Category: English

It was our seventh Thanksgiving together, and my husband still wouldn’t take me to meet his family. Whenever I brought it up, he’d just laugh it off. “Things are different now, you know? It’s good to have healthy boundaries.” “Honey, you married me, not my family.” “Marriage is just about the two of us. As long as we love each other, that’s all that matters.” “Besides,” he’d add, “isn’t it better this way? You don’t have to deal with my parents, I don’t have to deal with yours. No awkward family get-togethers. It’s perfect.” He said it with such conviction that I never doubted him. Not until the next day, when my mom insisted I go to a birthday party for the son of a cousin I hadn’t seen in seven years. There, I saw my husband, Liam, playing joyfully with a five-year-old boy who looked exactly like him. My breath caught in my throat. With a trembling hand, I pulled my Aunt Carol aside. “Is that my cousin’s husband? And that little boy… is that their son?” Aunt Carol beamed. “Yes! They’ve been together for six years now.” “They were living abroad, but I heard they came back to finally make it official.” “You should go say hi to your cousin and her husband!” 1 Across the crowded room, my eyes met Liam’s. He froze. A moment later, my cousin, Jessica, looped her arm through his and walked toward me. She smiled at my dazed expression. “You must be Evelyn, right? It’s been so long.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “This is my husband.” A flicker of unease crossed Liam’s face, but he said nothing. A loud ringing filled my ears, and my mind went blank. The party buzzed around me, a chaotic noise I couldn’t process. Jessica’s smile was gentle, but I could see the mockery glinting in her eyes, as if mocking me for ever thinking I stood a chance. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head. “You look pale. Are you feeling alright? Maybe you should go lie down for a bit.” She snuggled closer to Liam. “You don’t mind, do you, honey?” she asked, her voice dripping with affection. Liam reached out and gently tapped the tip of her nose. “You asked so nicely,” he murmured. “How could I say no?” Watching them, so intimate and familiar, I wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation. But the words were trapped in my throat. The man who called me yesterday to say he was going on a business trip was standing right here, at my cousin’s son’s birthday party. And he wasn’t just a guest. He was her husband. And the father of her six-year-old son. Then what was I? Seven years. For seven whole years, I’d been played for a fool. No wonder Liam had to “travel for work” every month, gone for weeks at a time. No wonder he always had an excuse to avoid my family. He already had another one. All his talk about boundaries and it being “just the two of us”—it was all a lie. A convenient excuse. I forced the storm of emotion down, lifting my head to stare at Liam, silently pleading for him to say something, anything. He gave me a cold, dismissive glance. “Miss, if you’re not feeling well, you should go rest. We won’t have time to take you to the hospital if something happens.” My heart felt like it was being ripped apart. A sharp pain bloomed in my chest, and my eyes began to burn. Jessica looked from me to Liam, her brow furrowing slightly. “What’s wrong? Do you two… know each other?” “No,” Liam said instantly. His quick denial was so sharp it was almost comical. A bitter, sarcastic smile touched my lips. Just then, the little boy ran over and threw his arms around Liam’s leg. “Daddy, can you play with me?” he chirped, looking up with adoring eyes. “Mommy can’t play anymore. She has a baby sister in her tummy.” Liam’s body went rigid. His eyes darted to me for a fraction of a second before looking away. He bent down, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Of course, Leo. Daddy will play with you.” Leo jumped with glee, then turned to Jessica. “Mommy, will you watch us?” Jessica’s smile was radiant. “Of course, sweetie.” I stood there, completely numb. Leo tugged Liam away, leaving me alone with Jessica. The mask of kindness fell from her face, replaced by a smug, triumphant smirk. She reveled in my shell-shocked expression, one hand resting protectively on her stomach. “Did you know,” she began, her voice a low, vicious purr, “that ever since I moved abroad, Liam flew out every single month to see me? He rented the apartment right next to mine, just so he could take care of me.” “And that was before we were even… official.” “You two have been married all this time, and you still don’t have kids, do you? He told me the only children he’d ever claim would be mine. Any child from another woman’s womb… he wouldn’t acknowledge.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Honey, it’s best for everyone if you just… know your place. Don’t you think, Evelyn?” My entire body was frozen. Every time Liam and I had been together, he’d insisted on using protection. I wanted a baby, but he always said the time wasn’t right, that we should wait. And now, he had a child. Just not with me. Across the lawn, Leo turned and waved. “Mommy, come on!” Jessica called back sweetly, then turned and practically threw herself into Liam’s arms. He caught her, steadying her as he whispered something in her ear. She blushed and hugged him tighter. Watching the perfect little family against the warm, thirty-degree day, I felt a chill so deep it was like I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. 2 My gaze was locked on the picture-perfect family across the lawn. Perhaps sensing my stare, Liam glanced up. His eyes met mine for a fleeting moment before he quickly looked away. A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. It was a kind of self-torture, but I couldn’t look away. I just stood there, burning the image of them into my memory. My phone vibrated. A text from Liam. I’ll explain everything when I get home. It’s Leo’s birthday. Please don’t make a scene. Just go home. Be good, okay? A wave of nausea washed over me. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white, but didn’t reply. Liam glanced in my direction again, then slipped his phone back into his pocket. As if nothing had happened, he went back to laughing and playing with his son. The party was filled with relatives. I couldn’t blow this up in front of everyone. The gossip would destroy my parents. After they finished playing, Jessica came and sat across from me. Liam followed, pouring her a glass of water from a thermos. “Warm water again?” Jessica pouted, leaning against him playfully. “It’s so hot today, I want something iced. Just a little sip, please?” It felt like a performance put on just for me. Liam glanced at me, then looked down at her, his voice softening to a tender murmur. “No way. You’ve got our baby in there. No cold drinks for you.” Jessica didn’t seem upset by the refusal. “Fine,” she sighed, feigning disappointment. I remained silent, lowering my eyes to hide the hatred brewing within. In seven years with Liam, I had never seen this side of him. So gentle, so attentive, his eyes filled with a love so profound it was tangible. He had never, ever looked at me that way. We met at work. He was my boss, and I was his intern. I truly fell for him during a client dinner. One of the client’s executives kept pushing drinks on me, and as the night wore on, he became more aggressive. His hand was about to land on my thigh when Liam stepped in. He raised his own glass, smiling apologetically at the man. “Mr. Wallace, I’ll be your drinking partner tonight. Please, give my assistant a break.” Liam ended up drinking half a bottle of liquor that night. He threw up the moment we stepped out of the hotel. I still remember what he told me. “You have to be smarter in the corporate world,” he’d said. He taught me how to navigate the office politics, how to handle the old sharks, how to be everything to everyone. My success today was, in large part, thanks to him. I eventually left that job for a new company. The next time I saw Liam, he was on the client side. We started seeing more and more of each other. He was the one who pursued me. We were married within two months. I thought he loved me. Reality was a brutal slap in the face. “Evelyn,” Jessica’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. She propped her chin on her hand, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I heard from your mom that you got married too. Why didn’t you bring your husband? My Liam would love to have a drink with him, chat a little.” A passing aunt overheard. “Evelyn, you’re married?” she asked, surprised. “When did that happen? How come none of us knew?” My eyes shot to Liam, then back to Jessica. A cold, sardonic smile stretched across my face. “I am,” I said. “But he died.” The aunt looked mortified, stammering an apology for her tactlessness. “Oh, well… you can always get married again.” “I know,” I said with a thin smile. Liam’s face had turned to stone. I pretended not to notice. Jessica stared at me, her hand still linked with Liam’s. “You always did have a dark sense of humor,” she said smoothly. “Right, Liam?” Without even glancing at me, Liam stroked her hair. “I don’t care about other people,” he said softly. “None of this has anything to do with me.” My heart clenched. I turned my gaze back to Jessica, my voice just loud enough for those nearby to hear. “You’re right, I do love to joke. For instance, I bet nobody here knows that you’re a homewrecker, right cousin?” The air went still. Relatives’ eyes darted between us. I just smiled at her. Jessica’s eyes widened, her face flushing as her eyes welled up. “Evelyn, I just asked you a simple question! Why would you say something so horrible? My husband is right here, how could you say that?” I fought to keep my voice steady. “Jessica, why are you reacting like that? It was just a joke. Unless… did I hit a little too close to home?” Liam’s gaze was ice. “Miss, if you continue to slander my partner, I will not hesitate to contact my lawyer.” I met his eyes. The man I had loved looked at me without a trace of affection. There was only a chilling coldness. Jessica’s mother was the first to react, pointing a finger at me. “Evelyn, you’ve gone too far! Jessica is your cousin, how dare you speak to her like that? I’m calling your mother to ask her how she raised you!” I turned to her with a placid smile. “Auntie, it was just a joke.” Then, back to Jessica. “My cousin isn’t offended, are you?” “Miss,” Liam cut in, his voice dangerously low, “you are not welcome here. Please leave.” The whispers started, relatives murmuring about my outrageous behavior. The pain in my chest was so intense I could barely breathe. Liam helped Jessica to her feet and turned to leave without a second glance. His son, seeing his mother upset, grabbed a water gun and sprayed me directly in the face. “Bad woman! Stop being mean to my mommy! Stop being mean to my mommy!” he shrieked. “Go away! Daddy said you’re not welcome here, you bad woman! Go away!” My carefully applied makeup ran in streaks down my face. My hair was ruined, my clothes soaked through. I was a pathetic, dripping mess. Jessica’s mother grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door. “Get out and go home!” she hissed. “You’re not welcome here. Go have your mother teach you some damn manners.” 3 On the way home, my phone rang. It was Liam. I answered to the sound of his impatient voice. “Evelyn, what the hell are you trying to do? I told you I would explain when I got home. What was the meaning of all that?” “You knew Jessica was pregnant! Did you have to provoke her like that?” I listened in silence. Liam took a deep breath, his tone softening slightly. “She doesn’t know about us. Just wait for me to get home and I’ll explain everything, alright?” “Just… stay home and cool off until I get back, can you do that? The doctor said she can’t handle any stress; it’s bad for the baby. This pregnancy hasn’t been easy for her, so please, don’t upset her anymore.” A laugh burst out of me, sharp and humorless. Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. A difficult pregnancy. What a perfect, noble excuse to protect his mistress. I never thought I’d hear such a ridiculous, self-serving line from my own husband. I wiped my eyes. “Liam,” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “are you actually defending your mistress to me right now?” “And your son…” I paused, another laugh bubbling up. “Does he know he’s a bastard?” Liam exploded. “Evelyn, is that a threat?” I didn’t answer, just watched the scenery blur past my window. How laughable. I speak the truth, and he calls it a threat. He must have realized how harsh he sounded, because he softened his voice again. “Evelyn, just wait for me. I’ll explain when I get back.” In the background, I heard Jessica’s voice. “Liam, honey? Who are you talking to?” He hung up immediately. A second later, a text arrived. Go home and calm down. I’ll be back tomorrow to explain. Evelyn, be good. Don’t make this difficult for me. I laughed. A bitter, empty sound. Even his explanation had to wait until tomorrow. To avoid making things “difficult” for him, I made a call of my own. To my lawyer. I told him to draw up the divorce papers. Liam didn’t come home until late the next evening. He found me sitting on the sofa and paused, his hand hesitating as he set down his briefcase. “You’re still up?” he asked, his tone as gentle and caring as always. If it weren’t for the nightmare of yesterday, I might have believed I’d imagined it all. He moved to touch me, but I flinched away. My eyes fell to the wedding band on his right ring finger. A smirk tugged at my lips. When we were first married, he wore his ring all the time. But eventually, he took it off, claiming it got in the way at work. A lie. The truth was he didn’t want anyone to know he was married. But now, he was wearing a ring that matched Jessica’s. The irony was suffocating. He refused to acknowledge me, his legal wife, but proudly wore a ring for his mistress. Liam withdrew his hand, his expression hardening with impatience as he looked down at me. “It’s not what you think… with me and Jessica.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She’s had a hard life, Evelyn. She doesn’t have a loving family like you do. Her mother was abusive, constantly threatening to marry her off to the first man who’d take her.” “I was just helping her.” I stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. What a noble, self-righteous excuse for cheating. Helping her. I met his gaze, my voice thick with scorn. “Fine. You want to help her? Then sign this.” I threw the divorce papers onto the coffee table in front of him. I’d already signed my name. “We’re getting a divorce.” “Once you sign, you can help her all you want.” Liam stared at me, then let out a long sigh and shook his head. “I’m not divorcing you. And besides…” A confident smirk spread across his face. “Your parents would never agree to it.” Before I could process what he meant, my phone rang. It was my mother. The second I answered, her shrill voice pierced my ear. “Evelyn, are you trying to divorce my son-in-law?!”

