Category: English

In a fiery car crash, I threw myself in front of Jacob Vance and saved his life. In doing so, I fell into a coma, becoming the untouchable saint in his memory, the ghost he could never let go of. But when I woke up, I found a fiancée by his side—a woman who shared my eyes, my smile. That’s when I learned the truth: I was living in a dark romance novel, a world designed for my suffering. Jacob was destined to waver between us, torturing me with his indecision. After a series of heart-wrenching and brutal events, I would finally die of cancer. Only then would Jacob have his grand epiphany, casting aside his fiancée to live a life of lonely regret. The Laws of this World whispered, “This is the greatest punishment for him.” And I thought, To hell with that. 1 It didn’t take long for the news of my awakening to reach Jacob. He was overseas at a critical summit, but the moment he heard, he dropped everything and chartered the first flight back. That evening, I saw him, haggard and travel-worn. He burst through the door to my private room, the usually stoic, reserved man stumbling as he collapsed by my bedside. He seized my hand, his grip desperate, as if I were a priceless treasure he’d almost lost forever. “Chloe… Chloe! You’re really awake. I thought they were lying to me…” Jacob pulled me into a fierce embrace, his hot tears searing my neck. “Why did you do it?” he choked out. “Why did you push me out of the way? If I had known you’d end up like this, lying here for years… I would rather it had been me who died.” The nurses in the room were already wiping their eyes, captivated by what they saw as a beautiful, tragic love story. If I hadn’t dreamt of the brutal future awaiting me, a premonition of all the pain to come, I might have been moved, too. He held me for a long moment. When I remained still and silent, he pulled back slightly, his voice soft with concern. “Chloe, why aren’t you saying anything?” I moistened my lips, gesturing to my throat, which felt like sandpaper. He was on his feet in an instant, pouring a glass of lukewarm water and helping me take small, careful sips. Once the soothing water eased the rasp in my throat, I spoke, my voice a fragile whisper. “I saved you?” He froze, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “You did. You shoved me so hard… before I even knew what was happening, the car hit you. It sent you flying.” Jacob clutched his head, a wave of pain washing over his face as he relived the memory. “Chloe, don’t you ever do something so foolish again. You’re the most important person in my life. If anything had happened to you… I would have lost my mind.” I said nothing. Because in my memory, that wasn’t how I ended up in a coma. Not at all. But as he spoke, his expression was utterly sincere, and the faces of his assistant and the nurses showed no hint of surprise. It confirmed my suspicion: this novel-world had a self-correcting mechanism, capable of rewriting reality to fit its plot. But… My fingers traced the line of his jaw, up to his perfect, sculpted features. There, just at the edge of his eyelid, was a tiny, faint brown scar. According to the script, my selfless sacrifice should have left him completely unharmed. Yet, here was proof—a flaw in the narrative. The car crash had left its mark on him, however small. It meant the plot wasn’t entirely absolute. It could be bent. I suppressed the storm of emotions rising within me, forcing myself into the role I was meant to play. “Jacob,” I whispered, my eyes welling with tears. “I’ve missed you so much…” I threw my arms around him and began to sob, just as the girl in the story would have. 2 After I woke up, no matter how demanding his schedule, Jacob made time to visit me at the hospital every single day. He always brought me flowers. Not the extravagant, air-freighted bouquets of a billionaire, but simple arrangements he’d chosen himself from a small florist down the street. Today, he brought a spray of fragrant lilies, their white petals nestled against dark green eucalyptus leaves. A gentle breeze drifted through the open window, filling the room with a sense of serene beauty. As he gently combed my hair, he smiled. “Don’t you like them, Chloe? I remember you made a list once, full of all the places you dreamed of seeing.” He held me, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “You’re still recovering, so for now, I can only bring the world to you in pieces. But get better soon, my love. After we’re married, I’ll take you to every single one of those places. I promise.” Just as the words left his lips, his phone buzzed, a sharp, intrusive sound. Jacob pulled it from his pocket, turning away slightly as he glanced at the screen. His posture stiffened. “Chloe, it’s a work call. I’ll just be a moment.” He didn’t even wait for my reply, stepping over to the window to answer. I felt a cold, bitter laugh rise in my throat. If I didn’t know that was Isabelle Croft on the other end, calling to discuss the final details of their engagement party, his tender words might have actually melted my heart. In the days that followed, I threw myself into physical therapy. Years in a coma had left my body withered and weak; the road to recovery was more arduous than I could have imagined. There were moments when the pain was so intense I wanted to scream, to give up, but the memory of the nightmares that plagued my unconsciousness was a relentless whip, driving me forward. I had to be strong. I had to be ready before the next major plot point unfolded. It was the only way to seize control, to prevent that dream from becoming my reality. My efforts paid off. One week before Jacob’s engagement party, I was discharged from the hospital and moved into the Vance estate. He settled me into a sun-drenched room on the second floor. After the staff had unpacked my things, I asked to explore the house. They must have been given instructions by Jacob, because no one stopped me. The estate was immense. It took me three full days to map out every corner, every hallway, every hidden door. And through it all, Jacob and I were the picture of a loving couple, just like we used to be, before the crash, before the lies. 3 But as the day of the engagement party drew closer, a palpable tension began to radiate from Jacob. He was growing anxious. With me living under his roof, he needed a reason, a solid excuse, to get me out of the house on the day of the party. In the original story, I was still in the hospital, conveniently out of sight. But now, here I was, a living, breathing complication nestled in his arms. I reached up, gently smoothing the worry lines forming between his brows. “What’s wrong? You look so stressed, even at home.” He flinched, his eyes clouded with conflict. After a moment of hesitation, he began, “Chloe, in a few days…” I cut him off, playing the part of the understanding lover. “There’s a traveling art exhibition opening downtown in a few days,” I said, my voice bright. “I’d love to see it. Can I go?” I leaned into him, my tone playful and coaxing. The relief that washed over his face was immediate. “Of course,” he said, his smile returning. “I’ll have my assistant get you tickets. I have a major meeting that day, so I’ll have Davies drive you.” I smiled and nodded. The engagement party was on a Friday night. Jacob saw me off early that morning, his affection a mask for his relief. Davies, his ever-polite assistant, drove me to the gallery. His conversation was pleasant, but he kept dropping hints about all the other wonderful places to visit nearby—boutiques, cafes, parks. Jacob’s orders were clear: keep me occupied for as long as possible. I spent the morning wandering through the exhibition, then had a late lunch at a nearby bistro. By early evening, I found a high-end spa. “Mr. Davies,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but would you mind if I just popped in here for a bit? A friend gave me a gift card, and I haven’t had a proper spa day since… well, since before. It seems like the perfect chance.” His smile widened, all too happy to oblige. “Of course, Ms. Sutton. Take all the time you need.” But I wasn’t there for a massage. I was there for the back exit. It was the perfect way to slip away while keeping Davies pinned in place. Once outside, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the one address that had been burning in my mind. The Vance estate. 4 Standing outside the towering gates of the Vance estate, I took a deep, steadying breath. As dusk settled, the mansion began to glow, light spilling from every window, turning the colossal building into a glittering jewel against the darkening sky. I slipped away from the main entrance, hiding in the shadows of a side path. From my vantage point, I watched as a parade of luxury cars delivered the city’s elite—politicians, tycoons, celebrities—all arriving for the grand celebration. In my nightmare, the dream that was my future, this was the day I finally completed my physical therapy. Filled with joy and hope, I had returned to the Vance estate, only to walk into the scene of my beloved’s engagement party with another woman. The shock had shattered me. I had stared at Jacob’s stunned face, turned without a word, and walked away, setting in motion the tragic story of our love. This world’s plot had a way of healing itself. Even if I avoided Isabelle tonight, the story would conspire to reveal her to me eventually. But I had learned something crucial: the plot’s self-correction took time. And in that window of time, I had to do something drastic to ensure I never walked that tragic path again. The Vances were a pillar of society; I had no invitation. Walking through the front door was impossible. In the story, the original me had forced her way in, a scene of humiliating, desperate chaos. I wouldn’t make the same mistake. During my three days exploring the estate, I’d found it: a small, seldom-used service gate, overgrown with ivy. I slipped the key I’d copied into the lock. It turned with a quiet click. I was in. The backyard had been transformed. To impress the Croft family, Jacob had spared no expense. Crates of exotic ingredients flown in from overseas, dozens of renowned chefs, and tables groaning under the weight of a lavish feast. Society’s finest mingled, champagne in hand, their polite smiles hiding shrewd, calculating eyes. I was dressed in a simple, pearl-white silk dress. I looked elegant enough to blend in, and in the bustling crowd, no one noticed the uninvited guest in their midst. My gaze swept across the garden, past the laughing guests, and up towards the mansion. There, on the second-floor balcony, stood a solitary figure. She wore a stunning designer gown, her long hair elegantly pinned with a pearl clip. Even from this distance, I couldn’t see her face clearly, but I knew. I knew with absolute certainty that she was the one I was looking for. Isabelle Croft. 5 I navigated the crowds, slipping inside the mansion and making my way to the second-floor balcony. Isabelle stood with her back to me, swirling a glass of champagne, lost in thought. She turned at the sound of my footsteps. When her eyes landed on my face—a face so strikingly similar to her own—she gasped. “You… it’s you? You’re Chloe Sutton? The one who saved Jacob?” I gave a slight nod. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips. “So it’s true. I wondered why he would ever agree to an arranged marriage with my family. They were all right…” She stepped closer, her eyes scanning my features, searching for the resemblance. “We really do… look alike.” Her family had built their empire on the East Coast, only expanding to Veridia City two years ago. To gain a foothold in a new city’s competitive business world, an alliance with a family like the Vances was the fastest way. Her father had proposed the marriage. “Everyone told my father not to bother,” she continued, her voice laced with irony. “Veridia has no shortage of eligible heiresses. If Jacob Vance wanted a wife, he could have had his pick from here to Paris. So why was he still single?” Isabelle took a sip of her champagne. “My father had given up hope. But then, Jacob saw my picture. And he agreed.” Her eyes, shadowed with a strange mix of clarity and disillusionment, met mine. “I thought it was love at first sight. I never imagined it was because, as everyone whispered, I looked so much like you.” I remained silent. This wasn’t the Isabelle I knew from the story. The novel painted her as a one-dimensional, brainless antagonist, a mere tool to create conflict between Jacob and me. But the woman standing before me was self-aware, her pain palpable. She was no mere plot device. Just as I was about to speak, reality slapped me in the face. Isabelle’s eyes flickered to something over my shoulder. Suddenly, her body lurched forward. The champagne glass in her hand tilted precariously, the golden liquid about to spill all over her expensive gown. I recognized the scene instantly. It was a moment from later in the story, at another party. Isabelle would accuse me of deliberately spilling wine on her. Jacob, refusing to believe my denials, would force me to kneel on broken glass and apologize to her, all to appease the Croft family. The author had tried to frame it as a twisted act of protection—by humiliating me himself, he was preventing the Crofts from seeking further revenge. But pain was pain. Whether it came from Jacob or the Crofts, it made no difference. And it all stemmed from one source: his own weakness. His inability to be alone while I was in a coma, his selfish need for a substitute. How could the author ever label a man like that devoted? In that split second, I saw her intent. I moved first. My hand shot out, clamping down on the rim of the glass. I used so much force that the fragile stem should have snapped, but it held firm. The champagne sloshed, but not a single drop touched my skin. Isabelle stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. Her heel wobbled, and she started to fall. Before she could hit the ground in a dramatic heap, my other hand snaked out, grabbing her arm and wrenching her upright. I clapped a hand over her mouth, dragging her from the brightly lit balcony into the deep shadows of an alcove. A moment later, Jacob and a group of guests passed by, their laughter echoing in the hall. They heard nothing. They saw nothing. 6 Once they were gone, I released her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, my voice a low hiss. Isabelle seemed to snap out of a trance, her eyes slowly regaining focus. She looked at me, her expression bewildered. “I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s like, ever since I met Jacob, my body just does these… strange things on its own.” “Sometimes I’m clinging to him, acting like a spoiled child. Other times I’m cruel, sneering at other women who have a crush on him,” she said, her gaze intense. “I was never like this back home. Never.” But until this moment, no one had ever called her out on it. Her own mind had simply accepted these actions as normal, never questioning the bizarre impulses. “Ms. Sutton,” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Do you believe me?” I studied her face, searching for any sign of deception. I found none. “Isabelle,” I asked softly, “are you in love with Jacob?” She hesitated, her hand pressing against her chest as if to feel her own heartbeat. The strange compulsions might not be hers, but the affection for Jacob… that was real. She gave a slow, deliberate nod. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. If her love was just another part of the script, I would have had no way to convince her to help me. I chose my words carefully. “I’m not here by choice. Jacob is keeping me here, against my will. I don’t love him.” Isabelle looked skeptical. “But the stories… everyone says you were inseparable. That you even took a bullet for him, metaphorically speaking.” “There was a car crash, yes,” I countered, “but it wasn’t to save him. He’s the one spinning that story, making sure everyone believes I’m here because I want to be.” I poured every ounce of sincerity I could muster into my expression, praying she would believe me. And she did. Whether it was my performance or her own innate decency, she finally accepted my words. After a long pause, she asked quietly, “What do you want me to do?” A spark of hope ignited within me. I grabbed her hand. “Your brother,” I said urgently. “I hear he’s in the military, Special Forces?” She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Please,” I pressed, “can you introduce me to him? Jacob has connections everywhere. If I’m going to escape him, I need help from someone he can’t control, someone he fears.” Isabelle’s expression, once sympathetic, suddenly turned cynical. “So that’s it. You’re just using me to get to my brother.” I knew what she was thinking. She saw me as just another woman trying to climb the social ladder by latching onto her powerful brother. I couldn’t let her walk away. As she turned to leave, I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Believe me or not, I’m telling you the truth.” My voice was desperate, earnest. “Even if you don’t trust me, trust your brother’s judgment. Just make the introduction. He’ll be able to see for himself whether I’m a social climber or someone who genuinely needs his help.” She stared at me for a long, tense moment, her eyes searching mine. Finally, she relented. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll set up a meeting. But after that, you’re on your own.” She was about to leave, but paused at the door. She turned back, a thoughtful look on her face. “Chloe Sutton… I did some research on you. Don’t you have a sister? Where is she now?” 7 After striking the deal with Isabelle, I slipped out through the same side gate I’d used to enter, melting back into the night. I took a cab back to the spa, reappearing just as a real customer would, feigning relaxation and offering my apologies to a waiting Davies. He waved it off, his relief palpable, and drove me back to the Vance estate. When we arrived, the mansion was pristine. The staff had worked with chilling efficiency; there wasn’t a single trace of the lavish party that had just ended. Jacob was waiting for me. He pulled me into his arms, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “Chloe, you’re finally back. I missed you like crazy.” He tilted my head up to kiss me. I didn’t resist, letting him take what he wanted. After a moment, he pulled away, his voice thick with desire. “I got ahead of myself,” he rasped. “I almost forgot you’re still recovering.” He took a deep breath, stroking my hair. “Go on up to bed. I need a cold shower.” I nodded obediently and left him standing there. Upstairs, I collapsed onto the plush bed, my body aching with a day’s worth of tension and exhaustion. Sleep claimed me almost instantly. 8 That night, for the first time in years, I dreamed of my sister, Lily. In the grand, tragic novel of my life, Lily was barely a footnote, a single line in my backstory. But to me, she was everything. Our father was a pilot. He died in a crash when we were young, a fiery end to a life lived in the sky. Our mother, a gentle soul, did something that seemed both insane and incredibly brave: she followed him, leaving my sister and me orphaned. We were sent to live with our grandmother in the countryside. But she was a woman broken by grief, having lost her husband and then her daughter. In truth, we took care of her more than she ever took care of us. Those years of shared hardship forged an unbreakable bond between Lily and me. We had the same dreams. In college, we were dirt poor, living from one meager paycheck to the next. We worked and studied constantly, but in our rare moments of peace, we’d huddle together, watching documentaries. Our favorite was a series about the ancient Silk Road. The names of those faraway places—the Gobi Desert, the whispering poplar forests—they were like magic spells to us. We made a pact: one day, when we had money, we would see them all. I can still see her so clearly, scribbling on a notepad while gnawing on a piece of stale bread. She’d look up at me, a mischievous grin on her face, revealing a single, endearing crooked tooth. “Chloe,” she’d say, “you’re so frail. When we’re out there in the wild, don’t you dare ask me to carry you when you get tired.” I was about to retort, to say something back to her, when the dream dissolved into a blinding white light, and I was awake. Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the hardwood floors. I stood barefoot in the center of the room, running a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. If Isabelle hadn’t mentioned her, I might have never realized. How long had it been since I’d even thought about Lily? The most important person in my entire world. 9 Isabelle was true to her word. Less than a week after she agreed to help, I received a text from her with a time and place. At this early stage of the story, Jacob hadn’t yet become the possessive jailer he would later be. So, on a day he was occupied at the office, I arranged to meet her brother, Leo Croft, at a café near the city’s landmark Twin Towers. The meeting was set for noon. I arrived half an hour early. I slipped into the restroom to touch up my makeup, deliberately making myself look paler, more fragile. I stared at my reflection: a woman in a cream-colored cashmere sweater and a long, flowing chiffon skirt. I looked delicate, ethereal, breakable. I didn’t know if this performance would earn Leo’s sympathy, but I was playing the long game. In the future I had dreamed of, the one where Jacob held me captive, it was a righteous, justice-driven Leo who noticed my plight and tried to rescue me. His attempt had failed, and Jacob had dragged me back. But he was the only person I knew of, the only character in this twisted story, with the power to help me break free. 10 When I returned to my table, a man was already sitting there. He was tall and lean, with sun-kissed skin that contrasted sharply with his fierce, handsome features. He had the unsettling stillness of a predator, the kind of man who moved like the wind. I walked over and sat down opposite him. “You must be Leo Croft.” He glanced up, his expression unreadable, and gave a curt nod for me to speak. I ordered two coffees—an iced Americano for him, a cappuccino for me. When they arrived, he took a sip of his, and we sat in a heavy silence. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. My eyes fell on his untouched coffee, his stoic face, and then on the corner of a pamphlet sticking out of his jacket pocket. It was for a nature photography exhibition, right next door in the Twin Towers. I decided to take a risk. I invited him to see the exhibit with me. His expression remained cool, but I saw the tension in his brow ease ever so slightly. We walked into the gallery side-by-side, greeted by a stunning photograph of a lioness nursing her cubs. “The Ethiopian savanna, during the dry season,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Most of the herd animals migrate toward water, and the predators follow. This was a lioness who fell behind, her cubs starving.” I listened without comment. He didn’t seem to mind, leading me to the second floor. In the center of the room hung the exhibition’s masterpiece: a breathtaking shot of a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. It was taken in the Arctic Circle, under the rare and magical glow of the aurora borealis. The sky was a canvas of surreal, vibrant colors, transforming the already majestic scene into something otherworldly. A giant rising from the deep to roar its existence at the heavens. “This is—” “Taken three years ago, off the coast of Iceland,” I finished for him, my voice quiet. He turned to look at me, surprised. “The photographer was on a fishing trawler, hoping for a good catch of cod. He stumbled upon this by accident.” I moved to a nearby display, a series of photos documenting the cod fishing industry. I couldn’t help but smile. “Hard to believe the UK and Iceland almost went to war over these things, isn’t it?” My finger traced the glass case. Leo looked at me, confused. “What?” “You don’t know? The Cod Wars,” I explained, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. He didn’t seem annoyed; if anything, he looked intrigued. I pressed on. “After World War II, Iceland repeatedly expanded its territorial waters to protect its fishing industry. Britain, of course, wasn’t happy and sent the Royal Navy to escort their trawlers. But Iceland was clever. Because of a loophole in the NATO agreement, Britain couldn’t engage militarily, but Iceland’s coast guard was free to fire in ‘self-defense.’ They harassed the British fleets until Britain finally gave up the territory. A classic David and Goliath story.” I finished with a small smile, then looked at him, my heart sinking. His face was as impassive as ever. I was sure I had failed, that my attempt to connect with him had been a disaster. Just as I was about to give up, a slow smile spread across Leo’s face. “Ms. Sutton,” he said, his eyes glinting with a newfound respect. “You are not at all what I expected.”

