Category: English

Everyone in this city knows the two families that run the underbelly, the Hawthornes and the Sterlings, are bound by generations of arranged marriages. As the sole heiress of the Sterling family, I was engaged to Caleb Hawthorne before I could even form a complete sentence. An engagement that became a city-wide joke the moment photos of Caleb in bed with a college girl went viral. The story they spun was that the girl, drunk and heartbroken in some downtown dive bar, had mistaken Caleb for a male escort and bought him for the night with a wad of cash. Everyone expected her to be found in the river. But Caleb just laughed. “The way she cried,” he’d told the papers, a smirk playing on his lips, “it was interesting.” From that moment on, he was addicted to her. He paraded her around the city, a whirlwind of public trysts and whispered scandals. It all came to a head three months later, when the college girl showed up on my doorstep with a swelling belly. When I confronted Caleb, his voice was calm, dismissive. “Chloe is innocent, Ava. All she wants is my love, nothing more.” “Don’t worry,” he’d added, as if it were a comfort. “You can play games, but the position of Mrs. Hawthorne will always be yours.” I had to laugh. Caleb, you have it all wrong. It was never me who needed you to become the lady of the Hawthorne estate. It was always you who needed me to become the master of it. 1 Caleb found me in the study, where I was finalizing the guest list for the Memorial Gala. He placed a cup of steaming tea beside my hand. “Ava,” he began, his voice soft. “Add Chloe’s name to the list for next week’s gala.” The tip of my fountain pen dug into the polished mahogany of the desk, leaving a deep, black wound. The gala to honor the memory of my parents. And he wanted me to invite his mistress? I lifted my head, my eyes locking with his. “Caleb, do you really think I’m that much of a pushover?” “Of course not.” He looked at me, his dark eyes holding the same deep affection they always had. It was a look I used to treasure. Now, it just felt like a well-practiced lie. “Chloe is carrying a Hawthorne child, after all. We can’t keep her hidden away forever. The gala is the perfect opportunity for her to be introduced to the family.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ava, you’ve always been the reasonable one.” Reasonable. The word he used when he meant compliant. I picked up the teacup, its warmth a stark contrast to the ice in my veins, and poured the entire contents onto the Persian rug at his feet. “This is me being reasonable,” I said. “Are you satisfied?” He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he reached for my hand. “Did you burn yourself?” His warm fingers traced my skin, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. I snatched my hand away. “Stop this charade, Caleb. Cut the act!” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a patronizingly fond smile on his face. “Ava, getting angry isn’t good for you.” That look—the one you give a misbehaving child—made the fire in my chest roar to life. I grabbed the silver letter opener from the desk and brandished it at him, my voice a low growl. “I am not joking. And I said no.” The tenderness in Caleb’s expression finally evaporated. He stepped forward, reaching for the blade. “That’s dangerous. Give it to me.” “Get away from me!” In the struggle, the sharp edge of the opener sliced across my palm. A clean, deep line of red split the skin. We both froze. Blood welled up, dripping one by one onto the pristine invitation cards, staining his name and mine a brilliant crimson. Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk—a special ringtone I’d never heard before. Chloe’s ringtone. Caleb’s eyes darted from my bleeding hand to the glowing screen of his phone. He answered it. “Hey, Chloe.” His voice was a gentle murmur. “Don’t cry. I’m just taking care of a few things. I’ll be back with you soon.” I stood there, watching the blood flow freely from my palm, listening to him soothe another woman with a tenderness that cut deeper than any blade. Every word was a fresh twist of the knife. He waited a long time, so long the blood on my skin began to grow tacky. Finally, he hung up. Ignoring my wound, he let out a heavy sigh. “Ava, Chloe said she doesn’t want to make things difficult for you. She won’t come.” He paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “But,” he continued, “if you attend as the sole hostess, she’ll feel like an outsider. It will upset her.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “So?” He looked at me then, his gaze steady, and delivered the final blow, one word at a time. “So, the Memorial Gala is canceled.” He said it so simply. “That way, no one has to go.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Canceled? The Memorial Gala? It wasn’t just a party. It was the anniversary of my parents’ deaths. It was the Hawthorne family’s most sacred, blood-bound promise. Ten years ago, on September 9th, a brutal turf war had erupted, threatening to wipe the Hawthornes off the map. My father, seeing his oldest allies on the brink of collapse, sent every soldier, every asset, every gun the Sterling family possessed. He saved the Hawthornes, but in doing so, he signed our own death warrant. By sunrise, the great Sterling family was annihilated. The only one left was me, an eight-year-old girl in a blood-soaked dress. I remember Caleb’s grandfather, the Old Man, holding me, his body shaking with sobs. He led the entire Hawthorne clan to my parents’ graveside and knelt. He swore an oath before their tombstones to cherish me as his own granddaughter. He made a blood pact. The day I came of age, I would marry the Hawthorne heir. The family would never, ever forget the debt they owed. And now, this gala—a tradition bought with the lives of my family, this engagement forged from destiny and death—was being erased. All because Chloe didn’t like it. Caleb ignored the blood draining from my face. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, placing a soft, familiar kiss there. “Ava, don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice laced with the same hollow reassurance. “She just wants the baby. It won’t affect your position as Mrs. Hawthorne. At all.” “Next month, when I officially take over as Head of the House, I promise, I will marry you.” 2 For years, the Old Man had been living abroad for his health. He was scheduled to return next month to officially pass on the Hawthorne Cane—the symbol of the family patriarch—to Caleb. In his mind, Caleb was already the king. After that night, I locked myself in my room. A cold war of silence descended on the house. For three days, I refused all food and drink. Meanwhile, a barrage of text messages from Chloe lit up my phone. You really think Caleb loves you? You’re just an arrangement, a business deal. Don’t get carried away. Can’t you just disappear? Die off like the dinosaur you are and let Caleb have a real life, a life where he can find true love? Then came the picture message. A close-up of a woman’s pale neck, covered in a galaxy of dark, angry bruises. Love bites. Even with me pregnant, he can’t get enough. We’re together every single night. And you? After all these years, has he ever even touched you? I deleted the message without a flicker of emotion and blocked the number. It was the night of the Hawthornes’ monthly family dinner. The long dining table was filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, all of whom avoided my gaze, their faces etched with a mixture of pity and guilt over the canceled gala. I walked toward my seat at the head of the table, beside the patriarch’s empty chair, but my steps faltered. Chloe was sitting there. She wore a simple white dress, an innocent smile gracing her lips, as if she were born to sit in that very spot. Caleb was in the patriarch’s chair beside her, placing a piece of salmon on her plate as if they were the only two people in the room. A dead silence fell over the table. The air was thick with embarrassment. I walked to the head of the table and stood before her. “Get up.” Chloe flinched as if I had struck her. Her chopsticks clattered to the floor. Her eyes immediately welled with tears as she shrank against Caleb’s side. “Ava… I… I didn’t mean to.” I ignored her performance, my voice low and even. “I said, get up.” Caleb finally looked up, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ava, what is it now? It’s just a chair. Are you really going to make a scene over a chair? Chloe’s pregnant. I want her close so I can look after her. What’s the big deal?” I almost laughed. The absurdity of his words was breathtaking. “A chair?” I pointed to the carved, high-backed seat. “Caleb, you tell me. Is this just a chair?” My voice rose, echoing in the silent room. “This is the seat of the Hawthorne matriarch! What the hell is she, that she thinks she has the right to sit there?” Caleb slammed his hand on the table, the silverware jumping. He shot to his feet, shielding Chloe behind him. “She is carrying my child! My son! That means she is not an outsider!” he roared. “Ava Sterling, I respect you as my fiancée, but don’t you dare overestimate your importance! Anyone who tries to make her move from that seat answers to me!” He stood there, a barricade, defying me—defying his entire family—for her. A memory, sharp and painful, pierced through my anger. I was ten years old, new to the Hawthorne mansion, a timid, frightened little thing. Some of the older cousins were teasing me, pushing me. Caleb, barely a teenager himself, had beaten them all to a pulp. He had taken my hand, pulled me up the grand staircase, and announced to the entire household, “She’s with me. I protect her. One day, she will be the lady of this house. Anyone who makes her shed a single tear, I will make them wish they were never born.” The boy who had once shielded me from the world with his own body was now using that same body to shield another woman from me. He was pushing me away, violently and completely. The dinner ended in shambles. Late that night, Caleb came to my room, smelling of whiskey and regret. “Are you satisfied now?” he slurred. I said nothing. I simply unlocked my phone and showed him the text messages from Chloe. He stared at the screen for a moment, his drunken anger deflating. “She’s young,” he said, his voice regaining its composure. “A bit childish sometimes. I’ll apologize to you on her behalf.” He moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist in a placating embrace. “Ava, I promise you, no matter what, you will be the lady of this house. The day I become patriarch next month, we’ll get married.” He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice a desperate plea. “After we’re married, Chloe’s child can even call you ‘Mom.’ But you have to promise me you’ll be more generous. You have to be patient with her, okay?” “Disgusting.” The word escaped me like a venomous hiss. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Who ever said I was going to marry you?!” 3 Caleb didn’t come back after that night. Three days later, the frantic banging of our head butler on my bedroom door shattered the morning silence. “Miss Sterling! It’s terrible! Mr. Caleb… he’s taken Miss Chloe to the Sterling archives on the top floor! He forced the door!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The archives. The room where every surviving belonging of my parents was kept. I sprinted up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs, and kicked open the partially ajar door. The room was a wasteland. My parents’ wedding portrait, shattered. My mother’s favorite porcelain vases, reduced to dust. My father’s calligraphy set, splintered and broken. Everything was destroyed. In the center of the devastation sat Chloe, crying dramatically over a small scratch on her leg. And kneeling beside her, like a devoted servant, was Caleb, dabbing at the tiny wound with a handkerchief. “Silly girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “So reckless. I told you to take your time smashing things, didn’t I?” “CALEB!” The name tore from my throat. “What are you doing?!” He looked up, his expression utterly untroubled. “Ava. You’re here. Perfect. Could you grab the first aid kit? Chloe scraped her knee on some glass.” “I asked you,” I repeated, my voice shaking with a rage so profound it felt like it would split me in two, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” “Chloe said the light in here was good,” he replied, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “She thought it would make a nice nursery.” He gestured impatiently. “Are you going to get the antiseptic or not? It’ll scar if we wait too long.” “You BASTARDS!” The scream was primal, ripping through me. The old wound on my hand, not yet fully healed, tore open again. Fresh blood dripped onto the floor. Seeing me, Chloe seized her moment. She pressed herself deeper into Caleb’s arms, her eyes meeting mine with a triumphant glint. With a flick of her hand, she swept a small glass figurine of my parents from a nearby table. It shattered on the floor. Caleb’s arms tightened around her protectively. “Ava, what is your problem?!” he yelled. “You’re scaring her!” “I’m scaring her?” My voice was raw with disbelief. “Caleb, did you ask my permission before you brought her up here?!” He let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “This is Hawthorne property, Ava. Why would I need anyone’s permission to show my fiancée around?” The words hit me like a physical blow. This room… this sacred space that the Old Man himself had promised would be mine, forever untouched. “Ava, this is the last thing I can do for your father,” he had told me, his voice thick with grief all those years ago. “This room, and everything in it, is the Hawthorne family’s eternal promise to the Sterlings. Anyone who dares to touch a single thing in here is striking at the very root of our family.” And now his own grandson, the heir he was so proud of, was digging up that root with his bare hands for a woman he’d met in a bar. “Hawthorne property?” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. I took a step toward them, my finger shaking as I pointed at Chloe. “This property was bought with Sterling blood! What is she that she even deserves to breathe the air in this room?” “Get out,” I snarled. “Get. Out. Now.” I lunged, my hands reaching for Chloe’s hair. Caleb moved faster than I thought possible. He twisted, shielding her completely with his body, taking the brunt of my attack on his back. “Ava, have you lost your mind?!” he roared. I froze, staring at him as he sheltered her. That posture. That broad, protective back. When we were children, another boy had thrown a rock at me. Caleb had shielded me just like this, wrapping his arms around me, letting his own back take the blow. That protection had once been mine alone. Now, he was using it to defend someone else. From me. My heart didn’t just break. It felt like it was being ripped from my chest by hand. “It’s just a bunch of junk belonging to dead people!” he spat, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. “You’d attack a pregnant woman over this trash? Ava, I am so disappointed in you.” Trash. He called my parents’ memories trash. The last thread of sanity inside me snapped. I turned and grabbed a heavy curtain rod from the floor. “Then let’s all die together!” 4 Caleb whirled around, keeping Chloe tucked securely behind him. But as he moved to grab the rod from me, Chloe stumbled out from his protection. With a small, theatrical cry, she fell sideways into a pile of shattered porcelain, dragging her arm across the sharpest shard. “Ahh—! Caleb! It hurts! She hurt me!” she shrieked, cradling her bleeding arm. Caleb’s head snapped towards her. His eyes, seeing the blood, turned a dangerous shade of red. “AVA!” I had never seen him so furious. It was an anger that went beyond rage; it was murderous. “You dare hurt her?” he hissed, his voice trembling. Before I could speak, he pulled a small, tactical knife from his belt. The one he always carried for protection. He advanced on me, and for the first time in my life, I was truly afraid of him. “You like getting physical, don’t you?” he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. “Fine. Let me teach you what happens when you cross the line.” In a flash of movement, the world exploded in pain. The blade of his knife was through my hand, pinning it to the wooden floorboards.

