Category: English

After our daughter’s suicide, my husband threw a party with his friends to cheer me up. After a few rounds of drinks, his childhood friend, Misty, suggested we play a game of “Never Have I Ever.” The rules were simple: if you haven’t done the thing someone says, you fold down a finger. The first person to fold down all five fingers loses. Misty went five times in a row. I lost every single round. And in doing so, I finally learned the real reason my daughter was dead. I smiled, saying nothing as I pulled a revolver and a single bullet from my handbag. “Now,” I said. “Let’s play a new game.” 1 It was supposed to be a gathering to help me heal, to comfort me in the suffocating grief of losing my child. That all changed the moment Misty walked in. The door to the private lounge flew open, and she breezed in like a storm. “Sorry I’m late! I’ll down three shots to make up for it!” Without even a glance in my direction, she slid into the booth right next to my husband, Ryan, and draped an arm around his neck. Ryan didn’t push her away. Misty bit the cap off a beer bottle with her teeth, then pressed her lips to his, pouring the entire bottle into his mouth. She tilted her head, her eyes locking with mine over the top of the bottle. “This is how the big boys drink. You don’t mind, do you, Lena?” Our friends exchanged nervous glances. I, his wife, said nothing. I had been a statue since I’d arrived, my hands frozen on the handbag in my lap. My silence seemed to be a relief to the others, who quickly raised their glasses and started challenging Misty to drinking games. A few rounds later, Misty’s cheeks were flushed. She swayed slightly, a sly smile on her face. “You know what? We should play a game.” She held up five fingers. “I’ll say something I’ve done. If you haven’t done it, you fold one finger down. First one with all five fingers down loses and has to take a shot.” Everyone’s interest was piqued. They all held up their hands, a circle of open palms. It was as if they had completely forgotten why we were here in the first place. Misty, as the instigator, went first. She flicked her wrist, showing off a glittering sapphire bracelet. Her voice, sickly sweet, filled the room. “This is a Hawthorne family heirloom. Supposed to be passed down only to the daughter-in-law.” She shot a look at Ryan. “But my Ry-Ry stole it from his mom and gave it to me back in high school! I bet none of you have one of these, right?” The room fell silent. Everyone looked at me, the air thick with embarrassment. I stared at the bracelet, a vague sense of recognition stirring. It took me a long moment to place it. I had once asked Ryan to use a matching photo for our social media profile pictures. He’d refused, and it had turned into a massive fight, one where he’d even threatened to break up. We made up, but we never spoke of it again. The picture he had refused to change, the one he held onto so fiercely, was of a hand wearing that exact sapphire bracelet. I lowered my eyes to the plain gold band on my own ring finger and slowly, deliberately, folded down my thumb. I said nothing. Someone tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Misty, you’re always over at Lena’s place. You two are like sisters. Give us some real secrets!” Misty laughed. “Of course! Lena and I are thick as thieves. I even made her a special turtle soup once! Bet none of you have done that!” A friend immediately jeered. “No way! You, a tomboy, know how to cook?” She lifted her chin smugly. “Tossing a few things in a pot isn’t rocket science. It’s nothing compared to the hard work a man does out in the world.” My mind, rusted and slow, began to turn. After a long moment, my lips parted. “What turtle soup?” I had never had any soup made by Misty. The friends nudged her, teasing. “Aha! You’re cheating just to win!” Misty’s eyes narrowed into a grin. Her voice dropped, but every word was crystal clear. “It was when Lena was three months pregnant with her first. I was just learning to cook, so I made her a special tonic. A wild pheasant and turtle soup.” The moment she spoke, the phantom scent of something thick and cloying filled my nostrils. A sticky, medicinal odor mixed with the metallic tang of blood, piercing the deepest part of my memory. I remembered my first pregnancy. Ryan had brought me a bowl of murky, black liquid, telling me it was good for my health. I’d spooned up a small, hard piece, like a fragment of a shell. Before I could ask what it was, Ryan had snatched it and thrown it in the trash. He held the spoon to my lips. “Misty made this especially for you. Don’t be picky.” I had touched my slightly swelling belly and obediently opened my mouth, finishing the entire bowl. Not a drop was left. That night, a dull ache started in my abdomen. By the time I realized what was happening, blood had soaked through the bedsheets. In the emergency room, the doctor shook his head. He said I’d consumed too many “cooling” foods. The baby was gone. The moment I was off the operating table, my mother-in-law’s hand cracked across my face. She called me a gluttonous, stupid pig who couldn’t even protect her own child. But from the day I found out I was pregnant, I checked the ingredients of every cookie I ate. How could I have been so careless? When I got home from the hospital, I searched the house like a madwoman. I tasted sauces, spices, freezer-burned meat from the back of the fridge, even the water in the toilet tank. I swallowed everything. If I threw it up, I forced it back down. Everyone said I had lost my mind. But I just needed to know. I needed to know what I had eaten that had turned my developing child into a piece of dead flesh. I lifted my eyes and stared at Misty’s triumphant face. And now, I finally understood. It was never about what I ate. It was about who I trusted. 2 Slowly, I raised my hand and folded down a second finger. Misty saw my movement and choked on her drink, then nudged Ryan with her elbow. “Look! Lena’s reacting! You can thank me later!” Ryan just smiled and ruffled her hair, his voice dripping with indulgence. “Go easy on the drinks. You’re always the one with the crazy ideas.” He turned his head slightly, and his voice drifted over, quiet but clear. “If you can actually snap her back to her old self, I’ll owe you one.” My own voice was as flat and cold as a frozen lake. “Continue.” Misty let out a drunken hiccup, her eyes glazed over, her smile widening into a manic grin. “Okay, one time, I swapped out Ryan’s vitamin pills with Viagra!” The booth exploded. “Holy shit, Misty! You’re savage!” “What kind of move is that?!” Ryan froze for a second, then gave a weary smile and tapped her forehead with his finger. “When was this? How do I not remember this?” Misty playfully punched his shoulder, slumping into his arms. “It was at the villa party three years ago! You were complaining to me, remember? You said Lena was pregnant and you were going crazy. I was just trying to help you out!” She winked, her voice rising. “Don’t thank me too much for creating an opportunity for you!” Ryan’s head snapped up. His eyes met mine, and the smile on his face froze. “You’re drunk! Stop talking nonsense!” I lowered my head, my hand instinctively pressing against my lower stomach. The memories flooded back like a hemorrhage, thick and suffocating. Three years ago, in early autumn, I was pregnant with our second child. Overjoyed at this second chance, I agreed when Ryan wanted to throw a party at a rented villa. That day, balloons hanging from the ceiling popped, showering me in a cascade of pink petals. It was a girl. I cried with joy, a joy that was immediately followed by a wave of intense fear. I had learned my lesson. This time, I barely left my bed. I was meticulous about what I ate. I spent my nights online, ordering every adorable baby item I could find, dreaming of my daughter in her tiny dresses. Then Ryan had burst into the room. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged, his skin burning hot. I fought him, screaming, begging him to stop. “My daughter! There’s a baby inside me!” In the chaos and the tearing pain, I thought I heard a tiny, faint cry, as if my daughter was saying goodbye. I was rushed to the hospital again. D&C, induced labor. The feeling of that small life being scraped from my womb. When I woke up, Ryan was sitting by my bed, peeling an apple. “Thank God it was just a girl,” he said. “Don’t worry. The doctor said there was no permanent damage. You can still have more.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I snatched the fruit knife from his hand and lunged, stabbing him with all my strength. Once, twice… I lost count, my arm moving mechanically until someone finally pulled me off him. My mother-in-law’s slap came immediately after, so hard it perforated my eardrum. “It’s a wife’s duty to relieve her husband!” she shrieked. “You can always have another baby! What if my son’s health was at risk?! It’s better than him going out and finding another woman!” Everyone crowded around, telling me to let it go. I couldn’t. All I could think about were the shipping notifications for all the baby things I had ordered. They were useless now. I was useless. I couldn’t even protect my own child. Did my daughter think I was too weak to be her mother? Is that why she left me? But she was kind. She forgave me. A few weeks later, she came back to me, a third miracle inside my womb. This time, I took no chances. I had myself committed to a psychiatric ward, demanding to be placed in a fully padded, isolated room. It was stark white and terrifyingly quiet. But I wasn’t afraid. I could feel her moving inside me. I knew she was still there, keeping me company. On the day she was born, I was delirious, unable to tell sunrise from sunset. Just before I lost consciousness completely, I heard her loud, healthy cry. I wept. All the pent-up anguish, all the terror, came pouring out. I named her Grace. Not because she was a gift from heaven. But because she was a gift from my kind daughter, to her useless, despairing mother. The greatest grace I would ever know. “Wow! Lena’s smiling! She’s actually smiling!” Misty’s shrill voice yanked me from my memories. I subconsciously touched the corner of my mouth. It was true. It was turned upward. Just the thought of Grace could always soothe my fractured soul. Ryan let out a visible sigh of relief, his body sinking into the sofa cushions. Misty clapped her hands in excitement. “You’re definitely going to lose, Lena! The best is yet to come!” 3 Obediently, I folded down my third finger. Misty started to speak again, but Ryan covered her mouth. “She’s had too much to drink. I’m taking her home.” The others eyed my expression and offered weak, placating smiles. But Misty wouldn’t have it. She pried his hand away and yelled, “Nobody’s leaving! I’m not done yet!” She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. “We’re all here for Lena today! Haven’t you noticed she hasn’t moved an inch? I’d like to see who dares to be rude enough to leave!” Ryan turned to me, his brow furrowed, his tone laced with blame. “Haven’t you had enough fun yet? Lena, how long do you expect everyone to coddle you?” I clutched my handbag tighter and lifted my head, truly looking at him for the first time all night. “It’s not enough.” Misty triumphantly pinched Ryan’s behind. “See? Now sit down!” Ryan playfully tapped her nose, but his voice softened. “If she’s in a bad mood, just let her be. You’re too soft-hearted, always getting involved.” Misty pouted. “Women are sensitive creatures, you know.” The others looked around awkwardly, saying nothing. Misty deliberately lowered her voice and dropped her next bomb. “Okay, next one! I’ve worn a horror mask while driving on the freeway!” Ryan’s face changed instantly. He instinctively shifted to shield Misty, his eyes darting toward me warily. “She was just playing around that time! It was an accident that she scared Grace.” “And Grace was fine afterward, wasn’t she? Don’t you dare make a big deal out of it again!” Grace… was fine? The memory clawed its way to the surface. Our family was on a road trip with some of Ryan’s friends. In the back seat, Grace was quietly drawing with her crayons. She never cried, never fussed. It was as if she understood my fragile state and never wanted to cause me trouble. Even when she had a fever and threw up, the first words out of her mouth were “I’m sorry.” My Grace was a shy, gentle soul, kind to her very core. I smiled and asked her what she was drawing. She whispered that it was a secret, shyly turning her face to the window. Suddenly, all the color drained from her face. She let out the most bloodcurdling scream I have ever heard. I whipped my head around. In the passenger seat of the car driving parallel to us, a monstrous, grotesque face was pressed against the window, grinning at us. Ryan jerked the steering wheel. The car spun out of control, crashing into the guardrail. The world turned upside down. My head was bleeding, but I fought through the pain, stretching my hand desperately toward the back seat. My Grace, my tiny daughter, was crushed by the mangled seats, contorted into a small ball, looking so much like the embryo she once was in my womb. Her coloring book had fallen into a pool of her blood. On the page, drawn with clumsy, earnest crayon strokes, was the smiling face of a woman. Next to it, she had scrawled, “Mommy.” She was only three years old. And she already knew how to draw her mommy. I smiled, but tears streamed down my face, a sound like a broken accordion wheezing from my throat. The drawing was eventually soaked through with blood and fell apart. And from that day on, my Grace never spoke again. She would hide in her closet, and the slightest sound would make her tremble violently. The doctor who had saved me from the brink so many times just looked at me with deep sorrow and finally said, “As long as she’s alive, that’s what matters.” I never heard my daughter call me “Mommy” again. It was my punishment. A punishment for my stupidity, for never understanding what I had done so wrong that my own daughter couldn’t bear to be near me. My fingernails dug into my palm, and blood trickled through my fingers. Misty’s laughter was a sharp, grating sound. She was snuggled into Ryan’s arms, poking his chest with her finger. “Come on, Ry-Ry, so I gave you all a little scare. Nobody got hurt in the end, right?” “Besides,” she added, “to make it up to her, I even took Grace to a haunted house to help her get over her fears!” 4 I looked at my hand. Only my little finger was left standing. On the back of that finger, I had a tattoo of a little sun Grace had drawn. People say getting a tattoo on your finger is the most painful. That’s not pain. Pain is watching your daughter leap from the roof of a hospital. That is a pain that guts you. The fear, the despair she must have felt. One day, Grace had disappeared. I had searched the entire city like a madwoman. When I finally dragged myself back to the hospital, defeated, I saw her. She was standing between Ryan and Misty, holding both of their hands. The three of them looked like a perfect family. I noticed how pale Grace’s face was. I rushed over and pulled her into a tight hug, terrified I was about to lose her all over again. Misty bent down and stroked Grace’s hair, smiling. “Lena, Grace is talking to you. See? My treatment plan worked.” I numbly touched my deafened right ear, blaming myself for not hearing. Just then, Grace leaned in close to my left ear. I heard a tiny, fragile whisper. “Mommy, I love you.” I looked up at Ryan, my face flooded with astonished joy. He told me Misty had taken her to an amusement park. He said that after their day out, she had started talking again. In that moment, an overwhelming wave of gratitude washed over me. I treated Misty like a sister, even buying her a multi-million-dollar penthouse downtown as a gift. I thought it was a new beginning for Grace. I started the paperwork to have her discharged from the hospital. The day before she was supposed to come home, Grace disappeared again. I was frantic. Then I got a call from the hospital. They said a young girl had fallen from the roof early that morning. They couldn’t save her. I screamed into the phone, demanding to know why they were calling me. They said the girl’s name was Grace. The girl who fell, the girl who died, was my daughter. My daughter. The doctor said extreme terror had caused a complete psychotic break, triggering hallucinations. I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. I collapsed to my knees, banging my head on the floor, repenting. I had been too greedy. The doctor had told me, “As long as she’s alive, that’s what matters.” But I had dared to hope she would call me “Mommy” again. And that single word, “Mommy,” was the last thing my daughter ever gave me. She was gone. I sat up straight and silently folded down my last finger. “Yay! Lena loses! Drink up, drink up!” Misty excitedly pushed a glass of hard liquor in front of me. I ignored it. I stood up and placed the handbag I had been gripping so tightly onto the table. I smiled as I pulled out a revolver. “Now, I’d like to play a different game.” The room fell dead silent. I closed one eye, the barrel of the gun held steady, aimed directly at Misty’s now ashen face. Ryan shot to his feet, his voice cracking with terror. “Lena! Are you insane?! Put the gun down!” I waved the gun slightly, my eyes empty of any warmth. “This was meant for me.” “But now I see it’s much better suited for a game.” The barrel shifted slightly, now pointing right between Ryan’s eyes. “Or perhaps…” I whispered, my voice a silken threat. “You’d like to play?” He froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He stopped breathing. My voice was a mere breath. “Choose. Him, or you?”

