Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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After the car crash, Sterling Foster lost his memory. He reverted back to the time when he doted on me the most. He was possessive, jealous, and practically threw himself at me. Every glance was a plea for affection. Everyone warned me. “Don’t get too comfortable. You have three months of this, max.” “The doctor said his memory will come back once the blood clot clears.” Three months later, Sterling’s memory did return. Everyone smirked, waiting for me to be cast aside again. But instead, Sterling took a deep breath, his expression a mixture of terror and hope, and dropped to one knee. “Will you be my wife?” he asked, his voice trembling with reverence. 1 In the VIP hospital room, a chorus of voices was carefully trying to reason with Sterling Foster. “Sterling, it’s true. You sent Cora away four years ago. She’s not your little shadow anymore. She’s at a university overseas. She’s not coming back.” “Come on, man, stop messing around. Your condition is cured now. You can sleep through a rainstorm without holding her. You don’t need to summon the queen bee back.” “Besides, she’s at a top-tier university now. She’s got her own life. She’s not going to drop everything to come back and be your little babysitter. Can we please face reality here?” But no matter what they said, the man sitting on the hospital bed wasn’t listening. His gaze grew colder by the second, a silent threat that one more word would have dire consequences. They tiptoed around him as if he were a volatile emperor, trying to decipher his royal decree. And his decree was simple: “Call her. Tell her to get back here. Now.” They braced themselves and told him the truth. “We tried. No answer.” “She won’t come back.” “She’s blocked all of our numbers.” Sterling’s face darkened, and the air in the room grew thick with tension. From the moment he’d seized control of his family’s empire at sixteen, he had inspired fear. In the years since Cora had left, that fear had only intensified. He’d become more ruthless, his moods more unpredictable. He was a king in his own dark kingdom. He tossed his phone onto the bed. “Use mine. She wouldn’t dare ignore my call.” His friends could only think, Dude, where are you getting this confidence? Still, his right-hand man, William Croft, picked up the phone and dialed, putting it on speaker for Sterling to hear. “Beep… beep… The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later.” William didn’t dare look at Sterling. “Boss,” he explained cautiously, “that usually means… you’ve been blocked.” A palpable darkness seemed to emanate from Sterling, but his voice remained controlled, his signature confidence unshaken. “I still have her on social media.” The silent consensus in the room was, This guy just won’t quit. William, once again, did as he was told, placing a video call. It didn’t connect. A four-word message popped up on the screen: [Unable to connect.] William swallowed hard. “Boss… that usually means… you’ve been blocked on there, too.” The darkness in Sterling’s eyes finally cracked, revealing a flicker of stunned disbelief. His hand, elegant and long-fingered, slowly clenched into a fist, veins popping as his entire body began to tremble with rage. It was clear he was fighting a losing battle against a tidal wave of fury. Just then, a loud clap of thunder shook the building. BOOM. CRACKLE. The sky opened up, and rain began to pour. It was as if a beast had been awakened inside him. His eyes turned a feral, bloodshot red. A suffocating pressure descended on the room, and his gaze swept over his friends as if they were prey he was about to tear apart. They all flinched, ready to bolt. “Oh, crap. He’s relapsing.” “I thought he was cured! Why is he going crazy again?” “Get to Cora! Find her! Beg her, bribe her, do whatever it takes to get her back here!” 2 While Sterling’s most powerful lieutenants were flying across the globe, I had just successfully defended my thesis. These were men who were used to being revered, men who never bowed to anyone. And now, they were all kneeling in front of my apartment. “Please, Cora, we’re begging you. Just come back with us.” “Sterling was in a car accident. He has amnesia. His memory is stuck before he turned sixteen. He still thinks you’re his… favorite person.” “And his old condition is back. He can’t sleep when it rains unless he’s holding you.” “We all grew up together. For old times’ sake, can you just do us this one favor?” I pressed my lips together, a dizzying mix of old hurt and new surprise swirling inside me. From the age of five until I was sixteen, I had been Sterling Foster’s personal teddy bear. He was handsome, brilliant, and wealthy beyond measure, but he was also deeply troubled. When it rained, the only thing that could keep his demons at bay was holding me. Everyone assumed I would one day be Mrs. Foster. Then one day, out of the blue, he told me, “You don’t need to come here anymore.” Just like that, I was banished from his world. I can only imagine how many people laughed at me, at my foolish, shattered dreams. Who would have thought that four years later, the tables would turn so dramatically? It all started when I was five. The media reported a suspected case of abuse at my preschool. When the police investigated, they discovered the horrific bruises covering my body weren’t from school. They were from my nanny. One day, the door to my house burst open. A dozen bodyguards stood respectfully behind a small, brooding boy. He strode in, scooped me up with a possessive air, and carried me away to his home. He was seven, I was five. We were complete strangers. Later, the housekeeper at his family’s estate told me what had happened. The young master had been watching television when a news report about my case came on. The sight of my bruised body had sent him into a silent rage. He’d stood up, summoned his bodyguards, and left without a word. “The young master was also abused by a nanny,” the housekeeper explained. “By the time anyone found out, the damage was done. He had developed severe psychological issues. He would go for weeks without speaking, just sitting alone in the living room, reading. No one could get close to him. It wasn’t until he brought you here that he started to speak again, even if it was just a word or two to answer you.” Even then, he barely spoke to me. If he could answer in one word, he would. Any request for further explanation was met with a look that screamed, “You foolish mortal.” He was a child prodigy, with a genius-level IQ and a photographic memory that made the rest of us feel like simpletons. And yes, there was a “rest of us.” Sterling was the crown prince of a corporate dynasty. Every other wealthy family was desperate to have their children befriend him, hoping that a childhood connection would pay dividends in the future. Their gamble paid off. To keep up with Sterling, we all became hyper-competitive overachievers. We had to be the best at everything. Now, the men kneeling before me were the very same overachievers, Sterling’s most trusted executives and advisors. I was the only exception. The only one who was unceremoniously kicked out of his inner circle. I was sent away to study abroad, alone. I completed my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in four years. How many lonely nights did I spend burying my hurt in textbooks? And now, they tell me he’s lost his memory, his old illness is back, and he wants me to return. On what grounds? 3 The whole “he can only sleep when he’s holding me” thing started by accident. It was my fifth night at the Foster estate. A violent thunderstorm was raging outside. I was alone in a guest room, terrified, huddled under the covers. The only person I knew in this massive mansion was the little boy who had brought me here. Clutching my pillow, I padded down the hallway in my fluffy slippers to find him. The entire villa was lit up, and all the adults were pacing anxiously. Sterling’s grandmother was in the living room, tearing into his parents. “This is all your fault! Always traveling for work, leaving my grandson with that monster of a nanny! Look at what she’s done to him! He has these episodes every time it rains, and even the doctors can’t help! What have I done to deserve this, to watch my grandson suffer and be completely helpless?” Before I even reached his room, I heard a scream. A doctor in a white coat ran out, his hands covered in blood. “Mrs. Foster, we can’t get near him! He won’t let us give him a sedative. He has a knife. He’s trying to attack anyone who gets close.” While the adults were distracted, I slipped into Sterling’s room. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes a terrifying shade of red, like a little demon clawed up from hell. He was slashing at anything that moved. Another crash of thunder, and I burst into tears. “Big brother, I’m scared!” By the time his grandmother and the others rushed in, Sterling had me on the bed. The knife was on the nightstand. He was covering my ears with his hands. When he heard them enter, he grabbed the knife again, his eyes wary. But he kept one arm wrapped tightly around me. Everyone stared, dumbfounded. I copied him, covering his ears with my small hands. “It’s okay, big brother,” I cooed. “Don’t be scared. Time for your shot.” The doctor cautiously approached. Sterling tensed, the veins in his arm popping as he fought the urge to lash out. I just hugged him tighter. In the end, he didn’t attack anyone. After the shot, he just said, “Get out.” But he kept me with him, his little human teddy bear. That night, I secured my place in the Foster household. 4 A couple of weeks later, another storm was brewing. Without a second thought, his grandmother placed me in Sterling’s arms like a science experiment. “Here, sweetie. Try this. Maybe it’ll help.” Sterling glanced at me with his usual disdain but didn’t push me away. He was a sensible child, deep down, and didn’t want to worry the adults. He just couldn’t control himself when it rained. He was sitting on the sofa, reading. I was bored and tried to wriggle free. He pressed my head back down. “Don’t move.” Then he looked at the adults hovering nearby. “All of you, leave. I don’t want to see you.” When it rained, he couldn’t stand the sight of another living thing. His anxiety would skyrocket, leaving him feeling utterly exposed and unsafe. Even a mouse scurrying past would send him into a violent frenzy. If there was a chance for a cure, he was willing to try it. Half an hour later, the rain started to fall, a gentle, hypnotic rhythm against the windows. I yawned and quickly fell asleep. Later, I heard that his grandmother had watched on the security cameras. Sterling’s hand had hovered over my neck several times, as if he was contemplating strangling the only other living creature in the room. But each time, he had pulled back. In the end, he had covered me with a blanket and fallen asleep beside me on the sofa. His grandmother had watched the monitor, tears streaming down her face. From then on, I was officially part of the Foster household. Not even my own father could get me back. Until that summer, the year I turned sixteen. Sterling suddenly told me, “You don’t need to come here anymore.” I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Had he been cured? Did he not need his teddy bear anymore? If he hadn’t given me a bank card with a staggering amount of money in it, I would have made a scene. Now, looking at these powerful men, my former “colleagues,” kneeling and begging me to return, I clenched my fists and asked calmly, “Is the amnesia temporary or permanent?” “Well…” William hesitated, then told the truth. “The doctor said it’s from a blood clot caused by the accident. Once it clears up, his memory should return. They said it could be up to three months.” I let out a bitter laugh. “So you want me to go back and humiliate myself? I’m twenty years old, not a child. Do you really think it’s appropriate for me to be his human teddy bear now? If he wants to see me, tell him to send a royal procession.” 5 I thought that would be the end of it. Even with amnesia, the proud Sterling Foster would never tolerate such a demand. For ten years, my role was clearly defined: I was the sidekick. The reason he kicked me out in the first place was because he’d heard people whispering that I was his future wife. He must have thought I was getting too ambitious. Who was I to dream of marrying the prince? Besides, when he held me on those stormy nights, it was completely platonic. I was just a remedy for his anxiety, nothing more. We were just kids. By the time I was sixteen and he was eighteen, the age of raging hormones, we were separated. But three days later, I came home from the university lab to find a fleet of Rolls-Royces parked outside my house. William was directing bodyguards as they carried suitcases inside. I walked into my closet to find them arranging custom-made shirts, suits, shoes, and ties. “What are you doing?” I asked, stunned. William gritted his teeth. “Sterling got tired of waiting. He came himself. He said, ‘If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.’ He also told us to rent a royal sedan chair from a film studio. It’s being flown in as we speak.” But the look in his eyes said, Don’t get too smug. You’ve only got three months. “…” I was speechless for a moment, then tried to sound calm. “Where is he?” William rolled his eyes. “You think he’s got nothing better to do? He’s at the corporate headquarters, surveying his future kingdom.” The Foster Group’s headquarters was in North America, under the watchful eye of Sterling’s grandfather. But since he was sixteen, Sterling had been in complete control of the domestic operations. In four years, he had crushed every veteran executive who had dared to underestimate him. His future was global. This was why I had chosen to study here. I had always foolishly hoped that one day, I would stand before him again, not as his sidekick, but as a brilliant and capable executive in his own company. I had pushed myself to finish my degrees in four years, all so I could join the Foster Group and work my way back into his world, on my own terms. And now this? He was really moving in with me? The worst part was, I couldn’t even kick him out. This house had been his final gift to me when I got into college. Both our names were on the deed. I never understood why he would put his name on a parting gift. It just meant that now, I couldn’t scream at William, “This is my house! He can’t just move in whenever he wants!” Even more unsettling, the weather forecast was calling for a severe thunderstorm tonight.