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I was having dinner with my best friend, Alex, who had just gotten back to the country, when I noticed the small hair tie around his wrist. I glanced at the matching one on my own wrist and gave him a knowing nudge. “So when did this happen? Keeping secrets from me now?” Alex just smiled and didn’t say a word, so I dropped it. We were halfway through our meal when Sophia, my childhood sweetheart and soon-to-be fiancée, texted to ask where I was. She was out shopping and hungry. I sent her the address without a second thought. Later, as Sophia leaned over to grab a piece of food, her long hair fell into her plate. I was about to reach over and tie it back for her, but Alex was faster. He deftly gathered her hair and secured it with the tie from his wrist. Noticing my stare, he quickly explained, “Force of habit from having dinner with my girlfriend so much. Don’t mind me.” I said nothing. That night, when we got home, I told Sophia, “Let’s call off the engagement.” She rubbed her temples in irritation. “Just because he tied my hair?” 1. “A man with a hair tie on his wrist is taken,” I said, looking at the pink band on my own arm. The words felt like a bitter joke. I looked up at her. “It’s not because he tied your hair.” “It’s because I suddenly realized that you and I don’t even have that ‘force of habit’.” Sophia stared at me, her brow furrowed. “Tim, stop messing around,” she warned. “This merger was arranged by our grandfathers. You can’t just call it off.” “Alex tying your hair today looked more natural than anything I’ve ever done for you.” Her face darkened. “He’s your best friend. You know what he’s like. He’s a player; he’s smooth with everyone. He’s not like that with me because there’s something between us; he’s like that with all women. Can you please be a little more mature and not blow this out of proportion?” The air in the room grew thick with tension. I loosened my tie. “I know exactly how many girlfriends Alex has had. But I also know he would never cross a line like that with someone else’s partner. Do you think I’m blind?” Sophia’s face flushed a deep red, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “That’s not fair, Tim! He just saw my hair was in my face and helped out. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Only someone with a dirty mind would see it that way.” The accusation stunned me. After a moment, I gave a humorless laugh. “Is that really how you see me?” She looked away, a flicker of guilt in her eyes, and quickly changed the subject. “We’re supposed to be talking about the merger. Our families arranged this for the good of the companies. Don’t be so emotional.” “In our world, plenty of couples have their own lives after getting married. It’s a business alliance. Feelings don’t have to be part of the deal.” Her magnanimity made me feel small and petty, like I was the one making unreasonable demands. Suddenly, the whole conversation felt pointless. I had been in love with Sophia for over a decade. This marriage may have been arranged, but it couldn’t have happened without our consent. I thought her agreeing meant she had some feelings for me, too. Now I saw I had just been fooling myself. Sophia rubbed her forehead. “My birthday is the day after tomorrow. Both our families are getting together for dinner. If you’re in a bad mood, you don’t have to come into the office for the next couple of days. Just rest at home.” I didn’t answer. The next morning, I was woken by my phone ringing. I stared at her name on the screen for a long moment before finally answering. “Tim, where are you?” Her voice was its usual sweet, playful tone, as if our fight had never happened. “I left an urgent file in the study at home. I need it for a client meeting soon. Can you bring it to me?” My fingers tightened around the phone. I didn’t speak. She sighed softly, her voice softening. “I can’t get away from the office, and my driver called in sick. You’re the only person I can ask.” The silence stretched between us until I heard the faint rustle of papers on her end. Finally, I heard my own dry voice say, “Address.” Half an hour later, I arrived at her office. The door was slightly ajar. I was about to knock when I heard Alex’s voice from inside. 2. “Your hair’s a mess again,” he said, his tone light and teasing, far more intimate than it had been at dinner. “I thought you said it was easier to work with it tied up.” “You’re the one who messed it up when you snatched that file from me,” Sophia retorted playfully. I froze, my hand hovering in the air. Through the crack in the door, I could see Sophia sitting at her desk and Alex standing behind her. He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture impossibly intimate and natural. Then, as if he’d just noticed me, his voice rose in perfectly feigned surprise. “Tim? What are you doing here?” He pulled the door open, a look of pure innocence on his face. Sophia looked up, saw the file in my hand, and immediately stood. “You brought it? Quick, give it to me.” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the stray hairs behind her ear. They were held in place by a small, silver clip. It wasn’t her style. “I was just helping Sophia organize some documents. Her hair kept getting in the way,” Alex explained, his tone casual, but his eyes held a glint of challenge. Sophia took the file from my hand. “Good thing you got here when you did. This would have been a disaster.” I looked at her, my voice devoid of emotion. “Well, I hope…” I paused, my gaze sweeping over her disheveled blouse, “…that your appearance won’t be a disaster for your next meeting.” Sophia noticed my stare and nervously smoothed her clothes. “I’ve just been so swamped with work.” It was a clumsy, obvious lie. Alex leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. “Don’t worry, Tim. Sophia is a professional. She never lets personal matters get in the way of business.” His words were a clear, smug insinuation. “The file’s here. I’m leaving,” I said flatly. As I turned, I heard Sophia say something under her breath, probably asking me to wait, but I didn’t look back. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Alex. Tim, don’t take it the wrong way. There’s nothing going on between me and Sophia. After I left her office, my phone didn’t stop buzzing. The messages from Sophia started as angry demands, then shifted to soft, probing questions. I ignored them all. Around eleven that night, my phone began to vibrate violently. Sophia’s name flashed on the screen, the shrill ringtone cutting through the silence of my apartment. I stared at it until the last possible second before swiping to answer. “Tim…” Her voice was thick and slurred with alcohol. “Why didn’t you come find me…?” The background was loud—clinking glasses, muffled music, and laughter. “Where are you?” I asked, my brow furrowed. “At… at a bar… you have to come… they’re all picking on me…” Her words were jumbled, laced with the same coy flirtatiousness she’d used on the phone that morning. It was a world away from the cool, powerful woman in the office. I pinched the bridge of my nose, but I grabbed my car keys anyway. I spotted her the moment I walked in, slumped in a corner booth. Empty glasses littered the table in front of her. She was leaning over, mumbling something to the person next to her. And the person next to her was Alex. I stopped in my tracks. Whatever small, pathetic flicker of concern I’d felt when she called died instantly. I was about to turn and leave when her voice rose above the din, carrying clearly to where I stood. “…you guys have no idea how boring Tim is…” Her drunken complaint was like a physical blow. “Being with him is a total drag. All he ever talks about is work, family, responsibility… there’s no romance, no fun…” Someone at the table laughed. “What about Alex? He just got back. I bet he’s more romantic than Tim.” 3. At the mention of Alex, a giddy, lovesick quality entered her voice. “Oh, definitely! Alex is different…” “He knows what kind of flowers I like, he knows which restaurants have the best desserts, he even knows whether I’m tired or just annoyed by the way I frown…” She paused, took another drink, and her words became even more slurred, and even more honest. “Honestly, if it weren’t for our grandfathers insisting on this merger, if it weren’t for the business… I would have told him the truth a long time ago…” The table erupted in teasing. “Oh? Told him what? That you’re ready to make it official with Alex?” “Shhh…” Sophia slurred, holding a finger to her lips. “Be quiet… don’t talk nonsense…” “Even if I… make it official… we have to get married first…” “Besides, Tim… he doesn’t know anything. He trusts us so much…” Alex’s lazy, indulgent laugh cut in. “Alright, you’re drunk. Stop talking nonsense.” He was technically telling her to stop, but there was no real force behind it. He was enjoying it, basking in their secret flirtation. I stood there, feeling the blood turn to ice in my veins. The hair tie. Sophia had once told me it was a way of “staking a claim,” of telling the world, “This man is taken.” But she had never been staking a claim on me. She had been using that cheap symbol to trap me, the trusting fool who “didn’t know anything,” so she could carry on her affair and laugh behind my back about how boring and predictable I was. I finally understood why we had no “force of habit.” It wasn’t a lack of familiarity. It was a lack of heart. Her heart had never been with me. The merger, the family responsibilities—they were all just excuses. A smokescreen to hide the fact that she was happy to accept my love but unwilling to offer any of her own in return. I turned to leave, and crashed right into a server. The tray went flying, and a sticky concoction of cocktails drenched my shirt. “Sir! Are you okay? I am so sorry, I’ll get that cleaned up for you right away!” I was about to wave him off when I heard Sophia’s voice. “Tim…? What are you doing here?” For a second, I thought she must be hallucinating from the alcohol. “Weren’t you the one who invited me here to watch this little show?” The booze hadn’t worn off. Her face was flushed as she mumbled, “I… I invited you? Did I… I…” Before she could finish, she retched, vomiting all over the table. Alex jumped back, a look of pure disgust on his face. She reached for him, trying to steady herself, but he deftly sidestepped her. “Sophia, I’m… I’m gonna go get cleaned up. I’ll be right back to take care of you.” He practically ran from the booth, his hand over his nose. With nothing to hold onto, Sophia began to crumple to the floor. On pure instinct, I lunged forward and caught her. “Careful!” She sagged against me, still heaving, the acrid smell of alcohol and bile washing over me. I grimaced but held her steady, one hand on her back, patting it gently. I’ve always hated the smell of vomit, but Sophia loved to drink. Over the years, I had gotten used to it. The rest of the table had fallen silent, staring at us. The same friends who had been teasing her moments before now looked away, embarrassed. I ignored them and half-carried her out of the bar. 4. The cool night air seemed to sober her up a little. She leaned against my shoulder, whimpering, “Tim… I feel sick…” That small, dependent sound would have melted my heart before. Now, it just left me cold. I put her in the passenger seat, buckled her in, and drove to her apartment. Getting her inside was a struggle. She was a dead weight, her clothes were a mess, and her hair was matted to her face. I found a wet towel and awkwardly began to clean her up. Her eyes fluttered open, and she watched me for a moment before her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Tim… don’t be mad at me…” I froze, her words from the bar echoing in my head. Boring. No fun. If it weren’t for the merger… My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through it. It was the middle of the night by the time I finally got her settled. The apartment reeked of alcohol. I opened a window and sat in the dark, unable to sleep. The next day was Sophia’s birthday party, held at my family’s estate. By the time I arrived, both our families were already there, chatting amiably in the living room. Sophia looked radiant, with no trace of the previous night’s drunken mess. She was laughing with her mother, but her eyes flickered toward me when I walked in. She didn’t greet me. I had just sat down when the doorbell rang. The butler opened it to reveal Alex, holding a beautifully wrapped gift. “Sophia, happy birthday,” he said with a charming smile. Sophia’s parents’ expressions stiffened. My own grandfather frowned. Alex was an outsider. His presence at an intimate family gathering was a major breach of etiquette. But before anyone could say anything, Sophia had already taken the gift. “Thank you, Alex! I’m so glad you could make it.” Her tone was warm and familiar, completely ignoring the tense atmosphere in the room.