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After my death, my husband didn’t avenge me. He fell in love with my killer. He spoiled her rotten. They spent their nights lost in passion. Once, when she casually mentioned my name, Sebastian’s voice turned to ice. “Why bring up a dead woman? It’s morbid.” Ally smiled, pleased. She thought Sebastian had truly forgotten me. She didn’t know that the man who came to her bed each night, the man who let her believe she was driving him wild, was a stranger—a madman, a fool paid to play a part. And Sebastian watched from the shadows, filming everything. Then, at her son’s christening, he played the tape for the world to see. 1 “Congratulations, Mrs. Croft. You’re pregnant.” The doctor’s words sent a wave of pure ecstasy through me. Sebastian and I had been married for ten years, and the childless ache in my heart had been my greatest sorrow. Now, the dream was real. I reached for my phone, desperate to share the news with him, but before I could even dial, Ally burst into our home with her men. She shattered my phone on the floor. Her bodyguards dragged me from the bed and forced me to my knees. I instinctively curled my body, trying to shield the tiny life in my womb. Ally saw the movement. Her face twisted in a mask of rage, and she struck me across the face, her voice a venomous hiss. “You’re pregnant?” “How could a washed-up old hag like you deserve Sebastian? How dare you be his wife! How dare you carry his child!” “You should just die! If you were dead, Sebastian would finally see me. He would marry me!” “Everything would be perfect if you just died.” Her eyes were wide with a hysterical madness. I stared at her, thinking she was completely insane. I knew she was obsessed with Sebastian, and I knew she hated me. But I never imagined she would kill me. I fought, but her men were too strong. They dragged me up to the roof terrace. And then, with a light push, she sent me over the edge. There was a sickening thud. I hit the ground. Agony unlike anything I had ever known consumed me. Blood blurred my vision. I managed to turn my head, my eyes falling on the rose garden below. The buds were just beginning to open. Roses were my favorite. Sebastian had planted the entire garden himself, tending to each bush with a devotion that bordered on worship. Before he left on his business trip, he had promised me, “Elara, my love, when I get back, we’ll sit in the garden and drink tea among the roses.” Sebastian… I don’t think I can keep that promise. I tried to keep my eyes open, tried to cling to life, but the fall was too far. The pain was too much. I just wanted to sleep for a little while. Just until the hurting stopped. 2 Perhaps my death was too unjust, because my soul didn’t scatter. It drifted away from our home, through the crowds and the buildings, until I found myself at Sebastian’s side. He was in his office. His assistant stood before him, suit immaculate, but with a faint flush of alcohol on his cheeks. They must have just come from a business dinner. “Mr. Croft,” the assistant said, beaming. “With this new contract, our company’s cash flow is secure. I’d like to see that old bastard, Ally’s father, try to threaten you with pulling his investment now.” The Shen family. Ally’s family. One of the city’s most powerful dynasties, with money, connections, and influence that ran deep. Sebastian’s first venture fund had come from them. He had always been grateful for their trust, even giving Ally’s father a stake in the company when it took off. Only later did he realize the investment was just a tool. Ally’s father had backed him because Ally wanted him. “It’s disgusting,” the assistant continued, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re a married man, but they keep forcing you into these dinners with her. No shame at all. And when you refuse, her father conspires with other firms to cut off our supply chain. If she were such a prize, why hasn’t anyone else married her? She’s a spoiled, arrogant brat. She can’t hold a candle to your wife.” My heart, or what was left of it, clenched. Sebastian’s brow furrowed. He shot his assistant a cold look. The assistant blinked, confused, then asked, “Sir, your wife wasn’t too upset about this business trip, was she…?” Sebastian froze for a second. When he spoke, his voice was stiff. “She has a gentle nature. She doesn’t get angry with me.” The assistant’s smile was knowing. He saw right through the lie. First, my fiery temper was legendary. Second, it was no secret that we bickered constantly. Third, the assistant knew for a fact that I had kicked Sebastian out of the house after a massive fight right before he left. And the fight had been about Ally. 3 Ally had always targeted me. Last month, at my birthday party, she’d “accidentally” stumbled into me, spilling red wine all over my dress in an attempt to humiliate me. I slapped her, hard. It felt good. The next day, Sebastian hired her as the company’s chief designer. The gossip columns had a field day. That night, Sebastian and I had the worst fight of our lives. I screamed at him, accusing him of having feelings for her. I called him heartless, a coward for not defending me. I cursed myself for ever falling in love with him. He stood there and took it, not saying a word. Furious, I threw him out. He didn’t come home after that, though he still came by the house every morning to water the roses. The day before he left for his trip, he told me he’d be gone for two weeks. I turned my back on him. He sighed, then leaned in and kissed me gently. “Elara,” he whispered. “Wait for me to come back.” I had thought he was genuinely softening toward Ally. I thought he had brought her into the company because he was giving in to her. I never knew he was being blackmailed, that our company’s survival was on the line. This whole business trip was a desperate bid to find a stronger partner, to finally break free from her family’s control. I had been so wrong. “You can go now,” Sebastian said to his assistant. The man nodded and left. Sebastian pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over my name in his contacts. He hesitated for a long, long time. Finally, he began to type. Elara, is everything okay at home? He paused, listening to the rain drumming against the window. He sighed and continued. I was wrong the other day. When Ally went after you, I should have defended you, not hired her. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings. I’m sorry. There were reasons, I swear. When I get back, I’ll explain everything. I’ll fire her in front of everyone. I’ll make it up to you. I miss you so much. Only two more weeks. When I get back… can I have a kiss? 4 Reading the words over his shoulder, I felt a thousand phantom knives pierce my chest. A sharp, searing pain. I watched the small, hopeful smile play on his lips as he typed—a smile full of longing, apology, and anticipation. He was already dreaming of the moment he’d be home with me. My heart twisted violently. If I had known that would be our last goodbye, I would never have wasted it on anger. I reached out, wanting to rest my head on his shoulder. He used to hold me all the time, his embrace tight and warm. I used to tease him, this powerful CEO, for being so clingy. He would just grin. “It’s not illegal to be addicted to your wife.” But now, when I reached for him, my arms passed through empty air. I watched him read the message one last time before hitting send. He waited, his eyes fixed on the screen, expecting my reply. But the screen remained blank. He frowned slightly. He started to dial my number, then stopped himself, murmuring, “She’s probably still angry. I just need to finish this work and get home to her.” He called his assistant back in, and they threw themselves back into their work, a relentless, round-the-clock push. As night fell, the assistant went home, but Sebastian kept going, fueling himself with bitter coffee and stale bread. I watched him, a cold wind of grief howling through my soul. He was so full of hope, so eager to come home to me, to sit by the roses and read together. He didn’t know I was already dead. He would never see me again. The thought was a physical blow, hollowing me out until there was nothing left but a gaping, bleeding wound. 5 The next day, still no reply. Sebastian started to panic. He called the house landline. One of the maids answered. “The missus is having her afternoon tea.” “She says she doesn’t want to talk to you.” “She says you need to learn your lesson this time.” I could even hear my own impatient voice in the background. Ally had planned this meticulously. She had bribed the staff and was using an AI voice cloner. My fight with Sebastian had given her the perfect cover. He didn’t dare push me too hard. Even if he had demanded a video call, I’m sure she would have found a way. She fooled him completely. He told the maid to make sure I was eating properly, then hung up and went back to work. I watched him down cup after cup of black coffee. I knew he was desperate to see me. But what could I do? Sebastian, we would never see each other again. And he had no idea. That night, back in his hotel room, I watched him gently trace our picture on his phone’s wallpaper. In the dim light, the harsh lines of his face softened. He was a man who had clawed his way up from nothing. He was ruthless, calculating, and cold. But in recent years, as the company grew, he had sanded down his sharp edges, becoming polished and diplomatic. Sometimes, I worried he had changed too much, that he was no longer the man I had married. I worried, as the tabloids suggested, that his heart had strayed to the vibrant, younger Ally. The fear had taken root when he hired her right after she had publicly humiliated me. It’s why I had lost my mind, why our last conversation was a storm of ugly, hateful words. I drifted closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder, and whispered, “I was wrong about you. I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, Sebastian stopped what he was doing. I thought, for a wild second, that he had heard me. I looked up, a flicker of hope in my soul. This silence was unbearable. But then his phone rang. It was the hospital. “Hello, am I speaking with a relative of Ms. Elara Croft?” 6 “Ms. Croft came in for a check-up last week. We’re calling to confirm that she is one month pregnant.” Sebastian shot to his feet, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. He made the doctor confirm it three times. When the truth finally sank in, his eyes grew bright with unshed tears. “Mr. Croft, would you like to reserve a maternity suite for your wife?” Of course, he would. He booked the most luxurious suite, complete with 24-hour private medical care. He paid the deposit without a second thought. As soon as he hung up, he called my number. “I” answered. He was beaming, his voice overflowing with joy. “Elara, you’re pregnant! You have to be so careful. I’ve arranged for a private chef who specializes in prenatal nutrition. He’ll be at the house tomorrow. Are you feeling sick? Are you having any symptoms? Morning sickness?” The questions tumbled out of him. But the voice on the other end was calm, almost detached. “Yes, I am. I was going to surprise you when you got back. I feel fine. Everything is fine.” The voice was mine, but something was wrong. Sebastian’s smile faltered. He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Elara… do you miss me?” “I” gave a soft laugh. “Of course, I do.” Sebastian laughed too, pretending everything was normal. But the moment he ended the call, his face hardened into a mask of stone. He took a deep breath and dialed his assistant. His voice was like ice. “Book me on the first flight out tomorrow morning. I’m going home. You and the team will handle the rest.” Ally had made a mistake. She didn’t know that Sebastian never, ever called me Elara. Not in private. To him, that name was a nightmare. 7 We grew up together in an orphanage. The director was a kind, matronly woman who always called me by my full name, Elara. It was her special, loving nickname for me. Then, one night, she led me to a rich businessman’s room, smiling that same loving smile. “Her name is Elara,” she’d said. “The prettiest girl in the whole orphanage.” That was the night I learned that her love was a lie, that she was a monster who sold children. Sebastian nearly died getting me out of there. After that, the name Elara became a ghost that haunted my sleep. Sebastian knew this. He would never use it. He was testing the person on the phone. And she had failed. Sebastian was coming home. At the airport, he kept lighting up his phone screen, his eyes full of worry as he stared at my picture. A woman sitting next to him smiled kindly. “You must love her very much.” Sebastian looked up, startled. He glanced down at the silver band on his finger, and a rare, boyish stubbornness entered his expression. “She’s my wife.” His wife, for life. “And we’re going to have a child,” he added, a proud smile spreading across his face. A faint blush crept up his ears. “I’m going home to be with her.” The woman congratulated him warmly. Watching him, my heart ached. He was flying toward a dream that had already been shattered. “How long have you been married, to be so in love?” she asked. Sebastian didn’t have to think. “We’ve known each other for thirty years. Been married for ten.” 8 We met when we were three. We fell in love at sixteen. We married at twenty-three. When we started, we had nothing but each other. From twenty-three to thirty-three, I was by his side as he fought his way from a small town to the heart of the city. I gave him every penny I had saved. We worked multiple jobs, side-by-side, until we were numb with exhaustion. We lost a child during that time. A silent, tiny life that took root in my womb and was torn away two months later. The pain was unbearable. Lying in that hospital bed, I wept until I had no tears left. Sebastian cried harder, blaming himself, hating himself for failing me. “My love, I’m so sorry.” But apologies couldn’t bring our baby back. I told him it was okay. I told him we would have another. I never imagined I would lose another child, this time along with my own life. The thought brought a fresh wave of agony. Where had Ally hidden my body? I must have been a gruesome sight after a fall like that. Would Sebastian even recognize me? Would he find my killer? Would he avenge me? I floated closer, placing my hand over his, trying to feel his warmth. He had been awake all night and was starting to doze off, his eyes half-closed as he stared at my photo. I rested my head on his shoulder and whispered, “Sebastian, I miss you.” So close, yet a world away. Sebastian, please find me. Five hours later, the plane landed. At the same moment, his phone rang. It was the police. “Hello, are you a relative of Ms. Elara Croft? We need you to come to the hospital. Ms. Croft fell from Blackwood Cliff this morning. She was deceased when she was found.”

