Category: English

Chapter 1 My father was the youngest ace pilot in the country. His flying skills were unmatched. Yet, on the day my mother suffered a massive heart attack and desperately needed a medevac transfer, he refused to fly, claiming severe weather conditions. Later, someone caught him on camera flying his private plane under a cloudless, blue sky, dropping a shower of rose petals to celebrate the birthday of another woman’s daughter. Meanwhile, my mother died on a stretcher waiting for a rescue that never came. He didn’t even show up to her funeral. For twenty years, my uncle drove a night-shift taxi to put me through flight school. On the day I became the youngest Chief Examiner for the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), an airline submitted the promotion dossier for a genius female pilot. The airline’s CEO personally vouched for her, his tone incredibly deferential. “Chief Examiner Vance, this girl is exceptionally gifted. With just your signature, she’ll become the youngest female captain in the industry.” I flipped through her flight logs. But when I reached the section for Family Relations and Emergency Contacts, I froze. I stared at the girl’s photo for a long time. Then, I closed the file and said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m rejecting her evaluation.” 1 Mr. Preston’s smile froze on his face. He looked down at the file I had pushed back, then back at me. “Chief Vance… what do you mean, rejecting?” “Exactly what it sounds like.” He tugged at his tie. “Why don’t you take another look? Chloe’s flight hours exceed the promotion threshold by three hundred hours. She got straight A’s on her simulator exams, and scored perfectly on three emergency handling scenarios last year. With a resume like this, you won’t find a second First Officer her age in the entire country.” “Mr. Preston, the Chief Examiner has the authority to veto any questionable dossier without requiring the airline’s approval.” His hand rested on the cover of the file, making no move to take it back. “Chief Vance, how about this? I’ve booked a private room at the Capital Club for tomorrow night. We can sit down and discuss the details—” “Take the file back.” He went silent for a few seconds. The last trace of a smile vanished completely from his lips. He picked up the file, turned, and walked toward the door. At the threshold, he stopped. “Chief Vance, you’re twenty-nine this year.” “Yes.” “It wasn’t easy getting to where you are, was it?” His voice was quiet, almost like he was talking to himself. The door closed, leaving the office in silence. I turned around, staring at the faint indentation the file had left on my desk. Under the Emergency Contact section, a name had been written out clearly. Arthur Vance. I stared at that name for a moment before shifting my gaze out the window. The sky was incredibly blue. Just as blue as it had been that day, twenty years ago. My uncle told me that day, he stood outside the doors of the county hospital, dialing my father’s number over and over again. Thirty-seven missed calls. On the thirty-eighth, the call connected. It was loud on the other end. He could hear a child laughing, and the whining deceleration of an airplane propeller. My father only said one sentence. “The weather is bad today. Can’t fly.” Then, he hung up. My uncle sat in the emergency room hallway for the entire night, holding my mother after her heart stopped beating. The next day, someone posted photos on a local community forum. In the pictures, a white Cessna swooped low, showering pink rose petals from its belly. Under a cloudless, pristine blue sky. That afternoon, my secretary knocked on the door. “Chief Vance, Vance Airlines called. They asked if you hadn’t finished reviewing the file Mr. Preston brought over. They wanted to know when it would be approved.” “I finished reviewing it. Tell them the official rejection letter will be issued through the system tomorrow.” My secretary hesitated. “Chief Vance… the majority shareholder of Vance Airlines… is Arthur Vance.” “I know.” She saw the look in my eyes and didn’t say another word. That night, I called my uncle. He was working his night shift; I could hear the rhythmic scraping of the windshield wipers in the background. “Uncle Joe, did you eat yet?” “I did. Why the sudden call?” “Nothing, just checking in.” He let out a short laugh and didn’t press further. Before hanging up, he added: “Your mom’s anniversary is the day after tomorrow. Don’t forget.” “I remember.” That night, I opened my safe. Inside was a manila envelope, the tape sealing it yellowed with age. There were two documents inside. The first was the Pre-Flight Weather Assessment Report signed and submitted by Arthur Vance twenty years ago on that exact day. The conclusion box read: Unsafe for Takeoff. The second document was the hourly meteorological observation log from the National Weather Service’s South City Station for the exact same day. Visibility: 10+ miles. Cloud ceiling: 10,000+ feet. Wind speed: 5 knots. Clear skies. It took me seven years to get my hands on both of these documents. One came from the FAA’s old archives, and the other I pulled directly from the National Weather Service’s records. They had never been placed side-by-side on the same desk for comparison. Because today, at 6:00 PM, the corporate secretary of Vance Airlines made a phone call to the FAA’s Office of the Inspector General. They filed a complaint accusing Chief Examiner Lincoln Vance of “suspected abuse of power and personal vendettas.” I had been waiting for that phone call for a very, very long time. 2 The next morning, Inspector Miller from the OIG called me. “Lincoln, Vance Airlines filed a formal complaint against you. Are you aware?” “I am.” “They’re claiming you vetoed Chloe’s promotion without providing a valid, documented reason.” “The written justification will go through the system today. I’ll make it perfectly clear.” “There’s something else. Arthur Vance himself is coming to the agency. He’ll be here this afternoon.” I gripped the phone in silence. “Do you want to recuse yourself for the time being?” Inspector Miller’s voice softened. “No.” At 2:20 PM, a black Maybach pulled up to the entrance of the FAA building. Standing by the third-floor window, I watched Arthur Vance step out of the car. It had been twenty years. He looked older than his photos, graying at the temples, but his back was still ramrod straight. His navy blue overcoat