Category: English

1 My twin brother Ollie and I got into our sister’s alma mater. On move-in day, she drove him to campus and left me hauling my own heavy suitcases. I gripped my Finance acceptance letter tight, heart pounding with anticipation. My sister had always been my idol, and now I was finally catching up. When I reached the dorms, she had already unpacked for Ollie. They sat together on a bench in the campus quad. She told him she had spoken to the dean and moved him into my spot in the Finance program. She promised to introduce him to her old professors and pave the way for his future. That look of pure, easy affection had never once been aimed at me. Ollie smiled brightly and suggested I take his place in Vocal Performance instead. Years ago, I had thrown myself over my sister to shield her from a collapsing beam in a house fire. The damage left me reliant on a hearing aid for daily conversation. Studying music was impossible for me. She reached out and ruffled his hair, agreeing without hesitation. At that moment, the straps of my backpack felt like they were crushing me. If my entire future was worth less than a casual joke from my brother, then I no longer wanted this family. I pretended I hadn’t seen them and walked straight to the Finance department’s registration desk. The academic advisor took my acceptance letter, scanned it, and handed it back. But when he typed my ID into the system, his brow furrowed. “Your name isn’t in this cohort.” “Let me check the general directory. Ah, here you are. You’re registered in the Vocal Performance program. You need to head over to the Arts building to sign in.” I shook my head. “I’m not an arts student. My medical records clearly state I have a severe hearing impairment. It’s literally impossible for me to be admitted into Vocal Performance.” “Besides, my acceptance letter clearly says I am enrolled in the Finance department.” Growing up, I couldn’t even count the number of times I had to give things up for Oliver. When he decided he liked the floor-to-ceiling windows in my bedroom, my sister knocked down the wall to give him a massive master suite and moved me into the cramped maid’s quarters. When he wanted my limited-edition sneakers, my sister forced me to hand them over, even though I had worked double shifts all summer just to buy them. She always used the same excuse. “Felix, you used to be such a good, selfless kid. You literally saved my life in that fire. What happened to you? Why are you so bitter about sharing with your own brother?” Jasmine was the person I looked up to most in the world. I didn’t want her to look at me like I was a monster, so I swallowed the unfairness. Again and again. But this time was different. To get into this university’s Finance program, I studied from five in the morning until midnight for three straight years. While Jasmine took Oliver on a luxury vacation to the Maldives this summer, I stayed home teaching myself advanced calculus. I sacrificed too much for this. This time, I refused to back down. The advisor gave me a long, sympathetic look. “Give me a second. Let me call the admissions office.” Just as he picked up the phone, Jasmine and Oliver walked up. Jasmine instantly assessed the standoff. “Hi, I’m Felix’s older sister. He’s at the wrong desk.” “Oliver is the one in your Finance program. Just sign him in.” Jasmine clamped her hand around my wrist, dragging me backward. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Come with me right now. Stop making a scene and embarrassing us. I’ll explain everything later.” Embarrassing us. I repeated those words in my head. That was exactly how she had viewed me for years. Oliver got to attend high-society galas and corporate board meetings with her. I was told to stay home. On our shared birthday, Oliver got a massive, lavish party with hundreds of wealthy guests. I sat alone in the dark living room until midnight, waiting for them to bring back a half-eaten slice of leftover cake. “Felix, you can’t hear well in crowded rooms anyway. You never catch what people are saying. It’s better for you to just stay home.” I used to pretend I didn’t see the disgust hiding in her eyes. I convinced myself she was just being protective. But today, she finally shattered that pathetic little fantasy. I forcefully yanked my wrist out of her grip. “You and Oliver literally stole my university admission. Aren’t you the ones who should be embarrassed?” I took a few steps back, pulling out my phone to call the dean myself. I was going to fight for what was mine. The line connected. My heart pounded against my ribs. My lips trembled as I opened my mouth to explain what was happening. Suddenly, the entire world went violently silent. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my ear. Jasmine had snatched my hearing aid right out of my ear. A drop of fresh blood smeared across the plastic casing in her hand. The seconds on the call timer ticked by, but I couldn’t hear a single sound. The person on the other end eventually hung up. Jasmine furiously typed something on her phone and shoved the screen into my face. [I bought that hearing aid with my money. You are coming with me right now, and I will give it back to you.] [If you don’t, I am confiscating it. You won’t be attending any classes at all. You can go work a minimum-wage job until you can afford a new one yourself.] 2 I stared at her for a few agonizing seconds, then turned around and walked away. She didn’t care about my future, and I was done begging for scraps of her love. I wrote a simple message on a notepad. [Are you hiring? I am a hard worker and I will do anything.] I walked into every single store, cafe, and restaurant near the campus. I pointed to my ear, then handed the notepad to the managers. Every single one of them shook their heads. By nightfall, the storefronts went dark. I hadn’t eaten a single bite of food all day. Blisters had ruptured on my heels, making every step excruciating. Exhausted, I collapsed on the concrete steps of a closed diner, leaning my head against the cold brick wall. Suddenly, the warm, savory smell of fresh food wafted over me. I looked up. It was the woman who ran the breakfast cart down the street. I had shown her my notepad earlier that afternoon. She pressed two warm breakfast sandwiches into my hands, followed by her glowing phone screen. It was a text thread with Jasmine. [My brother, Felix, is deaf. If he comes looking for a job, turn him away immediately.] [Do not serve him food, do not rent him a room, and do not offer him any help.] The woman typed a new message for me to read. “Your sister owns the commercial real estate on this entire block. She sent that warning to every single business owner. We are all just trying to make a living, kid. No one dares to cross her.” “I waited until it was completely dark to sneak you this food. Please, don’t let your sister find out.” I nodded slowly. Terrified of being seen, the woman hurried away. I took a slow, mechanical bite of the sandwich. When my sister stole my college admission, I didn’t cry. When she ripped out my hearing aid and forced me to wander the streets in silence, I didn’t cry. But right now, reading a few words of kindness from a total stranger, my eyes burned. The tears spilled over, and I couldn’t stop them. Eventually, I curled into a tight ball on the concrete and fell into an exhausted, feverish sleep. I didn’t know how much time had passed when a heavy fist slammed directly into my cheekbone. I jerked awake. A group of street thugs stood over me, cruel grins twisting their faces. Their mouths were moving, but I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. I scrambled to my feet and tried to run. But my blistered feet betrayed me. Before I made it ten yards, a hand grabbed the back of my collar and violently hurled me to the pavement. They pinned me down. Fists rained down on my face and stomach, blurring my vision. Just as I was about to pass out from the pain, they suddenly stopped and backed away. I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to stay conscious. I forced my swollen eyes open. Jasmine was standing right in front of me. She was wearing a sleek, tailored black trench coat, looking utterly immaculate and aristocratic. She stared down at me with a faint trace of disgust in her eyes. A suffocating wave of humiliation washed over me. I felt like an absolute clown. Jasmine waved her hand, and the thugs immediately lowered their heads and scurried away into the alley. I understood instantly. She hired them to beat me. Jasmine sighed heavily. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the dirt and blood off my cheek. Then, she pushed a new hearing aid into my ear. “I accidentally broke your old one this morning. I bought you a replacement. It’s a top-tier import.” “I didn’t know your exact ear mold measurements, so I just used Oliver’s. You guys are twins anyway.” The earpiece didn’t fit. It was too big, digging painfully into the cartilage of my ear. But it worked well enough for me to hear her voice. “Look at yourself. You’ve been gone for twelve hours and you already look like a stray dog.” “Come home with me, Felix. Tomorrow, you are going to register at the Arts building.” “I will pull some strings and explain your disability to the professors. They won’t make things too hard on you.” 3 She thought I was finally broken. She thought I was ready to submit. Instead, I tilted my head up, looked her dead in the eye, and spoke clearly. “And what if I say no? Are you going to hire more thugs to beat me?” Her eyes darkened. She didn’t say a word. Her silence was a yes. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “Jasmine, I never understood why you played favorites.” “Oliver and I are both your brothers. I literally saved your life in that fire…” “Enough.” Jasmine cut me off, her face turning ice-cold. “Stop bringing up ancient history like I owe you my life. It was years ago.” “Oliver is bright, cheerful, and he knows how to make me laugh. He brings life into our house. Of course I favor him.” “Unlike you. You just skulk around the house wearing that hearing aid, trying to make me feel guilty. You are so manipulative for your age.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Our parents moved overseas to expand the business right after we were born. To me, Jasmine was my only real family. During the fire, I didn’t hesitate for a single second before throwing my body over hers. When the doctors told me my hearing was permanently gone, I was so terrified of making her sad that I voluntarily moved to a boarding school. I only called to share good news, hiding all my struggles. I only went home during winter and summer breaks. I never imagined she despised my presence that much. She harbored a deep, irrational resentment toward me. No matter what I said, she would only see it as a manipulation tactic. I nodded, accepting the reality. “Fine. I understand.” “I’ll buy a bus ticket out of state tomorrow. I’ll get as far away from you as possible.” “Felix, why do you have to be so incredibly unreasonable?!” Jasmine snapped. She opened her mouth to yell at me again, but her phone suddenly rang. The moment she looked at the screen, the ice in her eyes melted into pure warmth. “Hey, Ollie. How was your first day? Are you settling in okay?” “If any of your classes are too hard, just call me. I can help you.” Oliver’s voice chirped happily through the speaker. “Don’t worry, Val! Everyone knows I’m your brother. Nobody dares to mess with me.” “I just got to the penthouse you bought for me near campus. Can you bring me a slice of strawberry shortcake? I want a midnight snack.” Jasmine laughed, the sound dripping with affection. “You greedy little pig.” “Give me ten minutes. I’m on my way.” Oliver continued to whine and act cute, and Jasmine happily indulged him. I sat on the cold pavement, completely alienated from this picture-perfect family dynamic. I started to push myself up to leave, but then I heard Oliver casually drop a question. “By the way, how is Felix doing in the Vocal Performance program?” Jasmine frowned and glared at me. “He isn’t nearly as obedient as you. He threw a tantrum and ran off this morning.” Oliver had always been perfectly obedient to Jasmine. Because everything she ever demanded of him only benefited him. Oliver let out a theatrical sigh. “I just wanted to build his character and test his resilience.” “If he actually manages to become the deaf Beethoven of our generation, at least he won’t be a total embarrassment to the family anymore.” Oliver’s grades were terrible. He had to rely on Jasmine’s money just to get accepted into the Arts program. But he desperately wanted the prestige of the Finance industry. Yet he spun his selfish theft into a noble sacrifice for my own good. A cold laugh escaped my throat. “I have zero musical talent.” “I got into the Finance program based on my own academic merit. If you actually cared about my future, you would give me my rightful spot back.” 4 “Felix!” Jasmine roared. She hung up the phone, her eyes blazing with absolute fury. “Are you doing this just to spite us?!” “Fine. Great. Since you think you can fly on your own, I will personally blacklist you from every single university in New York. I will blacklist you across the entire country.” “Let’s see how far an uneducated, deaf high school graduate can make it in the real world.” She held out her hand, her palm facing up. “If you have any backbone at all, give me back everything I bought you.” I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the oversized hearing aid out of my ear and dropped it into her palm. The world plunged back into dead silence. But I didn’t regret it. She had already stolen my university admission. If I stayed, she would slowly strip away everything else I earned just to feed Oliver’s ego. Being deaf and broke was better than being their personal blood bag. I turned to walk away, but Jasmine stepped in front of me, blocking my path. She furiously typed a sentence on her phone. [The clothes on your back were bought with my money too, weren’t they?] They weren’t! Every time I came home for the holidays, she would give Oliver a massive allowance. “Felix is finally home! Go buy whatever clothes you want,” she would say. “But Felix, your hearing makes it hard for you to talk to the cashiers, and Oliver has a much better fashion sense. Just let Oliver buy things for you.” But the second Oliver walked into a mall, he spent every last dime on designer sneakers for himself. He completely forgot I existed. Or rather, he knew that even if he ignored me, Jasmine wouldn’t punish him. So he did whatever he wanted. I was so terrified of being a burden that I never complained. I just used my academic scholarship money to buy my own cheap clothes from thrift stores. I raised my hands to sign the truth to her. But she refused to look. She rolled her eyes impatiently, looked down at her screen, and typed one word. [Strip.] Every ounce of strength drained from my body. Jasmine shot a look to her bodyguards, and two massive men stepped out of the shadows, cornering me. Her message was clear. Strip, or don’t leave at all. My hands trembled as I took off my shoes. Then my jeans. Then my t-shirt. I stood in the alleyway in nothing but my boxer briefs. The cold night wind bit into my exposed skin. A sudden icy sensation ran down my cheeks. I raised a hand and realized I was crying. Silent, uncontrollable tears were streaming down my face. I reached for the waistband of my underwear, but Jasmine suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. Her entire body was shaking. Her eyes were bloodshot. She ripped off her own designer trench coat and threw it over my bare shoulders. Her lips formed a single, harsh word. I couldn’t hear it, but reading her lips, it looked a lot like “Leave.” I didn’t argue. I