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My brother’s girlfriend was flying in from her year abroad, and I’d told Leo to bring her by for dinner. A proper introduction. I was curled up on my sofa, lost in some mindless reality show, when the front door opened. Her eyes scanned the living room, bypassing my brother and his friends, and locked directly onto me. She strode forward with unnerving purpose. “You must be Ava,” she said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The girl Leo grew up with. So close you could practically share the same skin.” She smiled, a slow, deliberate thing, her gaze meticulously mapping my face. “I just wanted to thank you, really. For taking care of him, for… house-training him for me before I got back. We’re doing so great now.” At her words, a few of Leo’s friends exchanged smirks, muffling quiet laughter. What did she think I was? Was a close relationship between a sister and her brother so unusual? The way she framed it, I wasn’t family; I was some combination of a glorified nanny and a romantic rival she’d finally vanquished. Our parents died when we were young. I built a company from the ground up to raise him. His education, his clothes, the very roof over his head—which was, incidentally, my roof—was all paid for by me. I held her gaze, my silence a stark contrast to her cloying charm. Then she delivered the final blow. “Now that I’m back,” she said, her smile widening just a fraction, “don’t you think it’s time you found your own place? You know, to give us some space and avoid any… awkwardness.” A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and incredulous. She wanted me to move out of my own house? The audacity was almost impressive. 1 Before I could formulate a response, she turned on her heel, playing the perfect hostess in a home that wasn’t hers, and clapped her hands together. “Dinner, everyone!” Her name was Isabelle, and she darted to Leo’s side, her voice shifting into a high, girlish pitch. “Leo, is that the spicy garlic shrimp? My absolute favorite!” “Whoa, Izzy, easy on the PDA,” one of his friends teased, and the group erupted in good-natured catcalls. A dopey, lovesick grin spread across my brother’s face, stretching from ear to ear. Despite the veiled hostility in her greeting, I decided to let it slide. Some women are wired to see every other female as a threat. It’s a sad, exhausting way to live, but it wasn’t my problem. At the dinner table, Isabelle was practically draped over Leo, her laughter a constant, tinkling performance. I didn’t know his friends well, and my only goal was to get through the meal so I could retreat to my bedroom and finish my show. But Isabelle had other plans. Her voice cut through the chatter, loud and clear. “Ava,” she began, her eyes sweeping across the table before landing on me with a look of profound meaning. “You’re so beautiful. Do you have a boyfriend?” I answered curtly, not wanting to engage. “No.” The truth was, we’d broken up five days ago. My single-word answer seemed to ignite something in her. A flicker of triumph, maybe. She let out a soft, theatrical laugh. “No way. Seriously? I would have pegged you as a total player. I’m shocked you’d ever have a down-moment between guys.” She gestured to a man sitting beside her. “You know, Mike here is single too. Maybe you two should exchange numbers?” The man she indicated was one of her friends. He was slightly overweight, with glasses that didn’t quite fit his face and a sheen of oil in his unkempt hair. He immediately blushed, stammering, “Uh… I mean, if she’s… I’d be honored…” I cut him off before he could finish. “I’m not looking to date right now.” “Oh, you have to!” Isabelle insisted, her tone dripping with faux concern. “Leo’s thirty now, so you can’t be that far behind, right? You need to find someone to keep you company. You don’t want to end up all alone.” When I didn’t respond, she pivoted back to my brother. “Or… maybe there’s already someone special? Leo, you two grew up together, you must know all her secrets. Spill!” Leo looked deeply uncomfortable. He pushed a peeled shrimp onto her plate. “Izzy, stop it. She just got out of a relationship. She needs some time.” The moment the words left his mouth, Isabelle’s entire demeanor shifted. The smile vanished. She leaned in close to him, her voice a low, pouting whisper. “She just got out of a relationship, and you know all the details? How convenient.” The scent of jealousy was thick in the air. My brother just looked confused, but Isabelle had already turned her attention back to the table, her tone now light and teasing. “Well, you know what they say. Men are like clothes—if they don’t fit, you just get a new one. A gorgeous woman like you must have guys lining up, right?” She tsked dramatically. “There was this one girl at my college, Bianca, went through like, forty guys in four years. Beautiful girls just love to have their fun.” She paused, then looked me up and down with a condescending pity. “But you seem like the more… wholesome type. I bet you’ve never even slept with a man, have you?” She covered her mouth with a delicate hand, her laugh a feigned gasp. “Oh my god, who am I kidding? At our age, who’s still a virgin? Not that it matters, of course. We’re all adults here!” I remained silent, a piece of shrimp halfway to my mouth. She pressed on, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I gave Leo my first time. Who’d you give yours to, Ava? Or wait… what was that word again?” I met her gaze, my own expression a mask of pure innocence, and chewed my shrimp slowly. “Sorry… virginity? I’m not familiar with the term.” A few of the men at the table snickered, their eyes glinting with a new, unpleasant light as they looked at me. A flush of embarrassment crept up Isabelle’s neck. I distinctly heard her mutter under her breath, “God, what a fake…” So, this was my brother’s new girlfriend. And for some reason, she had decided I was her enemy. After dinner, Leo excitedly suggested we all go to a karaoke bar. I had zero interest, but Isabelle grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Come on, Ava! How else am I supposed to find you a new man?” Under a chorus of pressure, I finally relented with a sigh. “Look, I just broke up with my ex a few days ago. I’m really not in the mood.” A flash of pure, unadulterated joy crossed her face before she expertly masked it with an expression of apology, placing a hand over her lips. “Oh, Ava, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful.” She then brightened, as if struck by a brilliant idea. “Do you want to get back together with him? Give Leo his number! We can all help you patch things up!” Every eye in the room turned to me. Before I could protest, she snatched my phone from my hand. “Here, let us do it for you!” It all happened so fast. I watched, helpless, as Leo found Mark’s contact and hit the call button. To my absolute astonishment, Mark agreed to come. And that’s how I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside a dimly lit karaoke bar, watching my ex-boyfriend walk towards us. He wore a simple black button-down, his tall, lean frame looking just as familiar as it did painful. “So this is Mark,” Isabelle cooed, deftly positioning herself between us. Her smile was a beacon of saccharine sincerity. “Ava’s missed you so much. We’re so glad you came.” She looped her arm through his, guiding him towards me as if presenting a prize. Mark didn’t resist. He simply allowed himself to be led. “You know, Leo,” Isabelle remarked, a casual observation that felt anything but. “You and Mark kind of look alike.” Inside the private room, she handed him a drink, her voice a casual mix of concern and curiosity. “A great guy like you must be in high demand in this city. I think I saw you a while back, at that really popular French place downtown? The woman you were with… wow. Absolutely stunning.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Was that an old girlfriend? Ava, did you know about her?” She nudged me playfully with her elbow, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. My blood ran cold. I knew nothing about Mark at a French restaurant with another woman. When Mark didn’t respond, Isabelle just shrugged it off with a light laugh and turned her full attention to me. “Anyway, I’m sure a beautiful, outgoing woman like you has tons of male friends. I doubt you’re ever lonely, right?” she said, her tone dripping with admiration. “If I had your charm, I probably wouldn’t waste too much time being sad over any one guy.” Her words sounded like a harmless joke, but I saw Mark’s hand tighten around his glass. She then selected a song from the screen—a heartbreaking ballad about lost love and lingering memories. She sang it beautifully, her eyes fixed on my brother with a theatrical passion. When the last note faded, she sighed dramatically, just loud enough for the entire room to hear. “You know, the worst thing in a relationship is a misunderstanding. One person thinks it’s just innocent friendship, but the other person is dying inside from insecurity.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Honesty and boundaries… they’re just so important.” Her gaze found mine across the dimly lit room. “We’re both women. You get what I mean, right, Ava?” Mark’s face, shadowed by the pulsing lights, hardened. I couldn’t stay silent any longer. “What exactly are you trying to say, Isabelle?” “Nothing!” She blinked, the picture of innocence. “Just thinking out loud. Don’t mind me, Mark. I just mean, a girl as dazzling as Ava… it’s only natural that guys would offer to drive her home, that people would be hitting on her all the time. Sometimes, she might not even realize how it looks to other people.” She smiled sweetly at him. “You two should really get back together.” She had deliberately emphasized the words “drive her home,” planting a seed of insinuation. I froze. The reason Mark and I had fought, the reason we broke up, was a misunderstanding. My boss, Grant, had a crush on me. While I had never reciprocated, my job sometimes required me to accompany him to client dinners. I had never crossed a line, but Mark refused to believe me. I had only ever told Leo about the specifics of that fight. And now, it was clear Leo had told Isabelle, who had twisted the details into something ugly. Mark shot to his feet, his voice a low growl. “Ava. Outside. Now.” In the narrow hallway, his eyes burned with a furious anger. “Was she telling the truth? We’ve been broken up for less than a week, and you already have another guy driving you around? Is it Grant?!” “No! Grant has feelings for me, but I’ve already turned him down. Nothing has ever happened,” I said, telling him the plain, unvarnished truth. “Enough!” He jerked his arm away when I tried to touch him, his gaze like ice. “Are you still going to lie to my face, even now?” “Ava, I thought you were different,” he said, his face a mask of pain and disgust as he searched for the right word. “I never thought you were so…” Just then, Isabelle appeared at the end of the hall, a look of deep concern on her face. “Is everything okay? Mark, please don’t be angry. Maybe it’s just her personality. She’s so popular, she’s probably just used to guys fawning over her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to deceive you…” Every word she spoke, cloaked in fake sympathy, was like gasoline on a flame. “If you’re determined to believe I’m some cheap, easy woman,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “then there’s nothing more to say!” He raised his hand. Crack. The sound echoed in the hallway. I pressed a hand to my cheek, the sting blooming into a fiery blaze. I stared at him, at the man I had loved, in utter disbelief. Isabelle gasped. “Mark, how could you!” she cried, rushing forward to feign holding him back. My cheek throbbed, but my heart felt like a block of ice. “Mark,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I lowered my hand. “We are done. This is over.” He turned and walked away without another word. I went to the restroom to compose myself, the reflection in the mirror showing a woman I barely recognized. When I returned to the room, the party was in full swing. Isabelle was nestled against my brother’s side, laughing as if nothing had happened. I walked straight up to her. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the music, silencing the conversations around us. “Isabelle. We met for the first time tonight.” The karaoke track played on, a soulless beat in the suddenly silent room. Every eye was on us. “So I’d like you to explain something to me. This story about me having ‘tons of male friends’ and men driving me around all the time… where, exactly, did you get that information?” Isabelle stared at me, her bravado momentarily gone. It was replaced by a look of wounded fragility as she instinctively shrank into my brother’s arms. “Ava… what are you talking about? I… I was just making conversation. It was a joke. Why are you taking it so seriously?” Her eyes welled up as she looked to Leo for protection. “A joke?” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. “A joke that ends with my ex-boyfriend slapping me across the face in the hallway?” “Well, what did you want me to say?” she suddenly shrieked, her voice cracking with manufactured tears. “Even if tonight was the first time we officially met, I’ve known about you for a long time! I’ve seen you myself, getting in and out of different luxury cars! It was probably for work, right? I wasn’t lying!” Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. I could feel the judgmental stares of their friends, hear the whispered comments. “Wow, so she’s a gold digger…” “And here she was, acting so innocent.” “Isabelle!” Leo’s voice was a sharp reprimand, his brow furrowed in anger. “What did I do?” she wailed, tears now streaming down her face. “I was trying to help her! It’s not my fault her boyfriend misunderstood and hit her! And now you’re all blaming me?” “Apologize to her,” Leo commanded. “You’re taking her side too?” Isabelle shrieked. “Are you obsessed with her or something?” The eyes of Leo’s friends were now filled with a complicated mix of pity and suspicion. I’d had enough. I grabbed my purse and turned to leave. In my haste, my high heel slipped on a patch of spilled liquor on the floor. My ankle twisted violently, and I cried out as I lost my balance, stumbling sideways. A searing pain shot up my leg. “Ava!” Leo yelled. He shoved Isabelle aside and rushed to my side, catching me before I hit the ground. Seeing my face, pale and contorted in pain, he didn’t hesitate. He bent down and hoisted me onto his back. “Leo!” Isabelle screamed, trying to grab his arm. “She’s totally faking it! You…” “Shut up!” he snapped, a rare and startling burst of fury directed at her. “Go home by yourself.” Ignoring her outraged sobs and the stunned looks from his friends, he carried me out of the karaoke bar and into the night. The doctor at urgent care diagnosed it as a severely sprained ankle. Torn ligaments. Weeks of rest. After Leo got me settled on the couch back at my apartment, his phone buzzed incessantly. A relentless stream of calls from Isabelle. He silenced it with a frustrated jab of his thumb. “Ava… I’m so sorry.” I said nothing. I just picked up my phone, methodically blocking Mark’s number and deleting every photo, every digital trace of him from my life. I thought the nightmare was over, at least for a while. I was wrong. The next afternoon, I was in the main conference room at my company, finalizing a major partnership deal. We were moments away from signing the contracts when the door was thrown open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Isabelle stood in the doorway, her eyes red and swollen, reeking of alcohol. She had found me at work. “Ava Monroe! You bitch! Get out here!” she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me, completely oblivious to the room full of stunned executives. “It’s not enough for you to seduce your own boss, you have to play the victim and steal Leo from me too? You absolute slut!” My client and my entire team stared, frozen in shock. I rose slowly, my voice dangerously calm. “Isabelle, you’re drunk. This is a place of business. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I turned to my assistant. “Jessica? Where is security? How did a drunk person get into the building?” “They were called down to the garage, Ms. Monroe,” Jessica whispered, rushing to try and escort Isabelle out. “Something about the electrical box.” “A place of business?” Isabelle sneered, shoving Jessica so hard she stumbled and fell. “Who knows what kind of shady deals you’re really making in here! What did you and Leo do last night? He ditched me! For you!” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “You think just because you’re his precious first love, his goddamn gold standard, you can just ruin my life? Well, I’ll ruin yours first!” Before anyone could react, she lunged at the conference table, grabbed the stack of meticulously prepared contracts, and began tearing them to shreds. “What are you doing?!” my client yelled, jumping to his feet. My colleagues scrambled to stop her, but it was too late. The key documents were confetti. She threw her head back and laughed, a wild, unhinged sound, as two of my male employees finally grabbed her arms and dragged her out of the room. The client’s face was a mask of cold fury. He calmly straightened his suit jacket. “Ms. Monroe,” he said, his voice flat. “It appears we need to re-evaluate the… stability of your company’s internal environment. Today’s signing is officially canceled.” He and his team walked out without a backward glance.

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My wife was about to have our second baby. I went to my boss and asked for a five-hundred-dollar raise for formula money. He just sneered. “Do the job or get the hell out.” I’d given that company twenty years of my life. The other techs on my team were making nearly double my salary, while I was stuck at forty-five hundred a month. I was so pissed, I quit on the spot. A month later, he’d lost a hundred million dollars. Now he’s on his knees, begging me to come back? Too late. 1 My wife was asking for a five-hundred-dollar raise. Not for her, for me. For the baby. “The price of formula is just… it’s insane,” she’d said, her hand resting on the tight drum of her belly. Nine months. We were in the home stretch. So, the next morning, I went in early. The air in the office was stale with last night’s whiskey and this morning’s cigarette smoke. Marcus, my boss, was already there, hunched over his desk. I’d been with him since the beginning, since this whole plant was just a concrete shell and a handful of blueprints. Twenty years. “Marcus? Got a minute?” I asked from the doorway. He glanced up, his eyes bloodshot, and gave a noncommittal grunt. I took a deep breath. “My wife’s due any day now. I’ve been here twenty years, and I’m still at forty-five hundred a month. I was hoping… could we bump that up? Just five hundred. For the baby.” A dry, crackling sound that might have been a laugh escaped his lips. “If you don’t like the pay, Frank, there’s the door.” I just stood there, the words hanging in the air like smoke. I knew the other lead techs were making seventy, eighty thousand a year. I was the senior man, the one who’d built the damn place. The main control system, the schematics, the wiring for every single machine on the floor—I had laid it all out. When something went wrong, I was the one they called. Always. He stubbed out his cigarette, the cherry dying in a pile of ash. He crossed his legs. “You’re an electrician, Frank. Who do you think you are, coming in here and making demands?” My throat felt tight. “It’s not a demand. It’s just… things are tight at home. With the second kid on the way.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t have had a second kid,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Everybody wants a raise. Are you in or are you out? Because I’ve got a hundred guys who’d kill for your job.” I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him, really looked at him, for a long moment. Then I turned and walked out. Five minutes later, I was back. I placed my toolbox on the polished surface of his desk. The clank of the metal was the only sound in the room. “I’m out,” I said. He froze, then shot to his feet, slamming his palm on the desk. “You’re serious? You’re really pulling this?” I just nodded. “I’m done.” I expected him to argue, to bargain, maybe even to yell some more. He did none of it. His face hardened into a mask of contempt. “Fine. Go. But don’t you dare come crawling back. Don’t even think about setting foot on this property again.” I didn’t bother replying. I went back to the locker room, rolled up the spare change of clothes I kept there, and walked. The sun hadn’t risen yet. A cold wind whipped around the corner of the building, stinging my legs through my jeans as I walked out the main gate. “Frank! You really did it?” It was Leo, one of the guys from my crew, his voice full of disbelief. “Yeah.” “Man, that’s crazy. I know Marcus is an ass and the pay sucks, but… twenty years, man. You can’t just throw that away.” I didn’t stop walking. My toolbox felt heavy in my hand, but my head was strangely empty. He was right. Twenty years. A whole career. All the overtime, the emergency calls in the middle of the night, the sweat and the scars. And in the end, it wasn’t even worth five hundred bucks a month. As I walked, my wife’s words from last night came back to me. “If he says no, it’s okay, honey. Don’t make it hard for him. We’ll figure it out.” A hot sting pricked the back of my eyes. Maybe I was just too damn quiet. Too loyal for my own good. When I got home, she was still asleep. I didn’t want to wake her, so I sat on the small balcony off our bedroom and lit a cigarette, watching the sky slowly fade from black to gray to a pale, hopeful blue. My phone buzzed. The direct deposit had hit. Paycheck: $4,500. After taxes and insurance, just over $4,100. The numbers started spinning in my head. Formula. Diapers. The mortgage. Groceries. 2 We had some savings. We could make it work for a little while if we were careful. I opened up my laptop and pulled up Indeed, the screen glowing in the half-light of dawn. The listings stared back at me: Lead Electrical Technician, starting at $60k. Control Systems Specialist, $75k. I sighed, scrolling through the possibilities. For twenty years, I’d treated that company like it was my own. And for twenty years, they’d treated me like a tool they could just leave out in the rain. I was there from day one. Back when it was just me, a young guy not afraid of a little hard work, pulling miles of wire through the skeleton of a building. I’d worked in the blistering heat of July, on black-tar roofs that felt like frying pans. I’d worked in the dead of winter, my fingers numb inside my gloves, coaxing a frozen main breaker back to life when everyone else was too scared to touch it. I never complained. Never asked for overtime pay for the 2 a.m. call-outs. I just did the work. I thought Marcus saw that. I thought it meant something. But his words kept echoing in my head: “Who do you think you are?” It finally clicked. It didn’t matter who I was. It only mattered what I was worth to him. And apparently, that wasn’t much. I handled the most dangerous jobs in the plant, the high-voltage systems that no one else would touch. The other department heads, guys who sat in air-conditioned offices staring at spreadsheets, were pulling down twice my salary. Last year, we hired this kid, Kevin. Fresh out of a technical college, couldn’t even read a basic control schematic. I spent a month showing him the ropes, walking him through every system. Six weeks later, he got a seven-thousand-dollar raise. He told me he’d gotten another offer, and Marcus matched it without blinking. I asked him what he’d put on his resume. “Everything you taught me,” he said with a shrug. “I just wrote it all down. They offered me eighty grand at another plant.” I didn’t say anything then. But now, I get it. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault. I was the fool. I was the one who believed in doing the work, in being a team player. But in a place like that, if you don’t play the game—if you don’t leverage other offers or threaten to leave—you get left behind. I remembered when my wife was pregnant with our first. I took a fall at a job site. A jolt of electricity sent me tumbling off a ladder. I ended up in the hospital for a month with a fractured ankle. The company gave me five days of sick leave. The rest, they said, was “on me.” I came back to work on crutches, and the first thing Marcus asked me was, “So, when can you climb a utility pole again?” I should have walked out right then. But I’d already put in more than a decade. I figured I’d just stick it out. And now, a decade later, here I was. I closed the laptop. I had to make a move. I didn’t have a college degree, but I had a skill. A damn good one. And in a world run by machines, people like me were always going to be necessary. I wasn’t worried about finding work. Just as I was about to head out the door, my phone rang. It was Leo. “Frank, you will not believe this. The main control panel for the whole assembly line is dead. Nothing’s turning on.” “Tell Kevin to fix it,” I said. “He won’t touch it! He’s terrified he’s going to fry the motherboard.” A cold smile touched my lips. I’d installed that motherboard. I’d written the custom code that ran it. Those college boys wouldn’t know where to begin. Leo lowered his voice. “Marcus is losing his mind. He’s screaming at everyone in the workshop. He wants someone to fix it, now.” I looked at my phone. No missed calls from Marcus. He’d said the company had plenty of people. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. Let him see what his “plenty of people” could do. 3 By 7:30 a.m., the plant was in chaos. The main control screen was a black void. The automated conveyor belts were frozen, and the robotic arms were stuck mid-air like metallic gargoyles. A series of shrill alarms from the hydraulic system echoed through the cavernous space. Marcus kicked open the door to the control room. “Well? What the hell are you all standing around for? Where’s the electrician?” No one dared to speak. Kevin was huddled in a corner, his face pale. “Marcus, I… I can’t touch that. It’s high-voltage.” Marcus rounded on him. “I thought you said you knew these systems!” Kevin was shaking. “Frank never taught me this specific board. I’ve never seen anything like it.” “Then what the hell good are you?” Marcus roared. He scanned the faces of the other workers. “Is there seriously no one in this entire plant who can fix this?” The shift supervisor finally spoke up, his voice barely a whisper. “Frank didn’t have time to do a handover before he left.” “He’s one electrician! How can the entire plant depend on one guy?” No one answered, but they all knew the truth. Frank wasn’t just an electrician. Five years ago, we’d upgraded the control system. The engineers the manufacturer sent couldn’t get it to sync with our older machinery. After three days of failures, I’d taken a notepad and a pen and redesigned the whole interface myself, hand-drawing the schematics and writing a new logic sequence from scratch. From that day on, it was my system. The official manual was useless; the only guide that mattered was the one in my head. Anyone else who tried to modify it would trigger an immediate shutdown. At 8:00 a.m., the clients arrived. They were there to inspect a massive order before shipment. They walked onto the production floor and stopped dead, their expressions shifting from anticipation to disbelief. “You told us the order would be ready to ship by nine,” the lead client said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is this what you call ‘ready’?” Marcus rushed over, forcing a smile. “Just a minor technical issue. We’re on it.” “I don’t care if it’s minor or major,” the client snapped, waving a dismissive hand. “If that shipment is delayed by one day, we’re not just withholding the final payment—we’re suing you for breach of contract. You can expect a call from our lawyers.” He turned and walked out, his team trailing behind him. Marcus’s face was a mask of fury. He spun around and jabbed a finger at Kevin. “Fix it. Now.” “I… I don’t even have the programming password to access the main board,” Kevin stammered. Marcus turned to the supervisor. “Didn’t Frank leave an operator’s manual?” “He did,” the supervisor admitted, “but he said the specifics of the modifications were only in his head.” “Then why the hell didn’t you ask him to write it down?” Marcus screamed, his voice raw. By 10:00 a.m., three supply trucks were blocking the loading docks, their drivers fuming. The whole plant was grinding to a halt. “You told us you had a power surge, now you’re saying the whole system is down? Are you messing with us?” one of them yelled into his phone. Marcus slammed his office phone down so hard it cracked. “Find someone to fix this! Now!” Kevin timidly offered, “Frank’s not answering his phone.” “You’re telling me this whole company is going to fail because of Frank? Get an outside contractor! Get somebody! Why are you all just standing here?” Meanwhile, I was sitting in a diner in the old part of town, slowly sipping a cup of coffee. My wife had told me to take a week off, to decompress before the baby came. My phone had been buzzing all morning with blocked numbers. I bit into a piece of toast and switched it to airplane mode. The sun was streaming through the window, warm on my face. When the wind blew, it wasn’t cold anymore. I had only one word for it.