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The shoes Guillermo gave me for my birthday were the wrong size. I was silent for a long moment before I finally asked for a divorce. He was bewildered. “Over something so small?” “Getting me size 7s when I’m a 6 is a small thing,” I said, my voice flat. “Forgetting our anniversary is also a small thing.” “Losing your wedding ring, another small thing.” “And you having lunch with your college crush while I was in surgery… I suppose that’s a small thing, too.” I pushed the shoe box back into his hands. “Tell me, Guillermo. What exactly counts as a big deal to you?” My voice was quiet, but it cut through the air between us. “Let’s get a divorce. Please make some time to go to the courthouse this week.” Guillermo rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, the picture of weary patience. “Honey, don’t be like this.” We’d thrown the word ‘divorce’ around in arguments more times than I could count over the years. He assumed this time was like all the others—a lot of thunder, but no rain. He didn’t realize the storm had finally broken until I placed the signed separation agreement on the table in front of him. 1 Guillermo and I had been married for seven years. In those seven years, he’d climbed his way up from nothing, a scrappy entrepreneur who fought through countless setbacks to become the tech wunderkind he was today. Everyone envied me for snagging such a promising stock. And by all traditional measures, Guillermo was a good husband. He always told me where he was going, and even after making his fortune, his name was never linked to a single scandal. Logically, I should have been content. Isn’t that what they say online? A rich husband who’s never home is the dream. I tried to tell myself that for a long time. Until I had to be hospitalized recently. It wasn’t anything major, just a small surgery to remove a nasal polyp. But it was my first time going under, and anxiety had been chewing at me for days. Guillermo was swamped with work, and as I tried to explain my fears, his patience wore thin. “It’s a minor procedure, Olivia. Don’t be so dramatic.” His words froze me. Of course, I knew it was a minor procedure. But I’m just a normal person, and normal people have an instinctual fear of the unknown. All I wanted was a little reassurance from him. He must have realized he’d gone too far, because he apologized immediately. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll be there with you tomorrow. I promise.” But in the end, he broke that promise. He wasn’t there when I woke up from the anesthesia. He never came. Instead, his assistant showed up with a bouquet of flowers and an awkward smile. “Mrs. Anderson, there was an emergency meeting. Guillermo had to fly to London.” I glanced at my phone. The screen was dark, empty. Not a single text. I couldn’t pinpoint when he’d become so stingy with his affection that even a simple message was too much to ask for. I forced a bitter smile. “Okay. I understand.” Guillermo knew better than anyone that in this city, he was the only person I had to rely on. After the anesthesia wore off, a throbbing pain pulsed through my sinuses. I wanted to scream, to sob, but all I could do was bury my face in my pillow and choke back quiet tears. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but when I finally looked up, a figure in a white coat materialized in the doorway, hands shoved casually into his pockets. My vision was blurry with tears. It was a doctor. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice calm and gentle. I blinked, my mind slowly clearing. As his face came into focus, a jolt went through me. It was a face I never expected to see again. A thousand memories flashed through my mind, and a hot blush crept up my neck. “No, I’m fine. Thank you,” I stammered. He watched me for a long moment, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes, before sighing softly and walking closer. “Then why are you crying?” I pointed a shaky finger to my nose. “It hurts.” I had imagined running into Ethan Cole again a million times, but never like this—a pathetic, tear-stained mess in a hospital gown. He drew a small penlight from his pocket and clicked it on. “Tilt your head up. Let me take a look.” Numbly, I obeyed, letting him conduct his examination. “It looks fine,” he said, his voice reassuring. “I’ll get you some painkillers. Take one if it gets really bad.” He paused, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And try not to cry into your pillow. It’s not good for the healing process. If you need anything, just call. I’m on duty tonight.” I was completely stunned. All I could manage was a weak nod. My mind was racing. When had Ethan moved back from abroad? If I had known he was working at this hospital, I would have gone anywhere else. Thankfully, he was considerate enough to leave after the check-up, giving me space to process. 2 I was in the hospital for three days. For three days, it was as if Guillermo had vanished from the face of the earth. The next time I saw any news of him, it was on a trending topic on Instagram. A rising starlet named Alana had posted a photo that set the internet on fire. Her caption was playful: Finally got to have that dinner with my old college mentor! followed by a cutesy, tongue-out emoji. In the photo, a man’s wrist was clearly visible. On his hand was a ring—the one I had custom-made for him. The comments section exploded with well-wishes. Alana had already gained a legion of fans after her private account was leaked. Everyone knew the story: the glamorous actress was secretly just a shy girl, hopelessly in love with an upperclassman from her past. Her private feed was a shrine to him, filled with poetic entries detailing her unrequited love through high school and college. Even her username, @ChasingTheAura, was a nod to him. The story had been dormant for years, ever since her private account went public. Now, with this new post, the unrequited love story had a sequel. The internet crowned it the most epic crush of all time. Her fans, never ones to miss an opportunity, egged her on. 【OMG GIRL, GO FOR IT!】 【Get together! Get together!】 【Alana, follow your heart!】 【Did she finally get her man?!】 The post trended all day. It didn’t take long for sharp-eyed netizens to notice the wedding band on the man’s ring finger. A married mentor and the innocent starlet. The story was too juicy to ignore. The speculation intensified as more details were dug up. The ring’s unique design had only been seen on one person: Guillermo Anderson, the celebrated new genius of the tech world. Soon, Guillermo’s bio was all over the web, and he and Alana were trending together. The scandal was so big that the topic was forcibly scrubbed from the trending list. And through it all, Guillermo—the man at the center of the storm—offered no explanation. I stared at the circus on my phone, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. Three days passed. No call from him. No text. No explanation. A few nights later, he came home as if nothing had happened. He looked exhausted, his usually perfect hair disheveled. “Babe, I’m so sorry. Things have been insane at work. I haven’t been able to check in.” He didn’t mention the hospital. He didn’t mention the scandal. My eyes fell on his left hand. His ring finger was bare. A surge of cold anger washed over me. “Where’s your ring?” He instinctively glanced at his hand, his voice suddenly strained. “I… I lost it.” Lost it? Or got rid of it? Only he knew the truth. The rush of emotion made my sinuses ache. I massaged the bridge of my nose, too tired to fight. We’d had this same argument, or variations of it, for years. I was done. As I turned to leave, Guillermo grabbed my arm. “The stuff online… I can explain.” “Liv,” he said, his voice earnest. “Alana is just… we knew each other in college. We were both in London at the same time, so we had dinner. That’s it.” “Nothing happened between us. I swear.” A cynical smile touched my lips. “Then why not just say that? One press release would have cleared it up. Why kill the story and let the rumors run wild?” He sighed heavily. “Alana’s career is just taking off. I couldn’t risk ruining it for her.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “She’s the one who created this mess, isn’t she? If her career gets ruined, she has no one to blame but herself. And besides, how would a simple clarification destroy her career? That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.” “Liv, don’t be so cruel.” I couldn’t believe those words came from the man I’d been married to for seven years. For the first time in a long time, I completely lost control. “Cruel?” I yelled, my voice shaking with rage. “You want to talk about cruel? My husband disappears while I’m in the hospital having surgery, only to pop up in London having a cozy dinner with his little admirer, and you have the nerve to call me cruel? You’re disgusting, Guillermo.” I ripped my arm from his grasp. “Get out. I’m done with you.” I had become so numb over the years, so emotionally stable. This raw, screaming version of myself felt like a stranger. A deep sadness settled in my chest. When had we become this? A flash of panic crossed Guillermo’s face. He pulled me into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.” I pried his fingers off me, one by one. My voice was chillingly calm. “I think we both need some space to cool off.” The ugly, contorted face I had just seen in his eyes was one I never wanted to see again. 3 Following the fight, Guillermo and I entered a deep freeze. We didn’t speak for nearly a month. It was his mother who finally noticed something was wrong. She arranged a dinner party, using my upcoming birthday as an excuse to get us in the same room. Guillermo was running late, as usual, so his mother and I sat in the living room alone. “Olivia, you and Guillermo have been through so much together, from the very beginning,” she said gently. “I know he’s neglected you these past few years while building his company, and I know that’s been hard on you. But I want you to know, that boy has always been stubborn. He’s not good with words, and he never explains himself when there’s a misunderstanding. But, Olivia, he truly has you in his heart.” Guillermo’s mother was one of those rare, perfect mothers-in-law. She respected boundaries. In all our years of marriage, she never once made a single demand of me. Her philosophy was that a marriage belongs to the couple, and outsiders should stay out. She lived by it. For her to be playing peacemaker now meant that Guillermo must have gone to her for help. Her concern felt genuine, so I decided to be honest. “But, Mom,” I began, my voice quiet, “I got married because I wanted a home. A place where we could eat our terrible home-cooked meals together, read useless books on the couch together, wander aimlessly on weekends together. A place where we could live out all our ordinary, boring days… together.” My voice cracked. “But what do I have now? I eat alone. I get sick alone. I lie in a hospital bed alone. When I have good news to share, or when I need a shoulder to cry on, he’s never there. What’s the point of a marriage like that?” I’d asked myself that question a thousand times. What was the point? Friends told me to hold on tight to Guillermo, this rising star. They said he was headed for greatness, and my status would rise with him. That our future children would have a head start in life that others could only dream of. “So what if he cheats on me one day?” I asked them. “Am I supposed to just close my eyes and forgive him?” They’d fall silent, stammering about how marriage eventually becomes about companionship, not passion. But they forgot one thing: I had a perfectly good career of my own. I didn’t need to cling to his tree to survive. All I ever wanted was a home. And now I knew, with painful certainty, that he couldn’t give me one. I didn’t need to console myself with platitudes about companionship when my husband’s heart had already moved on. When the love is gone, it’s gone. Why disguise it as something else? Guillermo’s mother was quiet for a long time. Finally, she patted my hand. “My dear child, you’ve been through too much.” Her words were the final crack in my dam. Tears welled in my eyes. Yes, I felt sorry for myself. How had I let my life become this empty? The family dinner was supposed to start at six-thirty, but with Guillermo’s absence, it was postponed indefinitely. At eight, Guillermo’s father finally declared, “We’re not waiting for him any longer. Let’s eat.” The housekeeper reheated the dishes, offering me a placating smile as she noticed my somber expression. “Good things come to those who wait,” she chirped. At eight-thirty, Guillermo finally arrived. He sounded genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, everyone. A last-minute meeting came up.” I smiled, a sharp, humorless thing. “See, Mom, Dad? Everything else always comes before us.” Guillermo always had another meeting, another conference call. He was never on time for a family gathering. Not even for my birthday. He walked over, holding a gift bag. “Honey, I’m so sorry I’m late. Happy birthday.” He handed it to me. “Look, they just came in. It’s that pair of heels you love.” I had mentioned loving those shoes months ago. They weren’t available in the States, and every time he traveled abroad, I’d asked him to look for them. He never had. With his parents watching, I had no choice but to take the box, forcing a tight smile. The packaging was exquisite. Tucked inside was a handwritten card. Dear Olivia, May you be happy every day. I glanced at the card, then back at him, my smile turning into a smirk. “Who’s Olivia?” I shoved the card back into his hand. “Give this to your Olivia.” Without another word, I turned and walked out of the dining room. From the hallway, I could hear his parents’ hushed voices. “Guillermo, work is endless. You need to make time for Olivia.” Guillermo’s low voice replied, “I know. Once the company goes public, I’ll…” I didn’t bother listening to the rest. This villa was one Guillermo had bought for his parents after he made his first fortune. I rarely visited, and tonight was the first time I’d really taken in the backyard garden. I sat on the swing, staring blankly at the rows of blooming roses. My phone buzzed. A link from a friend I hadn’t spoken to in years. It was a post from an entertainment blogger. Her text came with a single, cutting remark. “Looks like someone else didn’t get their fairy-tale ending after all.” She used to be my best friend. I ignored her and clicked the link. The blogger’s post was pure speculation, written with breathless excitement: “AuraTech’s new drone is being endorsed by Alana! Has anyone considered that Alana might actually be the CEO’s wife? Maybe her Instagram post was a secret announcement!” Attached was a paparazzi photo of Alana sitting in a car outside the AuraTech headquarters, sunglasses on, laughing brightly at the man in the driver’s seat. The top comment read: 【I SHIP IT! Put me down for a $200 wedding gift, and put it on Guillermo Anderson’s tab!】 I liked the comment, then closed the app. When I turned, Guillermo was standing right behind me. His face was pale, but his eyes were dark and intense. “Liv, are you really just going to ignore me?” he asked, his voice low. “Can you give me ten minutes? I can explain everything.” I looked up at him. “Fine. I’m listening.” “I asked Alana to buy the shoes for me,” he said, the words rushing out. “She was flying back today, so I had her pick them up. The salesclerk must have thought they were for her and wrote that card.” A small, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. “And what’s the explanation for the size 7s? Don’t tell me our great CEO doesn’t even know his own wife’s shoe size.” He looked like a child caught in a lie. “I’m sorry.” I stared at him for a long, silent moment. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said again, the words feeling more real, more solid this time. 4 Guillermo looked at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “Over something so small?” he repeated, his voice strained. I reached out and plucked a single, perfect rose from the bush beside the swing. It had a faint, sweet scent. My sense of smell had been dull for years, a side effect of the polyps, but since the surgery, it was slowly returning. Which meant I could now clearly smell the subtle, expensive perfume clinging to his shirt. And I never wear perfume. I stated the facts calmly, one by one. “Getting my shoe size wrong is a small thing.” “Forgetting our anniversary is a small thing.” “Losing your wedding ring is a small thing.” “Disappearing to have a date with your old crush while I was having surgery… that is also a small thing.” My gaze flickered to the shoe box I’d discarded on the grass. “Tell me, Guillermo. In your world, what counts as a big deal?” “Let’s get a divorce. Please make time this week to go to the courthouse.”