was impeccably tailored. The way he walked reminded me of something my uncle once said. “Your dad… he’s a hell of a pilot, and he’s got a spine of steel.” “It’s just bent in the wrong direction.” He didn’t come looking for me first. He went straight to the Director’s office. The door stayed closed for forty minutes. When he came out, the Director personally escorted him to the end of the hallway. Then, my secretary called for me. “Chief Vance, Conference Room 307.” When I pushed the door open, Arthur Vance was already sitting on the opposite side of the long table. Mr. Preston was there, and sitting next to him was a woman named Evelyn. She was in her late forties, wearing a pearl necklace. I recognized her. Her photos were in that forum post from twenty years ago. She had stood next to the Cessna, smiling radiantly, holding a little girl in a pink princess dress. That little girl was Chloe. “Have a seat,” Arthur said, looking at me. His tone was level, like he was addressing a subordinate. I sat down across from him. “Chief Vance, I’ve reviewed Chloe’s file. There are no issues. What is your reason for rejecting it?” “Her flight hours are questionable.” “Questionable?” He frowned. “Every single flight log is signed off by her flight crew, the data is complete, and it passed our internal airline audits.” “Airline internal audits are the airline’s business. The FAA’s evaluation is my business.” He looked at me. There was no anger, just a faint, assessing gaze. Evelyn suddenly spoke up from the side. “Chief Vance, Chloe has had a gift for flying since she was a little girl. She got her private pilot license at eighteen. At twenty-two, her scores have surpassed the lifetime achievements of many veteran captains. She truly earned her place today through hard work.” Her voice was incredibly gentle. Just as gentle as the smile in that photograph from twenty years ago. “Ms. Evelyn, I am not evaluating her talent. I am auditing her file.” “Then tell me, what exactly is wrong with her file?” “The audit findings will be delivered to the airline in writing.” “I want to hear it right now.” Arthur raised a hand. Evelyn fell silent. He pulled an envelope from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and slid it across the table. “This is an offer letter for you to serve as the Chief Aviation Consultant for Vance Airlines. Three million dollar annual salary, plus stock options.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your current job is too exhausting. And you’re still young. Don’t back yourself into a corner.” I pushed the envelope back. “Mr. Arthur Vance,” I said. “My name is Lincoln Vance.” His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “I know what your name is.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “And I know who you are.” He stood up and buttoned his overcoat. “Lincoln, if you’re not willing to do me this favor, I’ll find another way.” With that, he turned his back to me and walked out of the conference room. The click of his dress shoes faded down the hallway. As Evelyn passed me, she paused for a second and whispered, “You’re young. Don’t burn bridges you might need later.” After they left, I opened the envelope. The flap wasn’t sealed tight. Tucked beneath the offer letter was a certified cashier’s check from Vance Airlines. Three million dollars. I placed the envelope into a transparent evidence bag, sealed it, and labeled it with the date and an evidence tracking number. Then, I looked up. The indicator light on the security camera in the top-left corner of the conference room was glowing red. 3 On the third day, I saw my name on the FAA’s internal network. An internal bulletin had been issued: Chief Examiner Lincoln Vance has been suspended from approval duties pending an investigation by the Office of the Inspector General for “suspected procedural violations in pilot promotion evaluations.” That same day, three major aviation news blogs published articles simultaneously. “Youngest Chief Examiner Accused of Personal Vendettas, Blocks Promotion of Genius Female Pilot.” The articles didn’t mention Arthur Vance by name. They only claimed that an “exceptionally talented female pilot” had her promotion vetoed by an examiner for “baseless reasons, allegedly stemming from a personal grudge.” The featured image was a photo of Chloe in her pilot’s uniform, smiling brightly. The comment sections were a unified mob. “Support Chloe! Don’t let power-tripping men create a glass ceiling for brilliant women!” “If they find out he has a personal grudge against this girl, he needs to be fired and prosecuted.” That afternoon, my uncle called. “Lincoln, the internet is saying you’re bullying some young girl?” “Don’t read that garbage, Uncle Joe.” “I didn’t. Your aunt read it, and she asked me if you pissed off the wrong people.” “Uncle Joe… I did piss them off. But they deserved it.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “As long as you know what you’re doing.” He didn’t ask anything else. In twenty years, he never pried. He carried my mother on his back from the emergency room to the funeral home, and from the funeral home to the cemetery, without ever uttering the words, “Your father is a bastard.” The only thing he did was crouch by her grave after the burial and smoke half a pack of cigarettes. When he stood up, he said, “Don’t worry, sis. I’ll raise Lincoln.” On my second day of suspension, an unexpected visitor showed up. Chloe. She didn’t have an appointment; she was just waiting at the entrance of the FAA building. “Chief Vance,” she started directly. “I don’t know everything my father does. But I do know one thing: my flying skills are real. I flew every single one of those hours myself.” I looked at her. “Does he know you’re here to see me?” “No.” “Your file shows one hundred and twenty flight hours that have no corresponding raw QAR (Quick Access Recorder) data.” She froze, looking confused. “What?” “It’s written in your logbook, and it’s in the airline’s system. But the original QAR folders for those 120 hours are empty. The data was retroactively patched in as a batch upload later.” “That’s impossible. I flew every single one of those flights—” “I didn’t say you didn’t fly them. I’m saying the records were tampered with.” Her hands clenched into fists. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Finally, she turned and walked away. After a few steps, she stopped. “Chief Vance, if you’re right, who patched in those 120 hours—” She didn’t finish the sentence. When I got back to my office, a newly delivered document was sitting on my desk. It was a notice from the Inspector General: A special hearing would be convened in three days to review Chief Examiner Lincoln Vance’s enforcement actions regarding Chloe’s promotion. The hearing would be open to the entire agency. Representatives from all airlines were permitted to attend. I opened the bottom drawer of my desk. The manila envelope was still there. I put it into my briefcase. In the inner lining of the briefcase’s side pocket sat a palm-sized Bluetooth speaker and a USB drive. The USB drive contained a restored, digitized audio recording. Three years ago, when a retired veteran pilot handed me that cassette tape, his hands had been shaking. “Lincoln, I hid this tape for seventeen years. Giving it to you today… I’ll finally be able to sleep at night.” 4 The hearing was held in the FAA’s grand conference room on the ninth floor. Three officials from the OIG sat at the head table, with Inspector Miller in the center. The agency representatives and the airline observation section were packed. Vance Airlines brought seven people. Mr. Preston sat in the front row, flanked by his Chief Legal Counsel and PR Director. Evelyn was there too, sitting in a back corner. Arthur Vance sat dead center. Today he wore a dark charcoal suit, a golden Vance Airlines wing pin pinned to his lapel. When he saw me walk in, his gaze swept over me flatly. Inspector Miller read the docket. “This special hearing will review whether Chief Examiner Lincoln Vance committed procedural violations or abused his authority in vetoing the captaincy promotion of Vance Airlines pilot Chloe. Lincoln Vance, please present your justification for the veto.” I opened my portfolio. “One hundred and twenty hours of Chloe’s flight records lack traceable raw QAR data. Upon pulling the backend server logs from the airline, it was discovered that these 120 hours of data were batch-uploaded forty-eight hours prior to her promotion submission. The IP address of the uploading account traces directly back to the Flight Management Department at Vance Airlines Headquarters.” I submitted printed screenshots to the OIG panel. Inspector Miller took a glance, and his eyebrows twitched. The entire room went dead silent. Mr. Preston’s Chief Legal Counsel immediately stood up. “Chief Vance, delayed QAR data uploads have precedents in this industry. System migrations and server maintenance can cause batch syncing. You cannot definitively classify this as falsification—” “Which is why I did not classify it as falsification,” I replied. “I merely adhered to the evaluation protocol: I refused to sign off on a questionable dossier. This is fully within the authority of the Chief Examiner.” At that moment, Arthur Vance stood up. He walked out into the center aisle, facing the panel. “I am not here today as the Chairman of Vance Airlines. I am here as a veteran pilot with thirty years of flight experience.” “I watched Chloe grow up. Since she was a child, her dream was to become a captain. Her talent, her work ethic, her flying capabilities—everyone in this room is free to verify them.” “But today, she is being blocked by one man.” He turned around and finally looked me dead in the eye. “This man’s name is Lincoln Vance.” “He is my son.” Low murmurs rippled through the audience. Arthur continued, his voice steady and deliberate. “The marriage between his mother and me ended twenty years ago. For two decades, I failed to fulfill my duties as a father. That is my failing.” “However—” His tone hardened slightly. “The reason he sits in that chair today, using his authority to block Chloe’s promotion, is not because there is an issue with her file.” “It is because of her mother. He is using his office to settle a personal vendetta.” He enunciated those final words heavily. The air in the room froze solid. Inspector Miller asked me quietly, “Lincoln, do you have a response?” I didn’t speak immediately. Instead, I slowly opened my briefcase and took out the manila envelope. I pulled the two documents from the envelope and laid them side-by-side on the examination table. “This is the Pre-Flight Weather Assessment Report you signed and submitted twenty years ago.” I pointed to the first document. The paper was yellowed, but the words Unsafe for Takeoff were crystal clear. Signature: Arthur Vance. Date: March 19, 2005. “And this is the hourly meteorological observation log from the National Weather Service’s South City Station on the exact same day. Visibility greater than ten miles, cloud ceiling at ten thousand feet, wind speed five knots.” I pointed to the second document. “You claimed the weather was too severe to fly.” Then, I pulled a large 11×17 printed map from the bottom of my briefcase, unfolding it over the table. It showed an arcing flight path overlaid on a city map. “This is the flight trajectory of a Cessna 172, tail number N-10YZ, over the city between 2:00 PM and 4:00 PM on that exact same afternoon. The registered owner of this aircraft—” I looked at him. “Is Vance Aviation, owned by you.” Arthur’s face paralyzed. Under the fluorescent lights, the sudden pallor of his skin was impossible to hide. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Inspector Miller stared at the documents for a long time before slowly looking up. “Mr. Vance, regarding this weather report—” Arthur didn’t answer. I reached into the side pocket of my briefcase and hit the play button. The old audio recording crackled to life through the Bluetooth speaker. The volume wasn’t deafening, but every word was painfully clear. It was a young man’s voice, carrying a careless, dismissive laugh. “The weather is bad today. Can’t fly.” In the background, you could hear a child laughing. The whining deceleration of an airplane propeller. And the soft rustling of flower petals hitting the ground. The recording kept playing. Arthur Vance’s hands started to shake.

