Category: English

My mother collapsed. Suddenly, violently. Before they rushed her into surgery, she clutched my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “Anna,” she rasped, her voice thin as paper. “Get Justin. You have to get Justin here. There’s something I need to tell him.” I called Justin again and again from the sterile silence of the hospital waiting room, each unanswered ring echoing the frantic beat of my own heart. The calls went straight to voicemail, one after the other, a relentless digital void. I was still trying when the doctor emerged from the operating room, his face a mask of grim sympathy. He walked toward me and gave me that slow, soul-crushing shake of the head. The tightly wound spring inside me snapped. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a call back from Justin’s number. A woman’s voice, sweet and cloying, answered. It was Nina. “Anna? The professor was helping me out with my parents… they were driving me crazy about settling down, and he had a little too much to drink.” Her voice was laced with a triumphant little giggle. “If you need something, you can just tell me.” I stared through the glass at the still, cold form on the gurney that was once my mother. My voice was ice. “Tell Justin Hayes that my mother is dead. And if he still wants that lab equipment, he can come to the hospital and get it.” But Justin never showed. Not even for the funeral. 1 It took only three days to go from my mother’s death to her burial. Three short, agonizing days, and in all that time, Justin was a ghost. Relatives murmured their disapproval, their whispers like wasps buzzing at the edge of my hearing. I pretended not to notice. But I knew. This hollow marriage, this charade I’d been living with Justin, had finally reached its end. After drafting the divorce papers, I tried to reach him again. As always, the calls went unanswered. He’s probably busy, I told myself, the old habit of making excuses for him dying hard. Then I pushed open the front door to our house and saw them. A pair of his polished leather dress shoes, and right beside them, a pair of delicate white sneakers. Not mine. I slipped off my own shoes and stepped inside, my heart a cold stone in my chest. And there he was—Justin, who’d been ghosting me for two weeks—with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, meticulously scrubbing a pair of lace panties, stained crimson, in the bathroom sink. Also not mine. He looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but his hands never stopped their rhythmic work in the soapy water. “Anna. You’re home early. I thought you were at the hospital with your mom.” My mom? The woman I had just buried? Where was I supposed to be with her, heaven or hell? I had imagined this confrontation a hundred times. I’d pictured screaming, crying, a raw, cathartic explosion of pain. Instead, a strange calm washed over me. I felt so empty I didn’t even have the energy to ask him why he was washing another woman’s underwear. He followed my gaze to the sink. “Nina had a little accident,” he said, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “You know how it is. A girl shouldn’t have to deal with cold water right now.” No hot water in the house, then? I thought numbly. “Right,” I managed. “Finish up. We need to talk.” His eyes lit up, a sudden, greedy spark. “Is the new lab equipment in? Fantastic. I desperately need it for the next phase.” He was already moving past me, already in his own world. “Just have your people deliver it straight to my university lab, Anna. Someone will be there to sign for it. With that shipment, the project will move ahead twice as fast.” Justin was a man possessed by his work. If you were to rank the loves of his life, I used to be number one. Then his research took the top spot. But now… now I wasn’t sure I even made the list. Not when his brilliant little apprentice could get a tenured professor to personally handwash her bloody underwear. A sugary voice drifted from the other room. “Professor? Are you done yet? I think there’s a problem with the new serum… all your little snakey-wakes are dead!” Snakes? A jolt of pure adrenaline shot through me. I shoved past him and sprinted to the small, temperature-controlled room where I kept my pets. Nina was there, wearing nothing but one of Justin’s oversized white button-downs, her long, pale legs on full display. She was chewing on a fingernail, frowning at one of the glass terrariums. In her other hand, she held a syringe, a single drop of clear liquid clinging to its tip. Inside the tank, my beautiful, vibrant collection of pet snakes—creatures I had nurtured for years—were coiled in the corners, twitching feebly. “What did you do to them?” I shoved her away from the glass, my voice a ragged whisper. She stumbled back, clutching her chest in mock horror, a perfectly innocent smile playing on her lips. “Whoa, Anna, you’re so aggressive. I was just testing the new serum. I had to be sure it worked.” The serum? My gaze flew back to the terrarium. In a final, gruesome ballet, the snakes began to convulse violently, white foam bubbling from their mouths before they went rigid. They were dead. The innocent, malicious smile on Nina’s face broke something inside me. My hand flew up, and the sharp crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the small room. Justin rushed in at the sound, just in time to see Nina clutching her face, tears already streaming down her cheeks. “Professor,” she sobbed, “Anna hit me. It hurts so much.” He swept her into his arms, his face a thundercloud of disappointment directed at me. “Anna, what the hell? Nina is just a student. Can’t you talk things out? Why would you hit her? When did you become so irrational?” Irrational? Me? My finger trembled as I pointed at the glass tank. “She killed them! She killed the pets I’ve had for five years! Do you have any idea how much they meant to me? A slap is the least she deserves!” I rounded on him, my voice rising. “And you! What is she even doing in our house, Justin?” Nina was his graduate student. She called him “Professor” with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy, but she never, ever called me Mrs. Hayes. She was always texting him, video-calling at all hours, angling the camera just so, her voice a breathy purr full of not-so-subtle suggestions. Her pathetic little game was transparent. I’d warned Justin about her. I told him to assign her to another mentor. He’d just laughed, patting my arm condescendingly. “Don’t be so sensitive, Anna. She’s just a student. You don’t have to be jealous of everyone.” I’d trusted him. I knew his parents’ bitter divorce when he was five had left him with a desperate need for loyalty and stability. I believed he would never cross that line. And my reward for that trust? My mother died without seeing him, and my beloved pets were now lifeless props for his little protégé’s experiment. Justin peered into the terrarium, his expression serious. He knew how precious these snakes were. I’d had them imported from all over the world, rare and delicate breeds. He knew the painstaking care I poured into them. Now, it was all gone, erased by one careless girl with a syringe. Nina’s shoulders shook with crocodile tears. “Professor, I didn’t know they belonged to Anna. I thought they were for your research,” she whimpered. “I just wanted to make sure the serum was a success before the press conference. I thought they were like… like the lab rats. I didn’t do it on purpose. Please don’t be mad at me.” Her voice grew smaller, her lip trembling as she bit it, eyes wide and red. She looked like a broken doll. It didn’t stir an ounce of pity in me; it only fed the inferno raging in my chest. “Not on purpose?” I scoffed. “Anyone with a shred of decency knows you don’t touch things that aren’t yours in someone else’s home. You don’t go into rooms you weren’t invited into. You’re what, twenty-five? Don’t tell me you don’t know basic manners, Nina.” She clutched the hem of his shirt, the fabric barely covering her, and looked up at Justin for salvation. “Professor, I really didn’t mean to…” “That’s enough.” Justin put a hand on my shoulder, his touch heavy and placating. “Anna, it’s done. What do you want from her? She said it was an accident. They’re just snakes. I’ll buy you new ones.” He looked at me, a flash of genuine annoyance in his eyes. “You’re the CEO of a major company. You manage thousands of people. Don’t you think you could show a little perspective here?” I flinched. Even though I thought I had no expectations left, the weariness in his voice, the undisguised irritation, still managed to cut me. Childhood friends, seven years of marriage, and I meant less to him than his student. It was pathetic. Wiping a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand, I pulled the folded divorce papers from my purse and held them out to him. “Justin, I want a divorce.” He stared at me, then at the papers, his mind clearly struggling to connect the two. He snatched the document and read it, then read it again, as if the words were in a foreign language. When he finally accepted I wasn’t joking, the carefully constructed mask of composure on his face cracked. “Anna, are you serious?” he hissed. “You want to divorce me because Nina accidentally killed a few of your snakes? Have you lost your mind? Your mother is still in the hospital! You want to do this now? Are you trying to give her a heart attack?” He went on, his voice a torrent of accusations. “They were just snakes! If you love them so much, I’ll buy you ten more, twenty more! You can just start over! Divorce… how can you even say that word?” He laid it on so thick, you’d think I was the one who was being completely unreasonable. But this wasn’t a debate, Justin. The one who talks the loudest isn’t always right. I swiftly signed my name on the line and pushed the papers back toward him. “Sign it. It’ll be much uglier if we drag this through the courts.” My phone rang. A friend. I answered, walking upstairs to get away from him. Her kind words were a balm on my raw nerves. By the time I came back down, Justin was gone. The divorce agreement was ripped to shreds in the bottom of the trash can. The bodies of my snakes were gone, too. No doubt taken by the research fanatic for dissection. On the table sat a small, elegant gift bag. Inside was a designer necklace from last season’s collection. My vision darkened. Justin used to love giving me gifts, things he’d spent weeks picking out, things that showed he knew me. Ever since Nina appeared, they’d been replaced by expensive, thoughtless trinkets. Bracelets, earrings, necklaces… my jewelry box was overflowing with them. Each one was a monument to another lie, another betrayal. The more expensive the gift, the guiltier he felt. And every time before, I had chosen to forgive him. I always went back to that one night, years ago, when I saw a crack in his carefully built armor. He’d looked at me, his eyes red-rimmed and vulnerable, and whispered, “Don’t pity me, Anna. Love me.” It felt like yesterday. That fragile boy was still lodged in my heart, a ghost I felt compelled to protect. It was for him that I forgave Justin for forgetting our fifth anniversary to go stargazing with Nina. For him, I forgave Justin for walking out in the middle of my appendicitis surgery because Nina called him in a panic. I had forgiven him so many times. This time, I was done. The next morning, I told my assistant to contact my lawyer and file for divorce. She paused for a fraction of a second but asked no questions. Instead, she said, “Ma’am, about that new lab equipment… should we still have it sent to Professor Hayes’s research facility?” For years, any new, cutting-edge equipment my company acquired went straight to Justin. But not this time. “No. Send it all to Brookhaven General.” The hospital’s dean, Dean Evans, had been a great help while my mother was sick. He’d mentioned needing a new suite of equipment. This would be a good way to repay his kindness. A series of texts buzzed on my phone. It was an old friend. “Anna, when did you and Justin split?” “I’m at a friend’s wedding, and I just saw him with some girl who’s telling her whole family he’s her boyfriend.” “Look. They’re holding hands and everything. When did this happen? He moves fast.” She sent a short video. It was a wedding reception, loud and joyful. And there was Nina, clinging to Justin’s arm, beaming as she introduced him to a group of older relatives. “This is my boyfriend,” she was saying. Justin stood beside her, smiling, not correcting her. So this was his idea of “helping her deal with her parents.” A bitter, humorless smile touched my lips. As I was texting my friend back, a new contact request popped up on my screen. The message was short and to the point. “Anna, I slept with Justin.” I accepted the request. A photo appeared instantly. It was a picture of them in bed. “You’re old, Anna. You’re not good enough for a man as brilliant as the professor anymore.” “Besides, you’re thirty and you still haven’t given him a child. Can you even have kids?” “I’m different. I’m young, I have a great body. I bet I’ll get pregnant on the first try.” “Oh, and by the way, the professor never used to let me have your number. But this time, he didn’t stop me. What do you think that means?” What did it mean? I didn’t give a damn what it meant. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. My whole body felt like it was cramping, trying to expel a poison that had been building for years. This house, our home, was suffocating me. Every corner was saturated with his presence, his scent, his lies. It made my skin crawl. I called my assistant and told her to find me a new place. Immediately. On the day I was moving out, Dean Evans called to thank me for the equipment and invited me to dinner. I accepted. I didn’t expect him to invite Justin. And Justin, of course, brought Nina. They were dressed in matching shades of blue, like a couple. Her hand was firmly tucked into the crook of his arm, and she didn’t let go even when she saw me. Justin smoothly extracted his arm and guided Nina to the seats next to mine. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “Dean Evans has a partnership with the university. I thought it would be a good networking opportunity for Nina. Don’t get the wrong idea.” I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. What was there left to misunderstand? He seemed to take my silence as acceptance and visibly relaxed. During the meal, I chatted with the Dean while Justin dutifully placed food on Nina’s plate. She took a bite, her voice dripping with sugar. “Oh, Justin, this is delicious! You always know exactly what I like. How do you know me so well?” The atmosphere at the table froze. Nina covered her mouth, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Oh, Anna, don’t get the wrong idea. The professor was just helping me because I was too shy to get food myself.” Justin, his expression unreadable, picked up a piece of cucumber and dropped it onto my plate. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten that I hated cucumber. “Nina’s just a bit timid,” he said coolly. “Don’t mind her, Anna. She’s just a kid.” I set down my fork, my appetite gone. But with an outsider present, I couldn’t make a scene. That would just be giving them a show. The Dean, a perceptive man, immediately sensed the tension. He deftly changed the subject, steering the conversation until he finally landed on the lab equipment. He raised his glass to me. “Ms. Vance, I truly can’t thank you enough for that equipment. You have no idea what a lifesaver it’s been for the hospital. Words can’t express my gratitude, so let this toast do the talking.” Justin frowned. “What equipment? And Anna, speaking of, why haven’t you sent that shipment to my lab yet? My next round of experiments is completely dependent on it.” I took a sip of my wine. “I already gave that equipment to Dean Evans,” I said calmly. Justin froze. His face went from confusion to a dark, thunderous rage, but he managed to bottle it up. For now. The Dean, oblivious, continued to make polite conversation. Justin’s responses became clipped and cold. The second the dinner was over, his control shattered. He cornered me on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. “Anna, why would you give that equipment to him? You know that was the most advanced system out of Germany! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for it?” His voice was a low, furious growl. “What has gotten into you lately? You’re not acting like yourself. Are you seeing someone else?” The accusation, the sheer hypocrisy of it, was almost laughable. I was about to answer when a familiar voice cut through the night. “Anna? I can’t believe I’d run into you here.” It was Liam, an old friend. “I heard about your mother. I’m so sorry, I got back too late.” He put a gentle hand on my arm. “My condolences.” “Condolences?” Justin’s brow furrowed in confusion. He looked from Liam to me, completely lost. “What condolences? Who died?”