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The city’s underworld knew Damian Thorne as a “mad dog”—a ruthless arms dealer infamous for holding bloodied daggers to throats during poker games. His one known weakness was a preference for women with hourglass figures. His upcoming wedding was to Nina, the beautiful illegitimate daughter of a wealthy family. When my fiancé Caleb heard, he disappeared for three days. I found him confiding in his right-hand man: “Get our men on the escort team for the wedding. No matter what, make sure Nina ends up in my car instead of Damian’s.” Caleb’s voice was strained. “You know his reputation—no woman leaves him unharmed.” His man murmured, “The route is set. But… what about Miss Reed? If Damian finds out you switched brides—” Caleb cut him off with a scornful laugh. “Is he crazy enough to touch my woman? After things settle, I’ll divorce Nina and give Evelyn a grand wedding to make it up to her.” I stood frozen outside, a cold realization washing over me. The boy I’d loved was gone, replaced by a stranger. I would follow his plan. I would play my part. But when the switch was made, I knew it would be Caleb, not me, who would be brought to his knees. As Caleb finished speaking, the soft sound of a woman’s sobs echoed from the private room. Only then did I realize Nina Vance was with them. She was curled up on a leather sofa, her eyes red-rimmed, looking like a startled little rabbit. “Caleb… I’m not worth you taking such a huge risk… Damian will kill you…” He gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it. “I’ve been in this game a long time, Nina. When have I ever been afraid?” A low chuckle escaped him as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap. “If you really feel that guilty… you can pay me back by giving me a few kids in the future.” The room erupted in a chorus of whoops and whistles. Nina’s face flushed a deep crimson as she buried her face in his chest. “But… what about Miss Reed… Evelyn…” “Evelyn?” Caleb scoffed. “She’s head over heels for me. Even if she finds out, a few sweet words and she’ll be fine.” His men chimed in, their voices loud and confident. “The boss is right! We all grew up with her. She’s seen knives pulled on her and didn’t even flinch, but when it comes to Caleb, she’s a total pushover!” “Tell her to go east, and she’d never dare go west. A little thing like this won’t even register.” “Exactly. Everyone knows she’s been dying to marry the boss for years.” “Man, Caleb, you’ve got it made. You get the sweet and gentle Nina first, with the elegant and noble Miss Reed waiting in the wings. So, which one do you love more?” Caleb didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside lay an emerald bracelet, a stunning piece of jewelry with a deep, translucent green that seemed to glow from within. It was the Thorne family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation to the eldest son’s bride. With everyone watching, he fastened it around Nina’s slender wrist. An unspoken vow, louder than any words he could have uttered. Nina gasped, trying to pull her hand away, but he held it firm. “You’re the one who’ll be standing at the altar with me. You should be the one to wear it.” Then, his fingers tracing the cool surface of the gems, he added in a low voice, “Just don’t let Evelyn see it for now. She’s obedient, but she’s sharp. She might get suspicious.” I stood in the hallway, watching the emerald gleam a ghostly green in the dim light, and a silent, bitter laugh escaped me. Caleb’s mother had placed that very bracelet in my hands on her deathbed. It was a century-old symbol of the Thorne family legacy. Because we weren’t officially married yet, I’d felt it wasn’t my place to wear it. I kept it locked in a safe, taking it out every day just to look at it. Three days ago, Caleb had come to my apartment late at night, telling me he needed the bracelet for a pre-wedding ritual. I had opened the safe for him myself. I never imagined the “ritual” was to bestow his family’s honor upon another woman. I turned and fled, stumbling out of the club and into a torrential downpour. Fat, cold raindrops hammered against my skin, the shock of it throwing my mind back seven years, to another storm-swept night. My family, the Reeds, and the Thornes were allies, our fathers bound by blood oaths. When the Thornes fell on hard times, my father secretly supported them, keeping their family afloat. But that loyalty cost us everything. The night the Thorne’s rivals came for us, my mother hid me in the cellar. Through a crack in the door, I watched them torture and slaughter my parents. My father’s blood dripped onto my face, staining my world crimson. When the Thorne reinforcements finally arrived, Caleb was the first to find me. I was a feral animal, biting and kicking, my nails digging into the flesh of his arms, carving bloody furrows. He didn’t seem to feel the pain, his arms like iron bands around me, refusing to let go until I finally collapsed into darkness. Afterward, the Thorne family patriarch, Elias, out of gratitude for my father’s sacrifice, took me in and raised me as his own. From that day on, Caleb was my shadow. He pulled me, piece by piece, from the nightmare of my past. I depended on him for everything. I went to school with him, trained with him, and stood by his side through every bloody battle and back-alley war. I always believed we would be together forever. I never dreamed that the person standing beside him in the end would be someone else. Fine. If this was what he wanted, I would give it to him. When Caleb emerged from the club, the rain was still coming down in sheets. I had been waiting for him in the lobby. He spotted me instantly, dropping his arm from around Nina’s waist and darting behind me. He covered my eyes with his hands, a game we used to play when we were kids. “Guess who.” I pulled his hands away. “Not funny.” He chuckled, draping his arm casually around my shoulders, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Wow, getting brave, aren’t we? Weren’t you worried it was some creep trying to hit on you?” I didn’t answer, my gaze sweeping over the crowd of his men behind him, and over Nina. They all grinned and called out, “Hey, future Mrs. Thorne!” completely unconcerned that I might have witnessed the scene inside. They all knew. When it came to Caleb, I always gave in. Caleb shifted, blocking Nina from my view. “Were you waiting for me?” I nodded. “The rain’s too heavy. I was just taking shelter.” He took my hand, his warm palms rubbing mine to chase away the damp chill. “You know that limited edition Tiffany diamond bracelet you wanted? I made a special trip to the coast to get it for you. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” “Where is it?” I asked, my voice flat. His eyes flickered involuntarily towards Nina. “It, uh… it had to be custom-ordered. I had them change the design a bit. It probably won’t be ready until after the wedding.” I forced a tight smile and said nothing. While we were waiting for the car, Nina let out a sudden cry. The bracelet on her wrist had snagged on a decorative plant stand. She gave it a sharp tug. The delicate chain snapped, and the bracelet clattered to the marble floor, diamonds scattering like ice chips. It was the exact one I had dreamed of. The one he’d just lied about. A global limited edition of three. I’d mentioned it to him so many times. He’d never paid it any mind. And now, here it was, on another woman’s wrist. Nina frantically knelt to pick up the pieces, slicing her finger on a sharp shard of a shattered diamond. “Ah—” A bead of blood welled up. Instantly, Caleb let go of me and rushed to her side. “Why are you so careless!” He shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over her shoulders before pulling off his tie and wrapping it tightly around her bleeding finger. That tie had been my birthday gift to him. He loved it, always had it professionally cleaned and pressed. Now, it was stained with her blood. He caught me staring, and a flicker of guilt crossed his face. “Evelyn, I’ve got to get Nina to a doctor. Wait here, I’ll be right back for you.” Before I could answer, he was already helping her into his car, half-carrying her. One of his men tried to smooth things over. “Nina helped the boss out once, you know how it is. Don’t worry about it… We can give you a ride home?” I shook my head and told them to go on without me. I just wanted to see. I wanted to see if Caleb would actually come back. The sky darkened, and the hours ticked by. He never returned. It was only when the Patriarch himself called, demanding to know where I was, that I finally went home. He burst into the villa early the next morning, looking relieved to find me at the breakfast table. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. The car got a flat tire on the way back last night. We were in a dead zone, no cell signal… I couldn’t get back to you.” I didn’t hear a word he said. My eyes were fixed on the angry red mark on his neck, a mark that was impossible to mistake. As if to tear away the last shred of our pretense, I reached out to touch it. He flinched back, his hand instinctively flying up to tug the silk scarf he was wearing higher on his neck. “Looks weird, right? The Old Man is convinced my luck has been bad lately. He’s making me wear this thing for protection. Won’t let me take it off.” He had a tell when he lied—a subtle tightening of his lips. I lowered my gaze, my nails digging into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the burn behind my eyes. “It doesn’t really suit you. Take it off, I’ll tie it again for you.” “No!” He almost jumped, his reaction far too strong. He quickly changed the subject. “Hey, didn’t you say the veil for the wedding was missing a main diamond? Let’s go pick one out today.” He strode quickly to the car, waiting for me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as a single tear traced a path down my cheek. When I came downstairs, dressed to go out, the scarf was tied securely, hiding everything. The car had barely pulled up to the curb in front of the city’s most exclusive jeweler when we heard shouting from inside. I glanced up at the second-floor VIP lounge. Through the plate-glass window, I saw her again. Nina. Her face was streaked with tears as a group of wealthy socialites surrounded her, shoving her back and forth. Caleb’s hands clenched into fists, his jaw tight as he stared up at the scene. But he didn’t move. Instead, he looked at me. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to go up there and save her. It wasn’t the first time. Nina had been a dancer since she was a child. She had the body for it, and she knew exactly how to play the victim, making her irresistible to the men in our circle. They called her the “Midnight Rose,” and more than a few debutantes had despised her for years. Once, she was pushed into a pool, and it was Caleb who dove in to rescue her. After that, whenever she found herself in trouble, Caleb was there. And for the situations he couldn’t step into himself, he sent me. When the news broke that the fearsome Damian Thorne intended to marry her, the jealousy of the other women boiled over. These women had done everything to catch Damian’s eye—plastic surgery, brutal workout regimens, anything to fit his supposed “type.” “Are you deaf? Take off the dress! I want to see for myself what kind of body can bewitch the great Damian Thorne.” “Please, ladies, don’t do this… there are people watching…” Nina pleaded, her voice trembling. “Stop acting so innocent! You think Damian hasn’t seen it? How else would he know what you’ve got?” “If he can look, why can’t we?” “Are you going to take it off, or are we going to do it for you?” Just as they backed her into a corner, Caleb gave me a slight push. “Evelyn, go!” I stumbled forward, nearly losing my balance. He didn’t even notice, his eyes still glued to Nina. A self-mocking smile touched my lips as I turned and headed for the stairs. The moment she saw me, Nina expertly ducked behind me, her voice shaking. “Miss Reed, help me…” I shot a cold look at the women in front of us. “You’re going to publicly humiliate her and force her to strip? Not worried about ending up on the front page tomorrow?” The ringleader, a girl named Chloe Sterling, just smirked. “Evelyn, we’re just curious. And you should be careful. She’s not as innocent as she looks.” “Yeah, Evelyn,” another one chimed in. “I saw Caleb taking her to a hotel just the other day. Aren’t you the least bit suspicious?” Nina shook her head violently. “No! Evelyn, don’t listen to them! It’s all lies!” As she spoke, she clutched my arm, her grip like a vise, subtly pulling me backward. I tried to shake her off, but she held on tight. “Lies? Or are you just too scared to admit it!” “I saw you both going in yesterday—” Before the girl could finish, in the split second I tried to wrench my arm free, Nina let out a piercing scream and threw herself backward, tumbling over the railing to the floor below. “NINA!” Caleb moved like a lightning bolt, diving to catch her. They both crashed to the ground in a heap. “Nina… are you okay? Are you hurt?!” She seemed stunned, then slowly looked up at me, fresh tears streaming down her face. “Miss Reed… why did you push me? Did you really believe them?” Caleb’s head snapped up, his eyes filled with a chilling coldness. “Evelyn! I sent you up there to help her, not to push her!” I saw the flash of triumph in Nina’s eyes and suddenly understood why she had been pulling me backward the entire time. “She jumped.” Nina immediately buried her face in Caleb’s chest, her voice a muffled, pitiful whisper. “No… it was my fault… I slipped.” She was trembling, the very picture of a terrified victim. Caleb clutched her tighter, his heart clearly breaking for her. “I saw the whole thing from down here! You pushed her! How dare you lie to my face?!” Looking at the disgust in his eyes, I felt a profound sense of exhaustion. It was a perfectly staged performance, and nothing I said would ever convince him otherwise. “If anything happens to her,” he snarled, “I will never forgive you.” Then, ignoring the stares of the other customers, he swept Nina up into his arms and stormed out of the store. Just before they left, Nina peeked over his shoulder and shot me a triumphant smirk. Chloe and her friends saw it too. Chloe gritted her teeth. “That bitch! I knew she did it on purpose.” “Evelyn, he’s about to marry you, and she still has the nerve to seduce him. Aren’t you going to—” She cut herself off, probably remembering the rumors about me being a spineless doormat when it came to Caleb. When I got back to the villa, Caleb was already there, pacing like a caged animal. He grabbed my wrist and started dragging me toward the door. “Nina’s in the hospital, she’s in shock because of you. You’re going to go and apologize.” I ripped my arm from his grasp, meeting his icy glare. “I told you, I didn’t push her. Why should I apologize?” “I only trust what I saw. Evelyn, don’t make me angry.” And then he did it. He pulled out the silver locket my father had left me. It was the last thing I had of him. I had given it to Caleb as a symbol of our engagement, the most precious thing I owned. My heart stopped, and an icy wind seemed to howl through my soul. “You’re… you’re using this to threaten me?” “I’m not threatening you. Just apologize, and everything goes back to normal.”

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To marry Nolan Vance, Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor, I reinvented myself—from a gambler’s daughter to an Oxford-educated heiress. I worked tirelessly to become his equal, and succeeded. We built a life of immense power and privilege. But that illusion shattered when Nolan sabotaged a $100 million deal over a cocktail waitress. As I scrambled to clean up his mess, I overheard his friends in the next room. “Does your perfect wife really think a couture dress can hide where she came from?” one mocked. Then I heard Nolan’s laugh—cold and knowing. He had always known I was a fraud. And so, it turned out, was he. 1 Standing outside that door, a gaping hole tore open in my chest. “I heard her deadbeat dad just got out of prison,” someone mused. “Let’s make a bet. I say three months, tops, before he shows up begging for money. That’s when Mrs. Vance’s carefully crafted high-society image is going to come crashing down.” “I’ll bet one month!” Leo declared. “That whole Oxford story was a nice touch, I’ll give her that. But you can’t hide the poverty in your bones. Have you seen the way she cuts a steak? Like she’s murdering an enemy, terrified of using the wrong form. It’s hysterical.” Nolan’s voice, calm and detached, cut through their laughter. “I’ll bet… a year. She has too much pride. She’ll do anything to keep the lie going, probably try to ship her father back to whatever hellhole he came from. He won’t be a problem in the short term.” He sighed, a sound of weary calculation. “My mother was trying to force me to marry that pig-headed idiot from the Harrison Group. Obviously, I refused. Stella was a convenient alternative. She’s poor, yes, but she’s smart. I needed someone smart to run interference with my parents. While they were busy dealing with her, they’d leave me alone.” He paused. “And watching her try so hard to be elegant every day… it has its own brand of amusement.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. He knew. Nolan knew everything. My relentless effort, the life I had painstakingly built—it was all just a joke to him. A private, pathetic circus act. The room erupted in another round of laughter. Suddenly, Nolan shushed them. Through the crack in the door, I saw a girl. She was curled up on the leather sofa behind him, fast asleep, cocooned in his custom-tailored jacket. She stirred, and Nolan immediately silenced the room. “Keep it down. Don’t wake her. She was working all night. She’s exhausted.” Leo clicked his tongue. “Honestly, Nolan. She’s a nobody from the middle of nowhere. What do you even see in her?” Nolan propped his chin on his hand, his gaze softening as he watched the girl sleep. “Compared to Stella’s fake elegance, I prefer something real. A thirty-dollar t-shirt looks beautiful on her. And the way she carries herself, without a trace of insecurity or apology… that’s what I find captivating.” Just then, the girl rolled over and woke up. She sat up, dazed and disoriented. “How did I fall asleep…?” She carefully folded the jacket and handed it back to Nolan. “Mr. Vance, thank you again for paying for my brother’s surgery. I swear, I’ll pay you back every penny…” “You don’t have to.” “No, I insist.” She bit her lip, her expression full of stubborn pride. “I don’t want to owe anyone anything.” A slow smile spread across Nolan’s face. He reached out and gently tapped the tip of her nose, his touch impossibly tender. “Alright, alright, you win. In that case, how about you come work for me? Be my assistant. I’ll pay you fifty thousand a month.” Her eyes lit up. “But… I never even finished high school. I don’t know anything…” “Don’t worry about that. You’re smart. You’ll be great.” After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. A sharp pain, like a needle, pierced my heart. Nolan Vance’s executive assistant. That position used to be mine. The job posting had explicitly stated the minimum requirement was an Ivy League degree. My background was a lie, but my education was real. I had spent months preparing for that interview. I knew Nolan had a branch in Paris and traveled there often. Terrified he’d find me lacking, I’d thrown myself into French lessons and etiquette classes, running from one tutor to the next. And all of it, in his eyes, meant nothing. For the first time, I understood. You didn’t have to be brilliant to stand beside him. You just had to be… her. Nolan gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “For my assistant,” he said softly, “a high school education is more than enough.” A shy smile bloomed on Tress’s face. Outside the door, my limbs went numb. I stumbled back to my own private room, my legs threatening to give out. The business partner, Mr. Peterson, was still there, determined to make me suffer. He poured a glass, a toxic mix of whiskey and something clear that burned the air. “Mrs. Vance, you drink this, and the issue between me and your husband is forgotten.” He gave me a lewd, knowing smile. I remembered the last time I’d done this for Nolan. I’d drunk so much I ended up in the emergency room with a bleeding stomach, nearly dying on the operating table. I wasn’t going to be that stupid again. I took the glass, and in one smooth motion, poured its contents onto the expensive carpet. “Mr. Peterson,” I said, my voice steady. “Your business with my husband is your own. I have other matters to attend to.” I walked out of the restaurant like a zombie and went back to the Vance mansion. Nolan’s mother was seated before a small shrine in the sitting room, her eyes closed in meditation. She heard me enter but didn’t even bother to look up. “The luncheon with the foundation board is tomorrow. Have you finalized the seating chart?” she asked, her voice cold. “Also, the ancestral rites are next month. I had the butler email you the travel itineraries for your uncles. You are to personally arrange their transport. We brought you into this family to be our public face, Stella. These duties must be performed flawlessly. Otherwise, what’s the difference between marrying you and some illiterate trash from the slums?” Gutter trash. The words were a fresh stab to an open wound. I stood silently in the doorway, then turned and started up the stairs. “Stop! Are you deaf? Or have your manners completely deserted you?” I paused at the landing but didn’t turn back. “Find someone else,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m tired.” A torrent of venomous words followed me up the stairs, but I tuned them out. I slammed my bedroom door shut, the sound a final, satisfying crack that silenced the world. Memories flooded back. The first time I ever saw Nolan Vance. I was a college student, working as a waitress at a gala to pay my tuition. It was my first, terrifying glimpse into the world of the elite. I was so scared, so out of place. I accidentally spilled a glass of champagne on a guest. The woman exploded in fury. Her hand shot out, grabbing me by the throat and shoving me to the floor. She kicked me twice, hard, in the ribs. Pain shot through my body, leaving me trembling. “You little beggar!” she shrieked. “Do you have any idea what this gown is? It’s custom-made by an Italian designer! It costs seven figures—more money than your kind will ever see in a lifetime!” I knelt on the floor like a dog, my hands clasped, begging for forgiveness. She slapped me, and the sting of it mixed with my tears, blurring my vision into a smear of red. Then Nolan stepped in. “It’s just a dress,” he said, his voice light as air. “Is it really necessary to terrorize the girl?” The check he wrote was signed with a hand that was long, elegant, and impossibly beautiful. I can still see it. My heart hammered in my chest. For the first time, I felt the chasm of class that separated my world from his. I was a student at a prestigious university, but because of where I came from, I was nothing more than an ant to be crushed under their feet. But I didn’t want to be an ant. I wanted to be the master of my own life. I wanted that beautiful life, and I wanted the man standing before me. In that moment, a dangerous cocktail of ambition and desire gave birth to an audacious plan. I would fake a past. I would weave a web of lies. All I wanted was an admission ticket to their world. A chance to stand next to him. And in the end, I did it. Only to discover it was all just a game to him. He didn’t love the brilliant woman I had become. He was captivated by a cocktail waitress who never finished high school. All because she was real. What a fucking joke. I picked up my phone and called my lawyer. I told him to draft the divorce papers. It was time to end this. I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Nolan didn’t come home until after midnight. I could hear my mother-in-law’s muffled complaints from the living room before he came upstairs. He smelled faintly of citrus, the same scent that clung to the girl. “Mom said you were rude to her today,” he said, undoing his tie. “Go down and apologize later.” I didn’t move. He gently tapped my shoulder. “What’s wrong, honey? You seem upset.