Category: English

My best friend Lauren’s older brother, Logan, is finally back from his years abroad. Word on the street is that he’s been so buried in his career that his love life has been an absolute desert. Lauren couldn’t stop sighing about it. “I’m happily child-free, and my brother is a certified workaholic with zero romantic prospects. At this rate, the Miller family legacy ends with us!” A few days later, I finally met the man, the myth, the legend. And my brain completely short-circuited. Why did he look exactly like the guy I slept with four years ago—the biological father of my daughter? I’d heard Lauren rave about her brother for years. He was a man with a reputation for having an iron will in the business world, and he’d been her idol since they were kids. But ever since Lauren and I became friends, he’d been stationed overseas managing their international mergers. I’d never actually laid eyes on him. Until a week ago, when Logan officially returned. And this time, it seemed like he was back for good. Now, looking at Lauren, who was completely wasted and passed out on the bar table, I was trying to figure out how to haul her home. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was Logan. I hesitated for a moment. But when the phone started ringing for the third impatient time, I finally swiped to answer. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up,” a deep, raspy voice vibrated through the speaker. Honestly? It was incredibly hot. My ears started burning for no reason, and I cleared my throat. “Hi, I’m Sophia, Lauren’s friend. She’s… a little past her limit right now.” Before I could finish, Lauren suddenly bolted upright from the table like a zombie. “My poor, tragic brother!” she wailed into the night. “He sacrificed his youth to conquer the overseas market, and now he’s old, single, and totally unwanted! He’s going to die alone!” The other end of the line fell into a terrifying, dead silence. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, curing my own mild buzz instantly. “She’s really drunk. Here’s the address.” “Eight Maple Street,” he said simply. The line went dead. I waited with Lauren inside for a bit, and when the time felt right, I helped her outside to wait by the curb. In the distance, a sleek black SUV pulled up. A tall man stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was wearing a sharp, tailored cashmere coat that emphasized his broad shoulders and insanely long legs. I couldn’t make out his face in the dim light, but his silhouette alone was striking. But the next second, the air caught in my throat. He shut the car door and started walking toward us. His stride was steady, carrying an aura of effortless authority. As the streetlights illuminated his face, the shadows shifted, and his features began to look terrifyingly familiar. My fingers tightened around Lauren’s arm, my entire body freezing up. *No way,* I screamed internally. *It’s been four years. The world is huge. There’s no way…* He stopped right in front of us. He was so close that I could see the sharp angle of his jaw and catch the faint, crisp scent of cedarwood radiating from him. Then, he looked up and locked eyes with me. Time slowed to an absolute crawl. Those sharp, piercing eyes, the deep-set brow, the firmly set lips. Every single detail dragged a buried memory right back to the surface. That chaotic night… the burning heat of his skin in the dark, the roughness of his palms, his heavy, ragged breathing in my ear… My heart hammered violently against my ribs. It was him. It was really him. The stranger from the bar four years ago—the man whose name I didn’t even know, but who had given me my beautiful daughter—was standing right in front of me. Lauren’s brother, Logan Miller, was Nina’s father. My one-night stand. Right then, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate furiously. The FaceTime ringtone sounded deafening in the quiet night. “Is that Nina?” Lauren mumbled, leaning heavily on my shoulder and squinting at the screen. “It’s so late… pick up…” My fingers trembled violently as I reached into my pocket. Logan stood there, his towering figure practically casting a shadow over me. I swiped the screen, and Nina’s chubby little face filled the display. “Mommy!” Her bright, sweet voice cut through the tense air like a knife. I saw Logan’s brow twitch ever so slightly. “Nina,” I turned my body away, lowering my voice to escape the gaze that felt like it was burning a hole through my skull. “Why are you still awake, sweetie?” “I missed you, Mommy! Where are you?” Nina peered curiously at the screen. In the background, I could hear my mom, Lisa, telling her it was bedtime. “Mommy’s outside, I’ll be home soon,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my throat felt like it was closing up. “Go to sleep with Grandma, okay?” Even without looking, I could feel Logan’s eyes locked onto the side of my face. “Okay… Goodnight, Mommy.” Nina blew a kiss and hung up. The moment the call ended, the silence returned. But this time, it was tighter, heavier, and charged with something dangerous. Lauren was now practically draped over her brother, mumbling nonsense. Logan held her steady with one arm, but his gaze never left my face. “Sophia,” he said suddenly. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. My heart leaped into my throat as I looked up to meet his eyes. “Do you need a ride home?” he asked. “No…” I gasped, desperate to escape. “I can manage. Thank you.”

Having Nina was a complete accident. Four years ago, I had just gone through a brutal breakup. I went to a bar to drown my sorrows and ran into a man who was the definition of brooding, dangerous, and insanely attractive. Every breath he took seemed to cater exactly to my specific type. Fueled by liquid courage, I took him home. To my surprise, we were perfectly, mind-blowingly compatible that night. To this day, I could still feel the phantom sensation of his large, calloused hands gripping my waist, sending shivers down my spine. At the time, I thought maybe, just maybe, this could turn into a real relationship. But the next morning, he woke up to a phone call that made his expression turn incredibly grave. “Understood. I’m on my way.” He got out of bed and dressed in a flash. Then, he scribbled a string of numbers on a piece of paper. “I have an emergency cross-border acquisition I have to handle immediately. You can reach me at this number.” I didn’t even know his name. I figured we’d get in touch later, but a month later, I stared at a positive pregnancy test. In sheer panic, I called the number. It rang and rang. Nobody ever picked up. I assumed I’d been ghosted. He probably wasn’t interested, made up a dramatic excuse to leave, and gave me a fake number to keep me from clinging to him. Due to some health complications, abortion wasn’t a safe option for me, so I chose to have the baby. And I never regretted it. Nina was the sweetest, smartest little girl, and these past years with her had been the best of my life. The next morning, Lauren called me, nursing a massive hangover. “My brother is such a brute! He practically threw me into the car and bruised my arm. I’m telling you, Sophia, men like him are dominant and have zero gentleness. Avoid them at all costs…” Before she could finish, Logan’s deep, emotionless voice drifted through the line. “It seems you’ve already forgotten the lesson from last night.” Lauren instantly shut up. But then, she seemed to remember something, and her tone turned shameless. “Hey, Logan, are you free this afternoon? Can you help my friend move?” “No.” “Perfect!” Lauren completely ignored him and spoke directly to me. “I found us some free labor. He’ll help us move this afternoon.” “No, really, Lauren, I can do it myself,” I pleaded. “Come on, we’re family! Plus, he’s just adjusting to the jet lag and has nothing better to do anyway.” I thought Lauren was joking. But that afternoon, she actually showed up at my place. And right behind her was a towering, breathtakingly handsome man.

I own a boutique coffee shop in the city center. I’ve been running it for years, and business is pretty good. I don’t have extra staff, so I handle everything myself. Sometimes, when it gets crazy, Lauren comes over to help out. Lately, business has been great, and I’d saved up enough to upgrade my living situation to a nicer apartment. That afternoon, I was in the middle of labeling moving boxes when I heard arguing outside my door. “You made me cancel a business dinner just to help her move? She didn’t even hire a moving company…” “What’s wrong with helping her move? Do you sleep on the streets, Logan? If you keep being a jerk, I’m telling Dad you’re a heartless monster!” “Fine. I’m keeping score,” Logan replied, his voice calm, though the threat was clear. “You better pray you don’t need a favor from me anytime soon.” Realizing they were about to start a full-blown sibling war, I quickly stepped out. “It’s fine, really! I don’t have that many boxes. I don’t need this much help.” I looked up, intending to apologize to Lauren’s brother. “I’m so sorry, Logan. Lauren didn’t explain things clearly, and she dragged you here. I—” The words died in my throat. He was wearing a dark brown overcoat today, looking even more striking in the daylight than he did under the streetlights last night. His features were sharp, his jawline perfectly chiseled, and his eyes—the exact same eyes that had haunted my dreams again last night—were locked onto me. My heart skipped a beat. Even though I’d realized the truth last night, seeing him this close in the broad daylight brought a wave of raw, overwhelming shock. I hadn’t even processed the fact that he was Lauren’s brother, let alone how to face him. I forced myself to look away, turning to Lauren. “…I can really do this myself.” “Fine! If you don’t want to help, just leave! Nobody’s begging you with that grumpy face of yours anyway,” Lauren rolled her eyes and linked her arm through mine. “Don’t apologize to him, Sophia. He’s been gone for years and has completely lost his manners.” “I never said I wouldn’t help,” Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Where are the boxes?” “Wait, what?” Lauren blinked. “The boxes. Where are they?” Logan took off his overcoat, revealing a perfectly tailored black button-down shirt that subtly showed off the hard lines of his chest and back. He draped his coat over a chair and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The muscle definition in his forearms was insane—he clearly worked out religiously. My mind flashed back to the night of our one-night stand, remembering how those strong hands had gripped my waist… I violently shook my head to clear the thoughts. With Logan there, Lauren and I were instantly relegated to the sidelines. Lauren sat by the counter, sipping coffee and scrolling through Snapchat, happily bossing her brother around. I hid in the bedroom, pretending to be busy packing clothes. My mind was a complete mess. *Does he remember me? Probably not. It’s been so long…* As I was spiraling, a deep voice broke the silence. “I’ve moved everything from the living room.” “Oh! Thank you!” My bedroom wasn’t huge, and with his massive frame stepping inside, the space suddenly felt incredibly cramped. I instinctively took half a step back, accidentally knocking over a small storage organizer. Logan reacted instantly, bending down to catch it. The lid popped open, revealing a piece of neatly folded lace underwear. The delicate, soft fabric caught on his finger, creating a stark, wicked contrast against his black sleeve. I froze. I vividly remembered wearing something very similar that night… My face flushed a violent crimson. Logan stared at me, his eyes darkening. He leaned in, so close that I could count his eyelashes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. “You seem terrified of me, Sophia. Why?” My breathing hitched, our gazes locking. Trapped and desperate, my brain completely short-circuited, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Lauren told me you hit women!” Without waiting for his reaction, I ducked under his arm and bolted out of the room. Outside, Lauren heard the commotion and walked over. “Hit women? Who the hell is hitting women?!” With Logan’s help, the move went incredibly fast. An ordeal that should have taken until 8 PM was completely wrapped up by four in the afternoon. Lauren didn’t want to overstay, so she grabbed Logan to leave. But the giant of a man stood firmly in my half-unpacked living room, looking like he had no intention of moving. “Is Sophia really so stingy that she won’t even buy us dinner?” he asked smoothly. My cheeks burned. “Of course I can. What do you guys want to eat?” Lauren’s eyes went wide. “Logan, how do you have the nerve? Asking my friend to buy you dinner? Are you serious?” Logan’s face remained impassive. “You guys pick the place. I’ll pay.” “Okay, now we’re talking!” Lauren grinned, linking her arm with mine and whispering, “My brother is loaded, Sophia. It’s rare for him to open his wallet. Don’t be polite—pick the most expensive place you can think of!” I don’t know if it was coincidence or fate. But the restaurant we ended up choosing was right next to the bar where Logan and I had met four years ago. Neither Logan nor I were big talkers. Thankfully, Lauren was a chatterbox, keeping the atmosphere from becoming painfully awkward. Still, I could feel Logan’s gaze lingering on me throughout the meal. It was intense, burning, and completely undisguised. Suddenly, my phone rang. Lauren immediately leaned over to sneak a peek at the screen. “Is that Nina? Oh my god, I miss her so much. Put her on FaceTime!” Across the table, Logan’s expression froze. As I stood up to take the call outside, I caught his deep, strained voice asking: “She’s… married?”

Logan’s question immediately set Lauren off. “What is that supposed to mean? You don’t need a husband to have a kid, Logan. Don’t be such an old-fashioned boomer!” “So she’s not married?” Logan instantly relaxed, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink. A tiny smirk played at the corner of his lips. “Good. What about the father? Have you met him? Who is he?” Lauren stared at him, her expression turning suspicious. “Logan, you’re looking a little too happy about this. You can’t start hating on other people’s happiness just because you’ve been single for a century.” Logan raised an eyebrow. Lauren leaned in. “Look, when Sophia gets back, don’t you dare bring up Nina’s dad. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t dated anyone else because she still can’t get over that deadbeat jerk.” Hearing this, Logan’s smirk vanished instantly. By the time I walked back to the table, they had finished their little hushed argument, and I sat back down. I’d never told Lauren the full story about Nina’s dad. For one, we only met after Nina was already born. Secondly, I figured I’d never see the guy again, so there was no point in digging up the past. I had only vaguely mentioned that the father was unreachable after I got pregnant. But Lauren had clearly filled in the blanks herself, assuming he was a classic pump-and-dump scumbag. To spare my feelings, she had never pressed for details. And now, things were incredibly awkward. Even though I felt guilty lying to Lauren, I didn’t dare drop the truth bomb about Nina’s parentage yet. I didn’t know Logan well enough. If things went south, it would ruin my friendship with Lauren. Later that evening, Lauren and I had a few drinks, so Logan naturally took the keys to drive us back. As the car headed north, Lauren pressed her face against the window. “Wait, you’re going the wrong way! Sophia’s place isn’t over here.” “I’m dropping you off first,” Logan said smoothly. “I have some errands to run later, so I’m not heading straight home.” Lauren pouted, grumbling, “If we knew you were busy, we wouldn’t have let you drive. Sophia and I could have gone to another bar for round two.” Logan glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “In your condition? I don’t think so.” The car pulled up to the Miller estate, and Lauren reluctantly got out. Feeling the suffocating tension of being alone with Logan, I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt. “Actually, my place is pretty close from here. I can just call an Uber. Since you have errands—” “It’s no trouble. It’s on my way.” Lauren nodded in agreement through the window. “Yeah, just let him drive you. He doesn’t have anything important to do anyway!” Pushing it any further would make me look guilty, so I had no choice but to accept. “Where to?” “Cherry Street Apartments, please.” He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Didn’t you want a round two? I’m taking you there now.” “No, really, Lauren was just joking,” I said politely. “Thank you for today, Logan. Sorry for the trouble.” “Are we really going to pretend we’re strangers, Sophia?” I hadn’t expected him to be so direct. My breath hitched. Before I could answer, he spoke again, his voice filled with certainty. “You remember.” “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Liar,” he murmured. “Did Lauren never tell you what my background is? I’m trained to read micro-expressions and emotional shifts.” Panic surged, and I tried to force my face into a blank mask. Seeing this, Logan let out a soft, genuine laugh. “I was kidding about that part.” “Logan!” “There you are,” he said softly. “You’ve been so incredibly tense around me all day.” Terrified of giving away anything else, I shut my mouth and refused to say another word.

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At our engagement party, my boyfriend of seven years, Austin, handed me a piece of chocolate. He forgot that chocolate is the one thing I absolutely despise. So, right then and there, in front of everyone, I called off the wedding. Everyone was stunned. Austin splashed a glass of wine right onto my face. “Just because of a piece of chocolate?” he hissed, his face red with rage. “You’re calling off our wedding over this? Are you out of your mind?!” I wiped the wine from my face and looked him dead in the eye. “Yes, I am. Go find yourself a girl who loves chocolate and marry her instead.” “Chloe Davis!” “Do you even have a conscience?” “Seven years! We’ve been together for seven years, and you’re dumping me just because I forgot one little thing you don’t like?” Austin screamed, his chest heaving as his tall frame trembled with anger. “Oh? You think this is the first time?” I let out a cold laugh. “Let’s end this. The wedding is off.” The rage on Austin’s face suddenly froze, replaced by a flash of panic. He clearly didn’t expect me to be this serious. Our parents and the guests stood there, mouths agape. No one had ever imagined a scene like this at our engagement party. After all, Austin and I were always the “golden couple” in our social circle. “It’s just a mistake. Aren’t you overreacting?” Austin’s best friend, Hailey Vance, couldn’t watch any longer. She stood up and glared at me. “When your business project was stolen by a competitor last year, Austin used all his family’s connections and stayed up for three nights straight to help you get it back.” “If it weren’t for him, your career would have been over.” “And remember when you had that terrible stomach flu? Austin ran out in the middle of a thunderstorm at midnight to get your meds, and he ended up with a high fever for a week.” “Have you forgotten all of that?” Her words were sharp, accusatory. The guests around us began to whisper. “Chloe, Austin has always been so good to you. Why can’t you two just sit down and talk?” Austin’s mother, Mrs. Miller, tried to suppress her annoyance, keeping her voice gentle. “Yes, if there’s an issue, talk it out. Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Austin’s father, Mr. Miller, added in a stern, authoritative voice. My own parents finally squeezed through the crowd, their faces pale with embarrassment. “Chloe! What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” My mother grabbed my arm, her voice trembling. “Everyone is watching! Stop making a scene!” “Calm down, Chloe. Don’t make this any uglier than it already is!” my father whispered urgently beside me. Austin quickly stepped up to me. He took a tissue and gently tried to wipe the wine from my face, his voice softening. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I lost my temper. We can talk about this.” “I promise I will never touch chocolate again.” “If there’s anything else you’re unhappy with, tell me. I’ll change. I promise.” He was practically begging, lowering himself in front of everyone. His mother quickly pulled up a chair for me, expecting me to take the peace offering and sit down. But I pushed Austin away, my eyebrows furrowing. “There is nothing to talk about. I don’t love you anymore.” “Just looking at you makes me sick.” Silence. The temperature in the room instantly dropped to freezing. No one expected me to be this brutal. “Chloe Davis!” This time, Hailey completely lost it. She grabbed my wrist. “Austin treated you like a queen! How can you be so heartless?” “He gave you everything! Now that your life is comfortable, you think you can just discard him? You are disgusting!” Seeing her yell at me like that made me laugh. “I heard your favorite snack is chocolate,” I said softly. “That box of chocolates… you picked it out, didn’t you? He bought it specifically for you.” “What crap are you talking about?!” Hailey raised her hand as if to slap me, but I reacted quickly and pushed her back. Suddenly, a sharp pain bloomed at the back of my head. I spun around and saw Austin holding a heavy glass. He had just thrown it at me. He rushed past me, completely ignoring my pain, to help Hailey up. “Hailey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with panic and care. Hailey shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. Austin let out a sigh of relief, then turned to glare at me. “Have you lost your mind today? Go ahead and fight with me, but how dare you push Hailey?” I touched the back of my head. “Did I start this?” My fingers came away wet and red. Blood. Austin’s face paled for a fraction of a second. “Chloe, I… it was an accident. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll take you to the hospital.” “And Hailey is just my best friend. I was just worried about her. Don’t be so dramatic.” He reached out to grab my hand. “Don’t touch me!” I spat, my voice ice cold.