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1 The day I landed a nine-figure deal, my CEO boyfriend—who’d delayed marriage for years—finally agreed to meet me at City Hall. I rushed over, my heart soaring. But Nathan never came. Instead, a notification popped up: a post from his assistant. A provocative photo showed her hand clasped in Nathan’s, a new marriage certificate vivid against her dress. The caption read: He saved me from an arranged marriage… now he’s my husband! Colleagues buzzed in the comments, anticipating my meltdown. I liked the post and commented coldly: “Married already? When’s the wedding? I’ll send a generous check.” Nathan called instantly, his voice icy. “This marriage to Heather is fake—just to stop her parents from making her quit. It’s not real. Must you be so petty? Delete the comment and apologize. Once this is over, I’ll marry you as planned.” My reply was frosty. “Don’t bother. We’re done.” There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line before Nathan’s voice exploded with anger. “Monica, how many times do I have to explain this? It was a fake ceremony with Heather! Just paperwork to fool her parents. Is that really worth tearing us apart?” “I already promised I’d marry you,” he raged on. “What more do you want? There’s a limit to these tantrums. You don’t just throw the word ‘breakup’ around like a joke!” I clutched my phone, the cavernous, empty hall of the registrar’s office mocking me. A bitter smile twisted my lips. For ten years, marrying Nathan had been my only dream. I’d spent countless nights imagining our happy life together. I had the wedding favors and invitations ready to go. I’d picked out the photographer, our outfits, even the venue. All I needed was for him to say yes. But every time I brought it up, he’d use the company as an excuse. It was a “critical growth period,” he’d say. “Just wait until things are stable.” So I threw myself into stabilizing it for him. I took on every thankless job, every grueling project, working myself to the bone. When the company was finally stable, he said he “wasn’t ready.” He told me to wait a little longer. I waited for ten years. Then yesterday, after I secured the massive project that would set us up for life, he finally relented. He called it my “reward.” I was so ecstatic I couldn’t sleep, thinking my years of waiting had finally paid off. I took the whole day off, got here first thing in the morning, and waited. And waited. Until his assistant, Heather, posted that picture. They’d even driven to the next state over to get the license, just to avoid me. The stark red of the certificate seared itself into my memory. He wasn’t “not ready.” He just wasn’t ready to marry me. For the first time, I didn’t swallow the hurt. “You’re right,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “It’s just paperwork. The whole process, from taking a number to walking out with the certificate, takes less than ten minutes. A ten-minute process you couldn’t find the time for in ten years with me, but you managed it for her.” I took a breath. “And let’s not forget, you were the one who suggested we do this today. You left me hanging all day. Don’t I have a right to be angry?” My firmness seemed to catch him off guard. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with condescending fury. “Can you stop being so unreasonable, Monica? I told you it was an emergency! Was I supposed to just stand by and watch her parents ruin her life? Do you have any idea how much the company has invested in training her? I was protecting an asset! Was that so wrong?” I almost laughed. As if. The company was full of people whose parents were pressuring them. Why didn’t he “protect” them? What kind of “asset” was Heather, anyway? She had zero competence, couldn’t even use the basic Microsoft Office Suite, and hadn’t closed a single deal in six months. Any other employee would have been fired without a second thought. But in Nathan’s eyes, Heather was a diamond in the rough, a secret weapon who was only “letting us have the sales” to be kind. He was convinced that if a real crisis hit, she would be the one to save us all. In reality, the only thing saving her from termination was Nathan constantly reassigning my successful projects to her name. He probably didn’t even realize how deep his bias ran, how instinctively he protected her, how tenderly he cared for her. “You’re not wrong,” I said, a cold smile in my voice. “I am.” He took the bait, his tone instantly shifting to one of smug satisfaction. “Well, since you know you’re wrong, hurry up and delete the comment. And apologize to Heather. You’re making her look bad in front of the whole company…” “My biggest mistake,” I cut him off, “was not breaking up with you sooner.” “Monica, you’re being impossible! You want to be stubborn? Fine! You just wait!” He hung up. A moment later, my phone buzzed with notifications. He had unlinked all our shared accounts and changed his profile picture, erasing me from his digital life. It was his classic move, his way of punishing me into submission. But this time, I was just tired. Too tired to play his games. As I was about to turn off my screen, a notification popped up from the company group chat. It was Heather, tagging me. “Monica, please don’t misunderstand! Nathan was just helping me out of a tough spot with my parents. It’s rare to find a boss as kind and humane as him these days!” “If I had known you’d be so upset, I never would have posted it. It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry…” Nathan replied immediately. “Heather, you did nothing wrong. You don’t need to apologize. The person who needs to apologize is the one making snide, malicious comments.” The rest of the vultures in the office quickly chimed in. [Yeah, Heather, it’s not your fault! Monica’s just being petty! She’s jealous that you’re young and beautiful and have the CEO’s favor!] [Nathan is such a good guy. For a girlfriend, Monica is so cold and heartless. She deserved to be stood up! Serves her right!] I was used to their backstabbing. Ever since Heather had arrived and become Nathan’s favorite, they’d been kissing up to her and whispering behind my back. Their words couldn’t hurt me anymore. I turned off my phone. The registrar’s clerk looked at me with pity. “Ma’am, you’ve been here all day. Is… is the person you’re waiting for not coming?” “We’re about to close. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?” I shook my head, my eyes fixed on the floor. “He’s already married someone else. He’s not coming. And neither am I.” I looked down at the ticket in my hand. Number one. The first to arrive, the last to leave. What a joke. With a short, sharp laugh, I tore the paper into pieces and dropped it into the trash can. The man who would never show, the wedding that would never happen—I was done waiting. The love that was never returned—I was done wanting it. I walked towards the exit. Just as I reached the door, my phone rang. It was Nathan. He had unblocked me. 2 My first instinct was to hang up, but muscle memory took over, and I answered. Nathan’s arrogant voice immediately filled my ear. “Monica. Have you learned your lesson?” He didn’t wait for me to speak. “Here’s a chance to make it up to me. Heather is exhausted after the long day, and she’s feeling a bit of a chill. She needs to rest. You’ll take her place at the client dinner tonight.” “If you handle it well, I might be willing to forgive your little tantrum from earlier…” The way he spoke, as if ordering a servant, made me laugh out loud. Had he forgotten that I had also spent the entire day waiting, exposed to the same cold wind? There was a time when a single sneeze from me would have had him draping his coat over my shoulders, fussing over me with hot ginger tea and medicine, terrified I might fall ill. Now, he spoke to me as if I were a tool, my feelings an irrelevant inconvenience. More importantly, had he forgotten that I was severely allergic to alcohol? In the early years of our startup, schmoozing with clients was a necessary evil. But back then, Nathan had shielded me. He would turn down any event with drinking, and if it was unavoidable, he would drink for the both of us. He’d come home staggering drunk, hugging the toilet bowl, but still find the strength to reassure me, telling me not to worry, to get some sleep. That man, the one whose world had once revolved around me, was gone. This time, I didn’t crumble. I didn’t compromise for the sake of our crumbling relationship. My voice was steel. “I can’t go, Nathan. I’m allergic to alcohol. And besides, that’s Heather’s responsibility, not mine.” His stunned silence was followed by a roar of fury. “I’m trying to be nice to you, and you’re going to pull this crap? I pay your salary! That means you are on call for me 24/7. That is your obligation!” A calm smile spread across my face. “Then I quit.” Before he could respond, I hung up and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Mr. Sterling, it’s Monica. I’m accepting your offer.” The company was a major international design firm, a global leader in the industry. I’d met Leo Sterling a year ago on a collaboration. Just before signing the deal, I’d noticed a structural flaw in their new product—a design choice made for aesthetics that would have led to frequent malfunctions and a PR nightmare. After I pointed it out, he immediately halted production, saving the company tens of millions of dollars. He’d become one of my few friends. After learning about the way I was being treated at Nathan’s company, he had flown out more than once, trying to recruit me. He’d offered me the position of Design Director and eight figures in stock options. But Nathan, haunted by his childhood, refused to leave the country. So, for him, I had turned it down, sacrificing my own future to stay by his side. I thought my devotion would be returned in kind. Instead, I had lost everything. I had given him my youth, my health, ten years of my life, and in return, I didn’t even get his name. It wasn’t worth it. It was time to start thinking about myself. Leo’s joyful voice pulled me back to the present. “Monica, really?! We’re ready for you anytime. But what happened? The last time we spoke, you were planning a wedding.” I managed a wry laugh. “Nothing much. We just broke up.” There was a pause on his end, then his voice softened with sympathy. “Monica, I don’t know the details, but I know you. It’s his loss. It’s definitely his loss.” A moment later, a notification popped up on my phone. A fifty-thousand-dollar wire transfer. “A little something to help you get settled, Monica. We’ll be waiting for you.” I smiled, and after a brief chat about logistics, I hung up. Just as I accepted the transfer, Nathan updated his social media. 3 It was a photo of him and Heather at a trendy new steakhouse, all sleek decor and Western cuisine. The caption read: “Love at first sight, and still falling for you every day.” In the picture, Nathan was smiling, actually smiling, as Heather fed him a piece of steak. The irony was so thick I could have choked on it. Nathan hated Western food. He’d told me it was his least favorite thing in the world. His father had been seduced by a foreign woman and had abandoned him and his mother when he was just three. The trauma had left deep scars. He avoided anything and everything foreign, even turning down lucrative overseas business deals. On our first date, I had no idea. Wanting to do something special, I’d spent a month’s savings to take him to the fanciest steakhouse in the city. The moment the expensive steaks arrived, his face had darkened. He flipped the table, sending the scorching hot steak sliding onto my lap, and stormed out without a word, leaving me to be stared at and ridiculed by the entire restaurant. He gave me the silent treatment for a week. The incident was only “forgiven” after I knelt on the living room floor for half a day and transferred him a small fortune as an apology. And now, here he was, happily eating a cheap, frozen-and-reheated steak from Heather’s fork, without a hint of disgust. I guess love really is the best medicine. It can even cure deep-seated trauma. Our colleagues were fawning all over the post. Usually, it was just Heather dropping ambiguous hints, but now that Nathan had made it official, they were all tripping over themselves to offer blessings and pledge their loyalty. And Nathan, usually so stern and formal, was actually replying to them with smiling emojis. I knew he was doing it to get to me, to provoke me into begging for his forgiveness like I always had. But this time, I just smiled and closed the app. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten all day. I sent a text to my best friend, Maya. [Late-night grill spot?] Her reply was instantaneous: [I’m there!] … At the restaurant, Maya was halfway through a skewer when she glanced at her watch. “Hey, doesn’t your control-freak boyfriend have a 10 PM curfew for you? It’s getting late, aren’t you going to head out?” It was laughable, really. Early in our relationship, Nathan had claimed he was insecure and paranoid about me cheating. He’d imposed a strict set of rules. I had to be home by ten, reply to his texts instantly, and answer his calls within three rings. If he video-called to check up on me, even if I was in the middle of a client meeting, I wasn’t allowed to decline. I’d put up with it, telling myself it was because of the trauma from his childhood. But the rules never applied to him. He would disappear for days, sometimes not even coming home at night. Once, worried for his safety, I’d video-called him. He had exploded, sending me a barrage of texts accusing me of being a controlling psycho who didn’t respect his privacy. He’d frozen me out for a month after that. He thought he was being so clever. But I already knew the truth, thanks to the “accidental” photos Heather would send me. His late nights weren’t for work. They were for her. And I, like an idiot, had played along, strictly adhering to his curfew, turning down countless nights out with friends until they just stopped asking. My world had shrunk until he was the only thing in it. What a waste. I bit into a piece of grilled meat with a vengeance. “Don’t worry about him. He can’t tell me what to do anymore. We broke up.” Maya stared at me for a second, then broke into a huge grin, clapping me on the back. “Monica! It’s about damn time! That guy never deserved you. Tonight’s on me. We’re not leaving until you’re good and happy!” I smiled, and we ordered two more platters, eating and talking until the early hours of the morning. When I finally got home and opened the door, a pillow flew through the air and hit me square in the face. Nathan’s cold voice followed it. “What time do you call this? Did you decide to come home, finally?” 4 I was surprised to see him. Usually, after a “night out with a client,” which was code for a night with Heather, he wouldn’t roll in until the next afternoon. The pillow had hit my glasses, the nose pad digging painfully into the bridge of my nose. A warm trickle of blood ran down my face. Nathan froze, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He reached for a tissue, about to get up, but then seemed to think better of it. He sank back onto the sofa, his voice hard. “Why are you so late? You know the rule. Where have you been?” I ignored him, rummaging through a drawer for some antiseptic and cotton swabs. My silence seemed to infuriate him even more. “Monica, I’m talking to you! Are you deaf? Or did you do something you’re ashamed of and now you don’t have the guts to tell me?” I let out a cold laugh and finally met his eyes. “And you? Why are you home so early? Weren’t you supposed to be keeping Heather company?” His expression faltered. He wasn’t used to me calling him out on his lies. He quickly composed himself, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about? I didn’t have a client dinner tonight. After I helped Heather, I came straight home. And all those other times were just business trips. Stop letting your imagination run wild.” He tried to sound wounded. “I came back because I was worried about you. I know I was wrong to stand you up today, but that’s no excuse to ignore my calls and stay out all night. I was about to call the police!” He gestured to the coffee table. “I even brought you some of your favorite seafood porridge. I was worried you’d be hungry.” I glanced at the container of congealed, cold porridge and felt a wave of nausea. After all these years, he still hadn’t realized. This was his peace offering, the thing he always brought me right before he was about to ask me to compromise on something related to Heather. The smell alone was enough to make me sick. “No, thanks. I already ate.” He missed the ice in my tone completely, assuming he had already placated me. “Oh, by the way,” he said, “Heather was telling me her parents are still suspicious. They won’t be satisfied until they see wedding photos. So, we’re going to get some taken tomorrow.” He looked at me expectantly. “I remember you did a lot of research on this stuff. Could you recommend a good studio? One that’s quick and has nice dresses?” The hopeful, excited look in his eyes as he planned his wedding photos with another woman was grotesque. He knew I had done all that research for our wedding. “You’re on your own,” I said flatly. “I can’t help you.” His face fell. The seafood porridge had failed. His go-to tactic was useless. Then, his frustration boiled over into anger. “Monica, it’s just an act! Why are you being so dramatic about this?” “Whether it’s an act or you’ve actually fallen for her,” I said, my voice cutting, “you know the truth in your own heart.” The way his eyes had lit up when he mentioned wedding photos… even a blind man could see it was real. Cornered, he stomped his foot like a petulant child. It was the first time he hadn’t gotten his way with me. “You… you’re being ridiculous!” I was done arguing. I turned to go to the bedroom. But he darted in front of me, grabbed my pillow from the bed, and threw it into the hallway. “You’re not sleeping in here with me! You can sleep in the study tonight and think about what you’ve done!” He slammed the door, and I heard the key turn in the lock. Twice. He was treating me like a burglar in my own home. He thought he could break me. He had no idea he was doing me a favor. I hadn’t wanted to sleep next to him anyway. I just needed to pack my things. I looked around the living room. Everything in this apartment was his. I had nothing here but a few old dresses in the closet. I shook my head, grabbed my suitcase from the corner, and went to the study. The first thing I saw was the gift I had given him for our seventh anniversary. It was a string art portrait of us on our first date at an amusement park. I had spent a month of sleepless nights painstakingly winding tens of thousands of threads around hundreds of nails to create it. I remembered that day. He hadn’t wanted to go. He thought amusement parks were childish and a waste of money. He only agreed to take a single photo with me after I promised to cover all of Heather’s work for the next quarter. It was our first and last trip there. That’s why I had turned the photo into a piece of art, to preserve that one happy memory. I had cared for it meticulously, just as I had cared for our relationship. What a fool I’d been. You can’t force a man to love you. I took the portrait off the wall, picked up a pair of scissors, and with a single touch to the taut threads, the entire image unraveled. It looked perfect on the surface, but the slightest pressure shattered it. Just like our love. I swept the tangled mess of thread into the trash. As I was packing up some documents from the desk, I knocked over a loose folder. Hundreds of handwritten letters spilled onto the floor. I froze. 5 They were the love letters I had written to him five years ago. He had caught a bad flu that season, his fever spiking so high he had to be rushed to the hospital. Delirious, he thought he was dying. He had clung to my hand, whispering that he hadn’t heard enough of my love letters. He made me promise to keep writing and reading them to him, so that if he died, I could burn them at his grave and he wouldn’t be so lonely in the afterlife. To keep him conscious for the doctors, I had agreed through my tears. I wrote and wrote, filling page after page with every little memory of our life together, my voice growing hoarse as I read them aloud. By the time his fever broke, I had gone through ten pens. My index finger was raw and bleeding, spattering drops of blood onto the tear-soaked pages. When he finally woke up and saw my hand, cramped and deformed from holding the pen for so long, he had wept. He held me tight and promised he would be good to me for the rest of our lives, that he would never let me be hurt again. And now, there was Heather. And for her, he had hurt me again and again. He had broken his promise. I took a deep breath and swept the letters into the trash can. His promises had expired. Keeping these mementos would only be a form of self-torture. As I finished packing, I looked at the nearly empty study and the suitcase that wasn’t even half full, and I had to laugh. Nathan was always complaining about how tight money was, telling me to save every penny for our future wedding. He painted a grand picture of the ceremony, the rings, the new house… all the things we would have. I had believed him. I’d worn the same cheap, nine-dollar sneakers year-round, through scorching summers and freezing winters. I’d spent hours hunting for online coupons just to save a dollar on a pre-packaged meal. Every cent I saved, I gave to him. And he had used that money to buy himself the latest gaming console, a watch worth tens of thousands of dollars, and a life that looked perfect on social media. I had been so blinded by the promise of marriage that I had let him exploit me, ruin my health, and for what? A man who didn’t love me. I shook my head, dragging my suitcase toward the door. As I turned, it bumped into a small metal safe tucked away in the corner. It was Nathan’s most prized possession. I remembered during a typhoon, when the windows of our apartment had shattered, he had risked his life to drag that safe to a secure spot. No one knew what was inside. I had tried to guess the four-digit code countless times: our anniversary, my birthday, his birthday, his mother’s birthday. Nothing worked. Once, I’d even hired a locksmith. The man took one look at the safe, packed up his tools, and refused to even try, no matter how much money I offered. He finally told me it wasn’t just any safe. The lock was a state-of-the-art nanotechnology from abroad, and the box itself was made of aerospace-grade materials. It was practically indestructible. I had given up. For all our years together, its contents remained a mystery. But now, as I was leaving, a final, nagging thought entered my mind. A test. I keyed in a date I wasn’t supposed to know. The date Nathan had broken up with his previous girlfriend. I didn’t expect anything. He never spoke of her. I only knew she existed because one of his friends had let it slip during a drunken conversation. Beep. The lock clicked open. I stared. Who was this woman, that he cherished the memory of their breakup more than anything else in his life? Then I opened the safe. And my world stopped.

