Category: English

It was the second time the Donovans had sent me away. The first time, I was eleven. This time, I was eighteen. The reason was the same: Sloane. This time, it was because I’d slapped her for trying to snatch the worn-out rag doll I’d had for years. The first time… the reasons were more complicated. On the day I left, my parents—our parents—were busy comforting Sloane, whose sobs echoed through the marble entryway. My brother, Ethan, stood in front of her like a bodyguard, his face a mask of fury directed at me. The only thing I took with me was that doll. A gift from Carter Hayes, my betrothed, from the day I was first found and brought to this house. Seven years later, they summoned me back for the second time. The reason, once again, was Sloane. She had decided she was in love with my fiancé. 1 The moment I stepped into the grand, sun-drenched living room, Sloane dissolved into tears, her face a perfect portrait of tragedy. “I love Carter,” she cried, her voice catching prettily. “I won’t have anyone but him.” My brother, Ethan, fixed me with a look he usually reserved for criminals. “Sloane and Carter have always been close. Why do you have to be the one to ruin it?” My mother and father, the Donovans, took a softer approach, their voices laced with practiced reason. “Sloane has been raised with a certain… delicacy, Chloe. Marrying into a family as influential as the Hayeses is what’s best for her, what she’s prepared for.” My mother reached out, then let her hand fall. “Please, Chloe. Can’t you just let her have this?” My hands felt clammy on the handle of my single suitcase. I looked at the four of them, a united front of familial concern, all of it aimed at protecting someone else. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice quiet in the cavernous room. “Which room is mine?” The four of them blinked, the flow of their drama momentarily dammed. After a few seconds of silence, Ethan cleared his throat, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “The housekeeper just cleared out one of the rooms on the second floor. I’ll… I’ll show you.” I nodded and followed him up the sweeping staircase. The suitcase was heavy, its wheels bumping on each step. Halfway up, he finally seemed to realize he should be carrying it, turning to take it from me with a gruff, reluctant motion. I followed a step behind him, the old habit of politeness ingrained in me. “Thank you.” Ethan’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t reply. The room was an old storage space, hastily converted. The bed frame looked like a cast-off from the basement, and the mattress was still bare, waiting for linens that no one had remembered. For a family like the Donovans, this room was worse than what they gave the staff. Ethan coughed lightly. “The third floor…” “I know,” I cut him off gently. “It’s fine.” The third floor had four bedrooms. Sloane had claimed the two best ones—with the best light and the best views—one for sleeping, and one for her million-dollar grand piano. We stood in the dusty silence for a moment before Ethan finally broke. “Chloe, Grandpa set up this engagement for you. He left you a separate inheritance, a significant one. Sloane… she doesn’t have any of that. Can’t you just…” “What did the Hayes family say?” I asked, cutting through his appeal. “The Hayeses…” He hesitated. “This is a matter between our families. It’s an alliance. As long as we sort it out internally, we can present a united front to them later.” So, this wasn’t Carter’s idea. A small, secret breath of relief escaped me. I was eleven when they found me and brought me to this house. I thought I was coming home to parents and a brother who had spent years searching for me. Instead, I found a family that was already complete, with a daughter named Sloane. They told me that after I, the original Sloane Donovan, was lost at four years old, they’d adopted another girl to fill the void, to soothe their grief. They gave her my name. They had come to see her as their own. So when they found me, they gave me a new name: Chloe. The echo. The return. Sloane, emboldened by their adoration, had thrown a tantrum and smashed up the princess bedroom they had prepared for me. She’d pointed a finger in my face and called me a charity case from the system, unfit to sleep in such a nice room. She’d cried and screamed that she needed an inspiring environment for her piano practice, and so the room became hers. At the dinner table, she mocked me for eating too quietly, a habit I’d learned in the group home. She laughed, loud and unrestrained, at my clumsy attempts to cut a steak. When my parents offered a mild rebuke, she ran to the rooftop terrace and threatened to jump. After that, my father’s only refrain was for me to “get along with Sloane” and “not to upset her.” My mother said nothing, but her eyes, so much like my own, followed me with a cold disappointment. The turmoil that rocked the Donovan household was always, somehow, my fault. The first time I fought back against her, Ethan proposed sending me away to live with a distant relative in Blackwood Creek. … “Chloe.” Ethan’s face was stern again, pulling me from the memory. “You didn’t grow up with Mom and Dad. In terms of education, of culture, of knowing your place… how can you possibly compare to Sloane? A family like the Hayeses… even if you managed to marry into it, you wouldn’t last.” I looked at him calmly, at this man who shared my blood but had done nothing but belittle me since the moment we met. My voice was cool, each word deliberate. “Carter is my fiancé. And I am not giving him to Sloane.” 2 “Chloe! I thought after all these years, you would have grown up, learned some sense. Why must you fight Sloane for Carter?” Ethan’s anger was predictable. His eyes held a familiar glint of contempt. “I know what you’re thinking. You see the Hayes family name, the money. You think marrying Carter means you’ll be set for life, dripping in luxury.” He took a step closer. “But you and Carter have no real connection. Nothing like him and Sloane. They grew up together. Why are you so selfishly clinging to this arrangement and making Sloane miserable?” A dry laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan, you just listed all the reasons the Hayes engagement is so valuable. Why on earth would I give it away?” I stepped toward him, my eyes locked on his. “You’re so worried about Sloane’s pain. What about mine? And another thing—did you ever once stop to ask if I, your actual sister, even like Carter?” He looked genuinely stunned, sputtering, “You don’t deserve…” My gaze turned to ice. He stopped himself, a look of shamefaced anger crossing his face as he registered my mocking, knowing expression. What a joke. We were both daughters of the Donovan family. But when it came to me, the only sentiment was that I didn’t deserve it. I dropped my eyes, the dust motes dancing on the dark wood floor stinging them. I turned away sharply. “Don’t bother with the room. I’m heading back to campus this afternoon. I have an internship to focus on. I won’t be staying here.” “Chloe!” he called out as I walked away. “You bullied Sloane in high school. You were the reason she fell into a depression and had to drop out for a semester. Don’t you feel any guilt for what you owe her?” My feet froze on the top step. A hot, acidic sting filled my eyes. Bullied her? It didn’t matter what I said. They would always believe the daughter they had raised, the one they knew. I walked down the stairs and into the living room. My mother was now fussing over Sloane, feeding her something from a small bowl. She looked up as I approached, her body tensing. “Chloe, you’re not staying for dinner?” I stood there, studying the familiar lines of her face, the curve of her brows that mirrored my own. A treacherous flicker of hope ignited in my chest. “I have to get back to school,” I said. “Internship prep is starting.” My mother hesitated, a wave of relief washing over her features, followed by something else—guilt, maybe. “About Sloane… well, never mind. You… be safe on the road.” The silence stretched for a few seconds. I gave a small, self-mocking smile. “…Okay.” This house. Eight years ago, or today, it made no difference. I wasn’t welcome here. Not even by my own mother. I walked out of the Donovan mansion without a backward glance. … On the city bus, my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan. Chloe, you have to pay back what you owe Sloane. It’s my duty as her brother to see that she gets justice, and my responsibility as your brother to teach you right from wrong. I stared at the message, then powered my phone off. Eight years ago, Sloane and her friends had made my life a living hell at school. They’d thrown my textbooks in the trash, cut my hair in the bathroom, put hand sanitizer in my water bottle. After school, they would corner me, tripping me, calling me names, their laughter echoing as I picked myself up off the pavement. In a strange way, it was almost easier than the group home, with its constant hunger, the casual cruelty of the older kids, and the endless chores. Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant to be the true, lost daughter of the Donovans. All I knew was that my parents and my brother loved the beautiful, delicate Sloane. If I wanted to stay in this beautiful, delicate house, I had to get along with her. I couldn’t go back to the system. I just couldn’t. So I told myself to endure it. Just like before. Just endure it, and it will pass. But Sloane didn’t want to share her home. She switched tactics. She started showing up with mysterious bruises, telling her friends I was hurting her. She paid a shady online clinic for a depression diagnosis and tearfully announced she had to drop out of school because of the trauma. The rag doll from Carter was the final straw. She’d ripped it from my hands, her face twisted with a viciousness I’d never seen before. “Why do you get to keep anything from him? You’re a pathetic little stray who should have stayed in the system! Why did you have to come back and try to steal my family?” For the first time, I hit her. I fought back. For that one doll. It was the only gift I had received since returning to the Donovans. My home, my name, my brother, my parents—they were all hers now. Why did she have to take this one small thing, too? That night, Sloane presented my parents with edited security footage from a camera in the hall. It showed one thing, crystal clear: me, striking her. Her carefully constructed narrative of being bullied, her fabricated depression—it all solidified with that video. I was the villain. They sent me away to Blackwood Creek. And for eight lonely years, that doll, and the memory of a boy I’d met only once, were the only comforts I had. 3 It didn’t take long for Ethan to demonstrate his brotherly “responsibility.” Over the next week, every single internship application I had submitted to companies in Port Sterling in my field was rejected. I finally went to my faculty advisor, a kind man who suddenly couldn’t meet my eye. “Chloe,” he stammered, shuffling papers on his desk. “Did you… have you upset someone important? Someone with your last name, perhaps?” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water on that hot summer day. I couldn’t believe it. To force my hand for Sloane, Ethan was willing to use the Donovan family’s influence to blacklist me. Without a relevant internship, I would fail a core requirement of my degree. I wouldn’t be able to graduate. Ethan had never, not once, shown me an ounce of mercy. I wandered the campus in a daze for what felt like hours until a single name surfaced in my mind. Carter Hayes. The Donovans were powerful in Port Sterling, but they weren’t the only ones. The Hayes family was just as formidable, and Carter, as one of the heirs, was already working at the family corporation. Over the years, our engagement had been a strange, disembodied thing. We weren’t close, but we exchanged polite phone calls on holidays and birthdays. Every time he called, my heart would leap with a nervous excitement, and I’d force myself to respond with a calm, measured grace. He had no idea that a simple rag doll was enough to make a lonely girl think of him for eight years. My palm was sweating as the phone rang. This was the first time I had ever asked anyone for help. And I was asking the one person I had secretly cherished a crush on. After I explained my situation, Carter agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. Just bring your internship forms to HR tomorrow. I’ll let them know you’re coming. We happen to have an opening that’s a perfect fit for your major.” A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it pushed back the tears that had been threatening to fall all day. “Carter, thank you. Thank you so much.” He laughed on the other end of the line, his usually formal tone softening into something warmer, almost intimate. “Chloe, relax. You can intern here for as long as you need. Besides… it’ll give us more time to get to know each other.” 4 After I finished my onboarding paperwork at Hayes Corp, I saw a text from Ethan, sent at some point during the day. Chloe, if you insist on being stubborn, the consequences will only get worse. This is my final warning, as your brother. I stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment, then blocked his number. Though Carter and I worked in the same building, our paths rarely crossed. He didn’t give me any special treatment, which I was grateful for. I was assigned to a senior manager and thrown into the deep end, working on projects, drafting proposals, and pulling the same late nights as everyone else. My manager would even assign me extra off-site tasks. It was exhausting, but also a relief. Carter had given me a chance, and the best way I could repay him was by working harder than anyone else. My direct supervisor was an older woman, Ms. Albright, notoriously difficult to please. She would send my proposals back covered in red ink, call me at midnight demanding revisions to a PowerPoint, and had no problem chewing me out in the middle of the open-plan office. I took it all in stride. One afternoon, however, she was particularly vicious about a minor data error in a report. As she dressed me down in front of the entire department, Carter happened to walk by, pausing for a moment to watch before continuing on his way. Later, terrified the incident would reflect poorly on him for bringing me in, I found him and explained that the mistake was entirely mine and that Ms. Albright was just doing her job. Carter just smiled, a strange, unreadable expression on his face, and said nothing. Eventually, my relentless work ethic started to soften Ms. Albright’s sharp edges. She started making small jokes, offering begrudging compliments. “You know, Chloe, that stubborn streak of yours reminds me of someone I used to know… someone I respected a great deal.” “Honestly, if you weren’t an intern, I’d think they’d signed you to an iron-clad contract from hell. You finish my projects, do the extra work the department head throws at you, and then you still manage to pull an all-nighter before spending the next day with me at the factory two hours out of town. I don’t think ten full-time employees work as hard as you do.” She looked at me shrewdly one day. “Chloe… you didn’t piss someone off, did you?” I just smiled and didn’t answer. This was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to lose. If hard work was the price, I would gladly pay it. … Four months into my internship, Ms. Albright called me into the office at ten o’clock at night. She handed me a file. “Chloe, take this to Mr. Hayes.” I took the folder, confused. “To Carter?” Delivering a document to the heir apparent at this hour was far above my pay grade. Her voice was heavy with meaning. “You’ll understand when you get there.” I followed the address she gave me to a sleek, private club downtown. As I approached the door to the VIP room, I could hear Carter’s voice inside. Just as I raised my hand to knock, Sloane’s high-pitched laughter cut through the door, sharp as glass. “Oh my god, that video of Chloe getting yelled at like a dog was hilarious! I’ve watched it a dozen times.” “Carter, darling, tell me again. Besides sending her to that factory in the middle of nowhere and then making her work all night, what else have you done to punish her?” A violent tremor went through me. My blood ran cold. Carter’s voice, when it came, was not the polite, gentle one I knew. It was lazy, laced with contempt and a casual cruelty. “Patience, baby. The old hag I assigned her to is the biggest ball-buster in the company. It’s only a matter of time before she makes Chloe cry.” He paused. “Besides, this is just to soften her up. When the internship ends, I’ll have HR invalidate her paperwork. She won’t graduate.” Sloane’s voice dropped into a pout. “But the family is planning to announce your engagement on Chloe’s twenty-first birthday.” Carter sounded bored. “So? I’ll let her think everything is fine until the party. Then, in front of everyone who matters in Port Sterling, I’ll accuse her of corporate espionage. I’ll destroy her reputation so completely that I’ll have no choice but to break the engagement. She’ll be a pariah. Is that satisfying enough for you?” Through the crack in the door, I saw Sloane, pretty and petite, curl into Carter’s arms. “Daddy and Mommy and Ethan never liked her anyway,” she purred. “But you know what would be even better? You should pretend to be nice to her. Make her fall completely in love with you. Imagine how much more satisfying it will be to crush her on the day of the engagement.” Her voice turned sharp. “Just… don’t let it get real, Carter.” “Please,” he scoffed. “As if I would ever be interested in some charity case from the system.” … I stumbled back, away from the door, turning and blindly running down the corridor. I crashed right into someone, hard. “Watch where you’re going! Do you have any idea who you just ran into?” a voice beside him snapped. Dazed, I looked up, and my vision swam into focus on a familiar, sharp-featured face.