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Our breakup was a train wreck. The year he loved me most, I took half a million dollars from his mother, ended our pregnancy, and betrayed him. He knelt outside the clinic door, crying, begging me not to be so cruel. He said he would hate me for the rest of his life. Six years later, we met again. He had a beautiful, high-society girlfriend, and they were about to get married. And I, at the lowest point in my life, had to find him and ask for money. He forced me to come to his wedding, to watch with my own eyes as he took another woman home. He asked me, Do you regret it? He still doesn’t know that I raised our child alone. And that child is sick. So sick, he’s dying. 1. Six years after we broke up, I ran into Zane Wheaton when my life was in absolute shambles. It was a college reunion. No one expected Zane to show up. Someone joked, “Mr. Wheaton never keeps in touch with us common folk. What brings you out of the woodwork this year?” “Did you hear Christine was coming? Still carrying a torch for her, are you?” I was tucked away in a corner, but my back went rigid. I looked up and saw Zane, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes fixed on me with cold indifference. Everyone knew how much he used to love me. He was the heir to a fortune, the golden boy of a powerful family, but he’d fallen for me at first sight. That year, for me, he cut ties with his family. He gave up the power, the money, everything, just to be with me. We lived in a cramped little apartment, sharing a single bowl of ramen, a single bowl of soup. Life was hard, but we were deliriously happy. Every night, our fingers laced together, we’d swear we would be together forever. Until I got pregnant. His mother offered me half a million dollars to get rid of our baby and disappear from his life. That day, Zane knelt outside the clinic, pounding his fists against the door. Over and over, his voice cracked as he begged me, “My sweet Christine, please! I’ll work harder, I’ll make so much money, I’ll earn millions, and it’ll all be yours, okay?” “I’m begging you, don’t leave me. Don’t leave our baby…” I lay on the surgical table, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, willing myself not to cry out. Through that thin door, I heard Zane say he would hate me for the rest of his life. 2. No one knew just how ugly our breakup had been. Someone nudged me towards Zane, laughing. “You used to be so crazy about Christine you would’ve died for her, Zane. How could you ever let her go?” The whole room started buzzing, egging us on, telling us to get back together. One of Zane’s buddies shot me a contemptuous look and sneered, “Zane can have any woman he wants. Who the hell is Christine to think he’d still be hung up on her?” He went on to say that another woman had been with Zane for three years. A woman who was gentler, prettier, and a much better fit for him than I ever was. They’d been together for three years. All his friends already called her “the missus.” And word was, they were about to get married. The laughter died down. Only Zane’s friend was still smiling as he invited everyone to the wedding. He tossed an invitation in my direction. It slapped against my cheek before falling into my lap. I looked down. Zane’s name was embossed in elegant script. Next to it, another woman’s. Victoria. It was a name that sounded as graceful as she probably was. I imagined she was more sensible than me, kinder, better at taking care of him. She wouldn’t make him miserable like I did. Six years. It was good to know he was doing well. That was enough. I blinked back the tears stinging my eyes, looked up at Zane, and managed a single word: “Congratulations.” He stared at me, his gaze drilling into mine. At my congratulations, a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He crushed his cigarette into an ashtray and said coolly, “Christine, don’t come to the wedding.” “It would upset my fiancée. And when she’s upset, I get upset.” My fingers tightened around the thin, crimson invitation. I froze for a second. Then I forced a smile and nodded. “Okay,” I whispered. 3. That night, everyone concluded that Zane was truly, finally over me. No one could have guessed that a love as deep as ours could end like this. He was getting married, and the bride wasn’t me. Everyone had assumed he would wait for me forever. Now, they were all buzzing with curiosity about this Victoria, this woman who had so completely captivated him. I knew Zane didn’t want to see me, so I slipped out of the reunion early. On the way home, a friend texted me a photo of Victoria. She was beautiful, with an innocent-looking face. My friend said she was known for her sweet smile and playful nature—exactly Zane’s type. My friend typed: Christine, don’t you think she kind of looks like you when she smiles? Do you think maybe he still loves you? Is it really over between you two? I let out a slow breath, staring at the screen for a long time before typing back with a forced smile in my words: It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore. I didn’t want any more drama with Zane. And I knew he would never find out my secret. That I had lied to everyone and secretly given birth to our son. A son who was sick. So sick, he was dying. 4. This was the hardest year of my life, the year I had nothing left. I worked myself to the bone, desperate to earn enough money for the best medicine, to ease my son’s pain even a little. For money, I would swallow my pride and go to a college reunion to hit up old classmates. For money, I would work at an exclusive lounge, drinking with clients until my stomach bled. I thought that night at the reunion would be the last time I’d ever see Zane. But a few days later, Victoria found me. She must have heard the rumors—that she looked like me—and wanted to see for herself. She came to the lounge with a few friends and specifically requested me. One of them looked me up and down. “So, you’re Christine? Zane’s famous first love?” Her eyes were filled with disdain as she scanned my heavy makeup and tight dress, her expression screaming one word: Trashy. I clenched my fists, forcing my temper down. I just wanted to do my job. “Are you ordering drinks?” I asked. “If not, please don’t waste my time. I need to make money.” The girl seemed offended. “What kind of attitude is that? Are you deaf? Don’t get cocky.” She pointed to a bottle of hard liquor on the table. “You like money so much, right, Christine? Fine. Drink this entire bottle, right now, and I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars.” A whole bottle like that would land me in the hospital. Victoria feigned concern, gently chiding her friend. “We agreed we were just coming to say hello, not to make things difficult for her.” She turned to me, her voice soft and laced with pity. “Everyone warned me about you, you know. They said you’re good at wrapping men around your finger. Even Zane said I’m too naive and that you might try to hurt me.” “But I’m not worried.” I listened quietly, understanding her game. She was here to rub it in my face how much Zane adored her, and how much he despised me. I offered a small, humorless smile and looked at her friend. “We have a deal? I drink the bottle, you give me twenty thousand dollars. Right?” Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed the bottle and started chugging. Everyone stared, stunned. They hadn’t expected me to be so desperate, to trade my health for cash. Victoria grabbed my arm. “Christine, please,” she pleaded softly. “How can you degrade yourself like this for money? We women have to have some self-respect. I didn’t want to say this, but… Zane hates it when women act like this.” I finished the bottle, slammed it down on the table, and ignored the fire tearing through my stomach. “The money?” I cut her off. “What Zane Wheaton likes or hates has nothing to do with me. I just want the twenty grand you promised.” Victoria’s brow furrowed in disappointment. “Honestly, Christine,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sincerity, “twenty thousand dollars is nothing to me. I could give it to anyone. But I can’t give it to you. You can hate me for it, but I’m doing this for your own good. I can’t stand by and watch you fall any deeper…” Her friend shoved me lightly. “I was just messing with you,” she smirked. “I’m not giving you a dime. What are you gonna do about it?” A cold smile spread across my face. Then, in one swift motion, I shattered the bottle against the edge of the table. Shards flew. A piece sliced across Victoria’s leg, drawing a line of red. Another dug deep into my own palm. Tears instantly welled in Victoria’s eyes. The loud, boisterous group fell silent. The next second, the door to the private room swung open. Zane stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. I froze, unable to meet his gaze. He saw me. In my cheap dress and smeared makeup, looking like the kind of woman who drinks and flirts with men for money. I wasn’t ashamed of what others thought of me, but I had never, ever wanted him to see me like this. I wanted him to think I was doing just fine. But even that small wish was denied. I summoned every ounce of strength I had, tilted my chin up, and pretended it didn’t hurt. I watched as Zane rushed to Victoria’s side, gathering her into his arms and gently wiping away her tears. Then he turned his icy gaze on me. “Christine,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Who exactly do you think you’re bullying in front of me?” “You want money? Fine. Apologize first.” I watched him shield Victoria, just like he used to shield me. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to grovel. Fine. For the money, I’d do anything. Victoria, nestled in his arms, shot me a triumphant little smirk. I looked at the cut on her leg, then at the bleeding gash in my own hand. I held it up, blood dripping onto the carpet. “Here,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Give me the twenty thousand.” Zane’s eyes locked onto my bleeding hand, and for a split second, they flashed with a raw, familiar pain. Victoria saw his expression, and her smile faltered. She pulled a credit card from her purse and pressed it into my hand. “I’m giving you this, Christine,” she said sweetly, “not because I owe you anything, but because I don’t want to make a scene over a little money. Unlike some people.” I was done with her righteous act. I snatched the card and turned to leave, but Zane’s hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. He growled my name, his voice tight with a rage that felt like something else entirely. “Christine, doesn’t that fucking hurt? Are you going to die without money?” His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched. He almost looked… worried. I ripped my arm from his grasp and turned back, a cold sneer on my face. “I’ve always been a woman who loves money, Zane. Did you forget?” “Manage your own life, and manage your woman. Stay the hell away from me.” 5. Zane stared at me, his eyes so cold they could burn. My words must have dredged up the past—how he’d given up everything for me, only for me to throw him away for money. The pain in my stomach was becoming unbearable. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I turned to leave, but suddenly the world tilted. Before I knew it, he’d thrown me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He was like some kind of brute, a cigarette clenched between his teeth as he carried me out of the lounge. Heads turned, people stared. I struggled, kicking and screaming for him to put me down. He slapped my ass, hard. “Christine,” he snarled, “I must’ve owed you my life in a past life for you to put me through this shit in this one!” He threw me into his car, leaning over me to pin my legs down. He grabbed my face, his voice a low, vicious growl. “Sometimes, I just want to kill you.” He looked like he hated me with every fiber of his being, but his eyes… his eyes still held a flicker of the man who once loved me. The pain in my stomach was so intense I couldn’t speak. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead as I glared at him. He scowled, reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out a pill for my stomach, forcing it into my mouth. As he did, I saw it. Tucked away in the corner of the compartment was a worn-out tube of my favorite lipstick, a broken hair tie, and the cheap pink barrette he’d once bought me at a street fair. All my things. All these years I’d been gone, they had stayed here, keeping him company in my place. A tear escaped and slid down my cheek. I turned my head away, wiping it quickly before he could see. After all this time, he still remembered I had a sensitive stomach. Even without me, he’d kept the medicine for me. And what did I do? I gathered my strength and shoved him away with all my might. I forced a smile. “Zane, can you just stop? Stop chasing me. It’s pathetic.” “You probably don’t know this, but… I’ve been married. I have a kid.” “Are you still hoping we’ll get back together? Don’t be a fucking idiot, Zane.” He stumbled back, his body going rigid. As I moved to get out of the car, his hand shot out, slamming me back against the seat. His fingers closed around my throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to hold me there. His voice trembled with fury. “I don’t believe you, Christine.” “You better tell me you’re fucking joking. Or I swear to God, I will kill you.” I met his blazing eyes without flinching. “Fine,” I said calmly. “I’ll prove it to you.” I took him to the Children’s Hospital. It was nine at night, but the lights in the inpatient ward were still on. I stood outside a room, looking through the glass window. I pointed to a small boy sitting up in bed, quietly reading a book. “That’s my son,” I told him. His name is Leo. He is the most precious thing in my world. He looks so much like me, but his personality is all Zane—thoughtful, gentle, with a stubborn streak. He has the same determined set to his eyes. He inherited all of Zane’s best qualities. He’s such a good kid. But he’s sick. Almost six years old, but so small and frail it breaks your heart. Zane stared at the boy for a long, long time. Then he balled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the wall. He bowed his head, and I think I saw a tear fall. I had never seen him look so broken. The last thing he said to me that night was, “You’ve got guts, Christine.” He didn’t ask who the father was. He didn’t recognize him. He didn’t know he was looking at his own son.

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The System dropped me onto my husband’s bed. While he was in it. With his mistress. I watched, in stunning clarity, as their frantic, bare-skinned movements ground to a halt. Three of us, just staring at each other, wide-eyed in the dim light of the hotel room. With a calmness I didn’t feel, I answered the buzzing phone in my hand. “Yeah, my husband’s cheating.” “Proof? I’m sitting on their bed, watching them.” Without another word, I flipped the camera and recorded. The video captured their shocked, half-naked forms, a portrait of betrayal. “Ava, you send that out, and you can forget about ever being Mrs. Cole again!” Ethan roared. I calmly forwarded the video to the Cole family group chat, then pulled the divorce papers I’d prepared from my purse. “Sign it.” “Without me, you won’t even be able to afford your next meal!” he sneered, scrawling his name with a defiant, mocking flourish. He and his little tramp were still radiating smug confidence until they saw me step into a waiting Rolls-Royce. The looks on their faces were priceless. 1. The family group chat notifications exploded, hitting 99+ in seconds. Most were condemnations aimed squarely at me. “Every man strays, Ava. It’s natural. It’s your own fault for not being able to keep his interest.” That was his aunt. “A little fling? Honey, listen to someone who’s been around. As a woman, you need to be more forgiving.” That, from his cousin. “Is that all? I thought it was something serious. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” The Cole family vultures had always known how to pick at me. No matter what Ethan did, the fault would always be spun back to me. I let out a bitter laugh, staring at the screen. “Runs in the family, I guess. A whole clan of hypocrites.” For years, I’d swallowed their condescension because of my humble beginnings. I endured it all. But when the System unlocked a few days ago, showing me the full, sordid extent of Ethan’s betrayal, my heart finally froze over. The System gave me the courage to finally shatter the illusion. Watching Ethan sign those papers, a profound sense of peace washed over the storm that had raged inside me for so long. A genuine smile touched my lips, feeling like the first ray of sunshine after a long winter. “If I were you, Ava,” Lily, the mistress, said, her voice dripping with false pity, “I’d be on my knees, begging him for a second chance.” I tucked the signed agreement neatly into my purse. “Oh.” I paused. “I didn’t realize you were into that sort of thing. If you want to kneel for someone, find a mirror.” “You—!” Veins bulged on his clenched fist. “You’ve played Mrs. Cole for a few years and you really think your little Cinderella story was permanent?” he spat. “Without me, you’re nothing.” Seeing that I was officially on my way out, Lily’s face lit up with triumph. With Ethan’s fury as her stage, she began her performance. “Oh, Ethan, darling, I’m so sorry,” she simpered, sliding off the bed and onto her knees before me. “This is all my fault. I’m the one who drove a wedge between you and Ava.” She looked up at me, her eyes welling up with perfectly timed tears. “I shouldn’t have fallen for him. But Ava… do you know what it’s like to be sick with longing? It’s a poison, worse than anything you could drink. I tried to stay away, I really did. But when I saw him again a few days ago, I knew… I could never fight it.” Her voice cracked, a masterpiece of contrived heartbreak. “I love him more than life itself. I couldn’t torture myself any longer…” Ethan looked genuinely stunned, as if he was trying to remember when their cheap affair had developed this level of profound, earth-shattering passion. As Lily’s monologue reached its crescendo, his confusion melted away, replaced by a glistening sympathy that caught the fading afternoon light. “It was all me,” she sobbed, “I pursued him relentlessly. I’m the one who wronged you, Ava. Hit me, scream at me, do whatever you need to do. I won’t fight back. Just… please, I beg you, retract that video. Don’t let my mistake ruin his reputation.” It had been well over two minutes. The video couldn’t be retracted. This was all for show—a play to cement her image as a selfless, devoted victim. And, of course, to announce her arrival to the Cole family and pave her way to becoming the next Mrs. Cole. I stared down at her impossibly sincere face, getting my first real lesson in high-level manipulation. I crouched down, meeting her tear-filled gaze. “I remember you’ve only met Ethan twice. I’m curious. Where, exactly, did this all-consuming, unforgettable love come from in two meetings?” My eyes flicked to the man on the bed, who now seemed to be deeply moved. “Or,” I continued, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “was this whole performance just bait to hook a much bigger fish?” Ethan’s expression froze. The bedsheets crumpled in his tightening grip. His cool, detached eyes turned on Lily, now filled with a flicker of suspicion. “Lily,” he asked, his voice suddenly uncertain. “Do you really love me that much? Or are you after something else?” She barely flinched before seamlessly weaving this into her narrative. “Ethan, do you believe in love at first sight? I never did,” she said, her voice soft and wounded. “Not until I met you.” She rose gracefully, picking up her coat and draping it over her shoulders with an air of tragic dignity. “Just knowing I could feel this way is enough for me. I won’t bother you again.” And with that, she walked toward the door without a shred of hesitation. The suspicion in his eyes melted into a puddle of misplaced tenderness. He snatched a shirt and scrambled after her. “Lily!” I followed them out. Just outside the motel entrance, Ethan was gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. He used to be so cold to everyone else in the world, reserving that specific, tender gaze only for me. I couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, when he started looking at me like a stranger, when all his warmth was redirected to her. Seeing me emerge, he instinctively pulled Lily behind him, shielding her just as fiercely as he had once shielded me from his family’s judgment. “I know whether Lily’s love is real or not,” he snapped. “When did you become such a manipulative bitch, Ava? Trying to drive a wedge between us? I almost fell for it.” I just shook my head, a real smile playing on my lips. “You’re a fool.” “You know how much I hate women who play games! And to think I loved you so much. I never knew you were this kind of person.” His own mother had divorced his father over a manipulative mistress—a woman who went on to become the new Mrs. Cole and gave him a half-brother to compete for the family fortune. His stepmother, the current matriarch, was always praising him, always taking his side. But Ethan knew it was all an act, a slow and patient campaign to ruin him with kindness, inflating his ego only to watch him pop. I knew better than anyone how much he despised that kind of deception. The irony was suffocating. After being expertly manipulated by his stepmother for years, he couldn’t even recognize it when it was staring him in the face. Or maybe he was just like his father. Maybe he saw the trap clearly and walked into it anyway, willingly, for the sake of a little warmth. “For the sake of what we once had,” he said, puffing out his chest, “I’ll give you one last chance. Tear up those papers, apologize for this mess, and I’ll let you remain Mrs. Cole.” I walked past them, giving them both one last, cold glance. “One’s a performer, the other’s an idiot. You can keep the title. If Miss Mayfair here wants it so badly, she can have it.” “You’ll regret this, Ava! You’ll be begging on the streets!” 2. A low purr grew into a powerful hum, and a black Rolls-Royce Ghost glided to a stop in front of the seedy motel. The man in the driver’s seat nodded at me. “Get in.” I slid into the plush leather seat without a backward glance. In the rearview mirror, I saw Ethan’s face, a mask of pure shock. Lily stood beside him, her jaw so tight I thought her teeth might crack, her eyes burning holes into the back of my head. The car was a hundred yards down the road before I heard the faint, furious echo of Ethan’s voice carried on the wind. “Ava! You dare cheat on me with another man? You shameless whore!” … The tree shadows flickered past, never lingering, blurring into a stream of green and grey. My mind drifted back. I was adopted. My foster mother raised me, poured everything she had into my education, into making me someone. Then fate played its cruelest joke. The summer the cicadas sang their loudest, she was diagnosed with cancer. Our savings were a drop in the bucket against the cost of her treatment. So I fought my way into Ethan Cole’s company. I worked myself to the bone, shattering sales records in my first month and earning the company a three-million-dollar windfall. That single victory made my name and, more importantly, caught Ethan’s attention. But my mother didn’t survive the winter. Suddenly, my ambition had no purpose. I was adrift in grief and despair. It was then that Ethan’s constant presence broke through my walls. He married me for my talent, for the asset I was. Then, after the wedding, he asked me to be a housewife, to cut all ties with the business world. At the time, shattered by my mother’s death and exhausted from the fight, I thought he was trying to protect me, to give me a chance to rest. I agreed. Thinking back on it now, I was so naive it was laughable. A short, sharp laugh escaped my lips, startling the man beside me. He didn’t speak, just quietly opened the window and slowed the car. The cool evening air rushed in, sweeping across my face, carrying away the fresh tears that had welled in my eyes and washing away the last dregs of pain and bitterness in my heart.