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My coworker found out my boyfriend was a trust fund kid and crawled into his bed. Two months later, she sauntered over to my desk, nose in the air. “I’m pregnant with your boyfriend’s baby. You should back off now, before things get ugly.” Whose baby? I froze. The “rich boyfriend” she was talking about… is a woman. So whose baby was it? 1 The moment I walked into the office, my coworker, Amber, slid up to me with a sly grin. “Mia,” she purred, “who was that dropping you off downstairs?” I played along. “My boyfriend, of course.” Her voice dripped with a sour mix of envy and teasing. “Well, well, keeping a secret boyfriend from us, are we? I saw the car. It was gorgeous.” She nudged me. “So, when do we all get to go out for dinner and meet this mystery man?” My best friend, Alex, is tall, has an androgynous look, and recently chopped her hair short. So, half-jokingly, I call her my boyfriend. She’d let me crash at her place last night and gave me a lift to work this morning. I never thought anyone would see. But Amber had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker. Now she wanted a double date. I couldn’t help but smile, brushing it off. “Maybe some other time.” Her face instantly soured. She rolled her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think just because your boyfriend has money, you can hide him away? So much for being ‘besties’.” The passive-aggressive tone was grating. She wasn’t done. “Are you afraid we’ll steal him away? Worried you don’t quite measure up to his status?” she sneered. “Don’t get too comfortable. Rich guys like him stick to their own kind. You’ll probably be dumped before you know it.” That was it. “My relationship is none of your business.” I was about to swing my Chanel bag right at her smug face. Jessica, who shared our office space, saw the storm brewing and quickly stepped between us. “Mia, calm down. Amber’s just having a bad day.” Our other colleague, Gita, moved to hold Amber back, who looked ready to lunge. “Alright, Amber, that’s enough.” I lowered my bag, a cold smile on my face. “Apologize. Right now. Or I swear I’ll rip that gossiping mouth right off your face.” Amber knew she’d crossed a line, and with both coworkers telling her to back down, her eyes welled up with tears. “I wasn’t wrong! Why are you all taking her side?” With that, she shoved Gita aside and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her. Jessica gave me an awkward smile. “Mia, don’t mind her. Amber’s fresh out of college, she doesn’t have a filter. Just… maybe be careful she doesn’t get too close to your boyfriend.” I didn’t say anything, just sat down and buried myself in my work. My best friend is a woman, and she’s very, very straight. Amber would need to sprout some new anatomy to have a chance. 2 After that day, Amber started watching me. Secretly. Sometimes, I’d feel her presence and find her standing right behind my desk, trying to read my phone over my shoulder. Just then, a message from Mr. Evans, one of the general managers, popped up. Mr. Evans: Ms. Kim, The Grand Astoria is doing a new buffet brunch. Would you care to join me? Mr. Evans must have figured out who I am. Ever since I started this internship at one of my family’s subsidiary companies, he’d been engineering “chance encounters” and asking me out. I was typing out a polite refusal when I felt that prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I whipped my head around. Amber. Peeking at my screen again. I instantly locked my phone and stared her down. She just picked up her water bottle and walked away as if nothing had happened. Once she was gone, I texted Mr. Evans back, telling him to focus on his work. Then I replied to a message from Alex. As luck would have it, a friend from college was having a birthday party at an event space right next to The Grand Astoria. She’d invited both me and Alex. Alex was texting to coordinate a time to pick me up. Before leaving work, I touched up my makeup. Gita winked at me. “Getting all dolled up for a hot date?” she teased. “Guess we won’t be seeing you tomorrow morning, huh?” As I applied my lipstick, I realized we might be out late, maybe even hit an after-party. I nodded. “I might be late tomorrow. Could you do me a huge favor and clock in for me?” “You got it.” The second the clock hit five, I was downstairs, sliding into the passenger seat of Alex’s Aston Martin. From her electric scooter, Gita watched us go, sighing wistfully. “A rich, handsome boyfriend. Some girls have all the luck.” A few feet away, Amber watched us pull away, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she hopped on her own scooter and pulled up a map on her phone. We partied until almost 11 PM before a few of us decided to hit up a karaoke bar. As Alex went to get the car, I glanced across the street and saw a familiar figure emerging from The Grand Astoria. It was Amber. Was she having dinner there? Alex pulled up to the curb, and the thought vanished. I got in the car, and we drove off. 3 The next day, Amber was back to her old self. The constant staring stopped. Without her eyes boring into the back of my head, I could finally breathe—and use my phone—in peace. But something else had changed. Amber’s makeup and outfits grew more elaborate by the day. Rumors started flying around the office that she must have snagged a boyfriend. One morning, she walked in swinging a Louis Vuitton tote, casually flashing a new Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet on her wrist. Jessica gasped. “Amber! You look amazing! And that bag… spill! Your new boyfriend bought it for you, didn’t he?” Gita leaned in, her eyes wide. “That bracelet looks super expensive, too. Is it real?” Amber lifted her chin, basking in the attention. “You like it? It’s Van Cleef. Cost over three thousand,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “My boyfriend knows I love nice things. He saw it and just bought it for me, no questions asked.” Jessica and Gita fawned over her, admiring her new trinkets. I glanced over once and lost interest. You could spot the cheap knockoffs from a mile away. Suddenly, Amber was standing in front of my desk, reaching into her bag. Just then, Mr. Evans appeared at the office door. His eyes darted to me for a second, then settled on Amber. He scanned her new bag and bracelet, his expression darkening. “Amber,” he said, his voice flat. “My office. Now.” Amber’s voice went sugary sweet. “Okay, Mark!” She shot me a triumphant smirk before sashaying out. I watched the bizarre little performance, shrugged, and went back to my work. I never could have predicted what would happen when she returned. She slapped a piece of paper down on my desk—a lab report. Then she stood over me, looking down her nose with an air of absolute victory. My eyes snagged on the bold letters at the top. 【PREGNANCY: CONFIRMED】. “I’m pregnant,” she announced. I blinked, stunned. “Uh…” was all I could manage, before blurting out, “It’s not mine.” The whole office went silent. Everyone was staring. My response threw her off for a second, but she quickly recovered, her smugness returning. “Sorry to break it to you, but your boyfriend fell for me the moment he saw me.” Her voice turned sharp. “I’m pregnant with his child. You need to back off now, before things get really ugly.” Jessica and Gita were frozen, their mouths hanging open in shock. “I told you you’d get dumped, didn’t I?” Amber continued, her hand drifting possessively to her bracelet. “And look at you now. I’m carrying his baby. It won’t be long before I quit this dead-end job and become a trophy wife.” 4 A trophy wife? Unwed, pregnant by another woman’s man, and scheming to marry into wealth? No family with real money would ever let a woman like that through the front door. And she kept saying it. My boyfriend. Good Lord, I was single! What boyfriend? I frowned, mentally rewinding through my entire life. No “boyfriend” to be found. “Just to be clear,” I asked carefully, “which one of my boyfriends are we talking about?” Gita let out an audible snort. Amber’s brow furrowed, taking me completely seriously. She actually started defending my non-existent man. “Wow. So you’re a cheater, too. A woman like you has no right to compete with me.” She was on a roll now, lost in her own fantasy. “Once I have his son, his family’s entire fortune will belong to us.” Her voice was a giddy, nonstop stream of delusion. “Remember The Grand Astoria, two months ago? I knew I was destined to marry rich. It only took one time.” The Grand Astoria? My mind flashed back to my college friend’s birthday party. But my “boyfriend” is a woman. And we never even set foot in the hotel. So whose baby was it? She’d been watching me, spying on my phone for weeks. Could she have… gone to the wrong room? Mistaken someone else for my “boyfriend”? This was a disaster, but a pregnancy was no small thing. I couldn’t let my stupid joke ruin her life. “Look, that baby definitely isn’t—” She cut me off. “Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this! I am not getting rid of this baby. You need to break up with Mark, now. If you don’t, I’ll tell him what a cheater you are!” I almost laughed out loud. Then I saw the bracelet and bag again. If this “Mark” had bought her things, they were obviously still in contact. He had to know about the baby. Why was I trying to be the hero here? She’d made her bed. So I played along. “If he wants to be heartless, then so can I. I’m blocking him right now.” I put on a show of furious tapping on my phone. “And I hope you have a whole litter of boys for him!” She smirked. “Glad you know when you’re beaten.” With the swagger of a conquering hero, she strutted back to her desk. Across the room, Jessica and Gita exchanged a look and quietly went back to their work. 5 Once the pregnancy was out in the open, Amber began acting like the office princess. She was constantly ordering people around, even pawning off her work on others. “Gita, sweetie, could you get me some water? The break room is so crowded, I’m afraid someone will bump into my tummy.” “Jessica, could you print this for me? The printer is so far, and my legs are aching.” She started wearing oversized maternity clothes, even though she wasn’t showing. She’d wander the office, one hand protectively on her flat stomach, sighing dramatically. “Oh, everyone was right, pregnancy is so hard. Being a mother is the toughest job in the world. I’m barely a few weeks along, and I just feel so… delicate.” Then, she turned her attention to me. “Mia, I’m not an unreasonable person. I know you and my boyfriend had a past, but that’s over now.” She paused, then snapped her fingers. “I’m craving one of those gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches from that place downtown. Go get one for me.” She patted her stomach. “And make sure it has extra bacon. For the baby.” I was already swamped with work, and now this? The incessant chatter was one thing, but treating me like her personal assistant was another. I ignored her, pretending I couldn’t hear over the clatter of my own keyboard. She marched right up to my desk and shoved my keyboard aside. It slammed into my water glass, sending a wave of water across my desk, soaking a stack of documents. “Are you deaf?! I’m talking to you! I want a grilled cheese!” Pregnancy had turned her into a monster. Ordering Jessica and Gita around was their business, but did she really think she could push me around? Frantically, I righted the glass, my face darkening with fury. “You want one? Go get it yourself! Are you looking for a fight, you idiot?” Her face contorted. “How dare you talk to me like that?” I picked up the half-empty glass, ready to douse her with the rest of the water. Gita rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Mia, stop! Think about it! If something happens to her, it’ll be a nightmare for you. It’s not worth it.” Fuming, I slammed the glass down, shot Amber a death glare, and went to reprint my ruined files. 6 When I got back, Amber was waiting, her eyes fixed on my empty hands. “Where’s my sandwich?” she demanded. I ignored her. And so, the drama continued. “I’m so hungry,” she whined to the room at large. “I just asked for one little sandwich, and she couldn’t even do that. How did I end up with such a useless, uncaring coworker during my pregnancy?” I slapped the fresh stack of papers onto my desk. “If I’m so ‘uncaring,’ then quit. Find a new job with a new set of maids—I mean, coworkers—who will wait on you hand and foot.” I smiled sweetly. “All I’ve got for you here is a slap. You hungry for that?” Humiliated and sandwich-less, Amber shrieked, “You can’t talk to me like that! I’ll have Mark fire you right now, you see if I don’t!” I raised an eyebrow. My name is Mia Kim. My father is the founder of this corporation. The office I was “interning” in was just one of our many branches. Who the hell was this “Mark” that he thought he could fire me? The King of England? “Please do,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Go find your Mark. Tell him to fire me immediately. I’d love nothing more.” “You just wait! Don’t come crying to me when you’re out on the street!” She stormed out, slamming the door again. A little while later, she came back, looking as if nothing had happened, though she couldn’t quite meet my eye. I crossed my arms. “So? When am I getting fired? Did your Mark give you a date?” Her confidence was gone, but she tried to bluff. “Mark is a very busy man! He doesn’t have time for petty things like you! You should be grateful! The second he has a free moment, you’re done!” I watched her performance with amusement. “Good. I’ll be waiting.” It was becoming clear her boyfriend was probably some middle-manager in this branch. All it would take was a quick search for Amber to find out who I really was, but she hadn’t bothered to do her homework. She was so blinded by her fantasy of marrying rich that she thought her “Mark” was more powerful than me. It was pathetic, really. Unwed and pregnant, trying to leverage a baby to climb a social ladder that didn’t even exist. But still, I was curious. Who exactly was this “Mark”? Then I remembered her snooping on my phone, and a name flashed in my mind. Oh. I think I knew. 7 My birthday was approaching, but Alex had been dragged out of town by her father for a business deal. Worried she wouldn’t make it back in time, and knowing I was stuck at the office all day, she had my birthday present delivered directly to me, cash on delivery. I carried the box back to my desk. The sender’s name read: “To Mia, from your loving husband.” Alex, you goof. I smiled and tore open the package. Gita, who had been peering over my shoulder, let out a low whistle. “Wow, Mia, what is that? It’s beautiful! I want one!” Inside the exquisite box lay a watch with a white face and an 18k rose gold case. A Patek Philippe. The receipt was still inside. Gita glanced at the price and gave a weak laugh. “Never mind. A good knockoff will have to do.” Hearing Gita’s comment, Amber hurried over. “A corporate drone like you could never afford a watch like that,” she muttered under her breath. Then her eyes fell on the shipping label. Her face changed in an instant. She snatched the box from the desk and ripped the watch from my hands. Gita instinctively tried to shield it. “Amber, what are you doing? That’s Mia’s! It’s incredibly expensive, be careful!” My face hardened. “I don’t remember telling you to touch my things. Give it back.” Amber inspected the watch, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. Then she glared at me, her voice rising to a shout. “Your things? Mia Kim, you have no shame! Did you even read who sent this?!” “You swore to me you’d break up with Mark, and now you’re seducing him into buying you gifts? What is wrong with you?!” Jessica and Gita were stunned. They scrambled to pick up the discarded shipping label. Jessica looked at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mia,” she whispered, “it says it’s from your ‘loving husband’… You didn’t actually…” I sighed. “Seriously? It’s from my loving best friend husband.” I put heavy emphasis on the words “best friend.” Jessica nodded in understanding. She had a friend like that, too; they were so close they joked about being a couple all the time. I reached for the watch. Having this idiot’s hands all over my gift from Alex was making my skin crawl. I was not being gentle. When she realized she couldn’t win the tug-of-war, Amber let go and burst into loud, theatrical sobs. Someone walking past the office heard the commotion and poked their head in to see what was happening. Seeing an audience, Amber seemed to have an idea. She ran out into the main office area, her wails attracting a crowd of coworkers. “Mia Kim is sleeping with my husband!” she shrieked. “She gets him to buy her designer bags! I’m pregnant with his child, and I begged her, I begged her to leave our family alone!” She pointed a trembling finger back at me. “And today, he sent her a watch worth tens of thousands of dollars! I confronted her, and she denied everything!” She held up the shipping label like a trophy. “But the proof is right here! It says it’s from my husband!” Tears streamed down her face. “I’m pregnant! What am I supposed to do?” Most of the people out here were junior employees who had no idea who I was. Seeing Amber’s pathetic, tear-streaked performance, they immediately took her side. A few of the older women, trapped in their own unhappy marriages, looked at me with daggers in their eyes. “So that’s the kind of person Mia is. A homewrecker! She deserves to die alone!” “Shameless. Stealing a coworker’s husband.” “I always thought she came from a good family. Turns out all her nice things came from being a mistress.”