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The year I turned twenty-eight, Sienna became the uncrowned queen of Port City. She had eliminated the last of the men who’d ever laid a hand on me. She commanded thirty-seven of the city’s docks and eighteen satellite casinos. Millions flowed into her coffers every day. She held the city in the palm of her hand. It was also the year I found our son, Leo, who had been missing for a decade. Our family, our empire—it was all finally coming together. But just as I was about to share the good news with Sienna, I got a call from the flagship casino in the middle of the night. “Nate,” her manager’s voice was strained. “Can you come down here?” “There’s… someone making a scene. He’s telling everyone the boss… that she forced herself on him.” I assumed it was a rival trying to stir up trouble and rushed over. But when I arrived, the only person I saw was a beautiful young man. He wore a wedding band on his finger—the exact same design as mine. But his face held an arrogance I’d never possessed. When he saw me, he shot me a defiant look and then deliberately ground the memorial photo of my daughter, Lily, under his heel. “Sienna was supposed to be here at midnight for my birthday,” he pouted. “If she’s not, then I’m going to make a scene. I’ll make a huge scene!” 1. The memorial table was a disaster. Lily’s photo was covered in shoe prints, and the offerings were scattered across the floor. The once-deafening roar of the casino floor had fallen silent. Even Sienna’s most seasoned capos didn’t dare breathe too loudly. They were all bowing and scraping, trying to placate this petulant boy. “Who is he?” I asked. The manager hesitated, stammering for a moment before he finally managed to get the words out. The young man’s name was Julian. He was a college student, not even twenty, and Sienna was… very fond of him. I was about to ask what “fond of him” meant when a shoulder slammed into mine, shoving me aside. When I looked up, Sienna was already showing me the answer. She draped her own coat over Julian’s shoulders, her face melting into a fond, indulgent smile. “My little trouble, what are you doing out here in the cold?” she murmured. “I wanted to be with you, but today is the anniversary of Lily’s death…” She sighed, stroking his hair. “Okay, okay, it’s all my fault. You can hit me, you can scream at me, just don’t catch a cold.” When they called, I’d been terrified something had happened to Sienna. I’d run out of the house in just a thin shirt. Now, the night wind cut through the fabric, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. I hesitated, then finally called her name. “Sienna.” She flinched, only then realizing it was me she had shoved. But the flicker of recognition lasted only a second before it was replaced by a careless smile. “Nathan? What are you doing here?” she asked. “Did our little troublemaker call you? Don’t mind him. He’s young, just loves to cause drama.” She gave Julian a playful pat on the backside. “Go back to the room and wait for me,” she whispered, then turned back to me. “You go home, too. I’ll be back in the morning.” She said it so casually, as if betrayal was the most natural thing in the world. When I didn’t move, Sienna stepped forward and brushed a few snowflakes from my shoulder. “Be good, Nate. Don’t stoop to his level.” The light overhead flickered, and for a moment, I was thrown back in time. To the year we were most in love, when Sienna had grabbed my hand under these same city lights and sworn an oath. Till death do us part. I will never betray you. If I do, may I die a dog’s death. My lips tightened. I snatched a heavy crystal vase from a nearby table and smashed it over her head. A collective gasp filled the room, punctuated by Julian’s shrill scream. He scrambled into Sienna’s arms like a startled fawn, whimpering that he was scared. Blood was trickling down Sienna’s temple, but her first instinct was to shield Julian’s face, to protect him from the sight of her own weakness. Her voice, when she spoke to me, was sharp with annoyance. “Julian is sensitive. He can’t handle things like this,” she said. “Go home, Nathan. Don’t make this any uglier than it has to be.” I looked at the blood-stained shard of glass in my hand and laughed, a cold, empty sound. Then I hurled it at her again. “You think this is ugly?” I snarled. “Remember the time I took eighteen stab wounds for you? My intestines were spilling out. You held them in with one hand and carried me on your back for miles, leaving a trail of blood the whole way. That was ugly.” At the mention of our bloody past, the boy in her arms trembled. Sienna immediately covered his ears, her brow furrowed. “That’s enough! Don’t talk about that in front of him,” she snapped. “He’s not like you. If he gets scared, he won’t be able to sleep.” Of course, he wasn’t like me. At his age, if I had seen someone lay a hand on Sienna, I would have grabbed the nearest blade and fought to the death. Perhaps worried about what other secrets I might reveal, Sienna sighed and waved her men over to escort Julian away. The boy was clingy, clutching her jacket, refusing to let go until Sienna cooed and promised him the world. Only when we were completely alone did she finally sit down across from me. She lit a cigarette, the smoke veiling her face. All I could hear was her voice, steady and devoid of any emotion. 2. “You’re a grown man, Nathan. Why are you picking a fight with a kid?” “I’ve told you, you’re the only one I love. But I’m still human. I have needs.” Sienna casually tapped the ash from her cigarette. Her gaze lingered for a second on the raw, red skin of my chest, chapped from the cold, before quickly looking away. “Look at those scars on your body. They’re terrifying,” she said. “Every time you take your clothes off, I see them… all of them… and I just feel… so…” She paused, then delivered the final blow with chilling precision. “Disgusted.” With that, she stood up. She took the signet ring from her finger—the one she’d killed for, the symbol of her power—and pressed it into my hand. “But don’t worry,” she said, her voice softening into a hollow imitation of comfort. “No matter what, I’ll always love you. No matter who I’m with, no one will ever take your place.” “It’s just… I’ve fought and bled my whole life to get here. Now that things are finally stable, I just want to enjoy myself.” For years, that’s what she’d always told me. Just wait, Nate. Wait until I control all the docks. Wait until I’m at the very top. Then I’ll go straight, and we can finally have a real life. For that promise, I had been beaten, cursed, and stabbed until my body was a roadmap of scars. I never thought of letting go. But my idea of a “real life” was a quiet home with our two children. Hers, apparently, was keeping a pretty young boy on the side. I took a deep breath, looking at the woman before me. She was so familiar, yet a complete stranger. The Sienna who swore she’d paint the city red for me was gone. The Sienna who found me in an alley, a street kid digging through trash, and promised me a home… she was a ghost. My thumb traced the cool steel of the gun tucked in my waistband. I took one last look at her and said, “Let’s get a divorce.” If I were nineteen again, I would have burned this place to the ground. I would have carved up this cheating pair and thrown them into the harbor for the sharks. But now… I touched the locket I wore, a picture of my children inside. A bitter wave of grief washed over me. It was in this very casino, a decade ago, that Sienna and I were hiding from our enemies with our children. Our son, Leo, was lost in the chaos. And our daughter, Lily… I smothered her with my own hands. We were crammed into a shipping crate, trying to escape. To stop her cries from giving us away, I held my hand over her mouth. I held it there until she stopped breathing. The sound of Sienna’s screams that day could be heard across the entire city. She cut off her own pinky finger, swearing an oath on Lily’s body that she would avenge our child. And I prayed. I swore that if Lily could ever forgive me, if Leo ever came back to me, I would dedicate my life to peace. I would never kill again. Now, Sienna was the queen of Port City, the master of this casino. She could reattach her finger and forget her vows. She could let her lover desecrate our daughter’s memory. But I couldn’t. I had to live for my children now. I had to leave this life of blood and betrayal behind. And take my son somewhere safe, somewhere we could finally live in peace. 3. Sienna didn’t agree to the divorce. Not because she couldn’t bear to let me go. It was because her new boy toy called, whimpering that he was afraid of the dark. She rushed out so quickly she didn’t even hear what I’d said. That impatient little brat couldn’t wait to rub it in my face. A video message popped up on my phone. In a penthouse apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, Sienna was kneeling on the floor, washing his feet. I knew that building. When we first came to Port City, broke and dreaming, we used to stand on the street below and stare up at it. We promised each other that one day, we’d stand together in one of those windows, looking out at the city we’d conquered. A life with my love, sharing that view… it was all I ever wanted. Now, Sienna could afford to buy the entire building. But the person living there with her wasn’t me. Decades of shared blood and battle couldn’t compete with a pretty face and a gentle touch. I tried to let it go. I really tried. But I couldn’t. I carefully cleaned Lily’s photograph, lit a stick of incense, and made a phone call. The next morning, a gift box was delivered to Sienna’s desk. Inside, resting on a bed of silk, was Julian’s severed finger. The blood was still wet, a shocking crimson against the sparkle of his wedding band. Sienna was livid. She had the man who did the job dragged before me, his face a bloody pulp. “Nathan, you’ve gone too far,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “Julian is just a kid.” A kid? The word was a dagger in my heart. I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Our Lily was buried in the cold earth. Our Leo was still lost somewhere in this cruel world. Every night I spent missing them, every night Sienna was gone, I was sick with worry. Worried our enemies would find me. Worried Sienna was in danger. Worried I would lose her the same way I lost my children. And where was she? In Julian’s arms, probably laughing at the pathetic fool who loved her so much it made him weak. I clenched my fists. “Sign the divorce papers,” I said, my voice hoarse. “And I’ll leave your little lover alone. Otherwise, I don’t care where you hide him. I will find him.” “I’ll cut off his fingers, his ears, his nose. One by one,” I promised. “Let’s see what you run out of first: his body parts, or your time.” Sienna just smiled, radiating absolute confidence. “You won’t,” she said. “I know you, Nathan. You love me too much. You’d never tear us apart over some outsider.” Before she could finish, a soft moan came from the phone she was holding. Her face softened, her thoughts already with Julian. With a swift, clean motion, she slit the throat of the man kneeling on the floor. Then she left, hurrying back to her lover. After that, Sienna kept Julian under even tighter guard. So I went after her empire instead. In seven days, I hit all thirty-seven docks and eighteen satellite casinos. Every single place Julian had ever set foot in, I tore it apart. One afternoon, as I was personally wrecking the main casino floor, one of my men called. “Nate, it’s bad! Someone’s at the cemetery! They’re trying to dig up Lily’s grave!” “What?” My blood ran cold. I floored it, racing towards the cemetery. As I neared the entrance, a car, driving recklessly on the wrong side of the road, slammed directly into me. 4. In the split second before the pain hit, I saw the license plate. A-927. The date Lily died. There was only one person in Port City who would dare use that plate. Sienna. Sure enough, I heard Julian’s cloying voice drift from the other car. “Oh no, Sienna! I hit someone! Are they going to arrest me? I’m so scared! I don’t want to leave you!” Sienna kissed his cheek, her voice a soothing murmur. She didn’t even glance in my direction. She just had one of her men toss a stack of cash onto my crumpled car. Using the power I helped her build to trample on my dignity. A white-hot pain tore through my abdomen, spreading like fire. I clutched my stomach, gritting my teeth as I looked up. Through the shattered windshield, I could see them. Sienna’s men were digging up Lily’s grave. Julian snuggled against Sienna, looking up with wide, innocent eyes. “Sienna, do you think Nathan will be mad about this? What if he comes after me again? He’s so scary…” Sienna stroked his hair, unconcerned. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m here to protect you. I own this city now.” Julian, emboldened by her devotion, pouted. “Really? Then after all I’ve been through for you, just giving me that theme park isn’t enough. I want you to get on all fours and let me ride you like a horse!” Sienna just smiled and nodded. He pressed his advantage. “And I want you to bake me a birthday cake. And watch the stars with me. And set off fireworks.” “And, and! I want us to have lots and lots of babies together!” Sienna’s smile grew wider. This woman, who had clawed her way to the top through a sea of blood, was now simpering like a lovesick girl. She pulled Julian into a tight hug, nodding again and again. “Yes, yes, of course. Anything you want, my love. Anything!” No matter how outrageous his demands, she agreed without hesitation, that doting smile never leaving her face. The roar of the excavator was the symphony to their love story. And the small body buried in the ground was just a prop. The prayer beads on my wrist were stained with my own blood. The last shred of mercy in my heart burned away, leaving only a pure, cold need for vengeance. I pulled out my gun and, without a second’s hesitation, fired. The moment the shot rang out, Sienna instinctively threw her body over Julian, shielding him. In the next instant, dozens of guns were pointed at me. The pain in my gut intensified. It was as if Lily herself was crying out from her disturbed grave. I stared at Sienna, my voice a venomous hiss. “You’d disturb our daughter’s eternal rest for this… this piece of trash? Sienna, you are no mother.” Sienna frowned. “Calm down, Nathan. Our child is dead. The living are more important.” The living are more important? No. The new toy is more important than the old love. I fought through the waves of pain and raised my gun again. But before I could pull the trigger, Julian stepped out from behind Sienna. He was holding Lily’s urn. With a smirk, he hurled it to the ground. The container shattered. The ashes, everything that was left of my daughter, scattered in the wind. Lily was gone. Again. “LILY!” I lunged forward, a raw, animalistic scream tearing from my throat. The rage was so immense it completely eclipsed the pain. Only after I had desperately scooped what little I could of the ashes into my arms did I realize. My old wounds had torn open. My pants were soaked through with fresh blood. The world tilted, and I fell. I woke up in a hospital. One of my men was pacing by the bed, looking at me with an expression of pure agony. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but couldn’t. Finally, Dr. Evans came in and told me. “Nathan… your son, Leo… he’s gone.” “Someone leaked his location. By the time your men got there, our rivals had already… they’d already taken him apart.” I closed my eyes, a profound, soul-crushing despair washing over me. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. My daughter, her ashes scattered to the winds. My son, dismembered by my enemies. Ten years ago, I was too late. Ten years later, I was still too late. Seeing the utter devastation on my face, the doctor sighed. “Sienna… she thought you were faking it. She refused to leave Julian’s side to come here. She still doesn’t know about Leo.” I said nothing. My grief was hardening into a cold, unbreakable resolve. There was no point in sorrow. Every single person who had a hand in my children’s deaths would pay. In blood. When I returned to the villa, it was in chaos. Julian was directing the staff to throw all of my belongings into the street. He smirked when he saw me. “Thanks for that bullet, Nathan. Sienna said I was so traumatized that I needed to move in here to recover.” Sienna shook her head and called him a little devil, but there was no anger in her voice. She just waved a dismissive hand. “Julian didn’t mean to break the urn. I’ve already hired a master to find a new, better burial plot. Let him stay here for a while. He’ll be good, he won’t get in your way. And he’ll never take your place.” No one in Port City could take my place. Not even Sienna. I ignored them both. I took the ashes of my children and went straight to the airport. As the plane climbed high above Port City, the timers on the bombs in the villa reached zero. I looked down at the glittering, familiar landscape below and whispered, “You once made a vow, Sienna.” “If you ever betrayed me, you would die a dog’s death.” You couldn’t keep your promise. So I’m keeping it for you. … In the villa, just as Sienna was about to tumble into bed with Julian, she got a call from Dr. Evans. The doctor’s voice was sharp with blame. “Sienna, Nathan has suffered so much for you over the years. I can understand you not showing up when he was in the hospital. But Leo… how could you not even ask about Leo? He was your son, too!” “Lily is gone. And now Leo is dead.” “If Nathan ever finds out the truth about what happened back then… he will never, ever forgive you.” Leo is dead? When? A shiver went down Sienna’s spine. Nathan’s pale, bloodless face flashed in her mind. A deep unease settled in her gut. She glanced in the direction he had gone. Before she could ask another question, the world exploded.