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After moving into my new apartment, I was added to a strange group chat. Everyone in it pretended to be an animal. Every day, I’d lurk, fascinated by their conversations, but I never said a word. That all changed the day a mouse got into my apartment. I posted in the chat: “Is there a reliable pest control service nearby?” A moment later, a user named ‘AAA Pest Control: Leo’ tagged me. [Two cans. Non-negotiable.] [Cat’s at your door. Open up.] And standing outside my door… was an actual tabby cat. 1 The first thing that happened after I moved into The Haven Apartments wasn’t the unpacking of boxes or the customary awkward nod to a neighbor. It was an invitation to a group chat. The Haven Community Forum. That was the name. The members all had avatars of cute animals. I didn’t think much of it. I figured the property manager had added me for building announcements and maintenance updates. Then, one evening, scrolling absently on my phone, I actually opened the chat. [MischiefMakerMilo: Ugh. Got caught stealing treats from the pantry. Mom smacked my butt three times. I’m chewing up her favorite slippers tonight. See how she likes that.] [Caesar: Pathetic. Letting the biped walk all over you. You should be running that house.] [Image: A fluffy white cat looking down its nose with regal disdain.] [Pumpkin: Quick question, does anyone else’s water taste… spicy sometimes?] [Caesar: Idiot. The water cooler is probably shorting out. Go knock it over before you get electrocuted.] [CallieTheCalico: Mom’s trying to clip my nails! Code Red! I need backup! I need a 911 right MEOW!] I watched the screen for a long time, a slow smile spreading across my face. It had to be kids from the complex, role-playing as their pets. Honestly, it was kind of adorable. Their goofy, earnest conversations were a welcome distraction from the loneliness of a new city. Just then, a new message popped up. [There’s a stranger in my house.] [Image: A dog peering cautiously from behind a sofa cushion.] The avatar was a young husky, all wide blue eyes and chaotic energy. Based on his previous messages, I pictured a kid, maybe five or six years old. My heart seized. A child home alone with an intruder. I was about to ask if he was by himself when the other chat members piled on, questioning his intelligence rather than the danger. [Are you SURE it’s a stranger?] [You said there was a stranger last week and it was just your dad wearing a new jacket.] [Code Red! Send a 911! Send a 911!] I hesitated, my finger hovering over the button to message the property manager. But a second later, the husky typed again. [lol nvm it was just my dad in a face mask. as a reward for this scare i’m gonna go pee in his office tonight.] A false alarm. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, half-amused. But deep down, a strange, unsettling feeling began to take root. Something about this chat felt… off. 2 I got home late from an interview that hadn’t gone well. The moment I flipped on the light, a black shadow darted across the living room floor. My breath caught in my throat. I crouched down to look under the coffee table, and a huge rat shot out, heading straight for my feet. A scream tore out of me as I scrambled onto the coffee table, my heart hammering against my ribs. Panicked, I fumbled for my phone and typed a desperate plea into the only local group I was in. [There’s a rat in my apartment! Does anyone know a reliable pest control service that can come RIGHT NOW? This is an emergency! Please help!] [A rat? What’s a rat?] [It’s one of those fast squeaky toys. My dad won’t let me play with them.] [Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before. Why is your avatar a person? What species is your owner?] My avatar can’t be a person? What species is your owner? My mind was reeling, but the frantic squeaking from under the sofa sent a fresh wave of terror through me. I didn’t have time to process the weirdness. I immediately opened a browser, searching for 24/7 exterminators. Just then, a notification. Someone had tagged me in the chat. AAA Pest Control: Leo: [Two cans. Non-negotiable. Immediate service.] [I’m at your door. Let me in. Meow.] That fast? I slid off the coffee table, crept to the door, and opened it. The hallway was empty. As I started to close it, a soft meow drew my eyes downward. A handsome tabby cat sat there, paws tucked neatly together, looking up at me expectantly. An insane, impossible thought sparked in my mind. “Are you… AAA Pest Control: Leo?”

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After I died, I became my enemy’s cat. He spoiled me rotten, even bought me a set of those recordable word buttons for pets. A press of the paw, and a mechanical voice would announce: Hungry. Litter box. Treat. He tried to teach me with endless patience, but I loved to piss him off, so I’d just slam my paw on a random jumble of them every time. But on the anniversary of my death, he drank himself into a stupor, all alone in his room. He cried, clutching a photo of me like a madman, sobbing about how much he regretted everything, how much he missed me. He even said he loved me. “I love you, too.” His head snapped up, his eyes wide and unfocused. I slammed my paw down again, hard. The robotic female voice echoed through the room once more: “I. Love. You. Too.” 1 I was in love with Caleb Hale for ten years. But the man I loved fell for my long-lost sister the moment she came back into our lives. What was so great about her, anyway? Claire was folksy and unrefined. How could she ever compare to me? So why was it that the second Caleb laid eyes on her, it was like a lightning strike, and he couldn’t look away? I couldn’t accept it. So, like every cliché villainess in every story, I decided to drug him. I’d sneak into his hotel room in the dead of night. A drunken mistake, a one-night stand that could blossom into love. Everything went according to plan, until the first ray of sunlight hit the face of the man beside me. He looked about seventy percent like Caleb, but there was a small, dark mole just beside the bridge of his nose. A scream tore from my raw throat. When he saw me, his own face went pale. “How the hell is it you?” he choked out. “Where’s Claire?” It was only later that I understood. In a pulpy bestseller, this would have been the triumphant climax—the moment the scheming side character gets her humiliating comeuppance. Except we weren’t the masterminds of this story. We just stared at each other, a long, stunned silence stretching between us as the same horrifying realization dawned: we had both, with extraordinary and terrible synchronicity, hatched the exact same plan. And we had both ended up with the wrong person. As if the universe demanded another twist of the knife, the hotel room door swung open at that exact moment. Claire stood there, clinging to our parents’ arms, a few crocodile tears tracing paths down her cheeks. “See, Mom, Dad?” she whimpered. “I told you. Ethan doesn’t like me.” That was the first time I learned his name. Ethan. He was the older brother of the man I loved. And he, I discovered, had been informally engaged to my sister since they were children—an old family understanding that was put on hold when she went missing. Ever since Claire had been found and brought home, the rumor was that Ethan had been nothing but difficult and cold toward her. The gossip in our circle was that Ethan was ambitious and obsessed with appearances; marrying a girl who’d grown up in the middle of nowhere was an embarrassment. But I could see the truth. I saw the way his eyes followed her. He was falling for her, too. He was just too proud and cruel to admit it, so the story had apparently assigned him the role of the brooding man destined for a dramatic, groveling redemption arc. The outcome of this whole sordid, predictable mess was this: I was ordered by my family to take Claire’s place and fulfill the marriage pact with the Hale family. It was a disgrace, they said, but at least it was a neat solution. A happy ending for all. A happy ending? It was a damn tragedy. Ethan was the last man on earth I could ever love. And the feeling was mutual. I called him a manipulative, cold-blooded snake. He called me a green-eyed, venomous bitch. We were forced into a marriage that lasted five years. We fought for all five of them. Every time I’d try, pathetically, to catch Caleb’s attention, Ethan would be there, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava, your most terrifying flaw isn’t that you’re cruel. It’s that you’re stupid and cruel.” And whenever he’d get that tight-lipped, jealous look on his face over something to do with Claire, I’d lean in close, my voice sweet as poison. “Need a mirror? Your clown nose is practically glowing.” Other people had romance. We had pure, unadulterated hatred. Until the year Claire went through the ordeal every damsel in a drama is destined to endure: she was kidnapped. At three in the morning, Ethan got the call. He was out of bed and dressing in an instant, without a flicker of hesitation. I watched him from the bed, my voice dripping with ice. “Don’t rush. You won’t be the hero who gets to save her.” He shot me a look that could have frozen fire. “Ava, do you have a conscience? That’s your sister.” Something in my head snapped. “Do you? You’re married to me.” He froze, his hands stilling on the buttons of his shirt. I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Ethan, what exactly do you expect me to say right now?” “Wish you and Claire a long and happy life together?” His jaw tightened. The look he gave me was one of profound disappointment. Maybe it was the strange, disorienting haze of the late night, but I pushed further than I ever had before. I said, “Ethan, if it were me dying tonight, would you be this worried?” I never got his answer. He vanished out the door. But when he arrived at the designated location, he found it was a trap. A clumsy, obvious diversion. Claire was perfectly safe, nestled cozily in a mansion with Caleb, the two of them looking utterly baffled to see Ethan storm in. As realization hit him, his eyes went wild. He tore out of there, speeding home. But he was far, far too late. 2 My name is Ava. And I think I’m dead. But not quite. I tried to clear my throat. “Meow.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t freak out. I scrambled over to a dirty puddle on the pavement and finally saw my reflection. White paws, a mottled black-and-white face. This was… this was the stray I used to feed every day on my doorstep. A cold sweat, or what passed for it on a fur-covered body, broke out. I didn’t know how any of this had happened, but I knew one thing for sure… If I didn’t find something to eat, and fast, I was going to die a second time. This little body was starving. It had been seven days. Probably because I’d been missing for seven days. My house had been empty all week. I figured they were all out looking for me. Just as I was contemplating begging for scraps at the neighbor’s, a sudden pressure tightened around the scruff of my neck. I cursed a blue streak in my mind. And then I was staring up into the magnified face of Ethan Hale. He held me up, his brow furrowed as he studied me. “I know you,” he said, his voice quiet. “Ava used to feed you.” The frantic, angry meows died in my throat. I was, to put it mildly, surprised. He remembered the cat I fed. His gaze softened, and he clumsily, awkwardly, pulled me into his arms. “She called you Patches, didn’t she? What a stupid name.” Logically, I should have clawed him. But maybe it was just my imagination… When he said that, his voice was rough, laced with a sorrow I didn’t expect. I gave his hand a tentative, gentle lick. His long fingers began to scratch behind my ears, a touch so tender it sent a shiver through me. He finally let out a long, ragged sigh. “My house… it’s so empty. It’s so cold I can’t even stand to go back.” He looked down at me, his eyes pleading. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you? Please.” 3 Hell no! I’ve had enough of you to last a lifetime! I let out a fierce yowl and sank my teeth into his wrist, launching myself out of his arms with every ounce of strength I had. This body was still new to me, but… Legs, run! If I could just outrun him, my new cat life would be… It would be… Wait. Meow? Meow meow meow? I skidded to a halt. Was it just me, or the farther I got from Ethan, the fuzzier my human thoughts became? I took a cautious step back. The stream of creative insults I had for him in my head immediately became sharper, clearer. Did this mean… if I got too far away from him… I’d turn into a real cat? The sound of his footsteps grew closer. As his face, that face I had loathed for so long, came back into focus, the despair returned. I’d rather be a cat than be stuck with him. A cat’s life is one of freedom! The world is my territory! I arched my back, ready to spring toward the community gate. “My journey to the stars beg—!” And then I was dangling by the scruff of my neck again. “Running away?” Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow! Damn you, Ethan. I swear on this flea-bitten life, I will have my revenge! 4 I never knew Ethan Hale was such a cat person. He treated me like royalty. He bought me the most extravagant cat tree, a veritable skyscraper of sisal rope and plush carpeting. He fed me the most expensive canned food every day and cleaned my litter box three times a day without fail. Boxes of toys arrived constantly, some discarded before their packaging was even fully removed. He even took out a ridiculously expensive lifetime pet insurance policy on me. When Claire and Caleb came to visit, they were speechless at his lavish, almost obsessive, pet-parenting. Caleb tried to reason with him, but Claire gently held him back. I heard her whisper with a sigh, “He’s just grieving. This is how he’s coping.” I let out a soft meow. How absurd. Grieving? Ethan Hale? For me? Not buying it for a second, I rubbed against Caleb’s leg, hoping he might talk some sense into his brother. A cold laugh echoed from above. “Of course. Her cat. Acts just like her.” I froze mid-rub. You have got to be kidding me. Are you jealous of a cat? Wait a minute… He was jealous? Over me? The next thing I knew, I was scooped up into his arms. My world went dark. Dude, we can talk about this. Put me down. Your cat-holding technique is atrocious! My tail! You’re crushing my tail! You monster, Ethan! I struggled, meowing furiously, my claws itching to come out. But he didn’t get the hint. He just tightened his grip, as if he was terrified I would escape and run back to Caleb. After a solid minute of this one-man, one-cat standoff, Claire finally cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, her voice strained with a forced smile, “I saw these things online recently… these recordable buttons for pets to ‘talk’.” “They say cats are incredibly smart. I bet Patches could learn in no time.” I let out a weak, hopeful meow. Claire. My dear sister. Whatever bad blood was between us, in this moment, you are a saint. A goddess to all felines. Ethan was silent for a moment, then he lifted me closer to his face. “Talk?” I wagged my tail expectantly. He tilted his head. “Sounds interesting. But she looks like the type to secretly curse me out.” He bought the talking buttons anyway. For no other reason than his brother’s breezy comment: “Oh, yeah. Our golden retriever learned how to use those months ago.” Ethan’s lip curled into a sneer. He immediately ordered the super-deluxe, thousand-word-vocabulary edition. They covered the entire floor of the living room. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to teach me to speak or train me for a feline marathon. Every night, he’d patiently take my paw and begin our lessons. “This one is ‘hungry.’ This one is ‘thirsty.’ This one is ‘litter box needs scooping.’” The only thing that needs scooping is your brain. If I couldn’t understand human speech, there was no way his teaching method would work. He’d be waiting a hundred years for cats to evolve into sentient beings. He patted my head. “Give it a try.” Try my paw. I rolled my eyes and slammed my paw down, producing a string of nonsensical words. He sighed, disappointed. “You’re so dumb.” I stared at him, deadpan, and then slowly extended my paw. “Jerk.” His brow furrowed. I blinked innocently. “Meow?” It was then that he picked up an old sweater of mine and held it under my nose. “Here, girl. You knew her. Can you smell where she is?” A strange warmth spread through my chest. So, he was still looking for me. And while I was also morbidly curious about the location of my own body… That’s a job for a dog, you idiot! What do you want from me? My only skill is inhaling canned tuna! Go ask your brother’s eloquent golden retriever! I couldn’t speak, but my glare must have conveyed the sentiment. He reached out to smooth my fur. The moment his hand moved, my fur stood on end. For the first time, a shadow crossed Ethan’s face. A raw loneliness. “You hate me that much.” He was looking at me, the cat, but his words felt like they were aimed at someone else. At the me I used to be. I sighed. Alright, alright. The great and powerful cat bestows her mercy upon you. I’ll humor you, for a moment. I rolled over, exposing my belly, and flicked my eyes up at him. Go on. Pet the soft tummy fur. He didn’t move. I let out a few soft, coaxing meows. His face went grim as he pulled out his phone. “Hello, vet? Yes, my cat rolled onto her back and is making strange noises. Is she dying?” 5 I gave up. You can’t help a man who is determined to be clueless. I couldn’t escape, so I might as well get comfortable. Everyone else quickly got used to my presence. They even praised me. Because after a short period of what looked like depression, Ethan seemed to return to his normal self. They all said it was me, his furry companion, who had helped him heal so quickly. I almost choked on a laugh when I heard that. They all knew the truth. He wasn’t sad because he never cared about me in the first place. Our marriage was a well-known disaster, a chaotic mess of flying sparks and bitter words. And he played the part of the heartless widower perfectly. Aside from those first few moments after he found me, he almost never mentioned Ava. Even when someone would accidentally let my name slip and apologize profusely, he wouldn’t even bother to look up. “It’s fine.” And everyone else would rush to smooth things over. “It’s good that you’ve moved on. You have to look forward.” He would always nod, a polite, detached smile on his face, not even bothering to feign grief for a single second. Honestly, I wasn’t disappointed. Any hope, any delusion, any lingering attachment I had for him had been burned out of me back when I was human. And being a cat was a pretty sweet deal. A few meows a day earned me premium food and endless toys. When he was at work, I could even hop on the computer and play a few games. The only remnant of my existence seemed to be the daily morning call from our housekeeper. It was like clockwork, the words always the same. “Sir, we still haven’t found Mrs. Hale.” And every time, he’d hang up without a word, as if he couldn’t be bothered to waste another second on the call. Until today. After the housekeeper’s usual line, she added something new. “It’s been a year, sir. Should we keep looking?” I was lounging on his lap, licking a paw. I rolled my eyes. A year. If they were going to find me, they would have by now. He never really wanted to find me anyway. Ethan was probably just waiting for an excuse to stop. But to my surprise, his voice came out tight, strained. “Keep looking.” I sighed. Right. Still playing the part of the devoted, grieving husband, are we? His cool fingers absently stroked my head. “Be good, Patches. I’m heading to work.” The motion caught my eye. There was something on his finger. “Meow.” I nudged his hand with my paw. He paused. Two pairs of eyes—one human, one feline—stared down at his left ring finger. It was a single strand of hair. A long, burgundy-red, wavy strand of hair. Ava’s hair. One night, when he was drunk, he’d suddenly complimented my hair, saying it was beautiful when it was long and straight and black. My heart had leaped for a second, before I turned and saw Claire, with her identical, gentle, dark hair. The very next day, I dyed my hair burgundy and had it styled in big, dramatic waves. I’d even bought a slinky red dress to match, and waited for him in the living room, arms crossed. “Like it?” He had stared at me, speechless for a solid three seconds. “You look like a siren.” I never changed the color after that. And now, exactly one year after my death, that single strand of hair was wrapped around his finger. It wasn’t that surprising, I guess. Long hair gets everywhere, and it’s a pain to clean up. God knows when it had fallen out. Ethan let out a small, humorless laugh and flicked his finger. It didn’t come off. He tried again, with more force. Still there. The third time he raised his hand, I was about to offer to claw it off for him. But instead, he covered his eyes with his hand. My paw froze in mid-air. Holy hell. Unbelievable. Was he crying? How could he be crying? I let out a tentative meow, trying to see if maybe he just had something in his eye. But a single, hot, salty tear dropped onto my nose. And then I watched, completely stunned, as his silent tears turned into choked sobs, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. I curled into a ball on his lap, my mind a chaotic whirl. As ridiculous as the conclusion sounded… I think… He was thinking of me.