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For three months, I’d been scouring the city like a woman possessed. Three months since Caleb, my supposedly broke, post-grad boyfriend, had vanished into the night air. I’d even taken a job as a courier, a delivery driver on a beat-up scooter, just for the excuse to crisscross every neighborhood, to peer down every alley, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. That’s how I ended up at The Sterling Gallery, delivering a rush document. And that’s how I saw him. Dressed in a suit so exquisitely tailored it probably cost more than my college tuition, looking utterly serene as he raised a paddle to bid on a piece of antique jewelry. Thirty-two million dollars. A stunning woman beside him, all shimmering hair and a killer smile, laughed lightly. “Still the last of the big spenders, Caleb.” He gave her cheek a familiar, affectionate pinch. Someone nearby chimed in. “And he’s got a soft heart, too. Finally cut ties with that little charity case he was slumming it with.” Then, his gaze shifted. And it landed squarely on me. Everything descended into chaos. 1 “Twenty million.” “Twenty-three.” The bids volleyed back and forth, the auction hall electric with tension. I stood at the entrance, the whole scene laid out before me. A man in a sharp suit hurried over, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Thank God, you made it.” I handed him the document folder with a practiced smile, my blue courier jacket feeling a size too small under the weight of the chandeliers. “You call me, it gets there. Fast and on time.” This was an express job; I was hoping for a good review. The man gave me a quick once-over. “Alright, come in, grab a bottle of water. Just… stay out of the way. And for God’s sake, don’t disturb the guests.” He led me down a corridor flanking the main hall. Ahead, an open, unglazed archway—some kind of European affectation—offered a perfect, hidden vantage point. I glanced through. Just in time to see a hand lift a bidding paddle. On the wrist, a simple red cord bracelet. The contrast against the crisp, white cuff was stark under the spotlights. My breath hitched. I instinctively ducked back behind the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Hey,” I said, forcing a smile, trying to look like some wide-eyed kid who’d never seen real money before. “What’s the main event in there?” The man arched an eyebrow. “A playground for the rich.” Just then, the sharp crack of a gavel echoed through the hall. “Sold! For thirty-two million dollars. Congratulations to Mr. Hayes.” The suited man let out a low whistle. “That Caleb Hayes… looks young, but he’s the real deal. Dropping thirty mil on some old royal necklace like it’s nothing.” I barely heard him. A single thought consumed me, squeezing my heart tight. Mr. Hayes? But… he was broke. Wasn’t he? 2 I’d been searching for Caleb Hayes for three solid months, ever since he’d disappeared from our tiny apartment in the middle of the night. I’d quit my other gigs to take this courier job because it kept me moving, always looking. Every delivery was a chance to scan a new face, a new building. I watched the local news every night, terrified I’d see his face in a police report or an obituary. The applause inside the gallery was polite but firm. The lights all converged on the necklace, its diamonds scattering a brilliant, painful light across the room. It burned my eyes. I didn’t go in. I couldn’t. I just risked one more glance through the archway. He was in a casual but clearly expensive suit, his head tilted slightly as he spoke patiently to the woman beside him. He looked like he belonged there. Nothing like the man who shared my cramped, messy life. She was gorgeous. A cascade of auburn waves, makeup so perfect it looked like it was part of her skin. She didn’t need spotlights to shine. And the man on Caleb’s other side… I knew him. Rhys. Caleb’s best friend from his prep school days. They were all laughing, talking easily, as if thirty-two million dollars was just a number, a stray thought. “Damn, man. Good to have you back,” Rhys said, clapping Caleb on the shoulder. “A hell of a lot better than playing house with that sad-sack artist.” Caleb pressed the palm of his hand against Rhys’s forehead, a playful shove. “Don’t remind me. I almost forgot what it felt like to spend money.” The woman giggled, leaning into him. “Only thirty million, Caleb? Is that all?” Even from here, I could smell a perfume that was probably worth more than my scooter. “If you’re feeling so generous, maybe you could buy me those earrings I wanted?” Her eyes were intoxicating, alluring. “You did complete my little assignment, after all. You know I always reward good behavior.” Rhys let out an exaggerated laugh. “Jesus, Sloane. If the poor girl knew this was all just a game for you, she’d probably have an aneurysm.” Sloane’s expression was placid, almost bored. “I just wanted to see what a real-life Cinderella story looked like. It was disappointing.” Caleb squeezed her face again, a fond, indulgent smile playing on his lips. “You’ve been impossible since we were kids.” She pouted. “Whatever. Just make sure you wash the smell of that girl off you before tonight. Or you’ll be sorry.” I saw a flicker of something in Caleb’s eyes. Lust. Desire. He leaned in and whispered something in Sloane’s ear, a look I had seen a thousand times, a look I thought was reserved for me. “Is that a promise?” They shared a private smile, the possessiveness in his eyes utterly naked. Rhys just laughed again. “Classic Sloane. You’re the one who told him to go date the broke girl in the first place, and now you’re the one who’s disgusted by it. You never change.” “That was then,” she said, and for a split second, her eyes flicked toward the archway. Toward me. I flinched back, my blood running cold. I shouldn’t have looked again. I should have just run. But my feet were rooted to the spot, and I saw her mouth form the words, clear as day. “This is now. And now, he’s mine.” 3 Caleb was always perceptive. The next second, our eyes met across the cavernous room. Panic seized me. I spun around and bolted. I could hear the scrape of a chair, the frantic sound of footsteps on polished marble. Just as I reached the main exit, a hand clamped down on my arm. Caleb. “Mr. Hayes,” I mumbled, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. I stared at the red cord on his pale wrist. It looked so wrong now, so out of place. “Leah? What are you doing here?” I sniffled, forcing myself to look up. “Can’t you see, Mr. Hayes?” Rhys and Sloane had followed him out, their expensive shoes clicking on the floor. “No,” I corrected myself, a bitter taste in my mouth. “I guess I’m the one who’s been blind.” The judgment in their three pairs of eyes was suffocating. They looked at my blue courier uniform, the company logo stitched plainly on the chest. Caleb’s brow was furrowed in a tight knot. Sloane stamped her foot, a petulant little motion. “Caleb, don’t tell me you actually fell for her?” As if her words had burned him, Caleb snatched his hand back from my arm. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black credit card. “Here. It’s linked to my main account. Take it.” I didn’t move. I just stared at the card, cold and dead in his hand. “What is this, Caleb? A severance package?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Don’t worry. The cheap crap in our old apartment isn’t worth a fraction of this.” His face hardened with frustration. “Then what do you want?” What do I want? He had the audacity to ask me that. I doubled over, a laugh escaping my lips that sounded more like a sob. I looked at him, at the two people flanking him like designer-clad vultures, and my voice went cold and sharp. “I told you, Caleb Hayes. The one thing I can’t stand is being lied to.” Sloane rolled her eyes. “So much drama.” It was a quiet comment, but in the tense silence, it landed like a slap. It was meant for me to hear. “Sloane, don’t,” Caleb snapped, but it was the tone you use on a misbehaving puppy, not an equal. 4 I’d heard that tone before. When I was a kid and my cousin would come over, he loved to “excavate for treasure” in my bedroom. My drawings, the ones that took me days to finish, the special paints my mom had saved for months to buy me—he’d smear them all together into a muddy, useless mess, getting streaks of color all over his face. My grandmother would come in, chuckling, and wipe his cheeks. “Oh, you little rascal. Such a troublemaker.” She’d hug him tight. “You can’t do that again, you hear?” It was a scolding with no teeth. It meant nothing. Just like now. Caleb was telling Sloane to stop, but the intimacy in his voice only empowered her, made her feel more secure. She made a face at him, then looked away with a dismissive little huff. Rhys stepped in to play peacemaker. “Alright, alright, it’s getting late. Caleb, let’s not keep the lady from her job.” That was it. I tore off the blue courier jacket and threw it at him. It hit him square in the chest. “Since you’re obviously not dead in a ditch somewhere, I guess I don’t need this job anymore.” Caleb froze, his whole body rigid. The color drained from his face, replaced by a glacial fury. I’m sure in his entire privileged life, no one had ever done something like that to him. The city lights flickered on, casting long shadows down the street. I got on my scooter and drove away. Through the visor of my helmet, the world blurred. I suddenly remembered the first time I met him. He was standing under a giant oak tree on campus, wearing a simple white shirt, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves and dusting him in gold. His hazel eyes were full of light. “You a freshman?” he’d asked. He was a junior, working the student orientation table. “You should join the activities committee.” So I did. Just to be in his orbit. It gave me an excuse to have his number. The first time I ever texted him, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely type. What do you even say? I’d spent the entire day rehearsing, from the moment I woke up until the dorm lights went out. Finally, I sent three pathetic little words. Hey, it’s Leah. He must have been holding his phone. The reply came back instantly. You’re up late. But now, when I opened our message thread, it was just a monologue. My monologue. Long, desperate green bubbles of text, unanswered. A digital monument to my own stupidity. How could a person like me ever think someone like him could truly love me? It was all a lie. A calculated, cruel lie, right from the very beginning. 5 Caleb and I got together the night he graduated. He was drunk, stumbling out of a bar near campus. I worked up every ounce of courage I had and followed him. He was so out of it he could barely see straight. He grabbed my wrist, pinning me against a brick wall. “You want to do this?” he slurred, his eyes hazy, half-closed, a dangerous charm radiating off him even then. Like a fool, I said yes. And to my shock, he didn’t take it back the next day. He remembered. He stayed. So I worked harder than ever. I took on extra shifts, sold my paintings on the side—anything to feel like I wasn’t completely out of my league. My income was a joke compared to his, but it was something. It was mine. But Caleb’s world was different. A single shirt he owned was worth more than my annual salary. He’d just ruffle my hair and say, “You’re doing great, Leah.” And that one sentence would be enough to keep me going for weeks. It didn’t last long. A few months into our relationship, his family’s company went bankrupt. His parents, he said, had fled the country to escape their debts. The moment I heard the news, I rushed to find him. He was sitting on the front steps of his family’s empty, foreclosed mansion with nothing but the clothes on his back. He just looked up at me, his shadow stretching long and lonely under the streetlights. “Go home, Leah,” he said, his voice hollow. “I have nothing left to give you.” I was crying, but I was also smiling. For the first time, I sat down next to him without being invited. I took his arm in mine. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’ve got you now.” He flinched, then turned, and his mouth was on mine. A desperate, all-consuming kiss. It was the closest we’d ever been. 6 Back in our—my—tiny rental apartment, the ghost of him was everywhere. The ceramic bowls we’d painted together at a pottery class. The coasters we’d tried to knit one drunken Tuesday night. The matching pair of slippers by the door. I started packing it all into trash bags. One thing at a time. It was only then, as I purged our life from the apartment, that I realized we didn’t have a single photograph together. Not one. A cold thought began to form in my mind. He knew it was a game from the start. That’s why he never wanted any evidence that we were real. I opened his Instagram. Nothing. Not a single post, not a single story that ever included me. We had never even made it official. We just… were. And now we… weren’t. I clipped my bangs back from my face and splashed my face with cold water. The water made the thin, white scar on my forehead stand out in sharp relief. Closing my eyes, I was back in the moment. The screech of tires. He’d run across the street to grab a cake for my birthday. A car came out of nowhere, speeding. I didn’t think; I just moved, shoving him out of the way. I took the hit instead. The bruises faded, the bones healed, but this scar, this one mark on my forehead, never quite went away. So stupid. For the first time in years, I took out my concealer. It felt like I was trying to spackle over the hole in my chest. A pathetic act of self-deception. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the brush. A car horn blared outside, making me jump. The brush slipped from my fingers and clattered into the wet sink. You’re pathetic, Leah. All the disappointment, the anxiety, the desperate hope I’d been holding onto for three months—it all came crashing down. I didn’t even know what I was crying for anymore. For my shaking hands? For a love affair that no one else in the world even knew existed? I slid down the cool tile wall until I was curled up in a ball on the floor. I don’t know how long I stayed there. Hours, maybe. Long enough for the dark square of the window to melt completely into the night sky. Finally, I moved my dry, cracked lips. “Caleb Hayes,” I whispered to the empty room. “I’m done with you.” From this day forward, we were over. For good. 7 Truthfully, Caleb didn’t have much stuff at my place. It only took two hours to clear out every trace of him. I called the old man who collects junk in our neighborhood and gave him everything. Suddenly, the apartment felt clean. Bigger. There was nothing in pairs anymore. It was calming. I started making a list of things to do, plans for finding a new job tomorrow. Then my phone buzzed. A new message. It was a photo. Caleb, his eyes half-lidded, lounging in the arms of Sloane. They were in some impossibly glamorous VIP lounge, the background a blur of champagne bottles and neon lights. The moody lighting cast shadows on his face, giving him a debauched, rakish look I’d never seen before. Sloane hadn’t written a single word. She didn’t have to. The message was loud and clear: This man belongs to me. After the emotional dam had broken earlier, I just felt… numb. I deleted the photo and, with a steady hand, went to the kitchen to make myself a bowl of instant noodles. Crying over him once was enough. Crying over a man more than that was just plain stupid. The noodles were barely cooked when my phone rang. An unknown number. “Hey, broke girl. No, wait. Leah.” It was Rhys’s booming, obnoxious voice. “Caleb’s wasted. He’s refusing to leave the bar until you come pick him up. Get over here.” I slurped a mouthful of noodles. “Caleb who? Don’t know him.” “What are you talking about? Just hurry up. They’re about to close, and he’s going to end up sleeping on the damn sidewalk.” “Then let him,” I said, finishing the noodles in three more bites. “Even better if he’s dead.” Rhys started to argue, but I just hung up. A waste of my phone plan. I switched my phone off completely and went to bed. For the first time in months, I slept soundly. When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window, pooling on the floor. I realized that as long as I wasn’t waiting for Caleb, I could actually rest. It was the first day of my life without him, and even the bed felt bigger, more spacious. I was about to get up when a head poked out of my bathroom.