pulled her long coat tight around my body and walked away. The coat fell past my knees, hiding enough so that people wouldn’t think I was a naked lunatic escaping an asylum. I walked all the way to the bus terminal, leaving bloody footprints on the concrete. Jasmine had already frozen every single bank account tied to my name. So I downloaded a predatory payday loan app on my phone, borrowed a thousand dollars at an insane interest rate, and bought a one-way ticket to London. It was an ocean away. Jasmine couldn’t touch me there. I was going to build a new life with my own two hands. That night, Jasmine didn’t sleep a wink. She kept checking her phone, desperately hoping for a text from me. She couldn’t understand why her perfectly obedient, docile little brother had suddenly rebelled. With their family’s wealth, she could have guaranteed both her brothers a life of luxury, regardless of their majors. After hesitating for hours, she finally called her head of security. “Find my brother immediately. He can’t hear, which makes him incredibly vulnerable. Put eyes on him, but stay in the shadows.” “Yes, ma’am.” But five minutes later, the security chief called back. His voice was laced with panic. “Ms. Jasmine, Felix is no longer in the United States. We are still trying to track his final destination…” “What?!” Jasmine shot up from her chair, the blood completely draining from her face. 5 After a grueling international flight, I landed in London. The city was damp and freezing, the air thick with the smell of the River Thames and exhaust fumes. After paying for a cheap hostel, my payday loan left me with exactly thirty pounds. If I ate nothing but instant noodles, it would last me two weeks. Without a hearing aid, my world was completely silent. But there was a deep safety in that silence. There were no harsh lectures from Jasmine, no manipulative whining from Oliver. The toxicity had receded like the tide. I spent three days looking for a job. I walked down street after street, getting rejected by every single pub and retail shop. No one wanted to hire a deaf teenager. Eventually, I saw a flyer pinned to a community board. A wealthy family was looking for a private A-Level math tutor. Thirty pounds an hour. I went to a local library and printed ten copies of my high school transcripts. Top 0.1% in the state. Perfect scores in advanced mathematics. A mother texted me almost immediately. Her daughter, Chloe, was failing math right before her university entrance exams. The mother typed a question on her phone when we met. “You can’t hear. How are you going to teach her?” “I write fast,” I typed back. “I will write out every single step until she understands the core concept.” She agreed to a one-week trial. Every morning at seven, I took the Tube to their flat in Camden and sat in their living room for six hours. I used a pencil and blank printer paper. I broke down complex calculus equations line by line. I derived the formulas, erased them, and wrote them again. I didn’t stop writing until Chloe smiled and gave me a thumbs up. One afternoon, her mother recorded a video of our session and posted it in a parent group chat. That night, I received forty new messages requesting my services. My schedule exploded. I went from tutoring one kid to three kids a day. I took the train across London, from Soho to Greenwich. I carried a bottle of tap water and a pack of plain biscuits in my backpack for my daily meals. In two weeks, I saved up twelve hundred pounds. I went straight to an audiologist clinic in Central London and bought a mid-range hearing aid. It wasn’t a luxury import like the one Jasmine bought, but it worked perfectly. The world flooded with sound again. I felt like a whole human being. The next morning, I walked onto the campus of London University. I didn’t have an appointment. I just sat on a bench outside the admissions office for four hours. Eventually, an older man in a tweed jacket noticed me and asked what I was doing. I handed him my portfolio and clearly explained my situation. “I don’t have the money for international tuition. But I have perfect test scores. You can test me right now if you want.” The man was Professor Chen, the Vice Dean of the Mathematics department. He looked over my transcripts, then read my audiology report. He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he asked me why I traveled across the ocean all by myself. I thought about it for a second. “Because my family didn’t want me anymore.” Professor Chen didn’t pry. He took me inside and spent the entire afternoon discussing my case with the admissions board. The next morning, I received an email. “Given Felix’s exceptional academic record and extenuating circumstances, the university board has unanimously agreed to grant a full-tuition scholarship for the four-year program, alongside guaranteed on-campus employment.” I stared at the glowing screen. Tears spilled over my eyelashes, hitting the keyboard and blurring my vision.

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

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

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

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

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At eighteen, I walked in on Ned fastening a scholarship girl’s bra strap. The young man looked incredibly solemn, his clumsy fingers fumbling with the clasp in a hesitant, awkward rhythm. At twenty-six, following family arrangements, I married Ned. But everyone in our elite circle knew he kept a portrait of that scholarship girl locked away in his study. In our third year of marriage, I asked for a divorce. He was silent for a long time before signing the agreement. “If you ever need help in the future, just ask.” Later, I walked into a gala on the arm of my new law firm partner. My childhood friend teased us, noting that during the college debate tournament we were at each other’s throats, yet now we were walking hand in hand. Late that night, Ned’s number lit up my screen for the first time in months, his message reading: “Did you insist on taking that waterfront penthouse back then because you could see his law firm from the window?” 1 Outside, a bitter winter wind rattled the glass, but the penthouse remained cozy and warm. Across the room, Ned sat on the sofa, his tailored suit immaculate, his lean frame casting a long shadow under the dim lights. His face was just as sharply defined as it had been when we were eighteen, but the fresh cut near his temple ruined the symmetry. Only an hour ago, I had received a call from the local police precinct. Ned had gotten into a fight. When I arrived at the station, a woman was cupping his face, gently dabbing ointment onto his wound. I recognized her instantly. It was Penny, our old high school classmate. Seeing me enter, she flinched like a startled bird, pulling her hand back in panic. Ned immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my view. His eyes flashed with cold irritation as he looked at me. “She is easily frightened,” he said, his voice clipped. “Don’t scare her.” I said nothing. Turning on my heel, I followed the officer to sign the release papers. By the time the paperwork was finalized and I walked back, Penny was already gone. On the drive home, Ned did not say a single word to me. His entire focus was on his phone. He spent the journey whispering sweet, reassuring words to the woman on the other end of the line. I had never seen him like this. His eyes were soft, protective, and entirely devoted. Every ounce of his patience was being poured out for Penny. It was in that quiet car, listening to him comfort another woman, that the thought of divorce first crossed my mind. 2 If people considered Ned and me to be childhood sweethearts, then Penny was the one who got away, the tragic muse he could never truly possess. We had all met in high school. Unlike the rest of our privileged circle, Penny was a scholarship student. She was beautiful, brilliant, and possessed an infectious, hardworking optimism. The moment she transferred into our class, she caught Ned’s attention. At first, I thought his interest was just a passing phase, a wealthy boy amused by a novel plaything. That was until the day Penny was falsely accused of stealing the class funds. A group of girls had dragged her into the restrooms to corner her. By the time I heard the rumors and rushed over, the bullies had already left. The empty restroom was dead silent, save for Penny, who was shivering in the corner, her shirt torn open. I pulled off my coat, intending to go in and help her, but before I could take a step, Ned walked out from one of the stalls. He was holding Penny’s jacket. Penny kept her back turned to him, her voice thick with tears. “Just leave. If anyone sees you here, we will never be able to explain it.” “Then we won’t explain it,” Ned replied softly. “Just put your jacket on first.” After a tense silence, she relented. But for some reason, she struggled to fasten her bra strap with her trembling hands. Without a second thought, Ned stepped in. “Let me.” His expression was incredibly solemn, his fingers clumsy and hesitant as he fumbled with the clasp. When he finally got it secure, I saw the tips of his ears turn a deep, burning crimson. When he turned around, his eyes met mine. A flash of panic crossed his features, but he quickly composed himself and walked toward me. “You’re just in time,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Go help her.” He walked out, but paused at the door to look back at me. “Keep this between us. Please.” I promised him I would. Yet, by that very afternoon, photos of Ned helping Penny dress had circulated through the entire school. Ned was convinced I was the one who leaked them. That day, he lost his temper with me for the first time. “Andrea, don’t think just because my parents back you, I won’t do anything to you,” he snarled. “You are their choice for a wife, not mine. No one dictates who I marry.” I pressed my lips together, refusing to let my voice shake. “Whether you believe me or not, I had nothing to do with this.” He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You were the only one there. If it wasn’t you, who else could it be?” “It wasn’t me!” I shouted back, my stubborn pride refusing to back down. “Why would I even make up such a rumor?” “Because you’re jealous that she’s with me.” My mind went entirely blank. I stared at him, unable to process his words. “Since… since when?” I whispered. He looked at me with cold amusement. “I saw her intimate side. Naturally, I have to take responsibility for her.” “But what about us?” He cut me off, his impatience cutting through me like a knife. “Andrea, you didn’t actually think that just because I looked out for you over the years, I loved you, did you?” I felt as though I had been plunged into a frozen lake, my limbs too numb to move. That night, Ned’s family found out about his relationship with Penny. His father dragged him to our house to force an apology. But Ned stood tall, his jaw set in defiance as he muttered words that nearly drove his father mad: “If you love Andrea so much, why don’t you marry her yourself?” That earned him a brutal beating from both families. Back then, Ned was too young to understand how the world worked. He didn’t realize that I had been groomed to be his wife since childhood. As the sole heir of his family’s empire, he never had the luxury of choice. And so, in the end, he still married me. Shortly after the photo scandal, Penny transferred to another school. Once graduation was over, Ned was packed off to study abroad, staying away for eight long years. When he returned to take over the family business, the boyish warmth was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating gravity. He came to me and proposed. “Since we are both still single, we might as well get married,” he said. I knew I couldn’t escape an arranged marriage. Marrying someone I had known my whole life seemed like the safest bet. It was only later that I discovered Ned had gone to find Penny the very day he landed. But Penny had too much pride. She rejected him. His proposal to me was nothing more than a childish act of retaliation against her. 3 “I have to go out. Go to sleep without me.” Ned’s voice pulled me back to the present. He stood up, adjusting his coat as he spoke into his phone, his tone softening instantly. “Don’t be scared. I’m on my way now. They won’t dare touch you. Lock the door and wait for me.” I stood up from the sofa. “It’s late. Do you really have to go?” He paused for a fraction of a second, but did not look back. “Something came up. I will be back very late.” Before he could reach the door, I called out his name again. He stopped, his shoulders tense with annoyance. “What is it now?” “Ned,” I said quietly, “let’s get a divorce.” Anger flared in his eyes. He turned to face me, trying to keep his temper in check. “What kind of game are you playing now?” “Penny had a major scare tonight,” he continued, as if explaining things to a difficult child. “She has no friends or family in this city. She only has me to rely on.” I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “And relying on you means you have to visit the club where she works every single day to defend her honor?” “The great CEO of the family empire, getting into a fistfight over a waitress and ending up at the police station. Is that what you call helping?” Ned’s lips thinned into a hard, dangerous line. His dark eyes held a silent warning. “I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight.” He paused, adding coldly, “It had better not have anything to do with you.” The accusation felt like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, freezing the blood in my veins. For the past three years of our marriage, Ned had never lost his temper with me. He had been polite and distant, leading me to believe he had finally moved on and wanted to build a life together. Now I realized it was all a delusion. I suddenly remembered the locked drawer in his study. He had hand-painted a portrait of Penny, a fact he never hid from anyone, not even his family. His grandfather had been so furious that he forced Ned to hang our wedding photo in the study instead. But Ned simply locked Penny’s portrait away. At this moment, I finally understood. He had never surrendered. He was just fighting his family in his own silent, stubborn way. The wind howled outside. The balcony door in the dining room was slightly ajar, letting in a sudden draft that made me shiver. Right then, a sharp, terrified scream echoed from Ned’s phone. In an instant, the cold composure on Ned’s face crumbled, replaced by absolute panic. He bolted out the door, his voice laced with desperate fear. “Penny, don’t scream! I’m ten minutes away! Don’t open the door for anyone!” The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the last of his warmth. He didn’t return that night. I sat on the sofa alone, watching the darkness fade into dawn. As the morning light filled the room, my phone buzzed with two messages. The first was a photograph of Ned and Penny walking side by side into a luxury hotel. The second was a text: “Divorce him. Choose me instead, okay?” I scrolled up to see three previous, unanswered messages from the same sender: Andrea, I’m back. Whenever you need me, I’m here. Do you really love him that much? Why can’t you love me instead? My eyes burned. I blinked back the tears and quickly typed a response: “Okay.” 4 Ned finally returned the following afternoon. He had changed into a brand-new suit, a mid-range label he would normally never glance at. He looked clean and put-together, without even a trace of women’s perfume on his collar. But the vivid red mark on his collarbone was hard to miss. No one would believe he and Penny had spent the entire night and morning in a hotel room doing nothing. Perhaps out of guilt, he had brought me a gift. “I’m sorry,” he said, placing the box on the table. “I lost my temper yesterday. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” I didn’t look at the box. Instead, I pulled the pre-prepared divorce agreement from the drawer and slid it across the table to him. “Take a look. If everything is in order, sign it.” Ned’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Just because I helped an old classmate? Is this really necessary, Andrea?” He let out a sigh of disbelief. “When did you become so petty?” I ignored his remarks. “Our prenuptial agreement already keeps our individual assets separate. We will split the joint liquid assets down the middle. As for the real estate, I only want the waterfront penthouse.” Ned finally sat up straight, his gaze turning sharp and analytical. After a long silence, he let out a cold laugh. “Is this your new strategy to get my attention?” He didn’t believe me. He thought this was just another dramatic ploy to make him chase me. It made sense. The family name carried immense weight in our social circles, and countless wealthy families dreamed of marrying their daughters into his house. In his mind, I had absolutely no reason to give up my status as his wife. But the truth was, I had wanted to give up a long time ago. It had happened on a very ordinary evening. Ned had returned home dead drunk after a business dinner. When I went to help him to bed, he had pushed me away, his voice dripping with venom. “Andrea, your love makes me sick.” I had frozen in place, a dull, aching pain blooming in my chest. I distinctly remembered a time when he did love me. During our freshman year of high school, we weren’t in the same classroom, but our doors faced each other across the hallway. When a minor earthquake shook our city, the tremors were terrifyingly strong. Ned had been the very first to run out of his classroom, straight into mine. He had thrown his jacket over my head and literally dragged me down the stairs to safety. There was no real damage from the quake, and my only injury was the dark bruise his tight grip had left on my wrist. His friends had teased him for weeks, saying I was his most prized possession, and joking that we should just get married on the spot. I thought Ned would be annoyed, but he had simply looked at them and said, “We will get married.” “Don’t speak too soon, man. We’re years away from the legal age,” his buddy had laughed. But Ned’s eyes had been deadly serious. “If she isn’t the one standing beside me at the altar, don’t any of you bother showing up.” When we did get married, all his childhood friends had attended. But what was the point of those memories now? 5 Believing I was merely playing hard to get, Ned sat back and watched me with cool detachment. In the past, whenever we had a disagreement, I was always the one to back down and apologize. He expected this time to be no different. He had no idea that my mind was completely made up. I pulled the document toward myself, picked up a pen, and under his dismissive gaze, flipped to the final page. I signed my name without a single second of hesitation. I slid the pen over to him. “Your turn.” The realization finally dawned on him. The dismissive look vanished from his eyes, replaced by a heavy, dark gravity. “Are you serious about this?” I glanced at my watch. “If we leave for the courthouse now, we can still make the final appointment of the day.” He remained silent, his dark eyes searching my face for any sign of a bluff. Finding none, his expression hardened. “Fine. Let’s do it.” He snatched the pen and signed his name. Just before he finished, his hand paused. “My grandfather’s eightieth birthday is next month. I don’t want the family knowing about the divorce until after the celebration.” “Agreed,” I said. I stood up and dragged my pre-packed suitcase out from the corner of the room. “Andrea,” he said, his voice losing some of its harshness. “You can continue staying here.” “There’s no need.” If we were parting ways, there was no point in lingering. “If you ever need help with anything in the future, just ask,” he added. I didn’t answer. As I reached the foyer, he quickly caught up to me. “I’ll drive you.” “No need. Someone is already waiting for me.” Downstairs, a tall, commanding figure stood under the warm glow of the streetlight. The moment he saw me, he took long strides toward me and naturally took the handle of my suitcase. Once we were settled in the car, I turned to the driver’s seat to look at the sharp, aristocratic profile of the man beside me. “Nate,” I said softly, “give me one month.” Nate let out a low, gentle laugh. He leaned over, his cologne filling the small space as he buckled my seatbelt for me. “A month is nothing,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine. “I can wait.” 6 Nate and I had been classmates in law school. We were both top of our class, constantly competing, constantly pushing each other. We had first truly noticed each other during a major varsity debate tournament. The motion that day was: If you had the superpower to force the person you love to love you back, would you use it? Nate was on the opposing side, and I was on the affirmative. It was a fierce, passionate debate, but in the end, my team took the victory. After the round, he had stopped me in the corridor. “If I had that power, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it.” Young and arrogant as I was back then, my reply had been sharp and biting. “Then you don’t deserve to be loved.” Nate had stared at me for a long time before speaking. “I love her, but I also respect her. As long as I don’t give up, she will eventually see me.” I had smiled mockingly. “So even the brilliant Nate has someone he can’t have?” He hadn’t answered, only keeping his quiet, intense gaze on me. Later, our roles in the student council forced us to work together constantly. Every meeting was a clash of wits, but over those four years, a deep, unspoken bond had formed between us. On the night of our graduation, he had invited me out for drinks, and I had accepted. He asked me about my plans for the future. I had joked, “What else is there for someone like me? I’ll marry some suitable bachelor, have kids, and secure some long-term partnership for my family’s firm.” Nate had looked at me with absolute sincerity. “Can you wait for me? Give me five years. Just five years, okay?” The bar had been too loud, and I had pretended not to hear him. But the moment I drained my glass, Nate had leaned in and kissed me. I had panicked and fled. It wasn’t because of his boldness, but because of the terrifying realization that I had leaned into the kiss and wanted more. The sudden loss of control had frightened me. I had turned off my phone and cut contact for a week. By the time I turned it back on, I found out Nate had already left the country to pursue his master’s degree. He had stayed abroad for four years. By the time he returned, I was already another man’s wife.

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In the middle of the zombie apocalypse, I found myself a massive, dim witted bodyguard. He possessed the strength of a god and the obedience of a golden retriever. He spoiled me rotten, letting me play the absolute worst kind of pampered princess. Just as I threw away the dry ration bar he had risked his life to find, whining that I wanted a strawberry shortcake instead, a stream of floating text suddenly materialized in my vision. [Look at this chick treating the future Zombie King like a stray dog.] [Benjamin is just in his evolutionary phase. His mind is foggy, and he’s mistaking this toxic girl for the sweet kid who lived next door to him growing up.] [Joke’s on her. Benjamin has been secretly in love with the actual female lead for years. Once he finishes mutating tonight and gets his sanity back, he is absolutely going to tear this fake to pieces and feed her to the horde!] I stared at the floating text, my jaw practically hitting the floor. Right at that moment, Benjamin walked back in. He looked like he had taken a nasty fall. Crimson tracked down his forehead, and his jacket was shredded. Yet, his hands were carefully cupping a horribly smashed strawberry shortcake, offering it to me like a sacred relic. “Luna… eat the cake.” The catch? The campus beauty, my beloved sister, was the one named Luna. 1 I stiffly lowered my gaze to the hulking guy crouching in front of me. He was still holding out his prized possession. Because I was taking too long to react, a flicker of panic crossed his dark eyes. “Luna… you don’t like cake anymore?” “Tell me what you want… I will go find it.” My brain violently rebooted. The floating comments just said Benjamin was the Zombie King. And that he was getting his sanity back tonight. Thinking about how I had been acting like a total brat these past few days, demanding the impossible and treating him like dirt, a cold shiver crawled up my spine. I was a dead woman walking. My eyes slowly drifted down to the pulverized strawberry cake. I forced the corners of my mouth up into the most painful smile of my life. “I love it.” I reached out and took the cake, my voice coming out so sickly sweet it gave me goosebumps. “Benjamin, you are so good to me.” Survival rule number one. Stop the abuse immediately and start sucking up. Maybe if I buttered him up enough, he would be slightly less inclined to rip my head off when he woke up tomorrow. Benjamin lowered his head, the tips of his ears turning a bright, burning red. Even smeared with blood and grime, his face was absurdly handsome. Strong brow bone, straight nose. His cognitive fog usually made him look a bit slow, but right now, with his dark hair falling over his eyes, there was something wildly magnetic about him. I swallowed hard. But I snapped out of it a second later. Now was not the time to be thirsty. The man kneeling in front of me was the future ruler of the undead, and I was apparently on his menu. The text was still scrolling in front of my eyes. [Oh, now she’s scared? Too late.] [She’s been bossing him around all week!] [She made the literal Zombie King fetch water, wash her dirty laundry, make her bed, and she even uses his abs as a personal heater at night!] [Treating the apex predator of the apocalypse like a pool boy. Bold move.] I was speechless. Suddenly, the cake in my hands lost all its appeal. Seeing my hesitation, Benjamin asked cautiously, “Luna… is it too dirty? The blood didn’t touch the frosting.” That was when I noticed the back of his head. It was completely coated in blood, with thick red trails running down his neck. I set the cake down and immediately grabbed his wrist. “How did you get hurt this badly?” Benjamin stared at me blankly. He really wasn’t used to me showing actual concern. And to be fair, I had been awful to him. If I didn’t like the crackers he found, I tossed them on the floor and told him to try again. If I thought the tap water tasted weird, I made him risk his life navigating the infested administration building just to get me bottled water. Whenever I got cold, I ordered him to get into my sleeping bag and warm it up with his body. Sometimes I complained that his jacket smelled and forced him to take it off entirely. And Benjamin always listened. He would just blush, pull his shirt up, and let me press my freezing hands against his stomach. Looking back at my endless list of crimes, my vision actually swam. But this was my chance for redemption. I scrambled to find my meager stash of medical supplies and pushed him down into a chair. “Don’t move.” “I am going to patch you up.” Benjamin sat obediently. His massive frame hunched forward slightly, making him look like a very well trained mastiff. I soaked a cotton swab in iodine and gently cleaned the blood from his scalp. The terrifying part was that the wound was already closing. A thin, pale scab had already formed over what should have been a fatal gash. My eyes darkened. The floating comments were right. He wasn’t human anymore. 2 My mind raced, and on cue, tears welled up in my eyes. Benjamin instantly froze. “Luna?” I kept my head down, letting my voice tremble. “Today is my birthday.” I hugged the crushed cake to my chest, letting the tears fall thick and fast. “My family never celebrates my birthday.” “This is the first time I have ever had a birthday cake since I went back home.” “Thank you, Benjamin.” 3 I wasn’t actually lying. Everyone at school knew the campus sweetheart, Luna, and I were twin sisters. But the truth was, we shared no blood. When I was seven, I wandered off and got abducted. My mother wept day and night until her mind nearly broke. To save her sanity, my father adopted a girl from the local orphanage and gave her my name. Luna. The bright, beautiful moon. The fake Luna was naturally gorgeous, outgoing, and charming. She quickly smoothed over my mother’s grief and completely took my place. Eventually, no one ever spoke of the lost child again. Eight years later, the police brought me back to my family’s doorstep. I was dangerously skinny, tanned dark from working in the sun, and socially stunted from years of abuse. I was wearing a pair of filthy canvas shoes with holes in the toes. I stood in front of that beautiful suburban mansion, too terrified to take a step inside. My parents stared at me for a long time. It was as if they had suddenly remembered that the perfect, shining daughter standing beside them wasn’t actually theirs. The next day, the family released a statement. The twin sister who had been stolen at birth was finally found. They named me Niki. A star. Just a tiny, insignificant star meant to orbit the moon. Luna insisted on keeping the day she was adopted as her birthday. Naturally, as her supposed twin, my birthday had to be the exact same day. Whenever I mentioned wanting to celebrate my actual birthday, her eyes would well up with tears. “Does Niki not want to be my twin anymore?” she would ask. “If our birthdays are different, everyone will know I am a fake.” My parents hated seeing her upset. From that day on, my real birthday was strictly forbidden in the house. No cake. No flowers. I wasn’t even allowed to mention it to my friends. Eventually, I just stopped celebrating altogether. Honestly, I didn’t care that much. I bumped my head during the kidnapping and lost most of my memories before age five anyway. I didn’t remember what it felt like to be loved by them, so losing it didn’t hurt. Plus, my life now was infinitely better than when I was taken. I had food. I had warm clothes. Nobody beat me. I was satisfied. But right now, I needed to play the ultimate victim card. I needed Benjamin to remember I was a miserable, tragic little thing when he woke up, hoping it would dilute his murderous rage. I cried like my life depended on it. Which it did. “Benjamin.” “You are the very first person to ever buy me a birthday cake.” Benjamin’s heart practically shattered on the spot. He clumsily raised a hand, wanting to touch me but terrified of breaking me. Finally, he used the sleeve of his shirt to gently wipe a tear from my cheek. “Luna… please do not cry.” “I will get you one… every single year.” I buried my face in his chest and wailed even louder. Faking it, obviously. Benjamin held me awkwardly, his large palm patting my back as if I were made of glass. Pressed against his chest, I inhaled the crisp, cool scent of him. There was absolutely no rotting stench like the other zombies outside. Glancing up, I caught a glimpse of the sharp lines of his chest through his torn collar. Lower down, those abs were definitely still there. Lord have mercy. 