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On the day of our hospital’s winter holiday party, the new intern, a master of passive aggression, posted about me on the internal employee forum. She claimed that as the head of cardiothoracic surgery, I was greedy for taking a $100,000 holiday bonus all for myself. What she didn’t mention was that the “bonus” was the annual payout for performing all of the hospital’s most complex, high-risk surgeries—surgeries that only I was qualified to do. The result? The entire hospital staff was calling me a greedy monster. So, I decided to give the people what they wanted. I submitted a formal request: 【To promote departmental unity, I voluntarily request to transfer all high-risk surgical cases to other qualified physicians.】 The moment the memo went out, the hospital nearly ground to a halt. The department heads camped outside my office, begging me to take it back. … I had just finished a grueling twelve-hour aortic dissection repair when my assistant, Chris, handed me his phone. Pinned to the top of the hospital’s internal forum was a trending post: 【Let’s talk about Dr. Zara Khan in Cardiothoracic. A $100,000 holiday bonus? Isn’t that a little much?】 The poster was anonymous, but the profile picture was a pink bunny. I recognized it. It was the new intern, Lily Chen. The post was simple: a screenshot of the bonus distribution list, my name and the number “100,000.00” clearly visible, though other details were blurred out. The caption was dripping with sarcasm: 【Happy Holidays! I was hoping for some cookies or maybe a hot chocolate bar, but I guess the hospital decided to just make it rain cash. It’s just… Dr. Khan gets a hundred grand, while the rest of us nurses and junior doctors are working ourselves to the bone for a few hundred bucks. Lol, I guess my imagination is limited by my poverty.】 She conveniently left out the fact that this wasn’t a holiday bonus. It was the annual performance payout for all “Level IV” surgical procedures. And in the entire cardiothoracic department—no, in the entire hospital—the only person capable of independently performing ultra-complex Level IV surgeries like Type A aortic dissections or giant ventricular aneurysm repairs was me. The comment section had already exploded. 【WTF! A hundred grand! She might as well just rob a bank!】 【We in the ER are running around like headless chickens 24/7, and our year-end bonus isn’t even a fraction of hers. How is that fair?】 【They call her the hospital’s top surgeon. Looks like she’s the top earner, too.】 I scrolled through the comments, my face a blank mask. The life I had just spent twelve hours saving suddenly felt a little less precious. Back in my office, the atmosphere was tense. People looked at me differently. A group of nurses who usually chatted by the water cooler fell silent the moment I walked in, their faces a mixture of contempt and envy they couldn’t quite hide. My mentor, Dr. Evans, the department chief, called me into his office. He sighed. “Zara, how are you going to handle this?” “Dr. Evans, you know that wasn’t a holiday bonus.” He nodded, then shook his head. “I know. But they don’t. You can’t silence a mob.” I understood what he was implying. He wanted me to back down, to return some of the money to appease the masses. Before I could respond, there was a knock on the door. Dr. Mark Sloan, the associate chief of cardiothoracic surgery, walked in with Lily in tow. Mark was a few years older than me and always acted like he was my senior, but his surgical skills were consistently a step behind mine. He’d watched me win award after award, and the sour look in his eyes was palpable from across the room. He entered with the air of a peacemaker. “Chief, Dr. Khan. Lily is young and didn’t know any better. I brought her here to apologize.” He gave Lily a little push forward. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she bowed to me, her voice choked with fake tears. “Dr. Khan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was just… I was so shocked when I saw the number, and it felt unfair. I just wanted to ask on behalf of everyone. I didn’t have any bad intentions.” She kept repeating “I didn’t mean to,” and “on behalf of everyone.” Her apology felt sharper than a scalpel in winter. Mark smoothly picked up where she left off, his tone patronizing. “Zara, you see? Lily was just thinking about department morale. And really, you can’t blame her entirely. The bonus structure is a bit problematic. It’s bound to cause misunderstandings.” He looked at me, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “How about this? You take some of that money and treat the whole department to a nice dinner. We’ll build some camaraderie. We’ll just let this whole thing blow over. She’s just a kid, we should be more understanding.” The way he said it made it sound like I’d taken money I didn’t deserve and now needed to buy my way out of trouble. I watched the two of them, their performance perfectly synchronized, and let out a cold laugh. “You’re right, Dr. Sloan. My perspective has been too narrow. I’ve been so focused on surgery that I haven’t considered everyone else’s feelings.” Mark thought I was giving in. His smile widened. Lily lowered her head, her shoulders shaking slightly in a display of remorseful fragility. I ignored them and turned to Dr. Evans. “Chief, the root of this problem is that I have a monopoly on these skills. I’m taking up too many resources and leaving no room for my colleagues to grow.” “To promote departmental unity, and to give talented mid-career surgeons like Dr. Sloan more opportunities, I’ve decided to submit a formal request to the hospital administration.” I paused, watching the color drain from Mark’s face, and said, word by word, “I am voluntarily transferring the scheduling for all Level IV surgical procedures to other qualified surgeons in the department. I will limit my work to routine Level I and II surgeries.” Dr. Evans shot up from his chair, his face pale. “Zara! What are you doing? This is madness!” Mark’s face was as white as a sheet. He had probably imagined a thousand ways to undermine me, but he never, ever imagined that I would take the prize everyone was so jealous of and just… throw it at him, pot and all. Level IV surgeries represented the pinnacle of the profession, but they also carried the highest risk. Success meant glory and a huge payout. Failure meant lawsuits and a ruined career. He had the guts to be jealous, but did he have the skill to take over? I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I walked out of the office, pausing beside Lily. “Congratulations,” I said softly. “You got the fairness you were fighting for.” Her face went completely bloodless. My request hit the hospital administration like a bomb. The hospital president, Mr. Harrison, called me personally, his voice graver than I’d ever heard it. “Zara, who are you trying to prove a point to? Do you have any idea what this request means?” “Mr. Harrison, I’m not trying to prove a point,” I said calmly. “I’m simply responding to the will of the people. I don’t want to be the cause of any more division over bonuses.” There was a long silence on the other end. He knew better than anyone that the most advanced equipment and operating rooms in the cardiothoracic wing were essentially for my exclusive use. He knew how many high-profile patients—politicians, CEOs, complex cases from all over the country—specifically requested me as their surgeon, generating millions in revenue and prestige for the hospital. Now that I was stepping back, he was the first one to feel the heat. “Just calm down. I’ll hold onto your request for now. I’ll have the IT department take care of the forum post.” “There’s no need, sir,” I interrupted. “If everyone feels my presence is creating an unfair environment, then I will step aside. I’m confident the hospital will continue to function perfectly well without me.” I hung up. A few minutes later, Chris rushed in, looking panicked. “Dr. Khan, it’s bad! The forum is blowing up again!” I opened it. A new post was trending. 【Insider Info! Dr. Khan is threatening to go on strike over unfair bonus distribution!】 The poster was anonymous again, but the tone was even more inflammatory. 【Using her skills to hold the entire hospital hostage. Is this a doctor’s compassion, or a doctor’s greed?】 A comment from one of Mark’s sock puppet accounts, which I recognized, was getting a lot of upvotes. 【I’ve always heard she was difficult, but I never thought she lacked this much perspective. The operating room isn’t her personal stage. The world keeps spinning without her.】 Lily had even waded in with her main account, posting a comment that was carefully crafted to sound objective but was really just fanning the flames. 【As an intern, I’ve seen the tireless dedication of our senior staff, but I’ve also seen flaws in the system. I believe our hospital is a compassionate community, and personal feelings should never be placed above a patient’s life. I hope certain individuals can calm down and not do something that will disappoint us all.】 She had successfully painted herself as a concerned whistleblower. I had to laugh. Just then, the ER called. The head nurse’s voice was frantic. “Dr. Khan! Ambulance just brought in a trauma patient, suspected Marfan syndrome with an acute Type A aortic dissection rupture! The patient is in shock! We need you now!” A ruptured Type A dissection. The mortality rate is measured in hours. The surgery is the Mount Everest of cardiac procedures. I grabbed my white coat and ran. But as I reached the ER triage desk, a middle-aged woman blocked my path. She was the patient’s wife. Her eyes were red, but her face was filled with suspicion and alarm. She was clutching her phone, the screen displaying the very forum post that had put me on trial. “You’re Zara Khan?” she asked, her eyes raking over me with distrust. “Are you the doctor who’s going on strike over money?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it hit me like a sledgehammer. The family’s doubt was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The fighting spirit I had just mustered was shattered in an instant. I looked at her, then at the patient in the trauma bay behind her, a life rapidly slipping away, and the whole situation felt absurd. I wanted to explain, but I knew that in the face of inflamed emotions, any explanation would be useless. “I’m not on strike.” She clearly didn’t believe me. She took a step back, as if I were a monster. “I don’t care if you are or not! I won’t let a doctor with no ethics operate on my husband!” “I want a different doctor!” she yelled. “Don’t you have any other experts in this hospital?” The ER chief rushed over. Hearing her words, his face turned green. “Ma’am, please calm down! Dr. Khan is the only surgeon in this hospital who can perform this surgery! If we wait any longer, it will be too late!” “I don’t care! I want someone else!” the woman shrieked stubbornly. At that moment, Mark and Lily arrived. A flicker of satisfaction crossed Mark’s face before he replaced it with a look of deep concern. He approached the woman, his voice gentle. “Ma’am, please don’t be upset. We understand how you feel, but saving your husband is the priority right now. Dr. Khan’s skills are still very reliable…” His words seemed to defend me, but they only served to confirm her belief that my ethics were questionable. Lily, ever the thoughtful one, handed the woman a cup of water. “Ma’am, please try to calm down. Or, perhaps we could ask Dr. Sloan. He’s also a very talented surgeon in our department.” Her suggestion immediately gave the woman a new ray of hope. She grabbed Mark’s hand like a lifeline. “Doctor, you do the surgery! I trust you!” Mark feigned reluctance. “Well… that’s against protocol. Dr. Khan is the attending surgeon…” But his eyes kept darting in my direction, full of challenge. Mr. Harrison and Dr. Evans, having heard the news, came rushing down. Seeing the standoff, the president looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. He pulled me aside, his voice a low, desperate plea. “Zara, I’m begging you. A life is on the line! Just back down for now. Apologize to the family, calm them down!” Apologize? What was I supposed to apologize for? For the bonus I earned with my skills? For the scalpel in my hand that could save a man’s life? I looked at the president’s frantic face, at the smug curl of Mark’s lip, at the innocent, venomous eyes of Lily Chen. And I suddenly felt so tired. I turned to the president and said calmly, “Sir, since the family and my colleagues have so much faith in Dr. Sloan, let him be the lead surgeon. And that transfer request I submitted? Please approve it as soon as possible.” Without another look at anyone, I turned and walked back to my office. Behind me, I heard Dr. Evans’s furious roar, “Zara! Is this a mutiny?” And the president’s weary concession, “…Fine. Sloan, you’re lead. Khan, you’ll supervise.” I didn’t turn back. Supervise? A master teaching a novice? I was afraid he wouldn’t understand the instructions. I locked myself in my office. Through the door, I could feel the controlled chaos of the hallway. Nurses rushing, equipment carts rattling, Mark’s confident voice barking orders, playing the part of the savior. Chris knocked and came in, his eyes red. “Dr. Khan, are you really not going to do anything? That patient… he’s not doing well.” I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and said nothing. My phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number. 【Dr. Khan, I’m the patient’s daughter. My mother is very emotional, but we looked you up. We trust you. Please, I’m begging you, save my father.】 My heart lurched. But what could I do? Mark had already taken the case. If I stormed in now, would I be trying to prove he was incompetent, or trying to steal his glory? In the eyes of people already blinded by prejudice, everything I did would be wrong. I picked up the unapproved request from my desk and signed my name. Time ticked by. One hour. Two hours. Suddenly, my office door was thrown open. Dr. Evans burst in, his face ashen, his lips trembling. “Zara! Something’s happened!” My stomach dropped. I stood up. “Mark… he can’t find the tear! He can’t dissect the vessels of the aortic arch, and now there’s massive bleeding! We can’t get a blood pressure reading!” I had expected this. The most critical and dangerous step of a Type A dissection is reconstructing the three branch vessels of the aortic arch under deep hypothermic circulatory arrest. The vessels there are as thin as a cicada’s wing, the anatomy is complex, and the slightest mistake is catastrophic. Mark’s skills were nowhere near that level. “They need you in there now!” Dr. Evans grabbed my arm, his hand shaking violently. “Hurry! Any later and it will be too late!” I looked at him and asked slowly, “Chief, if I go in there now, what am I? Am I saving a life, or am I cleaning up Dr. Sloan’s mess?” “If the patient lives, the credit is his. He was the ‘lead surgeon,’ and I was the effective ‘supervisor.’ If the patient dies, the blame is mine, because I ‘intervened’ at a critical moment and disrupted his rhythm.” “Either way, he comes out of this unscathed. And me?” Dr. Evans froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was right. He was asking me to go, but what guarantees could he offer me? Just then, my phone started ringing frantically. It was the president. I put it on speaker. On the other end, his voice was cracking, on the verge of tears. In the background, I could hear the shrill alarm of a heart monitor and the panicked shouts of nurses. “Zara! For God’s sake! I’m begging you! Get in here! The patient is crashing! Mark has completely lost it!”

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1 On my wedding eve, scandal broke. My fiancé Ross Vance had gotten his mistress Stella Reed pregnant—five months along. He called, cold and dismissive. “It was an accident. Just ensure the engagement party goes smoothly. Canceling would humiliate both families, and your grandfather’s health is fragile.” After hanging up, his social media updated: a photo of him listening to Stella’s belly, captioned, “Awaiting our little one.” That night, he skipped our party. On our video call, he was reading a fairy tale to Stella’s stomach. “She needs prenatal bonding. You handle things. The Vance heir is precious—we’ll send the child abroad after birth; you can play mother on holidays. The title of Mrs. Vance is still yours.” I noticed the diamond ring on his finger and laughed coldly. “Ross, we’re done.” “Don’t be childish,” he warned. I hung up and dialed Conrad Vance instead. “Mr. Vance, I heard you’re seeking a new wife. Consider me—the Sterling women are known for fertility. I can give you all the sons you want. One heir is so lonely; let’s give him brothers.” … On the other end of the line, Conrad Vance’s voice was hoarse with shock. “Seraphina? What nonsense are you talking about?” “Nonsense?” I chuckled, the sound laced with mockery. “You’ve seen the news about your precious son and his five-months-pregnant canary, haven’t you? I find him… utterly filthy. I’m serious, Mr. Vance. I’m trading up.” A few seconds of silence, then his voice, trembling slightly, “We can’t discuss this over the phone. I’m coming over now.” “Wonderful,” I purred, my eyes glinting like shards of glass. “I’ll be waiting.” Conrad Vance was barely thirty-five, in the prime of his life. But a cruel twist of genetics had made it impossible for him to have children of his own. After years of failed IVF treatments, he had adopted Ross from a distant branch of the family. The Sterling family’s alliance with the Vances was built on one thing: the legendary fertility of its women—a trait passed down through generations. We were a dynasty’s guarantee. No matter my grandfather’s health, this marriage was a necessity both families understood. But I never imagined Ross, the man I had loved for three years, would knock up his mistress right before our wedding and expect me to swallow my pride and play stepmother. I, Seraphina Sterling, do not suffer in silence. Conrad arrived faster than I expected. He stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. “Seraphina, you…” I didn’t let him finish. I reached out, grabbed his tie, and yanked him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Rising onto my toes, I silenced his questions and doubts with a kiss that left no room for argument. My fingers deftly undid the first button of his shirt, my touch slipping beneath the fabric with an undeniable authority. My actions were my declaration. There was no shyness, no hesitation, only the raw, unyielding finality of someone burning all their bridges. I could feel his body tense, a war raging within him. But in the end, the dam of his reason shattered against the flood of raw, primal need. After the storm passed, Conrad held me close, his voice a gravelly whisper. “I have urgent business overseas. I have to leave tomorrow, and I might be gone for a while. Wait for me.” “And… the wedding?” I asked, looking up at him. 2 He met my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. His tone was absolute. “It will proceed as planned. I’ll be back in time. You are the only