Category: English

The year my boyfriend was at his poorest, I broke up with him. Years later, he returned, powerful and successful, and used every means at his disposal to marry me. Everyone said I was the one that got away, that I was his most beloved wife. Then he started bringing different women home every night, shattering my heart and turning me into the laughingstock of our social circle. But I never cried, never threw a fit. I lived quietly in the study, never disturbing his affairs. It drove him mad. He would kiss me fiercely, his voice a low growl against my lips. “Don’t you feel anything? Aren’t you jealous?” He didn’t know I was sick. And with every day of his twisted revenge, I was silently counting down the days I had left to live. 1 In the third year of my marriage to Vicent Blackwood, he took a beautiful young college girl as his mistress. Her name was Betty. She had an innocent, lovely face—exactly Vicent’s type. He kept her for over half a year. Other than me, she was the woman who had stayed by his side the longest. My friends warned me to be careful. They said it looked like Vicent was genuinely falling for her. I met Betty for the first time on my birthday. My nose had been bleeding since morning. I went to the hospital for a check-up, and the doctor told me I would be lucky to see next spring. I nodded softly. “It’s okay,” I whispered. I wasn’t afraid of dying, just of the pain. I’d heard there was an expensive medication that could make the end more comfortable. The money in my bank account wasn’t enough, so I went to Vicent’s company to find him. It just so happened that Betty was there too. She’d just graduated and was working as his personal assistant. Vicent was in a meeting. I sat outside to wait. Betty kept staring at me, whispering to her colleagues. “That’s the boss’s wife? She looks so… washed out. Thin as a rail, like she’s half-dead.” “They all say I look like her, but where? I’m so much prettier.” My reflection shimmered on the polished glass wall. A pale face with no makeup, swallowed by a puffy winter coat. I didn’t look good. And I was, in fact, half-dead. A colleague tugged on Betty’s arm. “That’s because she’s not wearing any makeup,” she hissed. “If she got dolled up, ten of you couldn’t hold a candle to her. And don’t think you can provoke her just because the boss spoils you. You have no idea how much he loves her. If you make her unhappy, he’ll destroy you.” 2 Hearing that Vicent supposedly loved me, Betty just pouted and rolled her eyes. She brought me a cup of tea, her voice sweet and feathery. “Ava, sweetie, I can’t believe he’s making you wait this long. It’s so strange. Whenever I used to visit, no matter how busy he was, he would always drop everything to see me. He said I was the most important thing.” She smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. “I guess I just assumed he was that considerate with everyone…” She looked so much like me when I was younger. I thought about it. Vicent really was different with Betty. He’d had countless lovers, using them as tools in his bitter game against me, bringing a new one home each night to test my reaction. But he never kept them for long. A day or two, maybe a couple of weeks, and he would grow bored. Only Betty was different. He set her up in a beautiful apartment, took her to dinner, went shopping with her, saw movies with her. They were like any other ordinary, loving couple. He gave her money, but he also gave her something that looked like love. I looked at Betty and offered a gentle smile. “If you’re so important,” I asked softly, “why does he let you be the dirty little secret?” “You should convince him to divorce me and make you an honest woman.” Betty’s face fell. Humiliation twisted into anger. “The one he doesn’t love is the homewrecker!” she spat, her voice low. “You’re the one who’s redundant!” “You just got lucky because you met him a few years before I did. But look at you now. You’re old and ugly. What do you have left to fight me with?” Her colleague, probably fearing my reaction, rushed over and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away. But it didn’t matter. I was fine. I had made a promise to myself a long time ago. I would not get angry over Vicent. I would not feel sorrow over Vicent. And I certainly would not fight another woman over him. He wasn’t worth it. 3 Yanked by her colleague, Betty lost her balance. She stumbled and fell, the teacup shattering in her hand. A shard of porcelain sliced deep into her palm, and blood pooled on the floor. Through the glass wall of the conference room, Vicent saw her. In front of everyone, he slammed his files on the table, threw the door open, and rushed to her side, scooping her into his arms. “Who the hell did this?” he roared, his voice like ice. The well-meaning colleague shrank back, her face pale with terror. A cold smile touched my lips. “I did,” I said. “And she deserved it.” Betty stared at me through her tears. “Yes, I deserved it!” she cried out. “I deserved it for falling for a man I shouldn’t have! For being called a mistress, a homewrecker!” “But, Vicent,” she sobbed, “as long as you love me, I’ll stay by your side forever. No one can ever tear us apart!” She was so lovely, even as she wept. Her absurd words sounded brave and defiant coming from her lips. Vicent actually chuckled. He gently wiped her tears away. “There, there,” he cooed. “You’ve cried your makeup all over.” He really was different with her. I lowered my eyes, too tired to watch. “I want five hundred thousand for my birthday this year,” I said to Vicent. It was laughable. We were husband and wife, but we didn’t even have each other’s phone numbers. The only time I ever sought him out was to ask for money. Before we married, we made a deal: he wanted me, and I wanted his money. Vicent had always hated me for being a gold digger. But in the past, no matter how much I asked for, he would give it to me, and then some. This time was different. He looked at me, his smile chillingly slow. “You want money? Fine.” “But first, Ava,” he said, drawing out each word, “swallow that precious pride of yours and tell Betty you’re sorry.” He was trying to buy my dignity, to buy an apology for Betty. For the first time, he was using money to humiliate me for another woman. My fists slowly clenched. A soft laugh escaped my lips. I fought back a sudden, sharp wave of pain and turned to leave. I didn’t want the money anymore. A thought crossed my mind. I wonder, Vicent. What look would be on your face if you knew this money could have bought me a little more time? If you knew how much I suffered before I died?

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The world was a smear of sound and pain. The screech of tires on asphalt, the sickening grind of metal against bone, and then a darkness that smelled of gasoline and hot rubber. I was being lifted, the world tilting crazily. A voice cut through the fog. “This one’s critical. Prep him for surgery now. Get ahold of his family to sign consent.” A wave of something—adrenaline, maybe just pure terror—cleared my head for a second. I tried to lift a hand that felt like it belonged to someone else. “My wife… Claire… she’s busy. I can sign.” Before the words fully left my mouth, another voice sliced through the chaos. A voice I knew better than my own. “Help him first!” My wife, Claire, wasn’t in court. She wasn’t arguing a case. She was here, in the ER, clinging to the arm of the man who had just run me down. Her voice was sharp with a panic I hadn’t heard in years. She pushed past me, a blur of motion, and confronted the doctor. “He just had heart surgery. His condition is far more delicate!” She didn’t even glance at my gurney. At the blood that was turning my shirt from blue to a dark, sticky crimson. “I’m the patient’s wife,” she declared, her voice ringing with the authority she used in a courtroom. “I can vouch for the other driver. I’m a lawyer. I understand the liability, and I accept it.” “But ma’am, your husband’s injuries appear more severe…” the doctor stammered, clearly thrown. Claire’s gaze was fixed on the other man. “He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than he looks. Just take care of the driver. If anything happens, it’s on me.” Claire! The name screamed in my head. Who is your husband? And as if to answer, while I was still bleeding in a hallway, my life hanging by a thread, she helped the man who hit me file a lawsuit against me. 1 The impact hadn’t just thrown me; it had dragged me. I remembered the scrape of my back against the pavement, a sound that felt like it was happening inside my own skull. They had me prepped for the OR, a green-lit room of salvation at the end of the hall. But it was snatched away. My wife, Claire, steered the man who hit me—the man she was supposed to be suing—into that room instead. Because she was a top-tier lawyer, because she was willing to sign a waiver absolving the hospital of any malpractice, I was left behind. She finally looked at me then, at the blood soaking through the sheets. Her brow furrowed, but not in concern. It was annoyance. She turned away and began comforting the driver, her voice a low, soothing murmur I hadn’t heard directed at me since our honeymoon. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to him. “I’ll handle this whole accident. You won’t have to worry about a thing. You won’t bear any responsibility. Just focus on getting better.” Accident? Was that what you called it when a man inexplicably swerved across two lanes to hit you? When he dragged you for twenty feet without braking? You’re my wife, Claire. How could you abandon me to defend the man who did this? The pain sharpened my focus, clearing the fog. I stared at her, my mind a storm of disbelief and heartbreak. She didn’t notice. Her entire world was focused on the man she’d just saved. Only when they wheeled him into the operating room did she turn away. I thought, naively, that she would come to me, offer some twisted explanation. Instead, she walked right past my gurney without a second glance and approached the police officer who was taking notes. After a brief, hushed conversation, the officer asked about her relationship to the incident. She didn’t hesitate. “I’m the driver’s defense attorney. I’m also the wife of the man he hit.” The cop’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced from her to me, then back again. “Ma’am, with all due respect, this seems pretty clear-cut,” he said, tapping his notepad. “The driver ran a red light and failed to yield to a pedestrian. It’s all on the dashcam. Even for a lawyer like you, that’s an open-and-shut case.” Claire was unfazed. “The driver experienced a sudden cardiac event while operating the vehicle. His doctors can confirm this. He had no malicious intent. According to state law, this should be treated as a medical incident, not a traffic violation.” She cited statutes and precedents with a chilling calm. After a quick call to the hospital, the officer begrudgingly conceded her point. And just like that, I was no longer a victim. I was an inconvenience. I lay there in the hallway, a piece of hospital furniture, watching the staff hurry past. Claire, her legal duties done, bought a bouquet of flowers from the gift shop and stood vigil outside the operating room. Not my operating room. His. I reached out, my fingers brushing the fabric of her coat. “Claire,” I rasped. “It hurts so much.” She flinched away as if I’d burned her. “Stop acting.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and meticulously wiped the spot my bloody fingers had touched. Her face was a mask of cold fury. “I didn’t ask you to get hit by a car, Leo. Don’t be so dramatic.” The world went light. A strange floating sensation took over. The sheet beneath me turned from damp to saturated. A young intern rushed over, glanced at my pupils, and then pressed gently on my abdomen. He screamed. “Doctor! Get Dr. Matthews in here, now! This patient has a lacerated liver! He’s bleeding out!” Claire was right there. She must have heard. But she didn’t turn. Her eyes were glued to the OR doors, which were just swinging open. As a team of medics descended on me, Claire rushed toward the man being wheeled out. “Doctor, is he okay?” she asked, her voice trembling. “His heart condition is so complex. Will there be any permanent damage?” The surgeon shook his head. “He’s fine. It was just a transient ischemic attack brought on by shock. We ran a full workup. He’s perfectly healthy.” Just then, they pushed my gurney past them. The surgeon’s head snapped around, his eyes widening at the river of red I was lying in, a foul, metallic smell now rising from the sheets. He grabbed his pager. “Code Blue! Code Blue, Trauma One!” The hospital’s PA system exploded to life with a repeating, urgent chime. “Rapid Response Team to the ER. Rapid Response Team to the ER.” I was rushed toward surgery, but the nurse was frantic. “We need a signature on the consent forms! Where did his wife go?” “The lawyer for the other driver?” a young resident asked. “Yes! She was just here!” “She’s gone,” the resident said, sounding disgusted. “She arranged a transfer for her client to a private cardiac center upstate. I saw her getting into the ambulance with him. I called out to her, but she just looked at me and the doors closed.” “What do we do?” the nurse cried. “His spleen just ruptured. We can’t wait!” “There’s no choice. We operate now and deal with the paperwork later.” I was plunged back into the green-lit room. The world faded, but then, halfway through the procedure, it came rushing back. My body has a bizarrely high tolerance for anesthesia. I was awake, paralyzed, a spectator to my own dissection. I saw the sweat beading on my surgeon’s forehead, the grim, focused faces of the nurses. The nurse reading my vitals choked back a sob. “BP is dropping. He’s not responding.” “We’re out of O-negative! Call the other blood banks, now!” “I can’t reach his wife. The calls go straight to voicemail.” “What the hell is wrong with this woman?” another voice muttered. “She won’t answer our calls, but she just sent a text to the patient’s phone. Looks like… a notice of intent to sue?” Sue? Sue me for what? Through the haze, I heard the surgeon say, his voice dripping with disbelief, “Her husband is dying on my table, and she’s helping the guy who hit him sue him for… intentional damage to property and negligence.” Me? She was suing me. On behalf of the man who tried to kill me. Who was this guy? As the alarms on the machines began to scream in a single, deafening chorus, the world finally, mercifully, went black. 2 I thought that was it. The end. But I woke up. The first thing I saw was the acoustic tile of a hospital ceiling. I had never been so happy to see something so boring. A doctor came in, checked my chart. “You’re a very lucky man,” he said. “We’ll need to keep you in observation for a while. Let us know if you feel any discomfort.” I nodded weakly. As he left, the door opened again. It was Claire. She wasn’t alone. She was holding hands with him. The driver. “Still alive?” Claire said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “I have to admit, seeing the amount of blood you lost, I didn’t think you’d make it. Since you did, I guess we can proceed with the lawsuit.” She dropped a thick legal folder onto my lap. The papers slid onto the thin hospital blanket. And there, on the top page, was his name: Asher Vance. Asher. The Asher. The ghost from her college photo albums, the name she’d let slip once after too much wine. Her “one that got away.” “After reviewing traffic camera footage and the dashcam from Mr. Vance’s car,” Claire said, her voice formal, rehearsed, “we’ve concluded that you intentionally stepped in front of his vehicle. Mr. Vance is therefore suing you for damages and personal injury.” Intentionally? I stared at her, the woman I had loved for eight years. The world swam, a fog of tears blurring her sharp, cold face. I had almost died on a cold steel table, and she felt nothing. Worse than nothing. She felt… opportunistic. “If the surgery has muddled your memory, allow me to refresh it,” she continued. “The crosswalk signal was green. All other pedestrians were moving. You alone stopped in the middle of the street and stood there until the light changed and Asher’s car was already proceeding through the intersection. Your behavior suggests intent.” A laugh, raw and broken, escaped my lips. It sounded like tearing fabric. She didn’t know why I stopped? She really didn’t know? That car—a midnight blue Audi A5—was the birthday present I’d bought for her. The custom license plate holder with the twin hearts, the one I’d picked out myself, was still on the back. My birthday gift to my wife. Driven by another man. Was I not allowed to take a second look? “You’re right,” I said, my voice hoarse. “It was intentional.” Claire’s professional mask faltered. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “I just wanted a better look,” I whispered. “I wanted to see which man was driving my wife around in the car I bought her. Which man was so important that she’d miss my birthday dinner to be with him.” Asher stepped forward, a pained, fragile expression on his face. “Leo, man, it wasn’t like that. My health… it’s not good. I needed her to drive me to a specialist. I paid her for her time, I swear. It was purely a professional relationship. Don’t read too much into it.” Claire looked at him with an expression of profound tenderness that twisted the knife in my gut. “You don’t have to explain anything to him, Asher,” she said softly, then turned back to me, her face hardening again. “As long as you admit it was intentional, that’s all we need. Get well soon. You’ll be served with a court summons once you’re discharged. All damages and associated costs from this accident will be your sole responsibility.” She tossed the summons onto the bed and turned to leave. Just then, the door swung open and three men in sharp suits walked in. I recognized them vaguely as colleagues from her firm, the kind she never brought home. Their eyes landed on Asher immediately. “Hey, we heard what happened and came as soon as we could,” one of them said, clapping Asher on the shoulder. “We went to that other hospital, but they said you were transferred back here to deal with some paperwork. Are you feeling okay?” “Don’t you worry about a thing, man,” another one chimed in, his gaze flicking toward me with contempt. “We’ve handled a dozen of these insurance scammers. We’ll make this guy pay until he’s bankrupt.” “So, what’s the deal?” the first one asked. “Is the scumbag cooperating, or are we going to have to play hardball?” Asher shot me a look of pure triumph. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice laced with false magnanimity. “As long as he’s willing to apologize, I don’t think we need to be too harsh.” The lawyers’ eyes all swiveled to me. It clicked for them. I was the scumbag. I was the scammer. One of them noticed my chart hanging at the foot of the bed. He read the words ‘ruptured spleen, lacerated liver’ and pointed a finger at me. “Well, look at that. Serves you right. Talk about karma. Tried to cash in on a payday and almost cashed out for good. Pathetic.” “The universe has a way of dealing with trash like you,” another added. They stood there, tearing me apart with their words, while Claire stood by Asher’s side, whispering in his ear, completely oblivious. A nurse bustled in then, holding a clipboard. Her eyes found Claire. “There you are! We’ve been paging you for days! Your husband is in critical condition and you’re only showing up now? Go to the admissions desk and pay the bill. It’s long overdue.” The lawyers froze, their mouths half-open. They stared from me to Claire, the cogs turning in their heads. “He’s your husband?” one of them whispered. Claire just gave a curt “Mm-hmm,” and, taking Asher by the arm, led him out of the room. Her colleagues exchanged awkward glances, muttered apologies, and then followed her out, taking the gift basket they’d brought for Asher with them. Claire never paid the bill. I paid for my own near-death experience. As I swiped my credit card, the chip reader beeping forlornly, an alert pinged on my phone. A charge notification from my emergency-use-only credit card. The one I’d given her for the down payment on our first home—the money my parents had left me. The Grand Sterling Hotel. Presidential Suite. ‘Couples’ Romance Package.’ Ten thousand dollars. I tried to call her, but it went straight to a “this number has been disconnected” message. She’d blocked me. A nurse helped me shuffle back to my room. On the way, I dialed 911. “Hello,” I said, my voice shaking with a cold, clear rage. “I’d like to report credit card fraud. And… an illegal transaction of services taking place at the Grand Sterling Hotel.” For eight years of marriage, Claire had insisted we keep our finances separate. A pre-nup. Her idea. Everything was split 50/50, down to the groceries. I even had to pay for my own health insurance. And now, while I was fighting for my life, while I was draining my savings to pay for the damage her lover had done, she was using my inheritance—my dead parents’ money—to pay for a romantic getaway with him. She hadn’t even asked if I was going to live or die. The thought was so monstrous it made me sick. Just then, my surgeon, Dr. Matthews, approached me in the hallway. “Leo, you have a sister, why didn’t you tell us? You’ve been going through this all alone. I took the liberty of looking up your emergency contacts.” A sister? I was an only child. When I pushed open my door, I saw her. A woman in a tailored suit with sharp, gold-rimmed glasses, perched on the edge of my bed. She turned, and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes spread across her face. “Your sister heard you were in trouble,” Dr. Matthews said cheerfully. “Flew in all the way from London to see you.” He exchanged a few words with this “sister” of mine, promising to have dinner soon, then left us alone. She surveyed the room, a multi-patient ward with thin curtains for privacy. “A ruptured liver, and this is where you’re recovering? All alone?” Her voice was quiet, but it vibrated with a tightly controlled anger. “This is the woman you moved mountains for, Leo.” She looked at me, her composure finally cracking. “And you couldn’t call me? You couldn’t let me know you were here, alone, fighting for your life?” “You’re busy,” I mumbled, looking at the floor. “In London…” After my parents died, Hannah Jiang, the daughter of my father’s business partner and my childhood friend, had become my de facto family. She was only a month older than me, but she had always been my protector. She had been vehemently against my marriage to Claire. When I’d ignored her warnings and eloped, she’d accepted a position at her firm’s London office and left. We’d exchanged holiday calls, but that was it. I was too ashamed to tell her how right she’d been. “Busy?” Her voice rose, shaking with emotion. “When have I ever been too busy for you? When have I not dropped everything when you needed me?” She grabbed my hand, her eyes glistening. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if you had died? Your father trusted me to look out for you. He put you in my care. How could I face him if I let you die alone in a place like this?” That broke me. The dam I’d built inside myself crumbled. I collapsed into her arms and sobbed, all the pain and fear and betrayal pouring out of me. If my dad were still alive, Claire would never have dared. She would never have cheated on me while I lay dying, never have sued me for the privilege. The door flew open with a bang. It was Claire. She saw me in Hannah’s arms and her face contorted with rage. “No wonder you called the cops on me!” she shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “You just got out of surgery and you’re already cheating! You have a wife, and you’re in here holding another woman!” Hannah released me. On pure instinct, I spun around and slapped Claire across the face. “You know damn well why I called the cops!” I yelled. “You used my inheritance to book a presidential suite for you and your boyfriend! You deserved to get caught!” Claire laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Oh, I see. You got caught, and now you’re lashing out.” Hannah stepped forward and, with a move so swift I barely saw it, kicked Claire’s legs out from under her. “He was almost killed because of you,” Hannah snarled, standing over her. “And you have the audacity to come in here and play the victim?” Claire scrambled backward on the floor until she recognized Hannah’s face. The fight instantly drained out of her. “Hannah,” she stammered. “You don’t understand. He set us up. He reported Asher for prostitution. He transferred five thousand dollars to Asher from my account to make it look transactional. Asher is still being held at the station because of him! We can’t explain it!” The five thousand dollars. That was my doing. A little trick I’d picked up from eight years of living with a lawyer. I knew Asher had been unemployed since returning to the States. I knew he had no assets to his name. I knew exactly how it would look to the police. Hannah just smiled. A cold, terrifying smile. “Five thousand dollars doesn’t get you held overnight, Claire. You’re a lawyer. You know the procedure better than anyone.” Her voice dropped. “It’s the pattern, isn’t it? The police must have found multiple transactions. Payments made after… services were rendered. Repeatedly.”

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The third year of my mission to win over Caleb Sterling, the city’s most untouchable heir, and I lost my memory. My mind reset to three years ago, stuck in the middle of the silent treatment with my ex-boyfriend. So, with Caleb watching my every move, I dialed my ex’s number. “Baby, don’t be mad anymore,” I cooed into the phone. “I’ll wear that new dress for you, okay?” The next second, the ever-arrogant Caleb Sterling crushed his glass in his bare hand. “Chloe,” he snarled through gritted teeth, “I dare you to say that again.” “What the hell am I to you, then? A ghost?” 1 “Chloe, how long are you going to keep this up?” “I already told you, there’s nothing between us.” “We grew up together. We haven’t seen each other in years. What’s the big deal about a little kiss?” I woke up in a hospital bed to the sight of a stranger in a tailored suit raking a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He was handsome, but his frustration was a storm cloud in the sterile room. When I didn’t respond, he pulled a watch from his wrist—a heavy, platinum thing glittering with diamonds—and tossed it onto the bedside table. “Take this. And I’ll throw in a condo downtown. Is that enough for you?” My head throbbed. I picked up the watch, the weight of it cool and solid in my palm, and struggled to focus on the ridiculously ornate face. He let out a short, humorless laugh, sinking into the chair beside my bed. He reached out and stroked my hair like I was a stray cat he’d decided to humor. “That’s more like it,” he murmured. “Running out into traffic, getting yourself hurt… was it really worth all this drama?” He tilted his head. “Pack your things. I’ll take you home.” I’ll admit, with his sharp jawline and intense, dark eyes, he was movie-star handsome in a reckless, arrogant way. Unfortunately for him, he was also an asshole, which was a total deal-breaker. I pulled away from his touch and held the watch out to him. “It’s five-thirty,” I said, my voice raspy. “My boyfriend gets off work soon. Thanks, but I don’t need a ride.” I thought I’d made myself clear, but the man’s face instantly darkened. He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint in their depths. “Chloe. What the hell did you just say?” His voice was low, menacing. “Which boyfriend gets off work soon?” Which boyfriend? I’d been with Leo for three years. There was no one else. Before I could form a response, the man shoved a phone into my hand, his grip tight. “Call him,” he seethed. “Call him right now. I want to see exactly who’s coming to pick you up.” Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. A car accident and a concussion were bad enough without having to deal with a certified lunatic. He sprawled on the sofa opposite me, legs spread, watching my every move. Under his burning gaze, I found Leo’s name in my contacts and took a deep breath, moving him out of my blocked list. Thinking back, Leo and I rarely fought. He could be a little old-fashioned, that was all. The last time we’d been on the outs was because he thought the dress I’d bought was a little too short, and he’d lectured me about it for days. It was silly, but it was our brand of silly. The phone rang twice in the quiet room before he picked up. His voice, warm and familiar, was laced with hesitation. “Chloe? Is that you?” “Yeah,” I breathed out. It was all I could manage. On the other end, it was like a dam had broken. “They said you were in an accident. Are you okay? Is it serious?” he asked in a rush. “Which hospital are you at? I’m on my way.” With every frantic question he asked, the man across from me grew visibly angrier, his jaw clenching. I quickly gave Leo the address, my voice softening as I added, “Baby, I’ll wear that new dress for you tomorrow, okay? The one you like.” The words were barely out of my mouth when a violent crash echoed through the room. I whipped my head around. The stranger had crushed the water glass he was holding in his bare hand. Blood mingled with shards of glass, dripping onto the pristine floor at his feet. He didn’t seem to feel it. His teeth were gritted, his voice a guttural growl. “Chloe, I dare you to say that again.” “What the hell am I to you, then? A ghost?” A nurse, drawn by the noise, burst in and froze, her eyes wide with shock. “Mr. Sterling, please! The patient needs to rest.” His hand was a mess. It took the nurse a while to get him settled on the sofa and bandage the wound. In the middle of it, his phone rang. He took a deep breath, his eyelids twitching with suppressed rage. His tone was clipped. “I told you, I’m busy.” A lazy, carefree voice drifted from the speakerphone. “Isabelle is waiting for you, man. What could possibly be more important?” Caleb Sterling’s eyes were locked on me, cold and unblinking. “I’m dealing with a cheater,” he said slowly, enunciating every word. “You tell me. Is that important?” 2 The nurse’s ears practically perked up like an antenna; she wanted to listen but was too scared to be obvious. I felt pinned by his stare and let my gaze wander up to the ceiling. You know, for a hospital, this ceiling was really top-notch. A solid ten out of ten. “Don’t get the wound wet,” the nurse instructed, finishing the bandage. “Come back in three days to have it changed.” The man—Caleb—waved a dismissive hand, clearly not listening. Before the nurse could even shut the door behind her, a figure rushed into the room. He was still shrugging on his coat, the belt of his black trench coat hanging askew at his waist. Leo. Leo was five years older than me, with a quiet, steady presence that had always been my anchor. When we lived together, I’d wake up every morning to find toothpaste already squeezed onto my toothbrush and a hand towel folded neatly by the sink, right where I’d reach for it. I had never seen him look so disheveled, so undone. I looked up at him, my heart aching, and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in his coat. “Take me home, Leo. They said I can go.” He froze for a second. I saw his throat work as he swallowed, and his cool hand hovered over my head, not quite touching me. “Chloe, I…” Before he could finish, a slow, deliberate clap echoed from across the room. Caleb was leaning forward, his face half-shrouded in shadow, his eyes burning with contempt. “How touching. Truly a scene for the ages.” He sneered. “After three years of following me around like a goddamn puppy, this is the guy you call your boyfriend?” The words were so bizarre, so completely nonsensical, that I didn’t even know how to react. But before I could stand up, Leo disentangled himself from my arms and strode across the room. He swung, and his fist connected with Caleb’s jaw with a sickening crack. “Caleb Sterling,” Leo snarled, his voice dangerously low. “Keep your goddamn mouth shut.” I was stunned. So was Caleb. Leo, my gentle, bookish Leo who never even raised his voice, had just thrown a punch. I scrambled off the bed and threw my arms around Leo’s waist, pulling him back before Caleb could retaliate. I dragged him out of the room, ignoring the furious roar that erupted behind us. Caleb kicked the heavy metal door, the sound booming down the hallway. “Chloe! You’re choosing him?” “Goddammit, Chloe, you get your ass back here!” His voice faded as we reached the elevator. In the passenger seat of Leo’s car, I gently took his hand, turning it over in my own. “Does it hurt? Why were you so impulsive? What if you’d broken it?” In the dim light of the car, Leo didn’t answer. He just looked at me for a long moment before leaning in and crushing his lips to mine. It wasn’t like his usual kisses. This was urgent, almost frantic. And underneath it all, there was a profound, aching vulnerability. It was less like a welcome and more like a claim. I was breathless when he finally pulled back, my face flushed. He looked just as wrecked as I felt. He gently cradled the back of my neck, shifting me into a more comfortable position against the seat. “Get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice thick. “We’re almost home.” I was exhausted. The chaos of the hospital, the fight, the raw emotion of seeing Leo again… it had all taken its toll. I didn’t even have the energy to question his uncharacteristic behavior. I leaned my head back and let the motion of the car lull me into a daze. My thoughts felt like scrambled eggs. Just as we were pulling into our neighborhood, a strange sound echoed in my mind—a cascade of chimes, like a slot machine paying out. 【Host! Host! You’re finally awake!】 【Progress on the Caleb Sterling objective is at 60%!】 【Victory is within your grasp!】