4 To be fair, there was a reason I ended up relying on a dim witted guy for survival. The day the outbreak hit, the campus descended into absolute chaos. Students started awakening special abilities right and left. Some could throw fireballs. Some got x ray vision to see zombies through walls. Others got super strength and could punch through metal doors. And me? Nothing. Not a single spark. Luna was the center of attention. She had awakened a healing ability. Even though she could only fix minor scratches at the moment, it made her royalty in the apocalypse. She stood in the center of the classroom, comforting everyone with her gentle voice. “We cannot stay trapped in here forever.” “I think we should form a group and go look for rescue.” Everyone immediately agreed. Someone cast a sideways glance at me. “Niki doesn’t have any powers. It is a warzone out there. What if she drags us down?” Luna bit her lip, looking incredibly torn. “Niki… why don’t you stay here where it is safe? Once we find the military, we will come right back for you.” And just like that, they all left. They left me with a single pack of crackers and half a bottle of water. I waited for days. Nobody came back. By the third night, I swallowed the last crumb of my crackers. My stomach was cramping with hunger. I had to risk going out. I shoved aside the desks blocking the classroom door, gripped my baseball bat, and squeezed out into the hallway. The sounds of dragging footsteps echoed through the dark school. I didn’t dare waste time. I made a beeline for the campus minimart downstairs. But just as I rounded the corner, I heard a low, guttural snarl. Three zombies were hunched by the entrance, tearing into something on the floor. I panicked and spun around to run. My foot slipped, and I crashed right into a metal trash can. The noise was deafening. The zombies whipped their heads up. I froze, my body completely paralyzed by terror and starvation. Just as the closest one lunged at me, a wooden desk flew out of nowhere. It smashed into the zombie, sending it flying backward. It didn’t get up. I slowly turned my head. A tall man was standing at the top of the stairs. Broad shoulders, long legs, built like a fighter. His clothes were hanging off him in rags, exposing the dense muscle underneath. He stared at me, a low sound rattling in his throat. I gripped my bat, tears pricking my eyes. With those sounds, he had to be a zombie too. But he just stood there, staring holes into me. Then, very slowly, his ears turned red. “Found… Luna.” I tested the waters. “Can you understand me?” He gave a slow, delayed nod. Okay, so he was just a little slow. I pointed toward the minimart and the remaining zombies. “Then go get me some food.” He actually turned and walked right in. He grabbed a metal chair. One swing, one kill. The zombies dropped like flies. Clean, brutal, and efficient. I watched with my jaw unhinged. And that was the day I picked up my massive, brain damaged bodyguard, and officially began my life as the useless princess of the apocalypse. 5 Benjamin was incredibly useful. His strength was terrifying, and he mowed down zombies like he was cutting grass. And he was so obedient. If I pointed left, he wouldn’t dare look right. I didn’t know why he listened to me, but in the end of the world, you take what you can get. Mimicking the way Luna used to order our maids around back home, I started bossing Benjamin around. He brought me meals, fetched my water, and did whatever I asked. It was liberating. So this was how Luna felt all those years. Having someone wait on you hand and foot was an incredible rush. But a full stomach leads to wandering thoughts. Having a ridiculously attractive guy hovering around me 24/7 was distracting. Especially since his brain was currently offline and he had zero sense of personal boundaries. My inner demons started winning. I used the excuse that the blankets he found were too thin. I told him I was freezing. I ordered him to share my sleeping bag. Benjamin’s metabolism was insane. He ran hotter than a furnace, making him the perfect human space heater. Halfway through the night, I would unconsciously roll over and bury myself in his chest. He would go completely rigid, but he never pushed me away. Eventually, it became a routine. Every night, he would unbutton his shirt and slide into the blankets to preheat them. Once it was warm, he would look down submissively. “Princess Luna. Time for sleep.” 6 Night fell. Benjamin boiled some water for me, double checked the barricades on the windows, and then started hand washing my dirty clothes from the day. Resources were scarce, but thanks to him, I was living better than most billionaires. The floating text popped up again. [Look at him washing her clothes. When the Zombie King gets his memory back, he’s going to literally explode with rage.] [Enjoy it while it lasts, side character. This is your last night.] [Tomorrow, he’s going straight back to the female lead.] [He only loves the real Luna. He’s just confused right now.] Reading that made my stomach tie itself into knots. I just made you do some chores, buddy. Is that really worth a death sentence? I was young. I really didn’t want to die. Benjamin finished the laundry and hung it by the window. He walked over, slid into the sleeping bag, and started warming it up. As soon as he lay down, I instinctively rolled into his arms. I rested my hand on his waist. It was burning hot. I paused. His temperature was always high, but this was like touching a stove. His brow was furrowed in agony, his breathing ragged and harsh. Sweat soaked the fresh bandages on his forehead, and his face was terrifyingly pale. My heart dropped. He was evolving. The comments went wild. [Here it comes!] [The King is waking up!] [She is so dead tomorrow morning.] [I’ve been so mad watching her use him. Can’t wait to see her get what she deserves.] Benjamin let out a low, pained groan. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my shirt. “Luna…” “Sweet Luna…” He called the name over and over. His voice was hoarse, tearing from his throat like it physically hurt to speak. I looked down at him, feeling a sudden, strange tightness in my chest. My original plan was to wait until he fell asleep and sneak out into the night. But I couldn’t leave him like this. Whether he was going to kill me tomorrow or not, he had protected me. Without him, I would have starved in that classroom or been torn apart outside the minimart. I let out a heavy sigh. I got up, soaked a towel in cold water, and placed it gently on his forehead. I took another damp cloth and carefully wiped the sweat from his neck and collarbones. His fever kept climbing. His body felt like it was engulfed in invisible flames. But his hand never let go of my shirt. I tried twice to pull free, failed, and finally just sat on the floor next to him. His brows were locked tight in pain as he mumbled through the fever. “Luna…” “Cake…” “Don’t cry…” I lowered my eyes. Benjamin had been so incredibly good to me. I had never felt warmth like this from anyone, let alone during the apocalypse. Under the bridge effect of constant danger, how could I not develop feelings for him? But I also hated myself for catching feelings for someone who wasn’t in his right mind. So I overcompensated by acting like a demanding brat, trying to mask the flutter in my chest. And now, he was about to wake up. It was a shame. I wasn’t his Luna. This fairy tale was stolen. And the clock was about to strike midnight. 7 The sky was just starting to turn gray. Benjamin’s temperature had finally dropped, but he was still asleep. The innocent, vacant look was completely gone from his face. Even unconscious, his sharp features radiated a cold, dangerous edge. I watched him for a long time. Once I was sure he was deeply asleep, I carefully pried my shirt out of his grip. He had spent the entire night calling for his sweet Luna. Now that his mind was returning, the imposter needed to make her exit. I packed the crackers and water I had been secretly hoarding into my backpack. Hey, it was the apocalypse. Did you really think I wouldn’t squirrel away some supplies while I had a superhuman doing my grocery shopping? A girl needs a backup plan. Before I left, I looked at him one last time. He would never again be the sweet, blushing guy who called me his princess. “Benjamin,” I whispered into the quiet room. “The girl you are looking for is the other Luna.” “Thank you for everything. Goodbye.” I grabbed my baseball bat, pushed the door open, and walked out. 8 I had barely made it down to the second floor landing. A low level zombie was shuffling aimlessly at the end of the hall. Its school uniform was stained a rusty, unidentifiable color. Hearing my footsteps, it slowly turned its head. I gripped the bat so hard my knuckles turned white. I prayed to every god and spirit I could think of, and then I charged. My first swing missed the head and slammed into its shoulder. It stumbled, but immediately lunged at me again. I let out a terrified shriek, closed my eyes, and swung blindly. A sickening crack echoed in the hall. I hit the skull. The zombie collapsed and didn’t move again. I leaned heavily against the wall, gasping for air. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the bat. I actually killed one. The first step is always the hardest. If I can do it once, I can do it again. Niki, you can survive this on your own! If the timing wasn’t so terrible, I would have given myself a standing ovation. But my triumph lasted exactly two seconds. The noise had been too loud. From the dark depths of the hallway, a chorus of snarls answered. One. Two. Three. The numbers multiplied rapidly. My scalp went numb. Without a second thought, I turned and sprinted down the stairs. These were basic zombies. Slow and clumsy. They didn’t catch me immediately. I vaulted over a knocked down cabinet by the exit, boots crunching over shattered glass as I burst out of the science building. The wind tore at my lungs like shards of glass. I didn’t dare look back. I just ran. Past the notice boards. Across the empty basketball courts. Out toward the food street by the campus gates. But my stamina was garbage. Back in gym class, a half mile run used to make me dizzy. Running for my life for fifteen straight minutes was my absolute limit. My legs finally gave out, and I slammed hard onto the pavement. The pack was right behind me. The closest one opened its rotting jaw, diving straight for my throat. My mind went completely blank. This was it. I should have just stayed in the room. Getting torn apart by the Zombie King sounded vastly more dignified than this. A split second later, a steel pipe shot through the air from my blind spot. It drove straight through the zombie’s head, pinning it to the asphalt. I stared in shock. Someone rushed forward, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet. “Niki?” “You’re actually alive?” I looked up into a familiar face. Griffin. Our class president. And the strongest ability user in our old group. He had awakened metal manipulation. He could control steel pipes, doors, knives, anything metallic. He was frowning at me. Behind him stood a group of our classmates. And standing perfectly safe in the center of the group, wearing a pristine white dress, was Luna. Clearly, she had been living very comfortably. The moment she saw me, a flash of genuine shock crossed her face. But a second later, her eyes went red, and she came running toward me. “Niki!” “Oh my god, you’re alive. I’m so happy.” 9 Luna hugged me tight, crying her eyes out. It wasn’t until the rest of the group stepped in to comfort her that she finally let go, dabbing at her red eyes. “I’m so sorry, Niki,” she sobbed. “We wanted to go back for you, but the campus was suddenly swarming. We couldn’t break through.” “The military rescue never came, so we had to set up a camp in an office building nearby.” “I spent every night thinking you were…” She broke off, choking on her tears. The guys in the group immediately swarmed her with sympathy. “It’s okay, Luna. Don’t blame yourself.” “It was a nightmare back then. Nobody could have saved everyone.” I kept my head down and said nothing. Griffin looked me over. “Any bites?” I shook my head. “No.” He jutted his chin toward the girls. “Check her.” After two girls took me into a nearby shop for a thorough inspection, I was allowed into the group. They had just finished their supply run for the day and were heading back to their base. I was shoved to the very back of the formation. I was assigned rear guard duty alongside two guys who had defensive earth abilities. One of them tossed a rock hard piece of bread at my chest. “Eat up. For someone with zero powers, you’re lucky you’re getting this.” I caught the bread. There was a patch of green mold on the crust. I silently picked the mold off and shoved the rest into my mouth. It tasted like cardboard. Worse than the dry rations Benjamin used to bring me. But I knew the reality. Aside from the sweet, confused Benjamin, nobody in this world was going to cater to me. I suddenly missed him. But I killed the thought instantly. He was awake now. He was probably out looking for Luna. Or maybe he was tracking me down to snap my neck. The floating text returned right on schedule. [Bet the side character realizes how good she had it now.] [Without the King, she’s literally trash.] [She was smart to run when she did, though. The King’s awakening is starting.] [Every zombie within a hundred miles is going to be drawn to his aura. In a week, this entire sector is going to be ground zero for a massive horde.] My boots stopped dead on the pavement. What? A hundred miles? Ground zero? I turned my head stiffly. Far in the distance, back toward the science building, a low, continuous roar was building. The sound was getting denser by the second. 10 I wanted to warn the group to evacuate immediately. Luckily, Griffin was already planning to move the camp to the Southern Sanctuary. They were just gathering the last of their road supplies before heading out. But the streets were getting worse. They would clear a block, and ten minutes later, a fresh wave of infected would flood in. They were moving with purpose. All heading toward the campus. The anxiety in the group was spiking. “What the hell is going on?” “This street was clear yesterday.” “Is someone bleeding? Are we attracting them?” As the guy said it, his eyes drifted accusingly toward me. I looked down at my clothes. Yeah, I was covered in dirt and dust. But there was no blood. The reason I was filthy was that Toby, the guy with the water ability, rationed out water every night for washing. Whenever it was my turn, he would just shrug. “Sorry. Tapped out for the day.” But every single morning, Luna walked out with freshly washed hair, smelling like expensive soap. One was the beautiful healer. The other was the powerless burden. Everyone knew exactly where the water was going. I hadn’t bothered complaining. I was used to this dynamic from back home. But maybe Benjamin had spoiled me a little too much, because my temper flared. “Why are you looking at me?” I snapped. “I’m not bleeding.” The guy’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, Niki. If Luna wasn’t so soft hearted, you think we’d let a leech like you tag along?” Luna immediately stepped in, her voice dripping with gentle concern. “Stop fighting, guys. Niki didn’t mean it.” “I’ll make sure she’s more careful next time so she doesn’t draw them to us.” With two sweet sentences, she perfectly pinned the blame on me. I pressed my lips together and swallowed my anger. Because Benjamin was mutating, the zombie density was skyrocketing. If they kicked me out now, I wouldn’t last an hour. Griffin stopped walking and threw a cold look back at us. “Save your breath. Incoming.” The group went dead silent. Griffin raised his hand. Several pieces of rebar ripped out of the concrete and shot forward, piercing the skulls of the approaching infected. Clean and fast. A bitter taste flooded my mouth. Having powers really was everything.

