skin on her forehead split open, and blood began to stain the floor. She looked up, her face a twisted mask of blood and tears, her voice sharp and trembling. “I’m begging you, please, don’t say any more!” 11 In less than a minute, the pristine influencer had been reduced to this pathetic, broken state. The livestream chat detonated. “?????????” “What the hell just happened to Aria?” “This has to be staged, right? It’s a script.” “I don’t think so, that wound and the blood are real!” “Aria definitely has some connection to this guy. Maybe she’s a character in his story.” I crouched down, looking directly into Aria’s eyes, and gently helped her to her feet. “You know that once a story has begun, it can’t be stopped.” “Let’s remember what happened that day, together.” Aria wrenched her hand from my grasp and scrambled for the door. She twisted the handle frantically, but the door wouldn’t budge. What is this guy trying to do? From Aria’s reaction, it seems like she doesn’t want him to finish the story. Should we call the cops…? I turned to the camera and held up my hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt her. If you want to call the police, you might as well hear the end of the story first.” The chat urged me to go on. I smiled. “The only way I could think of to survive was to offer the man a new target.” “As I said before, I had a lot of female friends. One of them, a girl named… let’s call her ‘Sarah.’ She and I were especially close. We told each other everything. We were like sisters.” “She was the only person I had ever told that I was gay.” “She was the only one who trusted me completely, without reservation.” “And she was the only one who would come to this secluded villa with just one phone call from me.” “So, as the man stood over me with the axe raised high, I played my only card.” “I said: ‘Don’t kill me. I can be your slave. I can find new prey for you. I can call a girl right now. She’s beautiful, tall… exactly your type.’”

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