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I once “kept” a dancer. For a hundred thousand dollars and two years of her life, she surrendered all her dignity. Then, my world collapsed into bankruptcy and debt, while she rose, collecting championships and dazzling the world. The next time we met, my beat-up electric scooter crashed into her Maybach. 1 I still don’t know how I managed to hit the Maybach. The rain was a torrential downpour, and I was in a hurry, rushing a delivery of fresh fish to a restaurant. One moment of distraction, and then impact. As I hit the slick asphalt, the sight of the Maybach’s shattered headlight sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the rain. Five thousand dollars. Minimum. The car door swung open, a silent wing in the roaring storm. I sat there, surrounded by the wreckage of my styrofoam boxes and the frantic, slapping bodies of escaping fish, a dull roar filling my ears. Wrong way on a one-way street, overloaded scooter. I was entirely at fault. A pair of women’s stilettos cut through the deluge, stopping just inches from my sprawled form. My voice was numb. “Sorry,” I mumbled, “I shouldn’t have turned here…” A flash of red sole followed as a man hurried over, his crisp voice laced with concern. “Hey, man, you alright?” The voice was familiar. I looked up and saw a handsome, impeccably sculpted face. It was Leo Vance, the A-list idol whose face was plastered across every magazine. And standing beside him, holding the umbrella, was Cora. The dancer who had been mine for two years. Three days earlier, the production crew for the reality show Hometown Echoes had descended upon my small town of Misty Hollow. Cora, the new star of the dance world, and Leo, the nation’s heartthrob, were the show’s headliners. The whole town was buzzing, every household hoping for a glimpse of the celebrities. I wanted no part of it. I had been actively avoiding them. Now, she knelt, her slender, porcelain fingers reaching out to remove my helmet. They brushed against my cheek, cool and deliberate. She stared at me, her voice as cold as mountain snow. “Once the damages are assessed, we’ll settle this by the book.” Leo tugged at her sleeve. “Cora, come on. Let it go. He looks like he’s having a rough time.” Cora rose to her full height, looking down at me as if from a great distance. “Everyone has to pay for their mistakes.” Which mistake was she talking about? Hitting her car? Shattering her dignity all those years ago? Or tempting her to taste a forbidden fruit? A bitter laugh escaped me. I pulled out my ID and handed it to her. “I’ll pay for my mistake,” I said. “But if you don’t mind, I need to deliver my fish. Don’t worry, you can hold onto this. I’m not going to run.” 2 A poor man has no time for self-pity. I found a styrofoam box that was mostly intact and began gathering the gasping fish, one by one. This was over two hundred dollars’ worth of product. I couldn’t afford to lose it. Hugging the box, I started to strap it to the back of my scooter, but a hand stopped me. In a single, fluid motion, Cora took the box from my arms and placed it in the trunk of her Maybach. “Get in. We’re going to the hospital.” I started to refuse, but her tone was absolute. “If you crash again on your way there, it’ll just complicate things.” I didn’t argue. Soaking wet, I climbed into the back of her car. Leo took the passenger seat, trying to break the heavy silence. “Hey, your English is perfect. You don’t sound like a local. Are you from out of town?” I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Yeah.” “Misty Hollow is my hometown, actually,” he went on, oblivious to the tension. “Lived here when I was a little kid.” I knew. Hometown Echoes took each guest back to their roots, and Misty Hollow was the final stop. The tabloids were all saying Cora and Leo were going to make their relationship official here. “So what brought you to Misty Hollow?” he asked with a friendly smile. “Fall for one of the local girls?” The ringing in my head was getting worse, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I just wanted him to stop talking. I gave a noncommittal grunt. “Mmm.” In the rearview mirror, I saw Cora’s eyes. They were like frozen pools, sharp and unforgiving. The car suddenly accelerated, pressing me back into the plush leather. When we arrived at the restaurant, Cora got out and carried the box of fish inside without a word. Al, the owner, stared, his eyes wide. He pulled me aside, whispering, “Isn’t that… you know who? Looks like that Olympic skier, the world champion! What’s she doing delivering fish for you?” “You’re seeing things,” I lied, my voice low. “She’s just a cousin of mine, here on vacation.” I turned and met Cora’s gaze. It was as deep and dark as a well. I shouldn’t have told that lie. I had said those exact words once before. The first summer she was with me, I took her to a friend’s birthday party. Someone had slung an arm around me, smirking. “Well, Rhys. This one’s a knockout. How much did she cost you?” Cora had gone rigid, humiliation coloring her cheeks. I’d swirled the wine in my glass, leaning casually against her shoulder. “What are you talking about?” I’d drawled. “She’s just a cousin of mine.” 3 Cora dropped off the fish and wordlessly returned to the car. The hospital was only five minutes away. I filled out the paperwork at the front desk while Cora, now wearing a mask and a baseball cap, leaned against a railing nearby. In my memory, she was always standing just like that. Quietly waiting outside my window, in the corner of a room, in a field of snow, or on a silent beach. Four years, and it was as if nothing had changed. The image of the slender, poised woman before me blurred with the girl from my past. My mind drifted back to a scorching summer afternoon. She stood on the veranda, straight and proud as a young poplar tree. Her faded floral blouse and washed-out jeans couldn’t hide the perfect lines of her body—a portrait of desperate poverty and defiant youth. I was inside, behind the floor-to-ceiling window, my brush capturing the sun-kissed skin of her arms and legs. She had come looking for her father, my family’s chauffeur, begging for money for her grandfather’s medical bills. He’d refused her. I gave her two thousand dollars to be my model for the day. She accepted. The scene shifted. A ski resort. Cora’s life was a constant struggle. She worked multiple jobs—ski instructor, swimming coach, delivery driver—all to pay for her grandfather’s mounting hospital fees. I pretended I couldn’t ski and hired her as my private instructor. She was quiet, reserved, speaking only when it was about technique. The night before I left, she brought my skis to my room. Flushed with alcohol, I leaned in and whispered in her ear, asking if she wanted an easier life. She just frowned, shook her head, and refused. Then came the rainy night. She called me. “Mr. Archer,” she’d said, her voice tight, “are you… still interested in me?” When I arrived at the ICU, she was hunched over, clutching a bill with an astronomical figure, leaning against the sterile hallway wall like a pine tree broken by the weight of snow. I reached for her, but my hand closed on empty air. In my disoriented state, I called out, “Cora.” My fingers finally found something to grip. A stranger’s voice cut through the fog. “It’s nothing serious. A mild concussion. Just get some rest for a few days.” My own voice, slurred and distant, answered automatically. “I have to sell fish tomorrow.” “Absolutely not,” the doctor said. “You need to rest.” “It’s not tiring.” My vision slowly sharpened. I was in a hospital bed, and my hand was clenched tightly around Cora’s. A hot flush of embarrassment washed over me. I let go. 4 The hour of observation in that hospital bed felt like an eternity on a hot griddle. Leo had to leave for an urgent matter with the show, leaving just Cora and me in the sterile, silent room. The only sound was the relentless tick-tock of the wall clock. I pretended to be dizzy and turned over, facing the wall, my back to her. But I could feel her eyes on me, sharp as needles. “I’m fine,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “You should go. You must be busy.” After a moment, her cold voice replied, “Can’t you even say, ‘It’s been a long time’?” She was right. It was basic courtesy. “Yeah, it has been a long time,” I said. “You seem to be doing well, so I didn’t feel the need to ask.” “And how, exactly, did you determine that I’m ‘doing well’?” I pulled the thin blanket tighter around me. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You’re a world champion, a huge star. You’re doing better than ninety-five percent of the people on this planet.” “Are you doing well?” she asked. “I’m fine. I have enough to eat.” She fell silent. As she was leaving, a nurse recognized her, and she was instantly swarmed by fans asking for autographs. I didn’t wait. I just left. Back at my small courtyard home, Mrs. Gable was waiting anxiously at the gate. “Rhys, dear! Are you alright? Why are you wearing… is that a Gucci tracksuit?” Before he left, Leo had insisted I change out of my wet clothes, worried I’d catch a cold. “I ran into a kind person,” I said. “They lent it to me.” Mrs. Gable didn’t press, her face beaming. “Hurry inside! Dinner’s ready, and Maya’s waiting. And guess what? I made seventy-five dollars today from my eyebrow-shaping livestream! Once I get more followers, I’ll be making real money. Then you won’t have to sell fish anymore. You can just focus on your painting.” Hearing my voice, Maya, my little sister, came running out and grabbed my hand, her words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. “Brother, guess what we’re having for dinner! Spicy river shrimp! Mom caught them in the creek with a net!” I didn’t mention the five-thousand-dollar repair bill hanging over my head. And Mrs. Gable didn’t mention that the landlord had come by again, demanding the rent. 5 Late that night, I pulled a worn, white notebook from a paint-splattered drawer. It was filled with names. Some were crossed out, their debts repaid. Others, those in desperate need, were marked with a star. They were the workers injured in the explosion. Years ago, my family’s chemical plant had a catastrophic accident. The casualties were staggering. My father was held liable and sentenced to five years in prison. All our assets were liquidated for compensation, and it still wasn’t enough. The last time I visited him in prison, he wept. “Rhys, your sister is so young, and your stepmother has no way to support herself. Please, take care of them for me. As for the debts… wait for me to get out. I’ll find a way.” As I left, I squeezed his hand. “I will.” For years, I’ve spent every penny I had, sold my art for next to nothing, and worked day and night to compensate the victims. It was never enough. Some were worse off than me, their calls for help always hesitant and apologetic. Others were filled with rage, calling regularly to curse my entire family. As I was trying to decide who to pay this week, an unknown number lit up my phone. It was Cora. “Rhys. I’m outside.” Hearing my name on her lips felt both familiar and strangely alien. I froze. “It’s too late. It’s not a good time.” “The estimate for the headlight is in,” she said. “Just tell me the amount. You have my ID. I told you I’d pay.” Her voice grew colder. “Don’t you want your scooter back?” In the faint moonlight, Cora stood alone under the willow tree by the creek. She looked elegant, distant, and completely out of place next to the battered, paint-chipped electric scooter. I had no idea how she’d gotten it here; it wouldn’t have fit in her trunk. I stayed by the gate. “Thanks for bringing it back,” I said. “You could have just left it. People in this town are honest. No one would have stolen it.” I paused. “How much for the headlight?” She walked toward me, casting a long shadow that swallowed me whole. The feeling of being cornered made me take an involuntary step back. She stared into my eyes, then her gaze dropped to my lips. “Can you afford to pay me right now?” I couldn’t. In my white notebook of debts, Cora’s name wouldn’t even appear in the first thirty pages. “Give me some time,” I said. “I’ll pay you back.” Cora’s voice was a whisper of ice. “You have another option.” “Remember that little game we played when we first met? Two thousand dollars for a day. The headlight is five thousand. You give me three days.” 6 Everyone has to pay for their mistakes. I finally understood what she meant. An eye for an eye. Three days. A game… My throat went dry. She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Relax. I have no intention of sleeping with you.” The knot in my chest loosened. “Fine,” I said. Five thousand dollars was a fortune to me now. Besides, I didn’t want to be entangled with her any longer than necessary. I got in the car. She drove, fast, up the winding mountain road to a villa perched on the hillside. I knew the place; I could see it from my little courtyard. It used to belong to a foreign photographer, then sat empty for two years. Someone bought it six months ago but had rarely been seen. So, it was her. I remembered the gossip from the kid at the vegetable stall—that Misty Hollow was Leo Vance’s childhood home, that he and Cora were going to announce their relationship here. She must have bought it for him. I hesitated at the front door. She glanced back. “What? Having second thoughts?” “I still have Leo’s clothes,” I said quietly. I had no idea what she was planning, but whatever it was, this felt wrong. I was trying to remind her she had a boyfriend. Cora pushed the door open, her voice fading as she walked inside. “You can keep them. He has plenty of clothes.” I took a deep breath and followed her in. The villa was cavernous and cold, showing no signs of being lived in. In the vast, empty living room, Cora poured herself a glass of wine. She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, sipping her drink as she gazed at the twinkling lights of the town below. I stood awkwardly in the center of the room. “What do you want me to do?” My question was met with a long, heavy silence. I asked again. “Cora, what do you—” “Take off your clothes,” she said. I froze. Years ago, I had poured a glass of wine just like that and told her to do the same thing. I had paid off her grandfather’s hundred-thousand-dollar medical bill, and in return, she had packed a bag and come to the address I gave her. My private art studio. She stood nervously in the enormous glass-walled room. I had studied her, paintbrush in hand. “Take off your clothes,” I’d commanded. The blood drained from her face as she stripped, piece by piece. When she was down to her underwear, her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. “All of it,” I’d said. … Life’s reversals are cruel and swift. Back then, I never imagined our positions would ever be so completely flipped. My voice was steady. “We agreed you weren’t—” “I said I wouldn’t sleep with you,” she cut in, her tone still unnervingly calm. “And I won’t.” “Then why are you asking me to undress? I may be broke, but I won’t be put on display for five thousand dollars.” I had made her undress to paint her. What was her reason? To humiliate me? She walked towards me, her presence overwhelming. She leaned in, her lips close to my ear, her voice a low murmur. “What about fifty thousand? Five hundred thousand? Or five million?” Fifty thousand could pay for the plastic surgery for the daughter of one of the workers, whose face was horribly burned. Five hundred thousand could give two dozen families a chance to breathe. Five million… five million could erase more than half the names in my white notebook. I didn’t hesitate. I started unbuttoning my shirt.

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Growing up in the sticks, there was one person I envied more than anyone: the daughter of the richest man in the state. It all started when an orange, fallen from one of our town’s trees, happened to soil her impossibly expensive heels. With a single phone call, she had men come and tear down every single orange grove in our town. The very trees that were our lifeblood. But then, one day, the tycoon himself showed up at my door. It turned out I was his real daughter. I packed my bags that night, grabbed my little golden mutt, Buddy, and said my heartfelt goodbyes to all the folks in town. With tears in their eyes, they all waved me off. “Willow, you go live that good life now. Don’t you ever come back to this hardship.” I just shook my head. No way. The Sterling estate wasn’t even as big as one of the hills back home. There was barely enough room for me and Buddy to get a good run in. I was just going to collect what they owed us. And if they wouldn’t give it to me… well, they were about to see me lose my mind. 1 On the drive to his mansion, Richard Sterling, my billionaire father, laid down three rules for me: First, I was not to reveal my true identity to anyone. Second, I was not to drive away Sophia, the girl who had been raised in my place. Third, I was not to compete with Sophia for his affection. So, when I stepped into the grand living room and saw Sophia crying a river of pearlescent tears, I immediately turned, Buddy at my heels, and headed for the garden. “Oh, Sophia, don’t cry. You will always be my only daughter.” Right. That was Eleanor Sterling, my birth mother. “That’s right. You’re my only sister. That girl from the sticks doesn’t even deserve to call me her brother.” I raised an eyebrow. That must be my brilliant older brother, Julian. I couldn’t be bothered to listen to the rest of their little drama. I just took Buddy for a couple of laps around the garden. He panted, his tongue lolling out in what looked like sheer disdain. I had to agree. The Sterling family’s garden was smaller than a single hill back home. No wonder Buddy was unimpressed. Figuring Sophia’s performance had to be wrapping up, I led Buddy back into the living room and plopped myself down on a lone armchair. Buddy settled obediently at my feet. The moment I sat down, Richard Sterling—the same man who had been all smiles and kindness in the car—shot me a look as cold as ice. “Have you already forgotten everything I just told you?” My dear brother Julian glared at me as if I were something filthy that had crawled in from the street. I held up my hand and pointed a finger toward Sophia. “One, I haven’t told a soul who I am. Two, I haven’t tried to kick her out. And three, I haven’t tried to steal her spotlight.” Richard choked, the words catching in his throat. “Sister… do you not like me?” Sophia asked, her face a mask of wounded innocence, her eyes instantly welling up. Eleanor immediately rushed to her side, patting her hand comfortingly before turning her venom on me. Her voice was sharp, dripping with acid. “Willow, now that you’re back in the Sterling household, you need to learn our ways. Don’t bring your crude, country manners in here.” She sniffed disdainfully. “And that dog of yours is filthy. How could you bring it into the living room? I’ll have someone get rid of it tomorrow.” I slowly stroked Buddy’s head, then finally met her gaze. “When he came to get me, he promised I could bring Buddy.” I leaned on the word “he,” my eyes shifting to the silent Richard Sterling. “As for the rules, I’ve followed the three he gave me. And my rule is that people should keep their promises.” Richard’s face flushed with a hint of embarrassment. He cleared his throat. Julian, who had been silent until now, let out a cold snort. “Dad was just trying to be nice. But a family’s image is important.” He looked me up and down. “You need to adapt to high society, not drag the whole village in here with you.” He paused, the contempt in his eyes deepening. “After all, your name is Sterling now.” “My name is Willow,” I corrected him calmly. “As in the tree.” My words hung in the air, freezing the entire room. Sophia’s tears finally spilled over. “Julian, don’t say that to her. It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, sister wouldn’t have suffered so much out there.” Her voice trembled. “Sister, you have every right to blame me. You can hit me, you can scream at me, whatever it takes for you to feel better. It doesn’t matter if you kick me out of this house, I just…” I watched this perfectly orchestrated performance. One played the villain, one the victim, one the mediator, and one the judge, all working in flawless harmony. They were trying to put me in my place, to make me understand my lowly status, to make me grateful for their charity and guilty about Sophia. Too bad they had it all wrong from the very beginning. I wasn’t here for a family reunion. I was here to collect a debt. I reached into my worn canvas tote bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers, neatly bound with a staple, and placed it right in the center of the coffee table. “Now then,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “Let’s talk about the compensation.” For a moment, everyone just stared, utterly speechless. 