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The teenager my defense attorney girlfriend had defended put thumbtacks in my running shoes. They bit deep into my skin, leaving my feet dripping with blood. And once again, she apologized on his behalf. The doctor was sterilizing the wounds and prepping the syringe. The needle was long, sinking deep into my flesh, and the sharp, hot sting made me sob out loud. “Mary, how many times is this? How many times have you said sorry to me because of Toby?” Her expression faltered. She looked at me, her eyes meeting my red, raw stare. “Fifty-one,” I told her. An average of once a week. Ever since she took Toby’s case, our eighth year together had been swallowed by her endless loop of apologies. My voice was still trembling, but I wiped my face dry. “Mary, I’m done.” “I’m exhausted. Aren’t you?” … “I’m sorry.” She stayed quiet for a long time before she finally let the words slip out. I let go of her hand. I have always been terrified of needles. For as long as we had been together, whenever I had to get a shot, she would automatically reach out and let me squeeze her hand as tight as I needed to. Not today. “Mary, if I hear you say that word again, I’m going to throw up.” She kept her eyes downcast, staring at my bandaged feet, knowing I couldn’t even walk. “I’ll make Toby come over and apologize to you properly.” “Zack, I promise. This is the absolute last time.” When Toby finally showed up, he was already sniffling, his shoulders shaking with performative tears. “I’m so sorry, Zack. It was an accident. I dropped the pack of tacks and didn’t realize one fell inside your shoe.” I didn’t even have time to react before Mary accepted his excuse. “Zack, the security footage from the hallway is too blurry to see anything. We can’t just assume he did it on purpose.” It was the exact same defense she had mounted for him a dozen times before. “Let’s just let it go.” The blood was still seeping through my bandages. “You apologize for him, Mary. You let it go for me. You really have a seamless way of handling things, don’t you?” Detecting the sharp sarcasm in my voice, Mary’s forehead creased, and her tone rose defensively. “He already said it was an accident! What else do you want from him?” “What will make you happy? Tell me what kind of apology you want, and I’ll do it myself.” She pulled at her silk scarf, loosening it as she stared at me as if I were some kind of unfeeling monster. “Toby is just a kid. He isn’t as malicious as you think.” “You’re years older than him. Why do you have to be so incredibly petty?” Her chest heaved. In the past, when we reached this point, I would back down. I was always too tired to argue, too intimidated by her sharp, trial-lawyer intensity, and so I would let it slide. But today, looking at Toby—who had somehow made it to our apartment ahead of us and was already busy in the kitchen—I couldn’t pretend anymore. Hearing the door click, Toby poked his head out. “Zack! I figured you hadn’t eaten yet, so I came over early to make dinner. Think of it as my way of saying sorry. I’m actually a pretty good cook. While you were away on your business trips, I always came over to cook for Mary.” He had his fingerprint registered on our smart lock. He was wearing slippers that matched Mary’s. He was wearing my loungewear. His hands moved with practiced ease through our cabinets, searching for ingredients, while those words—”I always came over”—hung heavily in the air. Having gone straight to the clinic the moment I got back from my trip, I was only now noticing the foreign fingerprints left all over my life. “Mary, did he come over often while I was away?” She bit her lip. “He dropped out of school, Zack. He was lonely and said he wanted to cook for me. It was just a nice gesture. It didn’t harm anyone.” My swollen eyes throbbed, sending a sharp ache through my temples. “It harmed me.” In those fifty-one apologies Mary had offered, there was the time Toby broke the watch I left in her car. The times she abandoned our plans to bail him out of trouble. The times Toby crashed our dates, forcing his way into our space. The times he “accidentally” tripped me or spilled hot soup on my skin, leaving me with minor burns. I pointed a finger at Toby, my voice cold. “Pay me back for the medical bills. Not just today’s—all of them.” I named a figure. Beside me, Mary’s jaw went rigid. I kept going. “And take off my clothes. Now.” “Enough!” The shout tore from Mary’s throat, loud and sharp. “I told him he could wear those! He stayed over last night because it got too late, so I found him something of yours to change into.” “It’s just a set of clothes, Zack.” “If you’re going to make a scene over it, I’ll buy you the exact same brand-new set tomorrow!” “That is not the point!” I screamed back, the anger finally breaking through, ugly and raw. The veins on the back of her hands bulged as she glared at me. “What is the point then? You just hate him! I’ll pay you whatever money you want. Ten times over! Is that enough?!” “Why do you have to torment a teenage boy like this?” My ears rang from the shouting, my palms growing cold and numb as I struggled to breathe. “You’ll pay for him? By what right do you represent him? He’s a convicted juvenile delinquent, Mary. Where did you get this sudden, overwhelming sense of maternal duty? He is doing this to me on purpose. Are you blind, or are you just pretending to be?” The argument degenerated into a screaming match. “You were just his public defender. His mother hired your firm, and your job ended when the verdict was delivered. There are state-appointed social workers to keep tabs on him. But he clings to you, and you let him. Can’t you see he’s obsessed with you?” “Zack, shut your mouth!” “Where is your basic empathy? How can you be so vicious? Yes, he made a mistake, but does his past have to chain him for the rest of his life? You keep throwing ‘juvenile delinquent’ in his face. What makes you think you’re so superior?” While we tore into each other, Toby looked like he couldn’t bear it anymore and bolted out the door. Mary turned to chase him, but I threw myself in front of her, tears finally spilling over my lashes. “Don’t go!” “If you walk out that door today, we are done.” Mary didn’t even look at my tears. Her face was flushed with pure fury. “Zack, I’ve told you before.” “Toby only bullied those kids because his parents neglected him. He did bad things because he grew up starved for love.” “He isn’t bad at his core.” “Even the court only ordered rehabilitation and check-ins.” “What right do you have to judge him?” “I defended him. I believed in him, so he trusts me and listens to me. He wants to change.” “Why should I abandon him?” “Should I be cold-blooded like you and just throw a kid’s future in the trash?” She delivered those last words slowly, ice-cold. “Honestly, Zack, I’m starting to wonder if you did something to provoke him first.” Her phone began to buzz. Toby’s name flashed across the cracked screen, persistent and haunting. I reached out to stop her from answering. She shoved me out of the way. The force of it sent me crashing hard against the wall. With my injured foot, I couldn’t hold my balance. I collapsed onto the floor. Her phone slipped from her fingers, hitting the hardwood with a sharp crack as a spiderweb of fractures spread across the glass. Mary’s eyes widened with anger. A dull, nauseating pain radiated from my tailbone up through my spine and down into my lower abdomen. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. “Mary… help me up…” But her eyes were fixed on the phone. Her fingers scrambled nervously, slipping three or four times before she finally managed to swipe the screen and pick up. Then she grabbed my arm, trying to haul me off the floor. “You’re coming with me.” “You’re going to apologize to Toby for what you just said!” Toby’s voice leaked through the receiver, high-pitched and hysterical. “I don’t want to see him! I don’t! Keep him away!” I struggled against her grip like a dying animal, and she let go. I fell back down, hitting the floor hard for a second time. The apartment darkened as the sun fully dipped below the horizon. Mary walked out, her face caught half in light and half in shadow from the hallway bulb. “And one more thing.” “Even if Toby does have a crush on me, so what?” “He’s a teenage boy. It’s normal to have feelings. He just needs proper guidance.” “Not whatever this is. You’re losing your mind and throwing tantrums over a child.” “This isn’t about you threatening to break up.” “It’s about whether you can take responsibility if Toby runs out of here and does something drastic to himself.” My fingers curled into tight fists against the cold floor. I lay there, drained of the strength to even whisper a response. My physical wounds slowly closed, leaving behind pale, ugly scars. But along with the healing, something else had quietly died inside me. My twenty-seventh birthday arrived. My friends blindfolded me, gently guiding me along the pavement until we reached our destination. “Happy birthday!” The blindfold was slipped off, and the sky above erupted in a brilliant sequence of fireworks. Confetti rained down as my friends cheered, their faces bright with laughter. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw Mary kneeling on one knee before me on the beautifully decorated rooftop terrace. “Zack, happy birthday.” “Will you marry me?” She looked incredibly soft, her eyes warm and clear—a stark contrast to the woman who had screamed at me in our living room. “I didn’t call you these past few weeks because I wanted to give you space. And… I was getting this ready.” This was the city’s most exclusive rooftop bar, a place with a months-long waiting list. She had arranged custom fireworks and scattered white peonies across the floor. It must have taken immense effort. “I’ve taken care of everything, Zack.” “I transferred Toby’s case to another attorney. He won’t be in our lives anymore.” “Zack, let’s get married.” The crowd erupted. “Say yes! Say yes!” “I…” Before I could form a word, Mary’s phone rang. Once. Twice. Her hand holding the ring box trembled slightly. Her jaw tightened. But she answered it. She held up a finger, gesturing for our friends to wait, and gently pushed my shaking hand down. Only a few muffled sounds came through the speaker, but I distinctly heard the words: “…waiting for you.” I knew this scene by heart. So many times, Mary had been called away just like this because Toby claimed he had messed up, because Toby was sad, because Toby needed her. A vein throbbed at Mary’s temple. She hastily pressed the ring box into my palm. “Zack.” “I’m sorry.” Fifty-second apology. On the very first day of my twenty-seventh year. “When I get back, I’ll propose to you again. Properly.” She turned and sprinted toward the exit, the wind whipping her coat around her. The awkward silence, the pitying looks, and the embarrassed whispers of my friends all crashed down on me. “Mary, where the hell do you think you’re going—” one of my friends yelled, but her voice was swallowed by the wind. Mary pushed open the heavy door to the lower observation deck. “Toby, get down from there right now!” Toby was sitting precariously on the safety railing, his body swaying over the drop, his face twisted with frantic obsession. “Today is my eighteenth birthday too, Mary. You haven’t even said happy birthday to me.” Mary rubbed her aching temples. She had been pushed past the point of anger, left completely drained. “Fine. Happy birthday.” “Just step down. If you get off that railing, I’ll celebrate with you. We can do whatever you want.” Toby’s entire face lit up. “Whatever I want?” “Then I want you to cancel your proposal. I want you to be my girlfriend!” Mary’s footsteps froze. The warmth drained from her face, leaving her eyes cold and dark. Startled by her look, Toby’s confidence crumbled, and he began to cry, leaning back slightly over the edge. “If not forever… then just for a year? Six months? A month?” “A week? Just one week!” He sobbed, shifting his weight further back. “Mary, is even a week too much? If you don’t say yes, I’m going to jump!” The moment he showed vulnerability, Mary’s expression softened. But as he leaned further, panic took over. She lunged forward, her voice cracking with terror as she screamed the agreement. “Okay! Yes! I’ll be your girlfriend! Just don’t jump!” Toby’s tears vanished, replaced by a triumphant grin. He threw himself off the railing and directly into Mary’s arms, wrapping his limbs around her in a tight grip. Mary froze for a fraction of a second, uncomfortable, before her hand slowly came up to pat his back. “Thud.” My hand went slack, and the ring box slipped through my fingers, bouncing once on the concrete. Still holding Toby, Mary spun around. I was standing in the narrow doorway of the deck. As her eyes widened in shock, a quiet smile touched my lips. “I’m leaving.” My friend hurried after me, her voice frantic. “Zack! Zack, wait, where are you going?” I reached up and gently wiped away the tears of frustration on her cheek. “I’m going home. I’m just the ex-boyfriend now. It doesn’t feel right to stay.” Mary didn’t return to our apartment until days later. She seemed surprised to find me awake. “Why are you back?” I asked, my voice flat. She lowered her gaze. “I just came to pack a few things. Toby is in a really fragile state right now. I