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My life was a good one, until my younger son was born. At five years old, he was diagnosed with a severe congenital intellectual disability. My husband, David, worked himself to the bone to pay the bills. My older son, Michael, grew up overnight. I quit my job and spent our days shuttling between therapy and rehabilitation centers with my little Leo. Leo’s mind never developed past that of a three-year-old. The clearest sentence he could ever manage was, “I love Mommy.” I thought, despite it all, that things were slowly getting better. Then my husband died. And Leo developed a more severe cerebral atrophy. He would spend the rest of his life confined to a bed. The weight of our world fell onto Michael’s shoulders. He became a brother and a father in one. By forty-five, his hair was already shot through with gray. From the time he was ten years old, Michael never asked me for a single thing. Until the day he fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around my legs, and pleaded with me. “Mom,” he cried, his voice breaking. “I’m his brother. I don’t mind sacrificing for him. I never have. But my son… Ethan doesn’t owe his uncle his future.” “He has the grades, Mom. He got into City Central High. He can’t lose that chance because we don’t have the money.” I owed my oldest son so much. He’d gotten into college himself, all those years ago. He tore up his acceptance letter to start working sooner, to earn money for his brother. I ran my trembling fingers through his graying hair, stroking it just like I did when he was a little boy. “Don’t cry,” I whispered, my own voice thick with unshed tears. “Mom will figure something out.” 1 I had just finished feeding my younger son, Leo, his nutrient paste, carefully wiping the residue from the corners of his mouth, when my older son, Michael, arrived. He didn’t sit down. He just stood there in the middle of the living room, a stiff, awkward statue of exhaustion. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy. “Mom. Ethan’s acceptance letter came. He got into City Central.” A jolt of pure joy went through me. “Really? Oh, that’s wonderful!” City Central High. It was the best school in the state, a feeder for the Ivy Leagues. But my elation was short-lived. Michael’s next words erased my smile. “But the tuition, the boarding fees, the cost of the advanced placement track they require… all together, it’s going to be…” He held up five fingers, and my heart froze. Fifty thousand dollars. “Mom,” Michael took a step forward, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. “I know how hard things are. But Ethan… he’s earned this. We can’t throw it away.” “You’ve still got a little saved, right? Just to get us started. I swear, I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my end-of-year bonus from the plant.” “Mikey…” I couldn’t meet his eyes. I stared at the worn floorboards, a hot flush of shame creeping up my neck. “That money… it’s for Leo’s nutritional supplements and his medication for the next quarter. If he misses it, he won’t…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “What if… what if Ethan goes to Northwood instead?” I offered weakly. “It’s a good school, too, and the tuition is a fraction of the cost. He can still get into a good college from there…” A loud bang shattered the quiet. Michael had kicked the small ottoman across the room. “It’s always Leo! It’s always about him!” he roared, his eyes instantly turning red. “From the day he was born, everything in this house has been for him!” “The better food, the new clothes, every last scrap of your attention! It was always his!” “I was so scared of being a burden I didn’t even dare to cough too loudly when I was sick!” “I’m five years older than him, Mom, not a whole damn generation!” I flinched, my whole body trembling. “Mikey,” I stammered, “Leo is sick…” “But it’s not my fault he was born that way!” Michael screamed. I froze. He was right. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I was the one who brought him into this world. 2 It was as if a dam had finally broken inside him, releasing forty years of dammed-up resentment in a torrential flood. “When Dad was alive, I was the responsible one. The good older brother. Never fighting, never asking for anything, just taking care of myself and helping you with Leo.” “His disability was hard enough, but then the atrophy started.” “After Dad died, I became a brother and a father. I paid the bills, I put in the hours, I put off my own wedding for years!” “I missed my own son’s birth, Mom! Do you know that? I wasn’t there when Jess was in labor because Leo was having a seizure and I was here, holding him down!” “Do you have any idea how many years she held that against me?” “I’m a foreman at the plant now. Guys I supervise, guys younger than me, they own houses, they drive new cars. We’re still renting a tiny apartment!” “All our money… it’s been poured into this house, into him!” “I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I stretch every single dollar until it screams. What more do you want from me?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his voice cracking into a sob. “He’s my brother. My own flesh and blood. And taking care of him… that’s my duty. I accept that!” “But my son… Ethan… he doesn’t owe him anything!” “He shouldn’t have to sacrifice the best future he can get for his uncle!” Every word was a dull blade, carving into my heart. I looked at my son’s gray hair, the deep lines etched around his eyes, and the guilt was a physical thing, a tide rising up to drown me. “Mikey, I’m sorry…” It was all I could say. There were no excuses. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry…” With a choked sob, Michael fell to his knees in front of me, wrapping his arms around my legs. “Mom, please. Ethan has to go to Central. Kids from Central go to Harvard, to Stanford. I can’t let him lose that. Please, Mom!” I closed my eyes, a tear tracing a path to the corner of my mouth. It tasted bitter. I remembered when Leo was born. He was such a quiet baby, he rarely cried. My husband David and I were overjoyed. We held him up for a five-year-old Michael to see. “Look, Mikey,” we’d said. “Your little brother is a gift. He’s such a good boy.” We were so happy then. A loving couple with two beautiful, well-behaved sons. Our neighbors all said how lucky we were. Even when Leo was slow to talk, when his walk was clumsy and uncertain, David and I would reassure each other. “It’s fine,” we’d say. “Late bloomers are often the most brilliant. Our Leo is destined for great things.” Until, at age five, he was diagnosed with a severe congenital intellectual disability. And our world fell apart. 3 David began working himself into an early grave, chasing every hour of overtime just to make a little more. I quit my job to take Leo to his endless appointments and therapy sessions. And Michael… Michael grew up overnight. He stopped asking for my affection, stopped wanting candy or toys. He managed himself perfectly. I never had to worry about his homework. He even learned how to cook. He was only ten, but he was already carrying the burdens of a grown man. And for a while, our collective effort seemed to be working. Slowly, Leo learned to signal when he was cold, to express when he was hungry. He reached the intellectual capacity of a three-year-old. The first time he looked at me and mumbled, “I love… Mommy,” I wept with a joy so fierce it felt like pain. I thought things would keep getting better. But fate had one more cruel twist in store. Ten years ago, my David died from a heart attack, brought on by years of relentless overwork. Michael was forced to become the man of the house. I knew how much he’d sacrificed for his own small family. I looked down at my weeping son, my hand shaking as I stroked his gray hair. “Don’t cry,” I whispered. “Mom will figure something out. We’ll get the money. Go home. I’ll call you tonight.” Michael looked like he wanted to say more, but he just nodded, rising to his feet with the weariness of an old man, and left. I started searching through the house. This little house we’d lived in for decades, so full of memories, so cluttered with the debris of a life. I found some old newspapers and cardboard boxes, tied them into a bundle. It wouldn’t be much, but every dollar counted. I’d heard people bought old furniture. Some of our pieces might be worth something. And the house itself… it was old and small, but the neighborhood had improved over the years. The location was good. It would sell for a decent price. If I sold the house, it would be more than enough for Ethan’s tuition. There might even be some left over. I could take Leo and rent a small, cheap apartment somewhere. We could manage. The thought sent a sharp pain through my chest. This was the home David and I had built, piece by piece. It was filled with the echoes of Michael’s childhood laughter, of Leo’s happy babbling before the diagnosis. But there was no time for sentiment. I walked over to the old dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. Tucked away in the back, I found a small cloth pouch. Inside was the wedding ring David had given me. A simple, plain gold band. I rubbed the smooth metal, David’s warm, sheepish smile flashing in my memory. “I’m sorry, my love,” I whispered. For my grandson, even this had to go. 4 As I was taking stock of everything I could sell, a violent coughing fit seized me. At first, I thought it was just the dust I’d kicked up. When I finally caught my breath, I looked down at my hand. There was blood on my palm. My mind went completely blank. Fear, cold and sharp, washed over me, leaving me shivering. I can’t be sick. If I get sick, what will happen to Leo? After a long moment, I picked up the phone and dialed Michael’s number. “Mikey, could you possibly come over tomorrow? Just to watch your brother for the day? I have… an errand I need to run.” Before he could answer, I heard my daughter-in-law, Jessica, in the background. “Mom! It’s not that we don’t want to help! But Michael has done everything, everything for his brother!” Her voice was high and strained. “We’ve been pinching pennies for years to help you out! Years!” “My own health isn’t great, I’m on medication constantly, have I ever complained?” “As his brother and sister-in-law, we have a clear conscience!” “But Ethan’s education is non-negotiable!” “He’s the only child we have, and he’s so bright. We can’t let his future get ruined over money!” “Mom, we’ll borrow the money! We’ll sign a contract! We’ll pay you back with interest! We won’t let you lose a dime, I swear it! Is that good enough?” Her rapid-fire words felt like lashes from a whip. I knew it was true. Michael’s family was at their absolute limit. He’d earned a scholarship to a state university, but because of the black hole of Leo’s medical bills, he’d ripped up the acceptance letter and gone to work at the factory. Now his son, Ethan, had the same gift for learning. If he too had to settle for second best because of Leo, I would never be able to rest in peace. I spoke softly, trying to soothe her. “Don’t worry. Just give me a few more days. I promise, I’ll get the money together for Ethan’s school.” 5 Michael’s voice came on the line. “Mom, don’t listen to her. Whatever you need. I’ll be there tomorrow. Don’t worry about a thing.” He came early the next morning. He didn’t ask about the money again, just silently began massaging Leo’s stiff limbs. “I might not be back for lunch,” I told him. “There’s leftover stew in the pot. You can heat it up.” With that, I left and took the bus to the hospital alone. The waiting room was filled with anxious faces, the air thick with unspoken fear. While waiting for my test results, I went to the restroom. My eyes scanned the dozens of small, scribbled ads on the back of the stall door. “Quick Cash Loans.” “Discreet Buyer.” “Surrogacy.” My gaze landed on one: “Generous Compensation.” My heart began to pound. I remembered hearing that you only need one kidney to live. Making sure no one was around, I shakily dialed the number. When a man answered, I lowered my voice. “I… I’d like to sell a kidney. How… how much would that be?” He asked my age. When I told him I was seventy, he scoffed. “Lady, a twenty-year-old’s kidney goes for a hundred grand. For a seventy-year-old? Eight thousand, tops.” I tried to bargain. “Could you do a little more? Could we make it ten?” “At your age, the risk is high,” the man said impatiently. “That’s the price. Take it or leave it.” My hand gripping the phone was slick with sweat. An image of Ethan’s hopeful face flashed in my mind, followed by Michael’s stooped shoulders, and Leo’s helpless form in his bed. I gritted my teeth and forced out two words. “I’ll take it.” After hanging up, I felt completely drained. I had to lean against the wall for a long time before I could walk out. Just then, a nurse called my name. The doctor pointed to a shadow on the CT scan, his expression grave. “Mrs. Miller, the results are back. It’s lung cancer. I’m afraid it’s already in the advanced stages. I strongly recommend you admit yourself to the hospital immediately…”

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My father was a triad boss, my mother a debutante from a powerful elite family. My older brother? He doted on me. My life was so perfect it was the envy of everyone. So when I found myself reborn, I expected a second round of an even happier life. But as the nurse carried my newborn self to my father, the man who had always cherished me now merely shot me a cold, indifferent glance. “You enjoyed all the blessings of being the Cooper family’s daughter in your last life,” he said. “This time, you should give that place to Evelyn.” Without another word, he handed the nurse a check. “Find a good family to adopt her. Don’t ever let her appear before me again.” The nurse carried me out through the hospital’s back door, but we hadn’t gone far when she was knocked unconscious from behind in a dark alley. I saw my brother, my familiar, loving brother, lift me from the nurse’s arms. I thought he was my savior. But then he clamped a hand over my mouth and hurried through a series of dim streets, stopping at the back entrance of an underground club. His eyes were filled with a vicious hatred. “I promised Evelyn,” he hissed, “that I would make you suffer in this den of sin, to let you taste what it’s like to be dragged through the mud, to be cheapened and despised by men.” … I lay on the cold ground, my heart feeling as if it were being torn apart. The pain was unbearable. I didn’t understand. Why were my father and brother doing this to me? Just moments ago, in our past life, we were being hunted by our enemies. I was the one who drove the car to lead the pursuers away, plunging off a cliff to my death to save them. And now, their first act upon being reborn was to cast me aside for some girl named Evelyn, even throwing me into a brothel for her sake. But I had never done anything to harm Evelyn! I closed my eyes, a lump forming in my throat, but the tears wouldn’t come. “Hey, what’s a little baby doing here?” A small head poked out of the darkness. From the voice, it sounded like a boy of about five or six. I felt a small finger poke my cheek. “Why aren’t you moving? Are you dead?” His poking was annoying. I opened my eyes and stared at him, my gaze empty and cold, waiting to see what he would do next. The boy was thrilled when I opened my eyes. “It’s alive!” He then scooped me up and ran off with a patter of small feet. He hadn’t gone far when a towering man appeared at the end of the dark alley. The boy froze, instinctively turning to flee, but the man was too fast, leaping in front of him to block his path. A flicker of shock entered my deadened eyes. The man was a highly skilled bodyguard. I had no idea what this little boy had done to offend such a person, but it seemed he was doomed. But then, the large man spoke, his tone filled with a surprising reverence. “Young Master, the monster you’re looking for isn’t in this club. Please, I beg you, stop trying to sneak in to find it.” I was speechless. Monster? “Liar!” the boy retorted, pouting. “If there isn’t one, why did Auntie Zhang yell at her husband for coming here to find his ‘little demon’ every day?” “Well… that’s…” The man was at a loss for words. After a long pause, he gritted his teeth. “Tomorrow, during the day, I’ll take you inside through the proper channels. We’ll conduct a thorough search for any clues of a demon, alright?” “No need,” the boy said, standing on his tiptoes to hold me up to the man’s face. His eyes sparkled. “I found a ‘little demon’ right here at the club’s entrance. When she grows up, whoever makes me mad, I’ll have her go and bewitch them!” My dark, empty eyes met the man’s startled gaze. For a moment, I forgot my sorrow, a strange sense of awkwardness washing over me. Sixteen years passed in a blur. The little boy who had picked me up had grown into a handsome, refined young man named Adrian Sterling. The man who called him “Young Master” was named Marcus. For sixteen years, I traveled with them, seeing the breathtaking landscapes of the country and witnessing the full spectrum of human joy and sorrow. They were a mystery to me, often mentioning an enigmatic “Old Man”—Adrian’s grandfather. Yet, in all those sixteen years, they never once went back to visit him. Three days ago, Adrian received an email. He and Marcus closeted themselves in a room for a long time. When he emerged, he announced, “Grandfather is seriously ill. He wants us to go back and take care of him. The rest of the family is already circling, eyeing his fortune. It looks like it’s time for me to go back and claim my inheritance.” Now, sitting in the rattling car, my head was buzzing. A sudden, terrifying thought had struck me. The story was chillingly similar to that of the legendary godfather who had dominated the country’s underworld in my previous life. Around this same time in my past life, the heirless godfather had suddenly brought home a long-lost grandson to inherit his vast empire, making him the new triad leader of the city. Countless people had tried to curry favor with him, but few ever even managed to see his face. I pushed down the shock and looked at Adrian, who was engrossed in a file across from me. His face began to merge with the image of the cold, iron-willed young godfather from my memory. My hands, hidden under my oversized coat, clenched into fists. In my past life, this man had dismissed me as a “beautiful but useless vase.” But in this life… My first smile, my first step, my first word… he was always there, dancing with excitement. “My sister is a genius! That’s my sister!” he’d exclaim, preening like a proud peacock. The contrast was jarring. How could this boy—who had changed my diapers, begged for breast milk from a neighbor who’d just given birth, fed me, and braided my hair—be the same legendary godfather from my past? My stare must have been too intense, because Adrian looked up. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the car lurched violently. At the same time, Marcus’s anxious voice came from outside. “Something’s wrong!” The next second, Adrian threw himself on top of me. Bullets ripped through the car window, zinging past us, inches from our clothes. Two cars boxed us in, and men with crowbars wrenched our doors open, exposing us to the attackers. Dozens of men with knives rushed toward us. But the men in the cars in front of and behind us moved in perfect unison, drawing their own weapons and engaging the assailants. In moments, bodies from both sides lay on the ground. I drew the short blade from my waist, parrying an attacker’s strike, my eyes locked on Marcus in the thick of the fight. In my past life, I remembered an interview where Adrian had mourned a bodyguard with the surname Sterling. My heart leaped into my throat. Over these sixteen years, Marcus had treated me like his own daughter. I couldn’t let anything happen to him. I kicked away the man in front of me and moved closer to Marcus. But just as I was a few feet away, his face contorted in horror. “Watch out!” he screamed, and then lunged toward Adrian. Three attackers were surrounding Adrian, and a bullet was speeding directly toward his heart. The next instant, Marcus tackled Adrian to the ground. At the same moment, the three attackers were neutralized by a group of “passersby” who seemed to appear from nowhere. Adrian looked at Marcus, who was clutching his chest on the ground, and his eyes turned bloodshot with rage. But the danger wasn’t over. There was no time for grief; he had to keep fighting. Just then, a massive convoy of cars, led by a luxury sedan, approached. The bodyguards in the cars saw the fight and immediately joined the fray, quickly subduing the remaining attackers. After taking down the last of them, I walked over to Marcus and nudged him with my foot. “Stop playing dead. Get up and clean this mess.” Marcus’s eyes flew open, a dazed look on his face. I pointed to the body of a shot attacker nearby. “That bullet never hit you. I grabbed one of them and used him as a shield for you.” Marcus sat up, patting his chest and back in disbelief. “I don’t know why,” he muttered, “but I really felt like I should have been dead…” He then met Adrian’s crimson-eyed gaze and, remembering his young master’s anguish, guiltily looked away. Adrian, however, looked from the massive, two-hundred-pound body of the dead attacker to me, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I will never again say that you’re too strong to be ladylike… Also, don’t you like butterfly knives? I’ll have one custom-made for you!” “No need for that.” I grinned, pulling several hundred-pound metal rods from under the wrecked car and casually hoisting one onto my shoulder. Adrian felt his vision go dark. His cute, delicate little sister had just transformed into a female Hulk. Marcus, on the other hand, looked at the car’s tires with a pang of guilt. And here he’d thought the car was slow because of a malfunction, and had cursed the driver countless times… I sheepishly dropped the metal rod. In my past life, I had also been born with unusual strength, a fact that had earned me ridicule from the other debutantes. So I had hidden it, pretending to be a delicate lady who couldn’t lift a thing. “Sir, I am Evelyn Cooper, the daughter of the CEO of the Cooper Corporation.” A slender hand pushed open the door of the luxury sedan, and a gentle female voice floated out. “It seems you are also heading to the capital. Why don’t we travel together? If there’s any more trouble, my bodyguards can assist you.” At the words “daughter of the CEO of the Cooper Corporation,” my heart clenched. A beautiful young woman, helped out of the car by her nanny, had a striking red mole near the corner of her right eye. There was no mistake. This was the “Evelyn” my father and brother had spoken of. In my past life, my father had brought her home when she was ten, claiming she was the orphaned daughter of an old friend. After she joined our family, she was treated exactly like me, the only daughter of the house. I had never resented her, and had treated her like a real sister. That is, until I was sixteen and discovered she was having an affair with the heir of the Windsor Group—my fiancé. Even then, I didn’t act on personal grudges. I simply told my parents. They were furious. They broke off my engagement and kicked Evelyn out of the house. I never saw her again. In this life, it seemed she had gone from Evelyn Locke to Evelyn Cooper. Evelyn didn’t notice my strange reaction. She smiled at Adrian, her face radiating a confidence and poise that was a stark contrast to the timid, cautious girl she had been when she first joined our family, and the hysterical mess she had become when her affair was exposed. Adrian thanked her. “Thank you for your help, Miss Cooper. We are being pursued by enemies and wouldn’t want to involve you. If we can reach the city center safely, I will be sure to pay you a visit to express my gratitude.” Evelyn tried to persuade him to travel with her, but seeing his firm refusal, she gracefully bid him farewell and departed. I stared after her convoy, a cold smile playing on my lips. Evelyn’s appearance here was no coincidence. But why her? Why not my father or brother? If they wanted to form an alliance with the future triad kingpin, they should have come themselves. Yet they had sent Evelyn… It seemed my dear father and brother had much grander ambitions than I had thought.