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The week before my thirtieth birthday, my fiancée, Chloe, transferred five million dollars from my primary investment account. I told myself she was planning some kind of extravagant surprise. For a full day, I let myself live in that warm, hopeful delusion. Then, on the morning of my actual birthday, she sent me a text. A measly happy birthday GIF and a $5.20 Venmo payment with the note: “Love you 5ever! <3” I stared at the notification, a cold knot forming in my gut. I didn't say a word. I just declined the payment. That evening, I was on the guest list for a major networking gala hosted at a private estate in the Hamptons. When the Uber pulled up to the address, my blood ran cold. It was my own estate, Hawthorne Manor. My late mother’s house. But it was wrong. Horribly wrong. The elegant, understated entrance was now a gaudy monstrosity of gold-leaf and spotlights, an ostentatious display that had the other guests murmuring in envious whispers. This kind of spectacle must have cost a fortune. I assumed, foolishly, that this was Chloe’s grand gesture, the reason for the five million dollars. Swallowing my unease, I pushed through the gilded doors. The first thing I saw was Carter Shaw, Chloe’s childhood friend, holding court in the center of the grand hall. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like my custom Tom Ford tuxedo, the one that cost fifty grand. 1 “An estate like this has to be worth north of twenty million,” a guest near me gushed. “The owner must be some kind of royalty. The extravagance is unreal!” “Isn’t that Carter Shaw?” another replied. “His family’s in finance, but I didn’t know they had this kind of money. No wonder he’s always saying cash is no object.” I stood frozen at the entrance, a bitter taste in my mouth. I looked at Carter, preening on the makeshift stage, and then at the unrecognizable rooms around me. This place was my inheritance, a sanctuary my mother had designed herself with a quiet, coastal elegance. Now, it was a grotesque caricature of new money. So this was it. This was the five-million-dollar surprise. She hadn’t just spent my money; she had desecrated my home. The hand-carved Hawthorne sign my mother had commissioned for the front gate was gone. The ancient maples she’d planted were uprooted, replaced by garish, imported palm trees. Carter spotted me. A smirk played on his lips as he sauntered over, champagne flute in hand. “Ethan,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “What are you doing here? I don’t remember putting you on the list.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “Chloe and I are hosting a rather exclusive event tonight. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself by overstaying your welcome.” The casual way he said ‘Chloe and I’ sent a spike of ice through my veins. “My house,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You don’t get to make the guest list.” Carter blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What are you talking about? This estate was a gift. From Chloe. What right do you have to call it yours?” I was fighting a war on two fronts: one against the roaring inferno in my chest, the other to keep my voice steady. “This house is mine. Are you having trouble understanding English? You and Chloe vandalized my property, and I will see you both in prison for it.” He threw his head back and laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound. He looked me up and down with pure disdain. “Ethan, are you still dreaming? What a big shot. You really think you’re something, don’t you?” he sneered. “Chloe Lane is the heiress to Lane Industries. She’s out of your league. If you had any real power, you wouldn’t still be some glorified office drone, grinding away for a paycheck.” He gave a subtle nod, and two hulking security guards materialized at his side, boxing me in. Before I could react, they slammed me to the marble floor. A knee pressed into my back, pinning me. Carter’s polished Italian loafer came down on my cheek, grinding my face into the cold stone. “Since you’re still so sleepy, allow me to wake you up,” he hissed, his face a mask of triumphant rage. “This house is mine. Something a broke loser like you could never afford in a million lifetimes.” A sharp, burning pain flared across my face. “It’s my house!” I yelled, my voice muffled against the floor. “The sign at the gate… my mother had it carved… It said ‘Hawthorne’!” Carter chuckled. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me back towards the entrance, forcing my head up. He pointed at the new, hideous plaque bolted over the gate. “Open your damn eyes,” he spat. “It says ‘Shaw Manor.’” The beautiful, hand-carved letters my mother had so loved were gone. I trembled with a rage so profound it left me breathless. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking, and called Chloe. 2 It rang. And rang. Finally, she picked up. “Ethan, I’m in the middle of something important,” Chloe’s voice was sharp, impatient. “Unless you’re dying, don’t call me.” She hung up. The dial tone blared in my ear. I could feel the blood drain from my face, then rush back in a hot, shameful tide. Carter heard the click. He burst into another round of laughter. “Go on! Call again! Oh, that’s right, she doesn’t want to hear from you unless you’re dead. Tough break.” He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of expensive champagne. “She’s out getting me a birthday present. You should just give up.” I stared at him, the pieces clicking together with sickening clarity. “Your birthday? You’re celebrating your birthday in my house?” I struggled against the guard’s grip. “I can prove it. The deed to this house is in my name.” Carter’s response was a sharp slap across my face. The sound echoed in the foyer. “Don’t you dare try to pull that crap with me,” he hissed, his eyes glinting. “Chloe is a Lane. She wouldn’t give me someone else’s property, especially not some pathetic loser’s. Now take a good look in the mirror and realize what a charity case you are.” Just as I was about to retort, the roar of a sports car engine cut through the night. A moment later, Chloe swept in, poured into a tight red dress that clung to every curve. She moved with a practiced sway, walking straight past me and into Carter’s arms. “Happy birthday, Carter,” she cooed, her voice honey-sweet. “I poured my heart and soul into this place for you. Do you like your gift?” I watched, paralyzed, as the woman I was supposed to marry, the woman I had loved for years, wrapped her arms around another man. It felt like watching a movie of someone else’s life. This was the same woman who had gently massaged my stomach when my stress-induced ulcers flared up, the one who insisted on brewing bitter herbal remedies because she said they were good for me. This was my Chloe. But the woman here tonight wouldn’t even grant me a single glance. Carter saw me staring. He shot me a triumphant, cruel smirk before turning back to Chloe, his expression melting into one of a pouting child. “Chloe, darling,” he whined, pointing a finger at me. “This lunatic showed up out of nowhere. He keeps saying this house is his. I’m scared.” He clutched her arm theatrically. “Is he going to try and take my birthday present away? I don’t want that. I love the house you gave me.” Finally, Chloe’s gaze fell on me. It was flat, cold, and utterly devoid of recognition. “Let’s see who would dare try to take something from you,” she said, her voice like ice. She crouched down, her expensive perfume filling the air around me. She looked at my face, bloody and pressed to the floor, as if I were a piece of trash someone had tracked in. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice laced with disgust. “This estate is mine. It was a gift for Carter. Now get the hell out of here before I have you thrown out.” The sheer audacity of her lie stole my breath. “You’re lying,” I choked out, gesturing wildly toward the entrance. “This is Hawthorne Manor!” My words seemed to jog a memory in one of the nearby guests. “You know, I think he might be right,” the man murmured to his wife. “I remember this place being the old Hayes estate. What’s going on here?” Carter heard him. “Don’t listen to him!” he shouted, his voice ringing with panic. “Chloe doesn’t know him! He’s just some grifter trying to crash a high-society party for contacts and free champagne!” 3 A few of Carter’s friends quickly chimed in. “Exactly! Look at him. Does he look like he owns a place like this? He’s dressed like he sleeps on the street.” “Get out of here, you bum!” another one yelled. “Don’t dirty up Mr. Shaw’s beautiful home. We could sell you for parts and you still wouldn’t cover the cost of one of these rugs.” That was it. I would get the deed. I would shove the proof of ownership in their smug, ignorant faces. I struggled to my feet and made a break for the study. I didn’t make it two steps. Carter lunged, grabbing me by the hair and slamming my head against the heavy oak door. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes. “You piece of trash,” he snarled, his face inches from mine. “Did I say you could enter my house? Are you deaf? I told you to get out!” I felt something warm and wet trickle down my temple. My vision swam. Through the haze, I could see Carter’s triumphant sneer. “Carter,” I ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re going to regret this.” My defiance only seemed to fuel his rage. He kicked my legs out from under me and I crumpled to the floor. Then the fists started flying, hammering into my ribs, my stomach, my face. “Regret this? You think you’re in a position to threaten me?” he grunted with each blow. “Let me teach you the rules. When you’re on my property, you’re nothing but a dog. It’s time you learned how to crawl.” An excruciating pain radiated through my limbs until I didn't have the strength to even lift an arm to defend myself. I was a puppet, and he was pulling the strings. When he finally ran out of steam, he stood over me, breathing heavily. A cold smile spread across his face. “You know, Ethan, my new estate could use a guard dog. I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you have the job.” He snapped his fingers. One of the security guards produced a thick leather dog collar and fastened it around my neck. The metal buckle was cold against my skin. Carter circled me, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Wait,” he said, his eyes lighting up with a fresh wave of cruelty. “Dogs don’t wear clothes. Get them off him.” “You’re a monster, Carter!” I screamed, a raw, desperate sound. A moment later, I felt cold air on my skin as my clothes were torn away. The crowd that had gathered was watching me like a sideshow attraction. Phones were out, cameras flashing. Humiliation washed over me, a chilling tide. I was forced onto all fours like an animal, the shame a physical weight. I stared at Carter, my hatred a burning coal in my chest. I wanted to tear him apart. “Carter Shaw,” I rasped, my voice thick with blood and fury. “I will burn you to ashes for this.” He just laughed. He placed a foot on my back, pressing me down. “A dog’s bark is worse than its bite,” he announced to the crowd. “I want everyone to see what happens when a stray wanders onto my property. I want you all to see him beg.” The sound of our confrontation drew more people out from the main party. They saw me, bloody and bruised, a collar around my neck, and some of them had the decency to look shocked. “What’s happening here?” a woman whispered. “That’s a person. How can they treat him like that?” “You don’t get it,” someone next to her replied smugly. “He brought it on himself. Trying to claim a house that isn’t his. He’s getting what he deserves.” Carter, soaking in the attention, puffed out his chest. I saw my chance. With every last ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and sank my teeth into his hand. I bit down with the force of years of suppressed frustration and a moment of pure, primal rage. I felt a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. I tore away, spitting his severed pinky finger into the dirt of a nearby potted plant. The color drained from Carter's face. He clutched his maimed hand, a strangled scream escaping his lips as he stared at me with eyes full of murder. Just then, Chloe returned, her face a mask of concern. The sight of Carter’s mangled hand made her gasp. She looked around frantically. “Someone call an ambulance! Now!” 4 Carter, cradling his bleeding hand, pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe… it was him! I was just talking to him, and he… he attacked me! He just jumped up and bit me!” Chloe’s gaze snapped to me, her eyes filled with a loathing so intense it felt like a physical blow. “You bastard,” she spat. “You’re even more vicious than I thought. I underestimated you.” Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “If they can’t reattach Carter’s finger, I will have you chopped into pieces and fed to the dogs.” I looked up at the woman I was supposed to marry, this beautiful stranger who was defending another man while condemning me. The pain in my heart was a physical agony, a deep, shuddering tremor that threatened to stop my breathing altogether. Tears blurred my vision. “Chloe,” I choked out, the words tearing at my raw throat. “I’m your fiancé.” This was the girl who had held my hand and promised me forever. But somewhere along the way, the promise had been corrupted by money and power, turning us into strangers. I struggled to my feet, my body screaming in protest. “This estate is mine,” I said, my voice shaking. “A week ago, you transferred five million dollars from my account.” For the first time, a flicker of something—fear? guilt?—crossed her face. She looked away. “What are you talking about? This is my estate. I gave it to Carter. I never took your money.” Her denial was a fresh stab in the wound. I forced myself to speak, dredging up the past she was so desperate to bury. “Have you forgotten, Chloe? Have you forgotten that it was my money that saved your family’s company from bankruptcy? It was my investment that made you CEO of Lane Industries.” “Oh, shut up!” she snapped, cutting me off. “Are you ever going to let that go? It was a business deal, Ethan. A small one. I’d forgotten all about it.” I fell silent. She was right. The sweet, ambitious girl who had wanted to build a life with me was gone. In her place stood this cold, ruthless creature. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and walked past her, into the study. I went directly to the antique safe hidden behind a bookshelf and pulled out the file containing the property deed. I walked back out and held it up. “Then why don’t you take a look at this,” I said, my voice flat. “See who the real owner of this estate is.” Chloe let out a short, mocking laugh. She snatched the folder from my hand and opened it, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Ethan, you really are pathetic. You just don’t know when to quit.” She turned the document around for me to see. “Why don’t you take a look and see who the owner is.” I looked. And my world tilted on its axis. There, on the line marked ‘Owner,’ was her name: Chloe Lane. How? When did she do this? When did she forge the documents and steal my mother’s house from me? The people around us craned their necks to see. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, their expressions shifting from morbid curiosity to outright contempt for me. “Well, that settles it,” one man said, shaking his head. “I almost felt sorry for him, but it turns out he’s just crazy. Does he just go around picking out nice houses and claiming they belong to him?” “No!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “That’s not true! This is my house!” Chloe and Carter exchanged a look of pure, malicious glee. “You’re delusional, Ethan,” Chloe said sweetly. “You claim this house is yours. Do you have any proof?” “If you can’t prove it,” Carter added, his voice a low growl, “the only way you’re leaving this house tonight is in a body bag.” The circle of guards tightened around me, their knuckles cracking in the tense silence. They were ready. I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me. This was it. I was trapped. Just as their hands were about to fall on me, a deep, authoritative voice boomed from the doorway. “Stand down! Since when did Ethan’s property become yours to claim?”