need to keep an eye on him.” When I didn’t answer, she let out a tired sigh. “Zack, you saw what happened. I didn’t have a choice.” I didn’t say a word, continuing to fold my shirts. Mary’s brows knit together. She stepped forward, grabbing my wrist to stop me from reaching into the closet. But when she saw that the clothes I was handling were all hers, her anger seemed to dissipate. “You don’t need to pack all of this for me.” “I’ll only be gone a few days. I don’t need this much.” I looked at her, my expression entirely empty. “Pack as much as you can. I’m putting the apartment on the market.” The clothes slipped from her grip, falling to the floor in a quiet, heavy heap. Mary grabbed my collar, her words hissed through clenched teeth. “Zackary, what kind of game is this?” “I already explained it to you! He’s a highly sensitive teenager going through a crisis. I am just humoring him to keep him safe. It doesn’t mean anything!” I met her furious, desperate glare. “Mary, we started dating on my eighteenth birthday, too.” She didn’t get it. Or perhaps she chose not to. “What does that have to do with anything? Was I supposed to let him die? Why do you have to be so incredibly dramatic?” I didn’t answer. Over the next few days, Mary busy-bodied herself playing the doting girlfriend for Toby. They acted as if they were cramming an entire lifetime of romance into a few short days. Meanwhile, I spent my time packing my life into boxes and listing the apartment. Every now and then, my phone would buzz with photos from an unknown number. Pictures of Mary and Toby together. I thought my heart was already numb to her. But life always finds a way to prove you wrong. On the day the apartment officially went up for sale, I went to the clinic to pick up my medical results. After nearly nine months of careful treatment and lifestyle changes, my health metrics had finally reached the standard. The plans we had made to start a family were finally within reach. But the weather was miserable. The rain hung in the air, refusing to fall, leaving the atmosphere thick and suffocating. My chest felt just as heavy. “I had an injury some months ago,” I told the doctor, my voice trembling as the tears began to blur my vision. “I fell hard. My lower abdomen was in severe pain, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. Afterward, I felt weak, and once I even coughed up a bit of blood, but I assumed it was just a stomach ulcer from all the stress.” My words felt clumsy, coming out slow and disjointed. The doctor let out a soft sigh, looking at me with pity. “Try to stay calm. I’ve scheduled a comprehensive contrast scan for you tomorrow morning. We need to evaluate the extent of the internal scarring and see if the trauma permanently impacted your reproductive health.” I don’t know how Mary tracked me down, but she was waiting outside the clinic. “Zack, did you really list the apartment?” Just looking at her made a phantom pain flare up in my abdomen. “Zack, I’m talking to you!” The medical envelope slipped from my hand, spilling the papers onto the floor. Mary leaned down and gathered them. As she read the words on the page, her face went entirely pale. “Zack… we were trying for a baby? We’re going to have a child?” Her hand reached out, trembling, wanting to touch my face but stopping inches away. “I’m coming home tonight. I’ll take care of you.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Aren’t you in a relationship?” Her eyes darted away guiltily. “Zack, none of that is real. Besides, the seven days I promised him… today is the sixth day. Just wait for me. Toby is actually downstairs right now. I’ll go down and make everything clear to him once and for all.” Make things clear? How could anything be clear when Toby suddenly charged through the clinic doors, a kitchen knife glittering in his hand, plunging it straight into my stomach? His face was twisted into something feral, unrecognizable. “I won’t let you take her! She’s mine! She belongs to me!” “I’m telling you, we’ve done everything! If you can give her a baby, I can give her the rest of my life!” The blade felt cold at first. Then came a searing, white-hot agony that felt like my internal organs were being torn to shreds. Blood began to pool, hot and fast, soaking through my shirt. At first, Mary just stood there, paralyzed. She had believed Toby when he said he wanted to come up alone to offer me a final, sincere apology. She believed him right up until the metal caught the fluorescent light. The storm that had been brewing all day finally broke. The rain came down in a deafening sheet, washing the blood across the concrete outside the clinic doors. I watched Mary scramble toward me on her knees, completely stripping away the cool, collected demeanor she usually wore like armor. I never knew rain could make a person feel so cold. My vision began to fray at the edges, dissolving into dark patches. “Zack—” “Don’t close your eyes! Look at me, please, I’m begging you, look at me!” Mary was screaming, her voice raw and ruined, competing with the thunder. Rain, tears, and blood all ran together on her hands. Just minutes ago, she had looked into my eyes and promised, “From now on, it’ll just be the three of us.” But Mary. Look at us now. Where is our “us” supposed to go?

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My older brother returned from his business trip in Paris with two shopping bags. One held an Hermès Birkin in classic gold togo leather. The other, a Chanel classic flap in black caviar. He went to my sister’s bedroom first. By the time he made it down the hall to my room, both shopping bags were gone. All that was left in his hands was a box of hazelnut chocolates you could buy at any corner drugstore. I wanted to tell my fiancé, Colin, about it. I needed to vent. But when I tracked his location to the boutiques on Fifth Avenue and walked in, I found him leaning against the glass display counters, agonizing over two necklaces. One was a Bulgari Divas’ Dream pendant. The other was a B.zero1 ceramic ring studded with diamonds. Which one should I give to your sister? He looked genuinely torn. My chest caved in. But I didn’t dare go home to cry. Instead, I hid in a quiet, marble-tiled alcove near the mall’s fitting rooms, pulling out my phone. I opened my messages and began typing through blurred vision to a guy I’d met in an online lobby six months ago. [My brother called me greedy, but I didn’t even ask for a bag. Am I really that greedy?] [Colin is supposed to be my fiancé, but he’s buying high jewelry for my sister. Am I just being petty?] The messages delivered. A moment later, a voice note popped up on my screen. “Why don’t you just be with me?” “However many bags, however many diamonds you want—I’ll give them all to you.” “I’d only ever give them to you. And I promise, no one would ever call you greedy or petty again.” 