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. The same gentle touch, but now it felt like ice. “I’m fine,” I managed, struggling to keep my voice even. “Just not feeling well.” “By the way, how did things go with Peterson?” “Not well.” He paused. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. We can afford to lose the deal. I don’t want you to be put in that position.” I almost laughed. I wanted to ask him who, exactly, he didn’t want to see get hurt. But the words died in my throat. “Okay,” I whispered. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day at the office, the girl had already started. Her name was Tress. She was even prettier, more innocent-looking, than she had been in the private room. She was also completely incompetent. During the morning meeting, she couldn’t even figure out how to operate the slideshow. Her meeting notes were a chaotic mess. Nolan was notoriously strict with his employees, a ruthless perfectionist. But with Tress, he was endlessly patient. I held my tongue until the meeting was over. When I went to Nolan’s office to discuss a new project, Tress was there to serve tea. Her hand slipped, and a stream of scalding water splashed onto my wrist, instantly raising a cluster of blisters. The project files on the desk were soaked. I finally snapped. “What is wrong with you?” She slammed the teapot down, her face a mask of defiant stubbornness. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” I asked, my voice calm. My composure seemed to enrage her. “It was an accident! Why are you being so aggressive? You think you can bully me just because you have money?” Nolan watched her, a look of pure admiration in his eyes. This was the unapologetic defiance he found so captivating? Before I could say another word, he took my hand. “She’s young, Stella. No work experience. Let me apologize to you on her behalf, okay?” My heart stuttered. I pulled my hand away. The matter was dropped. After we finished discussing work, I was about to leave when Nolan cleared his throat. “I have a dinner meeting tonight. You should go home, don’t wait up for me.” I knew him too well. He always coughed twice before he lied. “Okay.” Back in my office, I found Tress’s social media profile through the HR database. As expected, around 8 p.m., she posted an update. A photo of her and Nolan. They were at a cheap, roadside diner, a table laden with spicy, messy food between them. And two plastic cups from a corner lemonade stand. This was a man who only drank single-origin Yemeni coffee. Now he was drinking four-dollar lemonade. I scrolled through her feed. Almost every post was about him. [My 20th birthday! Mr. Vance bought me my very first pair of high heels! (But I still like my sneakers better hehe)] [Took the big CEO to a hole-in-the-wall for the first time. He looked so serious eating, but he still peeled my crawfish for me!] The more I looked, the tighter the knot in my chest became. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from an anonymous number. My heart seized. It was my father. The one I’d just heard was out of prison. [Stella. Help your dad out. You think you can just cut me off now that you’ve made it big?] [I’ll drag you back down into the mud with me!] [Don’t forget how you got into the Vance family. Give me five million, and I’ll keep your little secret.] I didn’t reply. My hand trembled as I deleted the message. I thought of the bet Nolan and his friends had made. The bet on how long it would take for my world to implode. My father was a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later, he would detonate. But I was done living in fear. This time, I would be the one to light the fuse. Nolan came home at dawn the next day, mumbling a lazy excuse about an all-night business meeting. But I’d already seen it on Tress’s feed. There was no meeting. He’d spent the night with her, driving out of the city to some remote hill to watch the stars, and then the sunrise. My mother-in-law’s sharp voice cut through the morning quiet. “The annual family banquet is approaching. Stella, it’s time for you to start the preparations.” It was the most important event of the year for the Vance clan, a gathering of every direct and extended relative. “When is it?” I asked, my voice hollow. “The twentieth.” My phone buzzed again. Another threat from my father. [You little bitch! If you don’t answer, I’m coming to your house!] I hesitated for only a second before typing a reply. [You want money? Come to the Vance estate on the twentieth of this month. I’ll be waiting.] The days crawled by. The closer it got to the twentieth, the more the world seemed to split in two. Tress’s social media was a daily diary of her fairytale romance. Nolan skipping work to visit her grandmother in the countryside. Nolan spending a weekend with her, dressed in a goofy mascot costume, handing out flyers on the street. The two of them squatting on a curb, sharing a three-dollar hot dog. Every photo was a poisoned needle, driving deeper into my heart. My father’s texts continued unabated, each one more vile than the last. He called me a whore, a toad trying to eat swan meat. He said I was born for the gutter and that’s where I would die. The locked doors in my mind burst open. Memories I had buried clawed their way out. Him, drunk and raging, beating me until I was covered in bruises. Forcing me to get on all fours and bark like a dog. Tying me up with a rope and hanging me from the rafters. My head felt like it was going to explode. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. I dug my nails into my palms until they bled, clenching my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would crack, just to stay sane. The twentieth was almost here. Money couldn’t save me. The beautiful, fragile dream couldn’t save me. If I was going to crawl out of this swamp for good, I had to do it myself. The day of the banquet arrived. Nolan’s car was waiting downstairs. When I pulled open the passenger door, I found Tress sitting there. “I’m just showing the kid what this world looks like,” Nolan explained casually. He then glanced at Tress. “You should sit in the back. The front seat is for my wife.” Tress bit her lip and tugged on his sleeve. “Mr. Vance, I get carsick… I’ll throw up if I sit in the back.” And just like that, he softened. “Stella, would you mind…?” Without a word, I opened the back door and got in. The ride to the old family estate was silent and suffocating. Tress looked exactly like I had on my first night in this world—timid, overwhelmed, and completely out of her depth. But she was luckier than I had been. Nolan hovered over her like a mother hen, protecting her. When one of his cousins tried to ask her for a drink, a single withering glare from Nolan sent him scurrying away. “Bro, you’re already married,” the cousin teased later. “You planning on making her wife number two?” Nolan shot him a dark look. “And what if I am?” he retorted, then immediately flicked his eyes toward me, checking my reaction. I didn’t care anymore. I just watched the antique clock on the wall, counting down the minutes. Finally, the butler hurried into the room, his face pale. He kept glancing nervously in my direction. “There’s… an uninvited guest at the gate,” he stammered. “He says he’s here to see… the young madam.” My voice was calm. “Let him in.” The man who entered was my father. His face was a roadmap of hard living, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wore a tattered camouflage jacket and worn-out work boots, the soles peeling away from the leather. Nolan, having investigated my past, knew exactly who he was. “Get him out of here!” he snapped, signaling for security. “Don’t,” I said, stopping them. “…What are you doing?” Nolan’s voice was a low hiss. I looked him straight in the eye. “I brought him here today to tell you all the truth.” The color drained from his face. He tried to stop me, but it was too late. “My entire identity is a lie,” I announced to the silent, stunned room. “My parents are not university professors. I’m not an heiress. I’m the daughter of a gambler. I’ve never even been to Europe. It was all a lie to deceive you.” A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the crowd. My mother-in-law looked like she was having a stroke, her body trembling with rage. “Have you lost your mind?” she shrieked. “No, Mother. It’s all true. If you don’t believe me, ask your son. Nolan knows everything. He knew from the very beginning that I was a fake. He watched me play my part, pretending to be a socialite, clawing my way into your family.” I turned to Nolan, a smile twisting my lips. It felt more painful than crying. “I lied to you, and you lied to me. I suppose that makes us even, doesn’t it?” Before he could answer, my father spat on the floor. “Stella, are you fucking done yet? Save your drama for later and give me the money!” I turned to face him, my gaze locking onto his. “There is no money,” I said, each word a stone. “Not a single cent. Now that they know the truth, you have nothing left to threaten me with. I’m not afraid of you anymore. You come near me again, and I swear to God, we’ll both go down together.” I pulled out the knife I’d hidden in my purse and pointed it at him. The room exploded into chaos. For the first time in my life, I saw fear in my father’s eyes. He stammered a few curses but didn’t dare raise his voice. The butler and security guards swarmed in and dragged him out. Silence fell, thick and heavy, broken only by frantic whispers. “Everyone, be quiet,” Nolan commanded, his voice dark with fury. He rounded on me, his eyes like a predator’s. “Stella, you did this on purpose. What the hell do you want?” I toyed with the knife in my hand. The blade was sharp. It slipped, slicing a thin, deep line across my palm. Blood welled up, dark and red. “I used to dream of your world,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I was willing to lie and cheat just to taste it. But now that I have, all I feel is… empty. There’s no sense of belonging in a world where you don’t belong. And I’m tired. The magic is gone. I just want it to be over.” I looked him in the eye. “Let’s get a divorce, Nolan. I’m done being the cricket in your cage.” I pulled the diamond ring from my finger. It was slick with blood. I threw it onto the marble floor. It landed with a sharp, clean clatter. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped. “Divorce?” he hissed. “After all your lies, you think you can just walk away? You’ll get nothing. Not a penny. I suggest you think this through.” “I already have.” I took the signed divorce papers from my purse and held them out to him. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with rage. He snatched the papers and ripped them to shreds. “You’re not thinking clearly. We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.” “I am perfectly calm. And I want a divorce.” I met his furious gaze, my own unwavering. “No matter what, Nolan. It’s over.”

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During a life-or-death resuscitation, I used trauma shears to cut open a male patient’s underwear. My fiancé then posted a video of me treating the patient’s wound online with the caption: “I know you’re saving a life, but doesn’t the patient’s privacy matter?” “And the way your hands were all over him down there… it just makes me, your fiancé, really uncomfortable.” The story blew up online. To quell the public outrage, the hospital chose to make an example of me. I was demoted, my entire annual bonus was revoked, and I was given a severe disciplinary warning. After seeing my dedication to saving lives rewarded with the reputation of a predator, I decided to just give up. I wasn’t going to save anyone anymore. And that’s when the entire hospital started to panic. *** 1 “Stella, let this be a lesson to you. We’re about to get married. Even if you’re a doctor, you need to act with a certain decorum!” I stared at him, at the man I was supposed to marry. “Are you done?” Mark froze. “What… what kind of attitude is that?” “You still don’t think you’re wrong?” “Whatever,” I said. With those three words, I felt something inside me shatter completely. Mark’s face flushed a deep red, as if I had just deeply insulted him. “Fine! ‘Whatever’! Stella, we’re through!” “The wedding is off!” he yelled, grabbing his phone from the table and storming out. Dr. Evans, the department head, frowned and tapped her pen on the desk. “Look what you’ve done! Look how upset you’ve made Mark!” “To mitigate the damage, you will write a formal, detailed apology. You will read it aloud at next week’s all-staff meeting and admit to your inappropriate conduct.” I looked at her, saying nothing. Her eyes flickered away for a second before regaining their authoritative glare. “That’s an order. And it’s the only chance you’re getting.” The next day, a formal disciplinary notice was posted on the hospital’s internal network and on the main bulletin board. The wording was harsh: “Improper medical procedure,” “lack of sufficient humanistic care for the patient,” “Dr. Stella Reed is hereby demoted and will forfeit her entire annual performance bonus, as a warning to others.” Every word felt like a public execution. An intern, Chloe, secretly texted me: *Stella, we all believe you. We know you were just trying to save him. But… you should probably just lay low for a while. Dr. Evans is furious.* I turned off my phone. I could have guessed. Dr. Evans’s niece, a recent Ivy League grad named Lauren, had just started last week. Dr. Evans had been looking for a way to promote her, to give her my attending physician position. Mark’s little stunt had given her the perfect excuse. I went back to my desk and silently opened my computer. I organized, printed, and filed all the medical records, surgical notes, and post-op follow-up plans for every critical patient under my care. Then, I formatted the personal drive on my work computer, erasing all of my research data and draft papers. A week later, at the all-staff meeting, Dr. Evans stood at the podium, her voice booming. “…In light of Dr. Stella Reed’s improper conduct, the hospital has decided to revoke her attending physician status.” The room was silent. “And now, please join me in giving a warm welcome to the newest addition to our cardiothoracic surgery department, a Master’s graduate from Johns Hopkins, Dr. Lauren Hayes!” A young woman in a crisp new white coat, her hair perfectly styled, stood up and gave a prim nod to the audience. Dr. Evans looked at her with satisfaction. “Starting today, Dr. Hayes will officially be taking over Dr. Reed’s duties.” I sat in the corner, my face a blank mask. 2 Lauren walked up to my desk and tapped her manicured nails on the surface. “Hey. You can move your stuff now.” Her chin was tilted up, her expression one of undisguised contempt. “Your new desk is over in that corner, where the residents belong. And you’ll need to leave your work computer. I need to check it to make sure you haven’t taken any confidential department files.” I looked up at her, said nothing, and started packing my few personal belongings. Apparently, that wasn’t enough for her. “Oh, and by the way,” she added, “from now on, let’s try to maintain a certain level of professionalism in the department. Try not to act like some back-alley paramedic.” I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. “In that case, could you please enlighten me on the diagnostic criteria and key differential points for Takotsubo cardiomyopathy?” Lauren’s expression froze. She stammered, “Well, of course… that depends on the specific findings of the EKG and echocardiogram… it’s a type of…” I ignored her and went back to my packing. Realizing she was making a fool of herself, she huffed and walked away. I thought back to three years ago, when the hospital’s former president had personally come to the ICU at the state’s top medical center to recruit me. She had held my hand and said, “Stella, come work for us. I’ll give you the most autonomy possible. Your advanced CPR techniques can save so many more lives here.” Thinking about it now, it was a joke. As a resident, my workload was significantly lighter. I was no longer involved in any emergency resuscitations. I followed the resident’s protocol to the letter: rounds, charting, writing orders, signing out on time, and leaving at the end of my shift. Yesterday, a critical patient came in from a car accident. A nurse, out of habit, called for me. I took one look and calmly told her, “Go find Dr. Hayes. She’s the attending.” “But Dr. Hayes is in her office!” the nurse said, panicked. “She said she’s working on an important academic paper!” I didn’t say another word and walked out of the room. After my shift, for the first time in years, I didn’t go to the hospital library to read journals. I went to a fencing club. I put on the heavy protective gear, the helmet, and gripped the cold hilt of the foil, channeling all my anger and frustration into the bout. The next day, Lauren posted a file in the department’s group chat. The file was titled, “A Trial Implementation for Optimizing Departmental Charting Standards and Aligning with International Best Practices for Medical Documentation.” It was a ten-page PDF filled with complex charts and definitions, outlining a brand-new charting template. It required all medical terminology to be written out in its full, official name as designated by the American Medical Association, prohibiting the use of any common abbreviations. It also added numerous sections for data analysis and literature citations. The group chat went dead silent. A few seconds later, my phone started blowing up with private messages from my colleagues: *Stella, what is this woman doing? Writing a patient chart like it’s a PhD dissertation?* *Is she insane? We’re here to treat patients, not create fancy paperwork.* *During rounds today, she insisted a nurse say ‘cardiac pulsation frequency’ instead of ‘heart rate.’ It’s ridiculous!* *This isn’t ‘aligning with international standards,’ it’s just creating unnecessary work for us! By the time we finish one of her charts for an ER patient, the patient will be dead!* *She’s a total PowerPoint doctor. All theory, no practice.