daughter of the Sterling family, and you are the matriarch the Vance family needs.” He rose and dressed, leaving me with that promise before departing as quickly as he had come. The moment he was gone, my phone began to vibrate violently on the nightstand. It was Ross, his voice laced with its usual entitlement and a new thread of impatience. “Seraphina, get over here. Stella’s morning sickness is bad; she has no energy. Come keep her company. It’ll be good practice for you on how to care for a pregnant woman. I’m taking her to an art exhibit to lift her spirits.” He wanted me to babysit Stella? To learn how to care for a pregnant woman? The absurdity was so profound it was almost funny. “Ross, I am not your nanny. You have the wrong number,” I said, my voice like ice. He sighed, as if I were being difficult. “Stella is carrying a Vance heir. It’s hard work! As the future matriarch, it’s your duty to learn these things.” The twisted logic of it all drew a sharp, cold laugh from my throat. “Ross, your heartfelt speech is truly touching. We’re done. Who you have children with, and who you hire to wait on them, has nothing to do with me. Stop harassing me.” I hung up. Lying back on the bed, I couldn’t shake the knot of rage in my chest. I picked up my phone, hoping for a distraction, only to have a news alert pierce my eyes like a poisoned needle: VANCE HEIR DOTES ON MYSTERY WOMAN AT ART GALA, BABY BUMP THE MAIN ATTRACTION! I clicked the link. The high-resolution photo was a slap in the face. Ross was carefully guiding a visibly pregnant Stella, his head bent to look at her belly with a look of tender adoration I had never once received in our three years together. My heart seized, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. Three years. My birthday gifts were always last-minute luxury items picked out by his assistant. When had he ever shown me an ounce of this kind of thoughtfulness? Love follows the heart, and his heart had never been with me. I had to get out. I needed a change of scenery. I decided to go for my final fitting for the custom wedding gown that held all my shattered dreams. But when I pushed open the doors to the bridal salon, the sight before me made my blood run cold. There, in front of the gleaming floor-to-ceiling mirror, was Stella Reed, her five-month baby bump straining against the seams of my priceless, hand-embroidered wedding dress—the one that had taken six months of painstaking work to create. The waistline of the gown had been crudely pinned, making it look tight and misshapen. A look of dissatisfaction was on her face as she pointed to her stomach and complained to the shop assistant, “This is too tight! You need to let out the waist entirely, at least three inches! And the bust… it’s a bit constricting here, too. Loosen it up.” That dress represented every beautiful fantasy I ever had about my marriage. Fury erupted, white-hot, in my mind. I took a deep breath, trying to contain the rage that threatened to tear me apart. I strode forward, my voice as cold as a glacier. “Take it off. That is my wedding dress.” Stella flinched, clutching her belly as if I had struck her. She scurried behind Ross, who had turned at the sound of my voice, her eyes welling with tears. “Seraphina!” Ross’s brow furrowed, his tone a mixture of sharp reprimand and anxiety. “Could you keep your voice down? You’re scaring Stella and the baby!” I almost laughed. “Ross! That is my custom-made gown! Six months of work, every single stitch! What right does she have to wear it? To have it butchered like this?” Ross’s eyes flickered, but then his expression hardened. “Of course she has the right. She is the bride. This dress is for her. And what’s wrong with altering the waistline? Her situation is… unique.” I froze. “What?” “You and I will get the marriage license. The alliance between our families remains,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at Stella. “But Stella is carrying my child. She’s been through so much. I can’t let her be sidelined. So, the wedding ceremony… Stella will be the one at the altar. It’s the least I can do to give her the recognition she deserves.” “What… did you just say?” A tremor ran through my entire body. If this happened, my family and I would become the laughingstock of the entire city. But he thought his plan was perfect. His voice was firm. “Seraphina, I know it’s not fair to you. But Stella has had a difficult time. For the sake of the Vance heir she’s carrying, please, just try to be understanding…” 3 “Understanding?” My voice rose, drawing stares from others in the salon. “Ross! You want me to play a part in this circus? I’m the one you marry legally, but she’s the one who gets to stand on the altar with her baby bump, basking in everyone’s blessings? Is she the one who gets the wedding night, too? And then you expect me, your legal wife, to raise your bastard child? What do you take me for, Ross? Some beggar on the street you can mold and discard as you please?” Right on cue, Stella began to sob softly, her hand stroking her belly. “Miss Sterling, please don’t be angry… I know my status is low… I just wanted to wear a wedding dress once… I know I don’t deserve it… but the baby is innocent…” Ross’s eyes turned to ice, a clear warning in them. “This is how it’s going to be. If it weren’t for my father, do you honestly think I would marry you at all?” I stared at him, the last flicker of affection in my heart dying, replaced by a cold, sharp hatred. It seemed Conrad hadn’t told him about the change of grooms yet. “Fine,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, my voice devoid of all emotion. We’ll see who’s being replaced on the wedding day. Ross’s frown deepened. He clearly hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Behind him, Stella subtly lifted her head, her hand tightening on her pregnant stomach, a triumphant glint in her eyes. Over the next few days, photos of Ross and Stella’s “maternity-style” wedding shoot dominated the headlines. The media, playing along with the “Vance-Sterling merger” narrative, presented the pregnant woman in the photos as the true Sterling heiress. Worried calls from my closest friends poured in. The whispers and rumors in our social circle were like poisoned needles, mocking me as a pathetic doormat who’d “lost everything,” who’d even “let a pregnant mistress take her place.” I ignored it all, focusing my energy on the hospital. Grandfather’s heart condition had suddenly worsened. The doctors had issued a critical notice; he needed 24/7 monitoring. I stayed by his bedside, day and night, carefully shielding him from any news about that despicable pair, terrified that any hint of the scandal would be the final blow to his fragile health. But some things, you can’t guard against. Stella, arm in arm with Ross, brazenly walked into my grandfather’s private ICU room. I was just outside the door, carrying a thermos, when I heard her sickly sweet, theatrical voice. “Grandpa Sterling,” she cooed. She was holding a copy of a high-fashion magazine, pointing to a full-page spread of her and Ross’s maternity wedding photos, deliberately angling her swollen belly towards the bed. “Look at our wedding pictures! Don’t Ross and I look wonderful? You have to be at the head table on the big day to see your great-grandchild!” My grandfather’s face turned a deathly shade of purple. His chest heaved violently, his hands clawing at the sheets, his lips trembling as a guttural sound escaped his throat. The heart monitor began to shriek. “Grandfather!” I screamed, the thermos crashing to the floor. I lunged into the room, slamming the emergency call button. “Miss Sterling, don’t be upset…” Stella began, her voice dripping with fake concern. I shoved her aside. “Get out! Get out with your bastard!” A doctor yelled, “Prep for resuscitation!” A nurse forcibly pulled me away as I watched, helpless, while they wheeled my grandfather into the emergency room. Ross tried to steady me, but I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me! You animal! You knew about his condition, and you still came here to torment him!” Stella hid behind him. “We just wanted to invite him to the wedding…” “Seraphina! Calm down! If you hurt Stella or the baby, can you take responsibility for that?” he roared, grabbing my wrist. “Calm down? You’re killing my grandfather!” I struggled against his grip. “It was an accident!” he snapped, shielding Stella. “The world thinks Stella is the Sterling heiress. If no one from your family is at the wedding, her cover will be blown, and the Vance family will lose face! Having your grandfather there makes everyone happy!” A smile, more painful than tears, twisted my lips. “Ross, are you blind or just heartless? You know exactly what Stella is. Since when is she a Sterling? She’s nothing but a parasite who slept her way to the top, a shameless homewrecker flaunting a bastard child!” 4 CRACK! Ross’s face darkened like a thundercloud. He swung his hand, slapping me hard across the face. The force of the blow sent black spots dancing in front of my eyes. A ringing filled my ears, and my cheek went numb with a searing, hot pain. “Even if you’re the one I’m legally marrying,” he snarled, taking a step closer, his eyes like poisoned daggers, each word a blow to my heart, “the only woman I, Ross Vance, will ever recognize as my wife is Stella! And the baby in her belly is my rightful heir! So, you will show her some damn respect!” His words were a blunt knife, twisting in my chest, and the hatred inside me boiled over. Three years… a full three years. And this is what I was worth to him. Nothing. “You don’t need to come to the wedding,” he said, his voice flat and laced with a final warning. “Stay here with your grandfather.” He gestured down the hallway, and several bodyguards surrounded me. “Watch her. Don’t let her leave this floor,” he commanded, before guiding Stella away. My eyes burned holes into their retreating backs. I could taste blood in my mouth. Ross, you think you can lock me in here and have your picture-perfect wedding with Stella? Dream on. I stroked my still-flat stomach, feeling the quiet strength of the new life secretly growing within me. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, I slowly pulled out my phone and dialed a number… On the day of the wedding, Stella sat before a lavish vanity, her fingers tracing the diamond-studded fabric of the gown that had been altered to accommodate her pregnant belly. She gazed at her reflection, a triumphant, almost twisted smile on her lips. So what if Seraphina was the great Sterling heiress? The darling of high society? Today, she, Stella Reed, was the one wearing her dress, using her name, and carrying the “golden heir” of the Vance family. She was the one about to become the envied Mrs. Vance. As for Seraphina? She was just a pathetic creature trapped in a hospital, watching over a dying old man. Everything that was once hers would now belong to Stella. Meanwhile, in the banquet hall downstairs, Ross was greeting guests, but a knot of anxiety was tightening in his stomach. He had sent out hundreds of invitations. Given the Vance family’s standing, the hall should have been overflowing. But as the ceremony time approached, the vast room was still sparsely populated, so empty you could hear the echo of your own footsteps. The grand scene of glittering high society he had envisioned was nowhere to be found. Beneath the elaborate floral arch, only a handful of reporters from minor outlets were fiddling with their cameras, their flashes seeming weak and unenthusiastic. “Ross…” Stella waddled over, one hand on her belly, her eyes wide with worry. “Why are there so few people here?” The anxiety in Ross’s gut grew into a monster. He summoned a senior staff member. “Get our head butler, Mr. Gable, and the event coordinators here now!” The staffer returned quickly, but he was followed only by a young, unfamiliar man in a standard-issue uniform. Ross’s anger flared. “Where is Mr. Gable? Why isn’t he here?” he demanded. The young servant flinched. “S-sir… Mr. Gable… he’s busy, sir… with the Master’s wedding… He said he couldn’t get away… He said if you needed anything… to… to ask me…” “My father’s wedding?” Ross’s voice was sharp, his face draining of all color. “With who? What are you talking about?” The servant was even more terrified now. “W-with… with the Sterling heiress… Miss Seraphina Sterling…” Ross’s mind went blank, as if struck by a sledgehammer. He grabbed the servant’s arm, his voice a ragged, broken whisper. “Say that again.” The servant winced in pain, but stammered, “J-just now… on the top floor… in the Crystal Ballroom… The Master is marrying Miss Seraphina Sterling… The ceremony… it should be starting any moment…” 5 In that instant, Ross’s world collapsed. He staggered backward, his face ashen, his lips trembling as he muttered, “Impossible… impossible…” Stella rushed to his side, clutching her belly, her voice choked with tears. “Ross, what’s going on? How could Seraphina be with your father? Is she doing this to get back at us?” Ross didn’t answer. His mind was consumed by a single thought: Seraphina and Conrad were getting married. He shoved the servant aside and stumbled towards the elevator. “Ross! Wait for me!” Stella cried, struggling to keep up with her large belly. The elevator doors closed mercilessly in her face. Outside the top-floor Crystal Ballroom, Ross peered through a crack in the partially open doors and saw a sight that shattered his soul. The hall was bathed in brilliant light, filled to the brim with guests. The very same business tycoons and socialites who were absent from his own wedding downstairs were now mingling, champagne flutes in hand, smiling and laughing. Beneath a massive crystal chandelier, Conrad Vance, dressed in a sharp white tuxedo, was leading me—draped in a breathtaking white gown—down the aisle. It wasn’t the dress Stella had defiled. This one was even more magnificent, a flawless haute couture creation that clung to my body perfectly, its train glittering under the lights like fallen starlight. The way Conrad looked at me… it was with a tenderness that could melt glaciers. “And now, will the groom please place the ring on the bride’s finger,” the officiant’s voice echoed clearly. Conrad gently took my hand, sliding a dazzling diamond ring onto my finger. BOOM! Ross slammed the doors open. The loud crash silenced the entire hall. Every head turned towards the entrance, and a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd. “Ross Vance? What’s he doing here?” “Isn’t he the one getting married downstairs?” “I heard that pregnant woman is his mistress…” Ross staggered towards the altar, his eyes wild, his voice hoarse. “Dad! What are you doing?!” Conrad’s expression was calm, almost amused. “I’m getting married. Seraphina is the wife I have chosen.” “But she was my fiancée!” Ross cried, his voice breaking. “This is… this is incest!” I let out a small, cold laugh. “Ross, our engagement became void the moment I learned Stella was carrying your child. Have you forgotten?” I paused, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Besides, aren’t you having your own wedding downstairs? What happened, did you call it off?” Ross’s face was a deathly white. He swayed on his feet. “Seraphina… you can’t do this… you can’t marry my father…” “And why not?” I asked coolly. “You, Ross Vance, were free to betray our love, to get your mistress pregnant, and to demand that I raise your bastard child. Why can’t I choose a better man?” Conrad stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my waist in a clear display of ownership. “Ross, Seraphina is my wife now. You will respect her.” “No!” Ross roared. “You can’t be together! If you get married, my reputation…” “Oh, so now you care about your reputation?” I cut him off with a sneer. “When you had Stella wear my dress and steal my name for your sham wedding, did you ever stop to think that this day would come?” The murmuring from the guests grew louder. Some were already pulling out their phones to record the drama. 6 Ross’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. He opened his mouth to argue but found he had no words. Just then, Stella finally arrived. She was clutching her large belly with one hand and her chest with the other, panting for breath in the doorway. “Ross—” she called out weakly, then her eyes took in the scene and her face went chalk-white. The gazes of every guest in the room fell upon her. “Is that the pregnant mistress?” “Wow, she actually showed up…” “Wearing a wedding dress with a baby bump like that… does she have no shame?” Stella felt the weight of their scorn and curiosity. She began to tremble. She had never imagined that the perfect wedding she had orchestrated would devolve into this public humiliation. “Stella!” Ross rushed to her side. “Why did you come up here? You need to rest!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I was worried about you… Ross, what is happening? Why is Seraphina with your father…” She didn’t finish, but everyone understood. Conrad’s expression hardened. His voice boomed with an authority that could not be questioned. “Enough! This is my wedding, not a stage for your melodrama!” He looked at the officiant and nodded for him to continue. The officiant cleared his throat. “And now, will the bride please place the ring on the groom’s finger.” I took the custom platinum band from its box and, under the watchful eyes of everyone in the room, slowly slid it onto Conrad’s finger. “NO!” Ross screamed, lunging forward, only to be blocked by several security guards. He struggled against them, his eyes red with fury. “Seraphina! You can’t do this!” I turned to look at him, a smirk playing on my lips. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t good enough for you? Well, I suppose your father will have to do.” A wave of stifled laughter and shocked whispers went through the crowd. Ross’s face contorted with rage and shame. Stella, fighting through her discomfort, stumbled forward. “Miss Sterling, how can you do this? What about your grandfather? He’s still in the hospital…” “That’s enough!” My voice was suddenly sharp as a razor’s edge. “Stella, you have the audacity to mention my grandfather? If it weren’t for you two animals deliberately provoking him, would he be on his deathbed?” I advanced on her, each step heavy with purpose. “You thought putting on my dress would make you a Sterling? What are you? A shameless, pathetic mistress who dares to play the victim in front of me?” Stella’s face was ashen. She backed away, shielding her stomach. “I… I didn’t…” “No?” I sneered. “Then where did that bastard in your belly come from? An immaculate conception?” “Seraphina!” Ross roared. “Watch your mouth! That’s my child!” I turned my gaze back to him, my eyes full of contempt. “Ross, you’re the one who needs to watch his mouth. From this day forward, I am the matriarch of the Vance family. You will address me with respect.” His face turned an even darker shade of purple. At that moment, Conrad stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. “Today is the wedding of myself, Conrad Vance, and Miss Seraphina Sterling. Thank you all for coming to witness our joy. I hope you all have a wonderful time. Let the celebration begin!”