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1 My wife, the heiress, believes money corrupts men. She threw me and our critically ill son out, demanding I account for every cent. When our son’s heart condition worsened, I desperately used the emergency card Serena gave me. The PIN failed—repeatedly. She called instantly: “You parasite! $500 a month isn’t enough? How dare you steal from me?” “Harry made me change the password. You’ll get nothing more, Evan.” To save my son, I rushed home in the rain for my last savings—but Harry, her assistant and lover, blocked the door. “All Vance assets are under my control,” he smirked. “Taking even a penny is a crime.” I begged: “Leo’s dying. I need to save him.” Serena appeared, arm in arm with Harry, and pushed me away with her foot. “Stop your pathetic drama. It’s disgusting.” After ten years of love, something in me shattered. If she wants blood… then blood it will be. … My legs gave out from under me. With a trembling hand, I dialed the hospital. “Please,” I choked out, “just save my son. I… I’m on my way.” Before I could finish, a hand slapped the phone from my grasp. “So noisy!” It clattered to the marble floor, the screen instantly fracturing. My mind went blank as I lunged for it, but Harry’s polished leather shoe came down first. He ground his heel into it, the screen splintering into a spiderweb of glass. “A small lesson,” he sneered, his hand sliding down Serena’s waist. “If I catch you stealing again, it won’t be this simple.” He smirked, his touch becoming possessive. “What’s the big deal about one kid? If you want another, I can give you one right now.” “Oh, you,” Serena purred, hooking her arms around his neck and planting kisses on his face. She then shot me a look of pure ice. “What are you still standing here for? Get the hell out!” The image of my son, pale and struggling for breath in a hospital bed, forced the humiliation down my throat. “Serena,” I said, my voice raw and broken, “I’m begging you. Just lend me the money for Leo. He’s your son. Your own flesh and blood. Are you really going to watch him die?” For a second, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation. She turned to Harry. “Maybe we should—” “No.” Harry pulled his arm from her grasp, his tone sharp as he sank into the plush sofa. “He’s having an attack, he’s not dead. What’s all the fuss?” He leveled a cool gaze at her. “And didn’t you promise you’d listen to me about everything?” His voice dropped to a suggestive whisper. “If you go soft on him today, just wait and see how I’ll punish you tonight.” “Okay, okay, you’re right, I’m sorry…” Serena melted instantly, curling into his lap, her hands beginning to roam. Harry’s laughter was triumphant, his eyes locking with mine in a blatant challenge. They started to move against each other, right there in the living room, the shameless sounds stabbing at my eardrums. I squeezed my eyes shut, a bone-deep chill spreading through me. Finally, I gritted my teeth. “Serena,” I said, each word a shard of glass. “Let’s get a divorce.” The air froze. Serena pushed Harry off her, her face a mask of annoyance. “Evan, who the hell do you think you are? You don’t get to ask me for a divorce.” She stood up, her voice dripping with contempt. “Don’t forget, the food you eat, the clothes on your back, even your worthless life—it all belongs to the Vance family!” Her words were a knife in my heart, and memories flooded back against my will. Serena and I were childhood sweethearts. When her family’s company went bankrupt, I didn’t hesitate. I gave her my entire inheritance from my parents to pull them through. She had cried in my arms, swearing, “Evan, from this day on, I will never betray you.” Now, looking at the fresh marks on her neck, a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I could only bite down, hard. Seeing my silence, she let out a scornful laugh and patted my cheek. “Just be a good little dog and do as you’re told.” A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. In my desperation, I scrambled to scoop up the loose change that had fallen from my pockets, making a break for the door. Harry shot up and kicked me square in the chest. The blow sent me flying backward. I crashed to the floor, a blinding, searing pain erupting from my ribs. “Are you deaf? You won’t touch a single cent of Vance money!” he snarled. With a flick of his wrist, two bodyguards materialized, seizing my arms in an iron grip. His smug expression was the final straw. “Let me go!” I roared, thrashing wildly. “If anything happens to my son, I swear I’ll kill you!” I wrenched one arm free and grabbed his tie, yanking him toward me. Serena snatched a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and hurled it at my head. My vision exploded into blackness. Warm blood streamed from my temple, blurring the world. As the room spun, the last thing I heard was her cold, clear command. “Lock him in the basement. It’s time he learned a lesson.” They threw me into the darkness like a bag of trash. I slammed my fists against the heavy steel door until my knuckles were raw and bloody, but there was no response. Exhausted, I finally slid to the floor, all fight gone from me. The image of Leo’s pale face swam before my eyes, and the tears finally came. Clang! The door rattled open, and a bowl of reeking leftovers was shoved inside. “Hey! Dinner time!” a brutish guard I’d never seen before grunted. It was a lifeline. I scrambled to the door. “Sir, please! Please let me out!” I begged. “My son is dying in the hospital! I have to save him! Please!” The guard chuckled as if I’d told him a joke. In my despair, I reached out, trying to grab his pant leg. He recoiled instantly, then brought his boot down hard on my wrist. A muffled cry of pain escaped my lips. “Get off me, you filthy piece of trash!” he spat, kicking the bowl over. Foul-smelling food and sour liquid splattered all over me. He spit on the floor. “A man as pathetic as you might as well be dead.” The door slammed shut again, plunging me back into the stinking darkness. I sat there, paralyzed in the cold filth, as the last flicker of light in my soul died out. Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Through the night, I painstakingly pried open the grate of a ventilation shaft and began the agonizing crawl through the narrow passage. Sharp metal edges tore at my skin, leaving me bloodied and raw, but by dawn, I had made it to the hospital. My son was lying in his bed, his breathing terrifyingly shallow. Tears burst from my eyes as I stumbled to his side, gripping his small, cold hand. “Leo, Daddy’s here… Daddy’s here…” “Mr. Thorne, what happened to you?” The doctor entered the room and gasped at the sight of me, covered in blood and grime. But his expression quickly grew grim. “We managed to stabilize him last night, but his condition is critical. He needs surgery. Immediately.” “Then do it! I’ll sign whatever you need!” I grabbed his arm, my voice trembling uncontrollably. The doctor shook his head, his face etched with pity. “The family card you’re registered with has been frozen. The account is inaccessible.” He hesitated. “And the surgery, plus the aftercare… it will cost at least half a million dollars.” The words struck me like a bolt of lightning. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I couldn’t believe Serena, just to satisfy Harry’s lust for control, would be cruel enough to extinguish my last sliver of hope. From the bed, Leo must have sensed my despair. His voice was a mere whisper. “Daddy… don’t cry. Leo doesn’t hurt.” I shook my head violently, tears mixing with the blood on my face. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. Daddy will find a way. I promise, I will save you.” My grief was so absolute that I didn’t notice the profound understanding in my son’s eyes, a wisdom that didn’t belong to a child. I missed the deep, heartbreaking reluctance in his gaze as he watched me leave. I ran back to the mansion like a man possessed. When I burst through the living room doors, the sound of sharp laughter died abruptly. Serena was curled in Harry’s lap, sipping champagne. The cruel contrast between their leisurely morning and my dying son ignited a firestorm in my chest. “Serena!” I screamed. “Are you even human? You froze the card? It only had a five-hundred-dollar limit!” She looked at me, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “I froze it.” Harry wiped his mouth with a napkin, his gaze dismissive. “This is what happens when you don’t report to me, Evan. Serena said five hundred a month, that’s it. As for that little bastard’s medical bills? You can go earn the money yourself.” I was shaking with rage, my eyes fixed on Serena. “You’re just going to stand there and let him murder your own son?!” “Harry…” Serena began, a hint of guilt in her voice, but he cut her off with a single, sharp look. “Are you getting soft again?” Harry stood, his voice grating. “You said I was in charge. Now this loser puts on a little sob story and you want to give him money? What about my authority? My pride?” Serena rushed to his side, placating him. “Don’t be angry, honey. Of course, you’re in charge.” I stood frozen, watching this grotesque farce play out. My heart felt like it was being physically ripped in two. My son and I… we were nothing more than props for her to appease her lover. Looking around the opulent room, a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. “My son’s life is worth less than this boy-toy’s ego.” I locked eyes with her. “Serena, you don’t deserve to be a mother.” “Shut up!” she shrieked, her face contorted with fury. She slapped me, hard. “If it weren’t for your pathetic tricks, I never would have gotten pregnant with that little mistake in the first place! If he dies, he has it coming!” Her monstrous words made the veins in my temples throb. I lunged at her, but the bodyguards were on me in an instant, pinning me to the floor. All I could do was roar in helpless fury. Serena smoothed her dress and took Harry’s arm. “Anyone who makes Harry unhappy,” she said, her voice a cold whisper as she passed me, “is just asking for trouble.” Harry tilted his chin up, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. “Stop begging like a dog, you waste of space. If you really want money, there are plenty of ways to sell yourself. Drop the act.” A cruel grin spread across his face. “In fact, I’ll send you somewhere you can earn some big money right now.” He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out the door like a carcass. He took me to a private, members-only club owned by the Vance Corporation. “Do a little show for the ladies here,” Harry said, enjoying the terrified pallor of my face. “A little striptease, maybe bark like a dog. If one of them is in a good mood, who knows? She might just toss you enough for those medical bills.” Before I could fight back, his men shoved me into the center of a private suite. The humiliation was absolute, a physical weight that made every pore of my skin crawl. But the image of Leo, alone and fighting for his life, flashed in my mind. Under the glare of a dozen mocking eyes, I began to unbutton my shirt, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I dropped to my knees on the cold floor, my disheveled hair barely hiding the burning shame on my face. “Crawl!” someone shouted. The jeers and catcalls were like lashes on my back. Each movement was a fresh wave of degradation, threatening to crush what little was left of me. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. My dignity was ground into dust. The room erupted in laughter as banknotes rained down on me, hitting my face and body. “Isn’t that Mr. Thorne? How the mighty have fallen.” “What a loser. Can’t even keep his own wife happy. These kept men have no spine.” “I heard Serena Vance took her new boy-toy on a yacht trip. Dropped a hundred million in one night without batting an eye.” Every word was a poisoned dart. My son’s life was nothing to them. A joke. I crawled numbly from one spectator to the next, enduring their taunts. But no matter what I did, the money they threw was a pittance, a drop in the ocean against the mountain of medical debt. The alcohol they forced on me and the sheer exhaustion were making me delirious. I was about to pass out. I forced myself to gather the scattered bills, until Harry’s shoe came down, grinding my hand into the carpet. “Well, look at you. Willing to lose all face for that short-lived brat, huh?” He crouched down, yanking my chin up. “Since you worked so hard, I’ve got a little something for you.” A sense of profound dread washed over me. He produced a small, black wooden box and slowly opened it in front of me. Inside was a small pile of grayish-white powder. “You wanted to see your son, didn’t you?” he purred, his smile utterly demonic. “Might be hard to recognize him now that he’s just ash.” The blood froze in my veins. “No!” I screamed, a raw, animal sound. “You’re lying!” Harry leaned in closer, his grin widening with sadistic pleasure. “He was a smart kid, actually. Knew he was a burden. He pulled out his own oxygen tube. Guess he figured having a pathetic failure for a father wasn’t much of a life.” “AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!” A tsunami of grief and rage annihilated my sanity. I exploded upward like a cornered animal, my fist connecting with Harry’s face in a sickening crunch. He shrieked, stumbling backward. The box flew from his hand, hitting the floor and bursting open. At that exact moment, the door to the suite was thrown open. Serena stood there. She saw Harry on the floor, clutching his face, and her expression turned murderous. She rushed to his side, her eyes full of panic and concern. Then she turned on me. “Evan! Are you insane?! How dare you touch Harry!” I stared at the blinding white powder scattered across the floor, my heart threatening to stop. I fell to my knees, uselessly trying to gather the dust with my bare hands. Tears mixed with the blood from my forehead, dripping onto the plush carpet. Serena grabbed a glass of champagne and smashed it over my head, her shrill curses ringing in my ears. I barely felt it. I was numb. “Crazy…” I mumbled, my mouth full of the coppery taste of blood. “Yes. I am crazy.” I looked up, my eyes a hellish reflection of a man with nothing left to lose. Serena flinched, a flicker of fear in her eyes as she stumbled back. In the next second, I snatched a shard of broken glass from the floor and lunged. “My son is dead,” I snarled. “And I’m going to make you both pay. Blood for blood!”