Austin froze in his tracks. “I’m sorry, Austin. This is all my fault.” Hailey turned to me, her voice cracking with tears. “Chloe, please don’t blame Austin. It’s all on me.” Her acts of playing the martyr instantly won the sympathetic looks of both our families and the guests. Austin looked at her with pure heartbreak. “How is this your fault? Don’t apologize to her!” But my expression remained deadpan. “Get out of my face. Both of you.” Instantly, Mr. Miller’s face turned thunderous. He was clearly at his limit. My parents looked ready to faint from embarrassment. My mother hissed, “Chloe Davis! If you don’t stop this right now, I am done with you!” My father whispered, “Stop this madness! How are we supposed to show our faces in public after this?!” Austin finally snapped. “Chloe, we’ve been together for seven years. We barely even argued.” “And today, you’re ruining everything over a stupid chocolate? What the hell do you want from me?” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking. To anyone else, he looked like a heartbroken victim. But I remained completely indifferent. “No matter what you do, we are over.” Mr. Miller slammed his hand on the table, standing up. “Chloe! Do you have to be this stubborn?” “Apologize now, and we can still salvage this!” Mrs. Miller added, “We invited several local influencers to livestream this party today. If this gets out, it will ruin your reputation and your family’s!” They thought the threat of social media ruin would make me back down. But I gritted my teeth and stared back. “We are breaking up. And Austin is going to pay me back for every single penny and year I wasted on him. I want compensation for emotional distress!” Bang! Mr. Miller’s face turned purple with rage. He threw his wine glass at my feet. “Get out! Get the hell out of my sight!” Mrs. Miller raised her voice, pointing at a camera. “Fine! Since you want to play dirty, we’ll let the internet judge you! The TikTok live stream is running right now!” They wanted to turn this private disaster into a public execution. The large screen in the banquet hall was broadcasting the live stream. The comments were already flying by at lightning speed: [Calling off a seven-year relationship over chocolate? Is she insane?] [I feel so bad for Austin. What a psycho.] [Seven years ended like this? There must be more to the story.] [A live-streamed breakup? Grab the popcorn!] Outside, the sky was a gloomy gray, and a light drizzle was falling. Ignoring the glares of the crowd and the hateful comments flashing on the screen, I looked at Austin’s family. “Fine. Three days. We’ll settle this on a public live stream.” With that, I walked out of the hall alone and drove myself to the hospital. While the doctor was wrapping my head in bandages, my phone finally rang. It was my childhood friend, Logan Carter. “I just took a little trip to the chocolate boutique where Austin bought that box,” Logan said, his voice dripping with amusement. “And boy, did I find some interesting things.” My spirit lifted. “They’re trying to ruin me on a live stream in three days. I need everything you can find. I’ll pay you triple your usual rate.” “I don’t care about the money, Chloe,” Logan laughed softly. “Just promise me one thing when this is over.” “Deal,” I agreed immediately. I trusted Logan. He was the best private investigator in the city. Three days was more than enough time for me to prepare my counterattack.

The news of my breakup with Austin spread like wildfire after the engagement party. The internet completely turned against me. [Unbelievable! Austin’s family is so wealthy, and she’s just a nobody. How dare she act so entitled?] [Throwing away a seven-year relationship over chocolate? What a selfish, cold-hearted gold digger!] [I’m so disappointed in her.] [She’s so toxic!] The comments got nastier by the hour. I ignored them all. I spent the night in the small staff room behind my diner. The next morning, I got up early to prep for the lunch rush. But before noon, Austin showed up. And of course, he brought Hailey and a couple of cameramen holding phones to live-stream. “Chloe.” “How is your head? Does it still hurt? Hailey and I came to apologize. I brought your favorite chicken soup.” He offered me a thermos, his voice gentle and caring. “Chloe, please stop being angry. The viewers on the live stream are watching. Just give us a chance to make it right.” Smash! I slapped the thermos out of his hand. The hot soup spilled all over the floor. Austin froze, his face twisting from shock to pure rage. Behind him, Hailey whimpered and shrank back, playing the terrified victim. The camera zoomed in on my face. The chat was exploding: [Oh my god, what a bitch! He literally brought her soup and she threw it?] [Austin is trying so hard, but she’s just toxic. I bet she’s already cheating on him.] [Hailey is such a good friend, still trying to help them make up.] Despite the cameras, I kept my face blank. “Get out of my diner.” Suddenly, Hailey dropped to her knees right in front of me. The camera immediately got a close-up of her tear-streaked face. “Chloe.” “Please don’t hate Austin. Yesterday was my fault. If you want to take your anger out on someone, do it to me!” The comment section went wild, praising her: [She is so sweet and selfless!] [Austin should marry Hailey instead of this psycho!] Austin looked at me, his eyes telling me to stop. Instead, I walked behind the counter, grabbed a bucket of dirty mop water, and dumped it right over Hailey’s head. Everyone gasped. The live stream chat went into overdrive: [WHAT THE HELL?! IS SHE INSANE?] [Dumping dirty water on someone who is kneeling and apologizing?!] [Call the police! Arrest her!]

Austin’s eyes bulged in shock. “Chloe Davis! Have you lost your mind?! Hailey literally knelt down to apologize to you, and you treat her like this? Thousands of people are watching!” “She asked for it,” I said, a cold smirk playing on my lips. Austin was trembling so hard his knuckles turned white. He turned to the camera, looking utterly heartbroken. “Chloe! I am officially done with you! I must have been blind to love you for seven years! You want to break up? Fine! We are over!” “I’ll see you at the live-streamed confrontation in three days!” “I will make sure the whole world sees what a monster you really are!” He spat out his final warning, helped Hailey up, and stormed out. For the next two days, my diner was completely empty. Instead of customers, people came by to throw trash and red paint at my door. I became the most hated woman in the city, my name trending on Twitter. My parents even showed up at my diner, crying and demanding I go apologize to Austin. Austin’s family had pulled strings to set up a massive, televised live-stream event. They wanted to publicly expose me and clear Austin’s name. Reporters kept trying to interview me, but I kept my mouth shut. I only told them one thing: I would be there.

On the day of the live stream, millions of viewers tuned in. My parents didn’t show up. They only sent me a text, begging me to confess and apologize before the show started to save their faces. “Chloe.” “It’s been three days. Have you finally cleared your head? If you apologize to Hailey and me right now, I can pretend none of this happened. The viewers are waiting for your response.” Austin sat across from me, his eyebrows knit together in mock concern. I met his gaze, my face completely expressionless. “Chloe,” Hailey chimed in, her voice sweet and dripping with fake sympathy. “This is your last chance. Don’t ruin your life over pride.” Austin’s parents sat beside them, silent but smug. I didn’t say a word. I just sat down directly opposite Austin. The Miller family sneered. The live chat was filled with comments praising the Millers for being so generous and calling me an ungrateful bitch. The host, a popular local drama influencer hired by Mr. Miller, stepped up to the microphone. “Alright, Chloe,” the host said, her tone hostile. “Besides Austin forgetting you hate chocolate, do you have any actual, logical reasons for calling off this engagement?” “Because right now, all we see is a man who loved you dearly, and a woman who threw it all away over a minor mistake.” The entire setup was designed to publicly humiliate me. Everyone in the room looked at me like I was a joke. Hailey even had a small, triumphant smirk on her lips. But I remained calm. I kept my eyes on the entrance of the studio. Right on cue, the double doors opened. Logan Carter walked in. I finally let out a breath. “Proof?” I looked at the host. “Oh, I have plenty.” The host blinked, then let out a condescending chuckle. “Well, please, show us. We’re all waiting.” She thought I was bluffing. The live chat was flooded with: [Let’s see what lies she has prepared lol.] “On the day of our engagement, Austin bought two boxes of chocolate. One dark chocolate, one milk chocolate.” “But he told me he only bought one.” I spoke clearly. Austin’s face stiffened, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “And you,” Logan spoke up, stepping to the center of the stage. “Knowing Chloe is deathly allergic to dark chocolate, you purposely handed her the dark chocolate box. Why?” Logan plugged a USB drive into the console, and Austin’s receipt from the chocolate shop flashed onto the giant screen behind us. The camera zoomed in on the date, time, and the two items purchased. The chat went quiet for a second before comments started popping up: [Wait, he did buy two boxes? Why did he lie?] [Is there something else going on?] Seeing the shift in the room, the host frantically looked at Austin, signaling him to explain. Austin licked his dry lips, struggling to find words. Hailey quickly jumped in. “The other box was for me! Austin didn’t tell Chloe because she’s incredibly insecure and always gets jealous when we hang out!” Mrs. Miller immediately shook her head at the camera, sighing dramatically. “Hailey grew up with us. She’s like a sister to Austin. He was just being a good brother.” “Exactly,” Mr. Miller added. “They are just best friends. Chloe’s jealousy is toxic.” Their explanation immediately swayed the chat back to their side. The comments started calling me “insecure” and “crazy.” The host smirked at me. “Is that all you have? Give up, Chloe.” “Don’t worry about them, worry about yourself,” I replied with a smile. “Austin and Hailey’s relationship is far from innocent.” “Take a look at the screen.” Logan nodded to the tech booth, and the first video started playing.

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Seven years after my death, my billionaire husband, Carter, sent me a text because of his assistant-turned-mistress, Chloe. “Harper, Chloe had another hit-and-run. Get over here and take the fall for her!” “Oh, and when you come to meet us, grab us a pack of condoms.” When he didn’t get a reply, he lost his patience and stormed into my old apartment. But the person who opened the door wasn’t me. It was my landlord. “What are you talking about?” Mr. Henderson, the landlord, looked at him in confusion. “I’m Harper’s landlord. Harper died seven years ago.” “I heard that right after she took the blame for that fatal car crash, she was stabbed to death by some vigilante right outside the courthouse.” Carter didn’t believe a word. He was convinced the landlord was on my payroll, lying to help me hide. He frowned, letting out a cold sneer. “She’s still throwing a tantrum just because I kicked her and our daughter, Lily, out of the apartment to make them reflect on themselves!” “Tell her this: if she doesn’t show up within three days, I’m cutting off the funds for Lily’s leukemia treatments!” With that, he turned on his heel and walked away. Mr. Henderson shook his head, sighing deeply. “What daughter is he even talking about? Lily passed away years ago because they ran out of money for her treatment…”

In the hallway, the key rattled loudly in the apartment lock. I floated near the ceiling, watching Carter barge into my dusty old apartment, holding a fake agreement in his hand. He covered his nose, waving away the dust, his leather shoes making sharp, impatient clicks on the floor. “Harper! Get the hell out here! Chloe is about to get indicted, and you’re still hiding?” I stood behind him, letting out a self-deprecating ghost of a laugh. Ever since I took the fall for that car accident seven years ago, Carter and I had cut all ties. I never expected that when he finally looked for me again, it would be to make me a scapegoat for his mistress’s new hit-and-run. I had to hand it to him. His love for Chloe was truly undying. Carter paced around the room twice. His eyes swept over the dust-covered sofa and the cobwebs on the windowsills. His lips curled in deep disgust. “Stop playing missing. Where could a felon like you even hide?” “Chloe just texted me saying the police are already investigating. Do you want her to rot in prison?” “I’m going to count to ten. You better get your ass out here right now!” I looked at his cold, handsome face. Seven years had passed, and he was still as arrogant as ever, taking everything for granted. But no matter how many times he counted to ten, I would never run to his side like a loyal dog again. Because I was already dead. “Harper! Did you hear me? Why are you being so difficult when I’m just asking for a simple favor?!” He suddenly kicked the bedroom door. The wood made a dull, heavy bang. But the room inside remained empty. Carter clicked his tongue in annoyance. After tearing the place apart and finding nothing, he finally realized no one was there. Muttering curses under his breath, he slammed the door and stormed out. Downstairs, the landlord was sweeping the hallway. Carter grabbed him by the shoulder. “Have you seen Harper? The girl who lives on the third floor.” Mr. Henderson blinked, lowering his broom. “Harper Vance? She passed away seven years ago.” I saw Carter freeze for a fraction of a second, but then he scoffed. “Who are you trying to fool? A woman like her doesn’t die that easily.” “I’m not kidding you,” Mr. Henderson pointed toward the alley outside. “Seven years ago, right after her trial for that fatal crash ended, she was stabbed to death the second she stepped out of the courthouse. Who are you to her anyway?” The landlord’s answer was too fluent to be a lie. A flicker of panic crossed Carter’s eyes. His brow furrowed, and for a second, his face showed a hint of pain that I couldn’t quite comprehend. But his phone buzzed, instantly drawing his attention away. It was a text from Chloe: *Never mind, Carter. Harper must still hate me. She’ll just find excuses to avoid us. Don’t stress yourself out for me. I’ll just go to prison. Please take care of yourself without me.* This single text was enough to convince Carter that my “death” was just a sick lie to avoid helping them. His fingers trembled as he typed back: *She has no right to refuse! I gave her a massive payout back then. She owes me when I need her!* *Don’t worry, I’ll find her and make her take the fall. I won’t let anything happen to you!* Once the message sent, Carter glared back at the landlord. “Stop acting! She’s definitely hiding. Did she pay you to say this?” Mr. Henderson sighed. “Sir, why would I joke about death? The police came to investigate back then…” “Like police reports can’t be faked!” Carter’s voice rose. He took a threatening step forward, his eyes burning with anger. “You tell her this. If she doesn’t show up in three days, I am stopping the payments for Lily’s leukemia treatments!” The landlord opened his mouth to speak, but Carter cut him off with a harsh wave of his hand. “Save your breath! Either she gets her ass out here, or she can start planning a funeral for Lily!” With that, Carter spun around and left. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered and died. Mr. Henderson looked at his retreating back, shaking his head. He whispered to the empty air: “What daughter is he even talking about? Lily passed away years ago because they ran out of money for her treatment…” I floated beside him, looking at the plastic water bottle Carter had kicked to the side. My soul felt as cold as ice. That payout money Carter mentioned? I never saw a single dime of it. While Lily was gasping for air on her hospital bed, waiting for the money to save her life, Chloe was using it to buy designer bags. And while I was bleeding out on the cold pavement, Carter was busy accompanying Chloe to a luxury gala. And now, here he was. Using a dead child to threaten a mother who was already in her grave.

My soul seemed bound to Carter. I was forced to follow him back to his penthouse. The moment he pushed the door open, Chloe rushed to greet him, anxiety written all over her face. “Carter! How did it go? Did you find Harper?” Carter shook his head, his expression a bit vacant. “No… and the landlord said Harper is dead.” “Dead?!” Chloe’s eyes went wide. She took a step back, her hand clutching Carter’s arm instinctively. “How is that possible? Is she… is she just hiding from us? She must have made up that lie to trick you!” Carter kept silent, his brow heavily furrowed. Seeing his silence, Chloe quickly squeezed out a bitter, self-sacrificing smile. “It must be that! Harper must still hold a grudge about what happened seven years ago. She made up this sick lie because she doesn’t want to help me.” “Carter, maybe… forget it? Don’t force her. I’ll just turn myself in…” Carter remained quiet for a long moment, but eventually, he nodded. “You’re right. She’s definitely hiding.” “But we can’t let this go. Even if I have to dig up the entire city, I will find her and make her clear your name!” Chloe’s eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling. “Carter, you’re so good to me…” “However…” Carter suddenly cut her off, his tone hesitant. “If Harper went as far as to fake her own death, she must be utterly furious.” “Chloe, this is the last time. Once she takes the fall for you and gets out of prison, you and I are done.” I stood beside them, so shocked I almost forgot I was a ghost. Carter was actually proposing to break up with Chloe? I still remembered how he used to scream at me, turning our lives upside down just to defend this woman. Back then, we had been married for less than a year when Chloe was hired as his assistant. From that moment on, they flirted right under my nose. If I questioned him even a little, he would call me petty, insecure, and crazy. But now, he was willingly ending it? Carter didn’t notice the stiff, ugly expression on Chloe’s face. He turned his head away, his voice dropping. “I need to… go back to Harper. I gave her money back then, but I really did ruin her life these past few years.” “To be honest, I feel… really guilty.” Chloe stared at him in utter disbelief. “Carter… are you leaving me?” “I don’t know,” Carter avoided her gaze, his frown deepening. “But ever since I stepped out of Harper’s apartment, my chest has been feeling incredibly tight. I have this awful feeling that something bad has happened.” He paused, trying to sound firm again. “But I will help you with this hit-and-run! I won’t watch you go to jail. I’m going to look for her now. Wait for me.” With that, he turned and left, his back tense with determination. Chloe stood frozen in the living room. But the moment the door closed, her vulnerable, pitiful facade vanished completely. I saw it clearly. Her eyes turned venomous, filled with raw, murderous hatred. And the name she hissed through her gritted teeth was mine.