* I looked at Lauren’s condescending announcement in the group chat and said nothing. An older colleague messaged me privately, asking what some of the “standardized terms” in the document meant. I quietly explained them to him and then turned off my phone. My complete “slacking off” and Lauren’s clueless micromanagement created a stark contrast in the department. I used to be the backbone of the team. No matter how complex the emergency, everyone felt at ease when I was there. Now, whenever a critical case came in, the department descended into chaos. Lauren would just stand on the sidelines, barking orders using the “standard terminology” from her new guidelines, but never lifting a finger herself. The resentment among my colleagues grew. People started reminiscing about my efficiency and leadership. I knew what they were waiting for—for a real crisis to hit. 3 I submitted my vacation request to Dr. Evans—a full thirty days, the vacation time I had accumulated over five years. Her face darkened the moment she saw the form. “Stella, what is the meaning of this?” She threw the paper at me. “The department is short-staffed right now. Are you taking this much time off just to spite me?” She lowered her voice, her tone threatening. “Don’t think you’re safe just because you’re a resident. You have a long career ahead of you! If you piss me off, I have plenty of ways to make sure you never work in this industry again! If you keep this up, it won’t just be a demotion. Do you believe I’ll just fire you?” I didn’t say anything. I took out the results of a recent physical exam from my pocket and placed them on her desk. “Dr. Evans, I’ve been having heart palpitations lately. My doctor recommended I take some time off to rest.” My voice was calm. “Long-term, high-stress work isn’t good for the heart. As a senior physician, you should understand that better than anyone.” She picked up the report, her face turning shades of red and white, but she couldn’t find a reason to argue. “Hmph!” She snorted and angrily signed my vacation form. As I was about to leave, Mark appeared, holding Lauren’s hand. “Well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Reed,” he said sarcastically. “What, a little setback and you’re running away?” Lauren added smugly, “Some people just can’t handle the pressure. In the programs I came from, they would have been weeded out long ago.” Mark chimed in, “Don’t think the department can’t function without you. Let me tell you, Lauren is way better than you. She’s a real professional.” I didn’t bother responding and walked out of the office. The head nurse stopped me at the end of the hall. “Dr. Reed.” She pressed an apple into my hand. “Do you remember that male patient you saved the other day?” I nodded. “He’s the only son of the chairman of Apex Corporation. The chairman sent someone to ask about you. He wanted to thank you personally.” The nurse sighed. “Unfortunately, Dr. Evans intercepted them. She said it was a team effort, and that your supervisor, Dr. Hayes, provided excellent guidance. You’re just too honest, Stella. You don’t know how to fight for yourself.” I just nodded, thinking to myself, *You can’t handle that thank you.* I boarded the train back to my hometown. Just as the train started moving, Chloe, the intern, called, her voice on the verge of tears. “Stella! It’s bad! Something terrible has happened! The chairman of Apex Corporation just had a massive heart attack and was brought to our hospital!” My stomach dropped. “Lauren is the attending. She looked at the EKG and diagnosed it as an acute MI, but the patient has a history of a rare drug allergy, so she’s afraid to use the standard thrombolytic drugs! She’s been staring at her tablet for half an hour, muttering about ‘evidence-based medicine,’ but she won’t make a decision! And she’s too scared to risk an emergency angioplasty, so now she’s trying to get the family to sign a transfer consent form!” Chloe’s voice was choked with sobs. “Stella, it’s an acute MI! Every minute counts! How can they transfer him now?” Just then, my phone rang again. It was Dr. Evans. I hung up on Chloe and answered. Dr. Evans’s roar came through the phone. “Stella Reed! You get your ass back here right now! If anything happens to the chairman of Apex, I’ll have your license!” I held the phone away from my ear until she was done screaming, then replied calmly, “Dr. Evans, first, I am currently on vacation. Second, I am just a resident. I am not qualified, nor do I have the authority, to handle a patient of this severity. Isn’t the highly-educated, Ivy League graduate Dr. Hayes the expert in handling these kinds of complex cases?” Then, I hung up. 4 Chloe texted me again, her words filled with terror: *Stella, the chairman’s condition worsened in the ambulance during the transfer! His heart even stopped once!* *The family is going crazy! They called the hospital president directly and are threatening to hold the hospital fully responsible!* *The whole hospital is in an uproar! The president and all the vice presidents are in our department now!* A moment later, another text came through: *Dr. Evans is spreading a rumor that you deliberately withheld the Apex chairman’s special case file to sabotage Lauren! She’s saying you hid a key allergy report, which is why Lauren couldn’t make the right call! She’s telling everyone you knew about the chairman’s condition and kept quiet just to watch Lauren fail!* I looked at the screen and laughed coldly. Her ability to shift blame was truly an art form. As if that wasn’t enough, another critical patient in the department, who had just undergone a bypass surgery, suddenly went into ventricular fibrillation. The monitor’s alarm blared. Chloe’s “live stream” continued: *Lauren is frantically ordering the nurses to bring the defibrillator. They’ve shocked him several times, but there’s no response! She even set the energy level wrong! A nurse tried to correct her, and she yelled at them!* *The head nurse is saying they need to put him on ECMO immediately! It’s the last hope!* ECMO, extracorporeal membrane oxygenation. The top-of-the-line machine our department had spent millions on, imported from Germany. It was known as the “ark of life.” *Lauren went to start the ECMO, but the machine failed to initialize and kept alarming! The head nurse was yelling, ‘Only Dr. Reed is familiar with the startup procedure and calibration parameters for this machine! She’s the only one who ever operates it! Don’t touch it!’* *But Lauren just pushed her aside impatiently. ‘I’ve used these machines in Europe. The principles are all the same! What does a nurse know? The previous settings must have been wrong, not up to the latest international standards!’* *She forced a reboot of the machine and tried to directly modify the core operating parameters!* *Stella, it’s bad! The ECMO is smoking!* With Lauren’s forceful manipulation, the ECMO machine let out a piercing screech, the screen flashed, and then went black. The smell of burning plastic filled the air. The multi-million dollar “ark of life” was completely fried. Two critical patients. One, whose golden hour for treatment had been wasted, was now clinging to life. The other, who had lost his last line of support, was about to flatline. The cries and curses of the family members, mixed with the blaring of the monitors, turned the entire cardiothoracic department into a scene of utter chaos. The hospital president’s face was ashen. She looked like she was about to faint. With a trembling hand, she personally called the ECMO manufacturer’s engineer in Germany for help. The German on the other end, in broken English, regretfully informed her that the nearest engineer was in Europe and it would take at least two days for them to fly over. A sense of despair settled over everyone. Just as the president was about to hang up, the German engineer added, “Perhaps you could contact the team of Professor Anderson, who assisted us with the initial device calibration. I remember he had a brilliant protégé, a Dr. Reed, I believe. I think she works at your hospital.” The president’s hand froze in mid-air. She whipped her head around and stared at Dr. Evans. The color drained from Dr. Evans’s face, leaving it paler than a corpse. She knew better than anyone that the brilliant protégé of the nation’s leading expert in cardiopulmonary medicine, the Dr. Reed the engineer was talking about, was the very person she had just driven out of the hospital, the person who was currently on a train, on vacation—me, Stella Reed.

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Three months pregnant, and Will sent me to prison himself. Before I signed the confession, I asked him one last time if there was any other way. “You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice calm, rational. “You can apply for probation, serve your sentence outside. It won’t be so bad. But Quinn… she’s not like you. She’s fragile. Prison would kill her.” He leaned in, his words a soft poison. “Think of it as an act of grace, for our child. I promise you, Sage, the moment you get out, we’ll get married.” I looked him in the eye. “You once said I owed her a life. After this, are we even?” Will nodded, swearing he would be grateful to me forever. I signed the confession. Before I went to prison, I terminated the pregnancy. Later, Will went insane, screaming at me, demanding to know how I could have gotten rid of his child. “I will not let my child have a mother in prison and a father who’s a monster. The past, right or wrong… I was just a fool. From this moment on, Will, we’re even.” 1 No one came to pick me up on the day of my release. The prison guard walked me to the gate. She glanced at the empty street beyond and asked how I was getting home. I didn’t have a cent to my name. The bag in my hand held the only clothes I owned, and it felt as light as a feather. Just like my life. Weightless. I squinted against the bright sunlight and managed a smile. “I’ll find a way. I may not have money, but I have feet.” The guard hesitated, her hand moving toward her wallet. “No, thank you. My place isn’t far. It’s a quick walk,” I said, refusing her kindness as I stepped onto the road home. I’d known no one would come, so before I was incarcerated, I had studied a map. From the prison to my apartment was a two-hour, seventeen-minute walk. Not too far, really. The city hadn’t changed much in a year and a half. The stadium that was under construction when I went in was still only half-finished. While waiting at a crosswalk, my eyes drifted to a baby stroller next to me. The mother noticed my gaze and offered a warm, friendly smile. I smiled back. “How old is your little one?” “One year.” “So cute,” I said, bending down to make a silly face at the baby. The infant gurgled, waving tiny fists in the air. The light turned green. I straightened up and disappeared into the surging crowd. I finally reached my apartment just as night began to fall. The old security door was coated in a thick layer of dust. I found the spare key in the mailbox and let myself in. On the shoe cabinet sat a framed photograph. I picked it up, used my sleeve to wipe away the grime, and allowed a faint smile to touch my lips. “Mom,” I whispered. “I’m home.” 2 It took me some time to reintegrate. With a criminal record, finding a job was a nightmare. To make ends meet, I took a position sorting packages at a delivery warehouse. A week later, I collapsed on the warehouse floor and was rushed to the hospital by my coworkers. The abortion, followed by the harsh realities of prison life, had taken a toll. I hadn’t been able to recover properly, and my body was wrecked. The days of pushing myself to the limit were over. I had to quit. I registered as a food delivery driver, planning to save up for a couple of years and maybe start a small business. A college degree isn’t worth much these days. A college degree with a prison record is worth even less. The delivery job was grueling, but it was better than the warehouse. The freedom of being on the road suited me. I’d had a good day, and just before signing off, a big order came through with a high delivery fee. It was far, and I glanced nervously at my e-bike’s battery indicator. But I couldn’t bring myself to pass up the money. I accepted the job. The address was an exclusive, notoriously expensive private club. I called the client upon arrival, and he told me to bring it directly to his private room. The delivery box was huge. I struggled with it down the hallway, found the room, and knocked. “Hello, your delivery. Please sign here.” “Just leave it there.” The voice was familiar. My eyelashes trembled. I silently did as I was told, placing the box in a corner. The room was alive with the boisterous energy of a dozen men and women. The corner was piled high with shopping bags from luxury brands. In the center of the room, a magnificent three-tiered cake sat on a table. I was about to leave when a voice stopped me. “Hey, delivery girl, wait a second.” I froze. “It’s my birthday today,” the woman said, smiling. “Please, have a slice of cake. Thanks for bringing this all the way out here so late.” I looked up. My face was mostly hidden by my helmet, so no one recognized me. The woman standing before me had a delicate, captivating face. She held out a slice of cake. Her name was Quinn. She had once been my friend. A sharp pain, hot and piercing, shot through me, so intense it almost stole my voice. I took the cake, my voice raspy. “Thank you.” As I turned to leave, I didn’t see the figure that had appeared behind me. It was too late to dodge. I could only watch as the slice of cake splattered across his chest, smearing cream all over his pristine white shirt. Will looked down at the mess, then up at me. He didn’t say a word. The room had fallen silent. Someone snickered. “Well, that shirt’s a goner. It’s a ten-thousand-dollar shirt. Think you can afford to replace it?” “It’s okay, don’t be scared,” Quinn said, rushing over. She soothed me with a gentle voice while grabbing napkins to wipe Will’s shirt. “It was an accident. We won’t make you pay. You can go.” Will didn’t move. His eyes were locked on me. Then, he reached out and yanked the helmet from my head. 3 No one looks good after wearing a helmet for hours. The room was now utterly silent. Even the music had stopped. I tried to smooth down my messy hair, then held out my hand to Will. “Are you done staring? Can I have my helmet back?” “Sage? Is that you? You’re out of prison? So soon? I thought you were sentenced to three years.” Someone in the room finally broke the silence. I ignored them, my eyes fixed on Will. “Sage,” Quinn said, grabbing my wrist. “Why didn’t you call me when you got out? There’s so much I want to tell you.” I pulled my arm free, my only goal to retrieve my helmet. But Will wouldn’t let go. After a brief struggle, I finally wrenched it from his grasp. “If you don’t mind, a five-star review would be appreciated,” I said, forcing a smile. I put my helmet back on and walked out. “Sage,” Will’s voice stopped me at the door. “Don’t you have anything to say?” I turned, my gaze falling on Quinn. My voice was flat. “Happy birthday, Quinn.” On the way home, just as I’d feared, my e-bike died. I got off and started the long, slow push home. In the dead of night, luxury cars sped past me, but I kept my eyes on the road, carefully navigating around potholes, focused only on the task at hand. It was past midnight when I finally got back. I cooked myself a bowl of plain noodles and sat by the window, eating in the dim glow of the streetlights outside. When I was done, I wasn’t sleepy. I took out my mother’s photograph and began to talk to her. “Mom, are you doing okay over there? Did you get the money I sent you? “Have you met my baby? Is he cute? “Please, help him find a perfect mother next time. Don’t let him be so unlucky as to end up with me again. “Mom… I miss you.” 4 That night, for the first time in a long time, I dreamed of the past. The year and a half in prison had smoothed away the last of my sharp edges. I rarely thought about my life before. Prison was a routine: wake up, work, eat, sleep. The beginning was hell. I would sit on my cot, eyes wide open in the dark, counting the seconds until dawn. But eventually, I adapted. And then, I stopped thinking at all. It’s too painful to live with such clarity. It’s better to be numb. If you can’t feel happiness, at least you don’t feel too much pain. But the girl in my dream was so vibrant, her smile so full of life. When I woke up, a wave of sadness washed over me. How had I become this person? The woman in the mirror had empty, lifeless eyes. I tried to force a cheerful smile, but it felt alien on my face. A knock at the door startled me. I was still wearing that strange, practiced smile when I opened it. It was Will. The smile froze on my face. He broke the silence. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” “I’d rather not,” I said, my hand tight on the doorknob. “What do you want?” He held out a business card. “Call this number. He’ll arrange a job for you.” “Thank you, but I don’t need your help.” He let out a short, condescending laugh. “Sage, don’t push your luck.” I just stared at him, saying nothing. He looked away. “I know you got rid of the baby without talking to me, but what I said back then still stands.” It took me a moment to remember the promise he’d made before I went to prison. The moment you get out, we’ll get married. A real smile finally touched my lips. Will visibly relaxed. “Stop being angry. Quinn said she’s grateful to you, too. We should all get together sometime…” “Will, that was a one-sided promise. It doesn’t count,” I interrupted, watching the relief drain from his face. My voice was soft. “I’m not so pathetic that I would marry a man who doesn’t love me, a man who has never once respected me. “All I ever wanted was for us to be even. “Even if it meant sacrificing my future.” 5 Will left. His parting words were, “Sage, don’t regret this.” I soon understood what he meant. During the dinner rush, I came out from a delivery to find my e-bike gone. Along with it, a dozen orders I hadn’t yet delivered. I stood on the sidewalk, clutching my phone, staring blankly at the street. People rushed past, their faces intent on their own lives. I had to call each customer, one by one, to apologize and refund their money. Then I filed a police report. The officer told me the security camera on that block was broken. They would try to find my bike, but they couldn’t make any promises. I walked out of the station and looked at the string of one-star reviews and complaints on my delivery app. I took a deep, shaky breath and forced a weak smile. I had enough money left to buy a new bike. But what if that one was stolen, too? I crouched on the sidewalk for a long time, lost in a daze, until a little girl with a backpack gently tapped my shoulder. “Miss, are you okay?” I smiled at her. “I’m just a little tired, so I’m taking a rest.” She thought for a moment, then pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and offered it to me. “Here, this will help.” “Thank you.” Fueled by that small act of kindness, I found the strength to go home and start working on my resume. No reputable company would hire me, but there were always smaller businesses with lower standards. But my criminal record was a constant barrier. In every interview, the question was inevitable. “You’ve been to prison?” I would nod. “Yes.” “For a hit-and-run?” “Yes.” “But… you don’t have a driver’s license?” “That’s correct.” Then, the polite dismissal. The HR manager would hand back my resume and say they would “consider” my application. I remembered Will telling me that Quinn was too weak for prison. He never considered that without a license, the charge of driving without a license would be added to my sentence, making it even longer. But that was to be expected. You can’t ask someone who never cared about you to see things from your perspective. Every application I submitted vanished into a black hole. To stop myself from burning through my savings, I started applying for waitress jobs. I never imagined that even those doors would be closed to me. As I left the last restaurant, a heavy rain began to fall. I stood under the awning for a moment, then walked out into the downpour. It wasn’t hard enough to blur the world around me, but my vision clouded over anyway. It was the kind of pain that comes when you’re drowning in misery, but there’s no one in the world you can tell. 6 Will was waiting for me under my apartment building, holding an umbrella. I saw him from a distance and stopped, unwilling to get any closer. He spotted me and started walking in my direction, stopping a few feet away. “Have you accepted reality yet?” he asked. I looked at him, my voice steady. “Will, you said you’d be grateful to me for the rest of your life.” “And?” “This isn’t gratitude,” I said. “You can’t do this to me.” The rain must have soaked my brain. My words were so weak, so powerless. Of course he could do this to me. I had nothing. No powerful family, no wealth, not even friends or relatives to support me. He could humiliate me, slander me, pin any crime he wanted on me. I just never realized he hated me this much. That he wouldn’t even let me live. He closed the distance between us. The umbrella blocked the pouring rain. It also blocked out all the light. In the sudden darkness, he reached out and touched my cheek. This, he told me, was the price I had to pay for wanting us to be even. “So what do you want from me?” I whispered. “You don’t want my love, and you won’t let us be even. So… the only choice I have left is to die, isn’t it?”