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Leo was cheating on me. A one-night stand. The girl got pregnant. Now she was here, in my husband’s high-rise office, demanding he take responsibility. Leo lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his impassive face. Then he turned and handed the choice, the power, the entire mess, to me. “It was once,” he said, his voice flat. “If you can forgive me, we can move on from this. Make it work.” He paused, the ash on his cigarette growing long and fragile. “If you can’t, we get a divorce.” The blood drained from my face. I could hear it rushing in my ears. “It was your mistake, right?” I asked, my voice a tremor. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. You’ll take the blame, won’t you?” 1 My marriage to Leo was built on my sister’s leftovers. My younger sister, Chloe, is a whirlwind—vibrant and charming, with a stubborn streak a mile wide. The idea of being shackled to a man for the sake of a “strategic family alliance” was, to her, a life sentence. So she took the trust fund top-up—a cool twenty million—and vanished. My mother, heartbroken over her favorite’s departure but unwilling to lose a son-in-law like Leo, shoved me forward to take her place. She acted as if any daughter from our family, the House of Sterling, would be an acceptable substitute. As if Leo would simply take one, regardless of the model. But this was Leo Vance. In the world we lived in, a world of old money and new power, he was the apex predator. Chloe leaving him at the altar wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a public humiliation. And now they wanted him to marry me? The quiet, overlooked older sister? It was delusional. Still, I went to see him. I walked into his office, laid out my case, and proposed myself as a solution. To my everlasting shock, he agreed. This year marks our fourth anniversary. To the outside world, we are a power couple. In private, we are like polite roommates who happen to share a bed. Even in our most intimate moments, there is a formal, almost respectful distance between us. My mother has been relentless, a constant drone in my ear. You need a child. You’re useless, Audrey. A baby is the only thing that will anchor a man like Leo. What will you do if he just leaves? I always wanted to say, Leo isn’t a dog to be leashed. And even if I had a leash, would he ever willingly wear it? But I never said that. I would just nod, my posture shrinking, my voice a murmur of agreement. It was the version of me she expected, the version she despised the most. She’d roll her eyes in disgust, turn on her heel, and leave me in her wake. Then, against all odds, the impossible happened. I got pregnant. 2 My period was late. First one week, then two, then four. Last night, I took a test. Two stark pink lines appeared against the white plastic. This morning, I went to the clinic for a blood test to be sure. The doctor held the report, her expression neutral. “You’re nine weeks along. Are you planning on keeping the baby?” “I think so,” I said, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. Leo didn’t know. This child was never part of our sterile, five-year plan. I needed to talk to him. Clutching the report in my purse, I drove to his office downtown. Leo was in a board meeting when I arrived. His assistant, Sarah, showed me into his expansive corner office, her smile professionally warm. She brought me a cup of coffee and a small plate of artisanal pastries. I lifted the porcelain cup, the rich aroma filling my senses. Then I paused. Can you drink coffee when you’re pregnant? I had no idea. A quick search on my phone. Yes, in moderation. Relief washed over me. I took a small, careful sip, letting out a sigh of pure satisfaction. The sigh was cut short by a commotion from the reception area. A woman’s voice, sharp and furious, sliced through the calm of the executive floor. I opened the office door a crack and found myself staring directly into the eyes of a woman being held back by security. Her face was flushed, her eyes blazing. “Get Leo Vance out here!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the marble floors. “Does he think he can knock someone up and just walk away?” The sound was deafening. The spectacle, mortifying. The crowd of onlookers, a blur of judgment. The shame was so intense I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I wanted to scream, This has nothing to do with me! Just then, Leo appeared, his face a thundercloud. He cut through the crowd, his eyes finding me peeking through the doorway. In two long strides, he was there. A large, warm hand with perfectly sculpted knuckles covered my eyes, blocking the scene. I flinched back instinctively. With a soft click, he pushed the door closed, shutting me inside. I blinked in the sudden silence. Wait. My husband cheated, knocked up another woman, and the angry, pregnant mistress was at his door… and I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all? 3 It turned out I was involved. Just not in the way I expected. Leo dismissed the onlookers with a single, cutting glare. He murmured something to the woman, his voice too low for me to hear. Then he opened the door and ushered her into the office, right in front of me. He was so calm, so infuriatingly composed. I had the absurd urge to applaud. To cheat on your wife and handle the fallout with the detached air of a CEO managing a hostile takeover… it was a singular talent. The woman was cool. She wore simple, expensive athletic wear, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail under a baseball cap. She dropped into the leather armchair opposite me, crossed one leg over the other, and radiated an aura that screamed, Don’t mess with me. She was also, I noted with a clinical sort of bitterness, stunningly beautiful. Sharp, delicate features, eyes that were both cold and captivating. It was the kind of face you couldn’t bring yourself to hate. Too bad she had a mouth. “So, you’re the wife?” she said, her eyes flicking over me with casual dismissal. “Divorce him.” She placed a hand on her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. He needs to take responsibility for me.” I bit the inside of my cheek. Well, I’m pregnant too. Who’s going to take responsibility for me? Logically, as the wife, I should have had the upper hand. But when marriage becomes a battlefield, the one with the least to lose often screams the loudest. “Hah,” I let out a short, empty breath and reached for a small biscotti from the plate on the table. It was nutty and perfectly crisp, not too sweet. Delicious. “Want one?” I offered, holding it out to her. Her face twisted in disgust. She pointed at me, turning to Leo. “Is she insane?” For the first time, a crack appeared in Leo’s composure. A frown line creased between his brows. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the private lounge connected to his office. He smoked an entire cigarette in tense silence. “It was once,” he finally said, his voice rough. “I was at a conference. Someone spiked my drink. It was an accident.” “Audrey.” He met my gaze, his eyes sharp and serious. “It was my mistake. So you get to decide.” He took a step closer. “If you can forgive me, we’ll move past this. We’ll make this work, for real this time.” He took a breath. “If you can’t, we get a divorce.” The word—divorce—landed like a punch to my solar plexus. My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs. I dug my thumbnail into the fleshy part of my palm, the small pain a welcome anchor. “It was your fault, right?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. That will be the story.” 4 Leo studied my face. He was a handsome man. More handsome than anyone I’d ever known. I liked looking at him. Especially in bed, from below, watching the way his eyes would glaze over with pleasure, listening to the raw, sexy sound of his breathing. In those moments, I could forget everything and lose myself in pure sensation. A divorce. It would be a shame. But not impossible. “So, your decision is a divorce?” he asked, his voice hardening. I nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the other room. “After a scene like that? I don’t see another way.” “It’s just… my mother,” I said, needing the reassurance. “You’ll tell her it was your fault, right?” I had to confirm it again. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a cool, unfamiliar distance that made my stomach clench. But I was an expert at managing that feeling. I took a deep breath and pushed it down. Leo stood up, brushing a piece of non-existent lint from his suit. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle everything.” Phew. That was a relief. “Okay. In the divorce, you can have everything else. I just want Helios Pharmaceuticals.” “Fine.” “And, if it’s not too much trouble, a house. One of the villas in the Heights would be nice.” “Done.” “Could I also have three hundred million?” Leo turned back, his gaze pinning me to the spot. “You want everything and a divorce?” A bitter, humorless smile touched his lips. “If we don’t get a divorce, Audrey, it’s all yours anyway.” I looked away, suddenly fascinated by my own feet. Well, you’re the one who cheated, I thought. If you hadn’t cheated, we wouldn’t be getting a divorce. And if we weren’t getting a divorce, your wife and your child would both be yours. …Wait. Even with a divorce, he’d still have a wife and child. Just a different set. Damn it. He really was a businessman, wasn’t he? Always calculating, always making sure he came out ahead. 5 Leo sent the woman away. What they discussed, what he promised her, I have no idea. By the time I emerged from the lounge, she was gone. The delicious pastries were gone, too. Not a single crumb left. I stared at the empty plate. As I was leaving, I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed his assistant, Sarah, by the arm. “Those little biscotti from earlier,” I whispered. “Could you… could you pack some for me?” Sarah’s expression was a painful mix of pity and confusion. From behind me, Leo’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp with contempt. “Pack them for her.” The scandal exploded. By evening, my mother was calling. The first call, I ignored. The second, I ignored. On the third, I stared at the screen for a long moment before walking to the kitchen and dropping my phone into the sink full of water. Finally. Peace. In that quiet, a single thought crystallized in my mind with perfect clarity: I was going to have this baby. This child. I would provide half its chromosomes. It would be nourished by my own body, grow from my own flesh, and emerge as a new, independent life. It would be connected to me by blood and bone. My family. My ally. Why on earth would I not bring him into this world? Yes. I was going to have my baby. The decision filled me with a giddy, unfamiliar excitement. I went to the wine cellar and opened a forty-thousand-dollar bottle of red. Can you drink alcohol when you’re pregnant? No. Wait. In moderation. So, cheers! 6 At eight o’clock, my mother descended. The banging on my front door was loud enough to be reported for disturbing the peace. But I live in a gated community with no close neighbors. A small perk. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and turned the stereo up until the floor vibrated. Still, I could faintly hear her muffled screaming through the bass. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew the script by heart. It would be a lecture on “The Uselessness of Audrey,” followed by the classic sermon, “What is Audrey’s Purpose for Existing?” No new material, nothing innovative, but still a performance I had no desire to hear. After a while, the noise stopped. A while after that, my front door opened. Leo stood over me, pulling the headphones from my ears. In one hand, he held my waterlogged phone. In the other, a brand-new one. His face was a mask of cold indifference. “Put your SIM card in this,” he said, his voice clipped. “The lab couldn’t reach you, so they called me. Call them back. Now.” I tilted my head back to look at him. “You see, Leo? You were wrong.” “What?” “You cheated, and that’s why we’re getting a divorce. But my mother still came here to blame me.” He stared down at me, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll handle it.” Leo’s method of “handling it” was, to put it mildly, a complete failure. One star. Would not recommend. My mother stormed into his corporate headquarters and had to be physically restrained by security. I was just leaving my lab at the time, exhausted after an all-nighter. The sample reactions weren’t promising, and the whole research team was feeling dejected. Leo always said that in these moments, a leader should offer encouragement and inspire hope. “But they’re human,” I’d argued. “It’s normal to feel discouraged.” To me, the most inspiring thing about them was their courage to fail a thousand times and still be willing to start over. That was a resilience I understood. My train of thought was derailed by my assistant. “Dr. Sterling, your mother is here. She’s demanding to see you.” She could demand all she wanted. If I didn’t want to see her, she wouldn’t. I took the private elevator down to the garage, planning to slip away unnoticed. But as my car rounded the corner, she materialized in front of it like a vengeful ghost, her eyes burning with rage. There was no escape. I ended up buying her a coffee. As we sat in stony silence, I mentally calculated. It had been 372 days since we’d last seen each other. We were so close to a new record. A real shame. “You’re divorcing Leo?” she began, dispensing with pleasantries. “Yes.” “Are you sick in the head?” The attack came with zero warning, a verbal ambush. The onslaught continued without pause. “Do you have a brain in there? Do you think you’re better than everyone else? What man doesn’t cheat? Does any man have a perfectly clean slate? But no, not you. You have to make a federal case out of some tiny little thing and scream divorce. If you’re not ashamed, I’m ashamed for you.” “Whose fault is it when a man cheats? It’s yours. You couldn’t keep him, couldn’t control him.” “I told you, being book-smart is useless! You have no social graces, no common sense, you’re stubborn and blind. People always say I favor Chloe, but if you were half as considerate, half as loving as her…” “You’d still favor her,” I cut in, finishing her sentence. She choked, her mouth agape. Then she shrieked, “Audrey, must you always contradict me?” No. I was just tired. I wanted to sleep. I was pregnant, and the tiny cluster of cells in my belly needed to grow. I stood up to leave. But my movement was like flipping a switch in her. She grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. Her face contorted with fury, and just like she had countless times when I was a child, she raised her hand to strike me. In that instant, sheer terror paralyzed me. I could have dodged. I could have blocked her arm. I could have even fought back. But my body betrayed me. My nerves felt severed, incapable of sending a single command. I just stood there, frozen. A wooden doll, not even breathing. 7 “Mom!” A bright, cheerful voice cut through the tension. My mother’s hand stopped mid-air. She turned, her angry expression melting into one of pure delight. Standing in the doorway of the cafe was Chloe, slightly out of breath but with a perfect, radiant smile plastered on her face. “Chloe, baby! When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Chloe practically skipped over, squeezing herself between my mother and me. She linked her arm through our mother’s, leaning her head on her shoulder affectionately. “I wanted to surprise you! Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you so much.” My mother beamed, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening with pleasure. I took a small, imperceptible step back, giving them space for their mother-daughter reunion. My back hit something solid and warm. A wall of muscle. “Chloe, how did you get here? Who picked you up from the airport?” my mother asked. “Leo did, of course!” Both of them turned their heads in unison to look at the man standing directly behind me. Leo. His hand was resting on my lower back, steadying me. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low. I took a shaky breath. “So when,” I asked, my own voice just as low, “did you and your former fiancée get back in touch?” His jaw tightened. “For now, she is still my sister-in-law.” “Oh, right. So how did you get in touch with your sister-in-law?” He didn’t like that question. I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. Someone else didn’t like it either. Chloe pouted, disengaging from our mother and inserting herself between Leo and me. “Leo, what are you guys talking about? I called your name and you totally ignored me.” She linked her arm through his as naturally as she had with our mother. Our mother’s eyes darted between them, a flicker of suspicion in her gaze. “Chloe, you two…” Chloe’s face flushed a delicate pink before she even spoke. She stomped her foot playfully. “Mom, don’t be silly.” She looked from Leo to our mother, her expression a perfect mix of coy denial and unspoken possibility. “Leo and I, we’re just… we’re just…” she trailed off. “Oh, forget it! You guys are so annoying!” That performance—the hesitation, the feigned embarrassment—was classic Chloe. A look of dawning comprehension spread across our mother’s face. Her lips curved into a triumphant smile. “Okay, okay! Wonderful! Today is a happy day. Leo, you come with Chloe. We’re all going home for dinner.” Everyone in that little circle was busy with their own drama. Only Leo spared me a final, fleeting glance. But in the end, he allowed Chloe to pull him away. And my sister, from the moment she arrived to the moment she left, never once looked at me.