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1 After eight years of marriage, my husband Garrett decided to keep a young mistress on the side. When I finally caught him, he shrugged it off with a casual explanation. “It’s just a bit of fun, Vivian. Every man makes mistakes. You need to be understanding.” I stayed silent. What he didn’t know was that I had a beautiful young lover of my own. … This was the third time I had caught Garrett cheating. He seemed to have a bizarre affection for underground parking garages. Every single time I discovered his affairs, it was always in the cramped backseat of his car, tucked away in the shadows of some concrete basement. Seeing them tangled together, practically devouring each other, I simply averted my gaze and kept walking. Garrett saw me. He quickly shoved the girl to the side, muttered a few words to her, and sent her driving away. When I got home, all I wanted was to wash the grime of the day off my skin and sleep. My young lover had been incredibly passionate the night before, leaving a few telltale bruises on my collarbone. Before I could lock the bathroom door, Garrett pushed his way in. “Vivian, don’t worry,” he said, his voice entirely dismissive. “It was just a fling. I’m only playing around.” I didn’t say a word. Garrett’s patience began to wear thin. “It’s a mistake any man would make, Vivian. Just get over it.” He probably thought I was silently weeping in heartbreak. In reality, I was just doing everything I could to keep my hair draped over my neck, hiding the fresh love bites. “Here,” he said, pulling a sleek black credit card from his wallet and sliding it into my palm. “Stop moping. Take this. Buy whatever you want, there’s no limit.” When I had caught him the first time, he had actually apologized, begging for my forgiveness. When that didn’t work, he resorted to the classic excuse about male nature. I had screamed, cried, and slapped his face when he tried to hand me a credit card back then. In response, he had taken his mistress to France for two full weeks, a petty move designed to punish me for my defiance. Looking at the card in my hand now, I calmly pocketed it, turned around, and walked upstairs. Garrett watched me go, his brows knitting together in slight irritation. He seemed disappointed that I wasn’t screaming. 2 My phone vibrated on the vanity. It was Asher. I stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut before pressing answer. His sweet, velvety voice immediately filled my ear. “Did you miss me, beautiful? Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Can I see you tomorrow?” “Didn’t we just spend the night together?” I teased, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “Not tomorrow, darling. I have to work. Let’s aim for next week, and I’ll bring you a little present.” Listening to his soft, adoring murmurs over the line, the heavy weight in my chest evaporated. Garrett was right about one thing: youth was a powerful drug. Spending time with Asher made me feel alive, stripping away the bitter exhaustion of my failing marriage. The moment I hung up and turned around, I gasped. Garrett was standing right behind me in the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes searching my face. “Who was that?” he asked, his voice low and tight. “A client,” I replied, my tone deliberately flat. Garrett’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening with suspicion. “What kind of client calls this late at night?” His interrogative tone rubbed me the wrong way. “What is your problem? I told you, it’s a client. Stop being paranoid. Do you think everyone behaves the way you do?” His face flushed with silent anger. I brushed past him and locked myself in the bathroom. Standing before the mirror, I pulled my hair back, inspecting the faint purple marks on my throat. They were faint enough to be hidden under a few strategic strands. When I stepped back into the bedroom, Garrett was still waiting. He stepped toward me, reaching out to catch my hand. “Vivian, it’s been a really long time since we…” I pulled my hand back before he could finish. “Not tonight. I’m exhausted from work.” That was his breaking point. He let out a harsh breath, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the door as he stormed out of the house. He had been trying to initiate a truce, but we hadn’t had a real conversation in years. Once, we had been madly in love. During our university days, I had gone on a mountain hiking trip that ended in disaster when a landslide hit, trapping us in the wilderness. As I sat shivering in the dark, terrified and alone, Garrett had appeared with the rescue team. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with dirt, and his arms were covered in deep scratches from searching through the brush. The moment I saw him, my panic vanished. One of the rescue officers later told me that Garrett had refused to stop searching for two straight days. In that moment, I promised myself I would spend the rest of my life loving him. But eight years into our marriage, he was cheating on me without a second thought. Love, it turned out, had a incredibly short shelf life. 3 On Saturday, Asher sent me a text. I booked a private room at Mirabelle, beautiful. I ordered all your favorite dishes. Come keep me company? I replied with a quick thumbs-up. I had met Asher at a lounge. I had been feeling miserable after discovering another one of Garrett’s betrayals, and my best friend had dragged me out to get my mind off things. The loud, crowded space wasn’t my scene, so I had stepped out into the alley for some air. That was where I saw Asher, standing up to a couple of rowdy drunks who were harassing a young girl. I had stepped in, threatening to call the police, and the drunks had cursed before slinking away. “Hi, I’m Asher,” he had said, turning to me with a brilliant, dazzling smile. “I’m Vivian.” “I know,” he replied, his eyes crinkling. “We’ve met before.” I had stared at him, unable to recall where I could have possibly seen him. “I’m a student at State University,” he explained. “I was the host when you came back to speak at the alumni event two years ago.” After that, we had exchanged numbers. A few dinners turned into late-night drinks, and one evening, we ended up in bed together. He was young, breathtakingly handsome, and incredibly attentive. I parked my car outside Mirabelle and made my way toward the private rooms. Just as I was about to open the door to my booth, I heard a familiar voice coming from the adjacent room. It was Garrett, laughing with his best friend, Gabe. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with your little girl lately,” Gabe was saying. Garrett remained silent. Gabe let out a whistle. “Wait, are you actually falling for her? I thought she was just a distraction.” Garrett sighed. “Who said she was just a distraction?” “What about Vivian?” A long pause followed before Garrett spoke, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “Vivian is thirty-one now. She’s like a piece of dry wood in bed. No excitement, no fun.” Gabe chuckled. “So, are you going to divorce her?” “No. I’m never divorcing her. She’ll always be my wife.” Gabe laughed, raising his glass. “Man, you really have it all figured out.” 4 Standing in the quiet corridor, a cold dread settled over my chest. This was how the man I shared a bed with truly saw me. If he found me so boring, why was he refusing to let me go? Did he simply think I was too weak, too dependent to ever walk away? My feet felt like they were glued to the floor. Part of me wanted to fling his door open and make a scene, just like I used to. But I knew how that story ended. “Vivian, you’re here! I’ve been waiting for you,” Asher’s voice cut through my thoughts, his warm hand wrapping around my wrist as he gently guided me into our private room. As we sat down, Asher noticed my pale face. “What’s wrong, beautiful? Don’t look so sad. I’ll always be here for you, okay?” Looking at the young boy with his bright, hopeful eyes, a sudden realization struck me. The booth next to Garrett wasn’t a coincidence. I took a deep breath, looking straight into his eyes. “You set this up, didn’t you? And stop calling me by that nickname.” Asher didn’t look away, nor did he deny it. He simply gave me a playful wink, pouring me a cup of warm tea. “Don’t be mad,” he murmured softly. “I just wanted you to see that jerk for who he really is. I’m sorry if it hurt you.” Did it hurt? Of course. But the pain had been dulling with every betrayal. Still, my appetite was completely gone. “Let’s do this another time. I need to go home.” The next afternoon, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. It was a text containing several photos of a man’s bare back, his fingers locked intimately with another person’s hand. The faces weren’t visible, but I recognized the small mole on the man’s shoulder immediately. It was Garrett. The sender was his young mistress. I let out a cold laugh. She was getting impatient, trying to mark her territory and force me out of the picture. I tapped out a quick reply: I’ve saved these photos. Garrett and I are still legally married, which means any money he spent on you is marital property. If you keep bothering me, I’ll hire a lawyer and make sure you return every single cent he gave you. Within seconds, the photos were frantically recalled. I had hesitated to file for divorce because our finances and business assets were deeply intertwined. But looking at the empty bedroom, I realized that no amount of money was worth this slow, agonizing death. 5 I hadn’t seen Asher since that night at the restaurant. Feeling completely drained, I approved my accumulated leave from work, packed a small bag, and caught a late-night flight to my mother’s house in the countryside. When my mother opened the door, she was speechless. Years ago, when I had insisted on marrying Garrett, she had been vehemently opposed to the union. The financial gap between our families was massive, and she had warned me of the consequences. “He loves you now, but what about the future? His mother already looks down on you. If his feelings change, you’ll have no one to protect you.” I had been too blinded by love to listen, marrying him despite her warnings. She had refused to speak to me ever since. Garrett had promised he would prove his worth to her, promising to be my rock forever. Now, her words had come back to haunt me. Seeing my exhausted, pale face, my mother didn’t need an explanation. “Look at you, looking like a ghost. I told you that family would eat you alive. Did his mother lock you out?” A lump rose in my throat, and the tears I had held back for months finally spilled over. “Mom…” I whispered. My mother’s hard expression softened instantly. She pulled me into a tight, warm hug. “Alright, that’s enough. You’re home now. It’s not like I can’t afford to feed you. Come inside, I’ll make some food.” Sitting at her small kitchen table, eating her homemade chicken dumplings, I felt a spark of warmth return to my soul. I stayed with her for two weeks. One evening, my phone rang. It was Garrett. “Vivian, where the hell are you? Do you even care about this family anymore? You’ve been gone for days. Do you even remember you’re a married woman?” Before he could launch into another lecture, I hung up. The phone rang again instantly, buzzing continuously. I swiped answer, my voice cold. “Learn to speak to me with respect. I don’t owe you any explanations about where I go.” “You’re my wife,” he snapped, his voice tight with anger. “Of course I have a right to know.” “Sure,” I said, and hung up on him again. The next evening, a loud, heavy knocking rattled my mother’s front door. I pulled it open to find Garrett standing on the porch. His suit was wrinkled, his hair messy, looking entirely out of breath. He stared at me, a flicker of panic softening his tense features. “You… you’re really here?” We both knew why he was surprised. My mother had forbidden me from returning, and yet here I was, living peacefully in her home. As my mother walked into the hallway, Garrett’s eyes shifted nervously. He tried to step inside, but my younger brother stepped into the doorway, pushing him back. “My mother said strangers aren’t allowed inside,” my brother said coldly. Garrett’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t dare raise his voice in front of my family. In the past, despite his mother’s arrogance, he had always tried to maintain a polite front around my mother. “I’ll handle this,” I whispered to my mother and brother, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind me. Garrett and I stood in the cool night air, the silence stretching between us. Finally, I spoke the words that had been weighing on me for weeks. “Garrett, let’s get a divorce.” Garrett’s brow furrowed, his eyes flashing with irritation. “On what grounds?” I let out a dry laugh. “You’re seriously asking me that?” He pulled out a cigarette, preparing to light it, but stopped himself when he remembered I hated the smell, pocketing it instead. “Is this still about the affair? I told you, it was a mistake. You’ll always be my wife, Vivian. I still love you.” Looking at the handsome, arrogant man in front of me, my mind drifted back to the twenty-year-old boy who had loved me with his entire soul. The boy who had learned to cook spicy dishes just to make me smile when I was stressed. But that boy was dead. The man standing in front of me was a stranger. “Garrett, we’re toxic for each other now. I don’t want a cheating husband, and you wouldn’t tolerate a cheating wife. Let’s just set each other free.” He froze, his expression turning defensive. “Are you threatening me? Vivian, I know you. You’d never cheat on me.” “I’m not divorcing you. I’ll break things off with the girl, alright?” “My lawyer will send you the papers,” I said, turning back toward the door. “If you don’t sign, I’ll file for a contested divorce.” Losing his temper, Garrett kicked the large potted jasmine plant sitting near the steps, shattering the clay pot. It was the very same jasmine plant he had bought for me years ago when I mentioned I loved the scent. I had left it at my mother’s house when we got married. It had survived for years, only to be crushed under his boot today. “I’m telling you, I won’t sign!” he roared before turning and storming back to his car. I stared at the broken white blossoms scattered across the dirt. My vacation was over, and it was time to return to the city to settle my affairs. During my trip, Asher had sent me dozens of messages, none of which I had replied to. I knew our little arrangement had to end. Just as I was thinking about him, my phone rang. “Vivian,” his voice came through, sounding incredibly small and hurt. “I’m sorry. Please don’t ignore me.” I didn’t know how he had tracked Garrett’s movements, but I couldn’t afford any more complications. “Asher, we’re done. Let’s not see each other again. If you need any financial compensation, let me know, and I’ll arrange it.” The line went silent for a moment, his voice turning cold when he spoke again. “Why? Do you still love him that much?” Then, his tone softened, returning to that familiar, pleading murmur. “Alright. I won’t push you. But can we please see each other one last time? Just to say goodbye. Please?” “Okay,” I whispered. For our final meeting, he was incredibly passionate, holding me with a desperate, heavy intensity that left me completely exhausted. As he walked me back to my apartment lobby, he pulled me against the wall near the elevators, kissing me with a frantic, unyielding hunger, whispering that he couldn’t bear to let me go. My heart softened, and I let him hold me. Suddenly, a furious roar shattered the quiet lobby. “What the hell are you doing?” Asher pulled back slowly, a smug, victorious smile spreading across his face as he looked at Garrett. He leaned close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Look at that, beautiful. We got caught.”