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The eve of my wedding, I got served a video on TikTok. It was one of those viral trends, a guy doing a funny, over-the-top impression of a dramatic movie scene. Without thinking, I tapped on the comments to see what nonsense people were writing. The top comment wasn’t text. It was a photo. A man has a woman pinned against the wall in a dimly lit alleyway. He’s tall, dressed in a sharp suit; she’s in a short, burgundy dress, her body electric. Anyone would say they looked good together. Made for each other, even. Only the crushed diamonds on his watch face caught the light and stabbed me in the eye. They reflected two letters, E and C, with a tacky, heart-shaped ampersand sparkling between them. E for Ethan, C for Chloe. My five-year anniversary gift to him. And the woman he was kissing? A little rabbit charm, adorned with a red rose, dangled from her purse. A gift I knitted with my own hands for my best friend. 1 I made three of those rabbits. The day I finished, I’d just put down my needles, not even having had the chance to arrange them on the shelf, when Maya burst in carrying a clinking tote bag. She made a beeline for the fridge, pulling out mixers with the ease of someone who practically lived here. “Chlo, tonight I’m drinking until I forget my own name.” I smiled, helping her line up the bottles on the counter. “When was the last time you were drunk enough to actually make it back to your own place?” Maya loved to drink. She was a mixologist at one of the city’s best cocktail bars, so she couldn’t indulge at work. My apartment was her sanctuary, the one place she could really let go. I have asthma and have to be careful about everything, so it was always Ethan who would drink with her, while I’d sip on whatever non-alcoholic concoction Maya made for me. When she’d had enough, we’d carry her to the guest room and Ethan would take the couch for the night. She paused, then let out a huge, uninhibited laugh. “You got me. Okay, then—let’s just get wasted!” Maya’s talents weren’t limited to alcohol; her mocktails were just as incredible. While I stood in front of the open fridge, trying to plan dinner, her eyes lit up and she darted over to the couch. “Well, look what we have here!” Maya squealed, grabbing one of the rabbits by its armpits and holding it high above her head. “Simba!” She clutched it to her chest like it was a priceless treasure. “Is this my birthday present?” “It is.” Maya ran over and wrapped me in a hug that smelled faintly of lime and bitters. “Oh, thank you, my love! I’m going to kiss your whole adorable face on God’s behalf!” We ended up wrestling playfully in the kitchen. The cake Maya had ordered arrived, and without a second thought, she swiped a dollop of frosting onto my nose. “Bet you can’t catch me!” she taunted. “Hey! You and your long legs!” I was annoyed, but she was right. I could never catch her. Not when we were kids, not now. We messed around like that for two hours until we collapsed in a heap, completely exhausted. I face-planted onto the sofa and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I woke up to the smell of takeout. Ethan was home from work, unpacking containers on the counter. He’d also brought a small, palm-sized cake. It was from the bakery on the west side. The one I’d been begging him to make a detour for for months, the one he always said was too out of the way. I leaned against the kitchen island, a pouty, half-joking complaint on my lips, and completely missed the rigid set of Maya’s shoulders. Ethan arranged the food on plates, then dimmed the lights and sat down next to me. Maya held up the cake, two crooked candles sputtering on top. “Happy thirtieth to me!” she shouted. “Happy birthday!” Ethan said, a fraction of a second before I could. The smile froze on Maya’s face. The air in the room thickened into a strange, uncomfortable silence. A sudden wave of awkwardness washed over me. I stood up and went to my bedroom to get her real gift. When I came back, an open gift box sat on the table next to her. So that’s what had been bulging in Ethan’s pocket. It was a bracelet. The exact same one I was about to give her. I froze, unsure what to do. Maya snatched the bag from my hand, tore open the box, and fastened the second bracelet onto her wrist. She held her arm up to the light, taking a dozen pictures from every angle, her praise a waterfall of superlatives. “It’s gorgeous! I absolutely love it! Chloe, darling, your taste is impeccable! You’re such an artist!” But her performance didn’t dispel the awkwardness. It amplified it, feeding on the way Ethan’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. “You two are on the same wavelength,” Maya gushed, filling the silence. “Ethan got me the same one. Now we can wear them as friendship bracelets!” “I’m glad you like it,” I managed to say, my smile feeling like a cheap mask. Eight years together, and Ethan had never given me a gift that felt like he’d put any real thought into it. My mind was a tangled mess. I forced myself to smile and listen to Maya’s drunken, off-key singing, staying with her until she was completely wasted. For some reason, Ethan, who could usually hold his liquor, was drunk even faster than she was. I was so busy taking care of the two of them that I didn’t notice until Maya was stumbling out the door that she’d grabbed the wrong rabbit. The one I’d made for her—the one with the red rose—was sitting primly on the shelf next to the rabbit in the little black suit. The one she’d taken was the painter rabbit, the one with the tiny beret and easel. The one that was supposed to be me. 2 I rushed after her into the hallway. “Maya! You took the wrong one.” How do you describe the look on her face? It was like she’d been struck by lightning. A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across her features: three parts laughter, two parts surprise, four parts panic, and one part guilt. She’d been in the middle of saying she didn’t want to leave, but the words died on her lips. Maya stared at me for a long moment, then let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh of relief. “Well, you made them look like such a perfect couple. For a second there, I thought I was officiating your wedding.” I looked down at the little red dress on the rabbit in my hand. She was right. It did look better with the black suit. A knot of discomfort tightened in my stomach, and my voice was sharper than I intended. “I have to go meet a client. I’ll see you later.” “I’ll give you a ride.” “They’re picking me up.” I heard Maya sigh, a sound of weary resignation, but she didn’t press, didn’t try to explain. It was the first time Maya had ever hidden something from me. Our origin story was a cliché. The invisible girl at school—parents who didn’t care, grades that were just okay—I was the perfect target. The kind of person who fades into the background is the easiest to bully. But I got lucky. The very first time a group of girls cornered me in an alley, Maya was there. She was two years older than me and had gone straight to work after her vocational high school program. Her family was a black hole for money, so she’d moved to the city and gotten a job as a hostess at a bar to escape them. The day she found me, she’d just been kicked out by her manager to “think about what she did” after telling off a customer. “Hey, kid.” Maya had a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Go home. What are you standing around for?” It was fine when she was at a distance. But as she got closer, the smoke hit me. My chest seized up. I collapsed, gasping, pointing desperately at my backpack. My inhaler was in there. But Maya, bless her heart, was an idiot. She didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her. She started giving me CPR with all the finesse of a jackhammer and nearly broke my ribs. One emergency room visit wiped out her entire savings. My parents weren’t around and I had no cash at home. Luckily, Maya wasn’t expecting me to pay her back. She just muttered something about her bad luck and left the hospital. From then on, I was determined to repay her. A few thousand dollars wasn’t insurmountable. I could pay it back over time. I started making a point of walking by that alley every single day, just hoping to see her. At first, it was hit or miss. Then, she started waiting for me. And after a while, she always seemed to have a small cupcake in her hand when I arrived. Just like that, Maya became my protector, and I became her little shadow. No one at school ever bothered me again. Maya was always watching her figure, so she never ate any of the treats. It seemed like all the “protection money” I gave her just ended up in my own stomach in the form of snacks. We went on like that for a year, and then my parents came home. They demanded I cut ties with the “trash” I was hanging out with, or they’d pull me out of school and put me to work. I refused. I took my ID—proof that I was seventeen and could make my own choices—and walked out. I didn’t have an umbrella. I got soaked. Maya called me a brainless idiot for fighting with my parents. I just grinned foolishly and said, “You’re the best person to me in the whole world, Maya.” And I was right. She quit smoking because the smell triggered my asthma, and she’d change her clothes before meeting me. She gave up spicy food because I couldn’t eat it, sneaking out at two in the morning to get her fix at a late-night barbecue stand. Things like that, countless things. She paid the rent, the utilities, our living expenses, and my tuition. I wanted to drop out and get a job to help, but she tore into me, screaming at me for the first and only time. And even then, the harshest things she said were about herself. “Chloe, do you want to end up like me? With people pointing at your back and calling you a slut?” I didn’t. “Don’t worry,” she’d said, her voice softening. “I can take care of you. I’ve got this.” I remember her expression, her words, as clearly as if it were yesterday. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. How did we get here? How did we end up like this? 3 The comments and likes under the photo were piling up. I clicked on the profile of the person who posted it. Her avatar was a girl in a high school uniform. A stranger. A breath I didn’t know I was holding escaped me. It wasn’t Maya who posted it. But even so, the cheating was undeniable. Set in stone. There was no way two other people in the world had their exact builds, my custom watch, and a one-of-a-kind charm I’d made myself. Eight years of love, twelve years of friendship, turned to ash in an instant. Was a man really worth all this? Maya, who never bought herself a nice handbag, who hadn’t upgraded her phone in two years, had bought me the latest model the second it came out, no questions asked. And me—the first two years after I started making real money, I didn’t get a mortgage for myself. I bought her a car, paid in full. I treated Maya the same way she treated me. We would have emptied our pockets for each other. If she and Ethan had just told me they had feelings for each other, I would have stepped aside. I could have walked away from the relationship. Why did they have to play me for a fool? Was the thrill of sneaking around that much more exciting? I wiped the tears from my eyes and opened Maya’s profile. Back when I was just a student, just starting out, she was already a semi-famous singer at a local club. Every time she posted a video or an update, she’d make me like and comment, and then she’d reply and pin my comment to the top to drive traffic to my page. After I became a successful illustrator with a steady stream of commercial work, she stopped linking our accounts. “It’ll hurt your brand,” she’d said. “Driving your followers to a lounge singer’s page will make you lose credibility. You won’t get as many big clients.” But now, everything was different. Maya’s most recent post was from a bar event three days ago. The video was shaky, but besides her on stage, the camera kept panning to the right, lingering on a man in a white button-down shirt, only his forearm visible. I didn’t need to look closely to know. It was Ethan’s arm. Three days ago, Ethan told me there was a problem with a shipment at work and he had to work late. How convenient. One minute he’s working late, the next he’s at a bar listening to her sing, not coming home all night. September 11th. Ethan was “working late” again. But in the background of Maya’s video, I could see his reflection in a TV screen. They were in a hotel room. He was still wearing the watch. Our watch. September 1st. The owner of Maya’s bar opened a new location out of state. Maya went to perform for the week-long grand opening. Ethan was on a “business trip” for five of those days. When he came back, there was a Band-Aid on his temple and the scrapes on his knuckles were still healing. He said he’d seen a drunk harassing a girl and had beaten the guy up. And today, Ethan was working late again. The tears turned to laughter, and the laughter dissolved back into tears. The past and present collided in my head, a chaotic, brutal war. I wanted to believe I was losing my mind, that this was all some paranoid delusion, anything but the reality staring me in the face. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. My wedding dress is hanging in the closet. The hair and makeup artists are scheduled to arrive at my apartment in eight hours. My bouquet is sitting on my vanity. I had practiced the bouquet toss eight hundred times, determined to make sure Maya would be the one to catch it. Everything was ruined. They say that after a person breaks, they become colder, more rational. Numb. I opened my laptop to draft an email canceling the wedding. My eyes drifted back to my phone against my will. Should I call them? Confront them? Listen to them scramble for excuses, a flurry of pathetic lies until they finally admit their disgusting behavior, only to turn it around and blame me? The screen lit up. A notification from our joint account. I tapped it open. A charge from a hotel. The room type, priced at $1,888, was the “Eros Suite.” Ethan and I had only been there once, the night he proposed. He really knew how to spend money. The thought of ending things gracefully lasted for a single second before it was incinerated by a blaze of fury. I’m the kind of person who holds a grudge. After what they did to me, I had to get them back. 4 I hit the delete key on the email draft and walked into my studio. If they were so in love, then I would help them celebrate a long and happy life together. About half of the invitation envelopes were left, stacked in a corner. I found a template online, typed in the guests’ names, and soon a thick stack of new invitations was printing out. It was much faster than the ones I had painstakingly illustrated by hand. As I unstuffed the original invitations, a sharp pain lanced through my stomach. I looked at the name on the paper. It was love at first sight with Ethan. He was the student body president, on stage giving a speech in a crisp white shirt and thin, silver-framed glasses. His voice was calm and steady, giving him an air of cool detachment that made you want to be the one to break through it. The line of people trying to win him over stretched from the main building to two miles off campus, from high school freshmen who’d had a crush on him for years to seniors, both men and women. I was just one of the countless, unnoticeable ones. My fundamentals in art were weak, so I was already spending twice as much time as anyone else on coursework and homework. I had no time for “chance encounters.” My only connection to him was through the campus forums online. My girlish crush didn’t escape Maya. The day after she figured it out, she cornered Ethan in an alleyway not far from campus as he was heading back from his tutoring job. She had a lollipop stick poking out of the corner of her mouth, her voice cocky and tough. “My girl wants to get to know you. Give her your number.” Ethan’s gaze fell on me, and he sighed with a kind of weary resignation. My hand trembled as I scanned his QR code. He held his arm out for me, then turned to Maya. “What about you?” Maya gave my shoulder a shove and swaggered away. “Don’t have a phone.” Later… When did they exchange numbers? I sealed the last new invitation and clutched my stomach, curling into a ball against the desk. Every single moment Ethan and Maya had been in the same room replayed in my mind. The way he would turn his head to watch her laugh, the way he’d join in on her antics, go shot for shot with her, drive her home. And I, like a fool, thought it was just him being kind to my best friend because he loved me. Once the pain subsided, I grabbed my wedding dress and took a cab to the hotel. This wedding was the culmination of all my dreams, a fantasy I had spent a year and a half designing and supervising, building from the ground up. Ethan hated all that stuff, so I never asked him to be involved, only getting his opinion on the invitations and the party favors. Now, I was about to destroy that dream with my own hands and face the brutal truth. I had all the photos of us taken down, leaving only our two names, stark and bare, at the entrance to the ballroom. I whispered his name, Ethan, and the suffocating pressure in my chest began to ease. More than Ethan, I hated Maya. She was the one who encouraged me to pursue art, the one who was with me through college. She was the best person to me in the world. I had long considered her my family. And a knife from family always cuts the deepest. I sat on the top floor of the hotel all night. As the sky began to lighten, spots of light danced on the floor. I pulled open the curtains and realized it was dawn. In the ballroom next to mine, the parents of another couple were bustling around, checking the arrangements with joyful faces, ready to celebrate the most important day of their children’s lives. I looked down at my own shadow. I was used to being abandoned, to being given up on. Being alone didn’t feel so lonely anymore. At nine o’clock, the wedding cars pulled up to the hotel entrance. The other bride, the one getting married on the same day as me, walked through the doors surrounded by her loved ones, stepping toward her happy future. I looked in the direction the cars had come from and saw Ethan in a corner. He was standing in the shadows, smoking one cigarette after another, until a hand reached out and took the last one from his lips. Maya ground the cigarette out with her high heel and, without a moment’s hesitation, slapped him across the face. “Ethan, don’t make me lose respect for you.”