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At the freshman welcome mixer, a girl from the incoming class suddenly cornered my childhood best friend, David, who has autism. “Hey,” she said, her voice loud enough to turn heads. “Aren’t you going to explain why you were just touching my thigh?” Just then, the text appeared in my vision—the shimmering, translucent comments that only I could ever see. 【Yesss, here it comes. Our main character curing the broody autistic guy. Kelly’s a natural!】 【Look at him pretending to be annoyed. We all know he’s secretly thrilled. He’s totally falling for our girl.】 【Ugh, so annoying. The side character is about to ruin the vibe and interrupt their flirting.】 【Whatever. Even if the side character interferes, she’ll just make the male lead hate her more. She’s no match for our adorable new heroine.】 1 The air thickened. David looked utterly lost, stammering, “I-I didn’t.” His knuckles were white where he gripped his water bottle. The campus green was packed with students rehearsing for the Welcome Week talent show. The girl’s voice had carried, and now dozens of eyes were on us. Her own eyes were bright with mischief as she giggled. “David Hayes, I thought you were mute. Look at you, using your words!” Whispers rippled through the crowd. Under the weight of their stares and contempt, beads of sweat broke out on David’s forehead. His autism already made speaking difficult; being the center of attention like this was sending him into a full-blown panic. Seeing his silence, the girl’s smirk widened. I was only here to give a speech as a student representative. I never imagined it would lead to this kind of trouble for David. I switched on my phone’s camera and held it up. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice level. “Just to confirm, you’re accusing David Hayes of touching your thigh? Because if you are, I’m calling campus security and having them pull the surveillance footage right now.” The girl’s smile froze. A frown creased her forehead. David stared at me, his throat working silently. The comments began to scroll frantically across my vision. 【LOL, this side character doesn’t play by the rules. Does she think this will make the male lead fall for her?】 【Dumb bitch. They were just flirting. She’s about to trigger his protective-boyfriend mode and she doesn’t even know it.】 【She’s just jealous the main character can get a reaction out of him. What a petty little snake.】 The girl shot me a dirty look, her voice turning whiny. “It was just a joke. You’re being way too uptight, upperclassman.” But the triumphant glint in her eyes screamed that I was a busybody. I started dialing. “A joke?” I snapped. “Do you have any idea what slander is? It’s a crime.” To my shock, David finally spoke, his words slow and strained. “Don’t… Stay out of it.” He reached out and shoved my arm, knocking the phone from my hand. It went sailing in an arc through the air. More stares. More whispers. David was a man of few words, but never, in all the years I’d stood up for him, had he publicly humiliated me like this. I took a deep, shuddering breath to keep myself from slapping him. I bent down, picked up my phone, and turned to leave without another word. Fine. I was done. The comments were a chorus of smug satisfaction. 【LMAO, the side piece is gonna have an aneurysm. Serves her right for being extra.】 【The guy himself doesn’t even care. She’s like the gossip queen reincarnated.】 【She’s always hanging around him, but he’s never called her his girlfriend. She’s just delusional.】 A second later, David was jogging to catch up with me. He tugged gently on my sleeve, the same way he always did when he knew he’d messed up. I turned, and he looked at me with that wide-eyed, innocent expression that always worked on me. The comments exploded. 【WTF is the male lead doing? Why is he chasing after that psycho?】 【This side chick is such a drama queen. Playing hard to get? So gross.】 【David, get back to our girl Kelly! She’d go home with you tonight if you just asked. What’s so great about this little snake anyway?】 I looked down, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. I knew David’s mind worked differently, but this still felt like a slap in the face. After my parents left, his mother, Mrs. Hayes, had been the one to look out for me. I couldn’t bring myself to yell at him, but I wasn’t going to swallow my pride either. I yanked my sleeve out of his grasp. “I’m tired from the event,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m going back to my dorm.” The comments flashed. 【What a bitch.】 David just blinked, saying what he always said when we parted. “Be safe.” 2 After the Welcome Week festivities, my senior year schedule became even more brutal. I’d already secured a spot in a top-tier graduate program, but I still had to connect with my new advisor and finish a major project for my undergrad mentor. I spent my days buried in the lab, trying not to think about how much David had hurt me. Occasionally, I’d overhear snippets of gossip about the ‘Freshman It Girl’ chasing the ‘Genius Upperclassman.’ Then, one evening, I got a frantic call from Mrs. Hayes. “Lara,” she said, her voice tight with panic, “David has been so… distant lately. He’s not home yet, and he forgot his medication.” Her voice cracked. “I’m so afraid he’s going to have an episode. Can you please, please take his pills to him?” I understood the gravity of the situation immediately. After reassuring her, I grabbed my bag and sprinted to the university’s art building. But when I got to the studio, David’s easel was empty. A student I knew glanced up from his work. “Well, if it isn’t David’s little girlfriend,” he teased. “Here to check up on your man? You’re in the wrong place. He barely comes here anymore.” A cold dread seeped into my bones. The submission deadline for the International Art Competition was just two weeks away. Why wouldn’t he be in the studio? After a quick text to his roommate, I finally found him at an off-campus bar. The moment I stepped inside, the blast of noise—clinking glasses, shouting, thumping music—gave me a headache. I couldn’t imagine David, who despised loud places, being here. The private room was dimly lit, the air thick with a cloying, intimate energy. Kelly was pressed right up against David, her face so close to his they were almost touching. I watched as her finger traced the bridge of his nose while she whispered something in his ear. David’s eyelashes fluttered. His ears flushed crimson, but he didn’t push her away like he did with everyone else who got too close. They were the center of attention, and the others in the room were hooting and laughing. The comment stream, which had been quiet, lit up. 【OMG, I’m dying! This is too sweet! He’s powerless against our seductive queen!】 【LMAO, Kelly knows how to flirt. She’s making me blush.】 【Taking notes! Next time I’m gonna ask my crush if what they say about guys with big noses is true.】 I knocked on the open door, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. When David’s eyes met mine, the red at the tips of his ears hadn’t faded. Kelly shot me a defiant smirk and nudged him. “Look, David, your babysitter’s here. She chased you all the way to a bar. Maybe you should be a good boy and go home with her?” “Hah! Don’t tell me you’re in your twenties and still have a chaperone!” someone else jeered. The room erupted in laughter. Someone whistled. “Wow, didn’t peg you as a mama’s boy, Hayes! Is that your mom calling you home?” David glared at me, his expression making it perfectly clear that I was not welcome. Kelly looked at me like a victorious general. “Sorry, Lara. I think David wants to stay here and play with me tonight.” The comments were merciless. 【Does this side chick really think she can show up and claim him? LMAO, what a clown.】 【It’s useless. All this drama is just gonna push the main characters closer together!】 I closed my eyes for a second, then chucked the bottle from my bag directly into David’s lap. Kelly snatched it from him, holding it up to the dim light. “Risperidone?” she read aloud. “What’s this for?” David froze, then scrambled to check the contents of my bag that I had thrown at him. When he looked back up at me, he couldn’t meet my gaze. Without a timely dose of Risperidone, he was prone to severe self-harm. I knew because it had happened once before. Mrs. Hayes had been called away for a family emergency. When I let myself into their house, I found David sitting on the bathroom floor, methodically slicing at his own body with a utility knife, his face completely blank. He seemed to feel no pain, just carving into his own flesh as if it belonged to someone else. His arms and legs were a bloody mess, the white tiles painted with crimson patterns. He was about to cut into a major artery when I dove forward and grabbed the blade with my bare hands. The scar on my palm never fully faded. It was a permanent reminder of that day. Ever since, I’ve carried a spare bottle of his medication in my bag at all times. And David knew it. 3 Kelly smirked. “David, this isn’t… that kind of pill, is it? Wow, Lara must really care about your… private life. You should thank her.” Her eyes darted suggestively toward his crotch. “I mean, you said you two were just friends. It’s so nice of her to be this thoughtful.” A stream of 【KELLY IS A QUEEN!!!】 filled my vision, followed by a dozen exclamation points, as if she’d just done something heroic. I frowned, not understanding what they were so excited about. My job was done. I needed to get back to the lab. As I turned to leave, David stood up. “Wait. I’ll walk you back.” Guilt, I assumed. An attempt to make amends. I saw Kelly’s smile tighten at the corners. The comments rolled. 【Ugh, I’m so jealous. This bitch literally just showed up to annoy our girl!】 【Can the side character just f*** off already? I can’t stand seeing her in another scene. She’s such a pick-me girl!】 【It’s fine, the key plot point is coming up. The male lead is gonna drop the international competition for the female lead and just stay here for grad school. Then the side chick will go to a different school, get bullied by her advisor, and commit suicide. After that, it’s happily ever after for our OTP!】 I froze, staring at the words floating in the air. Kelly stood up, blocking David’s path. “Hey, you promised me,” she purred. “You lost the bet, so you have to spend the night with me. You can’t go back on your word!” Her words were dripping with innuendo, sending another wave of hoots through the room. David stopped, his cheeks burning. He shot me a helpless, apologetic look. I sighed. “You don’t have to walk me back. I can go by myself.” Before I left, I looked him straight in the eye. “Is our plan to go to Stanton University for grad school still on?” I was already a lock for the program at SU. David just needed a win at the upcoming competition to secure his spot. With his talent, it should have been easy, but he’d missed the competition the last two years because his mother had been ill. I could have gone to SU for my undergrad, but I’d chosen our current university to stay with him. He knew that. He’d promised we would go to grad school there together. I couldn’t believe he would break that promise. I refused to believe my story would end like the comments predicted. David gave me a firm, serious nod. Relief washed over me. The comments were just nonsense. None of that would happen. In the days that followed, I focused on the lab, waiting for the official acceptance letters to be released. On the final day for the competition submissions, I texted David to make sure he’d sent in his portfolio. After a long pause, he replied with a simple “OK” emoji. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. But as I was reading a research paper, the comments flickered back to life. 【The male lead just got a distress call from the female lead! Look at the change in his expression! LMAO.】 【Our girl Kelly is so smart. Faking being harassed to test his feelings. Genius move.】 【Look how worried he is! Once they meet up, they’re definitely gonna confess their feelings for each other.】 My blood ran cold. I immediately tried calling David. It rang a few times, then went to voicemail. I tried again. Disconnected. Again and again, he rejected my calls. The comments mocked me. 【Is this desperate side chick seriously calling to nag him about his art submission right now?】 【LOL, she needs a reality check. She has no idea where she stands in his heart. She can’t do anything to stop them.】 【You really think you can compete with our main character? Just go to SU and save yourself the embarrassment, lmao.】 I stared at my computer screen, the words of the article blurring into an incomprehensible mess. Late that night, a text from David finally came through. 【I think staying here for my Master’s is a better fit for me.】 4 I glanced at the time. It was past midnight. The competition deadline had passed. Everything had happened exactly as the comments had foretold. The next morning, I was at the Hayes’s front door. I had worked my ass off for that grad school plan. Even a saint would have a breaking point, and I had reached mine. How dare he just back out? I didn’t expect to find Kelly sitting in their living room, greeting me like she lived there. “Lara! What are you doing here? Looking for David? I’ll go get him for you.” She started to get up, ready to shout toward his room. A comment popped up. 【Our genius girl is here to piss off the side character again! Hahahaha!】 I took a deep breath, walked past her to David’s room, knocked three times, and pushed the door open. David was shirtless, halfway through pulling on a t-shirt. He stared at me in shock. Kelly shrieked from behind me. “Lara, what are you doing? He has no privacy with you around!” More comments. 【What a bitch. Just trying to show off how much closer she is to him than the main character.】 The truth was, Mrs. Hayes had never put a lock on his door, terrified he might have an episode. I had been walking in like this for years to avoid disturbing him while he painted. I cut straight to the point. “David, we had a deal. We were going to Stanton together. What gives you the right to just back out?” He avoided my eyes, slowly pulling on his shirt without a word. But Kelly jumped in, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Lara, don’t blame him. It was my fault. If I hadn’t gotten hassled by those creeps, he wouldn’t have missed the deadline.” “I wasn’t talking to you,” I said flatly. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Kelly’s eyes widened, stunned that I would be so blunt. David frowned, his voice sharp. “Lara, don’t be mean to her. This has nothing to do with her.” I almost laughed. “Fine,” I shot back, my voice rising. “Then you tell me. Why did you break your promise for no reason? Because she had a problem? A problem she couldn’t call the police about, so she had to call you instead?” He still wouldn’t look at me. He knew I was right. Mrs. Hayes came out of the kitchen. “Lara, what’s with all the shouting?” Before I could answer, Kelly interjected. “Lara, David has his own plans. You shouldn’t try to tie his future to yours!” The comments went wild. 【Wooooow, our girl is in protective mode!】 I fixed my gaze on David. “Am I tying you down? Did I force you to apply to Stanton?” He was silent for a long moment, then mumbled, “I want to stay here.” The air left my lungs. He hadn’t answered my question. He had stabbed me in the back. Again. Kelly’s smile was triumphant. “See, Lara? You can’t always expect him to accommodate you. You’ll ruin his future.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “He’s a genius. He knows what’s best for himself.” David said nothing, which was as good as an agreement. Mrs. Hayes’s expression hardened. “Lara, we’re happy for you that you got into Stanton. But if David wants to stay here, you should respect his decision.” She sighed. “He’s not a child anymore. He can’t always rely on you to take care of him. The two of you… should be more mindful of appearances.” My heart turned to ice. My own parents were always busy, never home. Growing up, it was Mrs. Hayes who had always called me over for dinner, giving me my only taste of a warm family life. I had poured all my affection, all my loyalty, into her and her son. I took on the burden of protecting David from the world as my way of repaying her kindness. I shielded him from bullies and cruel whispers for over a decade. My entire future was planned around his. And Mrs. Hayes knew it. She knew all about our plan to go to SU. Now, she was acting like I was a burden, her words dripping with resentment. The comments were ecstatic. 【LMAO, even his mom is on the main character’s side now! What a failure!】 【The mother-in-law probably realized Kelly is better for him. The side character is useless now! Look at our cute main girl!】 【Seeing the side chick’s face go pale is so satisfying! This is the kind of drama I’ve been waiting for!】 That’s when I noticed it. Ever since David had spoken up, Mrs. Hayes hadn’t taken her eyes off Kelly. Her expression was full of surprise and excitement. Even she could see how differently David treated this new girl. And because of that, she had chosen her son, and Kelly, without a moment’s hesitation. All the strength drained out of me. After all these years, I was still just a useful outsider. This wasn’t a family. And I didn’t want it anymore. “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “From now on, David is no longer my problem.” 5 Mrs. Hayes had tried to set me and David up before, and I hadn’t resisted. In my heart, the longing for a real family, a place to belong, had always been a desperate ache, even if I knew my feelings for David were more sisterly than romantic. But now, she had made it clear: David didn’t need my protection anymore. With that, my debt to her was paid. The Hayes family would never be my family. The hope I’d cherished for so long was just a childish fantasy. As I walked out their door, my resolve hardened. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my academic advisor, officially withdrawing my application for the graduate program. Then, I texted a number I hadn’t contacted in years. 【Dad, I want to apply to grad school abroad. Can you help me, just this once?】