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At his lowest point, the hero of the story had it all: a gambling-addicted father, a mother with crippling hospital bills, and a sister he was single-handedly putting through high school. He faced a daily onslaught of debt collectors, and on top of it all, a broken version of himself. Oh, right. And there was usually a wealthy, obsessive female antagonist forcing herself on him. As luck would have it, I transmigrated into that malicious side character—at the peak of her wealth and power. “I’ll sponsor you. Is twenty thousand a month enough?” His name was Alex. And me? A joke? So what if I was the villainess? I was rich as hell. 1 “You’re just a damn bartender. Me telling you to drink with me is a compliment. It’s your honor to have caught my eye, so don’t be an ungrateful prick.” “You’re selling yourself one way or another, so what’s the difference who you’re selling to? Think you’re too good for me, huh?” Even from a distance, I could see Alex standing there, his head slightly bowed. A single glance was enough to tell he was handsome. The man berating him was aggressive and loud. With his bulging belly and arrogant stance, he was clearly trouble. He poked a thick finger into Alex’s chest, forcing him back step by step. Then, the man pulled out a thick wad of crimson bills and slapped them straight across Alex’s face. “Is this fucking enough? If you want it, get on your knees and pick it up.” Alex’s head snapped to the side from the impact. After a brief moment, he knelt to retrieve the scattered cash. The instant his fingers touched a bill on the floor, the man stomped his foot down hard on Alex’s hand. From the grimace on Alex’s face, it was clear he used his full weight. “Why pretend to be so high and mighty when you’re desperate for money? If you were with me, this would be nothing. Me wanting you is a favor, you get it?” I was watching Alex endure the humiliation, and I had to admit, there was a certain rugged charm to it. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—the story’s heroine, Fiona, dressed in a simple white sundress. I knew this moment perfectly. The heroine swoops in, heroically saves the handsome stranger, and from that day forward, becomes the woman Alex can’t forget. She becomes his motivation, his driving force. And later, when Alex becomes a titan of industry, their sweet, fairy-tale romance begins, and they ascend to the pinnacle of life together. But not today. Sorry. I closed the distance in three long strides, positioning myself right in front of the hero. I reached into my limited-edition handbag and pulled out a stack of bills far thicker than his. I slapped it hard across the loudmouth’s face. The wad of cash hit the floor with a heavy, satisfying thud. “Is that all the cash you have? And you’re acting this big?” I sneered. “You old creep.” 2 It was only then that I noticed Fiona, who had been lagging behind the man, finally arriving. She looked at the scene before her, utterly bewildered, but still started walking toward us. The man, stunned by the slap, quickly recovered and pointed a trembling finger in my face. “Who the hell are you? Do you know who I am? You looking for trouble? If you want to play the hero, you better make damn sure you’re qualified.” He looked ready to throw a punch. Honestly, his words were pathetic. “Vivian Sterling.” “Daughter of the chairman of Sterling Enterprises.” The instant change in his expression was priceless. Just one word for it: satisfying. Please. As if I didn’t know exactly who this nobody was. I had, after all, read the entire novel. In the early stages of the story, my character was an invincible, god-tier entity. My power was almost laughably absolute. The man stammered for a long moment. “It was my mistake. I was blind. I’m so sorry, Miss Sterling, so sorry.” I let out a soft chuckle, putting on an air of authority. “Apologize to him.” The moment the words left my mouth, the man practically fell over himself apologizing to Alex. Alex stood there in his bartender’s uniform, his handsome features unreadable. He showed no reaction, no emotion. Fiona now stood at his side, watching me with a wary expression. With the trash taken care of, only the three of us remained. I took a moment to appreciate Alex’s face. He was the hero, after all, and just as devastatingly handsome as the book described. He was completely blank-faced, though. I knew this was his lowest point. A gambling-addicted father, a mother in the hospital with astronomical medical bills, and a younger sister he was single-handedly supporting through high school. He was hounded daily by debt collectors, a shattered man trying to hold the pieces together. He was utterly exhausted, just trying to scrape together enough money to survive. He looked nothing like the future tycoon who would dominate the business world. He was just a tragic, beautiful mess. My original plan had been to snuff out the hero before he could ever rise. But looking at that face, I reconsidered for a solid 0.0001 seconds and changed my mind. “Alex, you’ve caught my eye. Be my arm candy. Keep me entertained, make me happy. Ten thousand a month. How about it?” My words were blunt, my gaze fixed on him. He was just too gorgeous to pass up. Now that I had money, I wasn’t about to short-change myself. Forget chasing girls or hot guys—I was going straight for the hero-level prize. This was going to be fun. Alex remained silent, but Fiona, standing beside him, spoke up first. “Vivian, thank you for helping Alex just now, but that doesn’t give you the right to insult him like this.” I looked at her indignant face and laughed out loud. “I’m not just going to insult him. I’m going to own him.” If it weren’t for my unexpected appearance, they’d both be in the hospital tonight. “Fifteen thousand. Is that enough?” Seeing the flicker of consideration in his eyes, I realized just how fun it was to be a rich bitch. “Alex would never agree. You…” Fiona was still chattering on, grabbing Alex’s hand to pull him away, her eyes filled with pity. I had no interest in arguing with the heroine. My patience was wearing thin. “Twenty thousand.” “I’ll do it.” “Alex, she’s humiliating you!” When Fiona finally left, her eyes were brimming with tears. Alex didn’t move, but I could tell he was still thinking about her. He stared after her for a long time. But I didn’t care. They say forced fruit isn’t sweet, but who cares? I’m not looking for sweetness. I wanted his beautiful face; I couldn’t care less who was in his heart. “Down payment.” I pulled ten grand from my purse and stuffed it into his hands. Looking at his handsome face made me happy. “Silverwood Hills estate tomorrow. Be there. You have my number.” With that, I gave his abs a quick, appreciative pat. The money should be enough to prevent the tragedy with his mother. My conscience was clear. I slung my designer bag over my shoulder and walked away. 3 When Alex reported for duty, he was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans. Clean and crisp. Up close, I noticed his eyelashes were incredibly long. “The housekeeper has the day off. The kitchen’s over there. You’re making lunch. And one more thing: I need my food spicy.” Soon, a delicious aroma filled the air. It was actually quite good. “What are you standing there for? Sit down and eat with me.” Alex nodded and started to walk to the far end of the table. “Sit here. Next to me.” I saw him hesitate for a split second before moving to the chair beside me. He ate delicately, taking only a few small bites of the dishes before focusing on his rice. I slammed my bowl down on the table with a loud clatter. Alex looked up at me, his expression perfectly calm. “You have a problem with me?” I asked. “No.” I nodded, my tone hardening. “Good. I want you to remember something. I’m paying you twenty thousand a month, not to watch you play the martyr. You took my money, so you serve me well.” “And another thing,” I added, “I don’t like this cold, dead-inside act. It pisses me off. Got it?” Alex nodded. “Now, look up and give me a smile.” He looked up, and after a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. It was obviously forced. “Ugly.” With that, I got up and left. Over the next few weeks, Alex improved. He became a competent, if not enthusiastic, entertainer. The man was smart; he learned quickly, whether it was a new dance I wanted to see or just anticipating my moods. That, combined with his face, was a killer combination. Who needed to go to clubs? All in all, I was having a very pleasant time. Until Fiona showed up at my door. 4 I came out when I heard the shouting. A young girl was clutching Alex’s shoulder. He stood rigidly still. Beside them were a scruffy, middle-aged man and Fiona. I watched the scene unfold with amusement. The girl holding onto Alex glared at me. “Vivian, what gives you the right to make my brother serve you? Even if you buy his time, he’ll never like you! My brother only loves Fiona!” To wake up to this drama first thing in the morning was almost funny. But before I could speak, another familiar voice piped up. “Miss Sterling, Alex is a good person. He has his own thoughts, his own ambitions. He shouldn’t be trapped here by you.” For god’s sake, I couldn’t even be bothered to argue. They were both here to ruin my day. I pointed at the girl clinging to Alex. I knew who she was. Alex’s sister, Hailey. A staunch Fiona supporter. In the original novel, she had caused my character no end of trouble. “The right? My money gives me the right.” “The fact that you get to sit comfortably in a classroom is because of my money, you little idiot.” Hailey was stunned speechless, her large eyes filling with tears. Alex was looking at me too. My words were harsh. In the book, Alex was fiercely protective of his sister, but I met his gaze without flinching. “Alex, give me money! Give me the money, you ungrateful brat! Making all that cash, twenty grand a month, and trying to hide it from your old man!” The middle-aged man finally spoke, his voice agitated, his eyes wide and bloodshot, like he was about to pounce and devour someone. I instinctively took a step back. That was Alex’s father. A drunk, a gambler, and an abuser. Half of Alex’s misfortune stemmed from this man. I retreated into the house, making sure I was safe before calling security. They arrived quickly. Once they were there, I stepped back outside, staying behind the safety of the doorway. “I don’t have any money,” Alex said flatly. Fiona seemed terrified by the sudden turn of events and hid behind Hailey, leaving Alex to face his father alone. “If you don’t give me money, I’ll go to the hospital and find that sickly bitch! She’s gonna die anyway, it’s a waste keeping her there. I know you care about her. If you don’t want me to make a scene, give me the money!” The security guards moved in and restrained the man, holding him until he stopped struggling. He was still spewing curses. I couldn’t stand it. This man was disgusting, as both a father and a husband. I strode forward and delivered two sharp, clean slaps across his face. The sound echoed crisply. Still not satisfied, I kicked him hard in the knee. He crumpled forward, landing on his knees with a pained howl. It still wasn’t enough for me. “You scum. Send me the medical bills. And one more thing: I am no longer employing Alex. You won’t get a single cent from me. Get all three of them out of here.” Hailey ran off first. Fiona stood frozen until a guard approached her, then she too left, calling back over her shoulder. “Alex, I didn’t mean for this to happen, really! I didn’t know your father would be like this!” … Only Alex remained. I stood on the porch, a full head taller than him. “If you even think about chasing after her, you can get the hell out too.” 5 “Smile.” Alex forced a smile. I critiqued it again. “Fake.” His expression stiffened. That made me feel a little better. “You’re coming shopping with me this afternoon.” “You’re not firing me?” I shook my head and picked up a piece of vegetable with my chopsticks. “That was for your father to hear. And have your mother transferred to a different hospital, one he can’t find. Tomorrow—no, this afternoon. Go with Arthur. The expenses will be deducted from your salary.” I left the table before he had a chance to react. That afternoon, I returned from my retail battlefield, followed by my driver, Arthur, laden with shopping bags. I was finally experiencing the life of a rich heiress. So simple, so unpretentious. The pure joy of swiping a black card until my heart was content. Alex was already back. He opened the door for me. “Get me a glass of orange juice.” Alex went back to the kitchen. I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. I’d seen him in an apron a few times, but today he was wearing a well-tailored black suit. The contrast was pure, raw sex appeal. It made my mouth water. When he brought out the juice, he stood in front of me, hesitating. I could tell he wanted to say something. “Spit it out.” “I wanted to ask… how do you know so much about my situation? And… did you know about it, and that’s why you hired me, to give me the money?” 6 It was true. When I read the novel, I learned that Alex’s mother was a wonderful person. I didn’t want her to suffer that fate. “Congratulations, you guessed it. No need to thank me, I’m not interested. You just need to remember that I am kind, beautiful, and generous.” I praised myself lavishly. I heard a very faint, “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me. It wasn’t a handout. You earned it through your own labor. I just provided a good opportunity. You don’t owe me anything.” Alex lowered his gaze, hiding the emotion in his eyes. … Being a rich heiress had its downsides. One, a love for shopping. Two, a bad temper. “What took you so long to get the food? It’s cold now. Did you do it on purpose?” I took the takeout from Alex, my tone impatient. I walked straight to the trash can and placed the bag on top of it, announcing loudly as I walked away, “I’m not eating this. I’ve lost my appetite.” Then, I turned a corner, got in the car, and drove off, leaving Alex standing there alone. Alex stood frozen for a moment, then a bitter smile touched his lips. It seemed a waste to throw away food he’d traveled so far to get. He started to walk towards it, but an elderly man picking through the trash got there first. The plastic bag on his back was already full of bottles. Alex’s sharp eyes noticed something under the food container: a red bill. The old man opened the container and began to eat ravenously, completely unaware of the money on top of the bin. Standing there, Alex thought again that maybe the heiress wasn’t so bad after all. The old man finished eating quickly and only then noticed the money. He froze, looking around as if searching for its owner, hesitating to take it. Alex walked over, took the money, folded it neatly, and pressed it into the old man’s hand. “Sir, the young lady who left the food here put this here for you.” He added, “She’s just a bit proud, too shy to give it to you directly.” The old man took the money, his eyes welling up with tears, and nodded repeatedly. “She’s a kind-hearted girl. Heaven will bless her.” Yes, it will, Alex thought. 7 Junior year of college started. I was determined to enjoy my second chance at university life. But a rumor started circulating on campus, accompanied by a photo of me bossing Alex around, making him carry my luggage. The gist of it was that I was a bully, using my power to force the campus idol to be my servant, holding his mother’s medical bills over his head. I read the post. The actual wording was a hundred times worse. The comment section was a war zone. People were cursing me, my family, you name it. “There’s no morality anymore. Money is king. I hope she goes bankrupt. Karma’s a bitch.” “Down with the bourgeoisie! Down with the evil elite! I hope she spends the rest of her life miserable, starving, and broke.” “Maybe she won’t even live that long. Hope she gets in a car crash tomorrow.” … It got so bad that people were waiting for me at the school gates to hurl insults. I had Arthur investigate. It didn’t take long to get the truth. A guy had posted it. Under a little pressure, he confessed everything. He had a crush on Fiona, and after seeing her crying over the photo and complaining about me, he got angry. He stole the photo and posted it online to be her champion. “I didn’t post it! It has nothing to do with me! Let me go, you’re illegally detaining me!” Fiona’s whining was giving me a headache. I didn’t waste my breath on her; Arthur pulled her aside to explain the legal ramifications. I turned to Alex. “What do you think?” “Fiona… she didn’t mean it.” “Vivian, can you just let it go?” “At her core, Fiona isn’t a bad person.” Of course. The destined couple. I didn’t say anything, but a wave of irritation washed over me. “Who the hell do you think you are, Alex?” He froze. I had never spoken to him like that before. “Everything you have, I gave to you. You still don’t understand your place. If I didn’t take pity on you, you wouldn’t even have the right to speak to me.” My temper was never great, rich or not. I don’t like being wronged, especially over something so stupid. I had been more lenient with him before because he was the hero of the story. But now, I was annoyed. The novelty was wearing off. “That’s not what I meant…” I cut him off. “Don’t try to explain. I don’t want to hear it.” … The clarification post went up quickly. I paid to boost it, and it immediately went viral. In the dean’s office, I didn’t mince words. “Hello everyone, I’m Vivian Sterling. Regarding the recent online rumors, I have found the culprits: Kevin Tao and Fiona Bell from the sophomore design department. The full story and evidence will be posted online shortly.” “Rest assured, they will pay for what they’ve done.” Public opinion shifted instantly. With a little push from me, the narrative changed from outrage at me to sympathy for me in just a few hours. The tide had turned, and Fiona was now suffering the consequences of her own actions. I stopped reading the comments. I refused to be a victim. Now that I’d gotten my anger out, it was time to treat myself. …