2 Julian let out a sharp bark of laughter, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. He snatched the papers off the table. He only got two pages in before the smirk on his face curdled into a mask of rage. “Assessment of damage to orange groves… based on a five-year average yield per acre… projecting total production loss over the next ten years… including labor costs, land maintenance, brand value depreciation… for a total of one hundred thirty-two million, seven hundred and forty thousand dollars?” His voice trembled as he read the final number. He slammed the stack down on the table, sending pages scattering across the floor. “Are you insane? This is extortion!” Eleanor grabbed a few of the scattered sheets, her eyes widening in disbelief before she erupted in a shriek. “You ungrateful brat! We take you into our home, offer you the best of everything, and instead of being thankful, you try to squeeze money out of us? Over a hundred million? Why don’t you just rob a bank!” I ignored their hysterics, my gaze fixed on Sophia. Her performance was, as always, right on cue. Tears streamed down her face like broken pearls. She staggered to her feet, her body swaying as if she might faint, her voice choked with endless grief and self-blame. “Sister… I know it’s all my fault. I was thoughtless, I ruined the town’s groves…” Her voice was a pathetic whisper. “But I didn’t mean to…” “Blame me, please, just blame me. You can hit me, you can yell at me, anything… why would you use money to hurt Mom and Dad’s feelings? We’re a family…” She took a step toward me, making as if she was about to drop to her knees. “I’ll apologize, I’ll beg for your forgiveness, please, just don’t do this…” Julian and Eleanor lunged forward to catch her. The three of them clung to each other, a united front glaring at me as if I were the wicked villain tearing their happy family apart. “Willow! Look what you’ve done to Sophia!” Richard Sterling finally roared, slamming his fist on the table. He pointed a trembling finger at my face, his own contorted with disappointment and rage. “This family owes you nothing! Taking you in was a kindness, not an obligation! If you’re going to keep making trouble, then you can get the hell out!” I waited until their storm of outrage had passed. Then, I began to speak. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the tension, clear and sharp. “First, this isn’t extortion. It’s restitution.” “What Sophia destroyed was the livelihood of over a hundred families for the next decade. That data,” I said, nodding toward the scattered papers, “was compiled from the logbooks my grandfather kept for decades. Every harvest from every single tree is accounted for.” I paused, letting my gaze sweep over each of their faces. “Second, as I’ve already told you, my name is Willow. I didn’t come back to find a family, and I certainly didn’t come back to be anyone’s ‘sister’.” I rose to my feet, looking down on this ridiculous, self-pitying quartet. I spoke each word with deliberate, chilling calm. “I’m here to collect a debt. And debts must be paid.” “As for your family’s affection?” I let a small, cold smile touch my lips. “It’s worthless. And I’m not interested.” 3 In the end, Richard Sterling took my hundred-and-thirty-two-million-dollar compensation claim. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no. Instead, he studied me for a long time with a new, complex expression in his eyes before making a decision: he was sending me to school. The same school as Sophia: the prestigious Blackwood Preparatory Academy. Eleanor was thrilled with the idea. The look she gave me was filled with malicious glee. “Good. Maybe you’ll finally learn some manners. Stop acting so uncultured and embarrassing the Sterling name.” Julian added with a sneer, “Sophia’s friends are all from the best families. It will be a real eye-opener for you. Maybe you’ll stop being so obsessed with your pathetic orange money and see the bigger picture.” I knew exactly what they were doing. They were throwing me into an environment where pedigree and wealth were everything, a world where I didn’t belong. They wanted me to feel small, to see the vast, unbridgeable chasm between myself and Sophia. They hoped I would be so intimidated that I’d give up my “extortion” attempt and become their obedient little puppet. It was a decent plan. Too bad it wouldn’t work on me. On my first day at Blackwood Prep, I became an instant celebrity. Not because I was the long-lost Sterling heir, but because I showed up in a pair of faded canvas sneakers, carrying a worn tote bag, with a wagging, golden-haired mutt trailing behind me. Buddy, of course, couldn’t come inside. I had him wait by the security booth at the main gate. The guard was a nice guy; he even gave him a bowl of water. Sophia’s friends were buzzing around like flies, led by a girl named Tiffany. They would “accidentally” spill milk on my homework. They would loudly mock my “thrift-store” clothes behind my back. They even started stuffing trash into my desk. Through it all, Sophia maintained her facade of sweet innocence, occasionally offering a fake, half-hearted defense. “Tiffany, please don’t be so mean to my sister. She’s just not used to things here.” This, of course, only made Tiffany and her friends worse, claiming they were just “standing up” for poor, victimized Sophia. I couldn’t be bothered to engage. Arguing with a pack of spoiled, overgrown toddlers was a waste of time. I wasn’t here to make friends or fit in. I was just waiting for my payment of one hundred thirty-two million, seven hundred and forty thousand dollars to clear. Soon, the school announced a mandatory placement exam for all students. This became the new source of amusement for Tiffany’s crew. They spread rumors that the “illiterate girl from the sticks” probably didn’t even know how to fill in a bubble sheet. They crowed that I was destined to rank dead last, bringing shame to Sophia’s class. On the day of the exam, I finished all the sections with half an hour to spare. I then put my head down on the desk and slept until the final bell rang. This only solidified my image as a hopeless case in their eyes. Even Sophia shot me a look tinged with what looked like pity. The day the results were posted, the bulletin board was mobbed. The crowd was three deep, a chaotic buzz of voices. I had no interest in joining the spectacle and was about to take a detour when a sudden, collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a dead, stunned silence. Then, as one, every head turned. Every pair of eyes locked onto me like a row of searchlights. Confused, I felt someone grab my arm and pull me toward the front. The crowd parted for me like the Red Sea. I looked up at the red paper posted at the very top of the board, reserved for the top scores. At the number one spot, two words were printed in stark black ink: Willow Reed. 4 Beneath my name was a string of figures: English Lit 145, Calculus 150, Chemistry 148, Physics 305. Total: 748. It was a commanding, almost terrifying score. The student in second place, the perennial top student of the year, had a total of 695. As for Sophia, I scanned down the list and found her name in seventh place, with a score of 681. The hallway was utterly silent. Tiffany’s mouth hung open, her expression one of someone who had just seen a ghost. Further down the hall, Sophia stood frozen, her face ashen, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. That night, the atmosphere at the Sterling dinner table was heavier than ever before. Richard, Eleanor, and Julian all held copies of my report card, staring at them as if trying to decipher some ancient, impossible text. For the first time, they didn’t dare treat me like some simple girl from the country they could easily manipulate. After the exam results, a tense quiet fell over the Sterling household. At dinner, Eleanor no longer made her usual sarcastic remarks, and Julian stopped trying to belittle me with his theories on high-society etiquette. They ate in silence, watching me with a new, probing curiosity, their gazes tinged with suspicion and even a hint of alarm. This quiet was more unsettling than their previous hostility. I knew it was just the calm before the storm. Having failed in their first attempt to break me, they would simply find a new, more insidious way. Especially Sophia. The way she looked at me had changed completely. Gone was the cat-and-mouse amusement and condescending pity. In its place was a cold, simmering hatred, a toxic brew of jealousy and malice. She still tried to play the part of the gentle, harmless victim whenever I was around, but her acting had grown sloppy. Sometimes, the raw hatred would leak out from behind her eyes, sharp and cold as a poisoned needle. She didn’t have to wait long for what she thought was her next opportunity. 5 The school was holding its annual Chemistry Competition. The winners not only got a significant boost for their college applications but also a prestigious line item on their resumes, coveted by Ivy League schools. As a consistent top student, Sophia was determined to win. The competition required teams of two. To everyone’s surprise, Sophia publicly invited me to be her partner. She stood before my desk, her smile as warm and gentle as ever. “Sister, let’s team up. Your theoretical knowledge is incredible, and I’m better with the practical experiments. Together, we’ll definitely take first place.” I put down my pen and looked up at her. Then, I nodded calmly. “Okay.” I knew it was a trap. But I also knew you can’t spend your whole life watching for thieves. Better to let them make their move. I had come to the Sterling house to collect a debt, after all. A flicker of triumph flashed in Sophia’s eyes, so fast it was almost invisible. From that day on, a little gadget I’d ordered online came in handy—a miniature recording device, perfectly disguised as an ordinary fountain pen. During the preparation phase, everything seemed normal. The afternoon before the competition, we were in the lab running our final data simulations. Halfway through, Sophia suddenly complained of feeling unwell and said she needed to go to the nurse’s office. She asked Tiffany to stay behind and “help” me. I nodded and went back to the reagents I was measuring. After Sophia left, Tiffany sidled up to me. “Hey, Willow, doesn’t the calibration on that beaker look a little off? Let me check it for you.” As she leaned over, pretending to inspect the equipment and drawing my attention, I heard the faintest sound behind me—the whisper of a zipper, and then the tiny, distinct click of a memory card being ejected from the data logger. I didn’t turn around. By the time I looked back, Tiffany was standing where she had been before, though her face was a little pale. And the card slot on the data logger I had left on the lab bench was empty. “Where’s my data card?” I asked. 6 Tiffany’s eyes darted around nervously. “I… I don’t know. Wasn’t it just there a second ago?” Right on cue, Sophia returned, her face a mask of concern. “What’s wrong?” I looked at her. She met my gaze, her eyes wide with pure, unblemished innocence. “My experiment data card is missing.” “What? How could that be?” Sophia exclaimed, feigning shock. Then, as if a thought had just struck her, she whirled on Tiffany. “Tiffany, was it you? Were you jealous that sister and I were working together, so you hid it?” Tiffany, stunned by the accusation, burst into tears. “Sophia, how could you say that! I didn’t do it! I was with her the whole time, I didn’t touch anything!” Soon, the supervising teacher arrived, drawn by the commotion. Sophia explained the situation through her tears, every word seemingly defending me, yet subtly implying that, as someone from the country, I probably didn’t understand the importance of the competition and might have carelessly lost the card myself. I remained silent through the entire spectacle, watching their pathetic little show. The outcome was predictable. With the key data missing, our team was disqualified. Sophia, for her “graciousness under pressure” and “willingness to protect her sister,” earned the sympathy of everyone involved. And I became the “idiot sister,” the clumsy liability who couldn’t even keep track of her own work and had dragged down the brilliant Sophia. That night, I went back to my room and locked the door. I took the “fountain pen” from my pocket and pressed the playback button. After a brief crackle of static, the hushed voices of two girls filled the room. Tiffany: “Sophia, are we really doing this? What if we get caught?” Sophia: “What is there to be afraid of? She’s a country bumpkin. No one will believe her. I’m going to teach her that Blackwood Prep is no place for people like her. First place was supposed to be mine! Just do what I said, get her data card, and leave the rest to me.” Tiffany: “So… what happens to the card after I take it?” Sophia: “I’ll hide it for now. When the teacher shows up, I’ll suggest she lost it herself and then tried to blame you. By the end of it, everyone will think she’s not just stupid, but a liar too. I’m going to ruin her reputation.” … I turned off the recording and carefully put the pen away. I didn’t expose them on the spot. I knew that a minor chemistry competition was nowhere near a fitting price for what Sophia had done. I was here for a full reckoning, with interest. And this recording was excellent collateral, to be cashed in when it would yield the highest possible return. 7 The fallout from the chemistry competition at the Sterling mansion was both smaller and larger than I had anticipated. Smaller, because in their eyes, it was perfectly normal for the “wild girl from the country” to screw something important up. Eleanor’s gaze reverted to one of pure contempt, now mixed with a smug “I told you so” satisfaction. Julian simply treated me as if I were invisible, not even bothering to waste a glance on me. Larger, because the incident cemented Sophia’s image as the “perfect victim.” Not only did she not blame me, but she went out of her way to make excuses for me, her magnanimity earning even more praise from Richard Sterling. This situation actually worked in my favor. A hunter has the easiest time when the prey feels completely safe. A new opportunity presented itself soon enough. At dinner one evening, Richard, who usually ate in silence, made a rare announcement. The Sterling Group was preparing a bid for a massive, government-backed environmental project. It was a cornerstone of the company’s ten-year strategic plan, and its importance could not be overstated. After laying out the context, his gaze swept over both me and Sophia before finally settling on her, his eyes filled with undisguised pride and expectation. “To be fair, and to give you young people a chance,” he began, clearing his throat in a pompous tone, “I’ve decided to let both Sophia and Willow prepare a proposal for this project.” “Whichever proposal is more creative and feasible will earn its creator a leading role on the project team.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Eleanor laughed, her tone dripping with condescension. “Is there even a competition? Our Sophia has been learning the business at her father’s side since she was a little girl. How could some people possibly compare?” Julian put down his fork and frowned at his father. “Dad, this project is too important to be treated like a game. Don’t let unprofessional people waste everyone’s time.” They were a perfect tag team, writing me off completely. Sophia, ever the humble one, quickly waved her hands. “Mom, Julian, don’t say that. Sister’s grades are so good, her theoretical knowledge is definitely stronger than mine. I’m grateful Dad is giving us this chance, and I’ll work my hardest. I hope sister will bring her best effort too, so we can have a fair competition.” Her words were flawless, showcasing her own generosity while simultaneously painting me as someone who was only good on paper. I ignored their family drama and simply said one word to Richard: “Okay.” To them, my calm acceptance must have looked like the height of foolish arrogance. For the next few days, I locked myself in my room. I didn’t research complex business cases or study financial models. I just took out a blank sheet of paper. My mind filled with images of the ruined orange groves back home, of the old village chief’s calloused hands, of the decades of harvest notes he had kept. My proposal was fundamentally different from anything Sophia could conceive. She was thinking about how to please her father, how to package a slick and impressive-looking business plan. I was thinking about how to bring a piece of land back to life. I combined the old chief’s wisdom with modern ecological farming principles I’d studied, creating a blueprint for an “agricultural eco-cycle system” based on my hometown’s environment. The system wouldn’t just solve the project’s environmental requirements; it would create far more economic value than anticipated and revitalize an entire region. It was a love letter to the orange groves, and it was the most important debt I planned to collect. Knowing the value of what I was creating, I was extremely careful. My computer was protected with a complex password, and the file itself was encrypted. But I had still underestimated Sophia’s greed and shamelessness.