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It was one in the morning when the call came. It was from the widow of my husband’s fallen partner, her voice trembling with fear. She thought she had an intruder. My husband, Liam, who hadn’t slept in three days from a stakeout, didn’t hesitate. He bolted out the door to be with her. He didn’t come back until dawn. “It’s not easy for Hannah, being on her own,” he explained, seeing me still sitting on the couch where he’d left me. “Especially now that Mark’s gone. Every little noise must terrify her.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Hannah is the widow of a hero, Stella. As his captain, it’s my duty to look after her. But I promise, I’ll cut back. Don’t be upset, okay?” I calmly removed his hand, refusing to be the understanding wife I’d always been. “Let’s get a divorce.” 1 Liam’s cheeks were hollowed from exhaustion, his eyes a spiderweb of red veins. Even his breathing was ragged. His hands clenched into fists, then relaxed. He pressed himself against me again, putting on his best sad puppy eyes. “Honey, don’t say things you don’t mean. I’ll stop going over, okay? I’ll pass the responsibility of looking after Hannah to one of the other guys on the team.” No one would ever believe that the man who was invincible on the streets, the unshakable captain, turned into a big, gentle cat at home, purring and pleading for my affection. It was that contrast, that hidden softness, that made me marry him, even after I knew the dangers of his job could spill over into our lives. But now, I turned my head away and stood up, moving out of his reach. “I’m not angry. I’m serious. You can keep looking after Hannah.” “But we’re getting a divorce.” Liam’s brow furrowed. He shifted uncomfortably, but when he saw the hard line of my mouth, his expression softened again. He stayed on his knees and shuffled closer, resting his head against my chest like a big, overgrown dog. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how you’d feel when I took this on. I already have so little time for you, and now I’m giving it to someone else. And I know how jealous you can get.” “I made my darling wife wait up for me all night, angry and alone. I’m the worst. But I haven’t slept in four days, Stella. I’m exhausted. Let me get some rest, and I promise I’ll make it up to my jealous little firecracker tomorrow.” He couldn’t stifle a yawn, reaching for my hand to lead me to the bedroom. Anyone hearing him would have taken his side. Here was a man so tired he could barely stand, yet he was still patiently trying to soothe his unreasonable, spoiled wife. But I wasn’t having it. I yanked my hand away, my voice firm and clear. “I said, I want a divorce!” Caught off guard, Liam stumbled backward, knocking over the ceramic vase we had made together on a pottery class date. It shattered on the floor. He looked down, his eyes slowly clearing, the exhaustion momentarily burned away by shock. My repeated demands for a divorce had finally pushed him past his limit. “I apologized. I promised I’d stay away from Hannah. Why isn’t that enough for you?” “You’re the one who said ‘divorce’ is a word we should never use lightly. You’ve said it twice tonight. What the hell do you want, Stella?” He even remembered that. Something I’d said offhandedly, a drunken joke from years ago. “Liam, this isn’t about jealousy, and I don’t need you to coddle me. I want a divorce.” “I want to be completely, permanently done with you.” CRACK! His fist flew past my ear and slammed into the wall behind me. My eyelashes fluttered, but I didn’t flinch. “I’ll have a lawyer draft the papers. I won’t take a penny more than what’s mine. All you’ll have to do is sign. I’ll handle the rest.” My final words were lost as I saw his eyes glisten with tears. He raised his hand, and I instinctively shut my eyes, but he only pressed his palm against his face, his voice thick with emotion. “Honey, stop. Whatever it is you don’t like, I’ll change it. I’ll change anything. Just please… please don’t leave me.” The all-powerful man, showing a raw vulnerability he saved only for me, a sight that would make anyone forgive him anything. But I stood my ground, pushing him out of my way. “I don’t like living in constant fear. And I don’t like you running to another woman’s house every night. Can you change that?” Liam’s eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn’t comprehend that I—the woman who had stood by him even after a suspect’s knife had found its way into my side—was saying these words. His face hardened. I held his gaze and finished what I had to say. “I’ll have the papers for you to sign tomorrow.” The silence that followed was broken by a sharp intake of breath from the guest room. My in-laws, woken by the noise, came rushing out. 2 Liam’s father kicked him squarely in the back of the knee, his voice a low growl. “Apologize to Stella. Running off to another woman’s house in the middle of the night and then coming home to yell at your wife? Is this how I raised you?” His mother dabbed at her eyes, taking my hand in hers. “It’s our fault, dear. We didn’t teach Liam right. You’ve been wronged.” “But looking after a widow is his duty,” she added, her tone shifting. “He can’t just abandon that responsibility. Imagine what people would say. It would destroy his reputation.” “From now on, we’ll keep a closer eye on him, make sure he knows his boundaries.” The elderly couple looked at me with pleading eyes. Just as I was about to speak, a phone rang. Liam, still kneeling on the floor, answered it instantly. “Hannah? What’s wrong?” Hannah’s voice on the other end was a shaky mix of relief and terror. She was sobbing. “Liam… the police just caught a burglar in the complex. He… he murdered a family of three down the hall. During his confession, he said his original target was my apartment.” “If you hadn’t come over… if you hadn’t stayed with me… that would have been me last night.” Three pairs of eyes snapped towards me. Liam was still trying to comfort Hannah. Hearing the tension in his voice, she quickly asked, “Liam, did you explain everything to your wife? She’s not mad, is she?” “Last night was so dangerous. Being a hero’s widow… it makes me a target. I don’t know how I’d survive without your help.” “If she’s still upset, I’ll come over and apologize to her myself.” Liam’s expression was one of pure frustration. He soothed her in a low voice. “Stella’s a little upset, yes. But now that she knows how dangerous it was, I’m sure she won’t be angry with you anymore. Don’t worry.” The implication was clear. If I continued to be angry, I would be the unreasonable one. I snatched the phone from his hand, my voice calm and cold. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Because I’m divorcing Liam. You can save your apologies for his next wife.” I hung up, and before the three stunned faces around me could react, I walked out of the apartment. “Since we’re getting a divorce, it’s better if I move out. It will make splitting the assets easier.” “Stella!” Liam’s voice was like ice behind me, but I didn’t turn back. “I can’t keep coddling you every single time. If I hadn’t been there last night, Hannah could be dead. You have the facts right in front of you. Are you still going to fight me on this?” His words made me feel, for a fleeting moment, like a hysterical, irrational woman. But I stepped out the door and left anyway. I found an apartment to rent. As I was leaving the building, I noticed several plainclothes officers lingering downstairs. Liam’s job was dangerous, and threats against his family were common. Living with him was safe. Living alone multiplied the risk. He had said he wouldn’t coddle me, but he had still reported my move to his unit and requested a protective detail for me. He had told me once, if I ever got hurt because of him again, he would lose his mind. I looked away, my face impassive, and accepted a folder from the lawyer who was waiting for me. The divorce papers. I had been messaging Liam since morning, trying to arrange a time to sign them. He hadn’t responded. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer and dialed his number. He declined the call almost instantly. I frowned, standing frozen for a moment. Suddenly, the officers protecting me started moving, their postures tense. One of them approached me, his face grim. “Ms. Martinez,” he said, using my maiden name. “Captain Foster is in the ICU. They need a family member to sign for surgery.” His tone was laced with resentment. “The captain was in the middle of a high-risk operation. Your call gave away his position. He’s been shot. He might lose his arm.” 3 The hospital hallway was crowded with Liam’s teammates. Their eyes were red, filled with blame as they watched me approach. One of them turned and punched the wall in frustration. I walked past them without flinching and entered the room. Liam was lying on the bed, his face as white as the sheets. When he saw me, he managed a weak, reassuring smile. “Don’t be scared. I’m okay. It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine.” He reached out for my hand, but I pulled away. Beside the bed, a young officer named Ricky couldn’t hold back his anger. “Just sign the papers,” he snarled. “If he doesn’t get surgery soon, the captain could die.” I gave him a cool glance and pulled the divorce agreement from my bag. “I’m not signing the consent form. If you want to live, you’ll sign this divorce agreement. Let your parents be your next of kin.” “You—!” A vein throbbed on Ricky’s temple. He lunged at me, his face contorted with rage, looking like he wanted to tear me apart before his teammates grabbed him and held him back. My gaze swept over their shocked faces. Threatening my own husband’s life to force a divorce. They had probably never met a woman as venomous as me. Liam’s expression shifted through a dozen emotions before he finally closed his eyes, his voice raspy. “Is this all because I stayed with Hannah last night?” Under the weight of a dozen glares that felt like they could skin me alive, I answered flatly. “Yes. It’s because you stayed with Hannah.” As the words left my mouth, someone grabbed my collar from behind, yanking me off balance. Seeing who it was, Liam tried to sit up, a gasp of pain forcing him back down. “Hannah, don’t touch her.” Hannah was covered in dried blood, her limbs so thin she looked like a skeleton. She seemed unnaturally weak. “If you hate me, I can disappear from your lives forever. But Liam is hurt. He can’t wait. If he doesn’t have surgery, he’ll be crippled.” “I already owe him so much. If he becomes disabled because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.” Another officer, Jake, the most capable on the team besides Liam, helped Hannah up as she sobbed into her hands. His eyes were spitting fire at me. “Why would the captain marry a stupid, evil woman like you? He risks his life every day to protect people, and all you can think about is your petty jealousy.” “Even if the captain did cheat on you, it would be because you drove him to it!” It was only then that I learned the full story. Liam had been shot while trying to shield Hannah from the line of fire. He could have avoided it otherwise. I let out a cold laugh and turned to Liam. “You said you were passing the responsibility for Hannah to your teammates. Why were you with her today?” “Liam, you’re so protective of her. Are you two already a thing?” “Stella!” The veins on Liam’s forehead bulged. His hand whipped out, the slap echoing through the silent room. The force of it split my lip, and I calmly spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Liam, how could you hit Stella!” My in-laws, who had just arrived, cried out, rushing to pull me behind them. Liam was panting, his chest heaving. “She can hit me, she can scream at me, but she will not insult the widow of a fallen hero.” The elderly couple looked at me in disbelief. I tilted my chin up. “Did I hit a nerve? You spend every day at her house, you even stay the night. Don’t tell me nothing is going on.” Hannah’s crying stopped for a second. Her eyes flickered away before she let out an even louder wail, crying that she wanted to die. The room felt like it was about to explode. If my in-laws weren’t shielding me, I would have been buried under a pile of fists. But I didn’t care. I held up the divorce papers and threw them in Liam’s face. “If you don’t sign these, I can spread a lot more rumors about you and Hannah. I wonder how her fragile mental state will handle that.” “I have all the time in the world. I wonder if your arm does.”