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My fiancé, Ben, composed a piece for our ten-year love story. He called it Ten Years, a concerto for piano and violin, his specialty. It was to be his most personal gift to me at our wedding. “I’ll play the piano, of course,” he’d said, his fingers gently clasping mine. “As for the violin… Selene, I’ll have to entrust it to you.” Selene, my best friend of twenty years, accepted with a radiant smile. Tears of joy welled in her eyes as she hugged me. “Elara, to play for your and Jules’s wedding… it’s the greatest honor of my life.” During one of our final rehearsals, with me as the vocalist, something shifted. As they reached the cadenza, the most brilliant and difficult part of the piece, I watched them. The way their eyes met, the seamless flow of their music—a deep, unnerving intuition washed over me. The dialogue between the piano and violin was no mere melody; it was an aching, tender conversation, a lover’s lament that transcended friendship. It was filled with the whispered confessions and struggles of two people deeply, hopelessly intertwined. And in that moment, I finally understood. The story this song told, this masterpiece named Ten Years, was never about his decade with me. It was about his decade with her. 1 “Stop! Elara, you came in early.” Selene’s bow lifted from the strings, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Jules and I have worked on this tempo countless times. We have our own way with this part.” Ben, seated at the grand piano, said nothing. His silence was an agreement. We tried again. His long, elegant fingers struck the final chord, and Selene’s bow drew its last, lingering note in perfect sync. “Perfect,” she said, her eyes shining as she looked at him. “Jules, this cadenza… only we can really pull it off.” They exchanged a smile, a silent language forged in a decade of shared studies and practice rooms. A world I, his fiancée of ten years, could never seem to enter. Ben turned to me, his tone gentle. “Elara, you were still a little behind the beat that time.” “Was I?” I stared at the sheet music. “Maybe it’s because the interplay between the piano and violin is so dense here. I can’t find an opening.” Selene walked over, draping a familiar arm over my shoulder, but her words were for Ben. “She doesn’t have the formal training, Jules. Maybe ease up on the perfectionism for a minute, huh?” “Jules.” Her special name for him, a relic from their conservatory days that had never faded. He shook his head with a resigned sigh, but his eyes held no trace of annoyance. Only… a soft spot. An indulgence reserved just for her. She released me and moved to Ben’s side, leaning over to look at his score. A lock of her long, dark hair brushed against his cheek. “Right here, Jules,” she said, pointing. “This transition would be smoother if we tweaked it.” “You’re always right,” he murmured, his voice laced with an unmistakable affection. I stood frozen, watching their shoulders touch as they sat together on the piano bench, my hands crumpling the sheet music I was holding. It was always like this. When we were picking out my wedding dress, Selene had run her hand over the mermaid gown I adored. “This one’s beautiful,” she’d told the designer, “but she won’t be able to move in it. Let’s switch the main gown to the satin one with the train.” Ben had agreed without a second’s thought. At the menu tasting, she’d taken a small bite of the cake sample. “The chocolate is too bitter,” she’d announced to the manager. “Jules doesn’t like it. Change it to vanilla.” She hadn’t even glanced at me, the bride. And now, even with the theme song for our wedding, I was the outsider, the one who needed correcting. The wedding planner’s assistant bustled in, beaming as she walked straight to Selene. “Ms. Selene, here is the final event schedule you confirmed. Also, the bridesmaid dresses have arrived. Would you like to try yours on now?” The assistant’s gaze flickered past me as if I were a piece of the furniture. Selene took the papers, then waved me over with a bright smile. “Elara, come look! You’re going to love the timeline I planned for you!” I watched her and Ben standing side-by-side. And I suddenly felt that this wedding, the day I had dreamed of for so long, was nothing but an elaborate stage play. And I had been cast in the wrong role. 2 I left early, using the excuse of not feeling well. The moment I got home, Ben’s call came. “Elara, the on-site rehearsal has started.” His voice was warm, but in the background, I could faintly hear Selene giving directions. “If you’re not feeling well, don’t worry about coming back. It’s just a run-through. Selene can stand in for you.” I hung up and opened the group chat for the wedding, “Happily Ever After.” Just then, the assistant accidentally posted a video from the rehearsal. She retracted it almost instantly. But a few seconds was all it took. There on the screen, Selene was wearing my wedding gown, standing opposite Ben. They were practicing the part of the ceremony reserved for the bride and groom: the embrace, the kiss, the intertwined arms as they drank champagne. Her fingers were clenched tightly on his sleeve, her knuckles white. She was looking up at him, a soft, intimate smile playing on her lips. And in his eyes, there was only her. The image froze in my mind, a portrait of two people so perfectly matched it burned. 3 My hands trembled as I pulled out the leather-bound book where Ben kept his original compositions. There it was. Ten Years. The song he wrote “for me.” In the blank space at the end of the final, brilliant cadenza, a single line was written in his sharp, slanted handwriting. “My moonlight, why won’t you stay for me?” The words, pressed deep into the page with a desperate, restrained force, hit me like a physical blow. Selene. Her name meant moon goddess. His moon. Our entire relationship had started with her. She had dragged me to a party our sophomore year, pointed to the quiet, handsome boy playing piano in the corner, and whispered in my ear, “See him? That’s the campus heartthrob. Total catch, and a good friend of mine. Want an introduction?” She was the one who sent me his number. I remembered it all so clearly. That summer, I brought Ben home to meet my “best friend” for the first time as my boyfriend. Selene had answered the door in slippers, her eyes widening for a split second when she saw our joined hands. Then she’d thrown an arm around Ben’s shoulder, laughing her carefree laugh. “Well, look at you, Jules! Stole my girl right out from under me!” She’d playfully put him in a headlock. “You better treat her right, you hear me? Elara’s my sister. You hurt her, and you’ll answer to me first.” She planned our anniversary dates. She mediated our fights. She was our self-proclaimed “matchmaker” and “buddy,” a constant, welcome presence in every corner of our relationship, its most steadfast champion. Over the years, I’d watched her cycle through a string of boyfriends. Once, drunk and leaning on my shoulder, she’d slurred, “I envy you, Elara. You still believe in love. Someone like me, from my kind of family… I’m already broken. Watching you two be happy… it’s like I get to be happy, too.” So she was always at my place, sharing my parents, my home, and “incidentally,” every detail of my life with Ben. But now, this single page of music, this desperate, heartfelt plea, ripped her carefully constructed lies to shreds. The “matchmaker.” The “buddy” who didn’t believe in love. She had been in the shadows all along, stealing my happiness in the one way I never thought to guard against. 4 A chilling cold spread through me. I started retracing every “rehearsal” they’d ever had. I drove to the studio they frequented and, claiming I’d lost something, asked the manager to pull up the security footage from one specific afternoon. The video showed them just after they’d finished playing. Ben’s hands were still resting on the keys when Selene put down her violin and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. “Jules,” her voice was a seductive murmur, “our song… it even made her cry.” Ben turned, capturing her wrists. “And you? Did it move you?” “I don’t dare to be moved.” She pressed closer, their noses almost touching. “You know I don’t believe in any of this.” “But I believe in you,” Ben whispered, cupping her face in his hands. And then he kissed her. It wasn’t impulsive. It was a practiced, hungry kiss. His hand slid expertly under the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on her waist. She answered him, her own fingers tangling in his hair. “Enough…” Selene breathed, pushing him away gently, though her forehead remained pressed against his chest. “I don’t believe in love. I don’t do marriage. You know that.” “I know,” Ben’s voice was hoarse with pain. “That’s why I can only love you by loving her. For ten years, every single day, I’ve been searching for you in her.” Selene laughed softly against his chest. “And did you find me?” “I did,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Every time she smiles, it’s like you. The way she talks, it’s like you. Even when she wears the clothes you recommend, or the perfume you like… it all makes me feel like I’m with you.” I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. For ten years, I was nothing but a mirror. A pathetic substitute. He was looking through me, at another woman. And she was reveling in a stolen intimacy without ever having to bear an ounce of responsibility. They were the two people I had chosen as my family, bound to me not by blood, but by a love I thought was real. And they had used my body, my life, as a vessel for their own sordid, decade-long affair. 