1 I froze. The sheer shock of it literally stopped my tears. For half a year, I had been chatting with this person whose screen name was simply “Gold,” their profile picture a blank white square. We had met through a co-op video game, and this was far from the first time I had cried to them. But usually, Gold only ever typed back, offering patient, quiet comfort. I had always assumed Gold was a gentle, soft-spoken girl. That was why I felt so safe pouring my heart out. But the voice that just played from my phone was undeniably male. It was a deep, unhurried baritone. Smooth and dangerously tender. A second voice note appeared. I pressed play. “More than that. If you were ever in danger, I’d save you. Only you. I can promise you that much,” the man’s voice murmured, a quiet gravity grounding every word. “Think about it.” I listened to it again. A sharp ache flared at the bridge of my nose. The tears I thought I had stopped suddenly spilled over my lashes, hot and heavy. 2 It wasn’t that I loved to cry. It was just that, most of the time, I didn’t know how to swallow the pain. When I was five, my parents divorced. To better care for my chronically ill older sister, Bella, my mother took her across the country to live in Los Angeles. My brother, Jon, and I were left in New York with my father. Three years ago, my father died in a multi-car pileup. Last year, my mother succumbed to breast cancer. But ever since Jon flew to California and brought Bella back to live with us in the New York townhouse, I realized I was no longer allowed to cry in my own home. “Mia, your sister’s heart condition acts up when she’s stressed. Are you trying to make her sick?” “What are you even sulking about? Crying like that—how do you think it makes Bella feel?” That was what Jon always said. After being scolded enough times, I didn’t even dare pull the covers over my head to weep in the dark. When the weight of it became too much, my only option was to flee the house and hide in the white noise of a crowded public space. Colin was the match my father had arranged for me before he passed. Our families moved in the same wealthy circles, and it was a quiet, understood agreement. In the beginning, Colin used to look out for me. When he found out Jon was bringing Bella gifts every single evening and ignoring me completely, he would hold my hand and say, “Why don’t we just get married the second you graduate?” “Once we’re married, whatever you want, I’ll buy it for you, okay?” When Bella took a liking to a wooden sculpture I had carved myself, and Jon screamed at me for refusing to give it to her, Colin had been furious on my behalf. “It’s your art. Why the hell should you have to give it up?” he had told me. “Mia, don’t you dare back down. You hear me?” That was how it was. Until four months ago, when Jon brought home a custom haute couture gown. I happened to be in the hallway when he handed the garment bag to Bella. I had only lingered for a second, my eyes catching on the intricate beadwork. Out of nowhere, Jon snapped. “Mia, have you ever lacked for anything in your entire life? Why do you always have to covet what belongs to your sister?” “Get out! Don’t come back until you figure out what you did wrong!” I sat on the limestone steps of our front porch for the entire night. The next morning, Colin came by to pick me up. Seeing me shivering in the autumn chill, he was immediately sympathetic. “It’s just a dress. How could Jon kick you out over that?” “Mia, are you crazy? Why didn’t you fight back?” But then, the heavy oak door opened, and Jon walked out—with Bella right behind him. Colin’s voice died in his throat. He stared. That was the very first time Colin ever laid eyes on my sister. He turned to me, blinking like a man waking from a dream. “Mia… is this your sister, Bella?” I gave a stiff, numb nod. And just like that, Colin’s tone completely shifted. “Oh. Well, then this is on you, Mia.” “You really should learn to compromise for her.” 3 I caught a terrible fever that day. My body ached so profoundly I had no choice but to hide in my room, quietly wiping away tears while texting “Gold” about how much it hurt. But crying didn’t change reality. Because after that day, the frequency of Colin’s visits to our townhouse suddenly spiked. His family was incredibly wealthy. Whenever he brought me a pastry or a gift, he suddenly started bringing a matching one for Bella. On my birthday, he gave me a pair of diamond studs. He bought a second box for her. He’d say, “Mia, I only get Bella things because she’s your sister. Don’t overthink it.” But last month, Jon took Bella and me up to a luxury cabin retreat in the Catskills. Colin tagged along. The entire drive up, Colin’s eyes were glued to the rearview mirror, checking on Bella. He asked her if she was cold, if she was hungry, if the winding roads were making her dizzy. He didn’t ask me a single question. Later that evening, everything went to hell. A group of heavily intoxicated locals crashed the resort, starting a brawl and smashing the outdoor patio heaters. Colin immediately shielded Bella with his body. “Don’t look, Bella. I’ve got you,” he kept whispering. Jon didn’t even hesitate. While physically holding back two aggressive drunks, he yelled over his shoulder, “Colin, get Bella to the SUV! Go!” They rushed her to the car. Just as the heavy door slammed shut, one of the drunks lunged, grabbing my arm so hard I felt the bruise blooming instantly. Jon saw it happen. But he put the car in drive anyway. He rolled down the window just enough to shout, “Mia, wait right there! Let me get your sister to safety and I’ll come right back for you!” They never came back. When the men started smashing glass and throwing punches at the staff, a good Samaritan finally called the cops. In the end, it was a police cruiser that drove me home. When the officer dropped me off, the townhouse was completely silent. I was too terrified to go inside. I stood on the sidewalk for a long, long time, texting Gold, letting the digital text ground me. When my breathing finally steadied, I limped my way up the steps and unlocked the door. I braced myself for the chaos. But the house was dead quiet. Bella was sick. The “shock” of the evening had triggered her palpitations. She had taken her medication and was fast asleep in her plush bed. Colin had just left half an hour ago. And Jon was sitting in a velvet chair by her bedside, keeping watch. No one was looking for me. When Jon stepped out into the hallway and saw me standing there, bruised and shivering, his expression barely shifted. “Glad you made it back safe,” he said, keeping his voice to a low whisper. “Keep it down, don’t wake your sister. Go wash up and go to sleep.” The tears I had fought so hard to keep back nearly shattered the dam right then and there. 