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I followed a niche but incredibly heartwarming couple’s blog. It was a simple, intimate chronicle of a woman’s life with her boyfriend. The little moments. They’d bicker over sharing a single bowl of pasta, then laugh and call each other a child who’d never grow up. They’d hold each other tight under a canopy of stars on some remote hilltop, wishing time would freeze in that perfect moment. The blogger never showed her face, but her words created a world I fell in love with. Until yesterday, the day before my wedding, when the account updated one last time. 【A decade of love ends here.】 【From this day forward, he will be her husband. And I will only be her maid of honor.】 【This account will no longer be updated. Wishing my best friend, and the man she loves most, a lifetime of happiness.】 The accompanying photo was a picture of my fiancé and me, our backs turned to the camera. 1 The photo was from last week, at the bridal boutique. I remember Clara fussing with my veil, chattering away as she adjusted the delicate lace. In the mirror, her smile was wider and brighter than my own, as if she were the one about to walk down the aisle. “Zoe, you look stunning,” she’d said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Nathan is the luckiest guy on the planet.” Nathan was standing a short distance away, his head bowed over his phone. At the sound of his name, he looked up and offered us a warm smile. But even then, I sensed a flicker of something strained behind his eyes. “You’re exaggerating,” I laughed, taking Clara’s hand. “If you hadn’t dragged me here, I probably would’ve just bought a dress online.” “Absolutely not!” Clara’s eyes went wide. “My absolute favorite person in the world only gets one wedding! We can’t just ‘wing it’!” She turned to Nathan. “Isn’t that right?” Nathan pocketed his phone and walked over, his arm settling naturally around my shoulders. “Why would you ever do that? My Zoe looks beautiful in everything.” His eyes scanned my dress, full of admiration. “But this one… this one is perfect for you.” Just before we left to scout locations for the photoshoot, Clara snapped a picture of us from behind. The click of the shutter was loud in the quiet boutique. When I turned to look, she just smiled and said she wanted a candid shot for memory’s sake. The night before the wedding was my bachelorette party. I got utterly wasted, and Clara, as always, was there to take care of me. When Nathan arrived to pick me up, she was gently dabbing my forehead with a cool, damp cloth. “I’ve got her,” she told him, blocking the doorway. “This is her last night of freedom. The groom-to-be isn’t allowed to interfere.” Nathan just stood there, not making a move to come inside. His gaze was fixed on Clara, his expression unreadable, complex. I was slumped on the sofa, watching them through a drunken haze. “Nathan…” I murmured his name. Only then did his eyes shift to me. He crossed the room and gathered me into his arms. “Why’d you drink so much?” Clara laughed brightly. “She’s happy, of course! She’s getting married.” “Zoe said back in college that if she ever got married, she’d get completely hammered at her bachelorette party. Tonight, her dream came true.” I did say that, I remembered vaguely. We were watching some cheesy romance movie in our dorm room. We’d promised then and there that we would be each other’s maid of honor. That promise held, even after I started dating Nathan. He lifted me carefully into his arms. “Thanks for looking after her,” he said to Clara. “It’s my duty,” Clara’s voice dropped, suddenly low. “After all… this is the last time.” I was too drunk to catch the chilling finality in her words. It wasn’t until the next morning, when I woke up alone in my hotel room and saw the notification on my phone, that it all came crashing down. I groggily tapped on the post from the blog I followed. In that single, heart-stopping moment, the hangover pounding in my head vanished, replaced by a chilling clarity. 2 I’d found the account by pure chance. I was scrolling through my phone one night when the app suggested a local user to follow. The profile picture was a character from an anime I loved. Curious, I clicked. The account only had a few thousand followers. The latest post was from three days prior. It was a photo of a desk late at night, piled with work. The caption read: 【Working late again. He said he’d stay hungry with me, but ended up ordering us both takeout. That idiot.】 I found myself scrolling down, drawn in. 【He said I wasn’t eating enough and insisted on giving me the steak out of his own bowl. I told him I didn’t like it, and he just laughed and called me a picky kid.】 【Stargazing on the mountain tonight. He said he wished time could just stop right here. Me too.】 【Caught a cold, so he skipped work to take care of me. He can’t cook to save his life, but he tried to make me soup. It was burnt, but it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.】 … Reading through their story, my heart ached with a strange sense of longing. The quiet, ordinary moments, the tender details—it was the kind of love I had always dreamed of. I wanted to leave a comment, to wish them well, but comments were disabled. So I just hit ‘Follow.’ But now I knew. In every single one of their cherished memories, I was the oblivious third wheel. She said they had been in love for ten years. Nathan and I had been together for ten years. Clara and I had been friends for twenty. She moved in next door when we were ten. The first time we met, she had her hair in pigtails and handed me a strawberry lollipop. “I’m Clara,” she’d said. “We’re going to be friends now!” From grade school through college, we were inseparable. She knew all my secrets. She was there for every milestone. Sophomore year of college, I met Nathan. He was the star of the architecture department. The line of girls trying to get his attention stretched from the lecture hall to the athletic field. I was just… me. Plain, unremarkable. I never imagined he’d even notice I existed. “What are you afraid of?” Clara had encouraged me. “You’re the most brilliant girl in the Liberal Arts college. Want me to get his number for you?” Somehow, it worked. Nathan and I started dating. The first person I told was Clara. She spun me around in a hug, more excited than I was. “Yes! My girl finally got her man!” I know, in that moment, she was genuinely happy for me. There’s that joke online, that a best friend is like a second mother-in-law to a boyfriend. No matter how great he is, he’ll never be good enough for her precious girl. That was Clara. She was thrilled for me, but the first time she actually met Nathan, she looked at him like he was something she’d scraped off her shoe. Nathan and I were on a date at the campus dining hall. I’d done my makeup, picked a nice outfit. Clara had just pulled an all-nighter for a group project. She showed up with dark circles under her eyes, her hair greasy, wearing stained pajamas and flip-flops. She shoved past Nathan and plopped down next to me. He blinked, stunned, and moved to the seat across from us. Clara’s eyes raked over him, her face a mask of pure disgust. “This is him? Sweetie, I think I was wrong to be happy for you. Maybe you should reconsider?” She was merciless. Nathan’s face tightened. Later, when I asked him what he thought of my best friend, he just scoffed. “She’s… something.” I remember laughing and playfully hitting his arm. “She’s my best friend, and you’re the man I love. You two have to get along.” After graduation, Nathan and I rented a small apartment together. Clara was over constantly, crashing on our couch whenever it got too late. “You know,” she joked once, “with you two like this, it feels like I’m your adopted daughter.” Nathan would play along, putting on a stern fatherly face. “Alright then, sweet daughter, stop freeloading and go do the dishes.” The apartment was always filled with our laughter. I never imagined that our happy little world was a mirage, built on a foundation of lies. 3 I stumbled into the bathroom, splashing my face with cold water again and again, but the frantic pounding in my chest wouldn’t stop. Tomorrow was my wedding. The invitations were sent. The venue was booked. My dress was hanging in the closet. Everything was ready. My hand trembled as I tried to call Nathan. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer. I stared at the screen for a long time before, like a puppet on a string, my fingers dialed Clara’s number. The same automated message. The person you are calling is unavailable. My heart plummeted into a black abyss. I couldn’t understand. When they were together, hiding from me, enjoying their secret world… did they ever feel a single shred of guilt? Or was it just a thrill, the cheap high of a clandestine affair? I knew Clara was a travel blogger, documenting her every move across a dozen different platforms. And I knew people in social media always had countless alt accounts. I searched the hotel’s name, filtering by IP address, and scrolled through hundreds of posts. Finally, I found it. An account named OnlyTheUnlovedAreHomewreckers. The latest photo was of a man’s hands, the long, elegant fingers popping a bottle of champagne. On his wrist was the watch I’d given him for his birthday last year. It was Nathan. The caption was a single, devastating line: 【Stolen moments. Every second is a countdown.】 The comments were a mix of people cheering for their “true love” and others calling her out for being a homewrecker. Shaking, I clicked on the profile. This account was the polar opposite of the sweet, private blog. This one had over a hundred thousand followers, and it had been active for years. On this account, she had documented the story of the three of us. The very first post dripped with passive-aggressive venom. 【If I knew the campus heartthrob was this easy, I would’ve gone for him myself. Can’t believe my best friend actually pulled it off.】 【And she didn’t even tell me they were on a date. Did she have to make me show up in my pajamas with no makeup on, just so she could look better? So annoying.】 Someone in the comments joked, “Sounds like fake friends lol,” and she’d replied with a smirking emoji. When I got sick with the flu and Nathan came over to take care of me, she wrote: 【Someone’s a real princess. Just a little fever and she needs a babysitter.】 【A blessing in disguise, though. It gave him and me some time alone. She’s surprisingly good at creating opportunities for us~】 In the corners I couldn’t see, they had already built their own world. Clara posted: 【We both added each other on our private accounts without even discussing it. Is that what you call being on the same wavelength?】 Attached were screenshots of their chats, names blurred out. They talked about music, about their dreams—all the things Nathan thought were beyond my understanding. Clara was always there with the perfect compliment, the perfect validation. Talking to you is just so easy, he’d told her. For Valentine’s Day, Clara made him artisanal chocolates and mailed them to his office. She refused his offer of a gift in return, saying she didn’t want him to spend money on her. He was so touched. You’re such a special girl, he’d messaged her. They carefully maintained their plausible deniability. Every post came with a disclaimer, a nod to our friendship. He gave her a gift to thank her for taking care of me. He took her to dinner to test out a restaurant for my birthday. In her narrative, I was the spoiled, clueless girlfriend. The demanding princess. And under that flimsy cover, they reveled in the illicit thrill of their betrayal. 4 For Clara’s birthday, I bought her the limited-edition designer handbag she’d been coveting for months. The next day, she “ran into” Nathan at a coffee shop, carrying the new bag. She posted a selfie where he was “accidentally” captured in the background. She posted a photo from a movie we all saw together, of their hands secretly clasped over the armrest in the dark. The day Nathan proposed to me, Clara wrote a long, soul-baring post about her pain and her refusal to give up. 【Tonight, I need an answer,】 she wrote. 【If he loves me too, he can’t let this happen.】 She got her answer. That night, when she kissed him, Nathan didn’t pull away. They made a pact: one last wild, secret vacation together before the wedding. So Nathan told me he had to go on a week-long business trip. A wave of nausea washed over me. What overtime? What business dinners? All of it—all of it was just an excuse for their trysts. During that week, Clara’s blog was a flurry of activity. She was going to overwrite all of my memories with Nathan, she wrote, so that his future would be filled with nothing but her shadow. Like a form of self-torture, I watched every update. The same restaurants, the same hotels, the same hiking trails. The same scenery, but with a different woman by his side. I watched, first with the agony of a knife to the heart, then with a creeping numbness, and finally, with a strange sense of the absurd. I realized that once your heart truly dies, even hatred feels like a waste of energy. As dawn approached, I made a decision. The wedding had to be canceled. I opened my laptop and started drafting an email to our guests. Each keystroke was a fresh stab of pain. Ten years of love, twenty years of friendship, all turned to ash in a single night. Before I could hit send, my phone rang. It was Clara. “Zoe? Why are you calling so early?” Her voice was cheerful, completely normal. “You’re about to be the most beautiful bride in the world! You can’t be pulling an all-nighter.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Sensing something was wrong, her tone shifted to one of concern. “Zoe? Are you okay? Are you just having some pre-wedding jitters?” She continued, her voice laced with feigned indignation. “Where’s that idiot Nathan? Why isn’t he with you? Don’t tell me he’s not answering his phone again because of ‘work’.” “God, that boy. If you weren’t getting married tomorrow, I’d call him right now and chew him out for you!” The irony was suffocating. Just hours ago, she had posted her dramatic farewell, and now she was comforting me with the practiced ease of a devoted friend. “I’m… I’m fine,” I finally managed to choke out. “Just a little nervous. I suddenly wanted to hear your voice.” “…You silly girl,” she laughed softly. “Don’t worry. Everything will be perfect tomorrow, I promise.” “Right now, the only thing you need to do is get some sleep. I’ll handle everything else.” Suddenly, I heard a man’s muffled gasp from her end of the line. It was Nathan’s voice. I fought back the tears that were burning my eyes. “Clara,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm, “is there anything you’ve been hiding from me?” There was a beat of stunned silence on the other end, followed by a frantic, clumsy denial. “What are you talking about, Zoe? What’s wrong?” “Put your phone on speaker,” I said. Clara hesitated, but then I heard the tell-tale echo. “Clara. Nathan.” My voice was clear and steady, without a trace of a tremor. “I’m calling off the wedding.” “And I wish you two all the happiness you deserve.”

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In the tenth year of my marriage to Chris, I died in a car crash. After my death, I watched, invisible, as he calmly went to identify my mangled body. He handled the funeral arrangements with perfunctory efficiency, notifying relatives as if checking off a list. Worried I might linger and haunt him, he even hired a spiritualist to perform a cleansing ritual. Before even a week had passed since my death, he was living with Seraphina, the one that got away. It’s true that I had forced him into our marriage, but after ten years, I truly believed that he had grown to love me, at least a little. When I was reborn, the first thing I did was destroy our engagement. Before I could even process what was happening, I heard myself say the words. “You’re free.” 1 I was still reeling from the disorienting sensation of being a disembodied spirit, a ghost that could fly. Chris’s cold scoff echoed in my ear. “So, it was just a game after all.” “How many times have you pulled this stunt now?” A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I paled, steadying myself on a nearby chair. Chris watched me the entire time, his expression a mask of detached calm. “It’s not a game,” I managed to say. “From now on, you can be with whoever you want. I won’t force you to do anything ever again.” “This whole marriage alliance… it was a mistake.” Chris strode toward me, his fists clenched at his sides. “You promised your father would invest in my family’s company. Are you backing out now?” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “I knew it. You never stick with anything for more than five minutes.” At the mention of the investment, a flicker of anxiety broke through his composure. He stood before me like a wall, and the dizziness intensified, a queasy feeling rising in my stomach. I gave his shin a light kick. “Go get me a glass of ice water.” At my command, his expression instantly smoothed back into that familiar calm. As I took the glass from his hand, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. It was as if we were back in our home in my previous life. He’d just come home from work, and I was on the sofa, ordering him to wash fruit for me, demanding a leg massage while he was in the middle of cooking. I looked up and met his placid eyes again. I wondered, how did he manage it? How did he serve someone he didn’t love, sleep beside someone he didn’t love, for ten long years? A bitter taste filled my mouth. It must have been unbearable. I lowered my gaze and answered his question. “My family will proceed with the investment.” Chris’s father was a man of immense pride. His company, Keystone Foods, was built on quality and integrity, slowly earning a stellar reputation. But in this cutthroat era, staying afloat was a struggle, and the cost of modernization was massive. If my family were to pull our funding now, it would be a death blow. A man as proud as his father would never survive it. That was why Chris had endured it. He had endured me, giving up the woman he loved and submitting to my every unreasonable demand, all to repay that debt of gratitude. Even after his family’s company was back on its feet, he never broke his promise to me. For ten years, he took care of me to the best of his ability. He just didn’t love me. But now, there was still time to fix everything. “We’ll do it by the book. A standard investment contract, with dividends paid according to shares. I’ll even add a second round of funding if you run into any issues. Keystone is a good company. I grew up eating your snacks. There are no other conditions.” I took a deep breath. After all, for ten years, I had truly loved him. Pushing down the ache in my chest, I continued, “I was wrong to force you before. I won’t do it again.” I looked up, meeting his gaze. He stared back, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out. I stood and opened the door, turning my back to him to hide the stinging in my eyes. “This time,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, “I want to try with someone else.” When Chris left, his footsteps were hurried, almost frantic. He was probably afraid I’d change my mind. 2 Chris’s parents were deeply in love, and he was raised as a well-mannered, educated young gentleman. When I was a child, my father would often take me to visit their home, and Chris would always treat me with patient hospitality, never showing an ounce of irritation at my tantrums. It wasn’t until I overheard that he had followed his childhood neighbor, Seraphina, to Seaview University that I understood. All of his patience, his emotional stability around me, was simply the polite tolerance one shows a guest. Even someone as perfect as him had a love he couldn’t attain. Seraphina was beautiful and brilliant, but I wasn’t so bad myself. I was so naive back then. I thought that if I just had enough time, he would eventually fall in love with me. For ten years, we got along well enough, like any ordinary married couple, which created the illusion that we were in love. But not even a week had passed after my death before he was living with her. I was like the evil side character in a romance novel, the one who tears the main couple apart, only to receive my karmic retribution in the final chapter. I gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window at the blue sky and sparkling sea. Nothing felt better than being alive again. To prove my sincerity, I had my father complete the investment the very next day and formally dissolve our engagement. My father gave me a knowing look as he signed my name on the contract, making the investment officially in my name. Even he could see how I felt about Chris. I didn’t bother explaining. Neither family mentioned the engagement again. 