Desperate to find me, the first place Carter could think of was Lily’s hospital. I followed his car as he sped toward the city hospital. I knew this route by heart. For years, my life had been nothing but a constant loop between my cheap apartment and this hospital. Nothing had ever changed. I watched Carter slam his foot on the gas pedal. His forehead hadn’t uncreased once since he got into the car. Of course. He was losing his mind over Chloe’s mess. He didn’t even park properly before sprinting into the pediatric wing. He grabbed the nurse at the front desk. “Check the room number for Lily Vance.” “Oh… okay,” the nurse stammered, looking down at her computer screen. Suddenly, a cold laugh echoed from behind him. “Well, if it isn’t Carter Vance. What brings a big shot like you to our humble hospital?” Carter spun around, his face instantly darkening. It was Rachel Sterling, the former head of legal counsel who used to work with his company. From what I knew, they had despised each other for years. For some reason, right after I took the fall and went to prison seven years ago, Rachel had terminated her contract with Carter’s company. Seeing her rival, Carter glared at her, annoyed. “What I do is none of your business, Rachel.” Rachel crossed her arms, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “You’re right, it’s not. I’m just curious—how can a human being be so cold-blooded?” “You were nowhere to be found when they were in critical condition. Now that they’re both gone, you finally show up?” “Critical condition?” Carter’s brows knitted tightly. “What are you talking about?” Carter looked genuinely lost, as if he couldn’t understand English. But I knew exactly what Rachel meant. She was talking about me and Lily. When I was stabbed seven years ago, I was already dying in the ambulance. The paramedics had called Carter, wanting him to come say goodbye. But he was too busy vacationing with Chloe, wanting “uninterrupted couple time.” He hung up without a second thought. Later, when they tried calling again, his number had blocked them. And Lily suffered the same fate. When Lily’s treatment was halted due to lack of funds, the doctors said she was in critical condition. When they tried to reach him, he was traveling the world with Chloe. In the end, when Lily took her last breath, there was no one by her side. She left this world completely alone. Staring at Carter’s bewildered expression, Rachel let out a sharp scoff. “Nice acting. Honestly, I don’t know what Harper ever saw in you to sacrifice so much.” Rachel didn’t waste another word on him. She turned on her heel and walked back into her office. Carter stood frozen in the hallway, his fingers tightening around his steering wheel keys. It was a nervous habit he only did when he was terrified. But… what was he afraid of? “Mr. Vance?” the nurse’s voice broke the silence. “The patient you’re looking for…” The nurse hesitated, looking pityingly at him. “Lily Vance passed away three years ago.” Carter’s pupils dilated instantly. He froze, as if nailed to the floor.

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“Don’t call me Daddy! I’m not your father!” My mafia husband snarls, shoving our seven-year-old daughter away right before she can blow out her birthday candles. Sophie stumbles backward. Her little party crown slips off her head and lands on the floor. Nobody says a word. Fifty guests. Capos. Wives. Men who kill for the Hale family. Every one of them watches my daughter fall apart. I rush forward and catch Sophie before she hits the table. Her body shakes. She doesn’t cry. She just looks up at me, confused. “Julian.” My voice comes out low. “What the hell are you doing?” He doesn’t even look at me. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope. Tosses it onto the cake. The white frosting smears across the paper. “Paternity test,” he says. Loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Sophie isn’t mine.” The whispers start at once. My hands go cold. “That’s a lie,” I say. “She’s your daughter. You know she is.” Julian straightens his tie. Calm. Collected. He just destroyed a child’s birthday. He doesn’t care. “The DNA doesn’t lie, Riley. Maybe you should think about who else you were fucking seven years ago.” I can’t breathe. Before I can speak, my mother stands up from the head table. I think she’s going to defend me. I think she’s going to tell Julian he’s lost his mind. Instead, she walks over to me and slaps me across the face. The slap is loud. “How dare you,” she hisses. “You’ve shamed this entire family. Wasn’t it enough that you stole Elena’s life? Now you bring a bastard into a respectable marriage?” I press my hand to my cheek. The sting spreads across my whole face. Elena. Of course. I look past my mother, and there she is. Elena—the woman my parents believed was their blood daughter. Their lost heir. The one who replaced me overnight. She’s standing next to Julian, holding his arm. Her eyes are red. She wants everyone to think she’s been crying. Then I catch her smile. She’s enjoying this. “Riley,” my father says from his seat. He doesn’t stand up. Doesn’t even raise his voice. “We’ll discuss the family holdings tomorrow. You owe Elena that much.” Family holdings. They don’t care about Sophie. A seven-year-old just got called a bastard at her own birthday party, and they’re already carving up my family shares. Sophie tugs on my sleeve. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Mommy, can we go home?” Home. Where is that now? I pick her up. She buries her face in my neck. I can feel her tears soaking through my dress. I turn to Julian one last time. He’s already looking at his phone. Elena leans into his shoulder, whispering something. He smirks. I don’t say a word. I carry my daughter through the ballroom, past the staring guests, past the ruined cake. Nobody stops me. Nobody follows. The valet brings my car around. I buckle Sophie into the backseat. She still has her party crown in her hands. “Mommy?” she says quietly. “Yeah, baby?” “Is it true? Is he not my daddy?” My throat closes. I look at her in the rearview mirror. She looks exactly like Julian. The same jawline. The same dark eyes. Anyone with eyes can see it. “He’s lying,” I say. “I promise you, he’s lying.” She nods. But something in her face has changed. Something that shouldn’t change in a seven-year-old. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. Julian thinks I’ll crawl back. He thinks I’ll cry and beg and wait for him to forgive me for something I never did. He’s wrong. I pull out of the driveway and head toward Hale Tower, the clean front Julian runs for the family. If that test is fake, there has to be proof. And I’m going to find it tonight—even if I have to tear his desk apart with my bare hands. But when I get there, the lobby lights are still on, and I hear Julian’s voice drifting through the half-open door of his corner office. He’s laughing. —

I press my back against the wall outside his office. The hallway is dark. No one else is around. Julian’s voice comes through the cracked door. Easy. Proud. “You should’ve seen her face,” he says. “She looked destroyed.” Another man laughs. Marcus. Julian’s underboss. His drinking buddy. The man who never says no to Don Hale. “What about the kid?” Marcus asks. “She really isn’t yours?” Julian snorts. “Of course she’s mine. You think I’m stupid? Look at her face. She’s my clone.” I grab the wall. He knows. He’s always known. “So the DNA test—” “Fake.” Julian says it casually. He sounds bored. “I paid a family doctor to switch the results. Cost me ten grand. Worth every penny.” My nails dig into my palms. “Elena needed something to use against Riley,” he continues. “Her parents—well, Riley’s parents—they’ve been too slow to hand over the family holdings. Elena’s the blood heir, but Riley’s name is still on everything. The trusts. The clean businesses. The family shares. All of it.” Marcus whistles. “So you humiliate Riley in public, make everyone think Sophie’s not yours, and suddenly the whole family turns on her.” “Exactly. Now her parents will cut her off themselves. Elena gets everything she’s owed, and I get to keep the family alliance on track. Elena already promised me forty percent of the clean assets once the transfer goes through.” I can’t breathe. This was never about Sophie. This was a deal. “What about Riley?” Marcus asks. “You think she’ll actually leave?” Julian laughs again. That laugh I used to love. “Leave? Riley?” He takes a sip of something. I hear the glass clink. “She’s obsessed with me. She has been since college. She’ll cry for a week, I’ll send some flowers, take her to dinner, and she’ll come crawling back. She always does.” “And if she doesn’t?” “Then I’ll let her go. She walks away with nothing. No money, no shares, no family. Where’s she gonna go? No family protection. No money. A kid. No skills. She’ll be back in two weeks.” Marcus laughs. “Cold, man.” “Smart,” Julian corrects him. “There’s a difference.” I stand in that hallway for a long time after they move on to talking about golf. My hands stop shaking. I feel dead inside. Seven years. Seven years. I built his home. I raised his daughter. I helped grow his empire. I brought the alliances. I handled the books while he slept. And he just called me a woman with no skills. I walk back to the elevator. I barely recognize myself in the elevator doors. Mascara under my eyes. My mother’s handprint on my cheek. But her eyes are dry. I get in the car. Sophie is asleep in the backseat, still clutching her paper crown. I don’t drive to Julian’s house. I drive to my parents’ compound. Not because I think they’ll help me. I know better now. I’m going because everything I own—my documents, my trust papers, my shares—is locked in the study safe. And I need to get them before Elena does. The gates open automatically. The compound gate still opens for me. For now, the Hale guards still think I belong here. I carry Sophie inside and lay her on the couch in the foyer. She doesn’t wake up. She’s exhausted. I head down the hall toward the study. The light is already on. I push the door open and find my mother sitting behind the desk. Elena is standing next to her. My papers are spread across the desk. Trusts. Territory papers. Property papers. My mother looks up at me with no warmth in her eyes. “Good,” she says. “You’re here. Sit down. We need to talk about what you owe the real heir.” —

I don’t sit down. “Those are mine,” I say, looking at the papers on the desk. “Every one of them has my name on it.” My mother folds her hands. “Your name. On papers that belong to this mafia family. This family took you in, Riley. Don’t forget that.” Borrowed. Twenty-six years. They raised me since I was three months old. Birthdays, holidays, school plays. I called this woman Mom every single day of my life. So that’s what I am now. Not family. Property. Elena touches a tissue to her eyes. She’s wearing one of my old cashmere sweaters. The cream one I left in my closet last Christmas. “I’m not trying to take anything from you,” Elena says softly. “I just want what’s fair. You had my life for twenty-six years. My parents. My home. My name. My protection.” She pauses. “I had nothing.” I stare at her. She has practiced every word. “I earned those shares,” I say. “I worked for three years before I got a single—” “Enough.” My father’s voice comes from the doorway behind me. He walks past without looking at me and stands next to my mother. “We’ve spoken to the consigliere. You’ll sign tomorrow morning. The trusts, the family shares, the downtown apartment—all of it goes to Elena.” “And if I don’t sign?” He finally looks at me. “Then we take the paternity test to the Families. Julian’s already given us a copy. Every Don in the city will hear what you did.” “It’s fake,” I say. “The test is fake. Julian admitted it.” My father’s face doesn’t change. “Do you have proof?” No. I don’t. I was standing in a dark hallway, alone. “That’s what I thought,” he says. Elena reaches across the desk and touches my hand. Her fingers are cold. “Riley, I know this is hard. But think of it as giving back what should’ve been mine. You can start fresh. You’re strong. Everyone says so.” I pull my hand away. I look at the three of them. My mother. My father. The stranger wearing my sweater. “What about Sophie?” I ask. My mother’s mouth tightens. “What about her?” “She’s your granddaughter.” “She’s from your marriage. Your problem. Not this family’s.” A child with no blood claim. No protection. That’s what they mean. I look at the desk one more time. My whole life is spread out there. Twenty-six years. A stack of papers they want me to hand over to a woman I met six months ago. “I’m not signing anything,” I say. I turn around and walk out. My father calls after me. “You have until Friday, Riley. After that, we take it to court ourselves.” I don’t answer. I pick Sophie up from the couch. She stirs, wraps her arms around my neck. “Mommy, are we going to Grandma’s house?” “We just left, baby.” “Oh.” She rests her head on my shoulder. “Did Grandma give me a birthday present?” My throat closes. “Not today. But I’ll get you something better. I promise.” I carry her to the car. The porch light turns off behind us. My mother did that. Before I’m even out of the driveway. I buckle Sophie in and sit behind the wheel. No husband. No parents. No money. No home. No protection. Julian froze the bank accounts. My parents are ready to strip me of everything. My best friend won’t even answer my calls because she’s scared of Julian. I have a quarter tank of gas, a sleeping child, and the clothes on my back. I open my contacts and scroll. Old friends. Former colleagues. People who owe me favors. Not a single one of them will go against Julian. Not one. My thumb stops on a name I haven’t called in seven years. Silas. The man Julian once called “the only Don in this city who could ruin me.” The man I turned down seven years ago because the Hale family seemed safer. I stare at the number. My finger hovers over the green button. In the backseat, Sophie coughs. Then again. A rough, rattling cough that doesn’t sound right. I reach back and touch her forehead. She’s burning up. I don’t think anymore. My thumb hovers over Silas’s name. Then Sophie coughs again, harder this time. I almost press call. Then I stop. I can still make it to a hospital. —

Sophie’s cough gets worse every minute. By the time I pull into a gas station, she’s wheezing. Her forehead is so hot I can feel it through my sleeve when she presses against me. “Mommy,” she whispers. “My chest hurts.” I unbuckle her and hold her in the front seat, rocking her. She’s limp. Too limp for a kid who was running around a party three hours ago. I need medicine. A doctor. A bed. I pull out my wallet and try my credit card at the gas station register. Declined. I try the second one. Declined. Julian. He froze everything. Every account. Every card. I have eleven dollars in cash. I get back in the car and drive toward St. Mary’s on Fifth. They treat kids first. But it’s forty minutes away. Sophie moans in the backseat. My phone rings. For one stupid second, I hope it’s Julian calling to say this was all a nightmare. It’s Megan. My best friend since freshman year. “Megan, thank God. I need help. Sophie’s sick and Julian cut me off. Can I bring her to your place? Just for tonight—” “Riley.” Her voice is tight. Careful. “I heard what happened at the party.” “It’s not true. The test is fake—” “I can’t get involved.” She cuts me off. “Julian’s family controls Brad’s business. If I take your side, Brad loses everything. I’m sorry. I really am.” She hangs up. I stare at the phone. Eight years of friendship. She was my bridesmaid. Sophie’s godmother. Gone in fifteen seconds. Sophie coughs again. Deep. Rough. My stomach drops. I drive. I don’t know where. Just away. At ten p.m., I pull into a motel outside Hale territory. The sign says forty-nine dollars a night. I have eleven. I carry Sophie to the front desk anyway. Maybe they’ll let me pay in the morning. Maybe I can leave my watch until morning. Julian gave it to me on our third anniversary. The clerk looks me over. Smeared makeup. Wrinkled dress. Sick kid in my arms. “Card or cash?” he says. “I can leave my watch. It’s worth—” “We don’t do that.” He doesn’t even let me finish. “Card or cash. No exceptions.” “Please. My daughter is sick. I just need a bed for a few hours.” He leans back in his chair. “Lady, this isn’t a shelter. Card or cash. Try Grover Street. They take walk-ins until midnight.” Sophie lifts her head. Her eyes are glassy. “Mommy, I’m cold.” The clerk glances at her, then back at me. Not a single thing changes in his expression. “Grover Street,” he repeats. “Left at the light.” I walk back to the car. Sophie is shaking now. Not just coughing—shaking. I wrap my blazer around her and blast the heat. A shelter. He told me to go to a shelter. Twelve hours ago, I was hosting a catered birthday party in a house with six bedrooms. I sit in the driver’s seat and cry. Just for thirty seconds. I give myself that. Then I pick up my phone. Don Kent Silas. Seven years ago, he told me something I never forgot. We were standing outside a restaurant, and he’d just told me he was in love with me. I turned him down for Julian. Safer. More respectable. Better family connections. Silas looked at me and said, “If you ever need help—protection, money, anything—you call me. I don’t care if it’s been ten years.” It’s been seven. I press the call button. Three rings. “Riley?” His voice is deep. Alert. He sounds wide awake. “Silas. I need help.” My voice cracks on the last word. Silas doesn’t answer for two seconds. “Tell me where you are.” “Highway 9. The Bluebell Motel. My daughter is sick and I have no money. Julian—” “I know what Don Hale did. I heard an hour ago.” His tone shifts. Harder. “Stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. I’m sending someone.” “Silas, I don’t—” “Riley.” His voice drops low. Steady. “Let me help you. Just this once. You can yell at me tomorrow.” I almost laugh. Almost. “Okay,” I whisper. Fourteen minutes later, a black SUV pulls into the lot. One of Silas’s men opens the back door. Inside: a blanket, water, and kids’ fever medicine. My hands shake as I give Sophie the medicine. She swallows it without fighting. She’s too tired to fight. Silas’s man takes us straight to a private Kent clinic. Not St. Mary’s. Doctors come running the moment we arrive. A nurse takes Sophie from my arms. “Don Kent called ahead. We’ve been expecting you.” “Please help her,” I say. They take her through double doors. A nurse leads me to a waiting room with leather chairs and fresh coffee. I sit down. My legs give out. My phone buzzes. A text from a number I don’t recognize. *She’ll be fine. I’m on my way. —Silas* I stare at the message until the words blur. Then another text comes through. This one from Julian. *Don’t use the kid to guilt-trip me. We’re divorcing in three days. Hope you found somewhere to sleep tonight.* I read it twice. Then I delete his number. —