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The year my social anxiety was at its peak, I played mute in the bed of this city’s most notorious billionaire, Julian Forrester. No matter how hard he worked, I would bite my lip and refuse to make a sound. This arrangement worked perfectly until his long-lost love returned to the country and I was handed a severance check for thirty million dollars. In a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, the words just slipped out: “Thank you, boss! You’re too generous!” I slapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late. A slow, dangerous smile spread across Julian’s face. “My little mute,” he purred, his voice a low threat. “Don’t tell me this is some kind of medical miracle?” … Being a mute canary had its perks. Downstairs, I was exempt from the tedious flattery required of a kept woman. Upstairs, I never had to praise my sugar daddy’s performance. The only real downside? I couldn’t curse him out when he was being a real bastard. Like right now. Julian noticed my mind had drifted. His hand tightened on my waist, and with a single, powerful movement, he flipped me over. He was all teeth and heat, nipping and biting at my skin with a savage intensity, as if he meant to tear the flesh from my bones and devour it whole. Son of a bitch! I screamed internally. On the outside, however, I was the picture of pathetic submission. My eyes welled up, tears tracing hot paths down my cheeks. As the world rocked around me, I found my anchor, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my face against his in a silent plea for mercy. From experience, I knew this look was usually his breaking point. A few more minutes, and he’d be done. But tonight, some demon had possessed him. One after another, he tore open the foil packets. From the bed to the shower, from the shower to the sofa, he ravaged me until the moon was high in the sky. It was only then, finally sated, that he carried me back to bed. My body was a dead weight, every muscle screaming in protest. But just as sleep was about to claim me, a memory of something I’d overheard earlier that day jolted me awake. One of Julian’s friends had stopped by. The study door was ajar, and their voices drifted out. “Gigi lands tomorrow. Are you sending a car, or are you picking her up yourself?” “‘Gigi’ is not a name you get to use,” Julian’s voice was ice. The friend backpedaled instantly. “Right, right, my mistake. Your special name for your special girl…” Though he sounded apologetic, the teasing note was unmistakable. Everyone in their circle knew Julian Forrester had one that got away—a ‘white moonlight’ he could never forget. He’d protected her identity so fiercely that all anyone knew was that she existed. No name, no face, no reason why they weren’t together. Once, while tidying his study out of sheer boredom, I’d found a faded old photograph. In it, a girl in a wide-brimmed hat was turned away from the camera, only half of her face visible. That half-face was an eighty percent match for my own. Suddenly, I was thrown back to the day I first met Julian. I was standing on a street corner, glued to my phone, when a black sedan pulled up. Assuming it was the Uber I’d called, I opened the door and slid in without a second thought. As a person with crippling social anxiety, I had a system to avoid small talk with drivers. I pulled out my phone, which had a message scrolling across the screen in huge letters: [I AM MUTE. PLEASE DO NOT SPEAK TO ME.] It was only as I held the phone up that I realized the man in the driver’s seat was no Uber driver. He was impossibly handsome, with a cool, aristocratic air that made the luxury car he was driving feel like it was miles out of my price range. He stared at my phone screen, his eyes wide, for a long, silent moment before he finally found his voice, asking me where I was going in a rough, hoarse whisper. Seeing that photograph, it all clicked into place. The stunned expression on his face that day wasn’t because I’d gotten into the wrong car, or because of my fake disability. It was because I looked just like her. Back in the study, the conversation resumed. “So, what about the one at home?” his friend asked. “She’s a timid little thing, and a mute. Not exactly someone you can take out in public…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I turned and walked away before the giddy, triumphant laughter bubbling up inside me could escape. Three years. For three whole years, I had played the part. And now, my contract was finally coming to an end. Freedom was so close I could taste it. Sleep was impossible. I turned my back to Julian, unlocked my phone, and opened up the group chat: The Canary Support Group. I’d been added by a friendly girl I’d met at one of Julian’s stuffy business dinners. The ultimate goal for every member was the same: secure a massive payout, achieve financial independence, and retire early. I couldn’t resist sharing my news. Celeste: Julian’s white moonlight is coming home! The night owls in the group exploded. Skye: OMG CONGRATS CELESTE! Bella: Manifesting this! My guy’s first love is supposedly studying in Germany… Amber: I’m so jealous. My guy doesn’t even have a white moonlight (my life is a tragedy). After a flurry of congratulations, Skye tagged me. Skye: @Celeste Julian’s loaded, and he’s always been generous with you. The severance is gonna be huge, right?! She was right. Julian had always been generous. Half a million a month for pocket money. A constant stream of designer bags and jewelry. He’d even tried to give me luxury cars and mansions, but I’d turned them down. A poor girl like me couldn’t possibly afford the upkeep on a supercar or the property taxes on a penthouse. Besides, selling them would involve realtors and paperwork… the thought alone made my anxiety spike. My only hope for a comfortable future was his severance pay. A few million? Or maybe… tens of millions? The thought made me squirm with excitement, twisting myself into a pretzel under the sheets. A moment later, a strong arm pulled me back against a familiar, hard body. “Can’t sleep?” His voice was a low growl, and his hot breath ghosted over my neck. I felt his body stir against me and panicked, pushing him away with all my might. I clasped my hands together under my chin and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to convey with every fiber of my being that I was going to sleep. Right now. “I have to go to the airport tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft. “To pick up someone… very important to me.” My eyes flew open. “Do you… want to come with me?” I blinked. Him. Me. Going with him? The replacement, going to pick up the original? Was he trying to give her a heart attack on the spot? I shook my head violently. He studied my face for a moment. “Probably for the best. You’re shy. You can meet her when you’re ready.” He’d always been accommodating. When we first got together, he offered to find me a job. I refused, and he never brought it up again. For a homebody with extreme social anxiety, this life of catered meals and zero responsibilities was something I would actually miss. A wave of melancholy washed over me. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text notification from my bank. “I probably won’t be back tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ll be busy for the next couple of days. Take this, buy yourself something nice.” I ignored him, my eyes glued to the screen. I counted the zeroes. Once, twice, three times. One, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand, hundred thousand, million, ten million… It was an eight-figure number. He had given me thirty million dollars. Thirty. Million. Dollars. The sudden wealth went straight to my head. All my carefully constructed pretenses shattered. “Thank you, boss! You’re too generous!” The words were out before I could stop them. Silence crashed down around us. Our eyes met. Oh, crap. In my excitement, I’d forgotten I was supposed to be mute. Realizing my catastrophic mistake, I clapped a hand over my mouth and tried to melt into the mattress, pulling the covers over my head. But it was no use. A hand clamped around the back of my neck, and he hauled me out of my cocoon. “My little mute.” Julian’s voice was dangerously calm, but his eyes were blazing. He looked like he was seconds away from laughing, or maybe strangling me. “Don’t tell me this is some kind of medical miracle?” That was, without a doubt, the least funny joke I had ever heard. There was nowhere to hide. To escape his searing gaze, I covered my face with my hands. “Talk to me, little mute.” I shook my head, my voice muffled. “Mutes can’t talk.” “…” Julian pinched the bridge of his nose, a flicker of exasperation crossing his face as he looked at me, flushed red and trying to disappear into myself. “Is there anything you want to say to me?” I bit my lip, confused. Yes, I had lied to him. I wasn’t going to deny it. But the money was already in my account. What else was there to say? I had nothing. But clearly, he expected something. I shifted gears. What did Julian want to hear? What did he like to hear? An idea sparked. “Baby…” I whispered. His breath hitched. I dredged my memory, recalling every trashy romance novel I’d ever read, searching for a line that wouldn’t make me spontaneously combust. “You’re… so big,” I stammered. “So amazing. I like it so much…” I peeked through my fingers. His eyebrows were raised, the hard line of his mouth softened. He didn’t look angry anymore. So, this was the price of my freedom. Fine. It was my last night as a canary anyway. I dug deep, pulling out all the stops. “You were incredible tonight. It was like you were on something… so wild.” His face instantly darkened. “What did you just say? Say it again.” I swallowed hard. What was wrong with that? Did he not like being called ‘baby’? Maybe it was a generational thing. My heart pounded against my ribs. I summoned my courage and tried again. “Daddy was so incredible tonight…” The rest of the sentence was swallowed by his kiss. He captured my flailing hands, guiding them lower, and lower still. In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, his dark eyes seemed to flash green. “Little mute,” he rasped against my lips. “Say it again.” … By the time the sun began to rise, he was still going, energized as if he’d discovered a whole new world. I buried my face in the pillow, my head spinning. Thank God I’d pretended to be mute for three years. If I hadn’t, I would have been dead in this bed long ago. I woke up in the afternoon. My entire body ached, and my throat was so raw from a night of unaccustomed use that I couldn’t speak. The irony was not lost on me. Now I really was mute. I dragged my leaden legs downstairs. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, saw me, nodded a silent greeting, and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a bowl of warm porridge. Then, just as she always did, she vanished. Julian knew I hated interacting with strangers, so he’d instructed all the staff to make themselves invisible. It was a dream setup for someone with social anxiety. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Julian was actually… a pretty good guy. He was rich, handsome, and considerate when it counted. His only flaw was that he was in love with another woman. “Sigh…” I felt a pang of melancholy that lasted for a whole three seconds. Then my eyes fell on my phone, and I opened my banking app to gaze at the glorious thirty-million-dollar balance. Yeah… maybe I wasn’t so heartbroken after all. My heart was too small; it only had room for money. As for Julian? Well, seeing as he was such a good guy, I decided to help him out. With my conscience clear, I snuggled back into bed and pulled a book off the nightstand. Chapter One: The Return of the White Moonlight. Perfect. Just what I needed. Half an hour later, I was so infuriated by the brainless main characters that I slammed the book shut. I opened my messaging app and sent Julian a single emoji: a kitten peeking over a wall. He replied instantly. Julian: You’re awake? Mrs. Gable has porridge for you. Don’t fill up, I’ll have something nice sent for dinner. Julian: Does it still hurt? Are you okay? My heart did a little flip. A good man asks if you’re tired. A great man asks if you’re in pain. I buried my face in the covers and kicked my feet like a teenager. After composing myself, I sent back a cool, detached reply. Celeste: Mm. He didn’t reply right away, probably busy. I took the opportunity to forward him a series of articles I’d found. Don’t Let the One Who’s Right in Front of You Get Away. Actions Speak Louder Than Words: How to Show a Woman You Care. 30 Ways to Win Her Heart: A Guide to Thoughtful Gifts. After sending about ten of these, I felt I’d done my good deed for the day and settled in for a long gaming session. It was two hours later when I checked my phone again and saw he had replied long ago. Julian: Received. Received? What did that mean? Did he think it was a work email? A moment later, a call came through from Julian’s assistant, Mr. Harrison. Confused, I went downstairs to answer the door. He held out a sleek, black credit card. “Ms. Windsor, Mr. Forrester asked me to bring you this. It’s a supplementary card.” My eyes widened. “For… for me?” Harrison’s usually stoic, robotic expression cracked. “Ms. Windsor… you… you’re not mute?”

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I had a child with Liam North, the most powerful man in Capital City. Everyone assumed I would use the baby to blackmail him into marrying me. But ten days after giving birth, I left the city, alone. Liam chased me to the train station, clutching our child, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “Julia Rivers, you don’t want me. Fine. But now you’re abandoning your own child, too?” A single tear escaped my eye, but I didn’t turn back. I stared at the vast, empty freedom of the sky and said calmly, “That’s right. I’m done with you. And I’m done with our child.” 1 After I said those words, Liam, holding our wailing, swaddled infant, turned and walked away. A man of his stature, his pride. For him to chase me to a public train station was already a stunning concession. But this wasn’t the first time we had separated. We broke up once before, three years ago. The day before that breakup, we were in his opulent penthouse office. On the sprawling mahogany desk that was worth more than my childhood home. He undressed me, his movements slow and deliberate, piece by piece. I lay back on the cool wood, my eyes squeezed shut in a wave of shame and anticipation. Liam leaned over me, his lips brushing against mine. “Do you know, Julia,” he murmured. “Every time you walk in here to give me a report… I only have one thought.” “To take you, right here, on this desk.” 2 That afternoon, the lock on his office door was bolted. His private secretary and personal assistant stood guard outside. For three solid hours. When he finally lifted me from the desk, my body was spent. He carried me to the immense floor-to-ceiling windows. We were in a skyscraper at the very heart of Capital City’s glittering, exorbitant CBD. From this height, the world below was a scattering of ants. “Julia.” Liam held me from behind, his hot kisses trailing along my ear. “Your birthday’s coming up. What do you want?” My fingers left damp streaks on the cool glass. My reflection stared back—a face flushed with passion, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The reflection trembled, vibrated with the relentless, quickening rhythm of his body against mine. Finally, the dam broke, and the tears spilled, rolling down my cheeks. I reached back, my hand finding his, our fingers lacing together in a desperate grip. “Liam, all I want is to be with you.” I thought I heard a low chuckle. He turned me in his arms, pulling me tight against his chest. “Silly girl. Aren’t we already together?” 3 I was a silly girl. It wasn’t until his engagement was about to be announced that I learned he’d been seeing his fiancée for a year. During that year, he flew to Paris constantly. They weren’t business trips. He was visiting his future wife. The day I handed in my resignation, the sky was a heavy, oppressive gray. I stood before that same mahogany desk, my eyes fixed on the tips of my shoes. Liam’s expression was dark. He refused to sign the papers. I didn’t rush him. Instead, I started talking about the past. “Do you remember that accident two years ago?” “The Calloway family went bankrupt, and their youngest son hired thugs to get revenge on you.” “I took a knife for you.” I managed a smile, looking up at him through my swollen eyes. “You said you’d grant me one wish, that you’d never go back on your word.” “I never knew what to ask for.” “But I know now, Liam.” “Let’s end this. Let’s break up for good.” His gaze was intense, unreadable. The expensive fountain pen in his long fingers bled a dark pool of ink onto the crisp white paper. Finally, he spoke. “Julia Rivers.” He said my name, and nothing else. Then he looked down and signed. He pushed the resignation letter across the desk toward me. I picked it up, glanced at his signature, and gave a small, formal bow. “Thank you, Mr. North.” 4 Resignation. Breakup. Packing my bags and moving back to my hometown. Once the dust had settled, I started working again. I went on dates. I thought I would never see Liam North again. But two years later, our paths crossed. It was summer again in Capital City. The heat was suffocating. I’d just indulged in a second ice cream cone to cool down. I turned around, and there he was, striding toward me, surrounded by an entourage. After a brief, dizzying moment of shock, I composed myself, lowered my head, and tried to melt into the crowd. The conference hall was massive, packed with people. I was just a junior employee. No one would notice me. But he walked straight toward me. His bodyguards and assistant intercepted the sycophants trying to get his attention. In the center of that vast hall, the man in the bespoke black suit stood, an aloof and unapproachable god. The room fell silent. I kept my head down. I didn’t speak. I didn’t look at him. After what felt like an eternity, Liam took a step forward. He reached out and took the half-melted ice cream cone I was hiding behind my back. “Aren’t you afraid of cramps anymore?” 5 A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, then silence fell again. Liam wiped his hands clean. His gaze was steady. “Go wait for me in my car.” If it weren’t for the engagement ring on my left hand, if I hadn’t just ended a video call with my fiancé twenty minutes earlier, I might have believed that the last two years had never happened. That Liam and I had never been apart. That I was still in this city, young and reckless, consumed by a love that demanded everything. But the illusion lasted only a second. I looked up, my smile polite and professional. “I’m sorry, Mr. North, but I have to get back to work.” He didn’t get angry, but his voice dropped several degrees. “Julia.” “Don’t push me.” I took a deep breath. “I apologize, Mr. North. I have work to do.” The silence was so absolute you could hear a pin drop. Even his secretary of ten years shot me a look of disbelief. My face was a calm mask, but my back was drenched in sweat. Having been by his side for so long, I knew the depths of his power. The scandal that had nearly destroyed my family years ago… he had made it disappear with a single phone call. To defy him so publicly was practically a death wish. But then, a low laugh escaped his lips. “Julia Rivers. I never knew you could hold such a grudge.” After that, he didn’t press me further. But it seemed I had soured his mood. He turned and left the conference hall, his entourage trailing behind him. 6 I spent the next three days in a state of anxiety. Nothing happened. I allowed myself to relax, just a little. But on the day I was scheduled to leave the city, I got a call from my fiancé, Leo. “Julia, who in God’s name did you piss off?” “Why are they doing this to me?” “My friends, my family… they invested everything they had in my company. Their life savings, Julia! It’s all gone…” “I’m begging you, go to him, whoever he is. Ask him to let me go. Please.” “If he won’t… Julia, I don’t see any other way out. I’ll have to jump…” Leo’s voice was a hysterical, broken thing, a mix of sobs and laughter. I clutched the phone, a deathly chill spreading through my veins. It took me a long moment to find my voice. “Leo,” I whispered, “who is this man?” “All I know is his last name is Saxon. He’s some kind of executive secretary.” A hot tear splashed onto my phone screen. Mr. Saxon. Liam North’s right-hand man. His shadow for the past decade. 7 It was a sweltering summer night in Capital City. The ten o’clock breeze was still warm. The black sedan was understated but screamed luxury. It moved silently through the decadent, glittering night. I felt like I was back in another time, years ago. It had been Mr. Saxon who picked me up then, too. I was only twenty-one. I walked into the suite and saw Liam wearing nothing but a towel. I was so scared I nearly burst into tears. He had found it amusing, and had even tried to comfort me. Now I was twenty-six. I had an engagement ring on my finger. I had a fiancé. I was about to start a new life. But I knew that after tonight, all of it would turn to ash. Liam was on the terrace, smoking, dressed in a navy silk robe. I walked into the suite without a word and went straight to the bathroom. When I emerged, I was wearing nothing at all. Liam extinguished his cigarette and leaned against the railing, his eyes traveling over me. He studied me for a long moment. Then he shook his head with a soft sigh. “You’ve lost weight.” I looked at him, my expression numb. “Liam, just do what you want.” “And when you’re done, please, just let my fiancé go.” “Julia, begging me for another man’s sake will only make me angrier.” His eyes were cold as they dropped to my hand. “Get rid of that thing.” I immediately pulled the ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash without a second glance. Liam’s expression softened slightly. “Come here.” I walked to him. He reached out, his hand tracing the line of my cheek before trailing slowly, deliberately, downwards. The moonlight spilled over the silver curves of my body, a soft, ethereal white. But that white was soon bruised and broken. I turned my face away, staring into the gentle night. Tears fell in silent streams. It wasn’t until he bit down, his teeth breaking the skin, that I cried out, a soft whimper of pain. Only then did he gather me into his arms, a flicker of something like tenderness in his eyes. “Don’t be so stubborn.” “If you’d just ask me nicely, like you used to, is there anything I wouldn’t give you?” He whispered this as he pressed me against the cold glass of the window. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I saw you at the conference.” His grip on my hips was merciless. I struggled instinctively, but he held me fast, his voice a cold command. “If you don’t want him to die, you’ll behave.” I went still. A moment later, he seemed displeased again. He slapped me, not hard, but enough to sting. “You know how I like you.” 8 By the time Liam carried me back to the bed, I was boneless, completely drained. But he was far from finished, his body pressing down on mine, ready for more. I closed my eyes, my voice a raw whisper. “I’m so tired, Liam…” In the dim light, he loomed over me. He pinched my chin. “Alright. I’ll let you off for tonight.” He stood and started toward the bathroom. I forced myself to sit up. Liam lit a cigarette, watching as I struggled out of bed and retrieved my clothes from the sofa. The warmth in his eyes slowly turned to ice. “What are you doing?” “I’m leaving.” I kept my eyes down, pulling on my clothes piece by piece. “Leaving to where?” “Home.” A cold laugh. “Still so naive.” My hand trembled, but I didn’t stop. I zipped up my dress and bent to put on my shoes. Liam crushed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, the red ember disintegrating into dust. “Julia Rivers.” I turned and walked toward the door, pretending not to hear him. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t try to stop me. Downstairs, a maid and a driver were waiting. They were perfectly polite. “Miss Rivers. Mr. North instructed us to drive you.” I numbly nodded. Liam’s driver took me to the airport and left. Even as I boarded the plane, I felt like I was in a dream. He had let me go. Just like that. I didn’t realize then, even after all our time together, just how little I understood the true depths of Liam North’s cruelty. 9 I thought that after that night, my engagement to Leo would be broken, and Liam would leave him alone. I never imagined it was only the beginning. Leo’s small company was plagued by one disaster after another. Liam’s people played with him like a cat with a mouse. Just when Leo was on the brink of collapse, they would offer a sliver of hope, pulling him back from the edge. Then, just as he was catching his breath, they would strike again, harder than before. After several rounds of this, Leo finally broke. He tried to end his life. He was lucky. Someone found him in time. He survived. I went to the hospital, but I didn’t go into his room. I just gave the fruit and gifts I’d brought to his parents. As I was leaving, I got a call from Mr. Saxon. “Miss Rivers. Mr. North asked me to inquire when you will be returning to Capital City.” I stood under the scorching summer sun, my clothes stuck to my skin with sweat, yet I felt as if I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. But even then, in my foolish pride, I refused to bow. “I’m not coming back.” Mr. Saxon said nothing and hung up. Maybe Liam realized that using Leo was no longer an effective way to control me. Or maybe he decided that tormenting a woman this way was beneath him. After that call, things were quiet for months, all the way through the fall. My parents were still sad about Leo, but with time, they started trying to set me up on dates again. That winter, Liam North got married. His bride was the French heiress. The day I heard the news, the weather was grim, just like the day I had broken up with him. Their wedding was a quiet affair, for reasons I didn’t know. Not a single photo was leaked to the press. On my way home from work, I bought a cup of hot soup from a street vendor and sat on a bench, eating it bite by bite. Toward the end, it started to taste unusually salty. I looked down and saw tiny ripples forming in the last of the broth. I touched my cheek, surprised to find it wet. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. 10 That night, I was sitting on the sofa with my parents after my shower when my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. I ignored it. A moment later, a text came through. [Julia. Are you coming down, or am I coming up?] A cold sweat broke out on my back. The phone buzzed again. I silenced it, excused myself to my room, and answered. It was Liam’s voice. “Liam, what the hell do you want?” I whispered, unable to keep the rage from my voice. “I missed you, Julia.” I was stunned. I started to hang up. “If you don’t come, I’ll have to pay your parents a visit.” I glanced toward the living room. I could hear the TV, the sound of my parents laughing. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by those sounds, a tight, aching pain. “I’ll be down.” “Good. I’ll wait.” I threw on a coat, made an excuse to my parents, and slipped out. Liam’s car was parked in the shadows of the trees down the street. I pulled my coat tight, glanced around like a thief, and hurried to it. The back window was lowered a few inches. Liam was lounging inside. His eyes found my face as I approached, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Get in.” “If you have something to say, you can say it from here.” He didn’t argue. “Fine. Then I’ll come out.” The door opened. The next thing I knew, he had me pinned against the car, his hand cupping my jaw. His kiss was a torrent, hot and smelling of alcohol. I struggled, trying not to make a sound. In the chaos, my hand flew up and slapped him across the face. My nails, which I’d just started to grow out, left three thin, red scratches on his jaw. He released me abruptly, his expression hardening. I was terrified. I stumbled back. He touched the scratches on his face, his eyes narrowing. Just as I braced myself for him to hit me back, a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Julia, you can either get in this car with me, or we can do this right here, right now.” “The choice is yours. And you know I’m a man of my word.”

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1 I once told Joey that if he ever fell in love with someone else, I would simply disappear. He had always been so faithful, so I believed our happiness was a fortress, unshakable. Until, at eight months pregnant, I walked in on him with another woman. “Stella is carrying our IVF baby,” he was cooing, his voice a gentle caress as he comforted the radiant woman beside him. “You don’t have to do a thing, my love, and we’ll have a child that’s ours.” He turned his attention back to her, doting on her. “Childbirth is so painful, and you’re so terrified of pain. Besides, getting pregnant would ruin your figure. How could you be a rising star then?” Then he was on the phone, speaking to a high-end postnatal wellness retreat. “When the baby is born, I want my wife’s body to be perfectly cared for. If there are any lasting complications, your facility will cease to exist.” I never, in my darkest nightmares, imagined that the man who loved me more than life itself would have me carry the child of his affair. It’s alright. I’ll disappear. I wish you two a lifetime of happiness. … I went to three different hospitals. The results of the DNA tests were all the same. The maternal DNA in the child I was carrying did not belong to me. Not a single test said otherwise. Eight months pregnant, I walked out of the hospital, the reports clutched in my hand. I had dreamed of having a child with Joey. We tried for a whole year, finally turning to IVF as our last hope. I thought this baby was the culmination of our love. Instead, I was incubating his and his mistress’s embryo. Six years of deep, unwavering love. I thought he was different. Was he no different from any other cheating husband after all? An unread message glowed on my phone. It was from a friend. A gushing sixty-second voice note spilled out: The whole city is buzzing about your due date! Joey has booked out every flower shop and billboard in New York, just to make you happy! I’m so jealous, Elara, you found the perfect man. I heard he basically dropped everything at the company the second you got pregnant, practically tripping over himself to be your butler, cooking for you, serving you tea… Yes. He loved me that much. And yet, he was trading loving glances with another woman. A bitter tide rose in my chest, so sharp it stole my breath. Everyone knew Joey couldn’t live without me. He was a man who loved money and power, a man who trusted no one. Yet, the moment we were married, he signed over his entire business empire to my name. When his parents disapproved of our marriage, he starved himself until he was hospitalized, leaving him with a chronic stomach condition. The day our IVF was confirmed a success, he wept on the spot. The entire hospital staff stared, stunned. This titan of industry, crying his eyes out because his wife was pregnant. The nurses whispered, “If a man ever loved me like that, I could die happy.” Remembering the scene I had witnessed at his office, those words were now like dull blades sawing at my heart. Why would a man who loved me so much force me to bear another woman’s child? By 10 PM, Joey had called me ninety-nine times. I answered on the one-hundredth. His voice was a choked sob. “Elara, where are you? Did something happen? Answer me! I’m going out of my mind—” His voice was so broken, so full of raw panic, it sounded utterly real. But I felt nothing. “I’m fine,” I said, my tone flat. “I’m almost home.” When I arrived, Joey was crouched by the front door, his head in his hands, a picture of agony. His assistant rushed to help me. “Ma’am, you have no idea. The boss has been searching for you for hours. He walked twenty miles, checking every mall in the vicinity. He’s sprained his ankle.” “Elara!” He scrambled to his feet, his face streaked with tears. “Why didn’t you answer? I was sick with worry. Don’t you ever do that again.” The tears streamed down his face, but they couldn’t find their way into my heart anymore. How could he say he loved me while trampling on me like this? The question was a bloody, gaping wound in my soul. I was helped to the sofa. He knelt before me, gently easing off my shoes and socks before beginning to wash my feet. His voice was thick with lingering fear, with no hint of deception. “Where did you go? You’re pregnant. If you had tripped, if anything had happened to you, what would I do?” The man who was a ruthless storm in the boardroom was now a tempest of fear and anxiety. “We worked so hard for this child. What if something had gone wrong?” A bitter, medicinal scent filled the room, making my stomach churn. Because I had a high-risk pregnancy, I had to drink a special herbal brew every day to prevent miscarriage. To protect this baby, I had always pinched my nose and forced it down. After washing my feet, he brought me the bowl of dark liquid, holding out a piece of candy. “I don’t want to drink it.” His expression changed in an instant, his face hardening. “I will grant you anything else in this world, Elara. But not this.” The image of him and that woman flashed in my mind. I gagged, a dry heave racking my body before I’d even taken a sip. He patted my back, his voice full of concern but unyielding. “The doctor said you’re high-risk. You have to drink it. If you miscarry, think of the damage to your body. Be good.” “We finally have this child,” he coaxed, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “If you don’t take your medicine, who will inherit the Blackwood empire?” He would say anything for the baby in my belly. Before, I would have seen this as the ultimate proof of his patience and love. Now, I saw myself for what I was: a laughable fool. The bitter liquid slid down my throat, its acrid taste a pale imitation of the acid in my heart. This was the first time I had met Joey’s mistress in person. She had a rosy, delicate beauty, a fragile air about her. It was no wonder Joey fell for her. She was introduced as Stella, a temporary replacement for our regular housekeeper. Wearing a maid’s uniform and a face mask, Stella placed a platter of fruit by my bed. “The other maid called in sick. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” Joey sat beside me, gently feeding me slices of fruit with one hand while his other thumb flew across his phone screen. My own finger hovered over the icon on my phone that would log me into his iMessage account. Years ago, he had set it up and given me his password, a grand gesture of transparency. He must have long forgotten. I pressed it. He was texting Stella, his words sharp with anger: What are you doing here? I told you never to show your face in front of Elara. Stella: But I missed youuuu~ You never come to see me anymore~ Maybe I should just die~ Stella: Thinking of you, thinking of you, thinking of you~ Joey’s angry scowl softened, melting into a faint smile at her cloying words. He must have noticed me watching him. “Just got word a big deal at the office finally closed,” he explained smoothly. The loving man before me was cheating right under my nose. Before, I would have been touched that he made time for me despite being so busy. How many times had this happened, while I went on believing I was his one and only? The thought was so absurd it was almost funny. I glanced back at my phone. Another message from Stella to Joey popped up: Do you like this wedding dress? I can’t wait to be your wife tomorrow. [Image attached.] Joey looked down, a small, private smile playing on his lips as he typed back: You’ll be the most beautiful bride. My heart skipped a beat. The message was a lightning strike, shattering my world. I was eight months pregnant, and tomorrow, Joey was marrying someone else. While I was fighting to bring this child into the world, he was promising another woman a wedding gown and a lifetime of love. When Stella handed him a fairytale book, her eyes lingered on his, a secret, flirtatious glance passing between them. I was nothing more than an accessory to their twisted romance. Joey turned to me, his expression once again that of a doting husband, and began to read aloud, his voice a soothing balm. Since becoming pregnant, I’d had trouble sleeping. Every night, without fail, he would read to me until I drifted off. When he finished, he placed a soft kiss on my cheek. “I love you. Good night.” A sharp pain from the baby’s kick lanced through my abdomen, but he must have thought I was asleep. He slipped out of the room. The moment he was out the door, I heard Stella’s sultry whisper. “I’ve missed you so much~” Joey’s voice was sharp. “I told you. Not in front of Elara.” “Don’t you think this is more exciting? You don’t usually act this way~” I pulled the covers over my head, but their voices, their sounds, seeped through. “~You love it too, don’t you~~~~” So this was him, unleashed. This was the passion he saved for other women. I buried my face in my pillow, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. The low moans and frantic whispers were like slaps across my face, one after another. The pain in my heart mingled with the pain in my belly, and I tossed and turned, trapped in a waking nightmare. Eventually, the sounds outside stopped. Joey slipped back into the room and into our bed. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his hand stroking my face. His voice was a low murmur, thick with adoration. “Elara, I love you so, so much. I can’t live without you.” His palm was still warm with the afterglow of his passion. The embrace that had been my sanctuary for six years now felt utterly vile. “Do you remember what I told you once?” I asked the next morning, as he was finishing up breakfast. “That if you fell in love with someone else, you should just tell me, and I would disappear.” He froze. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? There’s only you. I only love you. Don’t let your mind play tricks on you.” He immediately pulled out his phone, offering it to me for inspection. But the chat history had been wiped clean. What was there to inspect? Seeing my unmoving expression, he raised his right hand. “I swear, if I, Joey Blackwood, have ever been unfaithful, may my parents both drop dead.” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. It was amazing how easily the lies rolled off his tongue. “Honey, you have to talk to me. Don’t keep things bottled up, okay?” “If I ever betray you, may I die a horrible death and my family line end with me. Please, don’t overthink this.” “If you disappeared,” he whispered, his eyes filled with a sudden, desperate sadness, “I couldn’t go on living.” He looked so distraught he was on the verge of kneeling. I forced a smile. “I was just saying.” I thought that might make him more cautious. Instead, after breakfast, he made an excuse about work and left. I knew the truth. Stella had called him to go try on wedding tuxedos. The moment he was gone, a text from Stella arrived. : You’re a heavy sleeper. [Video attached.] I clicked play. It was from last night, filmed right outside my bedroom door. Joey, lost in the moment, burying his face in her neck, kissing her with a feral hunger. : What do you want? Stella: I want to see just how stupid a woman can be, to not know her husband has been cheating for three years. Take my advice: have the baby, then divorce him. You’ll get a bigger settlement and child support that way. : Don’t you know all of Joey’s assets are in my name? It took a long time for her to reply. : Do you know why Joey is so obsessed with this baby? Because my acting career is taking off. I can’t afford to disappear for a year. And I have a low pain tolerance. Joey can’t even stand to see me get a paper cut. So, you were the only option to carry this child. Do you get it now? If you’re smart, you’ll divorce him. If you’re not, just wait until he transfers all your assets away. : While you were suffering from morning sickness, unable to eat or sleep, do you know what Joey was doing? He was working from my apartment, just so he could spend more time with me. The words burned on the screen. A sob caught in my throat, and then I was crying, really crying, for the first time. To have this child, I had endured so much. The IVF hormones made my ovaries swell, making it impossible to eat or sleep. The egg retrieval needle, as long as my forearm, extracted more than a dozen eggs, the pain so intense I fainted on the table. For eight months, I had given myself over two hundred shots of blood thinners to maintain the pregnancy. Every day, I choked down that bitter medicine, vomiting until I was empty. Every time I felt like I couldn’t go on, I told myself to just hold on a little longer. It would all be worth it when the baby was born. Joey and I had been married for three years. I wanted a child with him more than anything in the world. Whenever he was gone, I told myself to be strong. It turned out that when he was “at work,” he was with her. I buried my head in my hands, tears streaming through my fingers. So this is how cruel you’ve always been. Today was the day of Joey and Stella’s wedding. When I woke up, I saw the blood. A large, dark stain on the white sheets. I stared at it for a long time. When I first got pregnant, the doctor had warned me there was a high chance I would miscarry. I had fought so hard to keep this baby, with the medicine, with the shots. All just to bring this child into the world. Maybe this was fate. When Joey saw the blood, he went feral. He barked orders into his phone, “Shut down the streets! Now! My wife is hemorrhaging! Get a car here immediately, now!” He swept me into his arms, his usual composure shattered as he sprinted to the car. “Faster! Go faster!” he yelled at the driver, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. The pain was making me dizzy. He was supposed to be at his wedding right now, wasn’t he? His hand trembled as he stroked my face. “It’s going to be okay, Elara. It’s okay…” He was shaking from head to toe, as if his soul was about to fly from his body in sheer terror. At the hospital, they determined it was a placental abruption. After some treatment, the doctor assured us the situation was stable. Joey remained a coiled spring of tension, terrified I might take a turn for the worse. When the doctor confirmed the baby was safe, he collapsed into a chair, letting out a long, shuddering breath. He glanced at his phone, then stepped out into the hall to make a call. When he returned, he sat by my bed, but his eyes kept darting to his watch. I chose my moment. “Is there somewhere you need to be? You can go. The doctor said I’m fine.” My permission seemed to throw him into a state of conflict. He hesitated for a long time. Finally, he turned to the medical staff. “Take care of her. If anything, and I mean anything, happens to her, this hospital will be a crater.” He didn’t realize that his choice, in that moment, was my final defeat. This was the man who once stayed home for a week to nurse me when I got a small cut on my finger. When had he become someone who could so easily leave my side to attend another woman’s wedding? My last sliver of hope vanished into thin air. The television in the hospital room was playing an entertainment news segment. A mysterious billionaire had booked the historic Century Cathedral for a private wedding. The grounds were blanketed in flowers, a real-life fairytale castle. All details of the ceremony itself, however, were on strict lockdown. Floating above the grand altar in the broadcast footage were five massive, glowing words. STELLA, I LOVE YOU. A wave of nausea and grief washed over me. I turned my head away, and in the sterile, familiar quiet of the hospital, I made the arrangements to get rid of the child of my husband and his mistress. Joey rushed from the hospital to Stella’s wedding. Just before walking into the cathedral, he sent his Elara a text. [If you need anything, just call. I’m on standby for you, always.] Stella stood before him in her wedding gown, breathtakingly beautiful. But a deep unease settled in his heart. The image of the blood on the sheets this morning kept flashing in his mind. The priest stood at the altar. “Do you, Stella, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony? To love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him, so long as you both shall live?” The words, the ancient vow, made his heart clench. He suddenly remembered Elara, years ago, standing before him, whispering, “I do.” His mind was flooded with an image of red. Elara, bleeding, eight months pregnant, all for him. “I do,” Stella said, her eyes shining with happiness. But as she spoke, his love for Elara swelled in his chest, a tidal wave of guilt and adoration threatening to consume him. He had a sudden, desperate urge to tell Elara how much she meant to him. In the middle of his own wedding, he pulled out his phone. [Elara, I love you so much. I want to be with you forever and ever. Please, please don’t ever leave me. I’ll go insane.] A small measure of peace settled over him as he hit send. A moment later, a reply popped up on his screen: I’m gone. And I’m sorry I aborted your child with Stella. The world shattered around Joey. He stared at the DNA report he’d just received on his phone. How could the mother be Stella!?