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Three years of marriage, and my husband, Weston Hayes, still doesn’t know who I am. He can remember the entire world, but he draws a complete blank on my face. If I get a new haircut, he’ll ask me, “Excuse me, miss, who are you looking for?” If I wear a different dress, he assumes I’m the new housekeeper. On our anniversary, I was trapped with him and a group of his employees in a collapsed mine tunnel, a remote asset of his corporation. In the suffocating darkness, I felt my way to his side, my voice trembling as I told him it was me, Claire. He shoved me away. “Stop pretending. My wife isn’t here.” It took the rescue crews three days and three nights to dig me out. That evening, at a celebratory dinner for the successful rescue, Weston raised his glass. “A toast to the team. No casualties.” He had completely forgotten I was lying in a hospital bed. After that, I created a uniform for myself. I wore only one color of clothing, kept my hair styled the exact same way, and used the same perfume, all in the desperate hope that Weston might finally recognize me. But every time, he looked at me like I was a stranger. I thought it was some kind of cosmic punishment. Then, on the day I flew to Milan to celebrate his birthday, I saw him. I watched him cut through a bustling crowd and pull a young woman into a fierce, unerring embrace. And I finally understood. He didn’t have trouble remembering my face because of some rare neurological condition. It was simply because he wasn’t in love with me. If that was the truth, then it was best we just became strangers to each other. 1 The moment I turned to leave, I was surrounded by several Italian police officers. They were shouting, mistaking me for some wanted fugitive. My broken, panicked Italian only made their expressions harden. One of them forced me to my knees on the cold pavement. In the chaos, my eyes instinctively found Weston, not twenty feet away. “Weston! Help me! They’ve made a mistake!” I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. He heard me. His gaze swept over my face, vacant and indifferent. Then, as if looking at a complete stranger, he calmly turned away. “I don’t know her.” It was the coldest sentence I had ever heard in my life. Fifteen days. I counted three hundred and sixty hours by the tolling of a distant church bell, locked away in a sunless interrogation room and a frigid cell. My innocence was finally proven by a DNA report that confirmed a case of mistaken identity. When I dragged my exhausted body out of the police station, it wasn’t Weston waiting for me, but his assistant, Arthur. Arthur adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with reproach. “Claire, what was all that about? Do you have any idea that Mr. Hayes waited at the airport for you for two whole hours?” Whatever little warmth I had left in my heart vanished into the cold Milan air. The day I landed back in New York, a wall of flashing cameras and microphones ambushed me at the gate. My arrest had become a full-blown, humiliating scandal. When I finally fought my way home, Weston’s first words were a reprimand. “How many times have I told you? You wear the white coat when you’re out. Why don’t you ever listen?” He frowned, his tone like he was scolding a disobedient child. “You know I have prosopagnosia. I can’t distinguish between women’s faces.” My fists clenched at my sides. He turned a page in the file he was reading, issuing his next command without looking up. “The PR department has drafted a statement. You’ll hold a press conference tomorrow.” “You need to clear this up. Apologize to the public.” Apologize? For what? For Weston’s heartless indifference? For his so-called “face blindness”? I stared at his cold profile. “At the airport,” I asked softly, “the woman you were holding… who was she?” The hand turning the page froze. For the first time, a flicker of tension crossed his features. After a few seconds, he finally spoke. “It was crowded. I thought it was you.” I almost laughed. The woman that day was wearing a vibrant, eye-catching scarlet dress, her hair in a cascade of voluminous curls I had never worn in my life. My closet didn’t contain a single red item. “Weston, I called out to you that day. You heard me.” The injustice of it all forced the words out. “And?” He lifted his eyes. “Do you want me to apologize for my medical condition? Claire, you knew about this problem long before we got married.” Looking at his completely unaffected face, I suddenly felt a profound exhaustion. He was right. This was all my own doing. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to the press conference.” Weston seemed distracted, his gaze fixed on the tote bag at my feet. A corner of an in-flight magazine was sticking out. I followed his eyes and saw that the open page featured a photo of a symphony orchestra. There were dozens of people crowded together, but there, in the most obscure corner of the photograph, sat a young woman playing the cello. It was the girl Weston had embraced. The photo was so blurry you could barely make out her features. Yet Weston had seen her. In a single glance. So, it was never that he couldn’t recognize women’s faces. He just couldn’t recognize the ones he didn’t love. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise; even breathing hurt. Still, I forced a smile, pulled the magazine out, and pressed it into his hands. “Here,” I said. “I don’t want it anymore.” This title of Mrs. Hayes. And these three years of being invisible. I didn’t want any of it anymore. 2 The next day, I arrived at the press conference on time. The spotlights felt like a thousand sharp knives aimed directly at me. I was wearing a rose-colored gown, a deliberate rebellion against the white uniform Weston had demanded. Taking the microphone from the moderator, I spoke calmly. “The reason I was mistakenly arrested is that my husband, Mr. Weston Hayes, told the police, to my face, that he did not know me.” A wave of murmurs swept through the room. I paused, looking directly into one of the cameras, imagining him watching on the other side. “I imagine it must be agonizing to be trapped in a marriage for three years with a wife you can’t even recognize.” “So, I’ve decided to grant him his freedom.” “Mr. Weston Hayes and I will be divorcing.” It wasn’t until I was in the car that I noticed my hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from the liberating release of shedding a heavy chain. My phone buzzed incessantly, the name “Weston” glowing on the screen. I switched it off. The car hadn’t gone far before it was cut off. Weston got out of his vehicle, his face a thundercloud. “Claire, have you lost your mind?!” He yanked me out of the car, his grip so tight I thought my wrist would snap. “Who gave you the right to spout that nonsense at a press conference!” I stared coldly at his furious face. “Which part of what I said wasn’t the truth?” He was momentarily speechless, which only fueled his rage. “Do you have any idea the damage you could cause to other people? What if they dig up the airport security footage and drag Isabelle into this? She just barely secured her position with the Vienna Philharmonic!” So he did know her name. He knew exactly who she was. The pain in my chest spread, a slow, torturous bleed. “Weston, you can recognize her.” His face was a mask of pure irritation. “So what if I can? She’s different, she means something to me, but I still married you.” He leaned in, his voice low and cruel. “Don’t forget, Claire. You’re the one who begged for this.” He was right. It was all my obsession. Weston couldn’t even remember my face, so how could I expect him to remember a promise made twenty years ago? I wiped the tears from my face. “Weston, I regret it. Let’s get a divorce.” He fell silent, but his expression wasn’t one of relief, as I had expected. After a long moment, as if making a monumental decision, he spoke. “Stop this nonsense. Just go back to how things were. Keep wearing the white dresses. I won’t mistake you again.” “And I am not divorcing you.” “Really?” I tilted my head, a bitter smile on my lips. He had apparently forgotten what document I’d handed him just this morning. I’d simply put on a wig and changed my clothes. Weston had automatically assumed I was a new temp secretary. He’d signed the divorce papers without a second glance. He had even asked me to organize the safe in his study. He had meticulously cut out the picture of Isabelle Reed from that magazine. And when I opened the safe, it was filled to the brim with articles and photos of her. In red dresses, blue dresses, black dresses. No matter how Isabelle dressed, Weston could always pick her out. The oldest photo was of her in high school. Wearing a white dress, her hair long and straight. An exact mirror of the image I had so painstakingly maintained for three years. As I stood there lost in thought, Weston reached for my hand. “Claire, I won’t lose you again.” I gave a sarcastic smile, about to tell him everything. But just then, Weston pushed me aside and took off running. I followed his gaze and saw the back of Isabelle Reed disappearing into the crowd. Halfway there, he seemed to remember something. He turned and shouted back, “Claire, wait for me! I’ll be right back.” But he was shouting in the wrong direction, at another woman standing near me. She was also wearing a rose-colored dress. I turned and walked away without a second’s hesitation. Weston was furious that I had left. He didn’t know I spent the entire afternoon in the café next door, meeting with an immigration lawyer. He never came back. I ignored his calls. All I had to do was change my clothes, and I became invisible to him. With my travel documents in order, the first thing I did was go shopping. For years, my closet had been a sterile shrine of white, a walking mausoleum I’d built to catch his eye. Now, the sight of it made me sick. A sales associate enthusiastically presented a fiery red dress. As I was about to pay, a cool voice cut in. “I’ll take that one.” I turned to see Isabelle Reed’s haughty face. She looked me up and down. “Ms. Gable, still trying, are you? Didn’t the airport teach you anything? Weston doesn’t love you. You could buy the most expensive dress in the world, and he’d still look right through you.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I pulled the black Amex from my wallet and handed it to the associate. “This one she touched, plus every other style in this collection. Wrap them all up for me.” I added, “And please show her out.” The associate began to ask her to leave, but at that exact moment, Weston appeared. He walked straight to Isabelle, not even glancing in my direction. “Wrap up the dress for Ms. Reed.” The associate was stunned. “Mr. Hayes,” she whispered, “but this woman is your…” I was wearing smoky eye makeup and a wild mane of auburn curls. Weston, predictably, didn’t recognize me. “Who is she?” Weston’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the silent boutique. “Some nobody who thinks she can cut in line with Isabelle?”

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My husband kept a beautiful, brilliant woman as a director at his side. From the company’s first breath to the ringing of the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange, she was there for every one of his triumphs. Not like me. I was at home, raising our daughter, wrestling with homework, scrubbing pots and pans. I learned of my husband’s crowning achievements the same way the rest of the world did: on TV. My best friend, Chloe, couldn’t stand it. Her frustration boiled over during our weekly wine night. “I don’t know how you stomach it, Audrey,” she said, her voice laced with the fury I couldn’t seem to muster. “That woman practically introduced herself as Mrs. Crawford to the press.” She swirled the cabernet in her glass. “It’s been ten years. Ten years is long enough for even the most lovesick fool to wake up.” Hearing her words, I just traced the rim of my own glass, a calm settling over me. Ten years. It really had been that long. But the outcome was perfect. That bastard and his bitch finally took my company public. And with the upcoming shareholders’ meeting, it was time to fire my husband from his position as CEO. And her, from the Executive VP role she was about to step into. 1 Ethan finally came home the night before the shareholders’ meeting. The moment the front door clicked open, our daughter, Sophie, shot off the couch like a little rabbit, her pigtails flying. She wrapped her arms around Ethan’s leg, a chorus of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” erupting from her. He scooped her up, planting a loud, whiskery kiss on her cheek. “I missed you so much, my little bug.” He nuzzled his stubble into her neck, coaxing squeals of laughter from her before setting her back down. Only then did he turn to me, his smile softening into something gentler, more practiced. “You’re a saint, Audrey. Holding down the fort.” He always spoke to me like that at home—polite, warm, the very picture of a devoted family man. It would have been convincing, too, if I didn’t know how he’d spent the month since the NYSE ceremony. The celebratory trip to Vegas that ended in a million-dollar loss. The five-million-dollar penthouse he’d bought for his director in the heart of Tribeca. The luxury cars and suburban McMansion he’d gifted her parents and brother. If he hadn’t been so reckless with my money, I might have let him keep his job. He and his director, Ava, were a ruthlessly effective pair, after all. Driven, hungry, with a work ethic that bordered on pathological. They were everything I wasn’t. I was born soft, allergic to hardship. The greatest struggle I’d ever endured was the pain of Ethan’s affair, which laid me out for exactly three days. On the fourth day, I woke up and started seeing him for what he was: my prized workhorse. After all, I secretly owned 48% of the company through an anonymous holding firm, on top of the 3% he’d signed over to me as a wedding gift. It was a staggering amount of money. The love was gone, but the assets remained. I supposed it could have been worse. A flicker of irritation in Ethan’s eyes pulled me from my thoughts. He was watching me, his brow furrowed. “Are you still stewing about Ava? Audrey, you can’t have everything. I’ve given you a life of luxury, of ease. You can’t also expect my absolute fidelity.” He had always been this brazenly honest. It was the same five years ago, when I’d found them. I’d brought him homemade mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival, a nod to our shared time in Shanghai. I’d walked into his office to the sight of him pressing Ava against his desk, their mouths locked together. He’d calmly dismissed her, then poured me a cup of tea as if nothing had happened. “Audrey, we were college sweethearts,” he’d begun, his voice maddeningly reasonable. “Four years of dating, five years of marriage. I truly loved you. A part of me still does.” He took a sip of his own tea. “But you have to understand, I’m a man. I have needs. I’m on the road six months out of the year. You can’t expect me to live like a monk.” He leaned forward, his tone shifting to that of a patient professor. “I have money, and I have urges. Ava is brilliant, she’s attracted to me, and she’s right there. I’m utilizing her talent, so why not her body? It’s efficient. You’re just too greedy, Audrey. You want the lifestyle I provide, but you also want my body to be exclusively yours. You even want me to love you with that same desperate, youthful passion we used to have. We’re adults now. It’s time to let go of perfection.” That was the first time I’d heard him dissect human nature—a man’s nature—with such cold precision. The shock was so profound that I fainted shortly after getting home. At the hospital, I found out I was pregnant. This baby, our Sophie, was a miracle I’d fought for through three grueling years of IVF. Abortion was unthinkable. But over the next ten months, as Ethan played the part of the perfect, doting husband at home while flying Ava to the Maldives and Hong Kong for lavish vacations, my perspective crystallized. If everything was a transaction, then I would maximize my return on Ethan Crawford. I pushed down the familiar, phantom ache in my chest and smiled sweetly. I stepped toward him and began to loosen his tie. “Don’t be silly. She’s your right hand. Why would I be jealous of Ms. Vance?” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “She’s a powerhouse—a Wharton MBA who can close a deal and run an empire. Honestly, I’m grateful she takes such good care of you.” A relieved, almost tender smile spread across Ethan’s face. He reached out and gently squeezed my earlobe, a gesture that had once been our intimate little signal. But I’d seen him do the exact same thing to Ava in a candid photo from a business gala. Now, his touch made my skin crawl. Perhaps even Ethan himself had forgotten that I hadn’t let him touch me—not really—in five years. Not since the day I found them. I didn’t let him start now. I took a half-step back, a blush rising on my cheeks for effect. “Stop it, the baby’s right here,” I murmured. “Go on, get in the shower.” I turned to our daughter. “Sophie, honey, Daddy’s being lazy. He doesn’t want to take a bath. Can you go push him into the bathroom for Mommy?” Instantly, Sophie latched back onto his leg, a tiny, giggling barnacle. As Ethan disappeared into the master bath, I walked straight to the kitchen, a wave of revulsion washing over me. I scrubbed my hands, my face, and especially my earlobe, which I washed three separate times. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed his secretary. “Something’s come up,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “I need you to create a crisis. I want Ethan Crawford out of my house. Now.” 2 The call came less than a minute later. I watched as Ethan’s face, still damp from the shower, darkened with every word from his secretary. He ended the call and turned to me, his towel knotted precariously at his waist. “Audrey, find me a suit. I have to go back to the office.” I went to the closet and pulled out a classic navy suit. He glanced at it and scowled. “What is this, a relic from 2015? My God, your taste is atrocious. Am I going back to the office to work or to be publicly humiliated?” This was his way. When things went wrong, his words became weapons, and I was always the nearest target. I knew his moods, so I didn’t fight back. My only goal was to get him out. “I’m… I’m sorry,” I stammered, letting my voice tremble. “I’ll get another one.” But my compliance did nothing to soothe him. He shoved past me with a grunt of disgust, snatching his phone and hitting the speed dial for ‘1’. A moment later, Ava’s smooth, professional voice was on the line. “Ethan? What’s wrong?” He shot a venomous look in my direction before speaking into the phone. “The Aethel project is blowing up. Bring a suit to my place. Now.” He hung up without waiting for a reply and rounded on me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Could you please try to keep up with the modern world? What do you even do all day? I’m not asking you to build an empire, but could you at least learn something from Ava? Develop an ounce of taste?” Without another glance, he cinched his towel and stalked into his study to wait. I stood there, my fingers twisting the fabric of the suit. Of course it was an old style. It was the last one he’d left here, five years ago. For half a decade, every single item of his—from his tailored suits and Swiss watches down to his socks and underwear—had been curated and managed by her. I had nothing to do with it. On the rare occasion I tried to play the part, buying him a gift for our anniversary, it would remain unopened, gathering dust in his study drawer with all the others. Which was, perhaps, for the best. My anniversary and birthday gifts for him over the past five years had been… unconventional. A miniature anatomical model of a man, neatly gelded. A framed, calligraphed curse for impotence. A small effigy of him, riddled with pins. And my personal favorite, a prayer card wishing him and his lover a lifetime of debilitating, untreatable STDs. Every year, I waited for the explosion, the moment he’d finally discover my little gallery of hate. But, to my disappointment, he never had. A sudden, angry little voice from the hallway snapped me back to the present. “Who are you? You can’t just walk in here! You didn’t even ring the doorbell!” 3 My jaw tightened. I dropped the suit and walked out of the bedroom. There she was. Ava Vance, crouched down to Sophie’s level, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “Well hello, Sophie,” she was saying. “Guess what? I have a secret. You’re going to be a big sister.” My blood ran cold. “How did you get in here?” Ava looked up, her expression shifting from feigned warmth to cool indifference. “Oh, hello, Audrey. Sorry to intrude so late. Ethan gave me the code.”