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The prom after-party had descended into chaos by the time the spinning bottle stopped, pointing straight at Natalie. “Of course I have a boyfriend.” Her gaze slid toward Byron, the boy I had loved for ten years. The room fell silent. Then everyone erupted. I looked toward the corner, where Byron sat. He had told me countless times, “Celeste, on prom night, I’ll tell everyone that when I become Godfather, you’re going to be my wife.” But now he was slouched on that leather sofa, not even looking at me. Someone whistled. “Prove it.” Natalie smiled. She stood and walked straight to Byron. She cupped his face, bent down, and kissed him in front of everyone. He didn’t push her away. He reached up and deepened the kiss without so much as glancing at me. I dropped my gaze. My ten years were over. … Whistles. Screams. Applause. The noise hit me like a wall. “Oh my God! I knew it!” “When did this happen?” Natalie straightened, a pretty flush on her cheeks. “The day Byron became Godfather,” she said. “That was when he finally stopped hiding us.” Every eye in the room fixed on the new couple. No one saw me in the corner. No one noticed the breath leaving my lungs. I watched Byron lift a hand and casually wipe his mouth. “Come on, tell us. Who made the first move? We want details!” The crowd pressed in around them. Natalie gave Byron a coy little look. “It wasn’t anything dramatic. The day he became Godfather, I texted him to congratulate him…” She laid it all out: asking him to meet her by the lake, taking his hand, the way he hadn’t pulled away, how naturally it had all happened. Every detail drew louder teasing. Every detail sent another glance in my direction. “Wait, wasn’t there something between Byron and Celeste? They grew up together! Wasn’t Celeste supposed to be Byron’s future wife?” “Who told you that? Byron never even looked at her that way. He probably just treated her like a sidekick.” “Celeste? The tomboy nobody even sees as a girl? Why would Byron want her?” “Exactly. Who would want her? Byron is the Godfather. He has standards.” “You guys know about her seafood allergy, right? That ER thing? Byron made her pasta with shrimp paste and didn’t even remember she was allergic. Sent her straight to the hospital.” “Natalie wanted that full-ride scholarship back then. Celeste was her only real competition. You figure it out.” “That’s brutal. Natalie really went all in.” Natalie wore a look of perfect innocence, without a shred of remorse. Victory shone in her eyes. “Celeste, I’m truly sorry. I did mention the scholarship to Byron. He must have been so focused on helping me that your allergy slipped his mind. Please don’t blame him. If you have to blame someone, blame me.” Everyone could see how little Byron cared. Everyone except me. Or maybe I had known all along. Byron had started keeping his distance when I was fifteen. Sometimes I would see him on the street, and he would duck his head and walk past me like I was a stranger. Once, I caught up to him and asked what was wrong. “I’m afraid you’ll be targeted by rival families. I’m afraid you’ll be in danger,” he said. Back then, it had made me dizzy with hope. I thought it meant he loved me too. Then I saw him with Natalie, tucking a strand of windblown hair behind her ear, smiling like he had stepped into sunlight.

That day, I walked over to ask what was going on. His smile vanished, and his voice turned cold. “Need something?” I told myself he was only putting on an act, protecting his authority as Godfather in front of outsiders. Then he unfollowed me on Instagram and deleted our photos from his page. I told myself he was only cleaning up his social media so no one could identify his “weak spot.” Now I finally understood why that excuse had never felt convincing. He wasn’t afraid of rival families. He was afraid Natalie would see–afraid she would be upset. He had used the trust I placed in him to destroy my chance at a full-ride scholarship. He had handed me that plate of pasta so gently, his voice soft, his movements careful. This was the boy who had grown up beside me, ridden bikes with me, and written in my yearbook that we would love each other forever. And because of another girl, he had forgotten the one thing that could have killed me. That day, I used my EpiPen and missed the final scholarship interview. My eyes burned. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, sharp and metallic. I looked at Byron and forced the words out. “Is it true?” He sat beside Natalie, frowning. “Does it matter? It can’t be changed now.” His tone was flat, as if we were talking about what to have for dinner. It felt like a hand had closed around my throat. I couldn’t say a word. He didn’t care. Not about the eighteen years we had spent growing up side by side. Not about the future we could have had. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, clinging to the sharp sting to keep myself from falling apart. I stood up and ran out. Laughter followed me out, turning my escape into one final humiliation. “Celeste! Don’t go! You put up with him ignoring you before, so why act hurt now?” “Is she actually crying?” “Let her go home and cry! Byron was never with her. Why is she being so dramatic?” I stood for a long time on the dark suburban street while the night wind dried the tears on my face. My phone lit up with a message from Byron. [Where are you? Come back. Don’t make this ugly.] I stared at the words and became seven years old again, small for my age, always unwanted when the neighborhood kids played games. Byron had been the one to take my hand and tell me he would always stay with me. That boy had once been my shield against the whole world. Now he was telling me not to make things ugly. [It was just truth or dare. Come back. I’ll explain.] Just truth or dare. My hand trembled around the phone. The memories wouldn’t stop. When I was ten, I came down with a brutal cold. My father wasn’t home, and Byron climbed over our backyard fence to bring me cough syrup. The neighbor’s golden retriever chased him for three blocks. When I was twelve, I lost the spelling bee. He tossed his first-place trophy into the trash and told me losing didn’t matter; next time, he would help me win it back. When I was fifteen, a boy at homecoming made a filthy joke and reached for my skirt. Byron hit him so hard the boy ended up badly hurt. Byron needed three stitches above his own brow, but he grinned at me and said it didn’t hurt at all. Had he changed? Or had he always been like this, and I had refused to see it? Had I been lying to myself all along? I decided to believe him one last time. I clenched my teeth, turned around, and ran back. Full of hope, I pushed open the door. A bucket of ice water came crashing down from above the doorframe, soaking my hair, blurring my vision, and plastering my T-shirt and jeans to my skin until every curve of my body showed. I stood there shaking while the crowd burst into laughter and the boys looked me up and down with filthy eyes. “Holy shit! She actually came back!” “Natalie, how did you know she would come back?” Natalie only smiled, her eyes fixed on Byron’s neck. “Byron, a bet is a bet. Give me the necklace. Now.” Natalie leaned into Byron, her fingers sliding over his neck before tracing lazy, suggestive circles on his chest.

Natalie laughed. “Your favorite fallback girl. One call, and she comes running.” Byron’s gaze skimmed over me. Then he lifted a hand and unclasped the silver chain around his neck. Half an antique compass pendant hung from it. I wore the other half. I had loved that pendant the moment I saw it. Byron had no money then, so he saved every dollar he earned boxing until he could buy it for me. “Our lucky charm,” he said. From then on, we each wore one half and never took them off, not even in the shower. I had imagined we would wear them until our wedding day, when we would finally fit the two halves together. Now he was handing his half to Natalie. She held it up to the light, her smile bright and vicious. “So pretty. It’s mine now. And so are you.” I wiped ice water from my eyes and stared at Byron. He glanced at me, and the sneer on his face disappeared. “What? Do I need your permission to give away something that’s mine? I bought it.” No explanation. No apology. Just a bucket of ice water, a room full of malice, and his indifference as he ground our vows under his heel. He was no longer the boy who would fight the whole world for me. “Let’s go. I booked a room downtown. Karaoke next! Keep the party going!” The crowd surged toward the door. As Natalie passed me, she shoved me. I pitched forward and fell, my knees slamming into the floor. Pain shot through both knees. She looked back with a sweet, innocent smile. “Oops. Celeste, did you trip?” Then she hooked her arm through Byron’s and walked out with a sway of her hips. He let her pull him along. As he passed me, he lowered his head for one brief glance. It was so brief I couldn’t tell what was in it. Then he looked away. And left with her. I knelt on the cold floor while blood from my knees mixed with the ice water dripping from my hair. Drip. Drip. Barely audible. Somehow unbearable. I could not go home. If Dad saw me like this, his heart would break. I didn’t have much cash on me. I had spent almost all of it on the cufflinks Byron liked best, so the only place I could afford was a cheap motel. I stood under the hot shower for a long time, waiting for my body to remember how to feel. When I came out, my phone screen was lit. Every notification was from Byron. [Your dad called. Asked when you’re coming home.] [I said you were with me. Go back early.] [Where are you? Are you safe?] Then came a FaceTime request. I hesitated, then answered. His face filled the screen, still unfairly handsome. When he saw the room behind me, he frowned. “You’re in a motel? Which one?” “None of your business.” Silence. Then his voice hardened into a command. “Stay there. Don’t move. I don’t want to deal with your dad.” Back then, my father had believed Byron loved me too. Quietly, he had given Byron enough help to secure his position as Godfather. Now my father was just someone he had to deal with. “Byron.” I looked straight into his eyes through the screen and asked one last time, “The compass pendant. Are you really giving it to her?” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “You said it was ours. You said we would put the halves together on our wedding day.” Silence. “You gave it to Natalie. So what am I?” He swallowed. “It’s just a cheap piece of metal.” I laughed. “Right. Cheap. Worthless. Just like me.” “Celeste…” He frowned, and I hung up. Half an hour later, someone knocked on the door. It was a delivery driver. Inside the bag were a tube of antibiotic ointment for scrapes and a warm box of mac and cheese. I sat on the edge of the motel bed while my phone kept buzzing. In the class Instagram group chat, someone had posted a video. Natalie and Byron were singing at the party. Natalie leaned on his shoulder, drinking. Together, they sang a Taylor Swift love song. The comments came pouring in. “Oh my God, the way Byron looks at her. I’m dying.” “They are perfect together! Kiss already!”

In the video, Byron was smiling at Natalie with pure adoration. He had never looked at me that way. Not once in eighteen years. The video froze at the moment Natalie leaned close to him, her lips parted. Then Natalie updated Instagram. She posted two photos: one of her and Byron at the party, and another of her full-ride award certificate. Caption: The perfect ending. A full ride. And someone who loves me. The comments from mutual friends stung. [So jealous! Future wife of the Godfather!!] She replied with a heart emoji. [Someone is definitely losing her mind over this!] [That tomboy. Yeah, the one hiding behind her screen and stalking this!] I locked my phone and fell back onto the cheap mattress. Water stains blotched the ceiling, and the fluorescent light stabbed at my eyes. I thought of all the years I had worked myself to the bone for that scholarship. I had given up cheer tryouts, studied until three in the morning, sacrificed every weekend, and filled more than a dozen binders with review notes. I had been one step away from that dream. With the scholarship, I could have opened the bakery I wanted in Boston someday. He didn’t know that every plan I had made for after graduation led to Boston, the place he wanted to go. He had said he loved the East Coast. Loved the snow in Boston. And now? I sat up, picked up my phone, and accepted UC San Diego’s offer. California. The place Byron would never go. He hated summer. Said he could not stand the California sun. Back then, my father had urged me to leave myself a way out, so I had applied to a college in a place I thought I would never set foot in for the rest of my life. But suddenly, the thought of palm trees and West Coast sunshine sounded damn good. California. The farther from him, the better. When the green acceptance banner appeared, I turned off my phone and dumped the cold mac and cheese into the trash. He knew I hated cream. The smell made me sick, and he had still bought it for me. He didn’t remember details like that. Just as he had known I was waiting for him and still never once walked toward me. The next day, I planned to go back to school and pack up my things. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, every glance that landed on me was loaded with contempt. “Ran off to a motel to hook up on prom night. Nasty.” “Who?” “Who else? That tomboy. Someone got a video.” I stopped walking. Natalie stood a few yards away, surrounded by cheerleaders. She was holding up an iPhone, playing a video. The video showed the motel hallway from the night before: me, soaked through, holding a room key. “Desperate to get laid, huh?” Natalie covered her mouth and laughed, each word dipped in poison. Whispers spread around me. Stares cut into my skin. I walked over and stopped in front of her. “Delete it.” “Why should I?” She tilted her head, all innocence. “You went to that dump of a motel all by yourself. That’s not my fault.” “You’re spreading rumors.” “Am I?” She turned to Byron. “Byron. Tell everyone. Did she go there to meet some guy?” Byron stood to the side. He looked at the video on her phone, then at me. “Byron.” My voice shook. “Tell her. Tell her why I was there last night.” He knew exactly what had happened. Every single thing. Even if he no longer cared about me. Even if eighteen years meant nothing. At the very least, he could tell the truth. Right? He looked me in the eye, his voice casual. “If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear, right?” I thought I had misheard him. “What?” “If you didn’t do anything wrong, what are you scared of?”

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I am the youngest lead surgeon for aortic dissection in the country. A lot of people say these hands of mine can snatch lives right back from death. But four years ago, I couldn’t snatch back my own daughter. That day, my assistant Mia placed an emergency consultation form in front of me. One glance at the family member’s name and my fingertips went rigid. The chart slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. Adrian Blackwood. That name—I will never forget it as long as I live. Seven years ago, I was still Clara White. Back then I was pregnant and unmarried when I married the heir to the most powerful mafia family on the East Coast. Everyone said I was a woman chosen by fate. Only I knew it was the beginning of my nightmare. The year Lily turned three, Adrian took her to the countryside estate behind my back. For seven straight days I searched for her like a woman gone mad. I later found out he’d taken my daughter only to keep Sophia Hayes’s son Noah company. Sophia, the woman he’d grown up with. The day I found Lily, her congenital heart condition had flared. Her lips were blue-violet, her little body curled on the lawn, crying out for Daddy. But Adrian scooped up the boy who’d only scraped his knee, got in the car, and never once looked back. My daughter died that day. Mia bent down, picked up the consultation form, and asked me carefully: “Dr. Hart, are you taking this surgery?” I pushed the form back to her. My voice was cold, without a single ripple of inflection. “Initiate resuscitation. Follow standard consultation protocol.” “As for the lead surgeon, assign someone else.” “I’m recusing myself.” Mia froze completely. She’d been with me for years. No matter how dangerous the aortic dissection, no matter how high-risk the neonatal resuscitation, no matter how hopeless the case no one else dared touch, she had never seen me back down. She clutched the consultation form, her voice barely above a whisper: “Dr. Hart, this child is only seven years old.” My fingers faltered, just slightly. Seven. If Lily were still alive, she would have been seven this year. But she was frozen forever at three. I looked up at Mia. “When have I ever refused an emergency case?” “Resuscitation proceeds as normal. Consultation proceeds as normal. The treatment plan stays the same.” “Just assign a different lead surgeon.” Mia had no answer for that. Then, suddenly, a commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Someone was crying. Someone was arguing. Rapid footsteps hammered closer and closer. Mia’s face changed. “Dr. Hart, the family is forcing their way in.” I didn’t move. Through the half-open door, I heard a man’s voice—low, commanding, suffocating. “I don’t care what protocols your hospital has.” “I want the best doctor. Now.” That voice was like a rusted blade, ripping open a wound I thought had scarred over long ago. Adrian Blackwood. Four years, and he hadn’t changed a bit. Still accustomed to controlling everything. Still accustomed to ordering everyone around. Still accustomed to grinding rules beneath his heel with sheer power. Mia looked at me, caught between a rock and a hard place. “The family insists they won’t feel reassured until they’ve seen you. You have the highest success rate for aortic dissection surgery in the entire hospital.” I looked away. My tone left no room for negotiation. “Find another doctor.” “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Mia didn’t dare push further. She silently retreated to the side. I leaned against the wall, my fingernails slowly digging into my palms. Four years ago, on the third day of Lily’s disappearance, Adrian had been just as “calm”. He’d stood before me in a crisp suit, his expression indifferent. “They’ll find her. I’ve already sent people.” “You don’t need to panic like this.” At the time, I was clutching Lily’s little blanket, having cried until my voice gave out entirely. He stood right beside me and didn’t even extend a hand. I found out later that Lily hadn’t wandered off at all. He had taken her. Sophia had said Noah had been in a terrible mood lately, and the only time he’d settle down was when Lily was with him. So Adrian took my daughter to the countryside estate. Without asking me. Without telling me. By the time I got to the estate that day, Lily had been off her medication for seven straight days. She was crouched on the lawn, her small face turning purple, both hands clutching her chest, crying: “Mommy, it hurts.” I begged Adrian like a madwoman to drive her to the hospital. His car was right there at the gate. But Sophia screamed that Noah had fallen. So Adrian picked up the boy who’d only scraped his knee, got in the car, and never once looked back. I knelt on the gravel road, holding Lily, begging him. “Adrian, please, save Lily first.” “She really can’t hold on.” The sound of that car door slamming shut. I’ve remembered it for four years. After that, I divorced him. I left the Blackwood family. I changed my name. I went back to the hospital. I started from the bottom as the most junior surgeon, practically living inside the operating room. Cases no one else dared take, I took them. Dissection surgeries no one else would touch, I did them. Again and again I pulled patients back from the edge of death, and again and again I dragged myself out of the abyss. Until today, everyone knows that Dr. Evelyn Hart’s hands can snatch a life back before the aorta ruptures. But Adrian doesn’t know that. All he knows is that his son needs me now. And I am his only hope.