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1 Nicknames littered my childhood. Clumsy. Space cadet. Social disaster. My best friend and girlfriend claimed they were affectionate, reserved for those who loved me most. During a quarterly presentation, my girlfriend called me “Clumsy” before the whole office. Laughter erupted; the director frowned. My face burned as I stumbled through the slides. My friend just ruffled my hair. “Don’t mind her. You are a bit slow.” On a retreat, she mocked my nervous stutter. He laughed hardest, adding, “Stop, she’s sensitive,” even as he saved a video of it to his favorites. Last week, I closed a million-dollar deal alone. At dinner, she toasted, “Our little space cadet!” The client’s expression soured. Later, they killed the deal. In my car, crying, my friend tapped the window with a tissue. “Don’t cry. Just don’t let her drink next time.” I wiped my eyes, submitted my resignation on Slack, and tossed the tissue back. Eight years, from high school to now. I once thought we’d go far. I rolled up the window and started the engine. Congratulations, Agnes. You finally learned to walk alone. … “Who approved your resignation?” Owen’s voice came through the receiver, calm and casual, as if he were asking what I wanted for lunch. I wedged the phone between my shoulder and my ear, continuing to pack clothes into my suitcase. “HR did. Standard procedure.” “I told you not to do anything rash.” He paused, his tone softening slightly. “I can help you talk to the client about the deal. I still have some leverage with their manager.” I zipped up the suitcase and looked at the one-way ticket to London sitting on the desk. “No need, Owen.” “What are you even doing?” A hint of impatience finally crept into his voice. “You’ve known Susan since high school. You know she speaks without thinking. Is it really worth all this drama?” Is it worth it? A million-dollar account, three months of follow-ups, forty-seven emails, eleven draft revisions. And he was asking me if it was worth it. “I’m not dramatic,” I said, sliding the passport and ticket into the side pocket of my backpack. “I just want a change of scenery.” “A change of scenery? Your college English was barely conversational. Where are you even going?” I didn’t answer. He let out another sigh, that familiar, patronizing sigh I had heard a thousand times. “Fine. Cool off for a couple of days. Susan and I will take you out for dinner this weekend so we can talk things through.” “I won’t be here this weekend.” A brief silence followed on the other end of the line. “What does that mean?” “My flight is the day after tomorrow.” This time, the silence lasted much longer. I could hear him rustling around, probably looking for his lighter. “Where?” “London. A friend’s company has an opening, and I’m going to try out for it.” “Are you…” He sounded choked up. “Are you serious?” I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were still slightly puffy, my lips dry, my entire face washed out and tired. “I am.” “Agnes.” He used my full name, his voice dropping an octave. “Are you just trying to get a rise out of me?” I almost laughed. For eight years, he had always assumed every decision I made was just an emotional tantrum. “No.” “Then explain it to me. Why are you suddenly packing up and leaving?” Why? Because you and Susan teamed up to turn me into a running joke, and you didn’t even realize how much it hurt. Because every milestone I reached was easily brushed away by her casual, demeaning remarks, while you always took her side, telling me “she didn’t mean anything by it.” Because I was finally exhausted. But I didn’t say any of that. “I just want to see the world.” “By yourself? You get lost taking the subway in Chicago…” “I have to go,” I cut him off. “I still have packing to do.” “Agnes…” I pressed the end call button. The moment my screen went dark, a message from Susan popped up. “Agnes! I heard you’re quitting? What a joke, haha! What are you going to do without me and Owen? Stop playing around. Let’s hang out this weekend. I’ll buy you dinner to make up for it, okay?” She followed it with a string of cute, pleading emojis. I stared at the words What are you going to do without me and Owen for a long time. I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone onto the bed and dragged my suitcase into the living room. On the coffee table lay a shiny butterfly hair clip that Susan had left behind last week. I picked it up and threw it straight into the trash can. The doorbell rang. I opened it, and there she was. Susan stood on the doormat, wearing a cream-colored knit dress, her hair styled in loose waves, holding a bag of fresh fruit. “You’re actually packing?” She peered past me into the apartment, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock. “Oh my god, Agnes. Are you seriously leaving?” I stepped aside to let her in. She placed the fruit on the coffee table, turned around, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Is this because of what happened at dinner? I told you I had too much to drink, Agnes. You wouldn’t really leave just because of that, would you?” Her voice trailed off as she looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “What am I supposed to do if you leave?” That was Susan. She always knew exactly when to play the victim, making sure everyone else looked like the bully. “It has nothing to do with you,” I said. “I just wanted to go.” She looked up, her teary eyes wide. “Really? You’re not mad at me?” “No.” “Then… can you stay?” She grabbed my hand, her nails painted a soft cherry blossom pink. “Or at least wait until Owen gets back? He can definitely help you find a way to…” “Susan,” I gently pulled my hand back. “My flight is at six o’clock the day after tomorrow.” She froze. Something flickered deep within those pretty eyes, vanishing so quickly I couldn’t catch it. Then, she smiled and reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Then I have to come to the airport to see you off.” “You don’t…” “I have to,” she insisted, looking at me with absolute sincerity. “You’re my best friend.” My best friend. As she said those words, I remembered her calling me “clumsy” in front of our key clients. I remembered her impression video being shared and laughed at hundreds of times. I remembered the exact moment Owen laughed the loudest. “Whatever,” I said. She gave me a tight hug, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Agnes, don’t you dare forget about me once you’re over there.” I kept quiet. As she let go, my phone buzzed on the bed. It was a message from Owen. “I don’t approve of this.” Five words. No punctuation. I stared at it for two seconds, then locked the screen. 2 After Susan left, I continued packing. I reached into the very back of my closet and pulled out a dusty metal tin. Inside were the scraps of the last eight years. A birthday card Owen had written for me in high school: Happy birthday, Agnes. I hope you grow braver and braver. A braided friendship bracelet Susan had made, a red cord with a tiny bead. She had told me it was a lifetime bond, something we’d never take off. And photos. Dozens of photos of the three of us. I was always standing on the very edge, smiling the hardest. I placed the metal box on the top shelf of the closet, a spot I could barely reach. I wouldn’t take it with me, but I wouldn’t throw it away either. At 11:00 PM, Owen called again. I didn’t pick up. He sent six messages, which I ignored. The seventh was a voice note. My finger brushed against the screen, and his voice filled the quiet room. “Agnes, you’ve ignored my calls six times now. Are you trying to start a fight? If you have something to say, just say it. Stop with the silent treatment.” Silent treatment. I let out a bitter laugh. Me quietly packing my bags was the “silent treatment.” But what did you call eight years of mocking me in public? Playful teasing? I turned off my phone and had the best night of sleep I’d had in months. The next day was my last day before the flight. I went to the office to finish my exit clearance. My desk was completely cleared, save for a sticky note left by the colleague sitting next to me. Agnes, wishing you the absolute best. Don’t look back (in a good way). I peeled it off, tucked it into my pocket, and headed to HR to sign the final papers. When I stepped out of the elevator, I ran right into Owen. He was standing in the lobby, dressed in a sharp suit, hands in his pockets, looking at me with a complicated expression. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I came to pick you up.” “I don’t need a ride.” He blocked my path, looking down at me. “Agnes, can you please talk to me like a normal person?” “I am talking to you normally.” He frowned, reaching out to pat my hair, just like he had done for the last eight years. I stepped back, avoiding his touch. His hand froze in midair. “You’re actually furious,” he said, slowly lowering his hand. “I already told you, I can talk to the client again…” “The deal is dead, Owen,” I interrupted. “And that’s worth quitting over?” “Yes.” He took a deep breath, his tone softening into something gentler. “Agnes…” “Don’t call me that.” He choked on his words. In eight years, I had never cut him off like this. He was used to my mild temper, my absolute compliance. He was used to me nodding along to whatever he said. “Fine,” he said, taking a step back. “Let’s go find a place to sit down and talk, Agnes.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “You’re flying to London tomorrow. Who do you even know there? You can’t even navigate a new city without getting lost…” “I’ll learn.” He had that look on his face again. Like he was dealing with an unreasonable child, stubborn and immature, someone who constantly needed his guidance. “Susan was crying all day yesterday,” he said suddenly. “She feels like she’s the reason you’re leaving.” I remained quiet for a moment. “Good. She should.” Owen’s face darkened. “What is that supposed to mean? You won’t even accept her apology now?” I looked at him. He was always defending her. When the deal fell through, it was my fault for not keeping her sober. When she humiliated me, it was my fault for being too sensitive. When I quit to start fresh, it was me being dramatic. And now that she was crying, his first instinct was to come and scold me on her behalf. “Owen,” I asked quietly. “Have you ever thought about one thing?” “What?” “If Susan had been the one humiliated in front of the clients that night, would you have told her to just ‘make sure Agnes doesn’t drink as much next time’?” He froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. I stepped around him and pushed through the heavy glass doors of the lobby. The bright afternoon sun made my eyes water. Behind me, his footsteps hurried to catch up. “Agnes, what time is your flight tomorrow? I’ll drive you to the airport.” “Don’t worry about it.” “I’ll drive you,” he repeated, a touch of authority slipping into his tone. I didn’t turn back. “Just drive Susan instead.” The moment I left the office grounds, I let out a long breath. For the first time in eight years, the road ahead didn’t feel so daunting. When I got home, a bouquet of sunflowers sat on my kitchen counter. They were my favorite. The card was written in Susan’s neat, loopy handwriting: Agnes, let us take you to the airport tomorrow. No excuses! Promise me we’ll be best friends forever. I picked up the bouquet and threw it straight into the trash. Right on top of her butterfly hair clip. 3 My alarm went off three times at 4:00 AM before I finally dragged myself out of bed. After a quick shower, I rolled my suitcase out into the dark hallway. The elevator doors slid open, and Susan was already standing inside. She was wearing a pink hoodie, her hair thrown up in a messy bun, completely makeup-free, with dark circles under her eyes. “Oh, thank god. I thought you might sneak down the fire stairs to avoid us,” she said with a bright laugh, reaching out to grab my suitcase handle. “Come on, Owen is waiting downstairs.” I looked at her. “I told you guys I didn’t need a ride.” “Oh, stop being like that,” she said, dragging me along by the arm. “You’re leaving, and we don’t even know when you’ll be back. Let us do this for you.” Downstairs, Owen’s car was idling under a streetlamp, headlights cutting through the early morning fog. He got out, quietly loaded my suitcase into the trunk, and opened the door for us without saying much. The ride was incredibly quiet. Susan sat in the passenger seat, and I sat in the back. Ten minutes into the drive, she turned around to look at me. “Agnes, make sure you eat properly when you get there. Your stomach has always been sensitive.” “I will.” “And don’t overwork yourself. You get stressed easily, and too much pressure keeps you awake at night.” “I know.” “FaceTime me whenever you miss me. What’s the time difference again? Five hours? When you’re waking up, I’ll just be getting off work…” “Susan,” Owen interrupted quietly. “Let her rest.” Susan pouted slightly and turned back around. In the rearview mirror, I caught Owen’s gaze drifting back to me for a fraction of a second. I shifted my eyes toward the window, watching the streetlights blur past. When we reached O’Hare, Owen pushed my luggage cart while Susan kept her arm linked through mine. Just like old times, the three of us walking together. Only this time, I was in the middle, not trailing behind. Because this was the last time. At the check-in desk, I grabbed my boarding pass. Susan threw her arms around me, holding me tight. “You absolute idiot,” she mumbled, burying her face in my shoulder. “Who’s going to go shopping with me now?” I patted her back gently. “You have Owen.” She let go of me, wiping a tear from her eye. She shot a look at Owen, giving him a subtle nudge. Owen stepped forward, holding a brown paper bag in his hands. “Some snacks for the flight, and…” He hesitated for a second. “Text me when you land safely.” I took the bag and nodded. Then I turned around and walked toward security. “Agnes.” His voice called out from behind me. I stopped, but I didn’t turn back. “If things don’t work out over there, you can always come back.