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I found it in a dusty corner of the attic: a wedding photo of my wife and my arch-rival. In the picture, their faces were pressed together intimately, a world away from the bitter, teeth-gritted tension that always crackled between them whenever they met. It turned out they had been living a secret love story behind my back for nearly a decade. I took a picture of the photo with my phone, then placed it exactly where I’d found it. I drafted the divorce papers, signed my name, and prepared to walk away from the life I thought I knew. 1 The wedding photo was immaculate, a single pristine object in the dusty, forgotten attic. It was obvious someone came up here often to look at it. For years, it had just been the two of us in this house. There was no question who that someone was. Back in college, my wife, Maya, had been the top student in the physics department. The man in the photo with her was David, the guy everyone jokingly called “perennial number two.” On campus, they were famous for their rivalry. Neither would ever concede an inch to the other. They were in the same program, yet when they passed each other in the halls, they were like strangers. But it was all a lie. In private, they had skipped past friendship, past dating, and straight to a bond more intimate than marriage. My gaze fell to the date stamped in the bottom-left corner of the photo. July 27, 2015. The second year of our marriage. I scrolled through my text history with Maya. Of course. Every year, on July 27th, like clockwork, she would send me the same message. “Hey babe, working late tonight. Don’t wait up for dinner. Love you.” Every time, she would come home late, head straight for the shower, and then crawl into bed to curl up against me, complaining about what a long day it had been. I never once doubted her. She had promised me she would never lie. Now I saw it for what it was: the perfect cover. Tomorrow was July 27th again. I had no doubt she was planning to go out. Taking a few deep breaths to steady my hands, I snapped a photo of their wedding picture, then carefully put the frame back in its place. Downstairs, I drew up a divorce agreement. After signing my name, I tucked it into my nightstand drawer. I cooked dinner, just like any other night, and waited for Maya to come home. At the table, she chattered about her day, the small, meaningless details, but then she noticed my silence. “Quinn? What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. I calmly set down my chopsticks, my bowl of rice barely touched, and met her eyes. “I heard they renovated the old track at State University. I was thinking of going back to see it.” State was our alma mater. It was where we had met, where we had fallen in love. Maya visibly relaxed, a smile blooming on her face. “Is that all? And here you are, a million miles away. Of course we can go. When do you want to see it? I’ll go with you.” “Tomorrow,” I said softly. The smile froze on her face. “Is that a problem? Or… are you working late tomorrow?” My voice was flat, betraying no emotion. But I saw it—the way her eyes darted away, the flicker of discomfort. Tomorrow was a Saturday. Her usual excuse would be some last-minute work emergency, but she couldn’t know that yet. She was trapped. She finally forced a smile. “Okay. Tomorrow it is.” That night, Maya was on edge, tapping away at her phone for hours. I pretended not to notice. I resisted the urge to pull out the divorce papers and make her sign them right then and there. The next morning, she was gone. A note was left on the kitchen table: “Babe, a critical dataset is corrupted. My boss called me in the middle of the night to fix it. I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done.” The paper trembled in my hand. I sent her a text. [I’m waiting for you at the main gate of the university.] Maya, who always replied to me in seconds, was silent. I stood at that gate for two hours. Then, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour started. I called her again and again. Each call went straight to voicemail. Then, finally, it didn’t even ring. The subscriber you have dialed has been powered off. In that moment, a cold, painful clarity washed over me. I took out my phone and sent her one last message. [Maya. Let’s get a divorce.] 2 I don’t remember how I got home that day. I just remember stumbling through the door, soaking wet and burning up with fever, collapsing onto the sofa, and then… nothing. When I woke up, I was in our bed, wearing clean clothes. Maya was sitting beside me, holding my hand tightly, her eyes filled with worry. “Quinn! You’re awake!” She sounded genuinely relieved. “You’ve been out for a day and a night. I was so scared. Thank God it’s just a fever. The medicine is working.” She squeezed my hand. “It was my fault. I got so caught up in work, I didn’t even look at my phone. But you shouldn’t joke about divorce like that. Here, look what I got you.” Like a magician, she produced two tickets from behind her back. “You’ve been wanting to see an MK match forever, right? I pulled some strings and got us front-row seats. I even took next week off so we can go together.” It was my favorite soccer team. Tickets were impossible to get. And a week of Maya’s time was even rarer. But I felt nothing. No joy, no excitement. I pushed the tickets away and reached into the nightstand, pulling out the folded divorce papers. I handed them to her. “I wasn’t joking yesterday.” Maya stared at me for a few seconds, then slammed the tickets down on the table. “Quinn, is this a game to you? Just because I had a work emergency and missed one date, you’re ready to throw away eight years of marriage?” Her voice cracked. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt to hear you say that?” I looked at her, at the tears welling in her eyes, and I couldn’t find a single trace of deceit. She was a brilliant actress. I was too tired for this. I didn’t want to play her games anymore. “Were you really at the office yesterday? Your boss has never, not once, called you in on a weekend. He knows you have a family.” My voice was quiet, weary. “Let’s just be honest, Maya.” “Where were you and David yesterday? Let me guess… a hotel?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The hotel was a wild guess. It had been pouring rain all day. Where else could they go? Her reaction told me everything I needed to know. “You had me followed?” she gasped. Then, she realized her mistake. She bit her lip, then took a deep breath, as if deciding to finally come clean. “Quinn, back in college, I hated David. I thought he was arrogant and stubborn, not a real man. But then, during a research exchange our junior year, I saw a different side of him. He was… earnest. Dedicated. I admit, my feelings for him started to change then. We started talking more, in secret.” She looked me straight in the eye, her expression pleading. “But the only man I have ever seen as my husband is you, Quinn! I would never, ever divorce you for him.” Her grand, romantic confession felt like a knife twisting in my gut. All this time, her heart had been divided. And I had been the fool who believed it belonged entirely to me. “I’ll cut him off completely, Quinn. I promise. Just give us one more chance. I’ll fix this.” After her heartfelt speech, she stood up, saying she would go make me some soup. I remained silent. My head, already aching from the fever, felt like it was splitting in two. The world swam around me, and I fell back into a deep, restless sleep. I don’t know how much time passed, but I was jolted awake by the acrid smell of smoke. Through the half-open bedroom door, I could see thick, black smoke billowing from the kitchen. “Maya! Maya, are you there?” I called out, my voice weak and raspy. No answer. I had to get out. I struggled to my feet, but my legs, numb from lying down for so long, gave out from under me. I collapsed onto the floor. I fumbled for my phone and tried to call her. It rang twice, then the call was disconnected. She was hanging up on me. 3 “Quinn! Quinn, can you hear us?” My parents’ anxious voices pulled me back to consciousness. When they saw my eyes open, they both burst into tears of relief. “Thank God the neighbors called 911 in time. Any later, and we would have lost you…” My mother sobbed, stroking my forehead. My father shook his head. “How could you be so careless, son? Leaving a pot on the stove and falling asleep? You could have been killed!” My throat was raw. “Wasn’t Maya home?” I rasped. My parents exchanged a confused look. “The firefighters said you were the only one in the house when they broke down the door. If Maya had been there, this never would have happened. She’s always so careful.” Her words twisted the knife in my heart. Maya was careful. Meticulously so. For eight years, she knew my chronic stomach issues better than I did. She knew exactly what I could and couldn’t eat. The moment I felt sick, she’d have the medicine ready, a pot of hot soup already simmering. It was impossible to believe that a woman so precise, so detail-oriented, would just leave a stove on and walk out of the house. Whatever, or whoever, she had left for had to be incredibly important. Just then, the hospital room door flew open. Maya rushed in, breathless, and ran straight to my bedside. “Quinn! Are you okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she slapped herself hard across the face. “This is all my fault. I can’t believe I put you in such danger…” She had come in such a hurry. She hadn’t noticed the dark, tell-tale love bite on her neck, just peeking out from the collar of her shirt.

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The new intern, on a crusade to “fix the workplace,” decided to make me his first target. To get back at him, my CEO girlfriend—who loved me more than life itself—devised a plan to destroy him by setting him up for a fall. She kicked me out of my VP position and promoted him instead. She bought him a luxury car for his commute and a villa for a “dorm,” insisting it was all part of the trap, begging me to be patient. Then my sister’s heart condition worsened. I begged my girlfriend for an adMarshall on my salary to cover the surgery. She agreed instantly. But on the day of the operation, I waited at the hospital from dawn until dusk. The money never came. The only thing that did was a notification—a social media post from the intern, dripping with mockery: “My CEO is too nice for her own good. An employee asked for a salary adMarshall… what if he just quits without paying it back? I rejected it on her behalf! PS: Next time you want to scam someone, at least come up with a believable excuse!” My sister died. Only then did my girlfriend finally call, her voice syrupy and sweet. “Don’t be mad, honey. We’ll just delay Annie’s surgery for a couple more days. I have to endure this humiliation. The higher I build Leo up, the harder he’ll fall. Don’t worry, his birthday is in two days. I’m going to publicly humiliate him, make him lose everything. Then, we’ll have a lavish wedding to make Annie happy!” But I already knew the truth. Her so-called “setup” was just an excuse for her blatant favoritism. I was done with her. 1 “Owen, are you sure you want to join us? This is fantastic! We leave in two days!” On the other end of the line, the HR manager from the European tech giant was ecstatic. They’d been trying to recruit me for seven years, even setting up a local branch office just to make it easier to poach me. “I’m sure,” I said. The morgue was so silent I could hear my own voice echo. I took one last look at my ten-year-old sister, Annie, her small face tinged with a deathly blue. I signed the death certificate and found the coroner. He said the cremation fee was two thousand dollars, payable in adMarshall. After Annie’s health took a nosedive, my years of savings had vanished. My life had revolved entirely around my girlfriend, Stella, leaving me with no friends to turn to. After she demoted me from my VP role, even my colleagues kept their distance. Now, I couldn’t find a single person willing to lend me money. My eyes fell instinctively to the watch on my right wrist. It was the first gift Stella had ever given me, a token of our love that had cost her three months’ salary. She’d told me I was priceless to her. I had tried to sell it earlier today, but the appraisal was only $3,000—nowhere near the $30,000 needed for the surgery. A drop in the ocean. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it then. Perhaps it was fate telling me to let it go now. I listed it online for a low price of $2,000, and a local buyer contacted me almost immediately. As I rushed out to make the exchange, I was knocked to the ground by a black-suited bodyguard. My phone skittered across the pavement, the screen cracking. When I looked up, I saw Stella pushing a wheelchair-bound Leo into the hospital, flanked by an entourage of doctors, nurses, and more bodyguards. Her face was etched with worry, a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before she looked away. A nurse helped me up, sighing under her breath. “Talk about different fates. That CEO’s boyfriend just sprains his ankle and the entire hospital staff is on call. Meanwhile, there’s a little girl with a heart defect who can’t even afford her surgery fee…” I shook my head, telling her I was fine. A moment later, Stella strode back towards me, her expression grim. She grabbed my arm and pulled me down to the underground parking garage. Inside her car, with no one else around, she scowled. “Are you so desperate for money you’d follow me here?!” Realizing her tone was too harsh, her features softened slightly. “Leo twisted his ankle coming down the stairs. He’s being such a drama queen, refusing to get it checked unless I’m with him.” “I know you’re still angry about him rejecting your salary adMarshall. Here, take this and go,” she said, her voice dropping. “Don’t let Leo see you. He’ll get the wrong idea.” She didn’t even realize that while her words called him a drama queen, her eyes held an unmistakable, melting fondness. She used to look at me that way. When I had a simple stomachache, she’d sit by my hospital bed all day, personally making me congee until her hands were covered in blisters. Stella took out her phone. A second later, mine buzzed. A transfer of $200. She smiled, a little too brightly. “Leo likes to check my phone. He’d be upset if he knew I was giving you too much money privately. Use this to buy Annie some nice supplements. Cheer her up, okay?” I clenched my phone. We were supposed to be the real couple, yet here we were, sneaking around like criminals. A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped me, and I transferred the $200 right back to her. She froze, halfway out of the car, finally sensing something was wrong. She turned back, patting my hand. “Owen, I know you’ve been wronged. But to make Leo fall, we have to let him have everything first. The pain will be unbearable when he loses it all. That’s how we’ll get your revenge!” But the one who was losing everything, the one whose pain was unbearable… that was me. A year ago, when Leo first joined the company, he’d swaggered in, vowing to “rectify the workplace,” and made me, the VP, his first victim. I asked him to print a document; he said he was hired to work, not be an errand boy. I asked my assistant for coffee; he snatched it and threw it in my face, telling me to do my own chores. Later, when I was on the verge of closing a multi-million-dollar deal, he refused to release the company seal, accusing me of trying to embezzle corporate assets. The client walked, and a month of sleepless nights went down the drain. I mentioned it to Stella, and she decided to get even for me, orchestrating this grand “setup.” To destroy a man, first let him swell with pride. In the beginning, whenever Stella praised Leo with backhanded compliments, she’d always shoot me a conspiratorial wink. I’d stifle a laugh and play along, pretending to be crushed, which only fueled Leo’s ego. But slowly, the act became real. Stella’s praise for Leo started to sound like genuine admiration. Her indifference and dismissiveness towards me felt less and less like a performance. A year ago, I lost my VP position. A week ago, my sister had a heart attack, triggered by the stress of seeing her future sister-in-law buying a house for another man. The surgery had a 100% success rate, but she died because her useless brother couldn’t scrape together the fee. And now, the woman in front of me, my girlfriend, had changed somewhere along the way. A wave of utter desolation washed over me. “Stella, we—” The words should break up were on the tip of my tongue when her phone rang. The caller ID read “My Dearest Leo.” Stella opened the car door, stepping outside to take the call. She never used to hide her calls from me; she’d put them on speaker to avoid any misunderstanding. Afterwards, she’d mock Leo’s arrogance and swear she only loved me. Now, she leaned against the car door, her fingers toying with the hem of her blouse, a sweet smile on her face. Then, her voice rose in feigned surprise. “Your foot is still injured! Don’t come looking for me!” The next moment, I saw a tall, thin figure limping into the parking garage. Stella rushed to meet him, catching him in her arms. Leo’s eyes found me in the passenger seat, and a cruel, triumphant smile spread across his face. He quickened his pace and yanked me out of the car. “Owen, who said you could sit in Stella’s car? Can you afford to replace the leather seats if you get them dirty? Don’t tell me you were trying to borrow money from her again. Sucking your ex-girlfriend dry… are you even a man?” As if to assert his dominance, he expertly slipped his hand into Stella’s pocket, pulled out her phone, and unlocked it. Seeing the reversed transaction, he threw the phone to the ground. “Stella! I try to be considerate of you, but you’re still hung up on your ex! Forget it, you don’t have to take me to the doctor. I’d rather my leg just break!” He turned to leave in a huff. Stella, the decisive, formidable CEO, stood there, unable to argue. She started to chase after him, then stopped abruptly. She turned back, took my hand, and gave it a gentle shake, her voice earnest. “Owen, just two more days. Please, just bear with it for two more days. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” It was her favorite way to get what she wanted from me, a display of vulnerability that used to fill my heart with tenderness. Now, it only filled me with disgust. Before I could pull my hand away, she was already gone, chasing after Leo. I stood there, motionless, wiping the back of my hand on my shirt. But Stella, in two days, I’ll be gone. And I’m not taking you with me. 2 After leaving the garage, I quickly met the buyer and got the money for Annie’s cremation. By the time I carried her ashes home, night had fallen. Stella wasn’t there. But for the first time in months, she sent me a message, telling me she was staying at the hospital to take care of Leo because his leg was hurting too much. The last time she’d bothered to tell me her whereabouts was ages ago. For the first time, I didn’t feel a pang of jealousy or demand compensation. I just opened my work software and submitted my resignation. It sat there, pending approval. I put my phone down and ignored it. With only two days left, I needed to pack. I’d go to the office tomorrow to tie up loose ends. Seven years of my life, condensed into a single 20-inch suitcase. The next morning, I was still asleep when a sharp knock woke me. It was Stella’s assistant. She saw the packed suitcase and paused. “Mr. Hayes, are you going on a trip?” “Yes.” She didn’t press further. “Ms. Marshall would like you to come with me.” I wanted to refuse, but the bodyguards behind her made it clear it wasn’t a request. Our destination was a bridal boutique. Stella greeted me with a beaming smile, pulling me into a fitting room. She held up a custom-tailored suit and began to dress me, her head bowed as she fastened my tie. Looking down at the top of her head, I felt a strange sense of detachment. To make her “setup” convincing, she had maintained a physical distance from me, claiming she had to fool herself before she could fool others. As she fastened my cufflinks, she suddenly stopped. “Where’s your watch?” Before I could answer, she chuckled lightly. “Oh, right. You probably put it back in its box for safekeeping.” “My handsome Owen looks so dashing in a suit like this!” she cooed. “I’ve already had our wedding designed. It’s a seaside ceremony, just like you always wanted, with a flower arch for Annie. She can be our flower girl, how does that sound?” Her words were soft and gentle, but they pierced my ears like needles. I clenched my fists, remembering Annie’s last moments, her tear-filled eyes as she asked me, “Brother, why hasn’t sister-in-law come to save me yet?” I remembered how Stella used to adore Annie, fussing over her health, telling her bedtime stories for hours without a hint of fatigue. Marrying Stella had once been my ultimate dream. A dream that would now never come true. “Stella, the wedding—” She smiled sweetly, placing a finger on my lips. “Our plan is almost complete. Tomorrow is Leo’s birthday. I’m going to announce his termination in front of everyone. The house, the car—all of it will be reclaimed through legal action. He’s gotten used to a life of luxury; he won’t even eat at a restaurant that isn’t five-star. I can’t wait to see what he does when he has nothing, when anyone can step on him. Let’s see him try to ‘rectify the workplace’ then!”