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Three years after I left Rick Hayes, I moved back into his house. He was still single. Shamelessly, I slept in his bed, used his credit card, and slept with him. It only took a month for everyone to assume we were getting back together. I even managed to drive out the secretary who had been by his side for a decade. The day she got married, a completely drunk Rick finally seemed to surrender. “Fine,” he slurred, a note of helpless resignation in his voice. “I’ll remarry you.” But the next morning, I wasn’t there. Waiting for him on the steps of City Hall was my three-year-old daughter. 1 When Rick and I divorced, it was ugly. I was convinced something was going on between him and his secretary. He insisted I was being irrational. “For God’s sake, Lara, can you just let it go? It was a cup of hot water. When are you going to drop it?” Rick, who hadn’t spoken to me in over a week, finally broke his silence, rubbing his exhausted temples. A cup of hot water. It was the incident that made me the laughingstock of our entire social circle. No one could understand why I’d thrown such a massive fit over Rick simply pouring his secretary a cup of hot water. I’ll admit, there were times I wondered if I had overreacted. But every time I replayed that moment in my mind, the same bitter sense of betrayal washed over me. We had both been caught in a downpour—me and Anna, the secretary who had been with him for years. The second we got into the car, before I had even closed my door, I saw Rick grab a thermos from the console and hand it to her. It was so natural, so effortless. She took it without a second thought, cradling it in her hands and taking a few careful sips. In that instant, my own hands were so cold they trembled. My heart felt like it had been encased in ice. This was the same man who wouldn’t even bother to pick up a knocked-over trash can at home, yet here he was, attending to another woman with such quiet, intimate care. I lost my temper immediately. Rick didn’t see the big deal. “Anna’s on her period today,” he said dismissively. “You’re not.” And with those words, I filed for divorce. The proceedings dragged on for nearly six months. We fought at home, we fought at his parents’ house, we fought at his office. It became a public spectacle, and eventually, the gossip started to tarnish his secretary’s reputation. Only then did Rick finally agree to sign the papers. The day it was finalized, we stood glaring at each other, clutching our divorce decrees, and swore we would stay out of each other’s lives forever. But three years later, I showed up on his doorstep with a suitcase in my hand. And he let me in. 2 Rick hadn’t changed much. He was just as handsome, but the look he gave me was colder than I remembered. The reunion wasn’t as awkward as I’d feared. He just stood there, silent, staring at me with that icy expression. I squeezed past him and strolled inside as if I owned the place. “I’m broke,” I announced, my voice full of unearned confidence. “I’ll be crashing here for a while.” I then asked the housekeeper to take my bags upstairs. Rick didn’t move from the doorway. “Get out.” I made myself comfortable on the sofa, poured a glass of water, and waved a dismissive hand at him. “Don’t be so stingy. It’s not like you’ve remarried. I won’t get in your way.” That was a lie. I was here specifically to get in his way. I didn’t know why he hadn’t married his secretary yet, but I was going to make sure he never did. Rick, for all his faults, was a gentleman. As long as I was shameless enough, he wouldn’t physically throw me out. And so, I successfully moved back in. He worked in his study late into the night. When he finally came to bed, freshly showered, his arm brushed against mine. He flinched as if he’d been burned. In less than a second, he had rolled over and pinned me to the mattress, his body a dead weight on top of mine. His eyes were narrowed to slits, the words ground out between his teeth. “Lara, you are playing with fire.” I let him hold my wrists, my body going limp against the soft mattress. “I’m used to this bed. I can’t sleep anywhere else.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped him. His handsome features twisted into a sneer as he leaned close to my ear. “So you haven’t slept in three years?” My, my. A few years apart, and even the emotionally stunted Rick Hayes had learned sarcasm. Must be the influence of his cheerful little secretary. Unsurprisingly, he grabbed me by the collar and tossed me out of the room. He even threw my slippers out after me. Such a temper. I sat on the floor for a moment, looking at the dark bruises already forming on my wrist. I zoned out for a second. He hadn’t actually used much force. It was just the medication—it made my body more fragile than a normal person’s. I stood up, dusting myself off, a pang of regret hitting me. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him so hard. I only had a month left. I hoped it would be enough time. 3 I was up before dawn the next morning, shooing the housekeeper out of the kitchen so I could make Rick breakfast myself. I’d never cooked for him once during our marriage, but here I was, three years divorced, slaving over a lavish spread of four dishes and a soup. Surely, he would be moved. Just as I set the food on the table, Rick came downstairs, impeccably dressed for work. He walked right past me as if I were invisible, heading straight for the door. I quickly blocked his path. “Rick, you are not leaving until you eat what I made.” He shot me a contemptuous look. “With your cooking skills? I’d rather not be poisoned.” That was the old me. I had a culinary certificate now. When he didn’t move, I grabbed the sleeve of his pristine shirt and tried to pull him toward the table. He stood rooted to the spot, immovable, but at least he wasn’t leaving. Taking that as a cue, I hurried to ladle out a bowl of chicken soup. I’d been simmering it since last night. It smelled divine. But before I could bring it to him, the front door opened. “Mr. Hayes, I brought you breakfast,” a cheerful voice called out. “It’s a bit cold, let me just heat it up for you.” Rick’s secretary, Anna, bustled in, not noticing me at first. She moved toward the kitchen with a practiced ease that told me she’d done this a hundred times before. “No need,” I said, my voice bright and sweet as I held up the bowl of soup. “I’ve already made breakfast for Rick. You can have yours, Miss Foster.” She froze, her eyes widening when she saw me. I could see the fear in them. She forced a smile. “Mrs. Hayes… you’re back?” Her voice trembled, and she’d forgotten to use my maiden name. Before she could correct herself, I shot a flirtatious glance at Rick and said, “It’s alright. Maybe in a few days, I’ll be Mrs. Hayes again.” Rick rolled his eyes, probably worried I was about to bully his precious secretary. “Anna, forget breakfast. Let’s go.” I blocked the doorway, holding the soup in one hand and raising the spoon to his tightly pressed lips with the other. I was prepared for a long standoff. But just then, a side effect of the medication kicked in. My hand started to shake uncontrollably. Hot soup sloshed over my knuckles, turning the skin an angry red. Terrified he would notice, I summoned the last of my strength to step aside and clear a path for them. But Rick, who had been so eager to leave, suddenly snatched the bowl from my hand and downed the entire thing in one go. 4 Anna didn’t come back to the house after that day. I casually asked the housekeeper about it. Apparently, aside from the occasional breakfast delivery, Anna had never spent the night. It didn’t seem like a typical boyfriend-girlfriend arrangement. But that was impossible. Anna had been with Rick since she graduated from college. Ten years, and not a single boyfriend. I didn’t believe for a second that she wasn’t in love with him. And Rick… he had been willing to divorce me to protect her reputation. He had to be crazy about her. Could it be that Anna refused to stay here because I had once lived in this house? Did they have another home together somewhere else? If so, my being here was completely pointless. I couldn’t break them up if they weren’t even around. No, I had to go to his office. Using the excuse of bringing him lunch, I had the housekeeper pack up a few dishes and headed to his company. The security guard at the front desk didn’t recognize me, so I had to call Rick. He sounded like he was in a meeting and hung up on me before I could finish my sentence. A few minutes later, Anna appeared, dressed in a sharp white power suit. On her home turf, she was a different person. “Miss Reed,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension, “Mr. Hayes is busy. If you have a message, you can give it to me.” Had he sent her down to get rid of me? She must have complained to him after seeing me at the house, and now he was letting her put me in my place. I smiled sweetly. “Miss Foster, if Rick was really in love with you, don’t you think he would have married you by now? He proposed to me a month after we started dating.” Yes, I was trying to stir up trouble. But she was good. Rick had trained her well. She didn’t even flinch. “Miss Reed, I don’t believe my relationship with Mr. Hayes is any of your business.” She had a point. I couldn’t argue with that. So, I resorted to brute force. When she wasn’t looking, I made a mad dash for the elevators. In the end, Rick himself had to come down to get me. Inside the elevator, he didn’t even spare me a glance. His attention was solely on his secretary. “Are you hurt?” he asked her, his voice soft with concern. She shook her head, looking at him with adoration, and then shot me a tiny, triumphant smile. She was taunting me again. Since no one was talking to me, I decided to start a conversation myself. “Rick, is this elevator for your personal use only?” I had seen the “CEO Only” plaque on the wall. But Anna had used it to come down. “I have a weak constitution,” Anna answered for him, her voice full of pride. “Mr. Hayes is considerate. He doesn’t want me to get jostled in the crowded staff elevators. So yes, only the two of us are allowed to use this one.” Rick remained silent, but I saw his brow furrow slightly. 5 Now that I was in his office, there was no way I was leaving easily. After about a dozen trips to the bathroom to stall for time, I used the excuse of being too sleepy to keep my eyes open and crashed on his sofa. The medication made me tire easily, so it wasn’t entirely a lie. I actually did drift off. In a daze, I thought I felt him drape a jacket over me. Anna came in and out several times, bringing him coffee, delivering files, her eyes constantly darting in my direction. I vaguely heard her say, “Mr. Hayes, if this is difficult for you, I can have security escort Miss Reed out. Having her here like this… it’s causing gossip among the staff.” The pen in Rick’s hand stopped moving. He looked up, his eyes cold. “What did you just call her?” Anna’s face went pale. She bit her lip, looking pitiful and fragile. Rick’s harsh demeanor softened. “You can go,” he said, his voice gentle. “You don’t need to stay and work overtime with me tonight.” But for once, the ever-obedient Anna stood her ground. “Mr. Hayes,” she said, her hands clenched at her sides, “when you were at your lowest, she humiliated you in front of your competitors and stole the project you’d worked on for a year. Why are you still letting her back into your life?” Rick’s face darkened. He looked at the tears welling in Anna’s eyes and, against his better judgment, offered an explanation. “What happened back then wasn’t her fault. I wasn’t clear with her. She misunderstood.” Anna’s tears finally spilled over. “You poured me a cup of hot water! How much clearer did you need to be? I explained it to her! I told her you always remembered my cycle because you would lighten my workload during that time. But she wouldn’t listen! She used your love for her to throw tantrums time and time again, and you were always the one to apologize first. You’re finally free of her. Why would you get tangled up with this mess again?” The next second, a stack of files went flying off his desk, hitting the floor with a loud thud that made Anna jump. Rick glanced over at me on the sofa. Then, his voice low and dangerous, he said to Anna, “Get. Out.” 6 I slept for a long time. When I woke up, it was dark outside. The office was pitch black, except for the single desk lamp illuminating Rick’s workspace. He was still there, working. He’d always been a workaholic. He’d forget to eat, to drink, to sleep. I used to invent all sorts of ridiculous errands for him—buy me bubble tea from the West End, pastries from that bakery on the East Side—just to get him to leave the office at a decent hour. The memories flickered before my eyes. If it weren’t for what happened, Rick would have been a good husband. He never once refused any of my requests. He saw that I was awake. He closed the file in front of him, came over, and took his suit jacket off of me, his back turned to me the whole time. “Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” Had he been waiting for me? He could have just woken me up. Anna was gone. Had she gone home for the night? But if she was his girlfriend, surely she wouldn’t be comfortable leaving him alone with me. I decided to ask. “You and Anna seem to have a pretty open relationship. She’s okay with you being alone in a room with your ex-wife?” Rick stopped walking and turned to me, a confused look on his face. “Why would I need her permission?” “Well, you two are together, aren’t you?” He took a step closer, his gaze intense as he stared into my eyes.