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My brother Adrian and I were at war. He believed I caused the car crash that left his beloved Penny comatose, and without hesitation, he imprisoned me for three years. After our parents died, we became like unchained mad dogs, taking pleasure in destroying each other. He poisoned my food; I burned his assets. He once tied me to a helicopter and flew me like a kite; I drugged him and threw him into a wild animal pen. Our twisted games only stopped when Penny finally “woke up.” The woman he adored for three years slapped disownment papers in front of me, smiling triumphantly. “Sign this, or I’ll arrange another accident and frame you.” I laughed sharply, eyes stinging, then stabbed her in the stomach. I called Adrian on speaker, letting him hear her screams. He raged, “Rosalie, are you trying to get yourself killed?” I swallowed blood and hummed defiantly. He needn’t have bothered—the doctor had already told me. Terminal brain cancer. Three days left to live. 1 When Adrian burst through the door with his men, he found me casually crossing my legs, twirling the blood-slicked blade in my hand. Penny lay at my feet, her body wracked with tremors of pain. The moment she saw Adrian, she let out a desperate, piercing cry for help. “Adrian, it hurts! She’s trying to kill me!” The sight of her, covered in blood, turned his eyes a furious shade of red. He took a single step forward, and my stiletto heel pressed down on the wound in her stomach. Penny couldn’t even scream anymore, just curled into a helpless ball of agony. “Let her go!” Adrian roared, surging forward. But with every foot closer he got, I applied more pressure. Fresh blood seeped out, tracing crimson patterns beneath my shoe. Seeing this, Adrian stopped dead in his tracks, his face a mask of bitter defeat. His hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into tight fists. In a strained, hoarse voice, he used a title I hadn’t heard from him in years. “Sister… name your price. What will it take for you to let Penny go?” Before I could answer, he rattled off a desperate list of offers. “Forty percent of the company shares? The West End property? All my real estate in the city? Or… my life?” “Just say the word. It’s all yours.” A mocking laugh escaped me. I was about to throw the disownment papers Penny had brought right back in his face when the world suddenly went dark. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Damn it, I cursed internally. Of all the times for this to happen. Sure enough, by the time my vision cleared, the cold edge of a blade was pressed against my neck. Another inch, and it would slice through my carotid artery. I met his cold gaze, a defiant smirk playing on my lips as I deliberately leaned into the knife’s edge. Adrian’s pupils contracted, a flicker of hesitation—of panic—crossing his face. And just like that, the tables turned. With a vicious grin, I snatched the knife from his hand. I was about to drive it through his palm when my eyes caught sight of a long, faded scar on his forearm. It stretched for inches, a pale reminder of our childhood. I had dragged him to an abandoned amusement park, a place forbidden to us. In the middle of our reckless games, the rusted frame of a roller coaster had groaned and collapsed right above my head. In that split second, Adrian had thrown himself at me, shoving me out of the way. When the rescue team finally dug him out, his right arm was shattered, nearly beyond repair. As they wheeled him into the operating room, he had gritted his teeth against the pain and forced a smile to comfort me. “Don’t cry, Rose. This is nothing.” A storm of emotions crashed within my chest. Clenching my jaw, I released my grip on the knife. My voice was ice as I bit out each word. “Take that idiot and get the hell out of my sight!” The next second, a blinding agony ripped through my skull, making it hard to breathe. I was going mad with pain, the only relief coming from slamming my head against the wall again and again. Adrian had just scooped Penny into his arms when he turned and saw me on the floor, clawing at my own hair and writhing. He froze for a moment, then let out a cold, derisive laugh. “If you’re going to put on an act, at least make it convincing. I nicked your neck, not your head.” He walked over and kicked me, his voice laced with contempt. “As for today… if you apologize to Penny, I can pretend none of this ever happened.” I turned my head and, with a bitter smile, sank my teeth into his leg. He let out a muffled grunt of pain, his face instantly darkening. Meeting his furious glare, I raised a single middle finger. “Me, apologize to her?” “In your next life.” Adrian’s chest heaved with rage. His final words were a chilling promise. “You chose this.” “Just you wait.” 2 The pain kept me awake all night. As dawn painted the sky in pale shades of gray, a wave of exhaustion finally washed over me. But before I could drift off, bodyguards were dragging me out of bed. Downstairs, I saw that the city’s elite, a who’s who of high society, had been invited to our home. In front of them all, I was thrown onto the doorstep like a piece of trash. A pair of expensive leather shoes entered my line of sight. Adrian’s cold voice drifted down. “You’ll have to understand. I’m throwing a birthday party for Penny, and our guests are… distinguished. The last thing we need is a criminal under this roof.” I fought to swallow the blood rising in my throat and looked up at him with a sneer. “Your methods are getting more childish by the day.” Adrian lit a cigarette, his gaze chillingly cold. He wasn’t looking at his sister; he was looking at an enemy. He blew out a perfect ring of smoke. “My offer still stands. Apologize to her, and this all goes away.” I stretched my lips into a silent, mocking grin. My answer was clear. He let out a sharp, humorless laugh and walked away. But just moments after he left, a commotion erupted from inside. Faintly, I heard my own name being spoken. A sudden, sharp sense of dread coiled in my stomach. I pushed my way through the crowd and saw it—a massive screen at the front of the room, cycling through a series of photographs. When I saw what they were, it was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. The cold spread from my limbs straight to my heart. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. They were photos taken during my time in prison. Photos of my humiliation. The darkest, most brutal moments of my life. Those agonizing memories mixed with the sneers and whispers of the crowd, drilling into my mind. “Look at Rosalie on her knees, begging like a dog. Who knew the madwoman had a breaking point?” “I wonder if I could use these pics to get her into bed. Think she’d say yes?” “Forget it. Who’d want a woman who’s been to prison, anyway?” I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. Spotting Adrian in the crowd, I lunged forward, grabbed him by the collar, and threw a punch with all my remaining strength. But it was a pathetic attempt. Ravaged by illness, my fist landed on him with all the force of a gentle tap. For the first time, Adrian looked genuinely confused. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me off him, his face flushed with anger. “What the hell is wrong with you? I didn’t put those photos up there!” Nearby, I caught the flash of triumph in Penny’s eyes. A cold laugh escaped me. “Penny. Looks like yesterday’s lesson didn’t stick, did it?” Penny immediately switched to her damsel-in-distress act, clutching at Adrian’s sleeve. “Adrian, it wasn’t me,” she whimpered. “Why does your sister always misunderstand me? Does she hate me that much?” Adrian instantly moved to shield her. The absurdity of it all made me laugh. “Adrian, how can you be so stupid?” I spat. “Besides you, she’s the only one who knows about my time in prison. Who else could have leaked those photos?” His voice was cold, certain. “It wasn’t Penny. She’s too timid. She wouldn’t dare.” I was done talking. I grabbed a nearby wine bottle and charged at Penny. But before I could reach her, Adrian’s bodyguards grabbed me by the hair and started dragging me out. The mocking, disdainful stares of the crowd felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. The rage and humiliation overwhelmed me. My vision went black, and I coughed up a mouthful of dark, thick blood. As my body went limp and I fell to the ground, the last thing I heard was a desperate, horrified shout. “Sister!” 3 When I woke up, my eyes met Adrian’s. They were red-rimmed and bloodshot. The next thing I knew, he threw a blood pack, and it splattered across my face. His voice was like ice. “Quite the performance, Rosalie. Too bad Penny found the blood pack you had prepared. Faking a collapse in front of all those people just to frame me… your little schemes have gotten much more clever.” I stared at him, stunned, for a long second. Then I grabbed the vase from the nightstand and hurled it at him. A satisfying line of red bloomed on his forehead, and only then did the inferno in my chest die down to a simmer. My voice was a raw rasp. “You idiot. Get out. I don’t want to see your face.” Adrian let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-scoff, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Penny and I are moving out tomorrow. From now on, you can throw your tantrums all you want. There will be no one left to stop you.” I turned my head away, my voice flat and cold. “Good. Out of sight, out of mind.” But the moment the door slammed shut, tears streamed down my face like broken strings of pearls. That bastard. I muttered curses under my breath as I got up and pulled a worn, yellowed photograph from a drawer. It was a picture of our family of four. My trembling fingers traced the smiling faces of our parents. Mom, Dad… your precious daughter is dying tomorrow, and there’s no one left to even claim her body. Just as I regained a sliver of strength, Penny showed up at my door with a food container. She wore the same smug, triumphant smile I had come to despise. She laid out the food—a spread of rich, greasy dishes. The cancer had spread everywhere, even to my stomach. I could barely handle liquids, let alone something so heavy with oil and salt. I looked at her, my eyes cold, and pointed to the door. “You have sixty seconds to get out. When time’s up, I’m throwing this food, and you, out the window.” Penny gasped, covering her mouth in mock surprise. She looked me up and down, her voice dripping with exaggerated pity. “You really are sick.” “Is this what they call karma, Rosalie?” The words had barely left her mouth before I snatched a bowl of hot, red soup and flung its contents directly at her face. The scalding liquid made her shriek in agony. The sound was music to my ears, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. But at that exact moment, the door opened. Standing in the doorway was Adrian, his face as black as thunder. Behind him stood a dozen doctors and nurses, their mouths slightly agape in shock at the scene before them. One of the doctors couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Sterling, who exactly is the patient?” Adrian pulled the weeping, red-faced Penny into his arms. He remained surprisingly calm as he instructed the butler to see the medical team out. “We don’t need doctors. Call the morgue. They can wait to collect her corpse.” His voice was devoid of all emotion. “She’ll kill herself with one of her fits eventually.” He glanced at the food spilled on the floor. “And don’t bother bringing her any more of this.” I laughed, a raw, broken sound, and shouted at his retreating back. “Hey, you bastard! On the day of my funeral, don’t forget to burn the house down for me too!” In all the years of fighting with Adrian, going hungry was nothing new. But this time was different. I couldn’t bear it. The searing pain in my head and the gnawing ache in my stomach sent me into waves of dizziness. I’d pass out at my computer, wake up, and pass out again. I was racing against the clock, knowing that every second was precious. After all this time, my investigation into our parents’ death was finally bearing fruit—and all signs pointed to Penny’s family. After another sleepless night, fueled by nothing but adrenaline, the chain of evidence was complete. I backed up one copy and sent another to the police. With that done, I dragged my exhausted body back to my room. I wanted to close my eyes for the last time in this room, a place that still held the warmth of our family. But when I opened the drawer, the spot where our family portrait should have been was empty. 4 My breath caught in my throat. Like a madwoman, I dragged my weak, tired body downstairs. And there she was. Penny, sitting on the sofa. She was toying with the photograph. When she saw me, a defiant smirk twisted her lips. “Look what I found.” “The great Rosalie’s one weakness.” My hands clenched into fists. I fought to suppress the murderous rage boiling inside me. “You’ve already won everything. Why are you still wasting your time on a dying woman?” Penny blinked innocently. “I have to make sure you die for good this time.” With that, she took out a lighter and set the corner of our family portrait on fire. The flickering flames danced across her pretty face, twisting her features into the mask of a demon. “You should have just died sooner, you know? I had to pretend to be in a coma for three years because of you.” “Your idiot brother is completely devoted to me. Once you’re gone, the Sterling family fortune will be all mine.” Perhaps it was a final burst of energy before death, a last flicker of a dying flame. I moved faster than I thought possible, lunging at her, grabbing her hair, and slamming her head against the floor. Penny, not expecting me to have any strength left, screamed, her face contorting with fear. “How dare you touch me! Adrian will never forgive you for this!” I looked at the photograph, now half-consumed by flames, and a grim, cold smile spread across my face. “It’s true, I’m dying. But before I go… how about I drag you down to hell with me?” Ignoring her terrified screams, I took the lighter and set her hair ablaze. Penny scrambled away, shrieking and batting at the flames, fumbling for her phone to call Adrian for help. I watched the chaos unfold, laughing until tears streamed down my face. But what I didn’t know, what neither of us knew, was that Penny was pregnant. And in the struggle, she lost the baby. It was the first time I had ever seen Adrian on the verge of tears. He looked like he wanted to kill me, but instead, he just dragged me to the family hall of ancestors. “Tell me,” Adrian’s voice was shaking uncontrollably. “Why did you go after Penny and the baby?” I placed the half-burnt photograph in front of him. “She burned this.” Suddenly, Adrian snapped. He snatched the remaining half of the photo and ripped it to shreds. “Stop lying!” he roared, his face contorted with rage and disappointment. It was the same look he’d given me years ago when Penny had her accident and he refused to believe my innocence. “Someone like you doesn’t have a shred of family feeling left in your heart!” “I’ve known it all along. You wanted the family fortune all to yourself. When you realized you couldn’t get rid of me, you decided to make sure I’d never have an heir.” “I’m done giving you chances.” He let go, and a single sheet of paper fluttered down in front of me. The disownment papers. “From this day on, we are no longer family. We split the inheritance, fifty-fifty.” I stared at him, numb, and asked, my voice barely a whisper, “You know the price of this, don’t you?” Adrian refused to look at me. He knelt ramrod-straight before our parents’ memorial tablets and, in a loud, clear voice, declared for all to hear: “The Sterling family creed is absolute. Those who break the bonds of family must endure the ninety-nine lashes!” “And I have summoned the witnesses.” His voice cracked for a moment before he continued. “As for your ninety-nine… I will take sixty-six of them for you. Consider it repayment for our childhood.” The pain in my heart was so intense it was a physical thing, but I let none of it show on my face. My body was failing, but I forced myself into a posture of pure, biting contempt. “Fine by me. I couldn’t be happier.” The barbed whip fell. By the tenth lash, I couldn’t hold on anymore. My vision swam with red. A pain unlike anything I’d ever known ripped a sob from my throat, and I found myself crying out for our parents. In the room next to me, Adrian remained silent. He took his hundred lashes without making a sound. When the punishment was over, he limped to the doorway to look at me. He was silhouetted against the light, so he couldn’t see the blood streaming from my eyes, nose, and mouth. A sudden, disdainful scoff broke the silence. “Stop faking it, Rosalie. I’ve fought you for three years, and you’ve always bounced back. Thirty-three lashes? That’s nothing more than a scratch to you.” “I’m leaving. Good luck.” I didn’t even have the strength to give him the finger. And then, the pain vanished. In my fading vision, I saw Mom and Dad, smiling at me. At the same time, Adrian stepped outside, just in time to see Penny being forced into a police car.

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The first thing my best friend did was threaten me with our old chat logs. “Hey girlie,” she texted. “I’ve gone through three phones, but I never deleted our conversations. I was waiting for a day like today.” “Don’t you forget where you came from. You promised that if you ever made it big, you’d take care of me for life.” “So, let’s start with a new apartment. Your secrets are my insurance policy, after all.” I smiled and agreed. But even after I bought her the apartment, she leaked the chat logs anyway. She said she needed to expose my “dirt” to launch her own channel. I was cyberbullied into a deep depression and fell from a rooftop. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I decided to become a content creator. 1 “Claire, my bestie! Are you really going to do it? Start your own channel?” When I heard Lily’s familiar voice, I knew. I had been reborn. In my past life, from the moment I started creating content, Lily became exactly like all those “best friends” you see in the comments online. Just waiting for me to go viral so she could live off my success. “Our chat history is the most valuable thing we have now,” she’d said. “I won’t delete a single word. When you’re famous, this is all prime dirt.” “If you dare forget about me,” she’d joked, “your downfall will be swift. Career announced in the morning, receipts leaked by noon, and you’re canceled by evening.” At the time, I thought she was just kidding. She was my only real friend, after all. If I made it, of course she’d share in the rewards. And I did make it. I went viral, just as I’d dreamed. I treated her like family, showering her with cars, apartments, and cash. But at the absolute peak of my career, she went live and broadcast our private conversations to the world. “Claire,” she’d said, “you’ve hit the social media jackpot. Surely you won’t mind letting me get a piece of it?” “Don’t worry, I’m just using you to get my channel off the ground. Once my follower count is stable, I’ll help you clean up your image.” The moment those chats were leaked, my reputation was destroyed. The online hate was relentless. I developed severe depression and ended my life on that rooftop. But now, I’m back. This time, I looked at Lily’s excited face and smiled. “Yeah, I am. But my phone’s dead. Can I borrow yours for a sec?” She eagerly handed it over. “Of course! Use it for whatever you want.” “What’s mine is yours!” she chirped. “Just don’t forget me when you’re famous!” I took her phone, found my own contact, and opened our chat. Then, I deleted the entire history. Lily sprang up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Claire! What are you doing?!” I handed the phone back to her, my face a mask of innocence. “Oh my god, Lily, I’m so sorry. My hand slipped.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t anything important anyway. Deleted is deleted.” Lily fumbled with the phone, her face paling. “What do you mean, not important? That was years of my hard work!” “If you get famous, those were my leverage.” I fought back a cold laugh and wrapped my arm around her shoulder affectionately. “Lily, what’s all this talk about leverage? You’re my one and only bestie. You think I could ever forget you?” She seemed to calm down, her expression softening. She took my arm in return. “I knew you were the best. Then it’s settled. I’m your number one.” My number one? Heh. A backstabbing snake like you? You like launching your career by tearing others down? This time, just watch how I ruin you. 2 Back home, I immediately started filming my first video. I already had the experience of going viral once; recreating my own path to fame wouldn’t be hard. After posting my first transition video, the likes hit over 10,000 that same night. Lily saw it and messaged me instantly. “Claire, your video has 10k likes! I have a feeling you’re about to blow up!” “So, listen, I saw this bag today… maybe you could just buy it for me?” “I mean, with numbers like these, it’s like a small advance on your future earnings, right?” Before I could even reply, she sent a payment link. I clicked it. The bag was nearly five thousand dollars. Just like last time, the moment she saw a flicker of success, she was already demanding her cut. I didn’t reply. I didn’t pay. Late that night, another message came through. “Claire, long night. Wanna see some… spicy videos?” My guard went up immediately. She realized the old chat logs were gone and was now trying to manufacture new dirt. This time, I was smarter. I replied with two simple words. “Not interested.” But Lily persisted, sending a flurry of links. “I’ve vetted all of these. Total eye candy!” “All top-tier guys. You’re missing out if you don’t look~” Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with a girl enjoying a little eye candy. But for a public figure, it’s a liability. In my past life, all of our private, girl-talk moments became tools she used to climb on top of my ruin. My face was grim as I typed back. “Lily, I don’t watch that stuff. Please don’t send it to me again.” She sent back a string of question marks. “Claire, who are you kidding? You used to beg me for this stuff.” “What, one viral video and suddenly you’re a saint? Give me a break.” Her wording was clever. I thought for a moment before replying. “Lily, how could you think that of me?” “When have we ever gone out to eat and I didn’t pay? When you were sick in the middle of the night, didn’t I drive across town to take you to the hospital?” “I’ve never done you wrong. This aggressive attitude of yours is honestly breaking my heart.” Checkmate. Furious, she called me. “Claire, are you insane?” I suppressed my anger and quietly started a voice recording on my other phone. “What’s wrong, Lily? Why are you so angry?” Her shrill voice pierced my ear. “Are you on something? What’s with this saintly act? Have you read the crap you just sent me? Are you possessed?” “And you didn’t buy me the bag I sent you. Didn’t you promise you’d take care of me when you got famous?” “Don’t you forget where you came from.” I faked a sob. “Lily, I’ve had one video do well. I don’t even have a brand deal yet. Where would I get the money?” “You have savings, don’t you? You can afford a five-thousand-dollar bag.” I laid it on thick, playing the victim. “But if I buy you the bag, I won’t have enough money for food.” “You’re so cruel. How could you do this to me?” Lily was losing her patience. “You’ll be earning way more soon! A single brand deal is worth tens of thousands.” I made sure to reinforce my own persona. “Well, even then, I’d have to choose carefully. I can’t just take shady sponsorships.” She blurted out, “Pfft! You and your high horse. If I got famous, I’d take any ad that paid. Money is money!” Hearing that, I was incredibly grateful I had hit record. Seeing that her guilt trip wasn’t working, Lily backed off. “Fine. You’re just starting out, it’s not easy. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” “But the second you land a sponsorship, I’m coming to collect.” 3 After that first taste of viral success, Lily pestered me daily to post new content. This time, I was planning to recreate the video that had garnered tens of millions of likes in my past life, so the prep work took longer. She was impatient. “Ugh, you could post anything and it would go viral. Who takes half a month to make one video?” “At this rate, I’ll be waiting forever for you to support me!” I ignored her and stuck to my own schedule. Three days later, the video was finally edited and ready. The moment I hit “post,” a wave of relief washed over me. After two weeks of exhausting work, I could finally get a good night’s sleep. The next morning, I was woken up by a barrage of calls from Lily. “Claire! Why are you still sleeping? You’ve blown up! Do you know?” “Your video got 5 million likes overnight! You have over a million followers now!” Her voice was electric with excitement. “You’re a real influencer now! You can’t have any more excuses to say no to me!” “Okay, here’s the plan. First, you’re buying me that bag. Then this afternoon, I’m going to go look at cars. What do you think?” I cut off her greedy monologue by hanging up. The next second, I moved her contact to my block list. Phew. The relief was incredible. After I blocked her, she started trying to contact me through our mutual friends. I told them to stay out of it, that it was between me and Lily. One of them messaged me, “Lily says if you don’t respond, she’s going to expose you. She’s saying you forgot your friends the second you got famous.” “She claims she has a lot of dirt on you and that you should watch yourself.” I’d deleted everything. What dirt could she possibly have? She was bluffing. To my surprise, that evening, I stumbled upon Lily’s livestream. The title was: [Spill the Tea! My Influencer Bestie Got Famous and Ditched Me!] For whatever reason, she wasn’t showing her face, hiding behind a virtual avatar mask. “I’m just here to give a warning today,” she said to the camera. “To a certain someone who forgot where she came from. Don’t force me to leak the receipts!” Viewers poured into the stream, the audience growing by the second. The chat was on fire. [Who is it? Can you just drop the name?] [I bet it’s that new girl who just blew up. I saw one of her videos, she looked shady!] [I’m staying neutral. I get burned every time I pick a side in these things.] [Spit it out! If you don’t name names, I’m calling it fake.] Lily waved a dismissive hand. “We were friends for a long time. I don’t want to be too cruel.” “I just hope she sees this stream and has a change of heart. And maybe unblocks me.” The keyboard warriors went wild. [What? Blocked you after getting famous? If my bestie did that, I’d slap her into next week!] [She was never your real friend. You were the first person she cut off when she made it.] [Your ‘bestie’ is probably so high on her main character energy she doesn’t know which way is up.] [If my friend did that to me, I wouldn’t just leak dirt. I’d ruin her so badly she could never make a comeback.] I used to read comments like these and laugh. Now I knew the truth: the first person to resent your success is often the one closest to you. The moment you stop catering to their every whim, they accuse you of changing, of forgetting them. They take the trust you gave them and turn it into a weapon, hoping to bleed you dry for the rest of your life. Lily continued her performance, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “I was with her through everything, through her toughest times. Now that she’s finally made it, I just… I can’t bring myself to hurt her.” The chat erupted in sympathy. [Girls are always too kind. Your friend treats you like this and you’re still protecting her!] [OMG, be my bestie! If I got famous, I’d spoil you rotten.] [Don’t be so soft! You have to expose toxic people like her!] Lily sighed dramatically. “I know, I’m just too soft-hearted.” “If I wasn’t, I’d be dropping all her secrets right now. She has a closet full of skeletons!” I was getting angrier by the second. I switched to my burner account and typed in the chat. [How do we know any of this is real?] [You’re probably just using this drama to launch your own channel!] A few other viewers still had their wits about them. [Yeah, where’s the proof? It’s just you talking to a camera. You could be making it all up.] [Show the receipts or we’re out. I’ve got other drama to catch up on.] [I got played by someone like this last time. I’m not saying a word until I see proof.] But many were completely on Lily’s side. [She already said she doesn’t want to ruin her! What more do you vultures want?] [You’re defending her friend so much, you’re probably the friend herself, aren’t you?] [Big enough to block someone, but too scared to show up on your main account?] [My heart breaks for you, girl. Getting blocked by your ungrateful bestie and still trying to protect her, only to have these people demand proof.] That was the last straw. I pulled Lily out of my block list and sent her a message. What the hell do you think you’re doing? On the livestream, Lily picked up her phone and gasped theatrically. “Oh my god, you guys! My bestie just unblocked me!” “Do you think she’s watching the stream?” The chat flew by. [Was that commenter from before actually her?] [What did she say? Did she apologize?] [Don’t forgive her just like that! She’s not sorry, she’s just scared of her career being ruined!] [Exactly! We support you! Don’t back down!] Lily gave a bitter smile. “You want to know what she said to me?” She covered my profile picture with her thumb and held the phone up for everyone to see. “My ‘bestie’ is demanding to know what the hell I think I’m doing.” As she spoke, tears started to stream down her face. “I thought our friendship of over ten years was unbreakable. That we were more like sisters. But I guess I was the only one who felt that way.” “To her, I was just someone she could throw away the second she got famous.” The chat filled with messages of comfort. [Baby, don’t cry. She’s not worth it.] [You’re so much prettier than her anyway. You should make your own content, you’d be way more successful. I’m your first fan!] [Even after all this, you still didn’t drop her name. You’re such a good person. My heart hurts for you.] [+1. We can’t let ungrateful people succeed. We’ll make you the next big thing!] Lily sniffled, her voice thick with fake emotion. “I’m going to end the stream here for tonight. I need to go talk to her.” “I’ll see you all next time, guys.” She even teased her next stream, a clear ploy to gain followers. Her desperation to be famous was practically leaking through the screen.