The door was thrown open while I was reviewing imaging for my next surgery. A group of people stormed down the cardiothoracic center hallway. The man at the front had bloodshot eyes, a loosened tie, and an overcoat carrying the chill of the small hours. Behind him trailed four or five bodyguards in black. Hospital security had been trying to stop him the whole way, but the bodyguards brushed them aside with ease. The head of security was drenched in sweat. “Sir, this is a medical area. You can’t barge in like this. You’ll interfere with the doctors’ work.” Adrian didn’t even glance at him. His gaze landed on the consultation form in Mia’s hands, and he closed the distance in long strides. “Where is Dr. Hart?” “Get my son’s surgeon out here. Now.” “Money is no object.” “Whatever you want—name the figure.” Mia took half a step back under the force of his presence and instinctively glanced in my direction. I stood at the far end of the corridor beside a pillar, most of my body hidden in shadow. From there, I could see Adrian’s profile clearly. Four years on, he was colder than before—more like a man who had truly assumed control of the Blackwood family. But that air of superiority hadn’t changed one bit. He didn’t see me. Or rather, it would never cross his mind that the woman he had personally driven to the brink could be standing here again—the one person he had no choice but to beg. His voice was ice. “The moment Dr. Hart agrees to operate, I’ll wire twenty million dollars.” “If you waste a single second, St. Catherine’s cannot afford the consequences.” “Don’t talk to me about rules.” He swept his gaze over everyone, eyes like blades. “Rules are for people without power.” The security chief tried once more to explain. Adrian raised a hand and flicked it. The bodyguards immediately blocked the man off. “I’ve done my research on this hospital.” “The best aortic dissection surgeon in the country is right here.” “You have the capability to treat him, yet you deliberately stall.” “That’s called disregard for human life.” Disregard for human life. Those words falling from his mouth, so light—like an accusation that cost him nothing at all. I stood in the shadows and nearly laughed out loud. The day Lily’s lips went from blue-violet to ashen gray, he carried another woman’s child away. Did those four words ever cross his mind then? Adrian glanced at his watch. “One final hour.” “If Dr. Hart does not appear within one hour, I will make everyone in this hospital pay—from the board of directors down to the last cardiothoracic surgeon.” The corridor fell deathly silent. Mia looked at me, white-faced. Adrian’s back was to me. He never turned around. His son’s life was a life. My daughter’s, apparently, was not. That car door slamming shut four years ago—he’d probably forgotten all about it. Or maybe he never cared to begin with. But the life he owes—someone has to collect.

Dean Morrison was summoned by the head nurse almost immediately. His forehead was slick with sweat, but he forced himself to speak: “Mr. Blackwood, this is a hospital. Emergency treatment has to follow protocol. As for Dr. Hart—” “I don’t care about protocol.” Adrian cut him off. “I want the person.” “You said the most capable surgeon is Dr. Hart. Then get her here.” Morrison tried to continue, but the sharp click of heels echoed from the other end of the corridor. “Adrian!” Sophia practically threw herself at him. Her face was ashen, her eyes rimmed red, and she seized his arm. “What’s happening? Is Dr. Hart here yet?” “Noah can’t wait any longer!” Her voice trembled, yet it still carried that same entitled shrillness. “He’s only seven! You’re going to make him lie in there waiting for what?” “For you people to hold your meetings and plod through your procedures?” Adrian put an arm around her and murmured: “I’m handling it.” “Soon.” Sophia couldn’t calm down. She turned on Morrison. “There’s a child in there, not some case file for you to drag your feet over!” “I want an expert who can actually save him, not some random body you’ve trotted out to placate me!” A few cardiothoracic surgeons finally spotted me in the corner, their voices dropping one after another. “Dr. Hart, just go ahead and see them.” “The child has acute aortic dissection. You’re the only one in this hospital who has the best chance.” “If this drags on any longer, none of us can bear the responsibility.” I leaned against the pillar and didn’t move. Just then, Adrian’s gaze swept in my direction. He looked at me once, then frowned—clearly impatient. “What’s this supposed to mean?” He turned to Morrison. “I’m looking for Dr. Hart. Why are you bringing me some young doctor?” Morrison answered immediately: “Mr. Blackwood, she is Dr. Evelyn Hart.” “Her?” Sophia looked me over too. Her eyes raked me up and down, full of skepticism and displeasure. “Is this some kind of joke?” “My son is in critical condition, and you’re putting a woman this young at the operating table?” The deputy chief steeled himself to explain: “Mrs. Blackwood, Dr. Hart is our strongest specialist in this area. Her success rate—” “What I want is someone who can save his life.” Sophia cut him off, her face cold. “Not your pretty talk.” “If something goes wrong, who takes responsibility? You? Or her?” I stood there, still saying nothing. The mask covered most of my face. After all these years, it wasn’t strange they didn’t recognize me at first glance. Besides, at this moment their eyes were fixed on Noah in the operating room—they weren’t going to look closely enough to figure out who I was. Adrian clearly didn’t buy it either. His expression grew even darker. “I’ve done my research.” “The best aortic dissection surgeon at St. Catherine’s is Dr. Hart.” He stared at the dean. “I want her. Not whoever you’re pushing out to placate me.” Sophia clenched her fingers, her breathing ragged, but she still managed that cutting edge. “My son can’t afford to wait.” “You’d better not gamble with his life.” The words had barely left her mouth when the corridor PA system crackled to life. “Cardiothoracic OR requesting backup—aortic dissection patient’s blood pressure continues to drop, vitals unstable. All relevant physicians report immediately.” This time, the hallway went completely quiet. Every pair of eyes landed on me. Morrison’s voice was tight: “Mr. Blackwood, the Dr. Hart you’re looking for—it’s her.” Adrian stared at me. He clearly hadn’t expected that the lead surgeon he’d mobilized every connection to find would be me. Sophia froze for a moment, then frowned. “Dean, are you certain there’s no mistake?” “My son’s life is not a game.” Morrison rushed to explain: “Dr. Hart may be young, but she has the highest success rate for this type of surgery in the entire hospital.” “Given the situation, she’s the one with the best chance.” Sophia’s face was grim, but she finally held her tongue. Adrian looked at me, his tone cold and hard. “Since it’s you, then get in there and operate.” “Everything else can wait until the child is saved.” I looked up at him. “So your son’s life is the only one that matters? Other people’s dignity and careers—those don’t count?” Adrian’s eyes darkened. The next second, he pulled out his phone. “The State Medical Board?” “I’d like to file a complaint against the cardiothoracic department at St. Catherine’s.” “A critically ill child can be treated, yet they refuse to operate. Disregard for human life.” “Send investigators immediately.” The line went dead. The air in the corridor snapped taut. Within minutes, calls flooded in from hospital administration and risk management. Morrison hung up and his face had gone white. “They’re demanding a full incident report immediately.” “The cardiothoracic emergency corridor is being placed under administrative oversight.” “All physicians involved in the consultation are to have their clinical privileges suspended pending investigation.” Several doctors panicked at once. Morrison hurried over to me, his voice nearly pleading. “Dr. Hart, please just take this case.” “This department didn’t get to where it is overnight. If this blows up, everyone is finished.” The deputy chief whispered: “Once a suspension of clinical privileges hits the record, who’s ever going to trust us at the table again?” “Please. Just help us out.” Adrian pocketed his phone and looked at me, still imperious. “Ready to operate now?” “Do it, and I withdraw the complaint immediately.” “Money, compensation, conditions—name them.” He paused, his voice dropping lower. “But if you keep stalling, the consequences of this entire department being suspended and investigated today—that falls on you.” Sophia finally couldn’t hold back, staring at me with reddened eyes. “Everyone is saying only you can do this, and you’re still standing here doing nothing. What exactly do you want?” “Do you need every single person here to grovel before you’ll save my son?” “You know perfectly well no one can replace you!” The corridor was terrifyingly still. Adrian stepped closer, his voice so low it scraped like frost. “I’ll say this one last time.” “You will take this surgery.” I looked at him. “Besides threats, is there anything else you know how to do?” That sentence ignited him completely. Sophia snapped too, the words tearing out of her: “If it were your child lying in there, could you really stand here this unmoved?” Every eye was on me. I looked at this man who would stop at nothing, and the irony hit me like a wave. Four years ago, he had stood before me exactly like this. Only back then, the ones he was protecting were Sophia and her child. And the one he trampled underfoot was my daughter’s life. I raised my eyes to Sophia, my voice so quiet it was almost ice. “As a matter of fact, I did have a child once.” I stared at them both and spoke, word by word: “And the person who watched her die and did nothing is standing right beside you.”

The moment my words fell, the corridor went so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Adrian’s eyes locked onto me, and something in them finally changed. It wasn’t simple anger. It was more like suspicion being pried open by force—carrying with it a dawning, belated dread. That line— I did have a child once —had finally given him something to grasp amid the chaos. He was beginning to overlap the doctor named Hart standing in front of him with the woman from his memory, the one who should have vanished long ago. Piece by piece, the images were converging. His voice sank. “What did you mean by that?” I didn’t answer. He stared at me, his brow knotting tighter and tighter. “Do you know me?” He took a step forward, his voice colder still. “Or are you telling me you came here today because of me?” Sophia sensed something was wrong, too. Her eyes were still red, but her fingers clenched instinctively. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “Noah is still in there. Who are you trying to scare with this nonsense?” I looked at her. My expression didn’t shift. Sophia, seeing me stay silent, only grew more frantic. “Everyone knows you’re the only one who can do this surgery.” “You clearly can save him, but you’d rather stand here and waste time.” “You just want to force us to our knees, don’t you?” Adrian’s gaze never left my face—as though he were trying to see through the mask, to make something out. After a long moment, he could no longer suppress that rising unease. His voice was low and strained. “Who… are you?” I looked at him, and suddenly I found it laughable. So after all these years, he could barely even recognize me. He only ever remembered the people he chose to remember. As for those he’d discarded, betrayed, ground into the dirt—why would they be worth keeping in mind? Sophia stared at me. “Noah is only seven. He can’t hold on much longer!” I spoke, my tone faint: “Seven.” “What a coincidence.” “If my daughter hadn’t died, she’d be seven this year too.” Sophia went still. I looked at her. Her expression froze. The panic in her eyes was almost impossible to hide. Adrian seemed to finally remember something. His gaze on me sharpened, and then turned complicated. I didn’t continue looking at them. I simply said, evenly: “Withdraw the complaint.” “Restore everyone’s clinical privileges.” “Do that, and then we can discuss what comes next.” Adrian stared at me, his eyes dark. “Why should I?” “Because right now, I’m the only one with the best chance of saving him.” I met his gaze. “You don’t have another option.” He stared at me for several seconds. In the end, he pulled out his phone and made the call. “It’s me.” “The complaint I just filed—withdraw it.” Ten minutes later, Morrison received the news. Complaint withdrawn. All physicians’ clinical privileges restored. No further action. Adrian put his phone away. His voice was pressed very low. “Now, can you go in?” I looked at him, my tone so flat there wasn’t a single ripple in it. “What I agreed to was giving you a chance to talk.” “Not letting you withdraw a complaint and then stand here giving me orders again.” Adrian’s face went dark. “You played me?” “Played you?” I tugged the corner of my mouth. “Compared to what you’ve done, this is nothing.” His fury ignited almost instantly, his hand already reaching for his phone. “I can make that call again anytime and have your entire department suspended.” “Go ahead.” I looked at him calmly. “But let me remind you—it’s not that this surgery can’t be done by someone else.” “It’s that the moment you switch surgeons, the success rate drops to a number you wouldn’t dare bet on.” That sentence nailed him where he stood. His chest heaved violently, his finger pressed against the phone, but he didn’t move again. Because he knew I was telling the truth. Just then, a nurse came sprinting down the corridor, her voice shaking. “Dr. Hart, the patient’s blood pressure is still falling—it’s dropped below fifty!” “If we don’t get on the table now, it’ll truly be too late!” Sophia’s legs buckled, her face white as paper. This time, she was genuinely terrified. She stared at me, tears finally falling, but her voice still held a last sliver of its edge. “What do you want?” “Do you actually want to watch my child die?” Adrian’s eyes locked on me. It was as though he had finally crushed every last scrap of pride. “Name your terms.” “Money. Status. Resources.” “Whatever you say, I’ll agree to it.” I said, coldly: “I don’t want any of that.” His brow knotted even tighter. “Then what grudge do you have against us?” I didn’t answer. The alarm from the operating room suddenly shrieked again. Shrill, urgent, shredding everyone’s nerves. The nurse’s voice was nearly breaking: “Blood pressure is still dropping!” “Dr. Hart, if this goes on any longer, the child will die on the table!” Sophia collapsed into sobs. And in Adrian’s eyes, something appeared that had never been there before. Not anger. Not a threat. Fear. He was finally feeling it—the same desperation I had felt four years ago, kneeling on that gravel road, clutching Lily, begging him. I looked at him and asked, softly: “Adrian, do you know what it feels like to watch your child die right in front of you?” His pupils contracted sharply.