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“Leo, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” The man, Adrian, slammed the marriage certificate onto the podium just as the stage lights hit my eyes. I was in the middle of our new product launch. The date on the official seal burned into my retinas… Five years ago. I hadn’t even met Catherine yet. But I was her husband. Her legal husband. I begged Catherine to tell the world the truth, but she always said to wait, just a little longer. For that, my son and I were dragged through hell—threatened, humiliated, and hurt. When she finally did reveal the truth, she fell to her knees before me. “Leo, please, just let me explain…” But by then, it was an explanation neither I nor my son needed anymore. 01. I was in a tailored suit, standing on stage at the company’s new product launch, walking the audience through our latest innovation. This presentation was everything to our company. I’d poured my soul into it, polishing every detail until it gleamed. Just as applause began to swell from the audience, a stranger stormed through the conference hall doors. He walked with an air of pure arrogance, heading straight for me. “Leo Wallace, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” he sneered, his voice laced with provocation. My brow furrowed. I had no idea who this man was, what this bizarre performance was about. He seemed to relish my confusion. He pulled a marriage certificate from his briefcase and waved it in my face. “Maybe this will clear things up. I’m Catherine’s legal husband. We’ve been married for five years.” I took the document. There, in stark black ink, were their names: Catherine Croft and Adrian Shaw. And the date. A deafening buzz roared in my head, like I’d taken a physical blow. How could this be possible? Catherine and I had been married for three years. Our life together was stable, happy. Why would she be married to someone else? I forced myself to breathe, to think. I replayed every moment of our life together, searching for a crack, a lie, anything. But the Catherine in my memory was always so gentle, so attentive. She adored me and our son. I couldn’t find a single reason for her to deceive me like this. The man, Adrian, saw my stunned silence and a triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Did you really think the happiness you stole would last forever? Time to wake up.” His words were a razor blade, slicing deep into my heart. The audience below had sensed the shift. The quiet murmurs grew into a wave of curious stares. I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting to keep my composure. “Who the hell are you? Why are you trying to frame my wife?” I stared at him, desperately searching for a flaw in his act. He snorted. “My name is Adrian Shaw. I’m Catherine Croft’s husband. And I’m just giving you some friendly advice: stop pretending to be something you’re not. Stop being the other man.” Just then, Catherine rushed into the hall. Her face went pale the moment she saw us. She looked at Adrian, her voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing here? Why would you do this?” Adrian just laughed and shoved the certificate into her hands. “I’m just telling him to be a decent person, to stop being a homewrecker. What’s wrong with that? Today, everyone is going to know the truth.” He turned and walked out, leaving Catherine and me stranded in the ensuing chaos. Reporters swarmed the stage, their cameras flashing relentlessly, their questions flying at us like bullets. The product launch was a disaster, derailed by a gossip bomb. My boss was furious, telling me I was suspended indefinitely. The only reason I wasn’t fired on the spot was because of my track record. But I didn’t have the energy to care about my job. When we got home, the argument I’d been holding back exploded out of me. I screamed at her, demanding to know what was happening. She just looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Leo, please, just wait for me. Now is not the time. I promise you, I will handle this. I will give you an explanation.” I stared at her, my vision blurred by rage and disappointment. “Wait? After this? You let me become a public joke today! My marriage, my career—it’s all in flames because of you! Enough, Catherine. I want a divorce!” “No!” Her face was a mask of panic, the word ripping out of her. “I won’t divorce you! I will never divorce you!” 02. Catherine’s fingers dug into my wrist, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. “Noah is only three. Would you really sentence him to a broken home?” I wrenched my arm away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “A mother who lies is a thousand times more damaging than an absent one!” Her eyes reddened, and she swallowed hard. “Just give me one more week… no, three days! I swear I’ll—” My phone began to vibrate violently, a notification lighting up the screen. A trending topic, complete with a flaming emoji: Leo Wallace, the Corporate Homewrecker. I clicked it. The press conference had been cut into a viciously edited meme. The shot of Adrian throwing the certificate on the stage looped endlessly, my face photoshopped onto a screaming chicken. The comments were a tidal wave of hate: [Trying to launch a product while you’re the other man? Give this guy the Douchebag of the Year award!] [UPDATE! People are flooding the website of that scumbag Leo’s company!] “How much is your ‘swear’ worth right now?” I grabbed a vase from the entryway table and hurled it to the floor. “Where were you when my launch was being destroyed? Where were you when the entire internet started calling me a homewrecker? Don’t you dare stand there and pretend to be a concerned mother now!” Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, stopping at her feet. She took a half-step back, then suddenly grabbed her coat. “We both need to calm down.” The front door slammed shut. A moment later, I heard Noah crying from his room. I ran in and swept him into my arms. He clutched my shirt, sobbing. “Is… is Mommy not coming back?” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my own voice from breaking. “Mommy just got a little lost, buddy. Daddy’s going to find her for you.” I called my lawyer and had him draw up divorce papers. But then Catherine vanished. Her phone went straight to her assistant’s voicemail every time. “Ms. Croft is in a meeting with our international partners.” “Ms. Croft is with investors right now.” “Ms. Croft, she…” I drove straight to the Croft Industries headquarters, my dress shoes clicking like blades against the marble floor. But when I reached the executive elevator, the iris scanner blinked red. Access Denied. My credentials had been revoked. “Sir, please don’t make this difficult,” her assistant said, blocking my way. I saw a faint, finger-shaped bruise on her forearm—from when I’d grabbed at Catherine the other day and she’d stepped between us. My eyes were glued to the floor numbers lighting up on the display. “Tell her I’ll be at City Hall tomorrow at ten a.m. If she’s not there, I’ll see her in court.” As I turned to leave, I heard the assistant’s hushed voice behind me. “Ms. Croft, he’s gone… Yes, I’ve already spoken to the kindergarten, just as you asked…” The moment the final bell rang, Noah launched himself into my arms like a little cannonball. His right eye was puffy and swollen, and a scab of dried blood crusted the corner of his mouth. “Did you fall?” I asked, my fingers gently brushing the wound. He burst into tears. “Stella said her mommy bought her an Iron Man watch… she said I was adopted…” My blood ran cold. The day of the press conference, I’d gotten a friend request from Adrian Shaw. I’d meant to ignore it, but some morbid curiosity made me accept. His social media was a gallery of photos of him and a little girl, doted on by Catherine. Stella. That was the name he used for his daughter. “Where is she?” Noah pointed toward the shadows behind the slide. A little girl in a private school uniform was trapping ants in a water bottle. The face of an Iron Man watch on her wrist caught the sun, flashing a blinding light. It was the same girl from Adrian’s photos. And her eyes, her brow… they were a near-perfect copy of Catherine’s. “Look, the fake daddy’s here!” she jeered, making a face at me. “My mommy is taking me to Disneyland tomorrow!” I knelt down to her level. “What’s your mommy’s name?” “Catherine Croft!” she announced proudly, puffing out her chest. “My daddy says her name is worth a hundred amusement parks!” Before I could process that, Adrian emerged from behind a cluster of trees, followed by a crew of influencers holding selfie sticks. “Hey everyone, today we’re giving Stella a taste of a regular public school… Oh my god!” He stumbled dramatically, his vintage watch catching on a branch. As the broken band flew into the grass, the viewer count on his livestream spiked to over one hundred thousand. 03. The diamonds on the brooch pinned to Adrian’s chest blinded me—a Victorian-era iris, the very same one Catherine had pinned on me herself the night she proposed. I instinctively glanced at my own lapel, now bare. The key to our safety deposit box felt hot in my pocket. “You stole my brooch!” I lunged for it, but a reporter’s microphone blocked my path. Adrian clutched the diamonds and took a step back, the livestream camera zooming in on his feigned, trembling eyelashes. “Catherine gave this to me six months ago. Do you need to see the notarized document?” An assistant promptly handed him a folder. On the aged paper, Catherine Croft’s signature was unmistakable, written with a powerful, confident hand. I knew that signature. The year before, during a major acquisition, she had guided my hand to sign our names together. The nib of the pen had torn the paper on the final stroke of her last name. “Now who looks like the thief?” Adrian slapped the document against my chest. The live chat exploded with red exclamation points: [HE BROUGHT RECEIPTS! Leo the scumbag needs to get on his knees and apologize to the real husband!] [No wonder he kept it in a safe, he knew it was stolen!] I crumpled the paper in my fist, the sharp corners digging into my palm. “That signature…” “Your wife signed it herself,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “In my bed, that night. Want to hear the details?” I threw the crumpled document at his smiling face. As the papers fluttered to the ground, Adrian staggered back dramatically, the brooch tumbling from his chest. “Watch out!” A man I recognized—Ethan—rushed out from the crowd of reporters and caught Adrian, steadying him. The ID badge on his chest swung forward: Adrian Shaw Productions, Special Assistant. “Mr. Wallace, assault has legal consequences.” As Ethan bent down to re-fasten the brooch for Adrian, I saw the scar on the back of his neck. I knew that scar. He got it working in a kitchen his sophomore year of college. I was the one who drove him to the ER for a skin graft that night. “You didn’t talk about consequences when you were on your knees, begging me to help you pay for tuition, did you?” I grabbed the hem of Ethan’s designer suit. The silk fabric ripped with a sickening sound. He flinched, and a tray of antiseptic wipes he was holding scattered across the ground. “Answer me! When your father had late-stage liver cancer, who paid for the surgery?” I forced his face toward me. His skin was flushed crimson beneath his foundation. “Now you’re helping the man who stole my life. Does your conscience ever bother you at night?” The cameras were practically touching my face. The live chat was in a frenzy: [OMG THE DRAMA! The other man is having a meltdown!] [Did you see that close-up? Adrian has a hickey from Catherine on his neck!] Suddenly, Ethan grabbed my wrist, his nails digging into my flesh. “Leo, you have to move on.” His voice was a bare whisper, almost a sigh. “It’s like you taught me about investing in art… you pick the one with the highest potential for growth. It’s the same with people. You have to bet on the winner.” Adrian’s smug laugh echoed from nearby. “Ethan, come fix my hair.” Ethan immediately let go of me and hurried to Adrian’s side, dutifully smoothing his hair into place. 04. The crowd surged forward, a suffocating wave of hot bodies and angry shouts. Noah’s terrified scream was lost in the noise. “Get the bastard!” A plastic water bottle hit me squarely on the brow. Cold water and blood streamed into my right eye. I held Noah tight against my chest. In the chaos, one of his small shoes was kicked off, revealing a little sunflower embroidered on his sock. He’d been so proud of them this morning. “Daddy buys the best socks!” he’d declared. “I’ve already called the police!” I roared, wiping the blood from my eyes. My only answer was a chorus of derisive laughter. A large man in a gold chain grabbed a fistful of my hair. “The cops are coming for you, asshole!” His hand was adorned with a chunky diamond ring that scraped my earlobe, drawing a fresh line of blood. The live chat was flooded with digital fireworks. [Someone start a crowdfund to add another diamond to that guy’s ring!] My vision swam with black spots. My head was spinning. Only one thought remained clear. I would make Catherine and Adrian pay for this. The wail of sirens finally cut through the mob. My shirt was torn open. “Everyone break it up!” a young officer yelled, using his baton to push back the phones still recording. His older partner glanced at the bruises forming on my collarbone. “Sir, we recommend you handle domestic disputes through legal channels.” I clutched Noah’s fallen sunflower sock, the taste of blood and iron in my throat. “I am her legal husband!” “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she replied, handing me a tissue. “My advice? Walk away now, before you drag your kid further into this mess.” Suddenly, Noah grabbed my bleeding hand and pressed it against the officer’s sleeve insignia. “Mister, my daddy didn’t steal anything…” The dark wool of the uniform soaked up the blood, creating a grotesque, blooming flower. After we gave our statements at the station, I saw a long, deep scratch on the back of Noah’s hand, still weeping blood. Without a second thought, I rushed him to the hospital. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room, I sent Catherine a photo of Noah’s hand being stitched up. When she finally answered with a video call, I could hear the sounds of Adrian’s livestream in the background. “—big thanks to ‘Catherine’s Knight’ for the huge donation!” “You hear that?” I held the phone close to Noah’s tear-streaked face. “Your son is being called a bastard by the entire world!” A vein pulsed in Catherine’s forehead. “Leo, Adrian and I are not married! Stella is not my child! The DNA report is in my study, third drawer—” “And what good does that do now? Are you going to hold another press conference?” “Just wait, please, now is not the right time…” Noah suddenly sobbed out the word “Mommy.” Her fingers dug violently into what looked like a leather car seat. “Let me talk to him. Put Noah on the phone.” I hit the end call button. I took her last voice message, still on my screen, and used my phone to blot the tears from my son’s cheek. “Catherine,” I thought, “you will never deserve to hear him cry again.” 05. The day Noah got his stitches out, I finally saw Catherine again. She burst into the examination room just as the doctor was snipping the last thread from the cut on Noah’s forehead. The scent of the perfume Adrian used on his livestreams clung to her blazer. She reached for our son, but I slapped her, my hand cracking across her face with such force that she stumbled back into an IV stand. CRASH! The sound of the shattering saline bag and the chorus of smartphone shutters created a surreal, horrifying symphony. “Leo?!” She wiped a trickle of blood from her nose. Behind her, frozen in the doorway, was Stella, holding an ice cream cone. Adrian had dressed her in a pair of sunflower socks identical to Noah’s. I grabbed a medical chart and threw it at the influencer who had followed her in. “Get your reality show out of my face!” Three hours later, a new headline was trending: Croft Industries CEO Assaulted by Homewrecker Ex. My boss’s call shattered the silence of the ER waiting room. “Do you have any idea how big our contract with Croft Industries is? Write your resignation letter right now. It’s the only way you’re leaving this with a shred of dignity.” The live chat on the replay of the hospital incident was ecstatic: [That slap must have cost him ten million dollars, lol.] [LATEST NEWS! That scumbag Leo’s company stock just plummeted!] Back home, I was texting my lawyer about expediting the divorce when a notification popped up. Adrian’s new livestream was titled A Night of Protecting My Family. He was holding Stella, his eyes red-rimmed. “Catherine was just at the hospital to see a sick child who had a fever, I never thought…” The camera panned over a pediatric hospital room, a bill signed by Catherine clearly visible on the nightstand. My personal information had been compiled into a nine-panel graphic and was spreading like wildfire. My gym membership number, Noah’s list of allergies, even my childhood medical records were being passed around on the dark web. The day a body bag was delivered to our doorstep, I was in the backyard burning every gift Catherine had ever given me. As the flames consumed a sapphire tie clip, a text came through from an unknown number. It was a GPS pin of Noah’s kindergarten. [Time to find a new playground for the bastard. A cemetery, maybe.] Catherine’s calls, which I’d rejected dozens of times, turned into a flood of frantic texts. I’ve hired security… My lawyers are handling it… Please, Leo, I’m begging you, answer the phone… I aimed my phone’s camera at the flames and sent her my final ultimatum. Sign the divorce papers, or you’ll be getting a notice from the coroner.