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I got together with Adrian when I was eighteen. At twenty-two, I moved to the bustling city for him. But all I got in return was him saying, “I never planned on marrying her, you guys are just messing around.” After eight years with no commitment, I gave up. I was gone for three years. The day I returned, a friend asked me, “It’s been three years. You two must have made up by now, right?” They all thought I was back to beg for him back. But what they didn’t know was, I was back to get married. 1 “You’re getting married?” I was sorting through the guest list. “Yeah,” I replied. “The wedding is next week.” My friend was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, then asked, “What about Adrian?” Hearing his name after three years felt strange, like a ghost from a past life. But he and I had ended things three years ago. I was the one who broke up with him. It was his birthday. I had come back early from a business trip to surprise him, but instead, I overheard him talking to his friends. One of them asked, “You’re twenty-six, man. When are you gonna pop the question to Clara?” Adrian leaned back, a lazy, half-mocking smile on his face. “I never planned on marrying her. Don’t start that.” His friend was stunned. “You’ve been together for years. If you’re not marrying her, who are you gonna marry?” “Like you said,” Adrian replied, “we’ve been together for years. Where’s the excitement in that?” Honestly, in that moment, I couldn’t believe my ears. We had just been on the phone half an hour earlier. He had been so sweet, whispering and coaxing me to come back and celebrate a belated birthday with him. But now, I couldn’t even picture that tenderness. The thought of breaking up hit me right then. That night, I didn’t push open the door to confront him. I turned around, went home, and calmly packed my bags. Adrian came home at two in the morning. He walked in and stopped short, seeing me with my suitcase. He was only stunned for a second before he rushed forward, pulling me into his arms and nuzzling my neck affectionately. “Surprise? I love it.” I pushed him away. “Adrian.” “Hmm?” “Let’s break up.” We had threatened to break up before, but it was always me who caved first. Our mutual friends used to say, “Adrian is an insecure guy. He needs a partner who will never leave him. If you really want to be with him long-term, you have to be more patient with him.” Back then, I really did love him. So I was willing to soothe him, to put his feelings first. From eighteen to twenty-six, I loved him fiercely and without reservation. And all I got in return was, “I’m not going to marry her.” 2 “What are you talking about? You’re breaking up with me just because I didn’t spend my birthday with you?” Adrian’s voice pulled me back to the present. He wrapped his arms around me again. “Come on, I’m not mad. We’re not breaking up.” My friends were wrong. Adrian wasn’t a difficult partner. On the contrary, when he wanted to, he could be incredibly charming. On the surface, our breakups were always his doing, and our reconciliations were always mine. But no one knew that in the dead of night, he would use a mix of tenderness and pressure to win me back. He knew exactly how to find my softest spots, making me forgive him willingly. And now, he was trying the same trick again. As he leaned in to kiss me, I shoved him away with all my strength. Caught off guard, he stumbled back a few steps. Before he could regain his balance, I said, “I’m serious. I’m not joking.” In an instant, his expression turned icy, his eyes dark and menacing. “Say that again.” I couldn’t blame him for being angry. In eight years, this was the first time I had initiated a breakup. Everyone, including Adrian himself, thought I would never leave him. But this time, I was truly tired. My gaze lingered on his handsome profile for a few seconds, then I looked away without hesitation and started to wheel my suitcase towards the door. I had only taken a few steps when the suitcase stopped moving. Adrian was holding onto it, his eyes locked on me. “Why?” He had beautiful eyes. Deep and intense, they had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world. I avoided his gaze. “If we don’t break up, will you marry me?” In eight years, he had been rational, ambitious, and had meticulously planned his future. But I was never a part of that plan. The silence in the room was deafening. After what felt like an eternity, he finally asked, “Do we have to get married? Can’t we just keep dating?” I met his gaze. His eyes were like black holes, pulling you in. Even though I was reluctant to let go of our eight years together, a relationship with no future felt pointless. Looking into those bottomless eyes, I managed a small smile. “It gets a little old after a while.” The veins on his hand, gripping the suitcase handle, bulged. He practically spat the words out. “You’re tired of it?” “Yes.” He said “Fine” three times, his eyes turning red by the end. I didn’t dare look at him anymore, afraid I would break down first. I turned and continued to walk away. The only sound in the quiet night was the dull rumble of the suitcase wheels on the floor. As I reached the entryway, his cold voice came from behind me. “If you walk out that door today, don’t ever come back!” I paused, my throat dry. After a moment, I said, “Fine,” and left without a backward glance. 3 We saw each other one more time after that. It was the night before I left the city. I had realized I’d left an important document in his study. I called him before I went over. The living room was empty, so I headed straight for the study. As I passed the master bedroom, I heard voices. I glanced inside and saw Adrian lying on the bed, a woman gently wiping his face. I recognized her. Sophia. The daughter of his father’s close friend. The woman his family had arranged for him to marry. When she saw me, Sophia blushed and explained, “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. Adrian drank too much, we… nothing happened.” I nodded, not wanting to chat, and went to the study. When I came back, the bedroom door was closed. But even so, I could clearly hear Adrian’s voice, soft and intimate, cooing, “Babe~” Even though we were broken up, a wave of bitterness washed over me. I couldn’t bear to listen, so I quickened my pace. As I reached the door, Adrian called out to me. “Don’t come over anymore. Sophia will mind.” He was leaning against the bedroom door, looking lazy. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a lipstick mark on his collarbone. My eyes lingered there for a few seconds before I nodded. “Okay.” The moment I stepped outside, I heard the sound of a vase shattering, followed by Sophia’s alarmed cry, “You’re bleeding!” I didn’t turn back. I walked away as fast as I could. That was the last time we saw each other. For three years, we had no contact. So, he had no idea I was getting married. 4 When the news of my wedding got out, the first person to call me was Liam. A mutual friend of Adrian and me. “Clara, I heard you’re getting married?” “The wedding is next week,” I told him honestly. “I won’t be sending you guys invitations.” My fiancé had already sent them invitations; it would be inappropriate for me to send another set. As soon as I said that, I heard laughter and jeers from the other end of the line. “See? I told you. If she was really getting married, she’d invite you. It’s obviously just an excuse to come back to the city.” “What else can she do? Adrian’s engagement is at the end of the month. She has to make a last-ditch effort, right?” “Exactly! They were together for eight years. How could she just watch him marry someone else?” I was taken aback for a moment, then I realized all of Adrian’s friends were there. They were waiting to see how I would try to win him back. It was their usual game. Every time Adrian and I fought, they would place bets on how long it would take for me to come crawling back. They were certain I couldn’t let him go. Not just because of his family’s wealth, but because of our eight-year history. No one could just walk away from that. This time was probably no different. Just as I had that thought, someone shouted, “Adrian, if she begs you to take her back, are you gonna do it?” After a long pause, Adrian’s voice, cool and unconcerned, came through. “I’m getting engaged. Why are we even talking about this?” Someone laughed. “You think Adrian is stupid? He’s not gonna pass up the daughter of the Song family for some girl with no background. Would you?” Amid the laughter, I remembered something. When I first moved to the city, Adrian’s friends were all very polite to me. I thought they had accepted me. Then, at Liam’s birthday party, Sophia lost a priceless necklace. Her friends surrounded me, demanding I give it back. By the time Adrian arrived, I was a disheveled mess. Sophia said to him, “Adrian, don’t be mad. They were just trying to help me find my necklace, that’s why they were a little rough…” “Once we find it, I’ll apologize to Clara, okay?” Adrian smiled, walked over to me, and patted my head affectionately. “It’s not a big deal.” I clutched his shirt, all the hurt and humiliation bubbling up inside me. I was about to tell him what had happened when he said, “If you wanted it, you could have just asked me. Why did you have to do this?” My mind went blank. I looked at him in disbelief. “You don’t believe me?” He didn’t say a word, but the mockery in his eyes said it all. I started to tremble, my hands and feet turning to ice. We had been together for so long; I thought he knew me. But he hadn’t even asked a single question before taking their side. Everyone was looking at me. With contempt, with ridicule, with indifference. No one believed me. For some reason, I thought of what my grandfather had said to me before I left: “My dear, I won’t stop you from pursuing your dreams. But remember, social classes are not so easily crossed. Even if he loves you, will his family and friends truly accept you?” I had confidently promised him, “Don’t worry, Grandpa. Adrian won’t disappoint you or me.” I was young and naive then, I didn’t understand the invisible chasm that lay between us. It was only when I was cornered and alone that I truly understood. 5 The laughter on the other end of the line continued for a long time. Someone shouted, “Liam, ask her where the wedding is. We’re friends, after all. We should at least send a gift.” After a moment, Liam’s voice came through. “Clara, which church are you getting married in?” “The one on the island.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, someone else piped up. “See? I told you she was delusional. The Rogen family’s wedding is next week, also on the island. Is she going to claim she’s marrying Caleb Rogen next?” The group erupted in laughter. Even Liam couldn’t help but whisper a warning, “Clara, you remember Caleb, right? His wedding is also next week…” “Liam,” I interrupted. “It’s my wedding to Caleb.” The line went dead silent. Then, an explosion of laughter. “Has she lost her mind? Now she’s dragging Caleb Rogen into it.” “She’s really desperate to make Adrian jealous.” “Adrian, just take pity on her and meet with her. She’s clearly not well after the breakup…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I hung up the phone. A text from an unknown number immediately followed. 【Add me back.】 The familiar tone, the familiar attitude. I knew instantly it was Adrian. I deleted the message without a change in expression, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. The next morning, I had a video from Liam. It was from after I’d hung up. Adrian was sitting on a sofa, a cigarette glowing in the dark, illuminating his cold, handsome features. He let out a low chuckle. “Plenty of people have broken up with me. Am I supposed to meet with every single one of them?” “That’s our Adrian! But if you don’t meet with Clara, are you just going to let her leave empty-handed?” Someone else retorted, “She’s the one who broke up with him! Now she regrets it and wants him back after three years? She’s got some nerve!” “Exactly. Look at her, making up stories about marrying Caleb Rogen. Adrian was too good to her.” Adrian didn’t speak, just played with his phone, lost in thought. Then, Liam spoke up. “Clara’s not a liar. Maybe she’s telling the truth.” “What’s with you, Liam? Are you getting paid to defend her? Or do you have a thing for her?” Liam gave the speaker a long, hard look. “Have you all forgotten about the necklace incident? She suffered so much because of your prejudice.” The room was silent for a moment. Then someone said, “It’s easy to find out if she’s lying. You all got invitations to the Rogen wedding, right? I’ll call home and have someone send me a picture of the invitation.” After about a minute, the person laughed. “See? I told you. There’s no way Caleb Rogen is marrying Clara. The bride’s last name is also Kane, but her first name is Claire.” “Don’t worry, Adrian. She’s definitely back to get you back.” … The video ended there. They were right. Caleb’s bride’s name was Claire Kane. What they didn’t know was that Claire was me. Three years ago, my grandfather had a fortune teller read my chart. He said I was in for a bout of bad luck, and changing my name could ward off evil spirits. So, he gave me a new name: Claire. 6 I knew I would run into Adrian eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. The day of my wedding dress fitting, Caleb had a last-minute emergency and said he’d be late. When I arrived at the bridal shop, Adrian was sitting in the VIP area. Our eyes met. I gave a polite nod and followed the consultant to the dressing room. While I was waiting for the stylist, Adrian walked in and locked the door behind him. Before I could react, he was standing behind me. The dressing table mirror reflected his handsome face. “Why did you block me?” he asked, his tone as familiar as if we had never been apart. He was actually the one who had blocked and deleted me first. The day I left the city three years ago. How did I know? I didn’t, not at first. Liam let it slip. He had called me to ask for a photo of Adrian. I told him I would send it to Adrian directly. “You can’t,” Liam had said. “He blocked you. Just send it to me.” I was stunned. Adrian and I had an unspoken rule: no matter how bad the fight, we would never block or delete each other. That was the first time the rule had been broken. And he was the one who broke it. After I sent the photo to Liam, I opened my own phone, deleted every picture, every memory of Adrian, and blocked all of his contact information. And now, the one who started it all was questioning me. I warily put some distance between us. “Adrian, we’ve broken up. And we’re both about to get married. There’s no need for us to be in contact.” A slow, meaningful smile spread across his face. “There’s no one else here. You can drop the act.” I frowned. “What act?” “You’re only saying you’re getting married to get my attention, to make me come back to you.” Honestly, I was shocked that even after three years, he was still so certain I would come back. And I finally understood that my endless patience and tolerance over the past eight years had given him this unwavering confidence. “Adrian,” I said, “no matter what you think, I’m back to get married. As soon as the wedding is over, I’m leaving. If I’ve done anything to give you the impression that I want to get back together, I apologize.” He was silent, studying me. After a long moment, he asked, “Is it because of my arranged marriage?” “It has nothing to do with that, Adrian. I’m getting married…” He cut me off. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re still mad.” He ignored the last part of my sentence and softened his tone. “It’s been three years. Are you still not over it?” He raised his hand, as if to pat my head like he used to. I moved away, avoiding his touch. “Can’t you understand English? I’m here to marry Caleb. It has nothing to do with you.” His hand froze in mid-air. His eyes grew cold, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Clara, if you wanted to find someone to make me jealous, why did you have to pick Caleb? The Rogens are out of your league.” Just like before, he didn’t believe me. The prejudice was ingrained in him. He was convinced I could never reach someone like Caleb, could never marry into a family like the Rogens. For some reason, I started to laugh. “In your eyes, am I really that worthless?” His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” He sighed. “Fine. If you want to come back, then come back.” “Come back to where? Your new home? And what role am I supposed to play?” His expression darkened. “Clara, I’m already backing down. What more do you want?” “I don’t need anything from you.” I didn’t want to get into another pointless argument with him. I tried to walk past him. As I turned, he grabbed my wrist. His voice was low. “If you really want to get married that badly, I can marry you.” I turned back, a sarcastic smile on my face. “Marry me? I thought you never planned on marrying me.” His face went pale. “Who… who told you that?” “You did,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “That day. I was right outside the door.” His expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to understanding. “So you broke up with me because you heard that?” “Yes!” If I hadn’t decided on a whim to go back and surprise him for his birthday, I would still be in the dark, desperately holding onto a relationship that was never going to go anywhere. The atmosphere in the small room became tense. His lips were pressed into a thin, cold line. “Why didn’t you ask me?” he asked, his voice strained. “Would it have made a difference?” He was about to say something else when a knock on the door interrupted him. It was the consultant. “Miss Kane, do you need any help?” “No, I’m coming out now.” I took advantage of his distraction, pulled my hand free, and walked out. But I stopped short when I saw who was standing outside the door. 7 Sophia was standing outside the dressing room in a wedding dress. I didn’t know how long she had been there, or how much she had heard. “Clara,” she said. “Long time no see.” I gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” “No, I’m busy.” I turned to the consultant. “Could you please find me another dressing room?” “Of course. This way, please.” “Wait.” Sophia walked over, holding up her dress. “I heard you’re getting married. Congratulations.” “Thank you.” “Adrian and I are having our engagement party at the end of the month. Can you come? I think Adrian would be very happy to have your blessing.” Sophia was pretty in a delicate, quiet way. Anyone would think she was a sweet, innocent girl. But I just found her annoying. After the necklace incident, she never apologized to me. Instead, she said to Adrian, “It’s all my fault. I should have checked my bag more carefully, then things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand.” Adrian had laughed. “Everyone knows you’re a little scatterbrained. We’re used to it.” Then she had turned to Liam. “I’m so sorry. I almost ruined your birthday party.” They were all laughing and talking, but no one thought to apologize to me. I was the victim, but they were all comforting the perpetrator. “Don’t come to our engagement party.” Adrian’s voice pulled me back to the present. He had walked out of the dressing room as if he owned the place. The moment he appeared, Sophia’s face went pale. But she quickly forced a smile and said sweetly, “Adrian, I was just looking for you. I didn’t realize you were catching up with Clara.” She walked over and linked her arm through his. “I wasn’t thinking. I forgot Clara has her own wedding to prepare for. Do you have time tomorrow? I’m planning a birthday celebration for Adrian. You haven’t been back in a while, it would be a good chance to catch up with old friends.” I shook my head. “I have plans tomorrow night.” Caleb was taking me to meet his friends. And even if I were free, I wouldn’t go to their party. But I never expected that we would run into each other anyway. 8 During a break at the dinner party, I went to the restroom. On my way back, I ran into Adrian coming out of the private room next to ours. The moment our eyes met, I saw a flicker of mockery in his. “I thought you said you were busy.”