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, a faint hint of worry. But only a hint. Because deep down, he still believed I’d return. He still believed I couldn’t survive without them. He had believed that for eight years. I didn’t say a word. I just dragged my carry-on bag into the security line. As the line moved forward, I glanced back one last time. From a distance, I saw Susan talking animatedly to Owen, gesturing wildly with her hands. Owen was looking down at his phone, typing away. They didn’t look particularly sad. It was the relaxed posture of two people who had just sent a friend out to grab groceries, fully expecting her to return shortly. I turned around. Gate B12. I found my seat on the plane, buckled in, and opened the brown bag Owen had given me. A sandwich, a bottle of water, a pack of mints. And at the very bottom, a sticky note. Written in Susan’s rounded, bubbly handwriting: Hey space cadet! The world out there is pretty scary. We know you won’t last long before you start missing us, but don’t worry, Owen and I will be waiting to welcome you home! (ᵔᴥᵔ) I stared at the words for a long time. As the plane began taxiing down the runway, I ripped the note in half and stuffed it deep into the seatback trash bag. Twelve hours later, I touched down at Heathrow. I turned on my phone, and a barrage of thirty-seven notifications popped up, mostly Susan’s emojis and frantic voice messages. Owen had sent just one: Let me know when you arrive. I replied with a simple: Arrived. Then I closed the app. My college roommate, Naomi, was waiting for me at the arrivals gate, holding up a cardboard sign with a funny, terrible drawing of a stick figure. “Agnes, welcome to your brand new life!” I dragged my suitcase toward her, feeling the cool, damp London breeze on my face. I took a deep breath. New air. And absolutely no one here was going to call me a space cadet. 4 During my first week in London, jet lag kept me awake at odd hours. Awake at 3:00 AM, I sat on the window sill of my rented room, staring at the streetlamps outside. My phone screen lit up. Susan had updated her social media, posting a gallery of nine photos, all of her and Owen. At a diner, a movie theater, a shopping mall. The caption read: Agnes leaving has made life so boring. Had to drag this guy out to keep me company. You’re responsible for my entertainment now, Owen! In the comments, mutual friends from back home were teasing: “Are these two finally going to make it official?” “The childhood sweethearts are over, is the best friend stepping in?” “Did Agnes leaving finally clear the path? lol.” Owen had replied to one comment: Don’t talk nonsense. Susan had reacted with a blushing emoji. I stared at the screen, trying to process the feeling. It wasn’t jealousy. It was a cold, quiet sense of finality. My departure hadn’t left a void in their lives; it had completed them. Without the clumsy third wheel hovering around, they could finally slide into place next to each other. Naomi walked in, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. “Why are you awake staring at your phone…” She glanced at the screen. “Is that your ex-friend and the childhood sweetheart?” “Yeah.” Naomi handed me a mug. “Turn it off. Tomorrow is your first day of work.” I took a sip of the sweet, warm drink, letting the heat burn the tip of my tongue. I put Susan’s notifications on mute. And Owen’s too. My first day at the new office was a blur of unfamiliarity. The fast-paced environment, new faces, and a completely different workflow. During the meetings, I took frantic notes, trying my best to keep up. But nobody laughed. Nobody imitated my nervous stutter. Nobody looked at a successful task I completed and said, “Wow, she actually pulled it off.” At lunch, a colleague complimented a specific detail in my marketing proposal. It was a simple, normal piece of professional feedback. But it almost made me tear up. I worked late that night, leaving the office around 9:00 PM. On the tube home, I received a message from Owen. “It’s been a week. How are you settling in? Is the work okay?” I replied: “It’s fine.” He quickly typed back: “Susan said you muted her posts. She’s really hurt by that.” I didn’t reply. He sent another: “Agnes, what are you still mad about? She already apologized.” Always the same script. She was hurt, so I had to be the one to soften. She apologized, so I had to be the one to forgive. But what about the million-dollar account I lost? What about the dignity I stripped away in front of my peers? What about the eight years of quiet humiliation? None of that mattered. Because I was Agnes. Agnes was slow, Agnes was sensitive, Agnes was easy to appease. Agnes would never stay mad. I closed the chat, opened my work email, and began preparing for the next morning’s presentation. Two weeks passed, then three, then four. I slowly found my rhythm in London. The work became second nature, and my turnaround time for strategy drafts cut in half. Naomi pointed out that I was smiling a lot more. Owen’s messaging patterns began to shift too. It went from once a day, to three times a day, to constant updates morning, noon, and night. It started as casual check-ins, but quickly grew invasive. “Who did you have lunch with today?” “Is your new teammate a guy or a girl?” “It’s the weekend. Why aren’t you replying to my texts?” I kept my replies brief, or ignored them altogether. By the fifth week, at 4:00 AM London time, my phone began to buzz with an incoming FaceTime call from him. 5 I let it ring, refusing to answer. Then came a text message: “Agnes, I need to talk to you.” “Talk tomorrow. I’m asleep.” “Now.” I let out a slow sigh, sat up in bed, and accepted the call. On screen, Owen was sitting on his balcony, the city lights of Chicago sparkling behind him. He looked exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes. His collar was unbuttoned, his hair messy, as if he had been running his hands through it all night. “Agnes.” “Yeah.” He stared at his screen for several seconds, just looking at me. “Are you ever coming back?” “I like it here.” “I didn’t ask if you liked it,” his voice dropped, turning sharp. “I asked if you’re coming back.” “Not anytime soon.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, he said something I completely didn’t expect. “Susan confessed to me.” The air in my room seemed to freeze. “Last week,” he continued, his tone flat. “She said she’s always had feelings for me.” My fingers gripped the edge of my blanket tightly. “And… did you accept?” He didn’t say anything. And that silence was all the answer I needed. I felt a sudden wave of self-deprecation wash over me. The last lingering, foolish hope I had carried in my heart for years shattered completely. He wasn’t calling because he missed me. He was calling to tell me this, expecting me to play the role of the mature, supportive childhood friend who would offer her blessing. “Congratulations,” I said, forcing a small smile. Across the screen, he seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. “You’re not upset?” I shook my head. “Agnes—” “Agnes,” I corrected him. He froze again. “Right. Well, Susan wanted me to apologize to you again. She hopes that when you come back, the three of us can still…” “I’m not coming back.” His expression hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means I’m not coming back, Owen.” Outside my window, the London sky was beginning to pale. I looked at the face that had been the center of my world for eight years, and smiled softly. “Goodbye.” I ended the call. His stunned expression was the last thing I saw before the screen went black. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t indifference. It was the look of a man who had suddenly realized that something he took entirely for granted was actually, truly gone. I couldn’t fall back asleep after that. The next morning, I dragged myself into the office with heavy eyes. Naomi noticed immediately and quietly handed me a double espresso. “The dynamic duo again?” “For the last time,” I promised. She nodded, letting the subject drop. The work week flew by in a blur of meetings and tight deadlines. My role in the cross-border e-commerce division required me to negotiate directly with international clients. My spoken English, hesitant at first, grew sharper and more confident with every call. During our weekly review, the director singled out my latest project proposal, praising its clear data and unique perspective. Nobody chimed in to say, “Wow, she actually managed to do that.” It was just normal, professional recognition. When I stood up to thank the team, my voice was steady and completely clear. Later that afternoon, I received an unexpected message. It wasn’t from Owen, and it wasn’t from Susan. It was from Tristan, our high school class president. “Agnes? I heard you’re in London. I’m heading there next week for a business trip. Free for dinner?” Tristan. He had sat behind me in high school before heading off to Cambridge for his master’s degree, eventually landing a job in the financial district. We weren’t incredibly close back then, but we weren’t strangers either. It was a refreshing, uncomplicated connection. No nicknames, no teasing, just a polite “thanks” whenever we shared study notes. “Sure,” I replied. On Friday night, he took me to a quiet restaurant overlooking the Thames. Dressed in a sharp suit, he was a head taller than he had been in high school, but his warm smile was exactly the same. “You’ve changed a lot,” he said, handing me the menu. “You seem much more confident.” “Do I?” “In high school, you barely made eye contact when you spoke. Now, you hold your head high.” I looked down at the menu, feeling my ears warm slightly. “I think it’s just the environment.” “What kind of environment?” “One where nobody calls me space cadet.” He paused, his fork hovering. “Who called you that?” “Nobody important,” I smiled. “Just old history.” The dinner was effortless. We talked about our careers, life in London, and old school memories. Not a single word made me feel small or self-conscious. When the bill came, he reached for it. “Let me know if you ever need anything while you’re here. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.” “Thanks, Tristan.” On the way back, I posted my very first photo of London on social media. It was a shot of the Thames at night, captioned: Dinner with an old friend. London nights are beautiful. Five minutes later, Susan’s comment appeared. “Oh wow, Agnes has a new friend! Is it a guy? Make sure you don’t get scammed over there, you’ve always been so terrible at reading people…” I stared at the comment for two seconds, then deleted it. Three minutes later, Owen called. I let it ring out. Then came his text: “Who did you have dinner with?” “A former classmate.” “A guy or a girl?” “How is that any of your business?” The chat remained silent for several minutes. Then he sent: “Agnes, Susan and I aren’t together.” I blinked. “Didn’t you say she confessed to you?” “She did, but I didn’t say yes.” “…You didn’t say anything when I asked last time.” “You asked if I accepted, and before I could explain, you hung up,” his text read, sounding slightly defensive. I leaned back against the taxi seat, watching the city lights blur outside the window. How typical. His silence was a “no” in his head, but to me, it was a default “yes.” Because he never bothered to explain himself. Because he always assumed I would just wait and understand. “What’s the point of telling me this now?” I typed back. He didn’t reply immediately. After a long pause, he sent: “Agnes, there are things I hadn’t figured out before.” “And have you figured them out now?” “I’m trying to.” “Take your time then.” I locked my phone. The taxi pulled up to my apartment building. It was 11:00 PM. The night wind was cold, but my mind was remarkably clear. It wasn’t that I didn’t care anymore. It was just that I no longer needed his answers. When I walked upstairs, Naomi was curled up on the couch watching a show. “Back from your date?” “It wasn’t a date.” “Right, right, not a date,” she said without looking up. “Your phone has been buzzing off the hook, by the way.” I checked my phone. Susan had sent a long voice message. I clicked play, listened to the first second, and paused it. “Agnes, did you seriously block me? What is your problem with deleting my comments? I was just trying to look out for you…” I marked the message as read and closed the app. That night, I slept peacefully, without a single dream.