5 The images from the monitor, the cruel, whispered words, were a thousand needles piercing my heart. I stumbled back to my apartment, a space once filled with happy memories of the three of us that now felt suffocating. I started tearing through the place like a madwoman, purging everything that belonged to Ben, as if erasing his presence could erase the searing pain. While clearing out his old, rarely used tablet, a private, double-password-protected photo album popped up. Some dark instinct guided my fingers. I typed in Selene’s birthday. Access granted. If the security footage had exposed their present betrayal, this album ripped open their past, revealing a truth more twisted and vile than my darkest imaginings. The first photo made my blood run cold. It was an ultrasound image. Selene’s name was printed clearly at the top. The date was from six months ago. The same month Ben had supposedly been on a “study trip” abroad. I scrolled down, my hands shaking. A positive pregnancy test. The caption read: “Welcome, my little melody.” Then, an invoice for an abortion procedure. Scrawled across it in Ben’s handwriting were the words: “My little melody, I’m sorry. Daddy couldn’t keep you.” There was even a screenshot of a text exchange between them. Ben: Have the baby. I’ll break up with her tomorrow. We’ll get married. Selene: No. You know my parents… I could never be a good mother. I don’t need marriage, and I certainly don’t want a child. Ben: But it’s my fault. I was careless… Selene: Jules, I don’t blame you. And I don’t need you to take responsibility. Just stay with me like this, forever. That’s enough… Elara is your responsibility. The last few photos were of Selene, sitting by a hotel window in her pajamas, a melancholy silhouette against the city lights. In the reflection, Ben was holding her from behind, his expression etched with guilt and heartache. His month-long “study trip” had been a recovery retreat for her. I collapsed onto the floor, a wave of nausea churning in my stomach. For the past six months, he had been meticulously planning our wedding while secretly grieving the loss of his child with another woman. He had been ready to throw me away in a heartbeat for that baby. It was only Selene’s “no-marriage” stance that had allowed me to keep my position as his fiancée. How utterly laughable. The marriage I treasured, the future I cherished, was nothing more than the leftover scraps she couldn’t be bothered to accept. 6 I don’t know how long I sat on the floor, my limbs stiff, my tears dried up. When I finally looked up, the face staring back from the mirror was pale but unnervingly calm. My phone vibrated on the table. “Ben” flashed on the screen. I stared at the name for a long moment before answering. “Elara,” his voice was so gentle it felt like liquid velvet. “What are you doing? Miss me?” My fingers tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white, but my voice was soft, warm. “Just getting my things ready for tomorrow. My mom says it’s bad luck for us to see each other, so I have no choice but to miss you.” I even managed a light laugh. He chuckled back, his low, magnetic voice the same one that had once captivated me. “I miss you, too. So much I can’t sleep. I can’t wait for tomorrow.” He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. “My bride.” My bride. Such beautiful words. Now they tasted like poison-laced honey. From his end of the line, I heard a tiny, almost imperceptible sound—a suppressed breath, as if someone nearby was holding theirs. It was followed by the faint rustle of fabric. I feigned ignorance, my tone perfectly natural. “What about you? What are you up to? Sounds like you have company.” “Oh, just a few guys from the orchestra,” he answered smoothly. “They insisted on taking me out for one last drink. Celebrating my last night of freedom.” “Don’t worry,” he added quickly. “I’ll only have one. I’ll be in perfect shape for tomorrow.” “Okay,” I murmured. “Don’t drink too much. Get some rest.” We exchanged a few more meaningless sweet nothings. He spoke of his “excitement” for the wedding. I played the part of the blissfully happy, trusting bride-to-be. After we hung up, the silence in the room was absolute. I sat motionless, the phone still in my hand. His tender words echoed in my ears, but all I could see was the image of him and Selene entwined in the dark studio, the reflection of his arms around her in that hotel window. How much of his tenderness tonight was real? And how much was the residual warmth from another woman’s arms, a performance fueled by guilt? I knew he wasn’t with his “friends.” That quiet breath, that rustle of cloth… they were the ghosts in the machine, the silent proof that someone else was with him. Someone he couldn’t name, but someone he was with on the very eve of our wedding. My heart felt hollowed out, beyond pain. All that was left was a cold, sharp resolve. The desire for revenge grew like a toxic vine, consuming my every thought. Slowly, I lowered the phone. In the mirror, a chilling smile touched my lips. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow? Neither could I. 7 By the time I had methodically packed up my life and had a courier service remove every last trace of me from that apartment, the sky was beginning to lighten. In the bridal suite, I calmly slipped into the wedding gown. I sat at the vanity, allowing the makeup artist to paint the face of a perfect, radiant bride. The woman in the mirror was breathtakingly beautiful. And as cold as ice. Selene placed the veil on my head herself. In the reflection, she stood behind me, her eyes slightly red, her sincerity flawless. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her fingers gently adjusting the delicate lace. “Watching you get ready to walk down the aisle to Jules… it suddenly makes me think… maybe marriage isn’t so terrifying after all.” I met her gaze in the mirror, my heart feeling like it had been pierced by an icicle. This moment of feigned affection was more nauseating than all her lies. I curved my lips into a perfect, matching smile. “Really? That’s wonderful.” The ceremony began. The lights dimmed, and the opening notes of Ten Years drifted through the grand ballroom. Ben was at the piano on stage, Selene beside him with her violin. They were lost in their melody, their souls intertwined in the music. It was my turn to sing. I picked up the microphone, but the planned lyrics never left my lips. As the music swelled, my voice, clear and cold, rang out through the speakers. “This piece is beautiful. It’s a gift Ben spent a year composing for our ‘ten years of love’.” The guests smiled, listening intently. “But it was only yesterday that I finally understood the other ten years hidden in its melody.” The piano faltered, a single discordant note hanging in the air. Ben looked up, his face instantly ashen. Selene’s bow skidded across the strings, producing a screech of feedback. I went on, my gaze sweeping calmly over the two of them. “The cadenza was a private piece they wrote together in college. It doesn’t belong at my wedding. It’s far too… intimate.” A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. “This song, meant to celebrate my love, is filled with evidence of their affair in every single measure I could never quite fit into!” I raised a remote and pointed it at the massive screen behind the stage. And I pressed play. The carefully curated evidence appeared, scanned, edited, and set to the haunting score of their precious Ten Years. The security footage from the studio played, with Ben’s voice on a loop: “I can only love you by loving her…” The more passionate the music, the more damning the images. The ultrasound. The positive pregnancy test. The invoice for the procedure. The text messages. The photo of them in the hotel room. The ballroom fell into a dead silence, followed by a collective gasp of horror. “Stop it! Elara! Please, stop it!” Selene finally broke, dropping her violin and screaming. Ben slammed his hands down on the piano keys, creating a deafening, chaotic crash of sound. Amid the wreckage, I looked past Ben, my eyes locking onto Selene. “This song he wrote for you. This wedding I dreamed of for a thousand nights like a fool…” “I’m giving it all back to you.” I pulled the veil from my head and tossed it onto the stage, a final, discarded piece of a filthy decade. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

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The third year Alan and I were crammed into that tiny apartment was the year the floodwaters took our home. I buried my face in his shoulder, miserable and shivering. He told me it broke his heart to see me this way. Then he turned around and donated a hundred million dollars to the city’s relief fund without batting an eye. On the news, he was Alan Hayes: heir to a dynasty, a philanthropist whose casual generosity was legendary. He was a stranger to me. I heard the laughter of his friends, the gilded youth of Manhattan’s elite, through the half-open door of the private room. “All those heiresses throwing themselves at you, and you’re still messing with some broke girl?” Alan’s handsome eyes, the color of warm whiskey, crinkled at the corners. He let out a low chuckle. “My girl worked three jobs a day just to save up for a ring for me. Can they do that?” Someone else piped up, their voice sharp. “But what if she actually proposes? Aren’t you getting engaged to Diana Donovan next week?” “It’s just a game,” Alan scoffed. “You don’t seriously think I’d marry her, do you?” After a pause, his voice dripped with absolute certainty. “Besides, Willow will never find out.” He didn’t know I was standing right outside the door. 1 I had raced through a torrential downpour to find him. My lab coat, soaked through, clung to me like a second skin of ice, the chill sinking into my bones. But it was nothing compared to the cold shard of his words driving straight through my heart, a pain so sharp it made my whole body recoil. Inside the opulent room, the conversation flowed on. “Damn right. She’d lose her mind if she knew.” “The pretty boy she’s been keeping for three years makes a hundred-million-dollar donation on a whim. You can’t even write this stuff in a movie, hahaha.” “So, Alan, you’re just gonna shut her down when the time comes?” Alan gestured for the waiter to open another bottle of champagne, his voice a casual drawl. “Shut her down? Why would I do that? I’m not done playing with her.” He stroked his chin, a thoughtful look on his face. Then, a wicked, playful smile spread across his lips, making the small mole near the corner of his eye seem even more vibrant. “You know, I was thinking… maybe I’ll break up with her first. Just to scare her a little. After all,” he said, his voice mock-serious, “a guy making three grand a month can’t hold her back, right?” “You’re playing with fire, man. What if she actually leaves?” “You don’t know Willow,” another voice chimed in, smug. “He’s tried breaking up with her how many times? And every single time, she’s the one crying, begging him to take her back.” Alan clearly savored that, lazily raising his glass in a toast to the speaker, who puffed up with pride. Then, someone else clicked their tongue. “That’s just pathetic. Like some stray dog nobody wants, just begging to get screwed over for free…” Outside, I couldn’t listen anymore. I dragged my leaden feet away, my heart a hollow drum. My hand went to my pocket, and when my fingers brushed against the small, velvet ring box, I snatched it back as if I’d been burned. Behind me, the boisterous room fell silent. Alan, one arm draped over the back of his chair, swirled the champagne in his glass. His face was a blank mask as he leveled a cold, sideways glance at the man who had just spoken. Everyone watched him, the air thick with tension. They were all part of the city’s elite, but there were levels to this game. The Hayes family was practically New York royalty, with influence stretching from Wall Street to Washington. And Alan, groomed by the old patriarch himself, was the heir apparent. No one dared to cross him. “Alan, man, I’m sorry. I was drunk, I shouldn’t have said that about your girl,” the guy, Rick, stammered, slapping his own face in a clumsy show of remorse. Others jumped in to smooth things over. “You idiot, don’t you know she’s a researcher at Columbia? A bona fide genius. You’re not worthy of even speaking her name.” Only when a red welt began to form on Rick’s cheek did Alan speak, his voice soft but edged with steel. “That’s enough.” He leaned forward. “You’re from the King family, right? Pharmaceuticals?” Rick nodded vigorously. Alan leaned back, propping his cheek on one hand while casually gesturing with his glass. “Columbia’s been doing some interesting research lately…” “I get it, Alan, I get it!” Rick cut in, tripping over his words. “Thank you for the opportunity to… uh… show my respect. For Willow.” 