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After the amnesia, I stopped controlling Caden. We coexisted like separate planets, never colliding. He devoted all his resources to paving a golden path for Marla Baldwin’s stardom. People warned me, “Stop faking amnesia, Sasha, or you’ll lose your place as Mrs. Pierce.” I’d just smile. Trying to get me killed? I finally had a life of leisure and endless money. When he crashed his car back home, I was overseas following my favorite band on tour. His best friend called, begging me to return. I faked panic: “Oh my god, is he okay? I’ll take the next flight!” By the time he was discharged, I still hadn’t come back. When I finally returned, I wore an apologetic look and lied: “My wallet was stolen right after I landed. I had nothing but my phone. I’m so sorry.” But he just stared at me, took my hand, his eyes red. “Can we stop fighting, Sasha? Please?” 1 Marla Baldwin, starring in a blockbuster fantasy series, was the number one trending topic. The comments were a sea of her fans and paid bots, all recounting the hardships she’d endured over the years. They claimed she’d finally made it. Meanwhile, I was sitting in a plush VIP hospital suite, gently touching the bandage on my head. “Oh. My. God.” Gazing around the opulent room, a grin spread across my face, my eyes gleaming. “Did I just wake up a millionaire?” Just then, a nurse walked in. I quickly pointed to my head. “Hey, miss! When can I get out of here?” She spoke softly. “We’ll probably need to observe you for another two or three days. If there are no adverse reactions, you’ll be free to go.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Perfect, then I can leave now. I feel great.” I fluttered my eyelashes at her. “Pretty please?” She blinked, momentarily stunned, before saying, “Let me get the doctor to take a look. If he says you’re okay, you can be discharged.” “Awesome, thank you!” After the nurse left, I craned my neck to grab my phone. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Holy crap. 99+ notifications. My vision is a little blurry, so I brought the screen closer. Pinned at the very top was a contact labeled: Hubby. There was one unread message: If you keep this up, we’re getting a divorce. Divorce?! The next second, I was calling my mom. As soon as she picked up, I blurted out, “Did you win the lottery or something?” “You ungrateful brat! You need to tell that Caden of yours to give your brother—” I hung up before she could finish. Next, I called my dad. Same question, same answer. By 3:33 PM, I had confirmed that I hadn’t struck it rich. The wealthy one was the “Hubby” who wanted to divorce me. I immediately checked my bank account. After counting the staggering number of zeroes, I went back to read the chat history with “Hubby.” I almost fainted. Seriously, did I have my head slammed in a car door before I woke up? I had been begging—actually begging—my cheating husband to come back home. “Unbelievable!” I pressed my fingertips to my temples dramatically. “When did I become so pathetic?” I walked into the bathroom and stared at my haggard reflection. “Sasha,” I said to the mirror, “when did you become this person? Begging for love? Have you completely lost your mind?” Once the doctor cleared me for discharge, I made a beeline for the nearest luxury mall for a complete makeover. I bought ten heavy gold bangles in one go, five for each wrist. The sales associate, seeing how extravagant I was, was smiling so hard her eyes disappeared. She showered me with an endless stream of compliments. When I left the mall, I was practically radiating the decadent scent of money. Magnificent. Next stop: an exclusive gentlemen’s club. I walked in with a briefcase full of cash. I fanned a thick stack of bills and used it to tilt one of the model’s chins up. “Do you like me?” His eyes lit up like laser beams. “Darling, I like you more than anyone,” he purred. “You’re gorgeous, you have an amazing body… who wouldn’t be obsessed with you? If someone isn’t, they must be blind.” I turned to another. “Do you love me?” He practically threw himself at my feet. “After my own mother, you are the person I love and care for most in this world.” I held out a wad of cash, smiling as I had them fan me with it. See? Love is easy. When you have money, you can have any kind of love you want. These guys were so smooth, they could sell water to a drowning man. I was so giddy I couldn’t tell which way was up. 2 Relying on a faint flicker of memory, I found my way back to an opulent, sprawling villa. My legs felt like jelly, my heart pounding in my chest. “Holy crap, is that a fountain? And a colonnade? Wow, and a garden… and a swimming pool!” The smile on my face stretched wider. This is my house. I pushed open the heavy front door. The foyer was dark. I switched on my phone’s flashlight, fumbling along the wall for a light switch. Before I could find it, a piercing scream echoed through the hall. “Ah!” My heart leaped into my throat. My knees went weak from the shock, and I leaned against the wall, peering toward the source of the sound. The next second, the lights flickered on. I squinted against the sudden brightness. When my eyes adjusted, I saw a man with a woman huddled in his arms. They were too far away for me to see clearly. The man’s voice was cold, laced with impatience. “What is it this time? Threatening to jump off the roof? Slit your wrists?” Before I could process what was happening, the woman beside him shrank back as if terrified of me, her big, watery eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I held up my hands. “Whoa, sorry to interrupt. Didn’t see a thing in the dark. I’ll just… head upstairs.” “You two carry on.” With that, I turned and bolted up the stairs as if my life depended on it. Following another hazy memory, I found a bedroom and slipped inside. Once again, I found myself marveling, “This room is huge.” After a shower, I came out to find someone else in the room. It was the man from downstairs. I guessed he must be “Hubby” from my phone—Caden Pierce. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he leaned against the wall, staring at me coldly. “What’s the new game?” Before I could speak, he sneered. “Amnesia?” I knew that even if I showed him the doctor’s official diagnosis, he wouldn’t believe me. So I just waved my hands frantically. “Nope, not at all! I’m perfectly fine!” Silence descended upon the room. I had no feelings for him, no memories of him. To me, he was just some guy standing in my room. I asked hesitantly, “Was there something else?” If not, you can leave. I highly doubted a cheating man would want to stick around anyway. He lazily lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Weren’t you the one who was begging me to come home?” “Heh, well, if you’re busy, you’re free to go.” I offered a dry laugh. He shot me an icy glare before disappearing into the bathroom. I sat on the bed, scrolling through my phone, trying to piece together my life from the endless text messages. It turned out Marla Baldwin was Caden’s childhood sweetheart. But her family went bankrupt during college. She didn’t get into the same university as him, and their youthful romance was buried by circumstance. When they met again, she was a struggling extra in Hollywood, while he was the CEO of the Pierce Corporation. It was a story straight out of a romance novel. He felt sorry for her past and wanted to give her the glittering career she deserved. I was just the villain who had thrown a wrench in their fairytale. I had publicly accused Marla of being a homewrecker. Her rivals seized the opportunity, fanning the flames of the scandal, and she was nearly driven out of the industry. I did a quick search. The whole affair ended with me issuing a public apology. The official statement claimed it was all a misunderstanding, that Marla had not interfered in our marriage. What a load of crap. How touching. How noble of him to protect her. I yawned, deciding to go to sleep before he came out of the bathroom. If I was asleep, it wouldn’t be awkward. … The next morning, I woke up alone. After breakfast, I casually asked the housekeeper, Maria, “What do I usually do around this time?” “Oh.” Maria paused, thinking for a long moment before choosing her words carefully. “Ma’am, you would typically go to Mr. Pierce’s office?” “To work?” “Ah, no.” I got the picture. For the next few weeks, Caden never came home. I, on the other hand, made friends with a few wealthy wives. They took me to exclusive clubs, high tea, and lavish spas. “It’s about time you finally saw the light,” one of them said. Her name was Clara, a stunningly beautiful woman. I shook my head internally. Men. They have a beautiful, fragrant flower at home, but they still can’t resist the temptation of trash on the street. She slowly exhaled a plume of smoke. The handsome young actor sitting beside her quickly held out an ashtray. The model next to me was just as attentive, picking up a strawberry and holding it to my lips. “Darling,” he whispered, “have a strawberry.” Then he leaned closer to my ear. “Want to play a game?” My interest was piqued. “What kind of game?” The model had soft, androgynous features and a captivating smile. I found myself staring for a moment. He leaned in, but before he could say a word, the door to our private room was kicked open with a violent crash. A man in a black suit stormed in, his face a mask of fury. He lunged forward and punched the actor square in the jaw. I gasped, covering my mouth. Clara and the other wives, however, seemed completely unfazed. The actor didn’t dare fight back. Finally, Clara, examining her manicure with an air of boredom, spoke. “Are you done? If so, get out. You’re scaring my friends.” In the dim light of the room, the sliver of yellow light from the hallway illuminated the man’s pale face. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over Clara’s shoulders, then grabbed her arm. “Come home with me.” After Clara left, I asked the remaining wives, “What was that all about?” One of them laughed bitterly. “The classic double standard. He’s allowed to play with fire, but she’s not even allowed to light a match.” As we left the club, I tilted my head at the model beside me. “Why do you work here?” He smiled, his answer simple. “I need the money.” “Are you clean?” I asked. He paused for a second, as if processing the question, then nodded. “Yes.” I smiled back. “Alright. I’ll give you ten thousand a month. Be mine.” His lips parted slightly. “Thank you,” he said. “What’s your name? Your real name.” “Leo.” 3 The day Caden and Marla Baldwin’s names exploded across the internet, Leo and I were up at 4 AM. We were chasing a sunrise. There’s a road in Northwood that’s surrounded by the ocean on three sides. He drove a scooter, and I sat beside him in the sidecar. The road was dotted with others like us, all seeking the dawn. The horizon was already set ablaze with a magnificent crimson and gold. Palm trees lined the road, swaying in the gentle breeze. At 5 AM, a crowd gathered on the beach. For nearly twenty minutes, we watched. A sun like a salted egg yolk slowly ascended from the sea, its light brilliant but not blinding. When I got back to the villa, I collapsed onto the bed and fell instantly asleep. I was jolted awake by the incessant buzzing of my phone. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. “For crying out loud!” “Aaargh! So annoying!” I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. Finally, I unlocked my phone. Messages were flooding in from people I knew and people I didn’t, all asking if Caden and I were getting divorced. The general sentiment was: “You can’t keep faking this amnesia, Sasha. If you do, your spot as Mrs. Pierce is going to be up for grabs.” I scoffed internally. Are you trying to get me killed? I finally have a life where I don’t have to work and still have money to burn. I scratched my head, took a deep breath, and opened up social media. Well, what do you know. The number one trending topic was #CadenAndMarla. Apparently, one of their old high school classmates had posted a video as part of a viral trend called ‘Seventeen-Year-Old Daydreams.’ The video transitioned to a photo of the user in their old classroom. In the background, several other students in uniforms were captured in the shot. I looked down at the photo, which fans had enlarged and digitally enhanced for clarity. You could see Marla’s face perfectly. The girl was looking up at the boy standing before her, her eyes bright with an adoring smile. The boy was leaning casually against the blackboard at the back of the room, his head slightly bowed, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The comments section was on fire. “Is this a scene from a Netflix teen drama? I’m invested.” “So all those ‘coincidences’ weren’t coincidences at all. Caden has been her guardian angel in Hollywood this whole time.” “OMG, tell us more! This is so sweet!” “But wait, isn’t Caden married? What does that make them? Is Marla not the other woman here?” Amidst the sea of fans shipping this ‘reunited lovers’ fantasy, a rare voice of dissent emerged. But people only want to hear what they want to hear, see what they want to see. Anytime a comment didn’t fit their fairytale narrative, they would reconstruct their fantasy world with a barrage of “I heard” and “from what I understand.” “The wife isn’t nearly as pretty as Marla. And I heard she used some dirty tricks to marry into the Pierce family in the first place. A family like that would never have accepted her otherwise.” “I agree. The fact that Caden and Marla found each other again proves that even fate couldn’t stand to keep them apart.” The comments flew back and forth, but my mind was a complete blank. I couldn’t even remember how Caden and I met, let alone how we got married. I scratched my head. Why would the heir to a massive fortune marry me? Didn’t his parents object? I couldn’t find an answer, so I gave up trying. That evening, I was waiting for Leo outside the Northwood Institute of Technology. He had taken a year off from school due to family issues but had recently re-enrolled. He was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt over a white t-shirt. A sharp pain lanced through my head. A fuzzy image flickered at the edge of my vision. “Hey, have you been waiting long?” I shook my head slightly. “Not at all. Any good places to eat around here?” “Feel like some barbecue? A new place just opened up, I hear it’s really good.” “Sounds perfect.” The Institute of Technology was right next to Northwood University. As we passed by the university’s main gate, I slowed to a stop. The familiar entrance felt like a dream. Leo asked softly, “Sasha? What’s wrong?” “I think… I think I used to go to school here.” Just as we were about to leave, a warm, elderly voice called out from behind us. “Is that you, Sasha?” I turned. An old man pushing a bicycle was walking towards us, a cheerful grin on his face. “The last time you two visited was for the alumni event a few years ago! Don’t tell me you came all this way just to see this old man?” I bit my lip. The whole amnesia thing sounded ridiculous to most people. So I just smiled. “Of course, Professor. We came to see you. How have you been?” The professor waved his hand with a laugh. “I’m doing great, just great. I know Caden is a busy man. And who is this young fellow?” He gestured toward Leo. “A friend of mine,” I said. “He goes to the tech institute next door.” “A pleasure to meet you, young man.” Leo bowed his head slightly. “Professor.” “Yes, yes,” the professor nodded, his kind eyes twinkling as he looked at me. “My, how time flies. It feels like just yesterday you two were freshmen. That boy, Caden, ran all over Riverton in the middle of the night just to collect a full set of those character dolls for you, and he had a major competition the next day. Ah, to be young. And now, look at you, married for five years.” My smile froze on my face. I’m twenty-eight this year. The professor continued, lost in his memories. “I wanted him to stay on for his master’s, his Ph.D. He joined my research lab as a freshman—a true genius, one of a kind. But his parents were against it. He told me he had to go out there and build a future for you both.” Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my heart. An image flashed in my mind. A boy in a blue shirt, darting through unfamiliar streets. Then, a bright, teasing voice echoed in my ears: Hey, going for that sun-kissed look? I thought I was too pale myself, mind if I join? “Well, look at the time,” the professor said, snapping me back to the present. “I have to get to my class. You two should come by and visit this old man when you have a chance.” I smiled. “We will. Please take care of yourself.” After the professor left, Leo noticed my pale face. “Sasha, are you okay? You don’t look so well.” “I’m fine. Just… remembered some things.” The Northwood night was a dazzling spectacle, with golden lights illuminating the city’s grand, European-style architecture. Clara was drunk. I went to pick her up. A waiter led me to a private room. She was slumped on the floor, her head resting on the table, her curly hair splayed out around her. I had no idea what had happened to make her drink this much. Hearing the door, she lifted her head groggily, her voice slurred. “Sasha? Is that you?” “Yeah, it’s me. Come on, I’m taking you home.” “Home?” She blinked, staring at me with a vacant expression. Then, a bitter smile twisted her lips. “Right. My home. The one where I’m all alone.” As she laughed, something seemed to occur to her. She fumbled with her phone and held it out to me. The screen displayed an email from a university abroad. An acceptance letter. “I’m going to study overseas.” My jaw dropped. “Clara, that’s amazing! Congratulations! I’ll have to come visit you.” “You better. I’ll show you my campus.” But she didn’t look happy. I glanced at the empty bottles scattered around the room. “Isn’t this the school you’ve always dreamed of?” “Hmm? What makes you say that?” “You just don’t seem very happy about it.” She froze at my words, then threw her head back and laughed. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… surreal.” I looked at her, confused, as she began to tell me her story.