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The moment I won her over—the moment I finally conquered the heart of that dark, damaged girl—I chose to leave the world for good. I didn’t hesitate for a second, not even when she begged me, her voice small and broken, to stay. Life back in the real world was… not good. I was drowning. So when the System found me again, offering five million dollars to go back into the book and win her over one more time, I was ready to say yes. But just as the word formed on my lips, a shimmering text feed flickered across my vision, like a phantom television crawl. > OMG, the Ex is back. > LMAO, does she seriously think the heroine is still in love with her? > The second Strategist not only got the heroine’s darkness rating down to negative one hundred, he voluntarily stayed. Gave her a real home. > The happy couple is about to get married. Can the Ex please have some shame and not bother them? 1 It took me a long moment to process it. The Ex they were talking about… was me. Beside me, the System was still buzzing, giving me the hard sell. “All you have to do is make Aria Sterling fall in love with you one more time, and you get five million dollars. Even if you fail, you get fifty thousand for your trouble. How about it? It’s a great deal.” It was a great deal. And right now, I desperately needed the money. But the words from the feed echoed in my head. I was silent for a moment, then told the System I needed to think about it. So, it sent me back into the book first. To be precise, it sent me back to the home Aria and I once shared. The small, sub-one-thousand-square-foot apartment was old but cozy, exactly as it had been three years ago. Aria hadn’t moved a single one of my things. Even the silk blouse I’d accidentally stained just before I left… it was hanging in the closet, perfectly clean. I remembered that blouse. It was from Theory, a brand that was everywhere at the time. When Aria had secretly bought it for me, I’d gotten angry about the price, insisting we return it. She never argued. She would just lower her gaze, those long lashes of hers casting shadows on her cheeks, and wait for my anger to cool. Then, in a soft voice, she’d coax me into trying it on. I ran the smooth fabric between my fingers. Took a deep breath. If Aria had truly forgotten me… Then why was this apartment still here, preserved like a museum? I looked up again, my eyes scanning the small space. They snagged on a white piece of paper taped to the inside of the window. Through the glass, I could make out a few large, hastily scrawled words. FOR SALE. PRICE NEGOTIABLE. URGENT. The strokes were sharp, decisive. It was Aria’s handwriting. 2 The text feed materialized in front of me again, a cascade of tiny, mocking words. > Hahaha, the Ex is stunned. The heroine wasn’t holding on to their past; she just hadn’t gotten around to selling the place yet. > The Ex really thought the heroine still loved her like before. Plot twist: with her new golden retriever boyfriend, the heroine won’t even give her a second glance. > The only reason the System brought her back is to create some drama for the main couple. The Ex is just here to humiliate herself. I pressed my lips together. So that was it. The System was offering five million because it was certain I would fail. My real purpose wasn’t to win Aria back; it was to be the villain, the obstacle thrown in the path of the main characters’ love story. It was buying my labor—my humiliation—for a measly fifty thousand. Fifty grand. A bitter laugh escaped me. To play the fool for fifty thousand dollars… it wasn’t nothing. It was one week of ICU bills for— I called out to the System and briskly accepted the deal. The System, practically beaming, deposited a large sum of money into my account for expenses—usable only within the book, of course. Since Aria was so eager to sell this place, I might as well be the one to buy it. I held my phone, my fingers dialing a number that was still etched into my memory. It rang for a full thirty seconds before someone picked up. A bright, boyish voice came through the line. “Hello?” I froze for a second. Glancing down, I confirmed it was Aria’s number. “Hi, I was passing by and saw the for-sale sign in the window…” “You want to buy the apartment?” the voice on the other end exclaimed with surprise. “That’s great! It’s about time someone took it.” I asked, cautiously, “Are you the owner?” “I’m the owner’s boyfriend. You can call me Leo.” So this was him. The second Strategist. As I hesitated, a brief muffle of noise came from the other end, like two people whispering. A long moment passed. Then, someone else took the phone. Aria’s cool, detached voice came through the line, crystal clear. “Hello. Is it convenient to meet and discuss this in person?” 3 I waited in the coffee shop, a low thrum of unease vibrating through me. Finally, a sleek, understated luxury car—an Audi—purred to the curb. The doors opened, and a striking couple emerged. Three years. I hadn’t seen her in three years, and Aria Sterling was still as breathtaking as ever. The last traces of youthful uncertainty in her features had been replaced by the quiet confidence that only power and wealth can bestow. She leaned languidly against the car door. Leo said something, and a smile touched her lips as she reached out to ruffle his hair. From across the distance, her gaze drifted in my direction. It rested on me for only a fraction of a second before moving on, as undisturbed as the surface of a still, deep well. I was still lost in a daze when Leo sat down across from me. He gave me an apologetic smile. “My girlfriend had a meeting, so she could only drop me off. I’ll be handling the sale.” “I can see you two are very happy together,” I said, and I meant it. Leo’s smile widened. “My girlfriend runs a tech company. Her net profits are in the hundreds of millions a year. We don’t need the money from this apartment; we mainly just don’t want to hold onto it anymore.” His tone carried a faint, sweet note of superiority. I nodded and, following the usual procedure, asked if I could see the apartment. Leo paused, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “The keys… I don’t have them. If you want to see it, my girlfriend would have to take you herself.” I frowned slightly, confused. “She didn’t give you the keys before you came?” Logically, any real estate transaction involves a viewing. Aria would know that. Leo sighed, a wry smile on his face. “I asked, but she wouldn’t give them to me. She’s never taken me there, either.” He lowered his voice. “To be honest with you, it’s the place she lived with her ex when she was starting from nothing. It gives me the creeps. That’s why I wanted to sell it quickly.” “Ah,” I said. “In that case, I don’t need to see it. Let’s just sign the contract.” Leo looked ecstatic. Fearing I might change my mind, he immediately pulled out the sales agreement. He didn’t have the property deed, however, so we couldn’t transfer the title just yet. We would still have to wait for Aria. As we sat there, an awkward silence stretched between us. Looking at this man, another Strategist just like me, I couldn’t help my curiosity. “How did you and she get together?” What I really wanted to know was how he had succeeded with her. The System had told me that after I left, Aria had a brief, secondary spiral into darkness. She’d tried to kill herself, her darkness rating soaring to a level that threatened the stability of the entire world. Leo arrived at her side during that time. He not only brought her darkness rating down but completely replaced me in her heart. Aria was not an easy person to win over. He must have gone through hell. But Leo just beamed. “She had just been abandoned by her ex and was completely heartbroken. I was there for her, comforting her. It didn’t take long for us to make things official.” It was that simple? I could hardly believe it. The mocking text feed flooded my vision again. > LMAO, the Ex is shook. The heroine just has no resistance to sweet, puppy-dog types like our boy. > Remember, it took the Ex ten whole years to win her over. She threw herself at the heroine countless times before she reluctantly agreed to be with her. > The puppy just said a few words to her, and all the Ex’s years of work went down the drain. That’s the power of true love, baby. … I stared blankly at the cynical comments. They weren’t wrong. The process of winning Aria over had been agonizingly difficult. So difficult that I never wanted to go through it again. 4 Aria’s parents didn’t love her. At a young age, they had her committed to a psychiatric hospital, leaving her to the mercy of abusive orderlies. The place was a prison, filled with violent and unstable patients, heavily guarded. Even with the System’s help, I nearly died getting her out. I took Aria to a new city. I put her through school, got her on the right path. I even arranged for expensive weekly therapy sessions. I did all of this to earn her complete trust. But Aria was too intelligent. She effortlessly saw through the façade of this world, including my identity and my mission. After her final exams, Aria became the top scorer in the state. I threw a party to celebrate. But she just calmly took my arm, her expression cold, tinged with a self-mockery I could barely detect. “You’re doing all this for me because you’re trying to win me over, right?” After the initial shock, I let out a shaky sigh and said, my voice thick with emotion, “I love you. That’s my purpose.” She scoffed, clearly not believing me. My heart pounded, but I pulled her into a hug, deliberately acting playful. “Aria, don’t get hung up on the details. These last few years have been exhausting. You’d better hurry up and make my life easier.” I buried my face in her shoulder. “I really, really love you. Please don’t question me like this again. It really hurts.” … After college, Aria started her own company. We moved into that tiny, rundown apartment. There was no heating in the winter. Sometimes, when I washed the dishes, my hands would go numb and ache from the cold. Aria would always take my hands and rub them, her eyes red with unspoken sympathy. By then, we were married. Her life’s goal had shifted from building a tech empire to destroy the world to the mundane task of making enough money to buy her wife a house. We hustled during the day and held each other in that small bed at night. I remembered the time I was trying to secure funding and the investor harassed me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her, so I just walked the streets alone, crying. I remembered the time a competitor tried to sabotage us, and I instinctively shielded her, taking the blow myself and ending up in the ER. I don’t know how many times I went through things like that. All of it, just to slowly, painstakingly, make Aria Sterling fall in love with me. And compared to my decade-long effort, Leo had done it in just three short weeks. He’d brought her darkness rating down to negative one hundred and raised her affection level to one hundred percent. 5 Leo was still rambling on about the sweet details of his relationship with Aria. He said it was love at first sight for her. I pushed down the faint ache in my chest and took a sip of my milkshake. “Has she… ever mentioned her ex-wife to you?” Leo thought for a moment, then smiled smugly. “Never. I think she’s completely over her.” I nodded. It was better that way. I didn’t actually want to ruin their relationship. When Aria arrived, I’d just put on a show of remorse, act pathetically desperate. Given her personality, she would probably be disgusted and want nothing to do with me. Once she rejected me, I’d take my fifty thousand and leave this world for good. As I was mapping out my plan, Leo’s phone rang. His face lit up. “My girlfriend’s meeting is over. She’s coming to pick me up now. We have a date, so let’s handle the apartment stuff tomorrow.” I froze for a second, then forced a smile and nodded. “Okay, then I’ll just go…” Leo clapped me on the shoulder. “Where do you live? I can have my girlfriend give you a ride.” The smile froze on my face. Leo was so insistent that before I knew it, the car door had closed behind me. A cool, clean scent of pine drifted through the air. Beside me, I could hear Leo’s cheerful voice as he showed Aria his new haircut. Aria was sitting right in front of me. From my angle, I could see her hands on the steering wheel, her fingers pale and slender. She kept her eyes focused on the road, but she responded to every word he said. Looking at the reflection of her perfect profile in the rearview mirror, I felt a wave of disorientation. Aria had never been this patient with me. When we were together, she was always insecure, always on edge. She knew about my mission and was terrified I would leave at any moment. She’d often wake up in the middle of the night, startled, her hand flying to my side of the bed in a panic. And I would have to soothe her, time and time again, exhausted. “I’m not going to leave you alone. I love you, and it has nothing to do with the mission.” I kept repeating that lie right up until the moment I left. Aria had cried, her hand gripping mine, begging me not to go, begging me to stay a little longer, just a few more years. I had sighed and refused every plea. Her face had gone ashen, her eyes swirling with pain and a terrifying madness. “Why? Don’t you love me? How can you bear to leave me? You said you would never leave me alone!” I gave her a bitter smile. “I have my own love in the real world.” … Sensing my gaze, Aria frowned and lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror. Our eyes met. The car lurched forward with a sudden, violent stop. Unprepared, I slammed my forehead against the window. A bruise was already forming. “Sorry,” Aria’s voice was raspy. She turned her head slightly. “This is your stop.” It took me a second to realize what she meant. When Leo had asked for my address earlier, I’d just blurted out the name of a random apartment complex. “Oh,” I said, managing a “thank you.” I arranged to meet Leo the next day and got out of the car. Aria kept her eyes down, never once turning to look at me. She didn’t linger for a moment; the car’s taillights vanished around the corner in an instant. At the busy entrance to the complex, surrounded by strangers, I wrapped my arms around myself and slowly sank into a crouch. I don’t know how much time passed. Then, a familiar luxury car pulled up in front of me, silent and imposing. The window rolled down, revealing the sharp, clean lines of her profile. Aria was looking straight at me, her expression unreadable. “Get in.” 6 I had expected Aria to find an opportunity to see me. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. So soon that I hadn’t had time to prepare myself to face her. In the standoff, Aria raised a hand and lit a cigarette. I frowned instinctively. I hated it when she smoked. In the past, I would have snatched it from her and stubbed it out without a second thought. And back then, Aria would have listened. When I told her to quit, she never touched another one. She would never have been like this, a thin veil of white smoke separating us as she sized me up with an unapologetic gaze. I bit my tongue, about to speak, when the text feed exploded again. > What’s the Ex being so reserved for? Does she actually think the heroine has some ulterior motive for meeting her? > The heroine knew she was back the whole time. She just didn’t want to upset the puppy, so she didn’t say anything in the car. > She’s only meeting her alone to warn her not to run her mouth in front of the puppy. That’s it. I remained silent, standing where I was. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. The impulsive flicker of hope from a moment ago was extinguished completely. Right now, I had no right to tell her what to do. The pale, slender hand resting on the car window lowered. Aria’s expression was unreadable as she looked away. After a moment, as if in concession to some private, ironic thought, she crushed the cigarette out. “Weren’t you buying the apartment?” she said. “Get in. I’ll take you to see it.” 7 The drive was silent. Aria clearly had no intention of speaking. The text feed, however, was a cacophony. > Smart move by the Ex. She knows the passenger seat is reserved for the boyfriend, so she got in the back. > I thought the heroine was going to warn her? Why is she taking her back to their old place? > Don’t worry, guys. The heroine doesn’t know the Ex’s real game plan yet. Once she reveals her true colors, the heroine will be even more disgusted. … When we arrived, I couldn’t help but speak. “Is there nothing you want to… ask me?” The hand holding the key paused. Aria glanced down at me, her eyebrow raised, waiting for me to continue. I gathered my courage. “Like why I came back, how long I’m staying, or… what my purpose is in buying this apartment.” “Not interested,” Aria said, her tone flat as she looked away. “I don’t care who buys this place. I’m erasing everything that has to do with you. As for why you’re back…” She stuffed her hands in her pockets, a faint, humorless laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re here to win me over again.” I was silent for a beat. “What if I am?” 8 “Then by all means, try.” Aria pushed the door open. It creaked. The apartment revealed itself to me again, every detail sharp and clear. A single shaft of light cut through the room, illuminating dancing dust motes. Aria stood just behind me and to my left, the edge of her jacket brushing against my sleeve. She said nothing. I said nothing. In the silence, it felt like we had stepped back in time to a normal afternoon during our marriage. We’d just come home from the farmers’ market. Her fingers would be looped with plastic bags, all filled with my favorite vegetables and snacks. We’d be laughing and teasing each other all the way home. The moment the door closed, she would leap onto me, her arms wrapped around my neck, giggling as she searched for my lips. I’d lean back, feigning reluctance, until my back was pressed against the door, my hands holding her waist as I returned her kiss. … A hand suddenly clamped around my wrist. My body went rigid. Aria released me just as quickly, her expression once again neutral. “Have a look around. Selling it to you saves me the trouble of cleaning the place out.” I nodded, took a cursory walk around the apartment, and came back. “It’s fine. I already arranged with Leo to transfer the title tomorrow. Just give him the deed. You don’t need to be there.” “Fine.” Aria’s agreement was swift. After a slight pause, her voice dripped with a slow, deliberate sarcasm. “You don’t have to be so guarded. If I had my way, I’d hope to never see you again in this lifetime.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “The only reason I met you alone was because I was worried you’d say something in front of Leo. I don’t want to make him unhappy. Do you understand?” I took a quiet, deep breath. “I won’t mention our past relationship to Leo.” “Good.” Silence again. After that, I knew I should have the decency to leave. But for that fifty thousand dollars… My voice trembled slightly as I spoke. “Aria, I was wrong back then. I never should have left you.” A flicker of something disturbed the dark surface of her eyes. She narrowed her gaze, studying me, as if considering something. “Go on.” “I came back to make it up to you. And I realized… I still love you. Could you…” I looked at her, my heart pounding. “Could you give me another chance?” 9 The room plunged into a dead silence. After I said the words, my vision was almost completely obscured by the deluge of mocking text. I closed my eyes, humiliated. My face burned with shame. After a long time, a low chuckle echoed in the room. “What’s this? Your comatose wife in the real world finally died, so you remembered your ever-reliable backup plan?” My head snapped up, a muscle in my jaw twitching. My lips trembled with a rage I couldn’t voice. It was all reflected in Aria’s beautiful eyes. She raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, didn’t you notice? I have my own love now, too.” Her tone was light, casual. But her dark eyes were locked on mine. My own eyes felt dry. I blinked hard. “I know.” Aria seemed to smile, but it held no emotion. The only thing she left me with was the image of her back as she walked out the door. > YES! God, I have waited so long for this moment. > Hahahaha, the boomerang came back and hit the Ex right in the face. > The Ex should just quit the System already. Even if she saves the heroine a hundred more times, the heroine will never love her again. > But the heroine still went soft on her. She left the key to the apartment so she wouldn’t be homeless… wait, what’s under the key? I blinked, my gaze shifting to the clear plastic cover on the small table. Aria had indeed left the apartment key behind. And under the tarnished brass key was a small red booklet. > HOLY S**T! Am I seeing this right? That’s the property deed! > Why would the heroine leave the deed for the Ex?! Shouldn’t she give something that important to the puppy? My hand trembled as I opened the booklet. The text feed suddenly went quiet. On the deed, there was only one name written. Mine.

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