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I needed someone to cover my class, and I accidentally hired a guy. When my name was called, he answered with a clear, masculine “Here.” The professor looked up, confused. “Since when is Maya a man?” The guy froze for a second, then inspiration struck. “I’m her boyfriend, actually,” he said smoothly. “She’s sick, so she asked me to come record the lecture for her. She wants to catch up as soon as she’s better.” A murmur rippled through the lecture hall. Then, from the front row, Liam stood up. He gave the guy a polite, tight-lipped nod. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, but I’m Maya’s boyfriend,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Who are you?” Liam was a legend in the Computer Science department. I was a nobody, barely avoiding academic probation. We hadn’t seen each other in a month, and the first thing he said to me was: “Maya, if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up as nothing.” He glanced at his watch three times while he said it, as if every second with me was a waste of his life. I nodded, my voice surprisingly calm. “I am nothing. I don’t deserve you. Let’s break up.” To finally get away from him, I asked the guy from class—the substitute—to pretend to be my new boyfriend. After we successfully broke up for good, his eyes lit up. “Awesome! So, does this mean I get a promotion?” 1 I’d been sitting motionless in the art studio for ten hours when my roommate called. “Maya, you have to check the campus gossip site! You’re going viral, hahaha! You should probably go explain things to Liam.” My fingers, stiff and sore, fumbled with my phone. At the top of the site was a video, already with thousands of views. In the clip, the professor is taking attendance. When he gets to my name, a guy’s voice calls out. The professor calls his bluff, and the guy improvises, claiming to be my boyfriend and painting me as some kind of diligent, dedicated student. The punchline, of course, was my actual boyfriend standing up to call him out. The comment section was a sea of laughing emojis. 【Did the golden boy of CS just get played?】 【Lmao, this dude is so obviously a class-sitter for hire.】 【He really thought on his feet, too bad he picked a girl who already had a boyfriend in the room. Busted.】 My vision went dark for a second. I pulled up my chat with the substitute. 【You didn’t think to mention you were a guy?】 This was a major-specific course. The professor knew our faces, even if he didn’t know us well. The plan had been simple: have a girl wear a mask, sit in the back, and just blend in. When I’d hired him through the app, his profile said female, so I didn’t think twice. He replied instantly. 【I’m so sorry! It was my first time doing this, I didn’t know the protocol. (´-ω-`)】 【I panicked, I had no idea your boyfriend was there! (ಥ_ಥ)】 【I explained it to him afterward, I don’t think there was any real misunderstanding. (シ. .)シ】 【Seriously, I feel terrible. Can I buy you dinner to make up for it? ( TДT)】 I closed the app and sighed. This was bad. Now Liam was going to be mad about me skipping class again. It was the same fight we’d had a month ago, the one that had led to this cold war between us. 2 Liam and I grew up across the hall from each other. He was always one of those intensely self-disciplined people, while I was born to drift. When other kids were playing outside, he was forcing me to do homework. He’d stand over me, his face serious, his lips a thin line. “This is wrong. Write it out ten times.” It was torture. In high school, he requested to be my desk partner, pushing me every single day. “You have to work harder,” he’d say. “We’ll go to Northwood together.” His ears would turn pink when he said it, his normally cool composure cracking just a little. He kept repeating it, “we together.” For those two words, I studied like my life depended on it. We both got into Northwood’s top-ranked Computer Science program. My parents cried with joy. They said Liam was a blessing, that without him, I would have ruined my own future. The day my acceptance letter came, everyone was beaming, so proud of me. But on that sweltering July afternoon, I felt a chill spread through my body, a cold so deep it made me tremble. Because in the list of majors I had painstakingly chosen and submitted, Computer Science wasn’t anywhere on it. And my scores were more than good enough to get my first choice. Someone had changed my application. 3 I knew I hated coding from the very first day of college. The rigid rules, the unyielding logic—it all felt so suffocating, so dull. I started skipping classes, secretly taking drawing workshops and spending all my time in the art studio. I couldn’t let Liam know. But you can’t hide something like that forever. When he found out I was cutting his beloved data structures lecture for a life drawing class, his brow furrowed. “That’s not a serious pursuit,” he’d said, one word at a time. His tone was as stern as my parents’ had been my whole life. The big fight, the one that broke us, happened last month. It was because I’d submitted my application to transfer majors. Liam was furious. He said I was being impulsive, that I was throwing my future away. In that moment, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to convince him anymore. I didn’t want to explain myself at all. 4 I opened my chat with Liam. The last messages were from a month ago. I hesitated, then started typing. 【Liam, guess what today is!】 No reply. I sent another. 【If you can’t guess, you owe me a kiss.】 An hour passed. 【Okay, fine, I know you’re just pretending not to know so you can get that kiss.】 【It’s World Oceans Day! We should get dinner to celebrate!】 【Where are you? I’ll come find you :)】 A knot of frustration tightened in my stomach. I was making it so obvious I wanted to make up. Why was he ignoring me? I ate dinner with my right hand, my left endlessly scrolling up through our old conversation, waiting for his name to pop up with a new message. The Wi-Fi in the dining hall was spotty, and I was terrified I’d miss his reply because of a delay. I stretched a single meal out for over an hour. He never wrote back. 5 I texted one of Liam’s roommates, who told me he was at the lab. When I got there, he was hunched over a monitor, debugging code, his focus absolute. I waved, trying to keep my voice light. “Liam!” He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, feigning indifference. “What are you doing here?” I wrapped my arms around his and stood on my toes to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I’m sorry.” A faint pink blush crept up his ears. The icy resolve on his face seemed to melt, replaced by the soft light of a winter morning. “Okay,” he mumbled. “What are you sorry for?” “…Let’s go get dinner. You have dark circles under your eyes. You pulled another all-nighter, didn’t you? I bet you haven’t eaten.” I was desperate to change the subject. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. His face went blank again. “Excuse me, you two,” a voice cut in. “Dinner’s not an option just yet.” I turned. It was Sophia, one of Liam’s frequent hackathon partners. She offered me a smile that felt more like a courtesy than a welcome. “We have a huge competition deadline coming up. Liam and I have to grind this out. I’m sorry, he can’t go with you.” She paused. “I ordered us some food, it should be here soon. You’re welcome to stay and have some, if you want.” There was a subtle arrogance in her tone that rubbed me the wrong way, a hint that this was her territory, not mine. But Liam had told me how important this competition was to him. “It’s okay, I don’t want to get in your way,” I said. “Liam, I’ll see you when you’re not so busy. We can get dinner then.” He gave a noncommittal “Mm.” “Okay, then. We won’t see you out,” Sophia said, her smile firmly in place. The last thing I saw before the door clicked shut was Liam and Sophia leaning in close together, their heads nearly touching as they pointed at the screen, completely absorbed in their work. A sour feeling churned in my stomach. 6 Liam must have been really busy. Another month passed after I saw him at the lab. He never texted, not once. His roommate told me he was practically living there. Ever since we got to college, it felt like he was always busy. Too busy to answer my texts. Far too busy to ever reach out first. This past month, I’d thrown myself into my art and hadn’t reached out to him either. The result was a month of complete silence. It was hard to believe we were even in the same major, let alone the same city. We were living in different worlds. His was a world of GPAs, research, and competitions. Mine was a world of skipped classes and charcoal-smudged fingers. He was collecting awards, becoming a campus celebrity. I was skirting academic probation, a person of interest for my academic advisor. When did we drift so far apart? 7 I finally broke the silence and called him. While the phone was ringing, a notification popped up from my friends’ group chat. My roommate had shared a link to an article from the campus paper. It was about Liam and Sophia winning first place in their competition. The photo showed the two of them on stage, accepting their award. They looked confident, radiant. They looked good together. My roommate tagged me: 【Your boyfriend is amazing!】 Before I could reply, another notification appeared, a suggested news story. 【Power Couple, Both Early Admits to Grad School…】 I slammed the “dislike, show less of this” button, but a wave of sadness washed over me anyway. Suddenly, the call connected. Liam’s voice, tired and distant, came through the line. “What’s up?” My mind was still stuck on that headline, and a childish sense of hurt colored my voice. “Liam, why haven’t you called me? I just saw—” “Busy,” he cut me off. “…Well, do you have time to get dinner with me?” “Where.” “Just the dining hall. It won’t take long. Five o’clock?” “Fine.” “See you there?” “Yep.” He hung up. 8 I waited for him at the entrance to the dining hall for one hour and twenty-one minutes. Liam finally arrived as dusk settled over campus. “Sorry. Something came up.” I opened my mouth to ask, Why couldn’t you have just sent a text? But I didn’t. We were finally getting dinner. I didn’t want to ruin it. I went to get a bowl of spicy ramen, and he went for his usual: a pre-packaged salad. He always got that because there was no line, and he could eat it fast. For a guy like him, even eating was a waste of time. By the time I brought my steaming bowl to the table, he was already halfway done. He glanced at my food and frowned, but said nothing. The ramen was hot. I took my time, carefully picking out the cilantro. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liam raise his wrist and check his watch. One. I started counting. It was a habit of his, something he’d been doing since high school. Timing his meals. When he finished his salad, he checked it again. Two. I pretended not to notice his growing impatience. “Liam,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “the university is having a small student art exhibition, and even though I’m not an art major, one of my paintings was selected! I’m so—” He lifted his wrist. Three. It was as if every single second he spent with me was a precious moment of his life slipping away, wasted. 9 “Maya, if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up as nothing.” A month apart, and that was the first real sentence he’d said to me. I couldn’t believe it. I swallowed the noodles in my mouth and looked up at him, my gaze level. “You’re right,” I said calmly. “I am nothing. I don’t deserve you.” “Let’s break up.” I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Liam and I were just too different. He was serious and disciplined; he hated it when I was goofy or affectionate. The order and stability he craved were the very things that made me feel trapped. I despised the coding he excelled at. He disdained the passion I had for my art. We couldn’t even agree on food—I loved spicy, he wanted bland. Maybe Sophia was the one who was more his type. Liam’s brow, which had been furrowed in disapproval, tightened even more. “I’m just trying to help you.” There it was. That was always his line. He’d say it in that cool, detached voice—I’m just trying to help you—and it made me feel like I was the one being irrational. “You need to calm down.” He stood up. “I have to go.” He didn’t look back as he walked away, his figure disappearing into the crowd. I looked down at my bowl and kept eating. But then a tear fell, then another. I fumbled for a napkin, but the more I wiped, the more they came. 10 When I got back to the studio, my easel and canvases were tossed in the hallway like garbage. Dark, dirty shoe prints were stamped across several of my paintings. The tears I’d just managed to stop threatened to spill over again. I gathered my things, wiping away the grime, and carried everything back inside. I decided I would stay the night. Maybe I could channel all this miserable energy into a new piece. I had just started to sketch when the security guard came in. His face soured. “You again?” he grumbled. “Get out. You’re not supposed to be here.” The studio had a rule: if a student was working, a guard had to be on duty. Because my dorm cut the power at midnight, I often came here to work all night. And every time I did, this particular guard would make his displeasure known. “Great,” he’d mutter, loud enough for me to hear. “Now I have to stay late.” When he found out I wasn’t an art major, he started refusing to let me in at all. I had to sneak past him. I guess tonight was his shift. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood. He reached out and grabbed my easel. I tried to reason with him, my voice shaking slightly. “The rules don’t say non-majors can’t use the studio, and I’m in the process of transferring. Please, can you just let me work? You don’t have to stay, you can just go.” He sneered. “I say you can’t, so you can’t. I’m in charge here. You think a student can tell me what to do? Now get out!” “I’m not leaving!” I sat on the floor, clutching my easel to my chest, a hot wave of anger washing over me. My parents told me not to paint. Liam told me not to paint. Now this stranger was telling me not to paint. It felt like no one in the world supported me except for myself. It was so hard. I felt like I was about to break. 11 In the middle of our standoff, a woman walked by, drawn in by the noise. “What’s going on?” I recognized her immediately. She was the professor for a class I’d been unofficially auditing. The guard’s demeanor changed in an instant. He put on a worried expression. “Professor Avery, I was about to lock up when I saw the light on. We’ve had some students report things missing from the studio lately, so I thought, you know, maybe it was a thief. I came in and saw this girl holding onto this easel for dear life. I tried to take her to campus security, but she refused to go…” There were security cameras in the studio. They would prove my innocence. But all the guard had to do was say he made a mistake, and he’d face no consequences. But if a rumor started that I was a thief, even if it was cleared up, the truth wouldn’t matter. People would just see me as trouble. I’d be barred from this place, my sanctuary. I was trembling with rage. “You’re lying!” The guard just smirked at me, a defiant look in his eyes. Professor Avery’s gaze shifted to me. She studied my face for a long moment, her brow furrowed. Then, her expression softened. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

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Showing up at my ex-boyfriend’s engagement party was a power move. Seeing him hustle toward me, his face pale with panic, confirmed it. “Don’t make a scene,” he hissed, grabbing my arm. I gave him a withering look and walked right past him, my heels clicking on the marble floor. I made a beeline for his uncle. “Daniel,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.” Daniel Russo’s gaze, cool and unreadable, lingered on the pregnancy test in my hand for a long moment. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. He pulled me down to sit beside him, his arm draping over my shoulder as he announced to the table, “Well, if it’s mine, then I suppose I’ll have to take responsibility.” 1 The party Leo threw for himself was exactly as ostentatious as I’d expected. I’d stood at the grand entrance for a few minutes, watching him play the gracious host, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat. The thought of him whispering sweet nothings to me one night, only to get engaged to his family-approved, childhood sweetheart the next, was enough to make me sick. As guests ebbed and flowed through the doorway, his eyes met mine. First, there was a flicker of confusion, then raw, undisguised panic. He strode toward me, his posture stiff. “Ava, what are you doing here?” he whispered, his voice tight with anxiety. “I thought we talked about this. You can’t be here, not tonight. This is important.” He assumed I was here to pick a fight with his fiancée. A classic, pathetic catfight. But my target was so much bigger than him. I rolled my eyes. “Get out of my way, Leo,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You’re blocking my path to the father of my child.” “The what?” I shoved him aside. The look of utter shock on his face was almost satisfying as I walked directly toward the main table, toward the one man who outshone everyone else in the room. The moment I stopped in front of Daniel Russo, the ambient chatter of the ballroom seemed to drop by half. Every eye in the vicinity swiveled in our direction. Their focus wasn’t on me, of course. It was on him. Daniel was the kind of man who always seemed to be smiling, a polite, aristocratic curve of his lips that never quite reached his eyes. Up close, you could see the cool, calculating intelligence behind them. He looked up at me now, that same gentle smile in place, his expression one of polite inquiry. I pulled the pregnancy test from my clutch and held it out. My voice was crisp and clear. “Daniel, I’m pregnant.” His eyes held mine, then dropped to the little plastic stick. The silence stretched. Then, with a smoothness that took my breath away, he pulled me down into the chair beside him, his arm a warm, heavy weight on my shoulders. “Well, if it’s mine,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for the surrounding tables to hear, “then I suppose I’ll have to take responsibility.” 2 After a beat of stunned silence, the old man sitting next to Daniel—his father—clapped him on the shoulder and let out a booming laugh. “Well, well, Daniel! Keeping a girlfriend secret from your old man, were you? And with results like this!” The tension broke. The room erupted in a flurry of excited chatter and congratulations. “And here we were thinking no woman on earth could catch Daniel Russo’s eye,” someone chirped. “Turns out he had one hidden away all along!” “That’s Daniel for you! Quietly becoming a father while the rest of us are still playing games. The patriarch can finally rest easy!” “This certainly puts him ahead of Leo, doesn’t it? So, when can we expect a wedding invitation, Daniel?” I’ll admit, this was a calculated move. Choosing this party, in front of all these people, was designed to hit Leo where it hurt. Daniel was the man Leo both admired and feared above all others. If I suddenly became his fiancée—his future aunt—he’d have to bow his head to me for the rest of his life. I had run through a dozen scenarios in my head on the way here, but I never, not once, imagined he would just… accept it. Not only accept it, but play along, creating this instant illusion of us as a loving, committed couple. The reality was, we were practically strangers. A few brief encounters, a handful of exchanged pleasantries, and one messy, chaotic night. We’d probably spoken less than twenty sentences to each other in our entire lives. The heat from his hand seeped through my dress, and I felt a blush creep up my neck. I was starting to feel completely out of my depth. My unease was broken by Leo, who had finally stormed over to our table. “Ava, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. His anger snapped me back into character. I straightened my spine. “I told you, Leo. I’m here to see the father of my child.” His eyes, wide with disbelief, darted to his uncle. “Uncle Daniel?” Daniel’s smile tightened just a fraction. “Leo, your bride is waiting for you. Go do what you’re supposed to be doing.” The words were soft, but they carried the unmistakable weight of a command. Leo flinched as if struck. He shot me one last, conflicted look, then clenched his jaw and walked away. And just like that, I spent the rest of my ex-boyfriend’s engagement party as Daniel Russo’s baby mama. The spotlight, which should have been on Leo and his new fiancée, was now fixed squarely on us. Especially from the distinguished old man beside me—Daniel’s father, Leo’s maternal grandfather. He spent the entire evening beaming, his eyes crinkling as he peppered me with gentle questions about my life and how Daniel and I had met. Daniel handled it all with unnerving calm. I just… faked it. A wave of regret washed over me. This was a terrible idea. This was a conversation that should have happened in private. When the party finally wound down, Daniel offered to drive me home. He dismissed his driver and slid behind the wheel himself, the engine humming quietly in the cavernous underground garage. But he didn’t start the car. He pulled a dark cigar from his breast pocket, not lighting it, just rolling it between his fingers. He stared straight ahead through the windshield, lost in thought. The silence was so thick I felt like I was suffocating. I opened my mouth to break it, twice, but before I could find the words, he spoke. “Alright,” he said, his voice devoid of its earlier warmth. “Whose baby is it?” 3 I froze, turning to face him. His eyes, now stripped of all pretense, were cold, sharp, and all-knowing. For a second, I was speechless. Then, anger surged through me. “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Are you backing out now?” A humorless smile touched his lips. “You misunderstand. I don’t deny the things I’ve done. But—” He paused, the smile deepening as his eyes grew even colder. “I never touched you.” It was the second time a man had said that to me today. A hysterical laugh escaped me. They both never touched me? Was this some kind of immaculate conception? My breath came in ragged bursts. I fought to control my voice. “Daniel, if you don’t want to be responsible, just say so. I came here fully prepared for you to deny it. It was a mistake, a drunken accident.” I took a shaky breath. “And yes, I chose this party to tell you because I wanted to hurt Leo. I used you, and that was wrong. But you don’t have to humiliate me like this.” He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “If I wanted to humiliate you, Ava, I wouldn’t have played along back there,” he said patiently. “But I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t touch you.” He said it with such absolute certainty that, for the first time, a sliver of doubt pierced my anger. Could he be right? It had all started on his yacht, at Leo’s birthday party. I saw him—Leo—kissing his fiancée for tonight in a hallway near the restrooms. The sight shattered something inside me. I went straight to the bar and started drinking. I remembered Daniel bringing me back to a cabin. A gesture of kindness, I’d assumed, looking out for his nephew’s drunk girlfriend. But my mind was a toxic cocktail of alcohol and betrayal. All I could see was Leo’s face, his lies. I was hurt and furious, and I wanted to lash out. Back then, I didn’t know the girl was his family-ordained fiancée. I just thought I wasn’t enough, that my desire to wait, to not have sex before marriage, had pushed him into the arms of someone else. In that moment, it felt like a failing. My failing. So, in a haze of drunken bravado, I’d thrown my arms around Daniel’s neck. I remember slurring something stupid, something like, “It’s just sex, right? If he thinks it’s so casual, so meaningless, then why can’t I? I can be casual too!” So, yes. Maybe. It was probably me who initiated it. Me who practically forced him. But I know what happened to my body. I woke up alone the next morning, but my body remembered. There was a distinct, undeniable ache. Unless— A horrifying thought struck me. “Wait,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It was you who took me to my room that night on the yacht, wasn’t it?” Daniel nodded. “It was.” “And you were the man who stayed with me all night?” He hesitated. “I was.” “Then how can you say you didn’t touch me?!”