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1 My best friend Manon volunteered to get the campus heartthrob’s number for me. She had a massive crush on his best friend, Nate, so she figured she could kill two birds with one stone. Thanks to her help, Chase and I ended up in a late-night, sweet-talking online relationship that lasted for three months. By the time we decided to meet up in person, Manon had also managed to win over Nate. We planned a double date to finally take things offline. But when the guys arrived at the restaurant, they both walked straight past me and grabbed Manon’s hands. Nate immediately threw a playful punch at Chase’s shoulder. “Your girl is right there, man. What the hell are you doing holding mine?” Chase froze. His gaze slowly drifted to my pale, bloodless face, his jaw tightening as he looked back at Manon. “This isn’t fair,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, strained whisper. “When I gave out my number, I thought she was the one asking for it.” He looked at Nate, his eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. “I’m going to compete with you, Nate. Fair and square.” “As for Hazel…” Chase turned back to me, his expression suddenly washing clean of any emotion. “Let’s just end this. Let’s pretend none of it ever happened.” The moment the words left Chase’s mouth, Nate lost his temper. “What kind of garbage are you talking?” Nate growled, pulling Manon closer to his side as if he was terrified she might vanish. “Manon and I actually love each other. I’m not competing with you over anything.” But Chase didn’t back down an inch. “May the best man win. Otherwise, I’m not letting this go. I’m certainly not going to stand by and bless your relationship.” Manon stood trapped in the middle of their glaring match, looking completely stressed and helpless. I kept my head down, staring at the polished wooden table. I didn’t say a single word. From start to finish, not a single person in that huddle looked at me. Except for Chase, when he casually tossed out that cold, clean breakup. He had been so incredibly quick to declare his loyalty to Manon. Yet, just twenty minutes before we walked into the restaurant, his text was sitting in my inbox: Can’t wait to see you, baby. I adore you. As the two boys continued to argue, their voices rising, the other diners in the restaurant began to turn and stare at our table. “Shut up, both of you. Stop making a scene,” Manon snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “Go home. My head is a complete mess right now. I need some time to think.” She grabbed my wrist, her grip firm and reassuring. “Hazel, let’s go.” I didn’t say a word, letting her pull me along like a ghost. But Chase stepped into our path, blocking the exit like a solid brick wall. “I’ll drive you guys back.” “If anyone is driving them, it’s me,” Nate shot back, pushing his way forward. Manon shoved past them both. “I said I need space! Neither of you follow us!” She dragged me out of the restaurant and hailed a cab, leaving both of them standing on the sidewalk. As we sat in the backseat of the taxi, Manon turned to me, her eyes brimming with guilt. “Hazel, I’m so incredibly sorry. I had no idea Chase had confused us. I swear to you, I’ll never say yes to him. I know how much you care about him. I’ll make sure he understands.” She looked closer at me, her voice dropping into a gentle, worried whisper. “Hazel, are you okay?” I forced myself to look out the window, blinking rapidly against the hot tears stinging my eyes. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” “I’m just really tired. I think I’m going to close my eyes for a bit.” I pulled my face mask up over my nose, nearly to my eyes. Underneath the fabric, the tears finally overflowed, tracking silently down my cheeks. We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. When we got back to the dorm, my roommates immediately crowded around me, their faces bright with excitement. They had spent hours that afternoon helping me curl my hair, doing my makeup, and picking out the perfect outfit. They had teased me, saying I was going to make Chase’s head spin. But when they saw my swollen eyes and the ruined tracks in my makeup, their smiles vanished. “What happened, Hazel?” “Why are you crying? Did he do something to you?” I swallowed the heavy sob rising in my throat, my voice trembling. “We… we broke up. It turns out I wasn’t the girl he wanted.” The moment the words left my lips, I lost all control, burying my face in my hands and sobbing until my chest ached. Three months of sweet messages, of late-night calls, of believing I was finally loved, gone in a single second. I had truly believed the universe was finally being kind to a quiet girl like me. But it was all just a cruel, humiliating joke. 2 That night, I lay in bed, staring at the blue light of my phone screen. I scrolled through the endless log of our chat history from the last three months. Chase had been incredibly clingy, constantly blowing up my phone with sweet, trivial updates throughout his day. Good morning, baby. I grabbed some breakfast for you. Get up, get up! Class is so boring today. I need a kiss to get through this. I miss you. Why aren’t you replying to me? Your boyfriend’s daily subscription has expired. Please pay ninety-nine kisses to renew. Select electronic transfer or manual delivery. Every single word, once a source of secret joy, now felt like a jagged piece of glass twisting in my chest. My thumb hovered over his profile picture, eventually tapping it open to reveal a photo he had sent me during his summer trip to Paris. He was standing beneath the Eiffel Tower, looking effortlessly handsome, his dark hair slightly windswept, a bright, confident smile on his lips. Next time, I’m going to kiss you right under the Eiffel Tower. My tears wet my pillow, drying only to be replaced by fresh ones. I kept my finger pressed against the delete button. I knew that letting him go was the only way to heal, and that I had already been humiliated enough. But my heart was a stubborn, foolish thing. It still fluttered at the sight of his face. Ultimately, I couldn’t bring myself to delete him. The next day, I sat through my lectures like a hollow shell, my mind completely blank. On my way back to the dorm, I saw Chase standing near the entrance of my building. I immediately lowered my head, trying to slip past him, but he stepped directly into my path. “Excuse me,” I whispered, my fingers tightening around the edge of my textbook. “Hazel.” His voice was just as beautiful as I remembered, but the warmth was gone, replaced by a polite, clinical distance. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who had gently cooed me to sleep just two nights ago. “Do you need something?” I kept my eyes fixed on his shoes, terrified he would see how swollen my eyelids still were. “Can you send me Manon’s contact card?” I froze, my breath catching in my throat. “Nate won’t give it to me, and Manon has blocked my number,” he continued, completely oblivious to the pain radiating off me. “Since you’re her best friend, I figured you’d have a way to reach her.” He was so incredibly cruel. He was standing right in front of me, asking me to help him pursue my best friend, as if the last three months had been absolutely nothing to him. I shook my head slowly. “No. If she wanted you to have her contact info, she would have given it to you herself.” “I have to go.” I made a move to step around him. “Are you keeping it from me out of petty jealousy?” Chase asked, his voice sharp. I stopped dead in my tracks. Chase took a step closer, looking down at me with a hard, defensive expression. “Hazel, you’re only refusing to give me her number because you don’t want me to chase her, aren’t you?” “Come on. We only talked for three months. It’s not like we had some deep, life-altering romance. And I only put effort into those chats because I believed I was talking to Manon.” “In this entire mess, I’m the one who got screwed over. Why didn’t you just ask for my number yourself instead of sending your gorgeous friend to do it? You were too cowardly, too afraid of rejection to stand in front of me.” “Now the girl I actually wanted is dating my best friend, and I’m left with nothing. How are you going to make this up to me?” His words felt like physical blows, bruising my chest. In his eyes, I wasn’t the sweet girl he had fallen for online; I was a manipulative, deceitful coward who had tricked him. My fingernails bit deep into my palms. I forced my spine to go perfectly straight. I kept my head down, keeping my voice as level as possible. “I’m sorry, Chase.” “I can’t make it up to you. If I could go back to that day, I would never have let anyone ask for your number on my behalf. It’s my fault there was a misunderstanding, and you can think whatever you want of me.” “But Manon is my best friend. If she doesn’t want to talk to you, I will never make that choice for her. You can pursue her, you can get her number from anyone else on this campus, but it will never be from me.” “I don’t betray my friends.” As the last word slipped out, a heavy tear slipped from my eye, splashing onto the pavement between us. I quickly wiped my cheek and lifted my chin, forcing myself to meet his eyes. Seeing my raw, tear-streaked face, Chase froze, a sudden flicker of panic crossing his features. “If we’re done here, I’m leaving,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. Chase ran a hand through his hair, looking suddenly frustrated and deeply annoyed with himself. “Fuck… I didn’t mean… look, I wasn’t trying to…” He trailed off, letting out a sharp breath. “Whatever. Just go.” I turned and walked away, keeping my back perfectly straight even though my vision was a blurry mess. It was truly over. The end of a three-month mistake, and the death of a five-year secret. I never got to tell him the truth. I never got to say: Chase, I’ve loved you for five years. 3 I had been in love with Chase for five years. He had probably forgotten, but our very first meeting had been during our freshman year of high school. I had just moved to the big city prep school from a tiny, rural middle school, feeling completely out of place. During the opening ceremony, Chase had stood on the stage as the student representative. Even in the plain school uniform, he looked incredibly handsome and bright. I had been standing at the very back of the crowd, but his clear, confident voice had cut through the chatter of the students and the rustling wind, settling deep into my heart. Perhaps the weather and the light had just been too perfect that day, but love had found me in an instant. Of course, I knew we belonged to different worlds. Chase was the golden boy, beloved by everyone. I was just a quiet, plain girl from the countryside. I kept my crush tucked away, using it as a sweet secret to bring a little color to my ordinary life. Our only actual interaction in high school had happened on a rainy evening during junior year. Most of the students had parents picking them up. My parents were working in another province, and my elderly grandmother had bad knees and couldn’t walk in the rain, so I was left waiting alone in the lobby. Watching the torrential downpour, I braced myself, wrapping my backpack over my head, preparing to dash into the storm. Suddenly, a hand caught my shoulder, and a heavy umbrella was shoved into my grip. When the umbrella shifted, Chase was standing there. He gave me a bright, easy grin and winked. “Girls shouldn’t walk in the rain.” With that, he dashed out into the storm, letting the water soak through his jacket. I shouted a thank you after him, but he didn’t turn back, simply waving a hand over his shoulder as he disappeared into the grey sheet of water. That rainy day, and the frantic drumming of my heart, had stayed with me all the way to college. But now, the storm had finally cleared. I had never harbored any grand illusions about us, until I crossed paths with Manon again in university. Manon had been my best friend in elementary school before her parents divorced and she moved to the city. Reuniting on campus felt like a miracle. She was a dance major, gorgeous and graceful, while I studied literature. Despite the years apart, our friendship was as strong as ever, and she remained just as beautiful as she had been as a child. She spent a lot of time with me, and she was the one who noticed how I looked at Chase when he played basketball. She told me I was terrible at hiding my feelings. I insisted that watching him from afar was enough, but Manon pushed me to be brave. “Life is short, Hazel. You have to go after what you want.” She eventually volunteered to get his number for me, pointing out that she was planning to ask Nate for his number anyway, so she might as well ask for both. I should have said no. But greed got the better of me, and I agreed. When Manon walked onto the basketball court, every eye in the stands followed her. She was a natural head-turner. I should have realized then that anyone would look at her first. I had been so nervous my chest felt tight, terrified Chase would reject her. From my seat in the stands, I saw Manon point in my direction. I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning, but managed to peek back just in time to see Chase smile and nod, handing over his phone. I felt like I had won the lottery. The days that followed had been so sweet, so effortless, as we quickly fell into an online relationship. But eventually, the clock struck midnight, and Cinderella was sent back to her reality. On our double date, I had watched Chase stand up with a massive bouquet of blue bells, my favorite flowers. He had smiled, walking straight past me, and taken Manon’s hand. I missed you, baby. That was the moment I realized the last three months had been a stolen dream. The basketball court had been too loud that day, and Chase had assumed the gorgeous girl asking for his number wanted it for herself. If only I had been a little braver. If only I had stood in front of him myself, even if it meant being rejected. It would have been better than this humiliating mess. 4 The next day, I blocked Chase’s number and deleted his contact, determined to return to my quiet, orderly life. I threw myself into my studies, spending my days in the library and my nights in the dorm, pretending the last three months had never happened. Meanwhile, Chase began to pursue Manon with an aggressive, public intensity, as if trying to make up for lost time. Nate, of course, fought back just as fiercely. The campus forums were filled with threads analyzing the love triangle, with students placing bets on who the star of the dance department would choose. When someone in the comments pointed out that Chase had recently been dating someone else, Chase had replied to the thread himself: We broke up. I had the wrong girl. It was a simple, brutal summary of our relationship. My roommates quickly learned not to mention his name around me, keeping a careful watch on my expression whenever we passed the athletic fields. I always offered them a small, reassuring smile, letting them know I was fine. A month passed, and I hadn’t reached out to Manon. I knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but my heart was still too tender, and I needed time to heal. She understood, giving me the space I needed. Until one afternoon, she showed up outside my lecture hall, holding a small box from my favorite bakery. “Hazel, I’ve missed you so much,” she said, her eyes shining with a soft, pleading look. “I bought your favorite chocolate hazelnut cake. Can we grab dinner tonight?” Looking at her nervous, sweet face, my heart softened. It really wasn’t her fault. I nodded, offering her a genuine smile. On the way to the restaurant, Manon chattered happily, catching me up on everything I had missed over the last month. I listened quietly, nodding along, until she casually mentioned a necklace Nate had bought her. She froze mid-sentence, her face instantly falling. “I’m so sorry, Hazel. I shouldn’t have brought that up.” Looking at her panicked expression, I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “It’s fine, Manon. Really. I’ve moved on.” But my words only made her eyes well up with tears. She knew how deeply I had cared for Chase, and she knew about the five years of quiet longing that had preceded it. She threw her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Hazel. I should have been clearer when I asked him for his number. It’s all my fault. I owe you a million apologies.” “Chase is an absolute idiot. How could he not see how amazing you are?” “I promise you, I will never date him. I don’t care how hard he tries.” I patted her back gently, comforting her. “It’s okay, Manon. Even if you do date him, I won’t mind. I only care about you.” My words only made her sob harder, and we ended up canceling our dinner plans, heading straight to a quiet campus pub instead. She ordered a row of shots, claiming she was going to help me release all my pent-up sadness. But after a few rounds, she was the one who ended up completely wasted, crying into her glass. As I struggled to figure out how to get her back to her apartment, her phone rang. It was Nate. Hearing that Manon was drunk, he insisted on coming to help, promising he’d be there in ten minutes. He arrived quickly, but my heart sank when I saw the tall figure walking in right behind him. “He’s like a bad shadow,” Nate muttered, looking annoyed. “He overheard me on the phone and insisted on tagging along.” I looked up, my eyes meeting Chase’s dark, unreadable gaze.

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