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My mother was once a celebrated actress, bathed in the glow of the spotlight. But when my father’s first love returned from overseas, that glow soured, and the world branded my mother a homewrecker who had schemed her way to the top. She divorced my father and abandoned the career she cherished. Everyone said it was karma, that she was finally getting what she deserved. But it wasn’t until after she died, when five videos she recorded before her death dominated the trending topics, that the truth finally began to claw its way into the light. 1 “Julie Whitlock is dead!” The exclamation ripped through the classroom chatter. The guy in front of me was staring at his phone, his face a mask of shock. I had been dozing, my head pillowed on my arms, but the sudden crescendo of noise jolted me awake. I lifted my head, blinking, and saw my classmates clustered together, their faces lit by the blue light of their screens, buzzing with excitement. Class wouldn’t start for another few minutes. I glanced at my watch, stretched languidly, and, mimicking the others, pulled out my own phone. The words blazing across the top of the screen froze the air in my lungs. “Whoa, even the class hermit is rocked by this news,” the guy in front of me said, turning around. “I guess it makes sense. Julie Whitlock was famously shameless. A homewrecker who bullied her way through every set. Who’d have thought someone like her would kill herself?” “Guilt, probably,” someone else chimed in. “Everyone knows she stole Director Marsh’s first love and basically forced her out of the country for years.” “But she retired, right? Why commit suicide now?” “I don’t know. Karma’s a bitch, I guess.” The discussion spiraled, their voices a chaotic symphony of speculation. The chirping gossip inside and the deafening drone of cicadas outside scorched my sanity. The sweltering summer air seemed to warp the world around me, bending it into a grotesque funhouse mirror. I sat frozen, silent. Beneath the desk, my hands clenched into fists so tight my nails bit deep into my palms, drawing blood. The shameless woman they were dissecting, Julie Whitlock… She was my mother. 2 My mother was the youngest actress to ever win the prestigious Golden Iris Award. She was also, by all accounts, the bravest. She was twenty-eight when she accepted the award, and on that very same night, during her acceptance speech, she announced her marriage to my father. The move was polarizing. Her fanbase hemorrhaged overnight. But it also earned her a wave of admiration. People called her genuine, spirited, a woman who lived by her own rules. As a celebrated screenwriter and an award-winning actress, their love story became the stuff of Hollywood legend. After I was born, my mother didn’t slow down. She dove back into her work with a ferocious passion, and with my father’s unwavering support, she collected awards like they were sea shells on a beach. Directors lined up, desperate to catch a ride on her rising star. Among them was the woman who would ultimately be the architect of my mother’s downfall. Lydia Marsh. Like my mother, she was a titan in her field. After studying film abroad, she made a name for herself with a unique and powerful visual language, racking up international awards while still in her youth. At the time, everyone believed a collaboration between Lydia and my mother would be a historic event, a bridge between domestic and international cinema. But then, a single piece of gossip shattered the calm. 3 Fame, reputation, the court of public opinion—they are all a double-edged sword. When you’re on top, everyone is your friend. But when you fall, they’re the ones pushing you down. During the theatrical run of their film, First Love, a rumor about my father, Graham Thorne, and the director, Lydia Marsh, began to spread like wildfire. The story was that the film’s protagonists, tragically separated by a cruel twist of fate, were based on them. And the villain of the piece, the malicious rival who spread lies, bullied the heroine, and drove her from her home? That was my mother, Julie Whitlock. The rumor was a cancer, a creeping rot that ate away at the public’s reason. Soon, the admiration for a young, brilliant actress curdled into a morbid curiosity, a collective hunger to see someone who had soared so high be torn from the sky, broken and bleeding. A flawless saint is admirable, but a twisted, fallen angel is far more entertaining. I was only five at the time, but I could feel the atmosphere in our home shift, growing heavy and cold. There was nothing I could do. I could only watch as my mother’s spirit frayed, as she wasted away, becoming a ghost of her former self. I thought, with the naivete of a child, that the storm would pass, that time would wash the scandal from public memory. But a few months later, the news of my parents’ divorce pierced my world. 4 Due to her “deteriorating mental state,” the court deemed my mother unfit to raise me. My father took me to his new home. And just like that, Lydia Marsh became my stepmother. She was much as I’d imagined. She wore rimless glasses and favored loose, bohemian-style linen shirts. At first glance, she projected an aura of gentle, intellectual warmth. But when I looked at her, all I could see was the hidden mass of an iceberg, the vast, deadly bulk of it concealed beneath a placid surface. The scandal had an unintended side effect: First Love shattered box-office records. Lydia Marsh became a household name. Meanwhile, the negative press about my mother became a relentless deluge. Bullying actors, sordid affairs, trading favors for roles, diva-like behavior on set—a torrent of accusations, some true, some fabricated, all stuck to her name like tar. In those days, you could say anything you wanted about Julie Whitlock, and the world would nod in agreement, adding their own poison to the pot. I never felt comfortable in my new home. I would wake from nightmares, crying out for my real mother. Whenever this happened, my father’s face would harden. He would grip my shoulders, forcing me to meet his cold, unwavering gaze. “Cassia,” he would say, his voice low and final. “Listen to me. From now on, Lydia is your mother.” “But she’s not—” “Quiet!” My father wasn’t a man given to smiles, but he wasn’t prone to anger either. In my memory, he was always calm, unflappable, a man of few emotional waves. The sudden, sharp command startled the protest from my lips. I never dared to speak of it again. My intuition, a child’s unerring compass, screamed at me. None of this was normal. And there was a secret buried at the heart of it all, a secret I knew I must never, ever touch. 5 After the divorce, I hardly ever saw my mother. The only glimpses I got of her were through the cruel filter of the internet. She held a press conference. She admitted to everything. On camera, her hair was neatly combed, her clothes impeccable, but the raw, bloodshot state of her eyes betrayed the hell she’d been living through. Assailed by a barrage of questions from reporters, she announced her retirement from acting. The announcement was like throwing meat to sharks. The public, seizing the opportunity, launched into one final, brutal character assassination. And then, buried under an avalanche of condemnation, the name Julie Whitlock vanished from the world. Until fifteen years later, when the news of her death dragged her back into the spotlight. “Cassia? You’re not even listening. This is huge… Hey, class is about to start. Where are you going?” Ignoring the voice calling after me, I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the classroom. On the way home, I called my father again and again, but every call went straight to voicemail. I tried Lydia, but her phone was switched off. A strange tide of unease washed over me. I tried to steady my hammering heart as I pushed open the front door to my house. “Cassia, shouldn’t you be at school—” I didn’t let Lydia finish. I brushed past her, my eyes scanning the house for my father. I pushed open the door to the conservatory, and the cloying scent of flowers hit me like a physical blow. I wrinkled my nose and stepped inside, searching. Finally, I saw him. He was resting in a wicker rocking chair, bathed in a sliver of sunlight pouring through the glass panes. “My mother is dead,” I said, my voice flat. “Your mother is outside, preparing lunch.” “You know that’s not who I mean.” I was ready to argue, but he opened his eyes. He looked me up and down, a slow, deliberate appraisal. Then he stood, and his hand shot out, clamping down on my shoulder like a vice. “Cassia Thorne,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Your mother is standing right behind you.” My body went rigid. I turned my head, a slow, mechanical movement. Lydia was there, a smile plastered on her face. The dappled shadows of leaves danced across her features, twisting her expression into something grotesque and alien. The sunlight sliced the conservatory into geometric shapes of light and dark. He stood in the light, she stood in the shadow, and I was trapped on the line between them. 6 In the age of information, waves of public interest crest and crash with bewildering speed. A week later, my mother’s death was old news, forgotten by the masses. Just as before, no matter what I tried, I couldn’t pry a single piece of information about her from my father or Lydia. Our house was an island, completely cut off from anything related to Julie Whitlock. My questions and frustrations festered with no outlet. On the night that marked a week since her death, I snuck out into the backyard. I was going to light a candle for her, a small, secret vigil. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the chime of my phone. A flood of notifications poured in, and my mother’s name once again commanded my attention. The trending topics were dominated by hashtags: #JulieWhitlockVideo, #JulieWhitlockResurrected, #JulieWhitlock, #SchoolBullying. My fingers shaking, I tapped on the first one. My mother’s official social media account, dormant for over a decade, had just posted a video. The footage was grainy, clearly old. In the video, a girl with a high ponytail was on the ground, her clothes disheveled. Two pairs of feet were visible, relentlessly kicking and stomping on her body. After a moment of brutal violence and muffled sobs, a figure in the same school uniform emerged from behind the camera. She stepped forward, gently caressed the crying girl’s cheek, and then, in a swift, vicious motion, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the floor. The sound was a sickening crack. The screen went black just before the blood could stain the lens. The mysterious video sparked a firestorm online. The shocking content, the timing of the post, the fact that it came from a dead woman’s account—any one of these elements would have been enough to fuel days of frantic speculation. But as I watched it, a chill that had nothing to do with the night air crept down my spine. Others might be confused by the blurry footage. But I wasn’t. I would know that silhouette anywhere. The figure who emerged at the end, the one who delivered that final, brutal blow… that was my mother. 7 A dead woman posting videos from beyond the grave became the internet’s new obsession. Phone in hand, I found my father and shoved the screen in his face. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who this is.” He was sitting under the small locust tree in the conservatory. He gave the screen a dismissive glance. The harsh sunlight glinted off his glasses, obscuring his eyes, but I could see his hands, tending to the plant, never once faltering. “Cassia, you should be in school.” “Then you need to tell me what’s going on. Why would Mom’s account suddenly post a video like this with no context? People aren’t stupid. It won’t take them long to figure out—” “Do you think,” he interrupted, his voice calm, “that what the person in that video did was right?” The unexpected question stopped me cold. My father stood up, his body blocking the sun. He reached past me and picked up a Blu-ray case from the table. It was Lydia’s masterpiece, First Love. The cover art was famous: it didn’t show the faces of the stars, only their backs as they stood in a swirling snowstorm, facing a warmly lit phone booth. Critics had called it a symbol of missed connections and eventual reunion. I didn’t understand why he was showing it to me now. “Of course it wasn’t right. But at a time like this, a video like this—” “Then should they have repented?” His voice was hoarse, his brow deeply furrowed. “Dad, what are you hiding from me?” My question seemed to pull him back to reality. He picked up the Blu-ray case, polished it absently with his thumb, and then pressed it into my hand. “That’s enough. Don’t overthink it. Go get some rest.” 8 I was certain my father was hiding something. But getting the truth from him right now was clearly impossible. I spent hours online, digging through archives, searching for anything related to my mother’s high school years. She was always a perfectionist. Even after deciding to pursue acting, she never let her grades slip. Her name and photo were regulars on the school’s honor roll. In the photos, she wore a crisp white shirt, her shoulder-length hair neatly styled. She looked every bit the model student. Beneath one picture was a quote she had chosen as her personal motto at seventeen. “Despair is not an option. And so, farewell.” It was a line from a Sylvia Plath poem. It felt jarringly out of place. As I scrolled through the school’s archived website, a familiar name in a small information box caught my eye. Lydia Marsh. She had founded a photography club with a few other students. One of their projects had even won a local award. And my mother… had joined the club in the second semester of her junior year. I’d already suspected that Lydia and my mother knew each other from way back, given the whole “first love” scandal, but I never imagined they were in the same club in high school. If that bullying video was real, could Lydia have been involved? Could one of the two pairs of kicking feet at the beginning have belonged to her? And did their secret have something to do with my father? Who was the girl being beaten? And did any of this have to do with my mother’s death? Staring at the list of photography club members, I was lost in a labyrinth of questions. 9 “Cassia? Were you looking for me?” Lydia stopped adjusting the lens on her camera and turned to me, a warm smile on her face. “Yeah.” I pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. She seemed completely at ease, nodding as if she were ready to give me her full attention. My fingers tightened around the recording pen in my pocket. I took a deep breath and showed her the video on my phone. She took the phone, her expression unchanging as she watched. When it finished, her gaze shifted back to me. “That was just something I shot for fun in high school,” she said lightly. “You could say it was my first real foray into filmmaking.” “The girl in it… the main one… that was my mother, wasn’t it?” “Yes.” She admitted it so readily that it threw me off balance. Perhaps a flicker of my confusion showed on my face, because a small, knowing smile touched her lips. “Cassia, are you curious about Julie? About your mother?” The tables had turned. She was now the one in control, and I didn’t know how to respond. She stood up, walked behind me, and placed a glass of lemonade on the table before resting her hands gently on my shoulders. “We were the best of friends in high school. Inseparable. We even made a pact: I would become the world’s greatest director, and she would be the world’s greatest actress.” She let out a soft sigh. “Unfortunately, Julie… she always had a terrible temper. You saw the video. She couldn’t handle it when another girl was cast as the lead in the school play instead of her. So she took it out on her.” “The girl in the video?” Lydia’s hands squeezed my shoulders gently. “Yes. The incident got pretty big, and our little club was quietly disbanded. After that, our ideals no longer aligned. We drifted apart.” Her answers were so direct, her story so logical. I replayed it in my mind, searching for a crack, a flaw in the narrative, but found none. I must have been silent for too long, because Lydia circled around and knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “I know this is hard to accept, Cassia. Your father didn’t tell you any of this for all these years because he didn’t want to hurt you.” “What happened to the girl who was bullied?” I asked, my voice flat. Lydia’s grip on my hands tightened for a fraction of a second. She lowered her head, her expression unreadable, and sighed again. “She died.”

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