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In the seventh year of my mission, Tim Stan’s first love killed herself. He cashed in his entire lifetime of good fortune, begging the System for the power to turn back time. He returned to the fateful moment he chose me over her. “This time,” he vowed, “I won’t let Willow suffer again.” He abandoned his wife and child, all for a second chance with the woman he truly loved. But he didn’t know— The System sent me back with him. And as compensation, my mission was over. I no longer had to be anyone’s wife or anyone’s mother. This time, I could just be me. 1 The System found me while I was in the kitchen, making a hangover cure for Tim. The familiar electronic voice echoed in my mind. [Host, it has been a while.] [The second male lead, Tim Stan, has petitioned the Overlord to rewind time, offering his life’s fortune in exchange. We are required to seek your consent.] [As your mission is already complete, you have the right to veto his request.] Crash. The glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. I turned, stunned. The living room was a disaster zone, littered with empty liquor bottles. There, beneath our family portrait, sat Tim, slumped in defeat. In his hands, he clutched a worn photograph of her—Willow Hayes. He stared at the smiling girl in the picture, his eyes bloodshot and wild with grief. “If I had known… I never should have let you go to him,” he choked out. “I should have stayed by your side, protected you, made sure you lived a happy life.” “How could you be so cruel? Why didn’t you think of me? Why didn’t you think of your big brother?” He was laughing and crying at the same time, a wounded, animalistic sound tearing from his throat. I watched him, a cold realization dawning on me. All this time. Even after all the years I had devoted to winning him over, even after marrying him and giving him a child… To him, I was still just the consolation prize. A convenient, laughable shield he used so Willow could chase her own happiness without guilt. 2 After a near-fatal car accident, I was bound to a Transmigration System. The world I entered was a novel, a classic romance about a neglectful hero who has to grovel to win back the woman he wronged. The hero, Damian Thorne, and the heroine, Willow Hayes, had a torturous love story that, after countless trials, ended in reconciliation. And Tim Stan was the devoted second male lead, the one who watched over her from afar and never married. The conflict between Tim and Damian exploded midway through the story. Damian was in the groveling phase of his character arc, clumsily trying to win Willow back. At the same time, Willow had become aware of the unspoken love her adoptive brother, Tim, held for her, and she was trapped in a painful state of guilt and indecision. The System told me my mission was to earn 100% of Tim’s affection. So, in the tenth year of my mission, when Tim set off a city’s worth of fireworks for me, got down on one knee in front of both Willow and Damian, and asked me to marry him… When I heard the System’s voice announce, [Congratulations, Host. Mission complete.]… I wept with joy. I chose to tell Tim everything—about the System, about the fact that his world was a book. And I chose to stay, to live out a new life with him, free from the novel’s plot. I had no one in my original world. As long as I could live, it didn’t matter where. Besides, somewhere along the way, I had truly fallen in love with him. I still remembered his trembling hands as he held out the ring, the frantic beating of his heart, the love that filled his eyes under the cascading fireworks. But it was all a lie. Tim had deceived everyone, including the System, all to free his precious girl from her guilt so she could run into another man’s arms. Now, seven years later, the novel’s plot had concluded. Willow discovered that Damian had cheated on her, that her happily-ever-after was a sham. She fell into a deep depression and jumped from a building. Her white dress had blossomed into a crimson flower in the wind. Only then did Tim finally feel regret. And in his desperation to go back and save her, he tore open the bloody, horrifying truth. How laughable. From beginning to end, Willow was his only destination. 3 “Tim, when you decided to go back, did you think about me and Caleb? Even for a second?” I asked him, clinging to one last sliver of hope. Caleb was our son, born in the first year of our marriage. He was premature, and his condition at birth was critical. Tim had the world’s best medical equipment and specialists flown in. He stood vigil outside the ICU for a week straight, without sleep. Only when our son was out of danger did he finally collapse from exhaustion, sleeping for three days and three nights. When he woke up, he bought three minor planets and named them after the three of us. He held our son and placed a soft kiss on my forehead, his eyes overflowing with love. “My love,” he’d whispered, “thank you for choosing to stay in this world for me. I swear, I, Tim Stan, will never let you down. From now on, our family will be like the stars in the sky, together forever.” It was because of Caleb that both Willow and I believed he had truly moved on, that he was wholeheartedly devoted to me. It was Caleb who sparked in Willow a longing for marriage and family of her own. After a few more rounds of drama with Damian, she finally accepted his proposal, and the story officially reached its grand finale. And now… Tim looked up at me, his eyes a terrifying, inhuman shade of red. He wasn’t surprised the System had told me. “You don’t have to worry,” he said flatly. “Just like you transmigrated into this book, when I turn back time, it will be like going to a parallel universe. Time in this world will freeze. Once I’ve helped Willow live a long and happy life, I’ll come back. You and Caleb will be fine.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted back to the photograph, tender and full of longing. He seemed completely oblivious to how utterly insane he sounded. My voice was hoarse. “You mean, after you go back, save Willow, and grow old with her, you’re just going to come back here and continue living with us?” Perhaps the raw despair in my voice finally got through to him. He tore his eyes away from his memories and looked at me, confused. “But I already helped you complete your mission, didn’t I? I gave you a second chance at life. How can you ask for more from me and Willow?” That single look sent a chill through my bones. I couldn’t stop shivering. His meaning was simple. I was the one who had stolen the love that rightfully belonged to Willow. I was a thief. And as a thief, I had no right to stop him from returning what he had stolen. It’s hard to describe the feeling. Before I could even process the grief, another blow landed. The phone rang. Our son, Caleb, was missing. 4 I called the police. I checked the security footage. I drove around his school all night, searching. He was only six. A little boy so pampered he refused to ride in anything but a sports car, a boy I had to coax into eating every meal. Why? Why would he pack his little backpack and trudge out into the pouring rain, only to vanish into a surveillance blind spot? Panic consumed me. Caleb was so young. It was dark, it was raining… what if he ran into someone dangerous? A tidal wave of regret washed over me. I should have picked him up myself. I shouldn’t have been so caught up with Tim. I collapsed onto the floor and finally began to sob. Seeing me in a state of utter breakdown, Tim stood up, a faint sneer in his eyes. “I know where he is.” “I’ll take you.” I didn’t have time to think. I clung to him like a drowning person to a piece of driftwood and followed. He wasn’t lying. He really knew where Caleb was. When we arrived, Caleb was holding his tiny umbrella, struggling through the downpour. He, who was usually so fussy about cleanliness, who had a mild pollen allergy, was covered in mud. He didn’t seem to notice. He was carrying a large bouquet of wild daisies, which he placed reverently in front of Willow’s tombstone. His eyes were red as he leaned against the black-and-white photograph on the stone. “Auntie Willow, I miss you so much.” “Daddy said you’re not really his sister. He said… you were supposed to be my mommy.” “I wish you were my mommy…” I couldn’t listen anymore. I dropped my umbrella and rushed forward to take him home. But he fought me, kicking and screaming. “No! I don’t want to leave Auntie Willow! It was you! You took Daddy away from her! You stole me from her tummy! I don’t want a wicked woman like you to be my mom!” He bit down hard on my wrist. Blood trickled down my arm, mixing with the rain. I cried out in pain and let him go. He scrambled away like a wounded animal seeking shelter and hid behind the tombstone, behind the cold, black-and-white photograph that offered him more security than his own living mother. Tim stood by, arms crossed, watching the whole scene with cold detachment, as if I weren’t his wife, as if Caleb weren’t his son. The only time his expression changed was when I stumbled and nearly crushed the daisies. He strode forward, his voice like ice. “Don’t get dirt on Willow’s favorite flowers.” I shoved him away, my eyes locked on Caleb. “Caleb… do you really not want me to be your mommy anymore?” He nodded without a second of hesitation. “Yes. If I could choose, I would want Auntie Willow to be my mom.” “Fine,” I said, nodding. I turned and walked away without a single backward glance at the father and son mourning their lost love in the rain. 5 Tim’s theory about parallel worlds was correct. What he didn’t know was that as compensation for his time travel, I had a choice. [If the Host chooses to return as well, this world will collapse and reboot.] [In the new timeline, the Host will no longer be bound by any mission and will be free to choose her own path.] The System’s electronic voice sounded almost cheerful. [Consider it a small humanitarian gesture from the Overlord for our returning agents.] [Host, have you decided? Will you stay or go?] I was momentarily stunned. No more missions. Then, a sense of relief washed over me. It made sense. I had already completed my task. The time reversal wasn’t my fault, so I shouldn’t have to work again. Out of a final, lingering sense of maternal duty, I asked, “What will happen to Caleb?” The System paused. [If Tim succeeds in saving Willow Hayes, Caleb will be born as their child.] I smiled softly. “Well, that’s the best possible outcome, isn’t it?” I would get health, freedom, and wealth. Tim and his son would get the woman they’d always dreamed of. The System sounded confused. [Are you not sad? You spent almost all of your accumulated points to ensure he could be born within the story’s original timeline, a child who was never meant to exist.] Sad? Maybe a little. But a new beginning was right in front of me. A life free from missions, untethered, completely my own. It was waving at me with open arms. Before, I had no choice. Now, I wanted to be myself. I shook my head. “Let’s go back.” This was their choice. Let them have it. A flash of white light, and I was back, six years in the past. The moment I opened my eyes, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Before I could even see who had hit me, I reacted on instinct, my own hand flying out to return the slap. Tim’s furious face came into focus. “Genevieve, are you insane?” Behind him, Willow Hayes was clutching her cheek, tears streaming silently down her face. The grand ballroom buzzed with the chatter of guests. Someone whispered, “Has the Sterling heiress lost her mind?” “Everyone knows Willow is the apple of Tim’s eye. It was just a dress. Was it really necessary to cause such a scene?” I remembered now. This was six years ago, at the engagement party for my arranged marriage with Tim. Willow, in an attempt to stop Tim from marrying a woman he didn’t love, had shown up wearing the exact same gown as me. “Genevieve,” she had hissed at me, “do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a cold, loveless transaction? Marriage should be about love, not business!” That was Willow’s logic. Love conquered all. Even though she hadn’t figured out her own feelings for Tim, she knew he loved her. So, to save him from a loveless, financially motivated marriage, she had come to crash the party. Back then, I had just smiled. “And can you give him that happiness?” I’d asked. “You know you two have no future, yet you come here to play the righteous hero. You give him hope only to snatch it away. Do you really think you’re so noble, Willow?” She couldn’t answer. She had stammered, her face turning crimson, and then shrieked as she slapped me. “This is between me and Tim! It’s none of your business!” The first time around, to protect my image in front of Tim and maintain his fragile affection score, I hadn’t fought back. But things were different now. So I slapped him too, right across the face, for getting in my way. Then, as he stared at me in disbelief, I shook my head slowly, a wild, unrestrained smile spreading across my face. “I’m not insane, Tim.” “I’m calling off the engagement.”

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