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1 Kyle Norvell was the golden heir of the billionaire elite. But at the absolute height of his youth, tragedy struck. His father and brother were killed in a devastating car crash, leaving the family fortune in the hands of greedy relatives. To make matters worse, a racing accident shortly after cost him his sight, plunging him into darkness. For three years, I disguised myself as his childhood sweetheart, Isabella, serving as his private caregiver and nursing him with utmost devotion. Finally, he was only one surgery away from reclaiming his sight. But on the night before our flight to Switzerland, Kyle threw my suitcase out of the penthouse window, his voice laced with freezing, mocking contempt. “Did you honestly think a cheap impostor like you, a gold-digging parasite, had the right to stand by my side?” I spent the next three years in a state of quiet depression before finally pulling myself together to work at a private clinic. But today, the director informed me that Kyle had just bought the entire hospital. … The first time I met Kyle, I had no idea he was my assigned patient. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse were bathed in the golden glow of a late autumn sunset. He stood with his back to me, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that seemed to catch the dying light. When he turned around, his sharp, aristocratic features and athletic frame bore the unmistakable signs of a man accustomed to luxury and rigorous discipline. He carried himself with an effortless, old-money grace that could easily make any young girl lose her mind. Everything about him was flawless, yet something felt slightly off. My gaze drifted down to his hand, which was casually resting on a black Chrome Hearts cane. It wasn’t a fashion accessory. Kyle was entirely blind. His mother, Victoria, had gone to immense lengths to find me. I was a top-tier nursing graduate who happened to share a ninety-percent match with Isabella in terms of height, voice, and facial bone structure. I was the perfect double. “Have you made up your decision?” Victoria asked. The massive pigeon-blood ruby at her throat glowed brilliantly, though it couldn’t hide the deep exhaustion etched into her face. “I am hiring you to be Kyle’s private nurse, and his fiancée. You will perform every single duty expected of a future wife.” “I understand, Mrs. Norvell,” I replied quietly. “I will do it, as long as the compensation is sufficient.” “Very well. You are a sensible girl. My assistant will wire the advance to your account immediately.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “There are three rules. If you expose your true identity, you leave immediately. You must do everything in your power to help him recover. And most importantly, you must keep him happy.” “Yes, ma’am.” After leaving the Norvell estate, the final portion of my payment was wired to my account. With both money and time finally on my side, I could finally afford the best medical care for my sick mother. I had been carrying the burden of her illness since high school, and though I thought I was used to the stress, my body began to protest. Insomnia became my nightly companion, and my mind was constantly flooded with memories of Kyle. In an attempt to quiet my thoughts, I took up calligraphy, but my notebook quickly became filled with his name, written over and over again. My mother eventually noticed my distress and practically forced me to see a doctor. The therapist told me my heart was bruised, and that I needed to force myself back into the world. Madelyn, a senior colleague who was two years ahead of me in university, worked as the deputy director at an exclusive, high-end convalescent home. Knowing I was unemployed, she warmly invited me to join her staff. The facility was fully licensed, equipped with state-of-the-art medical technology, and situated in a quiet, wealthy suburb. It was the perfect place to heal. The work demanded absolute professionalism and patience, leaving very little room for worldly distractions. I genuinely believed that in this quiet sanctuary, I could finally put the memory of Kyle behind me. Until one quiet morning, when I opened my phone to find the news dominated by a single headline: Kyle Norvell Takes Over Norvell Group, Announces Engagement to Heiress Isabella. He was back. For three years, I had searched for any scrap of news about him, but he had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth. I had no idea if his surgery in Switzerland had been successful, or how he was coping. He had cut off any possible way for me to reach him. The media outlets were having a field day, describing Kyle and Isabella as a match made in heaven, a devoted couple who had stayed by each other’s side through the darkest of times. I stared at the photographs of them. They truly looked beautiful together, a perfect portrait of high-society royalty. “Did you honestly think a cheap impostor like you, a gold-digging parasite, had the right to stand by my side?” Kyle’s cruel, mocking voice echoed in my mind, making my chest ache. “Director Giselle! Emergency in the VIP suite! The elder Mr. Norvell has collapsed!” The frantic voice of a young nurse over the radio shattered my thoughts. I sprinted toward the VIP wing immediately. The patient was over ninety years old, suffering from advanced dementia and a fragile heart. A collapse at his age was incredibly dangerous. “Start CPR!” I ordered, rushing into the room. “Connect the AED!” We worked feverishly until the heart monitor finally stabilized into a steady, reassuring rhythm. I leaned down, speaking softly near his ear. “Sir, can you hear my voice?” His eyes fluttered open, and he offered a weak, whispered response. Only then did the tension leave my shoulders. We had acted just in time. Once the elderly gentleman drifted into a peaceful sleep, I gave the nursing staff detailed instructions and turned to go back to my office to change my clothes. But as I pulled off my medical coat and turned toward the door, a tall, imposing figure stepped into the room. Kyle. My breath caught in my throat. I forced myself to stay calm, my mind racing. What was he doing here? The elder Mr. Norvell shared his last name, so perhaps he was a relative. Fortunately, Kyle had been blind when we were together. He had no idea what I looked like. As long as I treated him like any other patient’s family member, I would be safe. I took a slow, deliberate step toward the exit, my eyes fixed on the floor to avoid any eye contact that might give me away. But just as our shoulders brushed, his deep, familiar voice echoed through the quiet room. “Thank you, Giselle.” He paused, a subtle, dangerous edge in his tone. “Or should I say, Director Giselle?” “Director Giselle, is there something on my face?” Kyle noticed my stunned silence, a look of mild amusement playing on his lips. “No… nothing at all, Mr. Norvell,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “You just have very beautiful eyes.” I knew that if I stayed a second longer, my tears would betray me. I offered a quick, formal nod and practically fled the room. That night, my long-lost insomnia returned with a vengeance. I remembered the very first time I had held Kyle’s hand. I had felt the thick, jagged scar on his wrist, and his entire body had stiffened under my touch. He hated showing his vulnerability, so from that day on, I avoided his wrist entirely, sliding my hand down to lock our fingers together instead. I was young back then, completely inexperienced in love, but I gave him everything I had. I helped him through his physical therapy, managed his meals, and kept him company during long walks. One evening, as I was tucking him into bed, he suddenly caught my hand. “What is your name?” he had asked softly. The name “Giselle” almost slipped past my lips, but my professional training kicked in just in time. “What are you talking about, Kyle? It’s me, Isabella. Your fiancée.” Kyle’s smile had widened. “Right. But Isabella, what do your friends call you?” “Elle,” I lied. My family always called me Elle, and since it sounded so similar to Isabella’s nickname, Belle, I knew I would easily react to it. “Elle,” Kyle murmured, his eyes searching the darkness. “Don’t worry about the scar on my wrist. It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s my badge of honor from fighting off the wolves.” I had wondered how a blind man could perceive my silent anxiety so accurately. It was only much later that I learned the truth. Before losing his sight, Kyle had survived multiple attempts on his life. That scar was the result of a failed attempt to stage his suicide while he was unconscious. In the days that followed, I treated him normally, but when I tried to support him by his wrist again, he gently pushed my hand down, locking his fingers with mine in a warm, breathless grip. The next morning, Madelyn called me into her office to inform me that the elder Mr. Norvell was being discharged to recover at his private estate, and he had personally requested me as his exclusive caregiver. Madelyn looked incredibly apologetic. “Giselle, I hired you to be our director of nursing, so normally I would have declined this request immediately.” “But you know who Kyle Norvell is, right? He is the CEO of the Norvell Group. His grandfather is our VIP patient, and their conglomerate just became our primary shareholder. We desperately need their funding to survive the winter. I am in a very tight spot here…” Kyle’s name felt like a physical blow. Why was he demanding my presence? “I suppose your exceptional performance during the emergency yesterday caught his attention,” Madelyn sighed. “His family noticed how skilled you are.” “I understand, Madelyn,” I said, offering her a reassuring smile. “I’ll take the job. Don’t worry about it.” Madelyn was the one who had pulled me out of my dark depression, and I couldn’t abandon her now. That very afternoon, a luxury vehicle arrived to pick me up. I had expected a private chauffeur, but when the door of the Rolls-Royce Cullinan opened, Kyle was sitting in the back seat. The spacious interior felt suffocatingly small as we rode in silence. “How long have you been working at the clinic, Director Giselle?” Kyle finally broke the quiet. “About six months, Mr. Norvell. You can just call me Giselle.” “And where did you work before that?” “I was an intern at the general hospital downtown.” “Which department?” “Neurology.” “Ah. I know the head of neurology there, Dr. Reynolds. We met at a medical investment summit. How is he doing? Still busy?” “Yes, very busy,” I lied, keeping my answers as brief as possible. Kyle turned his bright, newly restored eyes toward me, his gaze incredibly focused. “I have a question, Giselle.” “When we first met yesterday, how did you know my last was Norvell?” I froze, my mind scrambling for a plausible excuse. “I… I read the patient’s family file before entering the room.” Before he could press further, his phone rang, saving me from another interrogation. “Belle,” Kyle answered, his voice instantly dropping into a low, affectionate register. “Grandfather is returning home today, so I have to manage the arrangements. Yes, I have a meeting at ten, so don’t wait up for me.” Hearing his gentle tone brought back a flood of memories. He had once spoken to me with that exact same tenderness. But of course, it had all been for the character I was playing. The real Isabella belonged to a powerful family that had been allied with the Norvells for generations. She had been busy with her studies abroad, which was why Victoria had needed an identical substitute to keep Kyle stable during his darkest hours. The car pulled into the private garage of a massive waterfront estate. This was a exclusive luxury villa by the bay, not the old Norvell manor where I had previously worked. Since this was his grandfather’s retirement home, I assumed Kyle wouldn’t visit often. Due to his advanced dementia, the elderly Mr. Norvell rarely spoke, though he occasionally surprised me with sudden bursts of clarity. In his mind, he was still a young, powerful tycoon, and he would frequently order me around as if I were his executive assistant. It took him nearly a month to remember my name, and he eventually settled on treating me like his personal secretary. Kyle visited only a handful of times, always in a rush, leaving quickly to attend various corporate events. Lately, the Norvell Group’s acquisition of a major tech firm had been dominating the financial news, with rumors suggesting Isabella’s family had played a significant role in securing the deal. Kyle was ascending to new heights, his position as CEO more secure than ever. His ambition and dreams were finally becoming reality. He had returned to his place as the darling of the elite, the trauma of his temporary blindness leaving no visible mark on him. If anything, the trial had only made him stronger. One afternoon, I was staring at the news on my phone when I heard footsteps behind me. “What has captured your attention so completely, Giselle?” I quickly locked my screen, turning to find Kyle standing right in front of me. “Nothing, Mr. Norvell. I was just about to retrieve your grandfather’s medication.” He didn’t budge, blocking my path. “I’ve noticed that you always seem to be avoiding me, Giselle.” “You’re mistaken, sir. Managing your grandfather’s care keeps me quite busy.” Kyle didn’t press the matter. He turned to greet a distinguished-looking gentleman who had just entered the villa, and the two of them walked into the grandfather’s study. A few minutes later, the elder Mr. Norvell called out, “Giselle, bring some refreshments for our guests, please.” I sliced some fresh melon and prepared a pot of robust black tea for the grandfather. Knowing Kyle never drank black tea, I automatically prepared a separate cup of delicate silver needle white tea for him. Habit has a dangerous way of exposing the truth. When I brought the tray into the study, I placed the fruit forks down, but out of sheer muscle memory, I picked up one fork and placed it directly into Kyle’s open palm. It was a small, intimate gesture we had repeated thousands of times during his blindness. The three men in the room went dead silent. Kyle stared at the cup of white tea, then looked down at the fork in his hand, his eyes darkening. “Thank you, Giselle. But as you can see, I can feed myself now.” After the guest departed, I finished my shift, grabbed a cold can of beer, and walked out onto the terrace to feel the evening breeze. Alcohol was a wonderful escape. The very first time I had ever tasted alcohol was when Kyle handed me a glass of champagne. It had been his first public appearance at a high-society gala after losing his sight. The crowd had been cruel, eager to watch a fallen king struggle. People who had once begged for his attention were whispering mocking comments just loud enough for him to hear. Ignoring the judgmental glares of the crowd, I had grabbed his hand and led him out of the suffocating ballroom, pulling him onto a quiet, spacious terrace. The moon had been brilliant that night, casting a silver glow over the deep blue sky. The faint sound of violins from the ballroom drifted up to us like a quiet lullaby. I had taken his hands and pulled him into a slow, gentle dance. I knew I was overstepping my boundaries, but in that moment, my only desire was to comfort his aching heart. When the music faded, Kyle had held me close, whispering against my ear, “Tell me what you look like tonight, Elle.” I had looked down at my outfit. Knowing I was representing his fiancée, I had spent a significant portion of my savings on a beautiful dress and styled my hair. “A black velvet dress with a folded bow at the collar,” I murmured. “My hair is in soft curls, and I’m wearing black patent leather heels.” “You must be exceptionally beautiful tonight.” “I am always beautiful, Kyle.” I had buried my face in his chest, laughing softly. “I believe you,” he had whispered, his hand gently tracing my cheek. “Elle, you have no idea how desperately I wish I could see you right now.” A sudden gust of cold wind pulled me back to the present. I took a sip of my beer, whispering to the empty terrace, “But now you can see, Kyle, and yet you still don’t see me.” The clouds above were heavy with rain. As the first drop hit my face, I turned to go inside, only to find Kyle standing right behind me. In most situations, I was quick on my feet. But when it came to Kyle, my only instinct was to run. Before I could take a step, his hand clamped around my wrist. “Do you have a moment to talk, Giselle?” “I’m sorry, Mr. Norvell, but my shift ended ten minutes ago.” “My grandfather’s symptoms have been fluctuating lately,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “I am deeply concerned.” I relented, and we sat down together on the terrace lounge. “You were the director of nursing at the clinic,” Kyle began, his tone conversational. “With your credentials, why would you choose to humble yourself as a private caregiver for an old man?” “All nursing care is valuable, regardless of the patient’s status. I simply follow my employer’s assignments.” I had no intention of telling him about Madelyn’s financial struggles. “Is that the only reason?” “Of course not,” I said, forcing a mercenary smile. “Your family offered me three times my usual salary. I really need the money.” Kyle seemed to accept this answer, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips. “You really do love money, don’t you? Is it truly that important to you?” I thought of my mother, who had been confined to a hospital bed for over a decade, and nodded slowly. “Yes. It is incredibly important.” “Important enough to turn you into a liar?” “What do you mean?” “You claimed you worked under Dr. Reynolds,” Kyle said, his voice dropping an octave. “But when he visited today, he had absolutely no idea who you were.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I had interned at the hospital while Dr. Reynolds was completing his residency abroad, so we had never actually met. “Mr. Norvell, I was assigned to this job by the clinic. If you are unsatisfied with my performance, you can easily request a replacement.” “Still refusing to answer? Still trying to run away?” Kyle’s voice turned dangerously sharp, full of suppressed rage. “Elle… or should I say, Giselle? Money really is magic, isn’t it? It can buy your loyalty, it can make you play with a blind man’s heart, and it can make you disappear without a trace.” “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Stop playing dumb!” Kyle’s fingers dug into my shoulders, locking me in place. “You know my tea preferences, you put the fork in my hand without a single thought, and you handle my habits perfectly. Where have you been these past three years?” “You might have nursed plenty of disabled patients, Giselle, but you clearly don’t understand them.” “When a person loses their sight, their hearing becomes incredibly sensitive. From the very first word you spoke to me at the clinic, I knew exactly who you were.” The revelation shattered my composure. The tears I had been holding back spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. He had known all along. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I cried, my voice cracking. “You were the one who threw my things out and told me to leave! Why are you acting like I abandoned you?” I wanted to ask him so many things, but the words died in my throat. From the very beginning, our relationship had been built on a transaction. We belonged to two completely different worlds. I took a deep, trembling breath, forcing my features into a mask of cold indifference. “What do you want me to say, Kyle? Yes, I left you because the money ran out, and I’m here now because the money is good. It’s exactly what you thought. I am exactly that kind of person.” “Is money truly the only thing that matters to you?” Kyle’s grip loosened, his eyes filled with disbelief and a deep, agonizing pain. “Was everything we did during those three years just a job? Did you ever feel even a single shred of genuine affection for me?” The dim terrace lights cast long shadows over his face as the rain began to fall, catching on his eyelashes. He looked so vulnerable, so broken, that I almost broke my own rules to comfort him. “No,” I lied, using every ounce of my remaining strength to sound cold. “Never.” “I have to go, Mr. Norvell.” The downpour commenced in earnest. Kyle stood alone in the rain, making no move to stop me, and making no move to go inside.