2 I stumbled home in a daze, their words echoing in my mind. “That girl is a real fool. She kind of deserves to be played.” “Remember three years ago? Alan lost a dare and had to pretend to be a host at that karaoke bar on K-Town.” “A few women went in before her, they all got the joke. But her? She actually believed it.” I was a fool. A complete and utter fool. I didn’t recognize that the strategically distressed sweater he wore was fresh off a Paris runway. I didn’t know the simple silver watch on his wrist was a Richard Mille that cost more than a brownstone. I heard his sob story—a gambling father, a sick mother—and in him, I saw a reflection of my own painful past. I looked at that beautiful face, like something out of a Japanese drama, and my heart melted. I never imagined he was sizing me up, thinking, God, what an idiot. How could anyone fall for such a ridiculous lie? I moved heaven and earth to get him out of that life. I helped him find a “real” job. I had just started as a research assistant myself, barely making a few thousand a month. But I didn’t hesitate to spend two thousand on a decent suit for him, so he could look the part. Meanwhile, I wore the same trench coat for three years. And him? He would always narrow those captivating eyes into a lazy, charming smile. “My beautiful girl, you’re too good to me. I’ll have to find a way to repay you properly.” Then he would pull me into his arms, and we’d become a tangle of limbs. He was twenty, a young man with an endless, raw energy that he poured into me, over and over again. The walls of our old apartment were paper-thin. The more I bit my lip to stay quiet, the more determined he was to draw a sound from me. Every time, he’d push me to the edge until I was whispering pleas for him to stop, again and again, before he would finally relent. He was beautiful. He loved to be coddled. He loved to cook for me. I truly believed we would be tangled up like that forever. I was even planning to propose, taking on two extra freelance gigs to save up for the perfect ring. 3 On my way home, I passed the subway station Alan usually used. A crowd had gathered at the entrance: firefighters, paramedics, shell-shocked survivors wrapped in foil blankets. I stopped, my feet rooted to the spot. A message buzzed on my phone. [Hey, baby. My phone fell in the water, just got it fixed.] [Brought you a little cake. Almost home~] It was followed by a sticker of a cartoon puppy holding up a heart. The caption read: [Puppy loves you most!] For a moment, the world tilted. After a long time, I typed back with trembling fingers: [I’m at the subway station. The Broadway exit at 116th.] It didn’t take long for him to appear around the corner. The young man was tall and lean, his skin so pale it seemed to glow under the streetlights. A simple white t-shirt, a gray hoodie, and dark blue jeans—on him, it looked like a high-fashion ensemble. He turned heads; people were stealing glances at him. “I thought I told you to stay home and rest,” he chided, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over my shoulders. “You know how easily you get sick, and you still run out in the rain.” The familiar scent of pine and clean earth enveloped me, and a sharp, sudden ache filled my sinuses. “I thought you were dead,” I said, pointing a shaking finger toward the station entrance. I expected to be hysterical, to scream and cry, but my throat felt like a broken pipe—raw, hoarse, and utterly exhausted. “You texted that you were just getting on the train, and then… nothing. The news said the station was flooded. I was terrified. I ran for miles in this storm to get here. They wouldn’t let me go down. I told them I had to, that my boyfriend was in there, and if he was going to die, we were going to die together.” “Alan—” I looked up, my eyes red-rimmed, staring directly into his. “While I was so worried about you I was ready to die, where were you?” He lowered his long, dark lashes, hiding those perpetually smiling eyes, concealing the storm that was surely brewing within them. Maybe the game had gone further than he’d intended. Or maybe he was laughing inside, thinking, This stupid woman, she’d actually do something like that. He just turned his face away and offered a light, breezy smile. “On my way to buy you a cake, of course.” No, you weren’t. You were with your trust-fund friends, drinking and laughing. You were taking my heart and grinding it into the dirt with the heel of your expensive shoe. Before I could press him further, he turned and crouched down in front of me. “Get on. Let’s get you home before you really get sick.” And just like that, Alan carried me on his back, wading through the muddy, waist-deep water. My voice was a hollow whisper next to his ear. “What home? Alan, we don’t have a home anymore.” 4 Our apartment was on the ground floor of an old, pre-war building. A relic from the nineties with a drainage system to match. When we pushed the door open, we were met with utter devastation. Three feet of murky water filled the space, and floating in the grim soup were the matching couple’s mugs Alan had bought, the his-and-hers slippers, the carefully curated photo wall… In those pictures, we were laughing, smearing birthday cake on each other’s faces. We were drawing hearts in the air with sparklers on New Year’s Eve. So many perfect moments, now warped and blurred by the flood. “It’s all ruined. You can’t even see them anymore,” Alan murmured, his brow furrowing deeper as he fished out one sodden photo after another, setting me down on top of the shoe cabinet. I opened my mouth, wanting so badly to ask, Is it really worth feeling sad over these moments when it was all just a game? But all I said was, “They’re gone, so they’re gone. It’s not like they were important.” “Not important?” He stared at me, a wounded look in his eyes. “If this isn’t important, then what is?” Is it because they’re trophies from the three years you successfully conned a woman out of her love? Is that why they’re so important? I squeezed my hands into fists, my lips pressed into a thin line. I didn’t ask. 5 The apartment was uninhabitable. Every hotel nearby was either fully booked or charging astronomical prices. One place quoted us four thousand dollars for a single night. We ended up huddled in the crowded lobby, leaning against a corner wall, trying to figure out what to do next. A couple of young women next to us were chatting. “God, I wish some random trust-fund baby would just fall madly in love with me and drop a million dollars in my lap.” “Forget that, did you see the top trending story? I’m so jealous of Diana Donovan. Being a famous actress and a Manhattan socialite isn’t enough, her fiancé just casually donates a hundred million dollars. It’s insane.” “And get this—he made the donation in both of their names. Talk about being head-over-heels in love.” Behind me, I felt Alan’s muscles tighten. He leaned in, his voice a sweet, cloying whisper in my ear. “Baby, let’s just pay the four thousand. Please? Let’s just get a room.” The warmth from his body radiated against my back, but I could feel a slight tremor running through him. It was late autumn, and he’d given me his hoodie, leaving himself in just a t-shirt. Before, my heart would have ached for him. I would have gladly spent a third of my salary just to keep him comfortable. But now, I pinched his thigh, hard. My voice was flat. “You made your bed, now lie in it. You deserve this.” I paused, then added in a casual, mocking tone, “If you were like her fiancé, throwing around a hundred million like it was pocket change, do you think I’d be living this miserable life?” As soon as the words were out, a violent coughing fit seized me. Alan gently patted my back. When I finally caught my breath, he lowered his head and nibbled on my earlobe, his voice a soft, manufactured whine. “I get it. You think I’m poor now. It’s my fault. I can’t give you a mansion… I let you get sick, shivering in the cold with nowhere to go. It’s all my fault…” I thought I was done crying. But hearing him spin that same, tired, oh-so-sincere script about not being able to give me a better life, a fresh wave of bitterness stung my eyes. For a thousand days, he had watched me struggle, watched me sacrifice for him, and then soothed it all with a few empty, beautiful words. He probably got a sick thrill out of it. “Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “It is all your fault.” He froze, his litany of self-pity dying on his lips. His face went blank. Of course. In the past, I would have immediately comforted him. Don’t you dare blame yourself. It hurts me to hear you say that, you know? But this time, I turned to face him, locking my eyes on his, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “Who else would it be? You make three thousand dollars a month. You can’t even afford a bathroom in this city. You think I want you holding me back for the rest of my life? You didn’t actually believe I wanted to spend forever with you in that tiny, rundown apartment, did you?” Alan just stared, stunned. It took him a long moment to force a stiff, awkward smile and raise his hands in surrender. “I… I can work overtime—” I couldn’t listen to another lie. I pushed him away. “I’m just kidding,” I said lightly. In my peripheral vision, I saw his tense shoulders finally slump in relief.