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For five years, my genius husband saw me as an empty-headed trophy wife. He publicly humiliated me for his brilliant protégée—a woman my family’s charity put through college. But when he dragged me, nine months pregnant, up the stairs and risked our child’s life to defend her honor, he made a fatal mistake. He forgot my name is Sterling, and the Sterling empire doesn’t just get even. It gets biblical. 1 Five years of marriage, and I knew one thing for certain: my husband despised me. To him, I was nothing more than a “trophy wife,” a decorative piece from an old-money Manhattan family. He was Dr. Adam Cole, one of the country’s leading astronomers, a man who conversed with the cosmos. I was Charlotte Sterling, a woman who played Chopin and arranged peonies. He and the brilliant young student my family sponsored would lose themselves in conversations about nebulae and wormholes. I would be tracking the fall couture collections. While he stood at a podium at an international symposium with his protégée, I was making headlines for winning a bidding war at Christie’s over a diamond necklace—a bauble I needed for a single charity gala. When I once begged him to celebrate our anniversary, his voice was laced with ice. “I prefer not to engage too deeply with the world of finance and power.” “My work is sacred.” Then he turned around and spent the evening patiently teaching his student how to calibrate a new telescope. The breaking point came when he, in a fit of rage to defend that same student’s honor, dragged me—nine months pregnant—up the stairs, inducing a dangerous premature labor. That was when I finally signed the divorce papers. It was time to give us both back our freedom. Without him, I was still Charlotte Sterling, the most sought-after heiress on the Upper East Side. Without me… well, he was about to find out. … I dialed Adam’s number. “What is it?” His voice on the other end was cold, clipped, the impatience radiating through the phone. I rested a hand on my swollen belly, the skin stretched taut over the life inside. I’d called to tell him my due date was just a week away, to ask him to clear his schedule. Before I could speak, a chirpy, saccharine-sweet female voice cut through the background. “Professor, is that your wife calling to bother you at work again?” “Honestly, back where I’m from, pregnant women were still out working in the fields. She’s so delicate, acting like being pregnant gives her a right to call and pester you all day.” “She’s slowing down our research! Ugh.” It was his student, Maya Rivera. Adam’s tone softened into something warm and indulgent, a complete reversal of the frost he reserved for me. “Your ‘Mrs. Cole’ was spoiled from the day she was born, Maya. She isn’t like you—an independent, modern intellectual.” “Her days are empty. It’s just a cycle of spending money and then spending more money. How could she possibly understand the sacrifices we make for our research? She calls whenever the whim strikes her.” “Don’t worry. I’ll handle her. I won’t let her disrupt our progress.” He made no effort to lower his voice. He’d never bothered to hide his contempt for me. He conveniently forgot that his own parents had practically begged my family for this marriage, that the line of suitors for my hand had stretched from Park Avenue to Paris. I was about to fire back a retort, but he cut me off. “Charlotte, you heard that. This project is at a critical stage. I need you to stop calling me over every little thing.” “I don’t expect you to grasp the importance of this work—you’re a pampered socialite who has never worked a day in her life. But at least try not to drag me down with you.” And then, he hung up. The father of my child hadn’t asked a single question about him. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, the silence of our cold, cavernous apartment pressing in on me. I wondered if there was anything left of this marriage to save. That evening, I waited up for him, as was my custom. It wasn’t about love anymore; it was about maintaining the facade, the basic respect a wife of my station was expected to show her husband, even if it was never returned in kind. And I needed to ask him one last time if he would be at the hospital when I gave birth. Not for me, but for my parents. I couldn’t bear for them to see the full, brutal extent of his neglect. But midnight came and went. Adam never came home. Just as I was about to turn in, a notification lit up my phone. A new post on his Instagram. The caption read: Celebrating my most brilliant student’s birthday with a view of the blood moon! The photo was a gut punch. Maya, her sun-kissed skin glowing in the moonlight, had her head resting on my husband’s shoulder. They sat close, gazing up at the crimson-stained moon like a pair of lovers. A comment from a mutual friend in our circle appeared almost instantly: Adam, Charlotte is over nine months pregnant. Don’t you think you should be home with her instead of watching the moon with your student? This doesn’t look right. Adam’s reply was as cold and arrogant as I’d come to expect: She is a perfectly adequate society wife, but she is not the wife of my heart. Our marriage was an arrangement. My parents valued the Sterling family’s influence and resources. I married her to secure an alliance, to stabilize my family’s position. It was a transaction. But Maya is the only one who speaks my language. Discussing the universe with her—that’s when I feel alive, when I know my worth. Maya is the kind of brilliant, intellectual woman I’ve always admired. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my phone. It wasn’t sadness that I felt, but the pure, unadulterated rage of public humiliation. I had tried, for the first six months, to build a real marriage with him. When I realized it was hopeless, I gave up. With a ten-billion-dollar dowry, a loveless marriage was an inconvenience, not a tragedy. But this… this public shaming was a declaration of war. As if on cue, Maya’s comment popped up right below his. Thank you for believing in me, Professor. <3 And please don’t be hard on your wife. A woman like her, who’s never known a single day of hardship, could never understand the passion that drives people like us! Heart.JPG The two of them, performing this little play for the world to see, stoked the fire in my gut. I opened my chat with Adam. The log was nearly empty. Our last exchange was six months ago. I hit the call button. He answered. “Delete the post,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I don’t give a damn what’s going on between you and your protégée, but the Sterling family name will not be dragged through the mud. I don’t want my parents to see this and worry.” There was a pause, then a condescending laugh. “Charlotte, has playing the socialite finally rotted your brain? You spend all your time obsessing over these meaningless trifles. Your world is so pathetically small.” “I’m telling you, the post stays up. And my relationship with Maya is none of your parents’ damn business.” A sharp pain shot through my stomach. I was about to unleash a torrent of fury when Maya’s voice, dripping with false innocence, came through the line. “Mrs. Cole, the professor works so hard. You shouldn’t bother him with such trivial matters.” “Besides, he was just telling the truth. You really… you don’t understand our world. Denying it won’t change anything.” “Why don’t you just go back to being a pretty vase? The professor and I are busy observing the lunar eclipse. If you don’t understand, you shouldn't interfere.” I could hear Adam murmuring to her in the background, his voice a gentle caress. “Maya, what’s the point in talking to her? Her mind is filled with couture and galas. She can’t even begin to compare to you. Engaging with her only lowers your intellectual standards.” Every word was a carefully aimed dart. This was how he had seen me for five years. And the irony? How the Coles had courted my family, begging for this union? Dozens of families had wanted an alliance with the Sterlings. My parents, terrified I would be unhappy, chose the Coles, believing it was a safe match, that I would be marrying down and thus be cherished. What a bitter joke. I reached into my nightstand and pulled out the divorce agreement I’d had my lawyers draw up months ago. My hand went to my stomach. My resolve hardened. No amount of patience or compromise would ever change this man. There was no reason to maintain this farce any longer. He despised me but didn’t have the guts to ask for a divorce himself, wanting to have his cake and eat it too. I wondered how he would explain this to his parents. Adam’s voice snapped back onto the line, as if just remembering I was there. He spoke with that familiar, patronizing tone. “Charlotte, stop looking for trouble where there is none.” “If you’re that bored, go buy another couture gown. It’s a better use of your time than monitoring my life.” “Our marriage is what it is—a dynastic merger. Don’t ever expect love from me.” “The woman I love has a higher purpose, a brilliant mind. Not an empty-headed doll like you.” He hung up. Again. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. The anger was gone, replaced by crystalline clarity. The moment this baby was born, I was done. I would not let this self-righteous hypocrite poison another day of my life. The next morning, I walked downstairs to a shocking sight: Adam Cole in the kitchen. He was cooking breakfast. Adam, the man who claimed his hands were instruments reserved solely for scientific discovery, was standing over a stove. Before I could process it, Maya Rivera emerged from the guest bedroom, wearing one of Adam’s crisp white button-down shirts and nothing else. Her eyes met mine. On her, with her sun-kissed skin, the shirt was a statement, a flag planted on conquered territory. She scanned me from head to toe with the same arrogant, dismissive gaze as her mentor, a clear challenge in her eyes. She didn't greet me, the mistress of the house. Instead, she glided into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Adam from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for making me oatmeal, Professor,” she cooed. “I feel so spoiled.” The irony was nauseating. His wife, nine months pregnant, hadn't received so much as a kind word, yet this student had him playing short-order cook. Adam chuckled, ruffling her hair. “As long as you like it. Just try to be more careful with your next data set. No more mistakes.” He glanced over at me. “You have a brilliant future, Maya. Don’t waste it and end up useless like your Mrs. Cole.” Their open flirting made my stomach turn. I started to head for the bathroom, but Adam finally noticed me standing there. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a scowl. “Don’t just stand there blocking the way,” he snapped. “You have nothing to do all day, but Maya and I have important work. We can’t afford to be delayed by you.” I changed course. Instead of retreating, I walked directly to the dining table. This was my house. I was, for the moment, still Mrs. Adam Cole. Why the hell should I hide from this sordid little affair? “Maria,” I called to the maid, “please bring me my breakfast.” Maya’s eyes flashed with irritation. “You know,” she said, her voice dripping with faux concern, “where I come from, pregnant women are expected to help out. But you, you treat your pregnancy like a disability. You even have servants bring your food to you.” She sighed dramatically. “Mrs. Cole, the staff are people too. You should really show a little more respect for the working class.” I looked up at her, as one might observe a particularly loud insect. “My dowry was ten billion dollars. I can afford to employ ten thousand maids if I choose. Who are you—a woman my family’s charity put through college—to lecture me on morality?” The color drained from her face. Before she could form a reply, I pulled out my phone, dialed my family’s trust manager, and put the call on speaker. “Mr. Davis, good morning. Please immediately terminate all financial support for Maya Rivera.” “Furthermore, I want you to calculate the total sum the Sterling Foundation has provided for her education and living expenses over the years. Inform her she has three days to repay the full amount. If she fails to do so, you will initiate legal proceedings.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “The Sterling family does not sponsor traitors.” Maya’s face went chalk-white. She grabbed Adam’s arm, her voice a shrill cry. “Professor! She’s doing this to humiliate me! She looks down on me!” “This is all she knows how to do! Use her money to threaten people because she has nothing else!” Adam, ever her champion, immediately stepped in front of her. “Charlotte, that’s enough!” he roared. “Don’t you dare go too far!” “It’s a few hundred thousand dollars! I’ll pay it for her!” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You’ll pay it?” “Adam, have you forgotten? When your parents were begging for this marriage, they were so eager that they didn’t bother with a prenup.” “Your money is our money. It’s community property. If you dare use our joint assets to pay her debt, I will have my lawyers sue her for misappropriation of marital funds. We’ll see how that looks on her academic record.” His face turned to stone. The trap had sprung. Just then, our maid, Maria, approached nervously with my breakfast tray. Adam’s rage found a new target. With a sudden, violent movement, he kicked the tray out of her hands. Porcelain shattered, and food splattered across the marble floor. CRASH! He whirled on the terrified staff. “Get her back to her room! Lock the door!” “She may have been a Sterling, but she lives in the Cole house now! My parents may indulge her, but I will not!” The servants stood frozen, looking from him to me. “This is my house!” he bellowed. “Who do you work for?” I shot to my feet, my voice ringing with fury as I pointed a finger at him. “Adam Cole, you dare?!” “If you lay a hand on me today, you can start preparing the eulogy for your family’s company.” But he had lost face in front of Maya, and his pride was a wounded, desperate animal. He threw all caution to the wind. “Dare?” he sneered. “Of course I dare!” “Why should a parasite who does nothing but spend money be allowed to destroy the future of a brilliant intellectual like Maya? Maybe some time alone in your room will give you time to reflect on your behavior!” Maya, seizing her moment, collapsed into his arms, sobbing. “Professor, I know I received their charity, but that doesn’t give her the right to insult me like this! I have my dignity! All my hard work, my dedication to science… she’s trying to reduce it all to a dollar amount!” Adam stroked her hair, murmuring comforting words. The staff, though employed by the Coles, knew where the real power lay. Not a single one moved toward me. Seeing their defiance, Adam’s face grew darker. “Fine! Fine! So my own staff won’t obey me anymore! You’re all fired! Every last one of you! Be out by noon!” He turned his glare back to me. “Maya and I are late for the observatory. We don’t have time to waste on your hysterics.” “If you won’t lock her up, I’ll do it myself!” He strode toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my arm, completely ignoring my nine-month belly, and started dragging me toward the stairs. I struggled, fighting with all my strength, but he was too strong. In the scuffle, my stomach slammed hard against the corner of the wrought-iron banister. A blinding, razor-sharp pain ripped through my abdomen. I cried out, clutching my belly. “The baby…” “Adam! This is your child too! Let me go!” His eyes were bloodshot, his face contorted in a mask of madness. “A little pregnancy,” he hissed, his teeth clenched. “Women in Maya’s village are back in the fields the next day! I know you’re faking it!” “If I don’t teach you a lesson today, you’ll never stop bullying Maya!” A wave of pure despair washed over me. And then, I heard my father’s voice, a crack of thunder from the doorway. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER!” In the next instant, Adam was kicked violently to the ground. A second later, my mother was holding me, her own tears streaming down her face. I looked down. Blood was spreading, a dark crimson stain on my dress. Adam saw it too. The color drained from his face. He stammered, his voice a ghost of its former arrogance. “How… how is that possible? Your due date is still a week away…” “I… I was just trying to teach you a small lesson…” My father ignored him, scooping me into his arms and rushing for the door. But even through the haze of pain, I grabbed his arm. “Dad…” I gasped, “the nightstand… in the bedroom… give him what’s inside…” My words hung in the air. Adam froze, then scrambled to his feet and sprinted up the stairs. We heard the drawer being wrenched open. Then, a dead silence. When we glanced back, he had collapsed to the floor, his face a portrait of utter disbelief. “No…” he whispered. “You can’t do this to me.”

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The news broke on a Tuesday, splashed across every screen like a chemical spill. Oscar Winner Liam Carter: Secret Wife and Child Revealed. My first call was to my daughter. “Did you two have a baby without telling me?” The voice on the other end was a shattered wreck. “Mom,” she sobbed, each word a painful gasp. “I want a divorce.” 1 By the time I arrived at Claire’s penthouse, the place looked like it had been ransacked by a storm. The housekeeper had wisely locked herself in her room, a silent refusal to be caught in the crossfire. No one was cleaning this up. Liam was sitting on the sofa, his handsome face a blank mask, watching my daughter destroy their life together. Claire was hysterical. “Nine years, Liam! We’ve been together for nine years! Since you were a nobody waiting tables, I was there. I told you to chase your dream, and I paid the bills while you did.” She gestured wildly around the opulent room. “My own mother refused to even meet you for three years. I fought with her, I starved myself, I tried to kill myself twice just to make her accept you. And when she finally did? She bankrolled your career. She opened every door.” Her voice cracked, raw with betrayal. “The TV shows, the movies, that awful pop album you wanted to make… what have you ever wanted that my family didn’t hand you on a silver platter? How do you think you got that Oscar, Liam? Do you have any idea?” The dam of her rage finally broke. She sagged against the wall, the fight draining out of her, leaving only ragged sobs. Liam finally moved, rubbing a hand over his face. “Claire, just let me explain. I swear, it was just that one time. I was drunk, I was stupid… it was a mistake.” He glanced at me, then back at her. “She wouldn’t… she refused to get rid of the baby. What was I supposed to do?” I let the sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor announce my presence. I dropped my Birkin on the table with a thud and fixed him with a cold stare. “Talk. Now.” Claire collapsed into my arms, weeping. I held her for a moment, stroking her hair, then guided her toward her bedroom. “Go lie down, darling. I’ll handle this.” Once she was gone, Liam’s composure crumbled. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a pathetic sort of guilt. “Eleanor… I’m so sorry.” The story tumbled out of him, as predictable as it was sordid. It happened a little over a year ago, the night he won the Oscar. The entire studio celebrated until dawn. Claire was in London at the time, finishing her doctoral thesis, and they hadn’t seen each other in months. The combination of champagne, adrenaline, and loneliness, he claimed, led him into a “moment of madness” with his agent, Anya Reed. He said he’d been terrified of it coming out. He gave Anya a substantial sum to leave the agency and disappear. He thought that was the end of it. But she was already pregnant. She had the child in secret and then, a few months ago, reappeared, baby in tow, spinning a tale of a helpless single mother. Out of some misplaced sense of obligation to the child, Liam had been supporting them in secret ever since. The whole thing blew up a few nights ago when the baby developed a fever so high it triggered a seizure. He was rushed to the hospital. Liam, worried, snuck in for a visit. That’s when the paparazzi caught him. The photographer, a man named Vince Ray who ran a sleazy gossip site, had a personal vendetta against Liam after being publicly humiliated by him years ago. Ray didn’t even bother trying to negotiate a payout; he just ran the story. I listened to the entire pathetic saga without interruption. When he finished, I simply nodded. “Fine. My assistant will draw up the divorce papers. You and Claire are done.” To my surprise, Liam’s face crumpled. “No, Eleanor, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I never wanted to divorce Claire. I love her. I truly love her.” 2 A celebrated actor, Hollywood’s golden boy, adored by millions. And this is what he amounted to. I’ve always known the entertainment industry is a sewer. That’s why, when Claire first brought Liam home, I vetted him for five years before I allowed them to get married. Even then, my instincts screamed caution. I insisted they keep the marriage quiet, terrified of a day just like this, a day my daughter would be turned into a public spectacle, a laughingstock. Claire was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. For thirty years, she’s been coddled and cherished, her path through life paved with gold. But a flower raised in a greenhouse is fragile, and hers had grown a hopelessly romantic heart. You could say Liam Carter was the only storm she had ever known. And now, the secret marriage was out. Only the wife in the picture wasn’t my daughter. Claire, who had apparently been listening from her room, burst out, her face swollen with tears. “Mom…” “I told you from the beginning he wasn’t right for you,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “You complained that the heirs I introduced you to were shallow. You said my world, the world of business, was soulless. Well, now you see. The entertainment industry is just a playground for capital. Did you really think their morals ran any deeper?” She bit her lip, her eyes flashing with a familiar, stubborn resentment. Liam seized the opening. “That’s not true, Eleanor. This was an accident. My feelings for Claire have never changed.” He wrung his hands. “It’s just… the child is innocent in all of this. That’s why I didn’t know what to do…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care about your process. I only care about results.” Just then, the doorbell chimed through the apartment. This was a high-security building in a gated community. Unannounced visitors were impossible. My eyes snapped to Liam. His jaw tightened. He clearly intended to ignore it. But my daughter, never one to let a confrontation pass her by, stalked to the door and flung it open. Standing in the hallway was a young woman with a deceptively innocent face. In her arms, she held a baby boy, perhaps six months old. The moment her eyes met mine, her own filled with tears. I didn’t have to say a word. “Mrs. Croft,” she began, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t blame Liam. This is all my fault. It was my idea, I seduced him that night. I’m the one who decided to have the baby, and I’m the one who used the child to pressure him. It has nothing to do with him!” She was a performer, I had to give her that. The tears streamed down her cheeks, a perfect picture of tragic beauty. I could almost see how Liam had fallen for it. Almost. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Child, don’t you worry,” I said, my voice dangerously sweet. “You just give me a few days. I promise I’ll have the baby’s father right back where he belongs.” Liam’s face went pale. He started to speak, but Anya cut him off with her next move. She gently placed the baby on the expensive Persian rug in the entryway, stood up, and looked at us with a heart-wrenching sob. “Whatever I did, it was my mistake alone. The baby is innocent. Please… I beg you, raise him. I’ll disappear. I promise you will never, ever see me again.” And with that, she turned and fled down the hall, her silhouette vanishing around the corner before anyone could react. 3 The baby couldn’t even sit up on his own, yet she had abandoned him on a stranger’s doorstep. The audacity was breathtaking. I raised an eyebrow and looked back at my own daughter. Claire, who had never faced a crisis more complicated than a canceled flight in her thirty years, was frozen in shock. The infant lay on the rug, waving his tiny fists and wailing. He was, I had to admit, a pitiful sight. I knew my daughter. Her impeccable upbringing, her soft heart—it wouldn’t allow her to simply cast the child out. Liam knew it, too. He quickly recovered, rushing past Claire to fetch the housekeeper from her room, instructing her to take the baby inside and quiet him down. And my daughter just stood there, watching it happen. “Are you just going to stand there?” I asked, my voice sharp. “Mom, I… what…” She stomped her foot in frustration. Liam, sensing an opportunity to smooth things over, opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “The woman brought her illegitimate child into your home. Are you not going to pack a bag and leave with me?” The words finally pierced through her shock. A spark of anger ignited in her eyes. “He’s right,” she said, her voice laced with venom. “How do I know what else in this house has been… used by someone else? I have a thing about germs. I can’t stand it.” She turned on her heel. “I don’t need to pack. There’s nothing here I want. Let’s go, Mom.” I nodded. A glimmer of her old fire. Good. Of course, once we were home, she dissolved into tears again. But by the next morning, her sorrow had sharpened into a towering rage. I was having breakfast downstairs when Claire came storming down, looking haggard but energized by fury. She slammed her iPad down on the table in front of me. “Mom! Look at this!” I glanced at the screen. It was Vince Ray’s gossip site, Spill, with a new headline. They claimed to have identified Liam Carter’s secret wife: Claire Croft, heiress to the Croft Holdings fortune, a highly educated beauty just returned from her studies abroad. If I hadn’t pulled her out of that apartment yesterday, she would now be trapped, besieged by a wall of cameras and reporters. By then, it wouldn’t matter if the child was hers or not. The world believes the first story it hears. Once the public decided the baby belonged to Claire and Liam, any attempt she made to deny it would just make her look like a liar. The illegitimate child would be laundered into their legitimate son. I took a slow sip of my coffee. “Liam’s former agent,” I said with a thin smile, “is a very clever woman.” I met Claire’s confused gaze. “They’re not just trying to drag your name through the mud, darling. They’re trying to make you wallow in it.” 4 That same day, Croft Holdings’ official social media account posted a three-word statement: There is no child. Within thirty minutes, it had over a hundred thousand comments. “The shorter the statement, the bigger the scandal!” “Give me a break, you really believe the tabloids? Liam probably doesn’t even know who this Claire person is. This is obviously the woman’s family trying to create buzz for their company.” “Are you in middle school? Do you have any idea what Croft Holdings is? They’re a top 3 company on the NYSE. In front of Claire Croft, your precious Liam is barely qualified to polish her shoes.” I paid no attention to the pointless online squabbles. Liam himself was standing in my office, along with the head of his talent agency, who was practically bowing. “Eleanor,” the man said, forcing a smile, “look, this has all gotten out of hand. It’s really not necessary. No matter what, Liam and Claire have been together for so many years…” “Get to the point,” I said, glancing at my watch. I had a meeting with our European distribution head in ten minutes. Their presence in my office was undignified. Liam knew my temper. He knew that if I was sufficiently annoyed, I would have security physically remove them. He stepped forward, his expression one of profound remorse. “Eleanor, I know I was wrong. I’ve already spoken to Anya. I’m going to send them both abroad, and they will never be allowed to come back. As for the child, we’ll just say Vince Ray was lying, that it was a child from my extended family…” “That story might work for your fangirls,” I cut in, my voice dripping with ice. “But what about my family’s reputation? Do you truly believe everyone in our circle is a gullible teenager?” In the end, I had them escorted out. When I got home, Claire told me Liam had called her, too, promising her the world. “What do you want to do?” I asked her. “Mom.” She covered her face with her hands, her voice muffled. “I honestly don’t know what to do anymore.” Nine years. Her first love. It was never going to be an easy break, especially not for a hopeless romantic. Finally, I gave Liam two options. One: He retires from acting, moves into our home, and lives under our family’s complete control. His life and career would be dictated by us. Two: Divorce. He would leave with nothing but the clothes on his back. Claire thought I was being too harsh, but I made her re-watch the security footage of Anya abandoning the baby on her doorstep three times. After that, she fell silent and acquiesced to my decision. But the next day, Liam made his own move. He posted their marriage certificate online, accompanied by a long, saccharine caption full of ambiguous, romantic drivel. It was a calculated strike, designed to cut off any path of retreat for Claire. By confirming the marriage himself, he was cementing the lie that the child was theirs, painting a false portrait of a happy, unified family. A bold, preemptive strike. I hadn’t thought he had it in him. Claire was stunned. The shock seemed to jolt her out of her melancholy. She rushed into my office, her face a mask of disbelief. “How could he do this?!”