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My childhood best friend was cornered in the classroom, getting beaten half to death by the school’s resident mean girl. Just as I was about to step forward and stop it, lines of floating text suddenly materialized in the air right in front of my eyes. [Can the villainess just mind her own business? Doesn’t she know this is just foreplay for our main couple?] [If it wasn’t for this toxic third wheel interfering, the male and female lead would have gotten together ages ago. They wouldn’t have missed out on all those years!] [It is fine. The male lead gets his revenge later. After enduring the humiliation of marrying the villainess, he deliberately orchestrates multiple miscarriages for her and gaslights her into severe depression.] [I bet the villainess does not even know that when she finally commits suicide by jumping off a building, the male lead is in a hotel room, having crazy, passionate hate sex with our sweet baby girl!] I stared at the floating comments, turned on my heel, and walked away. These two toxic psychos deserved each other. They could rot together for all I cared. 1 I stood at a distance, watching Asher. Right now, he looked like a stray dog with a broken spine, slumped on the floor in utter humiliation. His faded school uniform was stained with dirt and blood, clinging to his trembling back. The girl bullying him, Blair, looked radiant and untouchable. She stood over him, grinding the sole of her designer shoe violently into Asher’s long, slender fingers. “Well, look at our genius scholar. You’ve got some tough bones, haven’t you?” Asher was pale as a ghost from the pain, but he clamped his jaw shut and refused to make a sound. If I had seen this exact scene one minute ago, my heart would have bled for him. But the floating text hovering in my vision was a blaring reminder to drop my savior complex and respect his destiny. [So annoying! Why is Sydney showing up to ruin the vibe again?] [The villainess is so stupid. Can she not see the sexual tension between our leads?] [If she hadn’t reported Blair and gotten her expelled, the male lead wouldn’t have lost so many years with his true love!] [Don’t worry guys, he gets payback for all of it later.] [This idiot Sydney definitely doesn’t know that the male lead is the one who swaps out her dad’s heart medication. Serves the old man right for always looking down on our female lead!] [When the villainess finally jumps off the roof to end her miserable life, the male lead is literally hooking up with our precious Blair in a penthouse suite!] [Hahaha she deserves it! That is what you get for tearing true love apart!] Every single word hovering in the air felt like a brutal, stinging slap across my face. So my self righteous attempts to save him would only cost me my family and my life. I looked back at the classroom. I looked at the utter despair in Asher’s eyes. He looked exactly like a beaten hound waiting for its master to show it a shred of pity. A cold smile broke across my face. Since this was their twisted version of romance, then as the designated “evil villainess,” it would be incredibly rude of me to interrupt. My face completely blank, I pulled back the foot I had just stepped forward with, turned around, and walked away without a second thought. I barely made it thirty feet down the hall before a sickening, brittle crunch echoed from the classroom. Immediately after, Asher let out a bloodcurdling scream. The floating comments instantly dissolved into mass panic. [Oh no! Because the villainess didn’t interfere, the female lead actually broke his right hand!] [This is insane! It is a comminuted fracture! He is completely ruined! How is the male lead supposed to take the State Placement Exams now?!] [Sydney, you are so evil! Why didn’t you turn around? If you just stopped her, the female lead would have backed off!] I scoffed under my breath. How was that my problem? 2 Half an hour later, Asher stumbled into my line of sight. His face was twisted in agony, and his uniform was covered in dusty footprints. But the worst part was his right hand, which was currently bent at a completely unnatural angle. I slapped a look of pure, exaggerated shock onto my face. “Oh my god, Asher! Your hand!” I reached out, pressed my thumb directly against his fractured bone, and pushed down hard. “Ahhhhh!” Asher’s shriek echoed through the entire corridor. He violently shoved me away, cradling his mangled hand against his chest as he screamed at me. “Sydney! Are you insane?! Are you trying to kill me?!” Oh, so that hurt? I pretended to lose my balance and grabbed his arm to steady myself, subtly driving my elbow straight into his eye socket. Asher shrieked even louder. The floating comments were weeping for him. [Is the villainess brain dead? Can she not see our male lead is severely injured?] [What a stupid bitch. She deserves to have her family destroyed later on!] I sneered internally, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “This is going way too far. I am calling the cops!” “No! You absolutely cannot call the cops!” Fighting through the blinding pain, Asher lunged forward and snatched my phone out of my hand. “Sydney, what is wrong with you? Are you trying to ruin Blair’s entire life?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely astounded by the absolute absurdity coming out of his mouth. “She literally shattered your hand, and you are standing here blaming me for wanting to report her?” Asher’s eyes burned with a delusional, desperate need to protect her. “You don’t understand anything!” “Sure, she has a bit of a temper, but deep down she is a kind girl. She only acts out because she comes from a broken home and needs an outlet to vent! She is fragile and pitiful on the inside. She just needs someone to be patient with her.” “But you, Sydney… I never realized how cold blooded and selfish you really are.” I slowly clapped my hands together. “Beautifully said.” “Well, Asher, since you think I am so incredibly selfish, starting tomorrow, you can begin paying back all the sponsorship money my family has given you over the years.” Asher’s parents died in a car crash when he was young. I was the one who begged my wealthy parents to sponsor his education and living expenses. I never expected to be feeding a rabid dog that would eventually turn around and bite my entire family to death. Hearing my demand, Asher looked as if I had just spit in his face. “Sydney, do you honestly think I care about your money? Your family forced that charity on me!” “Great. Then pay it back.” By the end of the argument, Asher was forced to awkwardly use his left hand to scribble out a formal promissory note for his debts. I snatched the paper and flicked it with my fingernail. “From this day forward, our only relationship is creditor and debtor.” The comments completely lost their minds. [Is she crazy?! Using money to humiliate the male lead? Does she think having some cash makes her a god?] [Ten thousand dollars? Please. The male lead will make that in a heartbeat later in the story!] [I get it. The villainess is using debt to trap him. She thinks tying him down with money will get his attention. Keep dreaming, you psycho!] I had to admit, that last comment actually made me feel nauseous. Asher and I parted on terrible terms. I thought I could finally just focus on my studies, but the very next day, Blair cornered me by the bathrooms. 3 Blair blinked her big, watery eyes at me, a vicious smile playing on her lips. “Sydney. Want to guess what I did to your precious boy next door today?” “Why don’t you beg me? If you get on your knees and beg, I promise I won’t lay another finger on him. How about it?” The comments flooded my vision. [Hehe, our girl is so dark and twisted. I love it!] [Our sweet angel did nothing wrong. She just wants to force the villainess to submit.] [To be fair, this is all Sydney’s fault anyway!] [Yes, Blair! Teach her a lesson! Sydney totally humiliated the male lead yesterday and made him write an IOU!] While the comments debated exactly how I was going to tearfully drop to my knees and surrender, I raised my arm without a single warning sign and slapped Blair across the face. Smack! The entire world went dead silent. Blair cupped her cheek, her eyes wide with absolute disbelief. “Sydney. Did you just hit me?!” I raised my hand and slapped her again. “I hit you because I felt like hitting you. Did I need to check my calendar first?” Blair let out a furious shriek and lunged at me, raising her hands to fight back. I was entirely prepared. I grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her hard against the tiled wall. She started screaming and kicking. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at the ceiling. “Scream. Come on, scream louder. Let’s get the teachers in here so they can see exactly who the school bully is.” “Besides…” I gently patted her red, swollen cheek. “Besides, if the teachers do show up, who do you think they are going to believe? You, or the straight A valedictorian?” Blair was shaking uncontrollably from pure rage. “Sydney, you bitch! You just wait! I am going to make your little boyfriend’s life a living hell!” Hearing that, I intentionally paused my movements. I let a flash of fake panic cross my face. “Don’t you dare! If you keep bullying Asher, I swear I will never forgive you!” After delivering my completely hollow, pathetic warning, I released her and stumbled away down the hall, making my footsteps sound frantic and chaotic. Behind me, Blair slumped against the wall, gasping for air. Just as I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were shining with a sick, twisted excitement. She looked like a predator that had just found a massive weak spot in its prey. I prayed silently in my heart. Blair, please don’t let me down. 4 The female lead truly lived up to her title. Her efficiency was terrifying. In just a few days, Asher lost a massive amount of weight. Even though I didn’t witness the abuse with my own eyes, the floating comments gave me a play by play update on his misery. [The male lead got locked in a bathroom stall and drenched in toilet water! He is shivering so hard right now!] [Blair just pushed him down a flight of stairs! He totally twisted his ankle!] [Someone poured water all over his desk and shredded his textbooks into the trash can!] [This is entirely Sydney’s fault! If she hadn’t provoked the female lead, Blair wouldn’t be taking her anger out on him!] [The villainess is so evil. If she hadn’t cut off his allowance, he would have had enough money to go to the hospital and get his hand treated!] Right, right, totally my fault. I was the ultimate scapegoat. Everything that went wrong in the universe was clearly on my shoulders. These commenters genuinely seemed to lack basic brain development. I was busy rolling my eyes at the text when I turned a corner and saw Asher pinned to the ground. Blair was wearing heavy leather loafers, grinding her heel ruthlessly into his mangled, untreated right hand. She uncapped a bottle of water and dumped it directly over his head. “Come on, genius. Didn’t you say you were going to save me? Speak up.” Asher had dark, bruised bags under his eyes. His lips were a bloodless white, but his cheeks burned with an unnatural, feverish red. The exposed skin on his arms was littered with fresh scrapes and cuts. His eyes were totally unfocused. He kept muttering the same thing over and over. “Save me.” I turned around and walked away. Respect their destiny. Drop the savior complex. Asher, didn’t you want to be bullied by her? Then enjoy every single second of it. Three days later, Asher collapsed in the middle of gym class and was rushed to the emergency room. Because he delayed treatment for far too long, the bone in his right hand was severely infected. Necrosis had set in. To stop the infection from spreading and killing him, the doctors had no choice but to amputate his hand. I learned all of this from the frantic floating comments. That very afternoon, I packed a bag and headed straight to the hospital to visit him. After all, as the designated evil villainess, how could I pass up a golden opportunity to rub salt in his wounds? 5 I pushed open the door to Asher’s hospital room. He was lying flat on the bed. At the end of his right arm, wrapped tightly in heavy white bandages, was empty space. He had his eyes closed, but at the sound of the door opening, he turned his head to look at me. His gaze was dark, heavy, and full of calculation. Even though he was sitting there in a cheap hospital gown, he suddenly exuded this aura of deep, brooding maturity. It was a complete 180 from the pathetic boy he was yesterday. Just as I was trying to figure out what happened, the comments flooded in. [Hahaha! The villainess definitely doesn’t know our male lead has been reborn!] [Just an hour ago, the male lead suddenly got all his memories back from his previous life!] [This time around, he swore to fix all his past regrets and get together with the female lead early!] [Sydney is never going to get his love in this lifetime. She won’t even get to touch him!] Gross. Who wanted their recycled garbage anyway? Asher’s voice was rough and scratchy. “Sydney. You were reborn too, weren’t you? Why else would you just stand there and watch me die?” “You were supposed to rush out and shield me when she broke my hand.” Hearing that, I actually almost laughed out loud. Did he really think I was his personal meat shield? He literally gets a second chance at life, and instead of asking Blair why she tortured him, his very first instinct is to interrogate me for not saving him. First of all, I wasn’t reborn. Second of all, even if I was, I would rather die than admit it to him. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him with absolute freezing contempt. “Asher, did they amputate your hand or lobotomize your brain? What are you even talking about? Why don’t you accuse me of being an alien while you’re at it?” Asher narrowed his eyes, scanning me from head to toe with a razor sharp glare. “Then why did you stand there coldly and watch me get bullied?” I sneered. “Because you are a pathetic masochist who refused to let me call the police. That has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “You reap what you sow. Now you are a cripple, and you should be taking that up with Blair. Where do you get the nerve to sit here and interrogate me?” He stared at me in silence for a long time before finally looking away. “Fine. Losing an arm is a small price to pay if it means you stop obsessing over me in this life.” “The only woman I love is Blair. From today onward, we walk separate paths. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Watching him act so disgustingly arrogant and full of himself, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I cut him off. “Who said we have nothing to do with each other? You still owe me a ton of cash.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the promissory note, and flicked the paper in his face. “And for the record, I am not blind enough to fall in love with a delusional cripple.” Watching Asher’s face turn the color of a charred frying pan brought me immense joy. 6 Asher collapsing on the track field turned into a massive scandal at school, but he absolutely refused to name the person who had been bullying him. I didn’t understand it, nor did I respect it. I immediately turned around and cornered Blair in the bathroom again. After giving her ten minutes of intense, physical “re education,” I grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to arch backward. “Blair, I warned you to stay away from Asher. Why can’t you just listen?” Despite my grip on her hair, Blair started laughing hysterically. “Sydney. I knew it. You are totally in love with him, aren’t you? Why else would you care this much?” I forced a look of flustered, humiliated panic onto my face, acting like she just exposed my deepest secret. “Who I like is none of your business!” “I am telling you right now, he is mine! Stay the hell away from him!” Blair laughed even harder. “God, Sydney, I can’t believe you are actually into a pathetic loser like Asher. Your taste in men is absolute trash.” I lunged forward, acting like a woman blinded by rage, and slapped her twice across the face. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that!” Blair clutched her stinging cheeks, looking at me with pure, intoxicating triumph. “Sydney, it doesn’t matter how much you love him. Asher told me himself. He feels absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he thinks you are annoying.” “You are just his pathetic little stalker. No matter how hard you beg, you only make him sick.” I screamed back at her. “So what?! He will fall in love with me eventually!” “As long as he doesn’t have a girlfriend, I still have a chance!” After delivering that final, agonizing line, I put on a heartbroken expression and stumbled out of the bathroom, looking entirely defeated. But right as I stepped through the door, I heard Blair whisper to herself. “As long as he doesn’t have a girlfriend?” A few days later, news broke that Asher and Blair were officially dating. 7 I walked past an empty corridor and caught them. Asher had Blair pinned against the wall, gripping her wrists, kissing her aggressively. The wet, suggestive sounds of their tangled bodies echoed in the hallway. Suddenly, a loud slap shattered the heavy romantic tension. Blair wiped her mouth furiously and slapped him across the face again. “Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on me?!” Asher ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek, staring down at her with dark, obsessive eyes. “Kneel.” Asher only hesitated for a fraction of a second before dropping obediently to his knees in front of her. Blair pressed the toe of her shoe against his chest. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked hard. After hearing him suck in a sharp breath of pain, her demeanor instantly softened. She reached down and gently scratched him under the chin like a pet. “Good boy.” “Now tell me. Who is prettier? Me, or Sydney?” Asher looked up at her with utter devotion. “You, of course, baby.” The floating comments were losing their collective minds. [Yes! This is exactly what I came for! The toxic angst! The enemies to lovers tension!] [Blair is a little harsh, but when they are sweet, they are SO sweet.] [She abuses him a thousand times, and he still treats her like his first love! Sydney must be dying of jealousy!] [The villainess can stay mad. The male lead only has eyes for his queen!] [Queen Blair and her loyal dog! I am eating this up!] I legitimately almost threw up my breakfast. It was burning my retinas. Even though the comments had thoroughly spoiled the plot for me, seeing Asher act like a total masochistic sub in real life still gave me full body chills. How could a human being have zero self respect? As a normal, functioning member of society, I needed to stay as far away from these two lunatics as physically possible. But just because I wanted to avoid them didn’t mean the plot was going to let me go. Because my grades were flawlessly at the top of the class, the school nominated me for the Stanford Early Admissions Exam. Somehow, my direct competition for the sole scholarship spot was Blair. I genuinely didn’t understand how someone with her academic record even qualified to sit for the test, but whatever. On the day of the exam, I arrived at the testing center early. Just as I was about to walk into the building, a shadow blocked my path. Asher stood there, staring at me with dead, cold eyes. “Sydney. You already have everything in life. Give this admission spot to Blair.” “Your grades are fine. You can get into a good college on your own without this scholarship.” I was so baffled I actually laughed. “Asher, did you get dropped on your head as a baby? Do you seriously believe the entire planet revolves around you?” “Get out of my way.” I turned to walk past him. Suddenly, a flurry of red text exploded in my vision. [The villainess actually thinks he is just going to ask nicely.] [There are plenty of ways to disqualify her from a written exam. Like shattering her right hand!] [It is perfect. There are no security cameras in this alleyway anyway.]

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1 Recently engaged, my sister-in-law, Jacqueline, got her fingers slammed in a heavy steel security door. She needed immediate surgery to reattach them. But my mother-in-law, Beatrice, refused to allow it. Even though it was the middle of the night, she stubbornly insisted on transferring Jacqueline to the prestigious metropolitan medical center downtown. The emergency room doctor patiently explained that time was of the essence. Any delay would cause the severed tissue to die, making reattachment impossible. He assured her that even at the metropolitan hospital, only an on-call emergency physician would be available at this hour. They were fully capable of performing the procedure right here. Beatrice would not listen, digging her heels in. Watching Jacqueline writhe in agony as blood soaked through her makeshift bandages, I had pleaded with Beatrice to prioritize her daughter’s hand over her pride. Thanks to my relentless persuasion, Beatrice had finally relented and signed the paperwork. The surgery was completed just within the golden window, and the fingers were successfully reattached. But during her subsequent physical therapy, we realized that although the fingers looked perfect on the outside, they remained stiff and completely paralyzed, unable to bend. Jacqueline blamed me entirely for the outcome. She insisted I had forced her to stay at a second-rate clinic to ruin her life, claiming that if she had transferred to the city center, she would have recovered completely. One afternoon, when I was completely off guard, she cornered me and pushed me down the grand staircase of our home, breaking my neck. When I opened my eyes again, my face was burning from a sharp, stinging pain. “Slap! Slap! Slap!” Beatrice was striking me across the face, screaming at the top of her lungs, her eyes wild with fury. “Fiona, you worthless b****! Who do you think you are? Since when do you make the decisions in this family?” My head spun from the force of her blows. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway burned my eyes, making it hard to focus. Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, the emergency room doctor stepped between us, urging, “Have you decided yet? Who is signing the consent form? Stop hesitating! Every minute you waste reduces the chances of saving the tissue. Reattaching the fingers immediately is the only priority.” The scene was eerily familiar. Wasn’t I just pushed down the stairs? Am I dead? The anxious doctor, the stubborn mother-in-law, the copper scent of blood hanging heavy in the air… I was back outside the emergency room. “I refuse!” Beatrice’s screeching voice rang in my ears. “You can forget about it! I am not giving permission for you hacks to operate on my daughter. We are transferring her!” Hearing her demand a transfer, the truth washed over me. I had been reborn. I was back on the exact day Jacqueline severed her fingers. In my past life, when I heard Jacqueline had slammed her fingers in a heavy metal door, I had rushed to the clinic with Beatrice. The doctor had examined her and said she arrived just in time. The severed digits were still viable, and immediate surgery had a very high success rate. But Beatrice had refused, calling the community clinic a second-rate dump. She demanded her daughter be sent to the downtown hospital, where the state’s most famous orthopedic surgeon was based. The emergency doctor had pleaded with her, explaining that tissue dies quickly. In the middle of the night, any hospital would only have on-call staff, and a transfer would only waste precious time. But Beatrice had sneered, claiming severed digits could easily survive for five or six hours. Pitying Jacqueline, who was screaming in the trauma bay, I had begged Beatrice to let them operate, wanting to save the young girl’s hand right before her wedding. Because of my desperate pleas, Beatrice had finally signed. The surgery went well, completed in the golden window, but the recovery was poor. The fingers remained stiff. Jacqueline spent every day cursing me, blaming me for stopping the transfer. She claimed I did it on purpose to ruin her chance at a perfect recovery, calling me a venomous curse. And then, she pushed me to my death. As I lay dying at the foot of the stairs, gasping for breath, I had begged Beatrice to call an ambulance. Instead, she and Jacqueline had stood over me, cold and mocking. “You ruined my daughter’s hand, and now you want us to save you?” Beatrice had spat. “You deserve this, you miserable b****.” I had taken my final, agonizing breath in absolute despair. Now, the heavens had given me a second chance. This time, I would not lift a finger to save her. I would watch these two wretched women destroy themselves. “A transfer is too risky,” the doctor warned again, bringing me back to the present. “The tissue will die. Even if you go downtown, you’ll only find on-call emergency staff at this hour. You’re wasting precious time.” I looked at Beatrice, quickly painting a mask of panic on my face. “Mom, I didn’t mean to overstep,” I said, my voice trembling with faux anxiety. “I’m just so worried about Jacqueline. I’m completely frantic. I don’t know what we should do. What do you think?” Seeing my apparent weakness, Beatrice scoffed, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Look at you, trembling like a leaf. You don’t get a say here anyway. We are transferring my daughter immediately.” I suppressed a cold smile. “Okay, Mom. Whatever you say.” The doctor frowned. “The risk is too high. We strongly advise against a transfer. Please sign the paperwork.” Beatrice scoffed. “I’m not letting you touch her, so why would I sign anything? Don’t I have the right to choose her care?” The doctor’s frustration grew. “This isn’t a joke. Severed fingers need to be reattached as soon as possible. Can you guarantee she won’t deteriorate on the road? Can you guarantee the tissue will survive? Can you guarantee a specialist will even be awake to operate on her downtown?” “Are you trying to force your services on us?” Beatrice snapped back, crossing her arms. “What is this, a scam? Do we have to buy what you’re selling?” “We are a licensed hospital,” the doctor replied, trying to remain professional. “We respect your choices, but we must warn you of the objective risks. Transferring her now is extremely dangerous.” But Beatrice was convinced she knew best. “You’re just trying to keep us here to boost your department’s numbers! My daughter deserves the absolute best, not this pathetic clinic.” “Our only concern is the patient,” the doctor explained patiently. “If we couldn’t handle it, we would recommend a transfer ourselves. But we can do this surgery, and a transfer will only delay her care.” Beatrice refused to listen, raising her voice to draw a crowd. “Stop threatening me! I am moving my daughter, and that is final!” She turned to glare at me. “Fiona! Are you deaf? Go help Jacqueline up! What good are you anyway?” From the treatment room, Jacqueline’s agonizing screams echoed down the hall. “Help me! It hurts so much! Please, someone help me!” Hearing her cries, I felt nothing but cold satisfaction. The longer Beatrice stalled, the better. I leaned in and whispered to Beatrice, “Mom, are we really doing this? Should we call Peter? He is her fiancé, after all.” The doctor caught this. “Yes! Call her fiancé. He should have a say in this.” Beatrice’s eyes widened in fury. She glared at me. “Fiona, why are you always stirring up trouble? What does this have to do with Peter? He’s just her fiancé. She hasn’t married him yet. Even if he were here, he wouldn’t get to make the decisions.” She kicked me hard in the shin. “Go get Jacqueline! Do you want her to sit there suffering forever?” As I walked toward the treatment room, the doctor grabbed my arm. “Please, try to talk some sense into your mother-in-law. Her daughter’s hand is at stake.” Before I could answer, Beatrice shoves the doctor. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to kidnap my daughter?” I had no intention of helping her this time. I wanted Beatrice to throw the biggest tantrum possible. While they argued, I quietly slipped my phone out and sent a text to Peter, telling him to get to the hospital immediately. Moments later, my phone rang. Beatrice was too busy screaming at the staff to notice. “Fiona, what’s going on?” Peter’s anxious voice came through the speaker. “Why is Jacqueline in the hospital?” “Her fingers were severed,” I said quickly. “We’re at the community clinic. Mom wants to transfer her, but the doctors say it’s too dangerous. Can you come help us?” Before I could finish, Beatrice noticed the call. She lunged forward, snatched my phone, and ended the call. Before I could react, she grabbed me by the hair and delivered a stinging slap to my cheek. “You treacherous b****!” she screeches. “Who told you to call Peter? Are you trying to set him against me?” I played the victim, forcing tears to my eyes. “Mom, no! I just thought, since we’re transferring her, we need a car. Peter has a nice car, and he’s her fiancé. It’s only right he helps.” “It had better be just for that, or I’ll beat you senseless.” The doctor chimes in. “The fiancé has every right to know. He should be part of this decision.” “He knows now,” Beatrice snaps. “But he doesn’t make the rules in my family.” The doctor tries one last time. “As her mother, how can you watch her suffer in there? Just sign the papers so we can save her hand.” “Save your breath,” Beatrice sneers. “I am not letting you touch her.” They continued to argue, wasting another hour. While we wait for Peter, I also secretly texted my husband, Garrett. Garrett is fiercely protective of his sister. In my past life, he believed Jacqueline’s lies that I had ruined her hand out of spite, and he subjected me to years of domestic abuse. This time, I wanted to see whose side he took when his mother was the one ruining Jacqueline’s hand. Peter burst through the hospital doors, breathless and pale. The doctor quickly caught him up on the situation. Peter doesn’t hesitate. “If you can do the surgery, do it now. Let’s not waste any more time.” Hearing this, Beatrice screamed, lunging at him. “I don’t agree! Who do you think you are to make decisions for my daughter? We are transferring her!” But Peter was not one to be bullied. He shoved Beatrice back, sending her stumbling to the floor. “I am her fiancé. Of course I have a say!” Beatrice screeches from the ground, “You’re just a fiancé! She hasn’t walked down the aisle yet! You don’t own her!” Ignoring her, Peter demanded the consent form and grabbed a pen. Beatrice scrambled up, trying to snatch the pen from his hand, but Peter was younger and stronger. He shoved her down a second time. With a swift motion, Peter signed his name on the consent line. I watched in silent panic. No, this isn’t how it was supposed to go. If Peter signed, they would operate, and Jacqueline would be saved. I couldn’t let her escape her fate.