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The last time I saw him, I left him standing alone on a street corner on Valentine’s Day and walked away without a backward glance. Years later, we met again. He was a titan of industry now, wielding immense power. He appeared at an exclusive event, bidding on a necklace for his girlfriend. Someone teased him, “Wedding bells in the near future, Mr. Prescott?” Cain Prescott lifted his gaze, a lazy disinterest in his eyes. “Just a bit of fun. It’s not serious.” And then he saw me. The smile on his lips froze. Before the watchful eyes of everyone present, he rose from his seat and walked toward me, his stride calm and measured. My mind went blank. All I could manage to think of was a simple greeting: “It’s been a long time—” The next second, a hand of steel clamped around my throat, pinning me to the wall. “You dare come back?” He smiled, a chillingly pleasant expression on his face. “Didn’t I tell you? If you ever showed your face again, I would destroy you.” 1 The air conditioning in the auction hall was glacial. I’d been plied with chilled champagne at dinner, and now a sharp cramp twisted in my stomach. Not far off, a cluster of socialites were gossiping. “Are those wedding bells I hear? Mr. Prescott buying another necklace to win the lady’s favor?” Cain lifted his eyes, a lazy boredom in them. “Just a bit of fun. It’s not serious.” Even seated among the city’s elite, he was a star in its own orbit, incandescent. Every gesture radiated an aristocratic power that was both innate and intimidating. The entire upper echelon of New York society revered him. A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest. Why him? Why here? I had checked… I had specifically checked the guest list. I was standing behind the auction stage, slightly hunched over from the pain in my stomach. The movement caused the fabric of my form-fitting gown, once perfectly smooth, to wrinkle. This was my first auction since returning to the States, the first time I was presenting my own work. Someone’s voice drifted over, laced with curiosity. “Could it be because of what happened back then…” Cain let out a short, derisive laugh. “Her? She wishes.” The house lights began to dim, shrouding Cain’s sharp features in shadow, his expression unreadable. I was plunged into an icy memory of the last phone call he ever made to me. People who play with hearts, he’d said, his voice cold as the grave, go to hell. He told me he would never forgive me. Not in this lifetime. “Miss Miller, would you like to come up and introduce your piece?” the auctioneer’s voice boomed, suddenly calling me out. A single spotlight pierced the darkness from above, trapping me in its brilliant glare, making me the center of everyone’s attention. The audience was a sea of shadows. I couldn’t see Cain’s face, couldn’t guess at his reaction. Silence descended upon the hall as everyone waited for me to speak. I clutched the microphone, my knuckles white, and deliberately fixed my gaze on a point far beyond where I knew he was sitting. “Good evening, everyone. I am Elara Miller, the jewelry designer of tonight’s featured piece. It’s an honor to present my work to you all…” The entire time, I was on autopilot, my words a meaningless blur. A desperate prayer echoed in my mind: Maybe he’s already left. Maybe he didn’t recognize me. Clinging to that sliver of hope, I slipped off the stage, aiming for the dimly lit fire escape on the side of the hall. Just as I reached for the door, a small, menacing point of red light flared in the darkness ahead—the burning tip of a cigarette. A tall silhouette detached itself from the shadows and moved toward me. A pair of long, impeccably tailored legs entered my vision. Before I could process it, a hand was around my neck. My back slammed against the cold, hard wall. A familiar, aggressive scent of cold mint and tobacco filled my senses. Cain’s voice, a low and dangerous murmur, reached my ears. “You dare come back?” he repeated. “Didn’t I tell you? If I ever saw you again, I would destroy you.” I tilted my head back, forced to look into those once-familiar eyes. The deep affection that used to reside there was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness. I leaned against the wall, meeting his gaze in a silent standoff. He suddenly broke the silence with a laugh. “Cat got your tongue?” “I have nothing to say.” The hand on my jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. Cain’s voice dropped to a whisper, each word a shard of ice. “Elara. Say that again. I dare you.” The sound of high heels echoed from the stairwell. A soft, feminine voice called out hesitantly, “Cain? Are you in there? The auction is over.” Cain squeezed his eyes shut, visibly suppressing the fury simmering within them. The pressure on my neck abruptly vanished. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiped his hand, as if he’d just touched something filthy. “Stay out there,” he called back, his voice steady. “It’s cold in here.” The footsteps stopped immediately. “Okay,” the woman replied. “Don’t be long.” I slumped against the wall, gasping for air, loosening the collar of my gown. A sheen of cold sweat had broken out on my forehead. Our ragged breaths mingled in the tight space. Cain gave me one last, lingering look before pushing the door open and disappearing into the hall. 2 The necklace sold for fifty million dollars. To Cain Prescott. It would be some time before the funds cleared, however, which meant I was stuck in the city for the foreseeable future. Two weeks later, I met its new owner at a gallery opening hosted by a major jeweler. “Elara?” She recognized me first, greeting me with an effusive warmth that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s been ages!” Her name was Helena Vance. We’d been in the same high school. Daughter of a wealthy family, she’d sailed through life on a sea of privilege. The year I dropped out, we’d had… a falling out. I blinked, feigning a look of pleasant surprise. “Helena! I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?” The multi-million-dollar sapphire necklace—my creation—rested against the elegant column of her throat, its brilliance almost blinding. Her eyes swept over me, a subtle, sharp appraisal. “Did you finally make it big?” she asked, the implication clear: only the rich and powerful received invitations to events like this. I forced a tight smile. “I’m the designer of your necklace. I managed to pull some strings for an invitation.” A person’s expression is a marvel of subtlety. A smile, for instance, can so easily mask a sneer. She waved a hand towards someone behind me, her voice exaggeratedly bright. “Cain, look who I ran into!” I didn’t turn around, but I could feel a hostile gaze boring into my back, sharp and cold. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers,” Cain’s voice drifted over, laced with condescension. “You never know what kind of trouble they’ll drag you into.” I kept my head down, pretending I hadn’t heard. Helena, ever the instigator, fanned the flames. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You have some experience with that, don’t you? Swindled out of your money, your heart, your… everything. So tragic. Right, Elara?” The gallery owner, a portly man with beady eyes, perked up at the scent of gossip. “Someone had the nerve to scam Mr. Prescott? Who would be that foolish?” Helena shot me a sideways glance, a picture of polished grace. “Oh, just some nobody from the gutter. It’s too embarrassing to even mention her name.” The owner nodded sagely. “Quite right. Girls from that background are fine for a bit of fun, but for marriage? Utterly unsuitable.” Through it all, Cain stood back, a silent, cold observer to the entire spectacle. “Ah, Ms. Miller, you look a little pale,” the gallery owner finally noticed me. “Would you like some water?” I managed a brittle smile. “No, thank you. I have to be going. Please, excuse me.” The sun was a fiery smear on the horizon as I stepped out of the gallery. I leaned against the cool stone of the building, trying to catch my breath. My reflection in the glass door was pale, almost ghostly. An email from my best friend popped up on my phone: Did you sort it out? Layoff notices are coming next month, absolute latest. You need to get a client to commit to the Paris gala. I took a deep breath. Yeah, I know. I… I ran into someone I shouldn’t have. She paused on her end. Don’t tell me. The person who bought your necklace… it was Cain Prescott? That was precisely why I couldn’t ask. A heavy silence stretched between us. My friend tried to sound comforting. “Just focus on getting the payment for now. We can figure out the rest later…” My history with Cain was… complicated. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and prepared to hail a cab back to my hotel. Suddenly, the roar of an engine shattered the evening quiet. I turned. A black Ferrari had just ignited, its headlights pointed directly at me. The last rays of sunset slicked its chassis with a brilliant, liquid gold. The engine’s roar escalated, a symphony of aggression. And then, the car shot forward, hurtling directly towards me. He was behind the wheel, his dark eyes locked on mine. If you ever showed your face again, I would destroy you. For a few heart-stopping seconds, my mind was a white void of terror. I watched, paralyzed, as the car devoured the distance between us. Ten feet. Five. Two. Screeeech! The shriek of tires on pavement echoed through the street, sending a flock of birds scattering from the nearby trees. The bumper kissed my shins, a perfect, terrifying calculation. Reality crashed back in, and a wave of pure, unadulterated fear washed over me. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground. The driver’s side window slid down with a soft whir, revealing a pair of cold, merciless eyes. “Get in.” 3 The last sliver of sunset vanished below the horizon, and night fell like a net, closing in from all sides. The car was silent. I huddled in the passenger seat, not daring to speak. “So, you won’t even talk to me now?” Cain’s voice was sharp with ridicule. “I’ll be gone as soon as the payment clears,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” A piece of paper fluttered onto my lap. It was a blank check. Seeing my confusion, Cain’s voice turned to ice. “There’s your money. Are you going to leave, or are you expecting me to ride that goddamn roller coaster again, just so you can make a fool of me twice?” Once, long ago, I’d told him I wouldn’t break up with him if he rode the roller coaster. He was terrified of heights, but he did it, his jaw set in grim determination. I walked away anyway. In the years since, Cain had aggressively expanded his business empire overseas, his methods ruthless. It was as if he was trying to scour the earth just to find me. Then, suddenly, he stopped. A woman appeared by his side. He guarded her fiercely, scrubbing every photo, every mention of her from the press. To this day, no one knew who she was. Until I saw Helena. Then it all made sense. I moistened my lips. “Mr. Prescott, you misunderstand. I only want the payment I’m owed from the auction—” “Is there a difference?” He tapped a finger against the steering wheel. “Sign a waiver forfeiting the auction payment, and I’ll give you double. You can be on a plane by tomorrow morning.” His meaning was crystal clear. He was afraid Helena would get the wrong idea, and he wanted me gone. Immediately. Double the price was more than enough for me to report back to my company. “Thank you.” I booked a flight back to Europe for the next day and returned to my hotel to pack. The television was on, broadcasting a segment about Cain’s latest social appearance. For the first time, Helena’s identity was revealed to the public. The media called them a “match made in heaven.” My friend’s voice crackled over the phone. “That was supposed to be your wedding necklace, the one you designed for yourself. Are you really just going to let it go?” “Cain seems to really care for her. It’s just a necklace. It doesn’t matter who wears it.” “Think of it as…” I paused, looking up from my suitcase and letting out a slow breath. “My wedding gift to them. I have other designs. I can just find other clients…” She could hear the strain in my voice and didn’t know what to say. When I first arrived in Europe, I was broke and alone. The design for that necklace had been my key, the thing that convinced my mentor to take me under his wing. After all these years, for it to return to its origin this way… it was supposed to be my way of making peace with the past. “Elara, listen,” she said gently. “For people like them, in that world… sometimes, not ending up together is a blessing. You lived it. You know how much it can break you.” “Haha, don’t worry about me.” I went back to folding my clothes, trying to sound cheerful. “When you’re young, you think love is all you need. But honestly, a little realism makes life a lot easier…” Knock, knock. Someone was at the door. “Who’s that so late?” my friend asked. I stood up. “Just room service.” I opened the door. It was Cain. He smelled faintly of alcohol, one hand braced against the doorframe, his body casting a long shadow into my room. “What are you doing here?” I tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his arm. “I can’t be here?” His brow was furrowed, a drunken haze clouding his sharp features. His tie was loosened, the knot askew. He looked up at me, his handsome face a captivating play of light and shadow. “No, it’s just… our business is concluded.” “Concluded?” The word was slurred, tinged with a lazy, drunken drawl. He looked down and scoffed. “To hell with ‘concluded’.” I gripped the doorknob tightly. “You’re drunk. Let me call your assistant—” His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “If I ride the roller coaster again… will you stay?” The question came out of nowhere, stunning me into silence. The heat from his palm seemed to scorch my skin. I tried to pull my hand back, but he held fast. I sighed. “We’re not kids anymore, Cain.” I didn’t realize my own voice was trembling. He looked up, his dark eyes boring into mine, and roughly tore off his tie, revealing the pale skin and sharp lines of his collarbones. “Then let’s do this like adults.” He took my hand and pressed it against his chest. His voice was raw. “Sleep with me.” “Elara. You sleep with me, and everything I have is yours.” The powerful, steady beat of his heart thrummed against my palm. I flinched as if burned, trying to wrench my hand away. “Cain, someone will see…” “Let them,” he bit out. “It’s my reputation on the line, not yours.” Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner of the hallway. In my moment of distraction, he saw his chance and pushed his way inside. Click. The door shut behind him. The entryway was dark. Cain pinned me against the wall, and the world shrank to the sound of our breathing, a frantic, intimate rhythm in the blackness. Neither of us spoke. This reunion, this contact after so many years, was both strange and achingly familiar. He leaned in closer. Just as his lips were about to touch mine, I turned my head away. His mouth brushed against my cheek, and my heart hammered against my ribs. Cain froze. He rested his forehead against the wall beside my head and took a deep, shuddering breath. His voice was hoarse. “Get away from me. I won’t touch you.” I looked up at him, my heart in my throat, and saw that the drunken haze in his eyes had cleared. A cool breeze slipped through a crack in the window, dissipating the fragile, charged atmosphere between us. The arm that had trapped me fell away. I was free. I stumbled back, escaping his orbit. Cain remained where he was, his eyes closed. The alcohol must have worn off, his usual cold composure restored. I turned away, busying myself with stuffing my scattered clothes back into my suitcase, trying to hide my panic. Then, he spoke, his voice quiet. “The check is void.” My hands stilled. I looked up, confused. He stood in the shadows. “There’s a problem at the company. I can’t issue that check right now. I’m sorry.” His face was a blank mask, impossible to read. I couldn’t tell if he was lying. “Then…” “Cancel your flight. I’ll reimburse you for the ticket.” I numbly placed the clothes back on the bed and stood. “Okay.” The conversation was over, but I kept staring at him. He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to leave?” “Yes.” “I can’t. Not yet.” He spoke slowly, deliberately. “I’m being followed. There are paparazzi outside my door just waiting for a scandal. Elara, I assume you don’t want to be on the morning news with me?” But I was so tired. I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to leave. The minutes ticked by. Cain remained by the door, unmoving. Gradually, a heavy wave of exhaustion washed over me. My head lolled to one side, and I fell back against the soft pillows. As the last wisp of consciousness slipped away, I thought I heard him whisper, “Good night.” 4 My sleep has always been light. The first ray of dawn touched my eyelids. I stretched my arm and brushed against someone. The scent was familiar. Even after ten years, I would know it anywhere. He seemed to stir at my movement. An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer. My eyes flew open, and I found myself staring directly into his. Cain was still half-asleep, his voice a groggy murmur. “Mornin’…” It took a moment for my brain to catch up. Then, I scrambled up, grabbed a pillow, and started hitting him with it. “Pervert!” After a few solid thwacks, Cain’s expression soured. “Getting bold, are we, Elara?” “You’re shameless!” I clutched the collar of my pajamas, which were thankfully still intact, my face pale with shock. He squinted against the morning light streaming into the room, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked around to me. His dress shirt was a mess of wrinkles, as if it had been through a spin cycle. The usual sharp edges of his demeanor were gone, replaced by a deep frown of annoyance. My panic escalated. “Don’t… don’t come any closer.” He gently lifted a lock of my hair and followed it down to the end, where a single shirt button was hopelessly tangled. “As if I’d want to touch you,” he said without looking up. “Is your sleepwalking still not cured?” I paused, only then noticing that a button was missing from the collar of his shirt. As he worked to free my hair, a cold smirk played on his lips. “You hooked my button and then ran off in your sleep. What was I supposed to do?” I was speechless for a second. “You could have just cut my hair.” “And have you never speak to me again? No thanks.” He was surprisingly patient. He could have just yanked it free, but instead, he stood there, meticulously untangling the knot like it was a complex puzzle. It reminded me of a time, long ago, when we were together. He’d been in one of his moods and snipped off a lock of my hair. I’d started crying and walked away, leaving him behind. He’d followed me, pleading, “Elara, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again. Here, you can cut mine, just please don’t cry.” Watching his reflection in the mirror as he worked, I asked, “I’m not strong enough to pull a button off. How did it happen?” He finally freed the button and leaned