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I used to have a rule: never get attached. He was a college boy, a conquest. I broke his heart and never looked back. Years later, after my family went bankrupt, he found me. By then, he was Cole Hayes, a man who had built an empire from nothing. He married me. Everyone said I’d hit the jackpot. What they didn’t know was that every night, Cole brought a different woman to our home. I never cried, never made a scene. My silence seemed to drive him madder than any tears could have. So he escalated, planting his seed in the belly of Chloe, the girl he could never forget, his first love. When I remained placid, he finally cornered me, slamming his hand against the wall beside my head. “Stella, don’t you love me? Do you feel anything at all?” Tonight, Chloe and I both went into labor. As my water broke, I fell to my knees, finally telling him the words he wanted to hear. I begged him, told him I loved him, pleaded with him to take me to the hospital. He pulled me into a fierce hug, a triumphant smile on his face. “I knew it,” he whispered. Then he shoved me away. “You’re a liar.” He lifted Chloe into his arms and walked out without a backward glance. “A little later,” he called over his shoulder, his voice laced with ice. “The pain of childbirth is your punishment, Stella.” 1 His retreating back was the last thing I saw. My abdomen seized, a brutal fist clenching inside me, stealing my breath and my strength. I collapsed onto the cold marble floor. The amniotic fluid gushed from between my legs, pooling beneath me in a dark, spreading stain. I lifted a trembling hand toward the housekeeper, Maria, who stood frozen by the doorway. My voice was a raw whisper. “Get me to a hospital… please.” Her face was a mask of conflict. “Ma’am, Mr. Hayes gave specific orders. I have to wait for him to return. I can’t…” “You can’t?” The pain was a jagged knife, and my voice shook with it. “If anything happens to me or this baby, do you really think Cole will spare you? Take me. Now.” Fear finally broke through her paralysis. She scrambled for the door, but Cole’s personal assistant, Mark, blocked her path. “Mark, she’s in labor. We have to get her to the hospital,” Maria said, her voice small. Mark’s gaze flickered from the fluid on the floor to my contorted face. His tone was unnervingly calm. “Mr. Hayes was clear. We wait. He believes Mrs. Hayes is merely using the pregnancy to create drama. Help her back to her room.” “The baby will die if you wait! Do you want that on your conscience?” I summoned every last bit of my strength, pointing a shaking finger at him. Mark offered a practiced, empty smile. His eyes were devoid of warmth. “Ma’am, Mr. Hayes is at the hospital with Ms. Summers. He’s ensuring her pregnancy is stable. He said to wait for him. You know his temper. No one disobeys his orders.” “I’m in labor! The baby can’t wait!” Another contraction ripped through me, more violent than the last. It felt like a drill boring into my womb. I curled into a ball on the floor, a guttural sob escaping my lips as cold sweat soaked through my dress. “What are you waiting for? Get her to bed,” Mark commanded sharply. Two maids rushed forward. Ignoring the agony in my belly, they hooked their arms under mine and began to drag me toward the bedroom. That’s when I felt it—a new, terrifying warmth. I looked down. It was blood. “Blood! I’m bleeding!” I screamed, grabbing one of the maid’s arms with a desperate strength. “Take me to the hospital! The baby is in danger, don’t you understand?” “Ma’am, it’s not my decision,” the maid whispered, her eyes filled with a useless pity as she pried my fingers from her arm. “I’ll… I’ll call the family doctor.” “I don’t want the doctor, I need a hospital!” “Please, ma’am, don’t get agitated. I’ll go speak to Mark again right now.” She fled the room as if escaping a fire. The pain was bone-deep now, a relentless, grinding agony. The plush velvet carpet beneath me was soaked with a grim cocktail of sweat, blood, and amniotic fluid. Minutes stretched into an eternity. No one came. I dragged my bleeding body across the floor, inch by painful inch, until I reached the bed. Maria had just re-entered the room. I clutched the hem of her uniform, my voice breaking. “Maria… please, check on them. I can’t hold on much longer…” She gave a small, pained nod. “I’ll go hurry them, ma’am. Just try to breathe.” She turned, only to be stopped by Mark at the door. He walked slowly toward me. His eyes flickered to the blood-soaked carpet, a hint of hesitation in their depths, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold resolve. “Let Dr. Evans take a look first.” On cue, the doctor entered with his medical bag. The maids moved in again, pinning my thrashing limbs to the bed. “Let me go! I need the hospital!” I twisted wildly, tears and sweat streaming down my face. “My baby can’t wait!” Dr. Evans examined me with a blank expression, then produced a small vial of white pills and handed them to Maria. “What is that?” I shook my head frantically. “I won’t take it! Are you trying to kill my child?” “It’s to delay labor,” he said, his voice monotone. “It will ease the contractions.” “No! It will cut off the oxygen! The baby will suffocate!” He remained silent, his face a stony mask. “Dr. Evans,” I gasped, clutching at any shard of humanity I could find in him. “Your wife is pregnant, isn’t she? If she were the one lying here, would you give her these pills? Aren’t you afraid of karma, of what you’re doing?” I turned my desperate gaze to Mark. “Mark, if anything happens to us, you will be the one responsible. Cole will not let you get away with this!” Dr. Evans and Mark exchanged a look. For a moment, I thought I’d broken through. They were about to agree when Mark’s phone buzzed. It was Cole. He answered, his voice instantly deferential. As he listened, the last flicker of doubt on his face was extinguished. “You heard, ma’am,” he said, his tone now laced with a chilling finality. “Mr. Hayes insists that we wait for his return. It’s not that I won’t help you. It’s that I can’t.” He gave Maria a sharp nod. The maids seized my shoulders, forcing my jaw open. Maria shoved the pills into my mouth. I gagged, trying to spit them out, but they slid down my throat.

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Years after graduation, Caleb Howard was a name everyone knew. At our high school reunion, someone decided to play matchmaker, nudging him towards me. “Caleb, my man! Remember the little shadow who used to follow you around everywhere?” he slurred, reeking of whiskey. “You’re single, she’s single… why not give it another shot?” Caleb slowly raised his left hand, a humorless smile on his lips. “I’m married.” The table erupted in shocked whispers. Only I stayed silent, my head bowed. I couldn’t understand why he was still wearing that ring. We’d been divorced for three years. 1 The reunion was in full swing when the class president burst through the door, his voice booming with excitement. “Everybody, look who’s here!” I followed their collective gaze, and my breath caught in my throat. It was Caleb. Three years had carved a new maturity into his features. As he greeted old classmates, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a subtle, charming arc. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who knew his own worth. I’d heard he was recently named the city’s “Outstanding Young Entrepreneur of the Year,” already a multimillionaire before thirty. While the others swarmed him with handshakes and back-pats, I ducked my head and pretended to be absorbed in my phone. From the corner of my eye, I saw him take the empty seat diagonally across from me. His gaze swept over me without a flicker of recognition, not lingering for even a second. But I noticed something he didn’t. Against the dark fabric of his trench coat, I saw a dusting of crystalline flakes clinging to the shoulders. It was snowing outside. My phone buzzed again. The woman next to me, a former classmate whose voice had always been two decibels too loud, leaned in with a smirk. “Carol, is that your boyfriend? Someone’s keeping you on a tight leash.” My eyes instinctively shot toward Caleb. He was deep in conversation, his expression calm, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. I forced a smile and shook my head. “No, it’s just my mom. She’s reminding me about the blind date she set up for next week.” We were all in our late twenties. Some were married with kids, but most, like me, were fielding the relentless pressure from our parents. A few women at the table groaned in solidarity. “I swear, my mom’s in such a rush, you’d think she was breeding prize livestock,” one of them griped. “As long as it’s the right gender and looks healthy, nothing else matters.” “You’ve gotta be careful, Carol,” another warned. “All the good ones get snapped up before they even hit the open market.” Just then, a burly guy, flushed with alcohol, slammed his hand on the table and staggered to his feet. “Caleb, my man!” he bellowed. “Remember the little shadow who used to follow you around everywhere?” Caleb said nothing. The guy, assuming Caleb’s memory needed jogging, pressed on. “You know! The one who spammed you with, like, a dozen love letters and confessed to you in front of the whole damn school at the graduation party—Carol Vance!” It took me a moment to recognize him under the extra weight. It was Big Mike, our old football captain. His favorite pastime back then was stirring up drama, and apparently, some things never change. “You’re single, she’s single… why not give it another shot?” In an instant, every curious, gossiping eye in the room swiveled between Caleb and me. A decade hadn’t been long enough for them to forget. They were all waiting, hungry for the next chapter of the story that had been the backdrop to their own teenage years, no matter how it ended. Caleb finally turned to look at me, his expression unreadable. Our eyes met. He slowly raised his left hand, a humorless smile playing on his lips. “I’m married.” The words dropped like a bomb. “What? Caleb, when did you get married? You didn’t even invite us to the wedding!” “Seriously, man, you kept that under wraps! We haven’t even seen a picture of the lucky lady on your feed!” Only I stayed silent, my head bowed, staring into my lap. I couldn’t understand it. Why was Caleb Howard still wearing that wedding ring? Except… we’d been divorced for three years. 2 Looking back, our divorce felt inevitable. There was no proposal, no wedding ceremony, not even a single wedding photo. The year we graduated from college, his mother was diagnosed with cancer. I had just visited her in the hospital, my arms aching from a heavy basket of fruit. As I was leaving, Caleb grabbed my hand in the sterile hallway. “Carol,” he said, his voice flat. “Let’s get married.” The words, completely out of the blue, were like a winning lottery ticket dropping into my lap. I was stunned. Terrified he might change his mind, I blurted out “yes” before he could take it back. We got our marriage license on a perfectly ordinary weekend. City Hall was quiet. The clerk motioned for us to get closer for the photo. “Okay, groom, a little closer to the bride. And groom, lose the poker face. Try to smile like she is. Good.” That small, red-backed photo on our marriage certificate became our first picture together. After a brief, sterile ceremony, I’d skipped the role of girlfriend and gone straight to being Caleb’s wife. He was in the grueling start-up phase of his company back then. To avoid a long-distance relationship, I turned down a good teaching position at a private school out of state. On his advice, I started studying for the state teaching certification exams instead. He must have known he was asking a lot of me. When we went to buy rings, he promised we’d have a real wedding once things settled down. Wanting to be the supportive, understanding wife, I picked out a simple, unadorned band that didn’t cost much. It was never about the money; it was about his heart. After we were married, we rented a tiny 400-square-foot apartment. It was small, but our life was sweet. We were like any other young couple, holding hands at the grocery store on weekends, losing ourselves in each other’s arms late at night. A year later, his mother passed away. He held me and cried for the first time. “Carol,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “I don’t have a family anymore.” His parents had divorced when he was young, and his mother, fiercely ambitious for him, had always been controlling. People saw Caleb as cold and distant, but I knew that deep down, he was just a man desperate to be loved. I held him tighter, murmuring again and again, “You have me. I’m your family now.” To cope with his grief, Caleb threw himself into his work, spending every waking hour at the office. The long hours and irregular meals took their toll, and soon he was hospitalized with a stomach ulcer. From that day on, I started bringing him home-cooked meals at his office. And that was the first time I met Vivian Chen. 3 By then, Caleb’s company was gaining traction. He’d recruited several talented alumni from our university, and Vivian, a brilliant programmer who had been a few years ahead of him, was his star hire. She had a decorated history of winning software design competitions and a wealth of project experience. Caleb was immensely grateful that she’d left a lucrative job at a tech giant to join his fledgling team. I stood outside his glass-walled office with the insulated lunchbox, listening in silence as they volleyed terms and concepts I couldn’t begin to grasp. The energy between them was electric. Finally, their intense discussion ended. They’d reached a breakthrough. “That’s it,” Caleb said, his eyes shining with an admiration I’d never seen him direct at me. “We’ll go with your plan.” A hollow feeling opened in my chest. As I stood there, frozen, Vivian noticed me and gestured with her chin. “Caleb, your girlfriend’s here.” He glanced over, his expression shifting. “She’s my wife,” he corrected. “Oh, right. My mistake,” she said with an easy laugh. “You just don’t meet many guys who get married so young.” I stepped inside, feeling clumsy and out of place as I set down the lunchbox. I was an intruder in their world. As I turned to leave, I heard Vivian ask, “Your wife doesn’t seem like she’s in tech. What does she do?” “She’s a teacher.” Caleb’s tone was clipped, as if he was reluctant to discuss his personal life at work. But Vivian was persistent. “I have friends who teach at the university. Maybe they know each other. Is she a high school teacher? Or college?” “She’s still studying for her certification.” “Oh, that explains it,” Vivian said, her voice bright and cheerful. “No wonder she has time to bring you lunch. Don’t worry, those exams are a breeze these days…” But what was a “breeze” for someone like Vivian was a hurricane for me. I failed. My old college advisor, hearing I was still unemployed, called with a job opportunity. But it was out of state, and Caleb was firmly against it. He picked up one of my discarded test-prep books, flipping through the pages. He chuckled, trying to be encouraging. “Carol, this stuff isn’t that hard. Just focus a little more next time, and you’ll nail it.” I bit my lip, the words catching in my throat. He seemed to have forgotten that I wasn’t born with a mind like his. Math problems that others understood after one try took me ten. My only real talent was my persistence—especially when it came to him. He was the genius, the valedictorian who aced every exam. I was the art student who scraped by at the bottom of the class. I had only gotten into the state college next to his prestigious university by spending countless agonizing hours in the art studio, practicing until my fingers were raw and blistered. When he said “it isn’t that hard,” whose standard was he using? It was painfully obvious. 