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I woke up in a trashy romance novel on the day of my divorce. Just as I was about to sign the papers, a series of glowing text boxes floated in front of my eyes: 【HIGH-STAKES DRAMA AHEAD! GET READY FOR THE GROVELING ARC!】 【LMAO, I can’t wait to see this scumbag refuse to sign, then break down and beg the female lead for forgiveness! Make him suffer!】 【He won’t sign. This is the moment he’s supposed to wake up and realize his one true love was framed by the other woman, right?】 I glanced at the comments, smirked, and signed the divorce papers without a moment’s hesitation. I’m not the actual main character. Why the hell would I want to grovel my way through a redemption arc? 1 I’d been transmigrated. Dropped right into the body of Damien Blackwood, the male lead of a cliché-ridden, melodramatic novel called The CEO’s Captive Heart. You know the type: cold, cruel, pathologically blind to the truth, and destined for a long, painful journey of groveling to win back the woman he’d wronged. A classic scumbag CEO. And right now, I was at City Hall, finalizing my divorce. The woman sitting next to me was beautiful, but her face was as pale as parchment. That was Evelyn, my wife—for the next five minutes, anyway. According to the novel, we’d been married for three years, during which I, as Damien, had been a textbook monster. I’d neglected her, humiliated her, accused her of cheating, and even caused her to have a miscarriage. Pure, unadulterated trash. But of course, underneath it all, I was supposedly madly in love with her. My cruelty was just a product of being manipulated by a two-faced schemer—my supposed “one true love” from the past—and provoked by Evelyn’s own suspiciously close male best friend. The plot was simple: the hero acts like a villain, the heroine suffers, the hero has a sudden epiphany, and then the groveling begins. A long, drawn-out redemption arc. The original Damien ends up with a broken leg, bankrupt, and nearly dead. And the best part? Evelyn still doesn’t forgive him. He goes through hell for nothing. It’s a tragedy. As I was mulling this over, those colorful, translucent text boxes started popping up again, obscuring my view. 【HERE IT COMES! THE GROVELING IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!】 【Wake up, Damien, you idiot! Look at everything Evelyn has sacrificed for you! If you sign those papers, it’s all over!】 【I’ll bet you fifty bucks he’s about to rip up the agreement and yell ‘I DON’T AGREE!’ It’s a classic!】 Live-chat comments? I got it. They were the audience, watching from another dimension. They were here for the show, waiting to see me suffer, to watch me crawl back on my hands and knees. I almost laughed out loud. A groveling redemption arc? What’s that got to do with me? I wasn’t the real Damien. Why should I suffer for some fictional idiot’s mistakes? A broken leg? Bankruptcy? Begging for forgiveness? You’ve got to be kidding me. Isn’t freedom better? A powerful, primal survival instinct kicked in. I had to get out of this story. Now. The clerk slid the divorce agreement in front of me and pointed to the signature line. Evelyn didn’t look at me. Her gaze was fixed on the tabletop, her eyes empty. She was already signing her copy, her pen moving quickly, forcefully, as if she were escaping a prison. The pen was right there. I picked it up. The comments were scrolling by in a frenzy. 【His expression is so cold. Is he really going to sign? No way!】 【He’s faking! He has to be! The explosion is coming any second now!】 【Getting my screen recorder ready for the iconic scene!】 I ignored the noise and brought the pen to the paper. The tip glided across the smooth surface. Damien Blackwood. My signature was clean and decisive. Not a single tremor in my hand. I put the pen down and pushed the document back to the clerk. “Done,” I said, my voice surprisingly light. The hall was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. The clerk looked stunned, glancing from the papers to me, then to Evelyn. He probably hadn’t seen many divorces go this smoothly, especially from a CEO with a reputation for being obsessively in love with his wife. Evelyn had finished signing too. She finally looked up, her vacant eyes meeting mine. The emptiness was gone, replaced by something else. Shock. Utter disbelief. 2 The comments section imploded. 【!!!!!!!!!!】 【WTF???? HE SIGNED???? HE ACTUALLY SIGNED???】 【This isn’t in the script, director! Where’s the part where he rips up the papers?! Where’s the dramatic epiphany?!】 【AAAAAHHHH WHERE’S MY GROVELING ARC?! THIS ISN’T WHAT I PAID FOR! REFUND!】 The clerk, recovering quickly, processed the paperwork. A few minutes later, two crimson booklets were handed to us. The divorce certificates. It was done. I was emotionally, and now legally, a free man. I stood up and stretched. Evelyn was still sitting, staring at the certificate in her hand as if it were a branding iron. I didn’t spare her another glance. I turned and walked away. My steps were long and quick, eager to leave this place behind. The comments went berserk. 【He just left??? He really just left??? Didn’t even look back!】 【My redemption arc! My groveling! Did the writer just give up?!】 【DAMIEN! YOU GET BACK HERE! GET ON YOUR KNEES!】 【Wait a second… does he seem a little too… relieved?】 Stepping out of City Hall, I was hit by the bright sun. The air felt cleaner out here. The driver pulled the black luxury sedan to the curb. I got in, sinking into the plush leather seat. It was comfortable. “Back to the office, Mr. Blackwood?” the driver asked. “Yes.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. A dull ache was still throbbing in my head, but the weight in my chest was gone. I felt light. Lighter than I had in a long time. The car pulled into traffic, leaving City Hall behind. My phone vibrated. I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a name: “Vivian.” The other woman. The manipulative schemer who framed Evelyn and caused the miscarriage. The catalyst for the entire groveling arc. The comments instantly perked up. 【Here we go! It’s the other woman!】 【She’s definitely calling to ‘comfort’ him! Damien’s gonna go cry on her shoulder now!】 【Let the trashy couple rot together! Leave our Evelyn alone!】 Just seeing the name made me feel sick. I declined the call, then dragged the contact into my block list. The world instantly felt 50% cleaner. Another explosion in the comments. 【??? He hung up???】 【AND BLOCKED HER?? HOLY CRAP???】 【What the hell is this plot twist?!】 【This isn’t how the story goes! Damien, snap out of it!】 【Wait… does he know? Does he know Vivian framed Evelyn?】 【So what if he knows! It’s too late! Scumbag!】 The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Sir, that was Miss Sterling.” “Don’t mention her name again,” I said. My voice was quiet, but cold. The driver immediately shut up. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood.” The phone rang again. My assistant this time. I answered. “Mr. Blackwood, is everything finalized?” he asked, his voice hesitant. “Yes. It’s done.” “Should I arrange a settlement for… Miss Lin?” “Not a single penny. Stick to the prenup,” I cut him off. I remembered the prenup. Evelyn had signed it. She left with nothing. The original Damien had forced her to have the abortion and then kicked her out penniless because Vivian convinced him the child wasn’t his. “Have her things packed and thrown out of the house. Don’t send them anywhere. And get the keys back.” My assistant audibly choked. “Understood, sir. And… what should I tell your father? He’s always been very fond of her.” My father. The one person in the book who was decent to Evelyn. He’s also the one who eventually disowned Damien. “I’ll handle him.” “Now, head back to the office. I want a meeting with all department heads in one hour. I need to see the latest financial reports and project statuses. All of them. Anyone not in that conference room in thirty minutes can submit their resignation.” “Yes, Mr. Blackwood! Right away!” My assistant’s voice was suddenly sharp and efficient. He hung up. The comments were flying so fast they were a blur. 【Is this a divorce or a scorched-earth campaign?!】 【Cold-blooded! So damn cold-blooded! Evelyn wasted three years of her life on this monster!】 【Blocked Vivian, kicked out Evelyn, and now he’s going back to work? What the hell possessed this guy?】 【Did his business brain just activate? He’s all about the money now?】 【The groveling arc has officially been shredded and set on fire! LMAO (crying)】 3 I strode into my office at Blackwood Corp. A figure lunged at me, enveloped in a cloud of perfume. It was Vivian. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice cloying. “Damien! Why did you block me? What did I do wrong?” I sidestepped her. She stumbled, catching herself just before she fell. “Damien?” she whimpered, her face a mask of wounded confusion. I walked past her and sat down behind my desk. I looked up, my gaze like ice. “Who let you in?” “My assistant told me about the divorce. I was worried about you.” She started to move closer. “Get out.” “What?” Vivian froze. “Right now. Get out of my office.” I pointed to the door. “And don’t ever come near this building again.” Her face flushed, then drained of color. “Damien, how could you…” “Security!” I buzzed the front desk. The comments were losing their minds: 【Damn, that’s harsh! He’s treating the ‘love of his life’ like this?!】 【Vivian’s face is priceless! HAHAHA!】 【That was a slap in the face! So satisfying!】 【Did Damien take the wrong pills this morning?!】 【It’s like he hates everyone now?】 Two security guards appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Blackwood?” “Escort Miss Sterling out. And from now on, she is not permitted in this building without my express approval.” I looked down at a file, dismissing her completely. “Yes, sir.” The guards turned to Vivian. “Miss Sterling, please.” “Damien! You’re a bastard! I hate you!” she shrieked as the guards firmly led her away. The office was finally quiet. The comments kept rolling: 【He really kicked her out! Savage!】 【The main love interest just got demoted to a random extra? The plot is in shambles!】 【I don’t understand this development, but I am thoroughly shaken!】 【Is the scumbag turning over a new leaf? No, wait, this isn’t redemption, this is a complete personality transplant!】 I ignored them. My phone rang again. It was the butler from the family estate, informing me that my father demanded my immediate presence. I drove to the old Blackwood mansion. The old man was on the sofa, his face livid. To my surprise, Evelyn was there too. She was standing in the middle of the living room next to an open suitcase, methodically packing a few items of clothing. She paused when she heard me enter but didn’t turn around. The old man saw me and slammed his hand on the armrest. “You insolent whelp! You’d better explain yourself!” “Father, you see for yourself. It’s done,” I said calmly. “She’ll be gone as soon as she’s finished packing.” “Gone?” He shot to his feet. “Who said she’s leaving?!” He strode over to Evelyn and slammed the suitcase shut. “Evelyn, you stop that right now! You’re not the one who’s leaving!” Evelyn’s hands hovered in mid-air. The old man whipped around, his finger practically in my face. “You’re the one who’s getting out! Damien! I have no son who is so heartless, so blind!” Another explosion in the comments: 【Whoa! Go, Dad! Put him in his place!】 【Damien must be terrified now! Time to beg for forgiveness!】 【Here it comes! The breakdown! The pleading!】 4 The old man turned back to Evelyn, his voice softening. “Evelyn, don’t go. Damien has changed, really. I just got word he blocked that Vivian woman and had her banned from the company. He still loves you!” Seeing that I wasn’t reacting, my father’s chest heaved with rage. “Damien! I’m telling you right now! If you dare to go through with this divorce, you can get the hell out of this family! The Blackwood fortune will have no heir named Damien Blackwood! Evelyn is a wonderful woman, and you’ve done nothing but torture her! Without her, you are nothing!” He glared at me, waiting. Waiting for me to break, to beg, to have the great epiphany the novel had promised. I looked at him. Then I looked at Evelyn. She was watching me too, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air was electric. I nodded. My voice was perfectly calm. “Alright.” The old man froze. Evelyn’s eyes widened, just a fraction. A flicker of some unreadable emotion crossed her face. It looked like pure, unadulterated shock. Maybe even a hint of curiosity. The comments stuttered, then erupted. 【????????????】 【What did he say?】 【‘Alright’? That’s all he said?】 【Wait… hold on… did he get the wrong script?】 【His father just disowned him and he said ‘alright’?】 【He’s lost it! Damien has completely lost his mind!】 【Look at Evelyn’s face! Even she didn’t see that coming!】 【HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP! WHAT IS THIS PLOT TWIST?!】 【He didn’t just shred the groveling script, he set it on fire and pissed on the ashes! He’s giving up his family for this?】 My father stood there, speechless, his face turning purple. Evelyn’s gaze was fixed on me. I ignored them both and turned, heading upstairs to my room to pack. The taste of freedom was intoxicating. The comments were still going wild: 【He’s giving up his inheritance? Just to get a divorce?】 【This guy has achieved a new level of scumbag? An iron-willed scumbag?】 【Evelyn: I spent three years preparing for a tragic romance, and you give me this?】 【My world is crumbling! I can’t watch this show anymore!】 Just then, Evelyn stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Her expression was flat. “Damien, I’m the one who should leave. But I need you to know, the baby I lost was yours. It wasn’t Idris’s. I never cheated on you. You can stop playing these push-and-pull games. I’m not coming back.” I squinted at her, a lazy grin on my face. “I’ll personally drive you to the airport. Your words are music to my ears. By the way, there’s a corporate gala tonight. Please, whatever you do, don’t show up. I really don’t want to see you there.” Her brow furrowed, a flash of anger in her eyes. I examined my fingernails. “If you don’t go, then Idris won’t go. I’m not inviting Vivian. Everything will be perfect. I’m begging you, stay away.” She just stared at me, confused. I’d read the book. I knew the cliché scene that was supposed to happen tonight. At the gala, Damien sees Evelyn arrive with her “best friend” Idris Vance. Consumed by jealous rage, Damien grabs Vivian and kisses her, escalating the drama. He then gets into a fistfight with Idris, pushing Evelyn away for good. Finally, his father publicly disowns him, and the groveling arc officially begins. By telling her not to come, I was trying to avoid all of that. A clean break. Everyone wins. But if they did show up, I wouldn’t be playing by the book’s rules anymore. I already had evidence the original Damien never found. Freedom felt too good. Who had time for their pathetic love-hate games? I didn’t need to chase anyone, bow to anyone, or be a puppet for some trashy plot. I wanted my own time, my own space, my own future. Screw the groveling. Screw the melodrama. I was here to make money, build an empire, and live my own goddamn life. But Evelyn, in a complete break from her usual character, lifted her chin, a stubborn glint in her eye. “I’m going. Who are you to tell me what to do?” As expected, the comments went wild. 【Evelyn: You want me to listen? Sorry, my rebellious phase just started!】 【The story of how my ex-husband told me not to go to a party, so I obviously had to go.】 【Damien vs. Idris! Place your bets!】 【Tonight is gonna be a war zone! Can’t wait to see Damien break down and beg!】 【I’ve read the book, a massive showdown is coming! If the male lead doesn’t suffer, I’ll eat my own shoes!】

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