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At my own engagement party, the wide-eyed heroine whispered to her System. “If I splash wine on the male lead, won’t he just throw me out?” The System’s voice was chipper and confident. “Relax. You’re the main character. So what if he’s engaged? Even if he were married, he’d fall so head-over-heels for you he wouldn’t know what hit him.” This was my engagement party. The man I had carefully chosen as my fiancé, Bernard Croft, was the so-called “male lead” she was talking about? That was impossible. Bernard was the heir to a dynasty, schooled for over twenty years in the art of putting profits before anything else. He would never toss aside a multi-billion dollar merger for some doe-eyed ingenue. Unless, of course, he’d completely lost his mind. It wasn’t until my family’s corporation teetered on the brink of bankruptcy that I finally understood. The plot they were weaving wasn’t about love—it was about forcing the male lead to abandon me for the sake of his bottom line. 01 My engagement to Bernard was a strategic alliance, a merger of two corporate titans destined to send both our stock prices soaring. But here, at our engagement party, I was eavesdropping on a conversation between a waitress and her invisible System. The waitress, an innocent-looking girl, was psyching herself up to “accidentally” spill her drink on Bernard to get his attention. The System’s voice echoed in my mind. “You’re the heroine! You’ll have him wrapped around your finger. Go on, be bold! Aim for the suit! Ruin his engagement party!” I glanced at Bernard beside me. He was breathtaking in a pristine, custom-tailored white suit with a seven-figure price tag. The thought of that masterpiece being ruined by cheap wine made my own wallet ache. Bernard noticed my stare and leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “What is it?” “Nothing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just wondering… would you ever call off our wedding for another woman?” A smirk played on his lips as he tapped his temple. “Sophia, darling, have you been reading too many romance novels? Lost your mind? Marrying you is like acquiring a billion-dollar asset. What reason would I have to throw away a billion dollars?” His logic was so sound it made me feel foolish. I wouldn’t have believed it either, if I hadn’t heard the waitress and her System with my own two ears. My eyes kept drifting back to her, following her every move. Bernard squeezed my hand, a silent warning. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “We’re about to be married and you’re already distracted? Thinking about some other guy?” I shot back, “Not another guy. But I have a feeling your past might be about to catch up with you.” He scoffed. “Hardly.” The next second, it happened. The waitress stumbled, and a cascade of crimson wine arced through the air, drenching the front of Bernard’s immaculate white suit. 02 “Are you insane?! What the hell was that?” Bernard’s voice was ice. The polite, gentlemanly mask he wore for the public cracked, revealing the fury simmering beneath. I’d known him since we were kids; I knew this was him on the verge of exploding. The waitress, this Lily, looked like a startled rabbit. “I-I’m so, so sorry…” she stammered, tears welling in her eyes as she fumbled with a napkin, trying to dab at the stain. The hotel manager rushed over, his face pale. “Lily, what is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be in the back with the catering staff! What are you doing out here?” Lily sobbed, her voice thick with manufactured innocence. “I just wanted to pour Mr. Croft a glass of wine.” It was a convincing performance, a simple, tragic mistake. Normally, I would have smoothed things over, eager to keep our engagement party running without a hitch. But tonight, I was intensely curious. How was Bernard going to handle this? His eyes were cold, his jaw tight as he deliberately looked away from Lily. “My assistant will send you the bill for the suit. You will pay for it, or I’ll sue. Consider yourself lucky I’m in a good mood today.” With that, he grabbed my hand and turned on his heel, not giving Lily a single backward glance. His movements were clipped, almost unnaturally fast. “What a disaster,” he muttered as we walked away. “Sophia, that suit was one of a kind! Ruined by some clumsy waitress… it’s completely soaked. Thank God I had the foresight to bring a backup.” He stalked towards the changing rooms, leaving the manager to tear into the still-sobbing Lily. Did she really think soiling a suit was enough to derail our engagement? How simplistic. I edged a little closer to Lily, my curiosity piqued. I needed to hear what her next move was. 03 While Bernard was changing, I tuned back into Lily’s frantic conversation with her System. “What do I do? What do I do?” she panicked. “Where am I going to get that kind of money? Three million dollars? I won’t earn that in a lifetime!” The System was unbothered. “It’s only three million. Once you marry him, you’ll have access to three hundred million. What’s the difference? You can’t pay? Fine. Go apologize again. Sooner or later, he’ll see your pure heart and inner beauty.” Lily’s voice was small. “My inner beauty? Are you sure he’s into the sweet, innocent type?” “Positive,” the System insisted. “Bernard fought his way to the top of the Croft family hierarchy. Dynasties like his are starved for genuine warmth. Someone like you is exactly what he needs to let his guard down.” “Look at him with his fiancée,” it continued. “That smile is so fake. He doesn’t love her at all.” Lily seemed to absorb this, nodding to herself. When Bernard reappeared, I found myself scrutinizing his face, searching for the fakeness the System had mentioned. He caught me staring and bent down again. “What is with you tonight?” “Are you unhappy?” I asked bluntly. “Is that smile fake?” He rubbed his own cheeks, which did look a little stiff. “You think anyone can hold a smile like this all day? My God, Sophia, you must be a saint.” I ignored his backhanded compliment and pulled him along to mingle. An engagement party like this was a networking goldmine; deals that would make us millions were being brokered over cocktails. There was no time to slack off. Still, a sense of unease lingered. Bernard had never been short of female attention, but this “heroine”… my gut told me she was different. 04 By the end of the night, Bernard and I were exhausted. As I sank into the plush leather of the back seat of my car, he was just about to get in beside me. “Mr. Croft!” A panicked voice called out. It was Lily, rushing out of the hotel. Bernard paused, his annoyance clear. “Are you here with the money?” Lily’s face flushed a deeper red. From my angle, she looked even more like a cornered animal. “No… I was just thinking… I could take the suit home and wash it. I promise I can make it look brand new… I really don’t have the money… please.” So fragile. It looked like a strong gust of wind could knock her over. Was this what Bernard secretly wanted? A woman he needed to protect? The thought sent a chill down my spine. It reminded me of my own father, who had left my mother for a woman who was just as fragile, just as seemingly helpless. Suddenly, my interest in the game waned. I said nothing, just watched Bernard, trying to read the thoughts behind his guarded expression. He let out a short, sharp laugh. “This is a bespoke designer suit. And you want to ‘take it home and wash it’?” He shook his head. “Unbelievably naive.” As the car door clicked shut, I heard Lily’s desperate whisper to her System. “He’s angry! What do I do now?” “Don’t worry,” the System soothed. “You’ve already piqued his interest. All the data I gave you was tailored to his exact preferences. Tomorrow, you’ll start as his new secretary. I’ll create an opportunity for you.” “As for Sophia,” it added dismissively, “you don’t need to worry about her at all. Her family is about to go bankrupt. When that happens, her engagement to Bernard will naturally be dissolved.” “Their relationship is built on pure business. How could that ever compete with true love?” Lily was convinced. My heart stopped. My family… bankrupt? I was completely and utterly stunned by the revelation. 05 My family, one of the city’s upper-echelon elites… bankrupt? It seemed impossible. But the System had gotten one thing right. My relationship with Bernard was a contract, a fusion of assets. If my family’s fortune vanished, he would have every reason to walk away. But would he walk away… for her? I decided to test the waters. “She seems quite pitiful,” I murmured. “There’s no way she can afford three million dollars.” Bernard leaned over, resting his head on my shoulder, his voice laced with amusement. “Darling, the stray cats and dogs on the street are pitiful too. If you feed them once, they’ll just keep coming back for more. Sometimes, it’s better not to feed them at all.” “Doesn’t a girl like that awaken your protective instincts?” I pressed, remembering the System’s certainty that Lily was his “type.” He mumbled, his voice drowsy. “I have no interest in a clinging vine that needs protecting. I told you that a long time ago. You chose me, Sophia. I have no intention of letting you down.” He sounded like a model reciting a script. I reached up and touched his face. “I hope you never forget what our partnership is built on.” Business. That was the only thing that lasted. Until this moment, I had believed that with every fiber of my being. So what if Lily had a System? If Bernard could be won over that easily, then I didn’t want him anyway. 06 Bernard was nothing if not perceptive. He cracked open an eye, his gaze sharp. “Sophia, have you been wanting to run off with some other guy for a while now? You’re acting very strange tonight.” Always turning it back on me. I massaged my temples. Tonight had been surreal. The System’s chatter had clearly gotten under my skin, making me doubt not only my family’s stability but Bernard himself. He was my carefully selected partner. Perfect in every way, except for that brutally sharp tongue. “It’s not me that’s strange,” I retorted. “It’s her. Aren’t you curious? The security at our engagement party was iron-clad. How did she manage to get close enough to drench you in wine?” The fact that I could hear her cosmic cheerleader was too bizarre to explain. Bernard’s gaze shifted from his phone to my face, intense and focused. He didn’t answer my question directly. “So you are jealous. That A-list actress was all over me last month and you didn’t bat an eye. Why are you getting worked up over a waitress? You must have a very low opinion of my taste.” I pushed his head away. “You wish.” 07 I spent the next few days poring over my family’s financials, searching for any hidden vulnerability, any sign of the impending doom Lily’s System had predicted. And then, as if her words were a curse, it began. A series of small, nagging problems started cropping up at Vanderbilt Corp. My phone buzzed constantly with calls from assistants and department heads. None of the issues were catastrophic on their own, but they were persistent, and we couldn’t trace the source. It was like death by a thousand paper cuts. The System’s words haunted me: “Her family is about to go bankrupt.” I had to see Bernard. I had to know if the System’s other prediction—that Lily would become his secretary—was true. Could this System really be powerful enough to fabricate a resume and bypass the extensive background checks of a company like Croft Industries? I drove to his office building. The receptionist knew me, of course, and waved me right through. I was escorted straight to the executive floor, to the doors of Bernard’s office. When the door opened, I froze. There she was. Lily. Standing so close to Bernard that from my angle, it looked like they were in an embrace. So the System really was that powerful. He was already taking the sweet, innocent girl into his arms. I stood there, stunned into silence. My escort, one of his senior secretaries, quickly recovered. “Mr. Croft, Ms. Vanderbilt is here.” Bernard immediately pushed Lily away. She stumbled backward, nearly falling. “I asked you to get coffee, not throw yourself at me! Get out!” he snapped. Lily looked wounded. Her eyes darted from Bernard’s furious face to mine. “But… I was just pouring the coffee.” “Pouring coffee? It looked like you were about to pour it all over me again! You already owe me millions, Ms. Evans!” As Lily was hustled out by a flustered assistant, I heard her frantic whisper. “System, are you sure your intel is right? I really don’t think he’s into me at all!” The mechanical voice replied, tinny and certain. “Impossible. The data is clear: Bernard Croft likes innocent, sweet girls with no ulterior motives. This is only your second meeting. I will create another opportunity for you soon.” “The data never lies,” it continued. “He despises people who are obsessed with money and power. The only way to win his heart is to show him that you care nothing for material things.” Lily sighed. “Alright, maybe it’s just…” I wanted to hear more, but the assistant had already shown her out and discreetly closed the heavy office door. The vast office was silent, leaving just me and Bernard. He was already rushing to explain. “I swear, Sophia, it’s like she has some kind of dark magic. I’m calling HR right now to have her fired. This day has been an absolute nightmare.” This world, I thought, was becoming a nightmare.