over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head. He studied my face for a long moment before answering, his expression completely serious. “I ripped it off myself. Figured if I fell asleep, I didn’t want you waking up in pain.” My heart skipped a beat. I just stared at him, frozen. With that, he straightened up and disappeared into the bathroom. I sniffed my hair. It smelled of him. I wondered what cologne he wore. My phone rang. It was my friend. “Elara, are you on the plane yet?” I’d forgotten to tell her my plans had changed. “I’m not coming back just yet. I still haven’t gotten the payment.” “Oh, well that’s actually great news. Headquarters just called. They want you to personally invite Cain Prescott to the gala. It’s… not a request.” “He’ll never agree.” “You have to at least try.” “Try what?” Cain’s voice cut in unexpectedly. My friend froze. “Holy sh— You’re not… This is intense…” I hastily hung up the phone, turning to find Cain leaning against the bathroom doorway in a robe, his eyes narrowed in thought as he watched me. “Why are you out here?” He averted his gaze, his tone cool. “What am I being invited to?” “My brand’s jewelry gala… It’s next month. In Paris.” Perhaps he saw the flicker of hope in my eyes, because a small smirk touched his lips. “Next month is a long way away. We’ll see.” I knew it. There was no way he would agree. A knock sounded at the door. Cain answered it before I could move. A moment later, he returned with a paper bag and tossed it to me. “Change.” “What is this?” “Clothes.” He was at the mirror, knotting his tie. “You want me at your gala, you have to accompany me to an event first.” 5 It was a gown of ink-wash silk. Custom-made, it lacked the aggressive glamour of a Western ball gown, instead lending its wearer an air of gentle elegance. Cain leaned against the wall, slowly fastening his watch, his dark eyes fixed on my back. In the mirror, the two of us were a study in contrasts, the height difference just right. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, the epitome of understated luxury. Standing next to me in the silk gown, we had a strange, East-meets-West beauty. I pressed my lips together. “Is there a jacket?” The gown clung to every curve, and his gaze was an undisguised, searing heat on my skin. “No,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to the small of my back. “It looks beautiful.” I never would have guessed that Cain was taking me to a family dinner. The familiar villa, even after ten years, stood unchanged. I had been to this place before, more than once, without Cain’s knowledge. All of my worst memories were born here. Cain opened the car door for me. “You’ve never met my stepmother or my half-brother, have you?” My palms were slick with sweat. “Why did you bring me here?” A corner of his mouth lifted. He leaned down and offered me his arm. “Nervous about meeting the family?” He stood silhouetted against the night sky, a rare hint of gentleness in his eyes. “…” He mistook my terror for simple nerves, taking my hand in his. “It’s just a dinner.” Lights glowed from within the villa. We walked through a small, fragrant garden to the front door. The muffled sound of conversation drifted through the wood; it sounded crowded. I could just make out a woman’s voice, dripping with false modesty. “Cain’s marriage? How could I have a say? I’m not his real mother, after all…” Hearing that voice again after so many years sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. “Brother, you’re back.” A shaft of light spilled out as the door opened, illuminating the rug at our feet. The figure was backlit, his face in shadow, but I instinctively shrank behind Cain. It was his half-brother, Ross. Cain gave a curt nod and led me inside. As we passed Ross, I happened to glance up and our eyes met. Recognition dawned on his face instantly. After a flicker of surprise, a familiar, predatory amusement filled his dark eyes—the same look he’d given me when he used to call me worthless trash. “Still a fan of leftovers, brother?” he murmured as he fell into step behind me, his arm brushing unnervingly against my back. I gripped Cain’s arm tighter, trying to put more space between myself and Ross. Cain sensed my discomfort and shot Ross a glacial look. “Get lost.” Ross smirked at me one last time before sauntering away. As we moved through the house, people constantly stopped to greet Cain. “Mr. Prescott, good to see you.” He would just nod curtly in response. Eyes followed us as we entered the main living room. At the center of a glittering crowd stood a glamorous middle-aged woman. Cain’s stepmother, Sandra. And standing right beside her was Helena Vance. The moment she saw me, she subtly nudged Sandra’s arm. The conversation died. Heads turned. A variety of expressions, from curiosity to disapproval, settled on their faces. Sandra arched an eyebrow, her expression mirroring Ross’s from moments before. She knew exactly who I was. “And who might this be?” One of her friends chimed in, “Cain, Helena is right here. What is the meaning of bringing another woman?” Cain’s hand rested on the small of my back. “Plans changed,” he stated flatly. “You’re not a child anymore, Cain. Must you always be so impulsive?” Sandra’s displeasure was obvious. “Do you even know who you’re associating with?” The question was loaded. I had no doubt that Sandra had already shared my sordid history with everyone here. The only one still in the dark was Cain. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “Go get yourself something to eat from the buffet over there. I’ll join you in a bit.” Sandra’s stare was making my skin crawl. I nodded and quickly walked away. The dessert table was near the kitchen, in a quiet corner of the room. As I rounded the corner, a hand shot out, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the kitchen. The door swung shut. The suffocating scent of cheap cologne filled my nostrils. “Back to screwing my brother again?” Ross’s vicious laugh echoed in the small space. “Elara, have you forgotten what you are? What we did to you?” A chill ran down my spine, and my blood turned to ice. “Let go of me!” He slammed me against the wall, his fingers digging into my chin. “Look at you… even prettier than before…” His face was too close, his breath a foul mix of smoke and liquor. “You’re in luck. All your old friends are here tonight. How about a repeat performance?” I turned my head away, my voice hard. “Ross, what you’re doing is illegal.” He yanked my hair, slamming my head back against the wall, just as he had all those years ago when he’d held my head over a toilet. “A piece of trash like you wants to talk to me about the law?” “Guess we didn’t teach you your lesson properly the first time, did we?” “Helena still has the pictures, you know. Hmm? Should we show everyone?” The agonizing memories came rushing back. I struggled violently, a hysterical scream building in my throat. “Ross, go to hell!” His eyes lit up with sick excitement. “Alright, Elara. Let’s make a bet. Let’s see who destroys who first.” “You were just a cheap little pawn my mother hired to seduce Cain. Do you really think he’ll still protect you when he finds out the truth?” With that, he started unbuckling his pants. Despair washed over me as I fought against him, tears streaming from my eyes. The past was happening all over again. The day before summer vacation, I had gone to Sandra to quit. She held a thin cigarette between her fingers, her chin held high. “You took the money. You think you can just walk away?” I placed the bank card on her desk. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” She laughed. “And you think you and Cain can have a happy ending? In your dreams.” That same day, Helena and her friends cornered me in the girls’ bathroom. They tore the clothes from my body with practiced ease. “So you’re the little whore Sandra hired,” Helena said, arms crossed, her tone dripping with scorn. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I take a few pictures.” My struggles were futile against their numbers. I was eighteen. On a hot summer day filled with the drone of cicadas, my dignity was shattered in a cramped, filthy bathroom stall. They doused me with dirty water, washing away my pride, their taunts and jeers poisoning my soul. And then Ross’s final act of defilement shattered what little dignity I had left. “I’m calling the police,” I’d choked out, my body bruised and broken. “You poor, stupid girl. Don’t you know anything?” Ross grabbed a fistful of my hair, a grin on his face. “All I did was mess up your pretty face. That’s not rape. And unless you manage to kill me, I will make your life a living hell.” In the end, the incident was buried. There was no evidence. The party raged on just outside the kitchen door. Ross was drunk, and he had already ripped my gown up to my waist. He had my arms pinned behind my back, and my screams for help were swallowed by the noise. “Get off… get off me!” I sobbed, and with a surge of adrenaline, I sank my teeth into his shoulder. He howled in pain, his grip slackening for a split second. I bolted for the door. He was fast. He caught me by the hair and dragged me back. A blinding pain shot through my scalp. A voice screamed inside my head. Do you hate him? What did I do to deserve this? To be hurt again and again? Why are some people born evil? My hand fumbled blindly across the countertop and closed around the cool, heavy glass of a wine bottle. “You bitch! What does it matter if I take you again?” Through a blur of tears, I spun around, raised the bottle high above my head, and brought it down on his with all my strength. There was a sickening crack. The world went silent.