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The chart-topping pop star got dared on a live broadcast to call his first love. When the call came through, I was in the shower. My little brother picked it up by mistake. “Hello? You looking for my sister? She’s in the shower right now.” The pop star hung up instantly. When I finally called back, he answered on the first ring. A muffled, breathless sob came through the receiver. “Marguerite. Did I really have to wait until he left for it to be my turn?” “It’s fine. I don’t even mind.” I stared at my phone in absolute confusion. That night, Twitter absolutely exploded. #MuteTheWorldRowanIsHeartbroken #WhoCriesLikeABustedFireHydrantOnLiveTV #PopStarRowanBegsToBeTheSidePiece 1 A heavy knock hammered against the bathroom door. My brother Jim’s voice echoed over the sound of running water. “Hey Marguerite! Your phone is ringing. It’s an unknown number.” I didn’t think much of it and yelled back over the spray. “Just answer it for me!” “Got it.” By the time I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out, Jim’s thumbs were flying across his own phone screen. He didn’t even look up. “That call was weird. I answered, no one said a word, and then they just hung up on me.” “Probably a wrong number.” I walked over, towel-drying my hair, and peeked over his shoulder at his screen. “Jim, are you using my gaming account to hit on girls again?” I reached out to snatch his phone away. “I gave you my password so you could grind levels. Use your own account to flirt. Get lost.” Jim dodged like a ninja. “Wait, wait! Come on, Marguerite, please! Just let me finish this match, and I’ll log off.” I grabbed my own phone off the nightstand. Scrolling to the call log, my thumb hovered over the screen and froze. That string of digits for the latest incoming call looked painfully familiar. The longer I looked at it, the more it looked exactly like the number belonging to my ex, Rowan. The same ex who had been dead to me for years. Was this a ghost calling? I hit redial. It rang for what felt like an eternity before someone finally picked up. “Rowan?” A wet, pathetic sniffle came through the speaker. “Marguerite. Did I really have to wait until he left for it to be my turn?” “Whatever. I don’t even mind being second.” “I miss you so much. Can I see you tomorrow?” I rubbed my temples. “Are you drunk, or did you just get amnesia?” What kind of nonsense was this? See him? We broke up ages ago. Calling me now, what, he wanted to dig up ancient history? On the other end, Rowan started whining loudly. “I… I just…” A loud, unmistakable sob. “Marguerite, I work out all the time now! I’m way better than those younger guys you like.” “Why won’t you just give me another chance?” Right. He was definitely wasted. Without changing my expression, I ended the call. 2 The moment I hung up, Jim started screaming from the corner of the room. “Marguerite! Marguerite, look at Twitter! Right now!” I covered my ears and glared at him. “Jim, I am standing right here. Stop screaming like you’re trying to wake the dead. Keep yelling and you’re sleeping in the hotel hallway.” We were supposed to fly back to New York today, but a massive storm grounded all flights out of Miami. By the time we tried to book a hotel, everything nearby was totally sold out. We barely managed to snag the last available room in a rundown motel, and it only had two twin beds. We had to make do. Jim defended himself wildly. “No, seriously, this is a massive deal! You’re trending. You and my favorite almost brother-in-law.” “I can’t believe that weird call was actually him. Are you guys getting back together? Crap, did I mess things up? Do I need to call him back and explain?” So, he wasn’t just drunk dialing me from his living room? I opened Twitter and checked the trending page. Good lord. He completely hijacked the top ten spots. #MuteTheWorldRowanIsHeartbroken #WhoCriesLikeABustedFireHydrantOnLiveTV #PopStarRowanBegsToBeTheSidePiece The two most liked videos at the top of the feed were screen recordings from a live broadcast. Rowan was currently starring in a hit travel reality show. This week’s location happened to be Miami. Caught in the same storm that grounded my flight, the celebrity cast had gathered on a covered patio to wait out the rain and chat. During the downtime, the bed and breakfast owner offered them some homemade local moonshine. Rowan took a few shots and completely lost his grip on reality. They started playing a drinking game. Rowan lost, and his penalty was a dare to call his first love. That led to the first phone call. The video showed the phone ringing on speaker for a long time. Finally, the whole cast heard a young guy’s voice filter through. “Hello? You looking for my sister? She’s in the shower right now.” On screen, Rowan’s face instantly went pale. His jaw locked, and he frantically mashed the end call button. The other celebrities tried to laugh it off, jumping in to save the mood. But a heavily intoxicated Rowan clearly had zero emotional regulation. He grabbed the nearest male celebrity, buried his face in the guy’s shoulder, and started wailing. Through loud, ugly sobs, he cried, “How could she? How could she just replace me with some new puppy?” The sound he made was identical to a boiling kettle screaming for help. In the second video, the moment he heard me say his name, his expression crumpled into pure misery. After delivering his unhinged, morally questionable speech about being willing to be my side piece, I ruthlessly hung up on him. The dial tone echoed on the live feed. Rowan cried even louder. The celebrity he had been using as a tissue couldn’t take it anymore. The guy hauled Rowan up by the arms and dragged him upstairs, completely out of the camera’s view. But even as the video ended, you could still hear Rowan crying hysterically off-camera. The comments section was an absolute goldmine. [Sister, I am begging you, please show this man some mercy. He is literally shattering into pieces.] [I am crying from laughing so hard. Who cries like that on national television?] [Drunk Rowan is a completely different species. The cool-guy persona is dead and buried.] [I don’t care, I love this version of him. Look at the sad little puppy!] [Rowan: Can I join your relationship? Marguerite: Hard pass.] I liked the comment about his persona being dead and buried. Back when we were together, I learned very quickly that Rowan had the alcohol tolerance of a toddler. Every time we drank, he morphed from a broody, intense musician into a clingy, crying mess. After I teased him about it one too many times, he refused to drink with me ever again. He insisted he needed to protect his edgy rockstar image. I used to joke with him back then. “You better treat me right, Rowan. If you ever get famous, I’m selling this dirt to the tabloids.” It was a shame we never got to see what that future looked like. 3 When I woke up the next morning, the sky had completely fallen. Before I went to sleep, I genuinely thought “Marguerite” was a common enough name. Surely the internet detectives wouldn’t trace it back to me. I underestimated them. In a single night, my TikTok account was completely overrun. My comment section was a synchronized chant. [Please have mercy on him, he’s falling apart.] My private messages were even crazier. Right at the top was an official invite from the director of Rowan’s travel show. [Hi Marguerite, I’m the director of ‘Wanderlust Diaries’. We’d love to know if you have any interest in joining us as a guest star for an upcoming episode?] I typed back quickly. [Are you just doing this to milk the gossip about Rowan?] The person on the other end must have been staring at their screen. The reply was instant. [Not entirely. I watched the videos on your page. As an action sports influencer, you fit the theme for our next location perfectly.] Right. I forgot to mention, I run a fairly popular TikTok account dedicated to extreme sports. So the next episode involved extreme sports? While I was still debating, the director dropped a bomb. A massive, ridiculous paycheck. I wasn’t exactly broke, but no one in their right mind turns down that kind of money. I accepted the offer on the spot. Good money, a fun trip, and a chance to get some premium footage for my own channel. It was a win-win. As for Rowan, I threw him entirely out of my mind. 4 Filming day arrived. We were at a famous coastal spot just outside of Miami. Given the weather and the ocean, it wasn’t hard to guess what the extreme sports theme would be. I arrived early. Only one or two other guests were lounging around the set. After some polite introductions, I started chatting with a guy named Carter, who was also in the extreme sports niche. Just as we were getting into a deep conversation about gear, a sudden chill crawled up my spine. I turned my head and locked eyes with Rowan. He was staring at me with a look of pure, toxic resentment. I gave him a look that clearly said, ‘What is your problem?’ considering there were cameras everywhere. But that only seemed to make him act weirder. I took a mental step back. Getting tangled up with Rowan again was a terrible idea. I leaned a little closer to Carter, effectively cutting off any chance for Rowan to join the conversation. Right then, the final guest arrived. It was Stella, an up-and-coming actress signed to the same label as Rowan. The moment she stepped on set, she completely ignored everyone else and made a beeline straight for him. “Rowan! So good to see you again.” Right as she was about to lean into his space, Rowan took a massive step to the side, dodging her completely. Then he looked straight at me. I could read the emotion in his eyes instantly. He was waiting for me to praise him like a good dog. I didn’t react. Rowan was great in a lot of ways, but his controlling, possessive nature was suffocating. Breaking up with him took everything I had. I was never going to walk back into that trap. 5 The director finally stepped out and announced the start of filming. He dropped the first task on us. Scuba diving. “You will pair up. Within thirty minutes underwater, the team that photographs the most unique species of fish wins.” “We will draw lots to determine your partners.” Hearing this, my eyes lit up. I was just complaining to Carter that my channel desperately needed some fresh underwater footage. Please, higher powers, let me draw Carter. We were perfectly matched for this. If I got paired with any of the actors, I’d have to jump through hoops with their agencies just to post my own TikToks. Too much hassle. The draw finished. I stared at the man walking toward me, and my eyebrows pulled into a tight knot. I was screaming internally. The universe absolutely hated me. Rowan stopped in front of me and held out his hand. “Marguerite. Looking forward to working with you.” I forced a polite, entirely fake smile and reached out to shake his hand. “Likewise.” Hopefully, it would just be a normal, professional partnership. I tried to pull my hand back after a brief second, but my fingers wouldn’t budge. Using the perfect blind spot away from the main cameras, Rowan shifted his grip, his long fingers wrapping entirely around my wrist. I gave my arm a hard yank. Nothing. I shot him a venomous glare. Was he losing his mind again? Didn’t he embarrass himself enough on Twitter a few days ago? Just before my patience entirely snapped, he slowly let go of my wrist. What I didn’t realize was that even in the camera’s blind spot, the eagle-eyed fans watching the live stream had caught the tension. [Look at those two in the corner. What is happening? Why did the vibe just get so intense?] [Camera guy, please zoom in! I need to know what they are doing.] [Look at his body language. Rowan is definitely up to something. I bet he just secretly grabbed her hand.] [I think you’re right. Did you see the way Marguerite just glared at him?] Underneath the flood of comments, a brand new hashtag started climbing the trending charts. #RowanAndMarguerite. When I went into the locker room to change into my wetsuit, Stella cornered me. Since we were the only two female guests on the show, the room was empty except for us. She leaned against the lockers, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Marguerite, I heard you and Rowan are a thing?” I paused zipping up my suit and looked at her. “Let me stop you right there. We are exes. We broke up a very long time ago.” Stella didn’t back off. She pushed further. “Oh. Why did you guys break up?” “That’s none of your business.” “Well, are you guys planning to get back together?” She waved her hands quickly. “Don’t get the wrong idea! It’s just that management wants me to fake a romance with him for the show to boost ratings.” “You know how it is, Marguerite. We’re just employees. I have to do what the agency tells me.” I grabbed my diving gear. As I walked past her toward the door, I finally gave her an answer. “Is that so? Well, you don’t need to worry about me. Rowan and I are never happening again.” “I make it a rule never to eat out of the recycling bin.” The moment I stepped out of the locker room, I slammed right into Rowan’s chest. I raised an eyebrow. He definitely heard all of that. Good. Let him hear it. Better to crush his hopes now so he stops acting insane. I sidestepped him and walked straight toward the beach. Heavy footsteps followed closely behind me. His voice was a low, tight growl. “Marguerite. That younger guy from the phone call. Is he really that amazing?” I stopped and looked back at him. A slow, ambiguous smile spread across my face. “Yeah. He’s actually incredible.” I mean, Jim was great at carrying all my heavy filming equipment when I needed a pack mule. He really was a good kid. Rowan’s face went completely dark. He opened his mouth to say something, probably something unhinged, but a crew member ran up and interrupted him, ushering us toward the boats. 6 Right up until we hit the water, I fully expected Rowan to sabotage the task. Back when we dated, whenever he heard something he didn’t like, his favorite revenge was purposely ruining things I cared about. During our junior year of college, I was performing a duet at a major campus showcase. My dance partner was a guy. Rowan threw a massive fit. “Marguerite, can you please just drop this routine?” I shook my head. “Rowan, I promised the senior choreographer I would do it. I can’t back out at the last minute.” He buried his face in my neck, his voice muffled. “Fine.” But the very next day, he went behind my back. He met with the choreographer and offered to perform an original solo song for the showcase. His only condition was that they cut my dance routine from the setlist. Rowan was the undisputed golden boy of the music department. The choreographer jumped at the chance and agreed immediately. When I found out, we had the worst fight of our entire relationship. I couldn’t understand how he could just casually erase weeks of my hard work, all because I had a male dance partner. He completely ignored the blood, sweat, and tears I poured into those rehearsals. He was entirely unapologetic. “Marguerite, I hate it. I hate seeing you pressed up against someone else.” “We belong to each other. We’re the only ones who make sense.” I stared at him, exhausted. “Rowan, I am not something you own.” “I think we need some space. Your need to control every aspect of my life is literally suffocating me.” “We’re done, Rowan.” That was the day I unilaterally ended the relationship. The cold splash of ocean water snapped me back to the present. To my absolute shock, Rowan was being the perfect partner. He took the underwater camera, gestured for me to get into position, and signaled for me to look at the lens. I pushed down the old memories bubbling up in my chest. I swam closer to him, pointing out rare fish, working in total sync as we snapped photo after photo. When we finally broke the surface and climbed back onto the beach, I couldn’t hold my tongue. “I really thought you were going to throw a tantrum and ruin the shoot today.” Rowan froze as he was unzipping his wetsuit. A bittersweet smile touched his lips. “People move forward, Marguerite. Everyone changes.” “How about you take some time and try getting to know this version of me?” The bustling noise of the crew seemed to fade away. We stood there staring at each other. The raw, burning intensity in his eyes was too much. I looked away first. 7 As the sun began to set, the broadcast moved into its final segment. The cast gathered around the patio of a beachfront villa provided by the production team. They drank beers, grilled food, and swapped stories. I leaned against the railing of the second-floor balcony, looking down at Carter and the others laughing around the fire pit. This late-night segment was basically a glorified interrogation. Last time, Rowan got publicly executed and exposed his first love. I had a strong feeling someone else was going to get thrown to the wolves tonight. To ensure I wasn’t the sacrificial lamb, I excused myself right after dinner and hid in my bedroom. I was just about to organize my GoPro footage when someone knocked on the door. It was Rowan. “What do you want?” “I told you. I’m here to be your dirty little secret.” Before I could process that sentence, his long leg stepped forward, forcing his way into the room. What the hell?

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