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My best friend is in love with my uncle. She’s also paying me a small fortune to play Cupid. When I delivered the scarf she knitted for him, my uncle’s jaw tightened. A notification pinged on my phone. “Ten thousand dollars,” he said, his voice flat. “Consider your services purchased.” When I passed along her handwritten love letter, he didn’t even glance at it. His face darkened as he tapped on his phone. “Twenty thousand,” he bit out. “Don’t ever do this again.” I was getting paid by both of them. Life was good. Until the day before his birthday. I walked in carrying a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses, courtesy of my very determined best friend. He exploded. His face was a mask of cold fury as he ripped the flowers from my arms and smashed them on the floor. “I thought you knew the line, Ava,” he seethed, his voice dangerously low. “But I see you’ve learned to be shameless.” He took a step closer, towering over me. “Stop fantasizing. I could never, ever feel that way about you. Not in this lifetime.” I just stared, stunned. But past the anger, I saw it clear as day: the desperate, agonizing conflict in his eyes. Hold on a second, buddy. Let’s get something straight. I see you as my uncle. So why are you acting like you want to be my husband? 1 Tomorrow is Connor’s thirtieth birthday. Every year, I give him a small, handmade gift. Nothing expensive or flashy, just something thoughtful. Tonight, like always, he was sitting in the living room, waiting for me to get home. But the moment he saw the massive bouquet of red roses in my arms, something in him snapped. His face, usually so composed, went cold. I instantly knew what he was thinking, what he’d misunderstood, and opened my mouth to explain. But before I could, he ripped the bouquet from my hands and slammed it onto the marble floor. The petals scattered like droplets of blood. His brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a deep, crushing disappointment. “Have you no shame, Ava?” His voice was low, cutting. “Even if we’re not blood, I’m still your guardian. I’m your uncle.” He took a step closer, his shadow falling over me. “All these years, you’ve given me these… suggestive little gifts. I let it slide because I thought you knew the line. But now this? Are you really pushing it this far?” I was speechless for a second, then found my voice. “This is from Chloe,” I explained, my tone steady despite the tremor inside me. “She just asked me to give it to you.” Chloe is my best friend and, out of all the women vying for Connor’s attention, the only one I actually like. She has a great personality, she’s gorgeous, and even Connor seems to enjoy her company. She wanted to surprise him for his birthday. The plan was for me to be the advance guard with the roses. She was hiding outside, waiting for the right moment to come in and confess her feelings. As her designated wingwoman and paid consultant, I was happy to play my part in her slightly cheesy, rom-com-worthy plan. But when I pulled open the front door to prove I was telling the truth, the porch was empty. *What the hell? Where did she go?* Way to flake out at the crucial moment, Chloe. Now what do I do? I turned back to Connor, my mind racing, but meeting his gaze made the words die in my throat. His expression was a storm of conflict. Disappointment, yes, but also a raw, painful longing. The rest of it, the part that twisted my stomach into a knot, I refused to acknowledge. He grabbed my arm, his grip tight, and pulled me onto the porch, forcing me to look at the empty, manicured lawn. The night air was cold against my skin. His voice was laced with an arctic chill I’d never heard before. “I’ve raised you for over a decade, Ava. I didn’t do it so you could learn to lie to my face like this.” He gestured vaguely at the darkness. “Stop using Chloe as a shield. You’re not worthy of even mentioning her name in the same breath. She’s a decent, reserved girl. She would never be so… shameless.” In all the years I’d lived with him, he had never spoken to me with such contempt. It was humiliating. Utterly, profoundly humiliating. I clutched at the sleeve of his cashmere sweater. “It’s not like that…” He shook me off like I was a piece of dirt, pulling out his phone. His fingers moved across the screen with grim familiarity. A notification pinged on my phone. “I just sent you ten thousand dollars,” he said, his voice flat. “Consider the flowers bought. And consider whatever pathetic fantasy you’ve cooked up in your head bought and paid for, too.” He met my eyes, his own now hard as granite. “From now on, I don’t want to see this kind of trash in my house again. Get rid of your disgusting little crush. I could never, ever feel that way about you. This lifetime or the next.” He brushed past me and walked out into the night, leaving me standing there amid the ruined flowers. My eyes burned, tears welling up until my vision blurred. Just then, my phone buzzed again. A text from Chloe. *OMG I’m so sorry babe, I totally chickened out…* A second message appeared. *Can you buy another bouquet for tomorrow?? I’ll try again! I promise I’ll go through with it this time!* Then, a third notification. *Venmo: Chloe sent you $20,000.* Followed by: *Please??* Wait. How much? Twenty. Thousand. Dollars. I sniffled, blinked, and counted the zeroes after the two. One, two, three, four. It was real. I pocketed my phone, a sense of calm satisfaction washing over me. The tears of wounded pride instantly retreated. I knelt, methodically gathering the scattered petals from the floor. Then, my face a perfect mask of composure, I opened an app and ordered a new bouquet of roses for delivery tomorrow morning. Sorry, Connor. Her offer was just too good to refuse. 2 It wasn’t always this tense between us. Before I turned eighteen, things were different. The Reeds and my family, the Martins, were inseparable. After my parents died in a car crash, I was sent to live with Connor. He was my dad’s best friend, my designated guardian. By convention, I called him Uncle Connor. He earned the title. Even though we shared no blood, he treated me like a princess. He took me on trips to broaden my horizons, bought me ridiculously expensive dresses for school dances, and once, when a new housekeeper accidentally gave me regular milk and triggered my lactose allergy, he lost his notoriously unshakable cool and fired her on the spot. Having lost my own father, I came to see him as a father figure, someone I loved and respected deeply. For every holiday, every birthday, I would make him a gift. A hand-knit scarf or gloves when it got cold. A pitcher of his favorite sun tea when summer arrived. To me, these were just simple, ordinary gestures of affection. My mother was crafty, and I’d picked it up from her. I used to make the same kinds of things for my dad. But somewhere along the way, as I grew from a girl into a woman, things changed. Or maybe he changed. My simple gifts started taking on meanings he invented, and with each one, he grew more distant. Finally, whether to create distance or for some other reason, he started paying me. For the scarf I gave him on my eighteenth birthday, he didn’t even look at it. He just offered a thin smile and picked up his phone. “Thanks for the effort, Ava. I just sent you ten thousand. Consider it a purchase.” The sun tea got the same treatment. He took a single, perfunctory sip. “Tastes good. You worked hard.” Another ping from my phone. “That’s five hundred dollars. For the pitcher.” Five hundred dollars. Not for the sentiment. For the product. He never used many words. The wire transfers were his way of rejecting the feeling behind the gift. His deliberate distance hurt, but it also lit a fire under me. Five hundred bucks for a pitcher of tea? Where else was I going to find a patron that generous and clueless? He said he was buying my gifts, but he never said I had to stop giving them. So I doubled down. My gift-giving became more frequent, more… creative. I gave him presents for absurd holidays like National Left-Handers Day. Worried he’d get the wrong idea again, I started choosing the most impersonal things I could think of: designer sunglasses, artisanal teas, fancy imported milk, and even a bag of Nescafé instant I tried to pass off as hand-ground artisanal coffee. And as he grew colder, I took on a side hustle: running point for the legion of women trying to date him, delivering their gifts and messages. Getting paid on both ends of the deal isn’t shameful, it’s smart. I thought for sure this would get the message through his thick skull. That my interest was purely familial—and, now, financial. Apparently, I’d underestimated the complexity of his wiring. All my efforts, and I still ended up with, “I could never feel that way about you.” Sigh. Re-education program: failed. 3 Connor came home late, staggering drunk. Seeing him stumble, I instinctively moved to help him. The moment my hand touched his arm, he flinched like he’d been burned. He shoved me away, his eyes wild. I lost my balance and fell to the floor. “I told you to get away from me!” he snarled, his words slurring. “Stay the hell away! I don’t like you, don’t you get it?” *Dude,* I thought, rubbing my hip. *I never said I liked you.* He ignored me, lurching toward the staircase. He made it two steps before his legs gave out and he tumbled right back down, landing in a heap near my feet. Okay. Deep breaths. You’re turning thirty, my friend. Tomorrow, you officially begin your journey toward forty. In a few years, I could legitimately call you an old man. Can we please stop pretending we’re invincible? I pushed myself up, massaging my temples, and hauled him back to his bedroom. His consciousness was flickering, but he still knew who I was. As I pulled the covers over him, his hand fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. “Two thousand…” he mumbled. “For… for your help. The service fee. Don’t get any ideas.” I should have let him fall a few more times. Maybe the price would have gone up. For the sake of the money, I ignored the drunkard’s ramblings. I tucked him in and turned to leave. But before I could take a step, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind, hot and heavy. The smell of whiskey and smoke mixed with his signature cedarwood cologne filled my senses. Connor’s lips, feverish and rough, brushed against my ear. “Why?” he whispered, his voice thick and raw. “Why won’t you just go away?” Before I could process it, his hand was at the back of my neck, turning my head. I was trapped, looking into his eyes—eyes that were no longer just conflicted, but filled with a dark, terrifying desire. That snapped me out of it. I shoved him hard, stumbling back. “You need to figure out who’s pushing who away!” I shot back, my voice sharp. Then, without waiting for a reply, I fled to my room. My heart hammered against my ribs. I leaned against my door, trying to get my thoughts in order. Suddenly, an idea struck. I grabbed my phone and opened my chat with Chloe. *Chloe, Connor’s trashed. Perfect opportunity. Get over here. Now.*

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The first time I died, it was pathetic. I’d stormed out of my marriage in a blaze of righteous fury, only to discover that pride doesn’t pay the rent. I ended up broke, sick, and utterly alone, wasting away in a sterile hospital room. The final irony? It was my ex-husband, Liam, who claimed my ashes. While my life fizzled out, his ignited. He made partner at his law firm, pulling in seven figures a year. And, of course, he got the girl—his great lost love, the one that got away. A perfect, inspiring life. A perfect middle finger to my memory. When I open my eyes again, I’m back. Back on the very day I threw it all away. Liam is sitting across from me, his face an unreadable mask of indifference. “Your family’s about to go bankrupt, Audrey. You really want to do this now? Are you planning on starving?” His words are a splash of ice water. The first time around, I was too proud, too wounded to hear the truth in them. I’d just screamed, demanded he sign the papers, and walked away with nothing but my “dignity.” I left him the five-million-dollar house, the closets full of designer clothes, everything. A grand gesture to prove my nobility wasn’t for sale. What a fucking idiot I was. 1 After years of scrubbing dishes in the dead of winter for minimum wage, my hands cracking and bleeding for a three-thousand-dollar paycheck, those material things suddenly look a lot more than just cute. They look like survival. They look like warmth. Love? Love without a safety net isn’t romantic. It’s just garbage. A slow, sweet smile spreads across my face. I let my eyes soften as I look at him. “Oh, honey. Liam. I was just talking nonsense. Why would I ever want to divorce you? I love you so much.” I stand, my voice dripping with manufactured warmth. “That was all just… a moment. You must be exhausted. Let me run you a bath. You can just soak and relax.” Before he can react, I snatch the divorce agreement off the table and make a run for it. In the master bathroom, I tear the damn thing to shreds, flushing the pieces down the toilet with a visceral sense of satisfaction. The whirring sound of the state-of-the-art, fully automated commode is the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. I can’t help but press my cheek against its heated lid, soaking in the gentle warmth. Oh my God, I think, a wave of relief so powerful it’s almost painful washing over me. I’ll never have a frozen ass in the winter again. No more gnawing hunger. No more choosing between my father’s medical bills and my own groceries. No more breaking my body for a pittance. I don’t know what I was so hung up on in my past life. Obsessing over whether Liam loved me, picking apart a few ambiguous text messages on his phone, even after he’d handed me his entire life on a silver platter. It took hitting rock bottom to finally understand the gospel truth: the only thing that truly matters is the almighty dollar. I’ve seen the light. And this time, I’m never leaving its warm, comforting embrace. I draw Liam’s bath, setting the temperature to a precise 96.4 degrees, just how he likes it. I lay out a fresh set of pajamas for him. When he walks into the bathroom, I’m still standing by the door, beaming at him. He gives me a long, searching look, then silently reaches out and clicks the lock on the door. I… right. As if I’m thirsty for that. I shrug it off and head to our bedroom to take stock of my personal finances. 2 To be fair, for the first twenty-five years of my life, I really was a princess. My parents ran a successful manufacturing business, clearing nearly eight figures a year. As their only child, I was the center of their universe. My grades were average, but I was pretty and, more importantly, lucky. I scraped my way into a top-tier school, and that’s where I met Liam. He was brilliant, intense, and dirt-poor. It was a story straight out of a novel. I fell head over heels. I begged my parents to cover his tuition, to give him the seed money to start his own firm after graduation. He was grateful. To repay me, he proposed the day we got our diplomas. What followed were two years of a picture-perfect marriage that was, behind closed doors, as cold as a morgue. Liam was a good man, but a good man isn’t immune to the laws of attraction. He felt gratitude for me, not desire. Even in bed, he was never truly lost in the moment. He was busy, driven. Saturday nights, he would mechanically set aside one hour for “us.” Any other time, if I wanted so much as a kiss, I felt like I had to schedule it with his assistant. Living in that emotional deep freeze, my romantic soul started to wither, and then to act out. Looking back now, I can’t blame him for finding me boring. After college, I slid right into the role of a housewife. My days were a blur of reality TV and video games. We had nothing to talk about. He’d accuse me of having my brain melted by social media; I’d accuse him of being less charming and attentive than the husbands I saw on those same screens. Our marriage was on a collision course with a brick wall. Lying on the plush king-sized bed, I let out a long sigh. Audrey, you don’t know how good you have it. For a useless, spoiled woman like you, getting a second chance is like winning the lottery. Your ancestors must be smiling down on you. This is your do-over. Use it. You don’t need to be some hero who single-handedly saves the family business. You just need to be smart enough to build a lifeboat, for yourself and for them. Just then, Liam walks in, rubbing his hair with a towel. He glances at me, still in my day clothes, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Right. It’s Saturday. My night to perform my wifely duties. Unlike the cold shoulder I would have given him before, I jump up and dash into the bathroom. I take what could only be described as a combat shower and slip into a piece of lingerie I’d buried at the back of my drawer. I’d bought it for our honeymoon, hoping for a night of passion, but he’d been called away on an urgent case before I ever got to wear it. Well, no time like the present. It’s for our mutual pleasure, after all. Why not enjoy it? The moment I step out, I see Liam’s breath catch in his throat. His eyes widen with a mix of shock and something else, something I can’t quite decipher. His voice is a low rasp. “Audrey, you…” I silence him with a kiss. “Shhh,” I whisper against his lips. “Don’t talk. We’re wasting precious time.” 3 It’s amazing what a change in perspective can do. Before, I was desperate for his love, so I scrutinized his every move. A furrowed brow from him would send my heart into a panic, terrified I’d done something to displease him. A strained groan and I’d spiral, convinced I was failing. But now? Now he’s just a tool. A very handsome, very effective tool. My only concerns are his speed, the angle, and whether he’s putting in enough effort. After the third round, Liam’s face is