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We’d agreed to finally swap photos. So when my online boyfriend sent me a picture from a magazine interview with the billionaire tycoon Alexander Sterling, I had to laugh. I shot back a professionally shot photo of a famous actress. [Dumbass, if you’re going to use a fake pic, at least pick someone less famous.] Then, I blocked and deleted him without a second thought. That night, the tycoon himself posted on his official social media account, launching a nationwide search. [My girlfriend blocked me. Can anyone help me explain?] The attached screenshot was of my final message, followed by a string of red exclamation points where his replies had failed to send. My world tilted on its axis. 1 After breakfast, I sat by the window and did my makeup, waiting for the perfect light. Today was the day. The day my online boyfriend and I had agreed to finally see each other. [Babe, you ready?] his message popped up. I quickly typed back: [I’m a little nervous, babe.] We clicked on every level. We could talk for hours about anything and everything. But there was one thing I hadn’t told him: I was a celebrity. A somewhat infamous one, but still, I was moderately successful. I was worried he wouldn’t believe me, so my plan was to video call him after the photo swap. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. He replied almost instantly. [I’m nervous too. I’m scared you’ll think I’m ugly.] [Babe, I tried my best to pick the most flattering picture I have.] [You won’t hate me, will you, babe?] He’d expressed his insecurities to me more than once. But after years in the entertainment industry, I’d met every type of person imaginable. Looks really didn’t matter to me. [Of course not. As long as you don’t send me a fake photo, I’ll like you no matter what you look like.] [Good. Kisses, babe QAQ.] [Kisses.] He was clingy, and I found it endearing. He went quiet for a few minutes, probably building up his courage. Then, a photo appeared. A man in a sharp suit, surrounded by a sea of microphones, his gaze piercing and his presence commanding. I recognized him instantly. It was Alexander Sterling, the notoriously private billionaire tycoon. His interviews were rare, but his looks were so legendary that every single one produced a viral photo. This was his most famous one. A new message followed. [Babe, this is me. What do you think?] [nervouslyfidgeting.jpg] I stared at the screen, stunned. I’d always thought my online boyfriend was smart, principled, and refreshingly down-to-earth. We connected on a level I’d never experienced before. But what the hell was this? Was he trying to tell me that the billionaire Alexander Sterling was spending his nights chatting with strangers online? Was I dreaming, or was he? And I had explicitly told him not to send a fake photo! Did I really seem that naive? That easy to fool? If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being lied to. A hot flash of anger surged through me. I found an obscure promotional photo of myself from a few years back and fired it off to him. [Dumbass, if you’re going to use a fake pic, at least pick someone less famous.] Before he could reply, I blocked him. 2 We had met playing a video game. I went into the game and unfriended him, deleting the character with whom I had a maxed-out “Intimacy” score. Now there was no way for him to contact me. I tossed my phone aside, wiped off the makeup I’d spent all morning applying, and curled up on the sofa to stew in my anger. All those pictures he’d sent me before—the abs, the V-cut—they were probably all stolen from the internet too. And to think I’d genuinely admired and complimented his physique! Fucking liar! Fuming, I buried my face in a cushion and fell into a fitful sleep. That evening, a call from my agent woke me. Her voice was strange. “Ava, have you seen what’s trending?” “What is it?” I mumbled, forcing my eyes open and tapping into my social media app. A hashtag was exploding. #EvenBillionairesGetCatfished A jolt of alarm shot through me, waking me up completely. This couldn’t be what I thought it was, could it? I cautiously clicked on the tag. Alexander Sterling, who hadn’t posted on his personal account in years, had just published a new status. [My girlfriend blocked me. Can anyone help me explain?] The attached screenshot looked disturbingly familiar. It was the last conversation I’d had with my online boyfriend. But his version had a series of red exclamation points next to messages that never went through. [Huh?] [It’s not a fake pic, babe. That’s really me.] [Babe?] [Why did you delete me? Can you at least let me explain?] [Babe… #crying#] The internet was losing its mind. [What? The Alexander Sterling is dating someone he met online?] [Who is this girl?? Did she save a galaxy in a past life to land Alexander Sterling in a random chat?] [But she thought he was fake, LMAO. I’m dying.] [Honestly, that’s fair. If it were me, I’d assume it was a troll too, hahaha.] [So he’s basically asking the internet to help find her? Does anyone know who this girl is?] [If you know her, please say something! The man is so desperate he’s posting on his public socials!] … I scrolled through the comments, my eyes wide with disbelief. So, my online boyfriend… wasn’t a liar? He really was Alexander Sterling. As I was reeling from the shock, a new hashtag started trending. #TheBillionaireAndTheStarlet My heart leaped into my throat. No, they couldn’t have found me that fast, could they? I nervously tapped on it. It led to a new post from Isabelle Thorne, one of the most popular young actresses right now. [No need for anyone to explain, it was all just a misunderstanding~] The implication was so strong, she might as well have quote-tweeted Alexander’s post directly. The internet went wild. [The power of the internet! Found her in minutes!] [So his online girlfriend is Isabelle Thorne?! OMG! A starlet and a tycoon, this is the most epic online romance ever!] [Isabelle is so cute. Even as a celebrity herself, she didn’t believe a tycoon would be dating someone online, hahaha.] [OMG, they’re a perfect match. Isabelle is about to marry into one of the most powerful families in the country!] 3 My agent’s voice crackled through the phone again. “See it now? I was about to get you a spot on that new cooking show to boost your public image, but now with this news about Isabelle and the tycoon, all the buzz is going to be about her. This could ruin you!” I paused. My cooking skills were one of my few universally liked traits, and we had specifically chosen a laid-back, lifestyle cooking show to try and salvage my disastrous public reputation. The show was set to start filming tomorrow. Now, with all the attention on Isabelle, I was just going to be the bitter, washed-up side character again. I gritted my teeth. “What if… what if I’m the one he was dating?” I had used a private, anonymous account for my online life, completely separate from my professional one. Not even my agent knew. I explained the whole story to her. She was stunned. “Isabelle would dare to impersonate her? Is she insane?” Everyone knew Alexander Sterling wasn’t just ruthless; he was vindictive. Nobody crossed him, and nobody lied to him. Even I, knowing I was the real girl, was too scared to come forward and admit it. Not only had I blocked him, I had called him a dumbass. My agent and I stayed up all night, brainstorming, but we couldn’t come up with a single foolproof plan. The next morning, running on fumes and a hastily applied layer of makeup, I was shoved into a car and sent to the studio. When I arrived, a small crowd had already formed around Isabelle. “Isabelle! What’s it like to date a tycoon you met online?” “You’re a master at this!” “What’s he like in private?” “So, now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, have you unblocked him yet?” The barrage of questions made Isabelle blush. She covered her mouth with her hand. “He hasn’t found me on his own yet, so the block list… I think he’ll stay there for now.” It was an answer no one expected. “What? You haven’t unblocked him yet?!” “You might be the only person in the world who would dare to do that to Alexander Sterling!” “I can’t even imagine how much he must spoil you!” … Isabelle just smiled demurely. “Oh, stop it, you guys.” Everyone was swooning. Only I was frowning. He’s still on the block list because he’s on my block list, you idiot. My expression was immediately captured by the cameras and dissected by the online audience. [What is Ava doing? What’s with that look on her face?] [She’s probably just insanely jealous that Isabelle is dating the tycoon. She can’t even hide it!] [LOL, some people just don’t have Isabelle’s luck.] [Why did they even cast her on this show? To watch her scowl the whole time?] … Isabelle saw me and approached with a bright smile. “Ava, you’re finally here! The host said they have a huge surprise for us as soon as everyone arrived. We were just waiting for you.” I glanced at the time. Filming was scheduled to start at 8:30. It was just past 8:00. Because of the whole Alexander situation, I’d only gotten to sleep at 5 a.m. I wasn’t early, but I wasn’t late either. But the online audience had already made up their minds. [So Ava still hasn’t kicked her habit of acting like a diva?] [The entire cast and crew waiting for her. The nerve!] [Only our sweet Isabelle would still be able to smile at her after all that waiting!] [Ugh, get Ava off this show. She’s so annoying.] 4 I desperately wanted to roll my eyes at her. But I restrained myself. “What’s the big surprise?” I asked the host. The host gave me a mysterious smile. The large screen behind him flickered to life, displaying a screenshot of a social media post. It was from Alexander Sterling, posted just three minutes ago. Seven simple words: [Going where you are.] The accompanying image was the logo for our show. The host announced, “That’s right! Our show is honored to welcome a very special guest—the CEO of Sterling Industries, Mr. Alexander Sterling himself!” The internet exploded. [Going where you are? He’s chasing his girlfriend all the way to a reality show set!] [Remember what Isabelle just said? That he hadn’t found her yet, so she was keeping him blocked? And now he’s literally showing up on her show to win her back! This is SO romantic!] [This is a man who schedules his interviews months in advance, and he’s just dropping everything to be on a reality show. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is!] [I can’t even imagine how sweet it’s going to be when he actually gets here!] [Can I please have Isabelle’s life in my next reincarnation?] Isabelle’s reaction was a masterclass in feigned surprise. Her eyes widened, her hand flew to her mouth, and she lowered her head in a display of shy disbelief. Someone immediately teased her. “Isabelle, the man is chasing you all the way here. I think it’s time to unblock him, don’t you?” She covered her face, embarrassed. “Oh, stop! We’ll see how he behaves when he gets here~” This, of course, led to another round of excited squeals from the cast. I was utterly baffled. Did Alexander really believe Isabelle was the one? So much so that he was willing to come on a reality show for her? I couldn’t help but remember my online chats with him. Whenever he made me mad, he would wire me money. If I ignored him, he’d send me pictures of his abs. If I kept ignoring him, the waistband of his sweatpants would get progressively lower in each photo. He was definitely a charmer. But he was charming me. How had he become this puppet that Isabelle could so easily manipulate? I couldn’t stop myself. I looked directly at Isabelle. “And if he behaves, are you sure you’ll be able to unblock him?” Isabelle froze for a second, then quickly nodded. “Of course.” Another cast member, confused, turned to me. “Ava, why would you ask that?” I didn’t answer right away. If I said, Because I’m the one he was dating, would I be torn to shreds? The online audience was already starting. [What is wrong with Ava? Why would she say something so weird?] [Her jealousy is literally pouring out of the screen. She’s probably never experienced a man being that devoted to her.] [Seriously, what is there to question? Alexander is coming on the show for Isabelle!] [She’s so rude. But don’t worry, everyone. As soon as Mr. Sterling gets here, he’ll put her in her place! He’ll get her kicked off the show!] Isabelle, seeing my hesitation, seemed to regain her confidence. She straightened her back and frowned at me. “Yes, what do you mean by that? If I can’t, are you saying you can?” Her tone was challenging, her eyes glinting with defiance. “Ava, are you…” She left the sentence hanging, but the insinuation was clear. Are you jealous? Are you envious? Are you just trying to stir up trouble? Everyone turned to stare at me. The pressure was mounting, and my patience finally snapped. “Yeah, I can,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “He’s on my block list right now. Want to see?”

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