3 Returning to university life was a strange adjustment. The campus was huge. Chris and I were in different programs—he was in finance, I was in art. It was perfectly normal that our paths wouldn’t cross. A full month went by without a single sighting of him. I’ll admit, it was unsettling at first. I threw myself into campus life to distract myself. I fed the stray cats. I joined the mountaineering club. I posted pictures of my sculptures and myself covered in clay. I went on sketching trips with my classmates. My roommates started a betting pool in our group chat, speculating on whether I had genuinely moved on or was just trying a new strategy. They had all witnessed my single-minded pursuit of Chris before. They debated freely, completely ignoring the fact that I was in the chat. I finally typed a reply. “So, what are the odds?” My roommate, Chloe, responded instantly: “Four to one… P.S: I’m the one.” Even though they all thought I would regroup and launch a new offensive, this time, I had truly given up. I placed a bet on myself moving on. My cousin, Leo Sterling, came looking for me. He rolled up in a flashy sports car, his hair bleached a shocking blond, and yelled my name at the top of his lungs outside the sculpture studio late at night. “Aria!” He lunged forward to sling an arm around my neck, then skidded to a halt when he saw I was covered in wet clay. “Heard you invested in Chris’s company, but now you’re avoiding him?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with gossip. “What’s the deal? Playing hard to get?” I shot him a withering glare. “Hard to get my foot!” I turned to go back inside, wanting nothing to do with him. We’d been close since we were kids, distant cousins thrice removed. He was a classic slacker, and his dad had shipped him off to study abroad. He was a frequent flyer, though, coming back more often than not. Leo stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How about this? I’ll help you kidnap him. You can tie him up and have your way with him.” I took a deep breath and turned back to him with a sweet smile. The next second, all the clay on my hands was transferred perfectly to his face. He let out a squeal like a pig being slaughtered. “Aria Thorne, I’m going to kill you!” As I dodged his attack, I glanced down the hallway and saw Chris standing at the far end, holding two cups of bubble tea. It was the first time I’d seen him since that day. Remembering that his beloved Seraphina had classes in this building, it all made sense. He shot us a cold look, scoffed, and turned away. “What’s his problem?” I muttered. Later, while we were at a hot pot place, Leo asked again about Chris. “I just don’t like him anymore,” I said. Leo’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean, you don’t like him anymore? Is it because of Seraphina?” I snatched a piece of tripe from his chopsticks and rolled my eyes. “You already know, so why ask?” Leo put on a look of profound grief. “My dear Seraphina… so she’s really going to be snatched away by that guy.” His words made my own heart ache a little. That night, the two of us, unlucky in love, drank ourselves into a stupor. My roommate Chloe, who was working a part-time job nearby, had to drag me home. The next day, she showed me a video of Leo and me belting out sad love songs in the middle of the street. She then used it as blackmail to get me to cover her shift for the debate club. She was juggling eighteen part-time jobs and was completely swamped. 4 I thought I would never cross paths with Chris again. I didn’t expect to see him at the debate club. He was organizing files on a shelf. He froze for a second when I walked in, then turned back to his task without a word. I felt a surge of awkwardness. He didn’t think I came here on purpose, did he? We worked in silence. I started cleaning up, just as Chloe had instructed. To be honest, it was a bit of a challenge for me. As I stood on a chair, cloth in hand, trying to reach the top of a window, the chair wobbled. I lost my balance and braced myself for the fall. The expected pain never came. A pair of searing hot hands gripped my waist, steadying me. My face flushed instantly. I was thrown back to my past life, after Chris and I were married. He was usually silent, reserved, and stoic. It was only in bed that he would become a different person, gripping my waist with a fierce possessiveness, his breathing heavy and ragged. His hands were always this hot. He wouldn’t speak, just work with a relentless intensity until my voice grew hoarse from begging, at which point he would finally relent, his attention shifting to my lips for a brief reprieve. I drifted for a moment. So, there had been times when it felt like love. “Get down.” His cold voice behind me pulled me from my reverie. I felt a pang of embarrassment. He probably thought I’d faked the fall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking deeply annoyed. Just as I was trying to figure out how to explain, my phone rang. I scrambled to answer it, eager to escape. It was Leo. He must have just woken up. “Aria, my little darling, for the sake of your happiness, your big bro is going to give it another shot!” My heart sank. A shot at what? I had a terrible feeling Leo was about to make a fool of himself. I rushed out to find him, and after circling the campus, I finally spotted him in front of the dorms. Chris had found him first. When I arrived, Leo and Chris were in a standoff. The scene was ludicrously over the top. The ground was blanketed in a sea of roses. Seraphina stood behind Chris in a white dress, looking completely bewildered. I approached slowly. I had to admit, the sight still stung. It was a delayed, creeping kind of pain. In my past life, not long after I forced Chris to marry me, Seraphina’s family went bankrupt. Chris immediately sent her abroad. I was happy at the time, thinking no one could get between us anymore. Looking back now, I realize he was probably just afraid I would persecute her now that she had nothing. He really did love her. Just like now. The grand confession was for Seraphina. But it was Chris who stood in front of her, shielding her, rejecting the advance on her behalf. Seraphina’s eyes were red. She tugged gently on Chris’s sleeve, shaking her head. Then, she saw me. She seemed to want to explain something, but after opening her mouth, she just lowered her gaze and said nothing. This scene felt familiar. I suddenly remembered my own afterlife. After my death, Chris brought Seraphina into our home. Leo had shown up then, too, causing a scene. He had pointed at Chris’s nose, screaming at him, accusing him of disrespecting my memory. I had floated beside them, trying to explain. “No, he didn’t cheat on me.” “I know what kind of man he is. He would never do that.” “I was the one who forced him.” “He didn’t wrong me. He can go back to his love.” “I was the one who wronged him all these years.” “Leo, I’m dead. He’s free.” But no one could hear me. That day had been the seventh day after my death. Back in the present, I walked toward them. Chris’s gaze fell on me, cold and hard. It was as if he were saying: Aria Thorne, you’re pathetic. Using Leo to get to Seraphina. Leo stood opposite him, his flamboyant hair looking limp and lifeless. Looking at the ridiculous display of roses and luxury gifts piled in his sports car, I grimaced. His taste was atrocious. Any normal girl would die of secondhand embarrassment. He must have had rocks in his head to come up with this plan. He seemed to realize it, too. He shot me a desperate look and whispered, “Help me.” “If my dad finds out I’m back in the country pulling this crap, I’m dead meat!” I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t ask for my help before you pulled this crap. It’s too late now.” “It wasn’t me!” he hissed. “I just wanted to give her some flowers! My idiot friends got wind of it and put all this together!” I glanced over and, sure enough, saw a few of his usual cronies whispering together. Seeing the growing crowd, Leo gritted his teeth. “Help me out of this, and I’ll steal my dad’s yacht for you. We can have a party. With male models.” I nodded instantly. “Deal.” I took the bouquet from Leo’s hand, turned to Seraphina, and put on my most lovesick expression. “Sera, I’ve admired you for so long! Do you like these Bulgarian roses, freshly flown in just for you?” Then, pretending to just notice Chris, I covered my mouth in shock. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you already had a boyfriend.” I feigned tears. “It seems I was one step too late. In the next life, I’ll be sure to come sooner!” Someone in the crowd muttered, “Wait, I thought Aria was chasing Chris?” Seraphina looked at me, confused. Crap. “It was a diversionary tactic!” I announced. “An attempt to weaken the enemy from within! It failed, so this was my last desperate gambit!” Nods of understanding rippled through the crowd. Seraphina’s expression was complicated, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I sighed dramatically. “My lady, you must be happy! My quest is over, and I shall retreat…” Leo clamped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry, she’s overcome with grief and talking nonsense. I’ll take her away to recover.” I was just getting into character and shot him a glare. Across from us, Seraphina reached out a hand, about to speak, but Chris clamped a hand over her mouth. And just like that, the two main parties of the confession were both silenced and dragged away. As we left, I glanced back. Chris’s eyes were dark and inscrutable. Seraphina stared after us, looking dazed. Leo and I ran for our lives.

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I was using the new smart fridge my husband, Julian, had just installed, trying to put together a shopping list for the weekend. Suddenly, a shared family account he’d forgotten to log out of popped up on the screen. It only had one other user profile, one I didn’t recognize. I tapped on it. A list titled “Rose Care Guide” was staring back at me. *Rose is allergic to shellfish, avoid spicy food.* *Rose gets emotional, buy her favorite white chocolate to calm her down.* *Rose gets cold easily, keep the thermostat set to a constant 78 degrees.* I scrolled down with a cold smile, my eyes landing on the last item, a bolded calendar reminder: **“Next Wednesday, take Rose to pick out a wedding gown.”** My face was a mask of calm as I closed the list and picked up my phone to call him. “Darling,” I said, my voice sweet, “does your Rose prefer a classic or modern wedding dress? I’d love to help you pick one out.” … On the other end of the line, my husband Julian’s breath caught for a fraction of a second. “Ava, what kind of joke is this?” His voice, the same warm, magnetic tone I’d known for eight years, was perfectly steady. “What rose? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He let out a low chuckle, his words dripping with practiced affection. “The only rose I have is you, sweetheart.” I clutched the phone, my eyes scanning the dark night outside the window as a smirk played on my lips. “The one from your shared list. The rose who’s going to be trying on wedding gowns.” His voice immediately relaxed, a hint of manufactured realization in his tone. “Oh, *that*. That’s for Mark. He’s getting ready to propose to his girlfriend, and he asked me to help him plan the wedding details.” “You know how he is, a total mess with this stuff. I’ll have to chew him out later for syncing his lists to my account and making my Ava jealous.” It was the perfect excuse. Mark was his best friend from childhood, the best man at our wedding. He was certain I’d never doubt it. “That’s just Mark for you,” he continued smoothly. “Always dumping his problems on me. I’m sorry he made you worry, honey.” “Is that so?” I asked lightly. “You two must be close if he needs you to help him choose his fiancée’s wedding dress.” Julian went right along with it. “You know it. We’ve been brothers since we were kids. Honestly, the way he spoils his girlfriend, I’m almost jealous.” “Ava, don’t overthink this. You’re the only one for me. Is your dress for the gala tomorrow night ready? I can have the driver pick it up.” “No need,” I said. “I’ve already made my own arrangements.” I ended the call, tossed my apron aside, and took a complete screenshot of the list. The lock turned. Not even fifteen minutes had passed before Julian was home. He walked in and immediately wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin in the crook of my neck. He smelled of the cool night air. “Ava, I was still worried. I cancelled the rest of my meetings and came straight home.” He cupped my face, his deep eyes filled with sincerity and concern. “Have I been too busy lately? Have I been neglecting you, letting your mind run wild like this?” “Your voice on the phone… it didn’t sound right. My heart just sank. No business deal is more important than you.” “It’s all my fault. I haven’t been thinking about your feelings these past few weeks.” He took all the blame, shouldered all the responsibility, painting me as the hysterical, paranoid wife seeing ghosts. I stared at the face I had once been so completely lost in, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “No, it’s not you. I think I’m just tired lately.” He let out a quiet, audible sigh of relief. “You silly girl.” He brushed his fingertip against my nose. “Alright, stop worrying. I’ll go run you a bath.” He shrugged off his custom-tailored suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. I watched him walk into the bathroom, then reached for the jacket to hang it in the closet. A thick, gold-embossed card fell out of the pocket. I picked it up. It was a collection voucher from a private couture atelier. The name of the custom gown was “Starry Night Rose.” The listed materials and labor hours indicated a price tag that was astronomical. At the bottom, in handwritten script, was the recipient’s information. It wasn’t me. And it wasn’t Mark’s fiancée. Clutching the thin card, I dialed my best friend, Zara. She was a shark—the top divorce lawyer in the city, with a network that was frankly terrifying. “Zara, I’m sending you a name and an address. Find out everything you can. I want to know her connection to Julian.” For the next few days, Julian was the picture of devotion. Kisses in the morning, embraces at night. He started driving me to and from work and even began looking up recipes, cooking elaborate meals for me. He was playing the part of the perfect husband, wracked with guilt over a near-misunderstanding and desperate to make amends. On Tuesday afternoon, Julian’s grandfather called. The old man asked about my health before changing the subject. “Ava, you and Julian have been married three years now. It’s time you started shifting your focus more toward the family.” “A man is in the prime of his career. He needs a supportive wife at home.” “Our Julian is a capable man, and he adores you. You need to make sure the home front is secure for him.” Every word was a nail wrapped in cotton candy. Not fatal, but it pierced deep. I gave a few noncommittal answers to get him off the phone. Julian walked in with a bowl of soup, sitting down next to me. “Grandpa giving you another lecture?” I nodded. He sighed, pulling me into his arms. “Don’t listen to him. He’s from a different era.” “You just do what makes you happy, Ava. I’ll support you no matter what.” He said all the right things. I nestled against his chest, inhaling the sour, rotten scent of fermented lies. On Thursday, Zara called. “I’ve got it all,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “The woman at that address is named Rose Miller. Twenty-three years old. She started at Croft Enterprises three months ago.” “She has that innocent, girl-next-door look. Calls him ‘Jules’ in front of everyone.” “And here’s the kicker. I had someone pull the security footage.” “The day before yesterday, Julian personally took her to the atelier. He was there for the entire fitting, helping her choose the style, watching them take her measurements.” An invisible hand squeezed my heart. Zara scoffed. “It gets worse.” “I got into her private cloud storage. The password was Julian’s birthday.” “It’s filled with photos of them together.” I hung up and opened the folder of photos Zara had sent me. Rose’s album was titled *My Knight*. The most recent picture was posted two days ago. *【J says this gown is all mine, just like he is.】* *【He’s going to give me the title I deserve at the family gala next week.】* The photo was of a breathtakingly beautiful gown, the exact same design as the one on the collection voucher. The fabric was a rare, one-of-a-kind silk that Julian had recently purchased at a high price from a master artisan—a bolt of fabric he told me was for my wedding anniversary gift. I scrolled down. *【On a night when I was falling apart, J drove across the entire city to be with me. He brought me my favorite white chocolate and held me all night.】* *【He said that from now on, he’ll never let me be hurt again.】* The photo was of Julian’s sleeping profile, his brow slightly furrowed, one of his hands tightly gripping Rose’s. The picture was taken in our bedroom. In our marital bed. The home I had poured my heart and soul into designing, a place filled with our memories. I scrolled again. *【My new car from J! He even had the interior customized in my favorite color! He said it’s my own private pumpkin carriage, and one day it will take me to a castle.】* The photo was a selfie of her in the driver’s seat, smiling at the luxury car logo on the steering wheel. It was the new car Julian had brought home last week. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, the screen shattering on the hardwood floor. I sank into the sofa, every ounce of strength draining from my body. Eight years. Eight years from high school sweethearts to husband and wife. All the promises he’d made, all the things he’d done for me, now felt like red-hot branding irons searing my heart over and over again. He said he loved me, yet he held another woman in our bed. He said he was in a late meeting, but he was comforting another woman’s fragile emotions. He said I was his only rose, but he had already prepared a wedding gown and a new title for someone else. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until I was dizzy. Why? What did I do wrong? Julian, how could you do this to me? My heart was torn to shreds, the pain so intense I couldn’t breathe. I leaned against the cold tile, crying until no more sounds would come out. And then, somewhere in the middle of the silent sobs, I started to laugh. I stood up and splashed cold water on my face. My pain wouldn’t earn his guilt. My tears were worthless. *You want to give her a title, Julian? Fine. I’ll help you make it a night to remember.* Just then, Julian pushed the door open. Seeing my state, his expression changed instantly. “Ava, what’s wrong? Why are you so pale?” He rushed over, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. I looked up at him, my eyes red and swollen from crying. “Julian, I don’t think… I can do this anymore.” He froze, his face a perfect mask of concern and heartache. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? We’re going to the hospital, right now.” He started to grab his coat. “No,” I said, grabbing his wrist. “It’s just… my heart. It feels so heavy.” Julian stopped. He knelt before me, taking my hands in his, his face a portrait of regret. “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so focused on work, I’ve completely ignored how you feel.” “Ava, listen to me. The business doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Only you.” “I’m clearing my schedule tomorrow. We’ll go to Aspen, just like you’ve always wanted. We’ll go see the snow. How does that sound?” He was so earnest, as if all my pain stemmed from his neglect, not his betrayal. I looked at him and, to his surprise, I smiled. “Okay,” I whispered. “Whatever you say.” The family gala next week was actually the Croft Foundation’s annual charity ball. The Crofts were one of the city’s founding families, and the event was a massive affair held at their sprawling country estate. As the most brilliant heir of his generation, Julian was naturally the center of attention. He looked impeccable in a tailored black tuxedo, moving through the crowd of socialites and billionaires with an easy smile. My mother-in-law, dripping in jewels, stood beside him, her face beaming with pride. His grandfather, the patriarch of the Croft empire, sat at the head table, leaning on a dragon-headed cane, his presence commanding the room. “Ava, come here.” The old man beckoned to me. I walked over, and he patted the empty seat beside him. “Sit.” “Tonight’s guests are all very important people. Don’t walk around with such a long face. People will think the Croft family mistreats you.” “Julian is out there building an empire. You need to learn to be the woman behind him. Be softer. More supportive.” “And another thing, it’s about time that belly of yours showed some activity!” His words were gentle, but they carried the weight of an order. I lowered my eyes and said nothing. He seemed ready to continue his lecture, but Julian appeared with a glass of champagne. “Grandpa, are you scolding Ava again?” He stood naturally behind me, resting a hand on the back of my chair and smiling at his grandfather. “Ava hasn’t been feeling well lately. I’ve told her to rest and not to worry about a thing.” He was always like this, flawlessly protecting me in public, giving me the ultimate appearance of respect. The old man grunted and turned to speak to someone else. Julian leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Don’t listen to him. I love you just the way you are.” I smiled, my gaze drifting over his shoulder, where I saw a face that had no business being here. Rose. She was wearing a pale pink slip dress, a white silk shawl draped over her shoulders. Her long hair was curled, her makeup was light and dewy, and her expression was a mixture of timidness and poorly concealed triumph. Her hand rested unconsciously on her lower abdomen. She was standing near one of Julian’s cousins, pretending to be his date. Julian’s eyes flickered in her direction. It was only for a second, but I saw it all: the joy, the possessiveness, the certainty of a man who believes he has won. Halfway through the evening, it was time for the old man to give his speech and announce the company’s major plans for the coming year. As the heir apparent, Julian was called to the stage. He took the microphone and began by reporting on the year’s successes. Then, his tone shifted. His eyes swept across the room before finally landing on me. “I want to thank my grandfather, my uncles, and all of our partners. But most of all, I want to thank my wife, Ava Croft.” Every eye in the room turned to me. “However,” he paused, “tonight, I must also announce a difficult decision.” His gaze finally moved away from my face, becoming cold and unfamiliar. “I, Julian Croft, will be seeking a divorce from Ava.” A wave of gasps and murmurs rippled through the hall. “What? A divorce?” “What’s going on? I thought they were the perfect couple.” “My God, announcing a divorce at the family gala? Is he insane?” His grandfather’s face darkened. He banged his cane on the floor. “Julian! What is the meaning of this nonsense!” Julian ignored him, his voice as cold as a tombstone. “This isn’t nonsense.” “Ava and I have irreconcilable differences. Our marriage has been over in all but name for years.” “For too long, she has been consumed by her own career, neglecting her duties to me and to this family. She has failed to provide the support and care that a wife should.” “That is, until I met a girl who is willing to put family first. A girl who is willing to build a home with me.” “And she is carrying my child. I have a responsibility to her, and I intend to give her the title she deserves.” He turned and extended his hand toward Rose. “Rose, come up here.” With tears streaming down her face, Rose lifted the hem of her dress and, in the dead silence, walked step by step onto the stage. She went to Julian’s side, and he pulled her into his arms. He bent his head, tenderly kissing a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered into the microphone. “I’m sorry you had to endure this.” Then, he looked up, his eyes fixing on me with the air of a judge delivering a sentence. “Ava, for the sake of the years we spent together, you can leave now with your dignity intact. We can keep this civil.” “I will provide you with a settlement generous enough to ensure you live comfortably for the rest of your life.” “But if you choose to make a scene, the only person you will humiliate is yourself.” He had planned it all perfectly. In this place, in this way, he would nail me to a cross of public shame. He wanted everyone to know that it was me, Ava, the barren wife, who was selfishly clinging to the Croft name. And he was just the victim, a man fighting for true love and the family he so desperately wanted. I looked at the two actors on the stage. I looked at the old man at the head table, his face shifting from rage to disappointment. And I smiled. Step by step, I walked onto the stage. I took the other microphone from the stunned emcee. In an instant, every camera, every pair of eyes in the entire estate, was fixed on me.

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At the end of the year, while closing the books, I noticed something was wrong. After pulling several all-nighters to fix it, I found the company account was off by a single cent. I spent another three sleepless nights re-doing the books from scratch, only to discover that the new secretary had been depositing one cent into the company account every single day. When I confronted her, she tearfully explained, “I just saw you staying late every night, struggling with the numbers, and I wanted to help.” My boss chimed in, “Vivian was just trying to be nice, Chloe. You don’t have to be so aggressive.” Under a chorus of accusations, I was branded a workplace bully. I was fired. Then Vivian started a livestream to smear my name online. I was tormented until I fell into a deep depression and took my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at my desk, staring at the accounting error. 1 Seeing that single, extra cent on the balance sheet again, my mouse met the desk with a sharp crack. I spun around in my chair, my voice echoing across the open-plan office. “Who the hell is depositing one cent into the company account every day?” I yelled. “Do you have any idea how expensive things are? Save that penny! Put it towards your own damn coffin!” Jaws dropped. My colleagues stared at me, frozen. It was the kind of collective shock that only happens when the quietest person in the room finally explodes. After a moment of stunned silence, Leo, a colleague, burst out laughing. “Chloe, who lit a fire under you? Struck out on another date? Don’t take it out on us!” Leo, with his three years at the company, fancied himself the office comedian. My failed attempts at dating were his favorite punchline. My face was a stone mask. “Was it you, Leo?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “It might only be a cent, but it throws off the entire financial statement. If the audit comes back messy because of this, none of us are getting a quiet holiday season. Do you understand?” I was exaggerating, I’ll admit. But the mere mention of accountability wiped the smirk right off his face. “Hey, not me, Chloe. Nothing to do with me.” I ignored him, my gaze sweeping across the room, meeting each person’s eyes. “Whoever did this knows exactly who they are. Don’t make me go through the transaction logs. I’ll give you three seconds to come forward and admit it. Otherwise, when this blows up, you’ll be the one who screwed over the entire company.” I had barely started my countdown when Vivian, the new secretary, burst through the door, flustered. “Chloe, I-I’m so sorry! It was me. I deposited the money.” As she apologized, she was already handing out coffees she’d brought with her. “I figured everyone was sick of the free stuff in the breakroom. My treat, don’t be shy!” It’s hard to stay mad at someone offering you a latte. As my colleagues took the cups, their expressions softened into smiles. “How much was it? I’ll Venmo you.” “You’re too much, Viv! You’re always bringing us coffee, I almost feel bad taking it.” “Vivian, you must be loaded. There’s no way your intern salary covers all this!” Vivian just waved her hand with a sweet smile. “It’s no fun drinking alone! It’s better when we all enjoy it together. And don’t worry about my wallet, it can handle it.” In less than a month, Vivian had won over the entire office with these small acts of generosity. She navigated the social currents like a fish in water. Leo took a sip of his coffee and shot a look in my direction. “You know, Vivian, if only everyone was as easygoing as you. Some people have been here five years and still haven’t managed to fit in.” Vivian blinked her wide, innocent eyes. “Who? Is it someone I know?” she asked, a masterclass in feigned ignorance. A few people nearby stifled their laughter. It was a scene that had played out a thousand times in my previous life. 2 On Vivian’s first day, Leo was assigned to show her the ropes. The two of them hit it off immediately, bonding over their shared hobby: making my life difficult. In my past life, when I discovered the accounting error, I worked myself into the ground for three days straight, nearly tearing my hair out trying to find the source. It was only then that I found Vivian’s daily one-cent deposits. When I confronted her, she broke down. “I just saw you staying up all night, struggling with the numbers,” she sobbed. “I wanted to help.” My colleagues all rushed to her defense. “She’s new, she’s still learning. Vivian is trying her best.” Even my boss, Mr. Harrison, stepped in. “Vivian was just trying to be nice, Chloe. You don’t have to be so aggressive.” And just like that, I became the villain, the office bully. The company used it as the perfect excuse to kick me to the curb. No severance package, and they even withheld my last month’s salary. Then came the online smear campaign. Vivian started a livestream, and my boss and former colleagues appeared as “witnesses,” confirming her stories. The “workplace bully” label stuck. At that exact moment, my mother, back in my hometown, fell gravely ill. She needed a huge sum of money for treatment, fast. But I had been doxxed. I sent out hundreds of resumes, and every single one vanished into a black hole. Without enough money, my mom missed the best window for treatment. She passed away. My father, lost without her, followed not long after. I was tormented into a deep depression, and I took my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at that long string of numbers on the screen, with that one extra cent at the end. And this time, I snapped. You either explode, or you die in silence. This life, I was choosing to explode. And I was taking Vivian, Leo, and the rest of those venomous people down with me. 3 After handing out the coffees, Vivian realized she was one short. She clasped her hands together and came over to my desk. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. Here, you can have mine.” I took her by the arm and gently pushed her down into my chair. “Here you go,” I said with a thin smile. “Whoever made the mess can clean it up. It’s time for you to learn about accountability.” Vivian stared blankly at the complex accounting software on my screen, her eyes welling up with tears. “Chloe, I’m an admin major… I don’t know how to do any of this…” “That’s okay,” I interrupted smoothly. “You can learn. Since you were so interested in our finances that you made daily deposits, I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time.” I stretched, cracking my back, and began clearing my personal items off the desk. Leo frowned. “Chloe, this is just bullying a new employee. You can’t just hand off important work like this. What if she messes something up?” He sounded so righteous. But I knew him for what he was: a professional pot-stirrer. And the best way to deal with someone like him is to drag them into the mud with you. I slid his chair over next to Vivian’s. “Leo, aren’t you Vivian’s mentor? This is a perfect opportunity for you to teach her. You two can figure out the problem together.” Vivian’s eyes reddened. “Chloe, I know you don’t like me,” she said, her voice trembling with manufactured strength. “I’m new, I haven’t even finished my probation, so I know I can’t fight back when you bully me. But Leo is a senior employee! He has his own work to do! How can you just dump your responsibilities on him? I can work overtime every day, but Leo has a child at home! He needs to be with his wife and kid. Can’t you just leave the people around me out of this? If you have a problem, take it out on me!” Her brave facade immediately earned her the sympathy of the room—and drew their ire towards me. “Chloe, you can’t just throw your weight around because you’ve been here longer. This is unfair to Leo and Vivian!” “Yeah, I can’t stand it! She just sits in the corner with that sour look on her face all day. You’d think the company owes her a million bucks. Such a killjoy.” “Everyone’s busy. Even the new girl has a ton on her plate. Now someone’s using that as an excuse to palm off her own work. What a slick move.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a faint smirk touch Vivian’s lips. In my previous life, I never would have irresponsibly handed my work to someone else. But I would never forget the ugly look on my boss’s face when he fired me for “bullying,” all to avoid paying me a proper severance. A company like that didn’t deserve another ounce of my energy. “Fine,” I said, my voice ringing with challenge. “Since you’re all so eager to defend them, you can do the work. I’ve worked nineteen straight days of overtime on these books. I nearly died from exhaustion. And it was all because she thought it would be ‘helpful’ to deposit a single cent every day, throwing everything off. I’m not a saint. I can’t just forgive someone for a stupid act that almost put me in an early grave. Don’t stand there talking. If you support them so much, come on over and help re-check the accounts!” I rolled up my sleeves, ready for a fight. “What is all this noise? Don’t you people have work to do?” Mr. Harrison, the boss, appeared, his face a thundercloud. Vivian’s eyes filled with tears. “Mr. Harrison, it’s all my fault. Chloe assigned her work to me as a sign of her trust in my abilities. I shouldn’t have refused.” The others immediately chimed in, painting a perfect picture of me as the villain who bullied the new girl. I waited patiently for them to finish. “You all mention me giving her my work, but why does no one mention the fact that she deliberately sabotaged my work by making daily deposits? This is a workplace, not her mommy’s house. When you make a mistake, you take responsibility and you fix it. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?” After getting the gist of the situation, Mr. Harrison reverted to his usual role of conflict-smoother. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. Chloe, I know you’ve been working hard. I’ll give you a half-day off sometime.” Three consecutive weekends of unpaid overtime, and this cheapskate offers me half a day. Before I could even react, Vivian jumped in. “Mr. Harrison, Chloe has worked so hard. Please give her more time off! I’ll cover her work while she’s gone!” The boss beamed, praising her as the most dedicated employee he’d ever seen. He didn’t miss the chance to throw some shade at certain “senior employees” with poor work ethics. Vivian smiled and turned to the others. “None of you need to come in this Saturday. It’s just sending out some materials to clients. I can handle it all.” The others made a show of refusing, but she persisted. “I’ve been interning for a month now! Think of it as a test. I want to prove myself. Please, just give me this chance!” Mr. Harrison waved his hand magnanimously. “Approved.” After he left, my colleagues swarmed Vivian, showering her with praise. Leo declared she was a literal angel. Vivian took out a small notebook and dutifully jotted down everything they needed her to do. She then circled back to my desk. “Chloe, do you still need my help checking the accounts?” she asked. Leo scoffed. “Help her? Be careful. If anything goes wrong, she’ll pin it all on you.” I looked at him calmly. “So, you won’t blame her?” Leo looked at me as if I were an idiot. “Of course not. She’s offering to help out of the goodness of her heart. Regardless of the outcome, you have to appreciate the gesture.” Mark, one of Leo’s buddies, chimed in. “Exactly. Not like some people who won’t even grab a package for you when they’re heading out.” Vivian looked so moved she could have cried. She swore to them all that she would do her absolute best. I had to suppress a laugh. A weirdo who had enough free time to deposit a cent into the company account every single day? I wasn’t holding my breath. Now, it was time for them to experience the full extent of Vivian’s “kindness.”

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