pale. I lean in for another kiss, but he gently pushes me away. “I have a court appearance tomorrow. I can’t be exhausted.” Oh. Okay, then. I suppose it’s normal to be a little overzealous after a twenty-year drought. I don’t argue. I just slip out of bed and start putting my clothes back on. Liam rolls over, his expression pure shock. “Where are you going?” “To the guest room. It’s a mess in here.” The sheets are… damp. It’s uncomfortable, and probably bad for my joints. In my old life, I would have endured it just to cuddle with him. Now, I value my own comfort. If he wants to sleep in a wet spot, that’s his problem. I shut the door with a soft click, leaving him with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. The next morning, I sleep until ten. As expected, he’s already gone. A note is left on the nightstand: [Out of town for a week. Chicago.] Tucked underneath it is a thick stack of cash. Liam has this weird habit of giving me my allowance in cash. I could never decide if it was meant to be insulting or just eccentric. I count it. Ten thousand dollars. Generous as always. I get dressed, take the money, and head straight for the bank. The moment I walk in, I’m overwhelmed. It’s one of the quirks of being a spoiled princess: I have no practical skills. Complex environments make my head spin. I finally flag down an employee who guides me to a teller. I exchange Liam’s cash for gold bars and move my own savings into a new, separate account. With my finances secured, I grab a taxi to my parents’ house. If my memory serves me right, this is right around the time their business started showing cracks, though they were still trying to shield me from it. 4 The air in my parents’ home is thick with gloom. My father is chain-smoking on the sofa, and my mother is staring blankly at a spreadsheet on her laptop. When they see me, they share a panicked glance and force brittle smiles onto their faces. My mom starts to speak, but I hold up a hand. “Don’t pretend. I know the business is in trouble.” They run a traditional manufacturing company, and the internet age has hit them like a freight train. In a desperate final gambit, they’d sunk all their remaining capital into one big project, and that project was now imploding. The company’s credit line is about to be severed, leaving them with two choices. One: Double down, take out more loans, and bet everything on one last miracle. Two: Liquidate everything, pay off the debts, and shut the doors for good. In my last life, my parents, bless their stubborn hearts, chose to gamble. They lost everything. The stress, the constant smoking… it eventually gave my father lung cancer. My mother tried to rebuild, but every penny she earned was immediately seized by creditors. They could barely afford to live. This time, I’m taking charge. “Dad, Mom. Stop fighting it. You’re behind the times. The factory isn’t coming back.” AI and automation are developing at a terrifying pace. The tidal wave is coming for traditional industries, and my parents can’t even see the storm clouds. They didn’t die from failure; they died from obsolescence. They both bristle at my words. “What do you know? You’ve never paid attention to the business.” “Exactly,” my mom adds. “I’ve spoken to your Uncle Mark and Uncle David. They both said they’d back us if we want to try again.” Yes, they did. And they both later became regulars at our door, demanding repayment. I let out a bitter laugh. “Come on, sit down. Let me tell you exactly why I know what I’m talking about.” I curl up on the sofa and tell them everything. My whole, pathetic, miserable past life. With the two people I trust most in the world, there’s no reason to hide. When I finish, they’re both shaken. My father’s eyes are filled with tears. “So… for all those years… you were washing dishes to pay our debts? And you died… you died alone in a hospital because you couldn’t afford treatment?” He clutches my hand, his whole body trembling. My mother is silent, her head bowed. After a long moment, she looks up, her face a mess of tears and a strange, broken smile. “Okay,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Okay, sweetheart. This time, we’ll listen to you. We’re done fighting.” 5 My parents began the slow, painful process of dismantling their life’s work. Thanks to decades of experience, they were savvy negotiators. After paying off all the debts and liquidating the assets, they were left with a few hundred thousand dollars and the family home, free and clear. After signing the final sale contract, my parents stood in the empty factory lobby, looking lost. “A whole lifetime of work,” my dad said, his voice hollow. “And it’s all gone. This factory, this land, all of it… it all belongs to someone else now.” I link my arms through theirs. “Dad, Mom, it’s okay. We’re all alive. That’s what matters.” Getting out now means they only lost a few million. If they’d held on, they would have been buried under a mountain of debt with no hope of escape. With no jobs to go to, my parents seemed to drift. They were aimless, their energy gone. So I took the nest egg I’d been building—a couple million from savings and savvy investments I remembered from my past life—and put it in their hands. “Mom, Dad, this is all my savings from… forever. It’s yours now.” They stared at the bank statement, speechless. “In my other life, I was miserable, but I also saw how fast the world was changing. The factory failed because you were both so busy working in the business that you never had time to see what was happening outside of it. If you try to jump into a new venture now, you’ll just be guessing.” I took a deep breath. “So here’s the plan. Take this money, and go back to school. Enroll in an executive MBA program. Learn about the new economy. And when you’re ready, when you see a real opportunity, we’ll start over. The right way.” My parents looked from the statement to me, their eyes wide with astonishment. Then, slowly, they both began to smile. “Wow,” my dad said, shaking his head in wonder. “Audrey, you’ve really grown up. That’s… that’s a brilliant idea.” “She’s right,” my mom agreed. “Your father and I will go back to school.” Striking while the iron was hot, I spent the rest of the night researching the top business programs in the country. Two days later, my parents were on a flight to Boston for an intensive course at Harvard. After arranging for better security at their now-empty house and letting go of the extra staff, I finally returned to the home I shared with Liam. He was already back, sitting on the sofa, reading through a case file. He looked up as I came in, then closed the file and tucked it into his briefcase. He stood, about to head into his study. I ignored him, went upstairs, took a shower, and started watching video tutorials on film editing. A friend of mine, Zoe, is a huge influencer. She told me the creator economy is exploding. I don’t have many marketable skills, but I know how to perform the role of a wealthy, carefree wife. I figured I could start a vlog. If it took off, great. If not, what did I have to lose? I was deep into a lesson on color grading when Liam pushed the bedroom door open and stood behind me. He asked, his voice low, “It’s Saturday.” 6 I almost choked on my water. I instinctively glanced at the calendar on my phone. Oh. So it is. I closed my laptop, walked over to him, and stood on my toes to kiss him. He caught me, his hand cupping the back of my neck. He paused. “Wear the one from last time.” …Excuse me? Oh. That one. Four rounds later, I was the one begging for mercy. As Liam rolled off me, I made a move to get out of bed. He grabbed my wrist. My eyes fluttered open. “Hmm?” He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Sleep here.” “It’s wet.” He immediately leaned over to the linen closet, pulled out a fresh set of sheets, and expertly spread them over the mess. “Not anymore.” Fine. I settled back onto the pillow. He shifted, pulling me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me. I mumbled, confused, “What now?” “I’m cold.” Whatever. I was too exhausted to argue. I fell asleep almost instantly. I had no idea that the man beside me lay awake for hours, just watching me. I had a long, long dream about the days when I used to chase him. From his first day on campus, Liam was a star. The law school lecture halls were always packed, with dozens of students craning their necks just to get a look at him. He was cool, distant, never letting anyone get too close. The only person in his orbit was a girl from his hometown, Claire. They were inseparable. When I first set my sights on Liam, I tried to figure out if they were a couple. But before I could get a clear answer, Claire abruptly left the country to study abroad. Not long after, Liam’s mother was diagnosed with cancer. Pancreatic cancer. The king of them all. Treatment or not, the outcome was usually the same. But with money, you could buy comfort. You could buy dignity. Liam was tormented, unable to sleep, consumed by worry. I went to my parents and asked them for a million dollars to cover his mother’s medical expenses. With the bills paid, his mother could finally rest without pain. Liam found me the next day. “Thank you,” he said, his voice raw. “Don’t thank me,” I replied, my voice bold and clear. “Just marry me.” I was brazen, shameless in my pursuit. Liam looked at me, a soft, complicated smile touching his lips for the first time. I didn’t understand what that smile meant then. It took me two years of a cold marriage and a whole other lifetime to finally get it. It was the smile of surrender. The reluctant acknowledgment of a debt that could only be paid with his body, with his future. 7 The next morning, Liam was still home, a rare occurrence. He was setting out breakfast as I came downstairs. “I have some free time today,” he said. “I thought we could go see your parents.” “They’re not home,” I replied, not looking up from my oatmeal. “They’re in Boston.” He paused. “Boston?” “Mmmhmm. I signed them up for an MBA program. They’re taking classes.” “What about the factory? The business?” “It’s done. We sold it.” He watched me quietly for a moment. “Was that your idea?” “Yep. I figured there was no point in bleeding out slowly. Better to just rip the bandage off.” I wiped my mouth, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door to put on my shoes. “I’m meeting a friend. I might be late. See ya.” Liam started to say something, but the door was already closing behind me. I was meeting Zoe, my influencer friend, to pick her brain. She was a lifesaver, walking me through everything from setting up my accounts and writing a compelling bio to finding my target audience and boosting engagement. She talked a mile a minute, and I struggled to keep up with my notes. “God, your handwriting is atrocious,” she said, peering over my shoulder. “It looks like a chicken just had a seizure on your notepad.” I grinned. “What do you expect? I was a C-student, remember?” She laughed and playfully tried to shove me, but her eyes suddenly fixed on something over my shoulder. “Oh, shit.” I followed her gaze. Across the street, a handsome couple was walking side-by-side. A car sped past, and the man instinctively pulled the woman into the shelter of his arms. It was Liam. And Claire. When did she get back in town? And why didn’t Liam say anything? A flicker of the old hurt sparked in my chest, but I quickly snuffed it out. No. Do not go down that rabbit hole. You are not that girl anymore. I refocused on my notes. Zoe, who’d been at college with the three of us, knew the whole sordid history. She nudged me with her elbow. “Uh, hello? Your husband’s high school sweetheart just materialized. You’re not worried?” What was there to be afraid of? I already knew how this movie ended. In three years, Liam would make partner at his firm and he and Claire would get back together. He would propose to her with a fireworks display that lit up the entire city. While the sky exploded with light for them, I would be cowering in a dark restaurant kitchen, getting screamed at by my manager for dropping a stack of plates. “You can’t even wash a dish properly! What are you good for?” “That’s two hundred dollars out of your paycheck. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.” 8 I didn’t know that as Liam pulled Claire into his arms, he looked up and saw me turn my head away. When I got home that evening, he was standing by the living room window, lost in thought. I was mentally fried from my info-dump session with Zoe, so I walked right past him and headed for the shower. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and he stepped inside. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, but he carried an aura of command that filled the small space. His handsome, chiseled face was an intense mask of inquiry. “You saw me today.” It wasn’t a question. I rinsed the shampoo from my hair. “Yep.” “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” I shook my head. He took a sharp breath, a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Why not?” I looked at him, genuinely perplexed. “Why would I?” What was there to ask? Whether I asked or not, she was still the one. The ghost of what could have been. Suddenly, he was furious. He crossed the space between us in two strides, pinning me against the tiled wall. His mouth crashed down on mine, a kiss that was more of an assault than an act of affection. His hands roamed, slick with soap and steam, igniting fires everywhere they touched. A tremor ran through me, a mix of arousal and simmering resentment. “It’s Sunday,” I managed to gasp out. It wasn’t his goddamn designated day. My protest seemed to enrage him further. He grunted, lifted me into his arms, and carried me out of the bathroom. “I don’t give a damn what day it is. I want you.” Money is hard to earn, I thought, as he threw me onto the bed. And some jobs are messier than others. The bastard went at it all night. The next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. The man responsible, of course, was already at the office. There was a new friend request on my phone. The profile picture was of Claire, looking sharp in a business suit. The message read: Hey, it’s Claire. Do you have a minute to talk? 9 Claire could dream on. I wasn’t about to let her mess with my mojo. I blocked her number without a second thought, then went to the mall and bought a new laptop and a GoPro. Under Zoe’s expert guidance, I filmed my first-ever vlog. I was under no illusions about who I was. I couldn’t fake being some intellectual powerhouse or a refined high-society lady. So I went with what I knew: “The Useless Princess’s Guide to Getting Her Life Together.” My angle was to let my followers in on the secret that not all rich people have their act together. Thanks to my brutally honest self-deprecation and a clearly defined niche, I gained 3,000 followers overnight. Seeing the “99+” notifications in my inbox gave me a thrill I’d never felt before. It was proof. Proof that I could actually be good at something. I was excitedly texting Zoe the news when Liam came home. He wasn’t alone. He’d brought Claire into our house. His expression was perfectly neutral. “Claire had a little accident at a dinner party, spilled soup on her dress. She lives across town, so I was wondering if she could borrow something of yours.” Saying no would make me look petty. I went into the bedroom and pulled out a casual designer tracksuit Liam had bought me when we were first married. As if by cosmic coincidence, it looked stunning on her. She offered a small, polite smile. “You know, it’s funny. Audrey and I seem to have similar taste. I used to love this brand before I moved abroad.” Her compliment was a little too sweet. I met it with blunt honesty. “Liam bought it. I’ve never worn it.” I smiled back. “If you like it so much, you can have it.” Claire’s smile became a little more genuine, the hint of rivalry in her eyes softening. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly… though I do really love it.” I gave her my best eight-teeth-baring, pageant-winner smile. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Liam, whose face had darkened considerably. His brow furrowed, his composure finally cracking. “I’m sorry, my wife is joking. That outfit isn’t for you. Let me find you something else.” And to my astonishment, he actually went back into the closet and picked out a different outfit for her to change into. Claire stared at him for a long, tense moment before snatching the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom with a huff. I thought for sure this was it. The big showdown. The timeline was a little accelerated, and my new career hadn’t taken off yet, but my family was debt-free. I wouldn’t starve. If Claire stayed the night, if they slept together, I could use it as leverage to get a bigger settlement. The house, definitely. A car, for convenience. And the savings… how much did we have in our joint account again? Lost in thought, I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app, trying to count the zeros. I didn’t notice that Liam had already shown Claire out and changed his clothes. He was standing in front of me, his face a thundercloud. “What are you doing?” “Seeing how much I stand to get.” …I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. He yanked me to my feet. With a sweep of his arm, my brand-new laptop went flying, crashing to the floor. Before I could even register the loss, he lifted me onto the dining table, his mouth devouring mine in a rough, punishing kiss. His right hand tore at my collar while his left fumbled in a nearby drawer. His temper was getting more and more unpredictable. And this time, it hurt. Just when I thought he was about to go further, he stopped. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. His whole body shuddered with a frustration I couldn’t comprehend. “Why aren’t you angry?” he whispered, his voice choked with despair. “Audrey… don’t you love me anymore?”

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