4 The dreams started. Night after night, I saw him standing beside someone else. Not me, but Vivian—someone who was his intellectual equal, who understood him in a way I never could. In my dreams, I was always running, but I could never catch up to him. I’d call his name, but he would never turn around… He must have noticed my spiraling mood. One night, after we made love, he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me. “Honey,” he whispered, “work has slowed down a bit. How about we finally plan that wedding?” He traced a line down my spine. “I can take a couple of weeks off. We can go on a proper honeymoon, get away from everything. How does that sound?” Just like that, with a few soft words, he reeled me back in. But planning a wedding was far more complicated than I’d ever imagined. Even with a wedding planner, I obsessed over every detail: the venue, the menu, the flowers. This was my one and only wedding, and it had to be perfect. Just designing the wedding favor boxes had me pulling all-nighters, pouring more of myself into it than I ever did for my final thesis. That evening, I excitedly showed Caleb the final designs. He was on his laptop, but he glanced up for a fraction of a second. “Yeah, looks good. They’re fine.” I hesitated, chewing on my lip. “I can’t decide between these two. This one holds more, but this one is more elegant… what do you think?” He was typing a message to someone, a faint smile on his face, but he remembered to answer me. “Either one is fine.” Suddenly, I had nothing left to say. Sensing my silence, he closed his laptop and pulled me onto his lap. “Honey, what were you saying?” I forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Go on, finish your work. It’s not important.” A week before the wedding, I dropped off his lunch as usual. I had just gotten home when the wedding planner called. There was a last-minute change to a crucial part of the ceremony, and I had to choose between two options immediately. I couldn’t decide, and Caleb wasn’t answering his phone. Panicked, I rushed back to his office. But as I reached the entrance, I froze. I saw Caleb, his face a mask of indifference, scraping the meal I’d made for him into the trash. Vivian was leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed. “You really don’t know how good you have it, do you?” she teased. “Your wife treats you like a king, and you’re still not satisfied?” Her words were playful, but his reply was dead serious. “Do you think I wanted to waste it? We got so caught up in the project review that it was ice-cold by the time I got to it.” “Alright, alright, I get it,” she said, laughing. “My treat today. What are you in the mood for?” Caleb set the now-empty lunchbox aside, his movements clean and practiced, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. He sighed, a strange look on his face. “Sometimes… she’s just too good to me. It’s so much that it… it feels like pressure.” In that moment, the sour, rotten stench of discarded food seemed to rise from the bin. A wave of nausea hit me, and I fled. 5 Caleb called me again and again. Before, I would have answered on the first ring, no matter where I was or what I was doing. This time, I turned my phone off. When he finally rushed home, he found me sitting on the living room floor, my eyes swollen and red, surrounded by a mountain of shredded paper. They were the love letters I’d written him in high school. Eighteen of them. Each one filled with every ounce of love I had. He recognized the scraps immediately and lunged forward to stop me. “Carol, what are you doing?!” he demanded. “And what the hell was that call from the wedding planner? Why did you cancel everything?” I fought him off, my strength fueled by a cold rage. I snatched up one of the few intact letters and, looking him straight in the eye, ripped it in two. A perfect metaphor for us—a relationship that looked whole but was already torn to shreds. “Maybe, in your eyes, I’m no different than a stray cat,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “You pet me when you’re in the mood, and when you’re not, you just push me away. You never bothered to put any real thought into me. What I think doesn’t matter. What I feel doesn’t matter.” My voice rose with every word. “Caleb, do you see marrying me as some kind of noble charity on your part?” His hand clamped around my wrist, his grip like iron. “Is this about Vivian? Someone saw you at the office this afternoon…” I just shook my head. It wasn’t about Vivian. If it wasn’t her, it would have been someone else. A Sarah, a Jessica… He didn’t believe me. He tried to explain, his voice strained with forced patience. “I told you, we’re just colleagues. We have never been alone together outside of work. You can check my phone, my messages, anything you want.” I kept shaking my head, and his patience finally snapped. “Carol, why can’t you just trust me? Are you really going to throw everything away over something so small?” Suddenly, a strange calm washed over me. “You see? Even now, you think I’m just being hysterical.” “Sometimes,” I continued, my voice hollow, “I think we were never right for each other. It was always just me, forcing it.” “I’ll never understand your algorithms and your technical jargon, and you have zero interest in the comics and movies I love. You hate it when I touch your things, and you never share anything about your work with me. If I talk for more than a minute to one of your male friends, you give me the silent treatment all night.” “My heart is made of flesh and blood, Caleb. It can be hurt. It can break.” “And even with all that, I tried my best to be good to you, because you said I was the only family you had left in the world.” My nose stung, and tears began to stream down my face. “But I’ve walked ninety-nine steps toward you, and you won’t even take that final one. In fact, you’re backing away.” “Caleb,” I choked out, the words tearing through me. “I’m so tired.” All these years, I had chased after him with everything I had. He was the one who reached out his hand. He was the one who said he wanted to spend his life with me. And I believed him. I gave him my whole heart, without reservation. But my devotion was like throwing stones into the ocean—no echo, no ripple, just a deep, despairing silence. I had become lost, insecure. Jealous and ugly. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. I didn’t see the point of a marriage like this. As he stared at me, his eyes wide with a dawning horror, I slowly slid the simple band from my finger. It took all the strength I had left to force out the final words. “Caleb, let’s get a divorce.” His eyes reddened, and his voice trembled when he spoke. “Are you sure?” He was such a proud man. He would never beg, never ask me to stay. I knew that. I watched as the warmth in his eyes froze over, replaced by a glacial cold. “Fine,” he bit out. “You said it. Carol, if you want a divorce, you’d better not live to regret it.” 6 The reunion party was winding down when a blizzard swept in, trapping us at the mountain lodge. My plan to drive home was shot. I’d have to stay the night with everyone else and wait for the snow to let up in the morning. Later, soaking in the hot springs, the women chatted lazily. “I had the biggest crush on Big Mike in high school,” one sighed. “Now… well, time is a cruel, cruel thing.” “I know, right? And the class clown is a dad now, so responsible. Caleb’s the only one who hasn’t really changed, married or not.” “Speaking of Caleb,” another chimed in, “he wasn’t even on the original guest list. The class president told me he canceled a huge project launch meeting just to be here tonight.” “That’s so weird. Caleb was always such a loner back then. I can’t think of anyone he was close enough with to go to all that trouble for…” On impulse, my fingers found his number in my contacts. In the three years since our divorce, Caleb had texted me exactly three times. The first was a month after we separated. You left some clothes in my closet. Want to pick them up this weekend? The second was on Christmas the following year. I brought some gifts for your parents. I’m downstairs. The third message, sent sometime last year, contained only two words. Carol Vance. He must have regretted sending it instantly, because nothing followed. I never replied to any of them. The moment the clerk stamped our divorce papers, I had resolved to sever every last emotional tie to him. If it hadn’t been for this reunion, we probably would have gone the rest of our lives without ever seeing each other again. After the hot springs, I said my goodnights in the main lobby. The others were heading off for more drinks and games, but I was ready for bed. As I walked down the long, quiet hallway, I saw him. Caleb was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if waiting for someone. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending not to see him as I walked past. “Carol.” I ignored him, fumbling with my key card. But just as I inserted it into the lock, a hand clamped down on the door handle, holding it shut. “Carol,” he said, his voice finally losing its composure, his tone sharp and demanding. “Tell me something. What’s this about a blind date?”

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The day I was diagnosed with cancer, my boyfriend asked for a breakup. Again. I smiled and told him to wait a little longer. He flew into a rage, smashing everything in the room. “Why couldn’t it have been you?” he screamed. Three months ago, his first love died in a car crash. He blamed me, said my jealousy stopped him from driving her home. I lowered my eyes, my voice a soft echo of itself. “Just wait a little longer.” Just wait. Soon enough, it will be. 1 Leo was drunk again, that deep, sloppy kind of drunk that saturated the air with the stale stench of whiskey and smoke. I wrestled him into bed, cleaned up the mess, and only then, in the suffocating quiet, did I let myself look at the diagnosis report again. His slurred whispers drifted from the bedroom, his ex-girlfriend’s name a ghost on his lips. A laugh, brittle and humorless, escaped me. I could recite every word on that paper, but the brutal truth of it still felt like a language I couldn’t comprehend. The living room light flickered on, jolting me from my trance. I crumpled the report into a tight ball and shoved it deep into my pocket. It didn’t matter. Leo wasn’t even looking at me. He scrubbed at his temples and walked straight to the mantelpiece. To her picture. He lit a candle, his movements reverent, his head bowed in worship. After Cassie died, Leo had insisted on displaying her portrait—a large, smiling photo from their college days—in the middle of our living room. “I want you to look at her every day,” he’d said, his voice cold. “And repent.” Repent for what? The night of the accident, at a college reunion, Cassie had gotten wasted. She’d thrown her arms around my boyfriend, sobbing about how she’d never gotten over him. She ignored me, the actual girlfriend, with a blatant, drunken disregard that made everyone else uncomfortable. I finally snapped. I pulled her off Leo and shoved her away. When he insisted on taking her home, I’d sneered, “Look around, Leo. There’s a dozen people here. Why does it have to be you?” The standoff ended when one of Cassie’s admirers offered her a ride. It was supposed to de-escalate things. Instead, they crashed. Neither of them survived. And Leo laid all the blame, all the guilt, all the crushing weight of it, right at my feet. It was absurd. Did he wish he’d been in that car, too? 2 After his silent vigil, Leo turned to me, his shadow falling over me as he stood there, looking down his nose. “Your turn,” he commanded. I let out a soft, tired laugh. “How long are you going to keep playing this game?” His brow furrowed, a storm gathering in his eyes. He kicked the small table in front of me, sending it crashing against the wall. “You don’t want to? Then let’s break up. But you wouldn’t dare, would you? Not when I’m your precious cash cow.” That was his favorite threat. His new addiction. We’d been together for four years. Our online persona as the perfect influencer couple had netted us over six hundred thousand followers. They all said we were meant to be. They said the way Leo looked at me was proof of true love. He used to say it, too. “The way I look at Elena will never change, not even when we’re old. Actually, at eighty, my eyes will probably be so bad I won’t be able to see my little old lady clearly anymore.” But people change. Especially as the years pass, as the initial fire cools into embers. It’s then that other thoughts, other possibilities, start to creep in. I never realized how much he still thought about his ex until that reunion. The ghost of a first love, the one that got away—it’s a powerful thing. His ghost had never forgotten him, and suddenly, he remembered all the reasons he’d loved her. And me? I was just the familiar face, the one who’d grown older alongside him. Less exciting. Maybe, after I’m gone, he’ll talk about me with this much tortured passion to his next girlfriend. At first, I played along with his bizarre mourning ritual out of pity. He was being eaten alive by guilt and regret, and I thought if he could displace that onto me, maybe he could breathe again. I just never expected him to get so lost in the role. 3 “Just wait a little longer,” I said with a smile, getting up to head for the shower. He took my dismissal as a final insult. The rage was instantaneous. He started breaking things. Not random objects, but our things. The furniture we’d picked out together, the little trinkets we’d bought on trips, each one a vessel for a shared memory, a private joke. He raged, a storm of flailing limbs and guttural roars, his voice tearing through the chaos, “Why couldn’t it have been you?” Looking at the wreckage, a strange, unnerving calm settled over me. My smile felt genuine. “Just you wait.” Really. Just a little longer. Liver cancer. They gave me three to six months. Leo didn’t understand the meaning behind my words. He lunged, grabbing my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. “If you don’t want to break up, then you’ll pay your respects to her. Do it!” In the end, I did. Because his screaming was giving me a headache. And when a child throws a tantrum, you learn it’s easier to just give in. 4 That night, sleep was a stranger. I gave up trying and sat up, watching Leo’s back. He always slept facing away from me now, a chasm of cold sheets between us. I had to prop myself up on an elbow, leaning precariously over the gap just to see his face. He slept fitfully, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. The boyish face I loved was etched with a premature weariness. His lashes, long enough to be a sin, cast spidery shadows on his cheeks. His perfect nose was a sharp line in the dim light, and a fine, dark stubble was already shadowing his jaw. I drank in the sight of him, my mind drifting back to the day we met. He was eighteen, a freshman overflowing with boundless energy, sweat glistening on his skin as he dominated the university basketball court, a chorus of adoring girls screaming his name. I was twenty-three, back on campus for an alumni event, and I’d wandered over to the courts, drawn by the noise and the sea of fresh faces. When he sank the winning three-pointer, I screamed with the rest of them, a jolt of pure, youthful excitement shooting through me. He spotted me in the crowd, his eyes locking with mine, a proud, cocky grin spreading across his face. I gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He tucked the basketball under his arm and jogged right over. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless. “Are you one of the professors?” Under the bright afternoon sun, his skin was almost translucent, his amber eyes clear as a stream. He was so close I could smell the clean, boyish scent of his sweat and the grass. “Professors don’t get called ‘hey,’” I teased, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. I held it, watching a faint blush creep up his neck and tint the tips of his ears, before I let him go. Back then, our intentions were perfectly clear. I wanted to flirt with him. He was interested in me. Neither of us expected it to detonate into real love, a chaotic, beautiful four-year journey. Because I was the older one, I naturally indulged his moods, his immaturity. In return, he gave me the fierce, untainted romance that only a young man can offer. But lately, his tantrums had gone too far. And he’d forgotten to give anything back. 5 I didn’t sleep at all. When I finally drifted off, it was already dark again when I woke. Moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, painting a ghostly stripe across the floor. Habit took over. I grabbed my phone, checking the backend of our social media accounts. The team had posted the scheduled content, and the affiliate sales numbers were stable. I’d started this influencer agency with Leo. I put up the money, and I ran the business. All he had to do was show up, look handsome, and follow the script. I often thought he was born in the right era. A man who could genuinely make a living off his face. A very, very good living. But early success, easy money—it’s rarely a good thing. It had warped me, and now I saw it had warped him, too. I called his name a few times. Silence. I got up to go to the bathroom and flinched as Cassie’s smiling face caught me by surprise again. I grabbed a few tissues and draped them over the photo before continuing on. A harsh voice cut through the silence from behind me. “What are you doing?” I froze, then turned. I hadn’t even noticed Leo on the balcony, a cigarette glowing in the dark. The cherry-red tip flared as he inhaled, smoke momentarily obscuring his face. He was clearly furious about my disrespect to Cassie’s portrait. “Thought she might be cold,” I mumbled, stepping into the bathroom. He stormed to the doorway, his eyes bloodshot. “She’s dead. Why do you still have to humiliate her?” A real laugh escaped me this time. “Humiliate her? Oh, sweetheart. If I wanted to really humiliate her, I would have stood up at her funeral and told everyone she was pregnant with your child.” I’d spent the whole night thinking. It was time to lay the cards on the table. In my condition, there was no point in playing dumb anymore. I’d found out two days ago. Leo had been blackout drunk, spilling his guts, and had no memory of it the next morning. No memory of me slapping him twice, stripping him naked, and leaving him on the balcony to freeze for half the night. That’s when it all clicked. The depth of his guilt, the desperate need to make me the villain so he could keep living. My original plan had been to methodically untangle our business finances, minimize my losses, and then break up with him. But a cancer diagnosis tends to change one’s plans. Time for a new game. I might be a sugar mama, but I wasn’t a pushover.

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