4 When I went looking for Colin today, it wasn’t actually to complain about Jon not giving me a Chanel bag. I was fine without it. Lately, I had been fine with having nothing at all. But yesterday, Jon had called me into his study. “Mia, the Carmichaels are a powerful family. Colin isn’t the primary heir, but he holds his own in our circle,” Jon had said, swirling a glass of scotch. “You’re still young. There’s no rush for you. But your sister’s health is delicate, and I can tell Colin genuinely cares for her. I think it’s best if you step aside and let Bella take this marriage arrangement.” It wasn’t a discussion. It was an eviction notice from my own future. I went to the mall today to ask Colin a simple question: Was this Jon’s idea, or was it his? But Colin had been distracted from the second I found him. Even while holding the two luxury necklaces, he had asked: “Mia, which one do you think Bella would like more?” Standing under the harsh, brilliant lighting of the jewelry boutique, looking at his conflicted face, I suddenly had my answer. “Why don’t you just buy both?” I told him quietly. “Give them both to her.” And now, sitting in the shadowy corner of the mall, listening to the deep, steady voice of the man on the phone. I wiped the dampness from my cheeks. My heart settled into a strange, terrifying calm. I pressed the microphone button. “Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s be together.” 5 By the time I dried my eyes and took an Uber home, dusk had fallen. Colin and Bella were standing on the front porch. The amber glow of the gas lamps stretched their shadows long, blending them into one. I watched from the bottom of the steps as Colin, his face flushed, handed her the velvet Bulgari boxes. What was he saying to her? I was too far away to hear. Then Bella spotted me. Her face lit up with a practiced, radiant smile, and she practically glided down the steps toward me. “Colin, you bought these beautiful necklaces for me, but what about Mia?” she asked, her voice light and teasing. “Did you get anything for Mia?” Her cold, manicured hand reached out and grasped mine. She hadn’t taken the boxes from him yet. She was performing the role of the protective, generous older sister. Colin froze. A beat of awkward silence hung in the air before he awkwardly reached into his tailored coat pocket and pulled out a flimsy, velvet pouch. “Of course. I got something for Mia, too.” Bella’s smile deepened, as if she were genuinely thrilled for me. She took the pouch, pulled out a thin silver chain, and draped it over my wrist, fastening the clasp. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me. “Isn’t it pretty? It suits Mia so perfectly. Do you love it, Mia?” “No.” A wave of intense, suffocating humiliation crashed over me. This bracelet. Three months ago, for my birthday, Colin had given me the exact same one. He had told me then that he had spent hours picking it out. But today, standing at the jewelry counter, I had seen the truth. It was a promotional gift-with-purchase. The boutique had a whole drawer of them. You got one if you bought a necklace. You got one if you bought a watch. You got one if you bought earrings. The $30,000 diamond bracelet Colin had gifted Bella on my birthday—the one she was currently wearing on her left wrist? That was fine jewelry. The identical promotional freebie now resting against my skin was an afterthought. Bella had to have known. She shopped at these boutiques constantly. Colin definitely knew. 6 I didn’t want the bracelet. I undid the clasp, pulled off the one I was already wearing from my birthday, and threw both of them into Colin’s chest. As I turned and ran up the steps into the house, I heard Bella’s soft, distressed sigh behind me. “I’m so sorry, Colin. Mia didn’t accept your gift. If I take these necklaces now, it’ll just upset her even more…” I wasn’t an idiot. I could hear the subtle, poisoned needle hidden in those words. But I just didn’t understand. If she wanted to play hard to get with Colin, why did she have to use me as the stepping stone? Even though our parents had divorced, whenever I spent my summer vacations in LA when we were little, she had been so sweet to me. When our mother scolded me for being messy, Bella used to hide me in her closet and read me stories. Why had everything changed the second she moved into my house? I slept with my head buried under the duvet that night. When I woke up, my eyes were swollen to the size of walnuts. I was sitting in the kitchen pressing cold spoons against my eyelids when our housekeeper, Martha, came rushing in. “Mia, there are guests here to discuss marriage arrangements. Mrs. Carmichael is here!” “Hurry, go take a look.” Mrs. Carmichael. Colin’s mother? I blinked, confused. Martha was already pulling me up from the stool. Martha knew about the unspoken engagement my father had arranged with the Carmichaels. But she didn’t know Jon was planning to swap Bella in my place. And she certainly didn’t know Colin had already shifted his affections. Sure enough, when I reached the top of the grand staircase and peered into the living room, Mrs. Carmichael was seated on the velvet sofa. But she wasn’t alone. Sitting opposite her was an incredibly elegant, strikingly beautiful woman I had never seen before. Seeing me on the landing, Mrs. Carmichael’s smile turned brittle and strained. “Oh. Mia is home, too.” At her words, the other woman’s eyes lit up. A warm, genuine smile broke across her face. “Are you Mia?” I nodded slowly, my eyes sliding past the two matriarchs to look at Jon. I had never seen my brother look this ecstatic. He was practically vibrating with excitement, though he was trying hard to maintain a veneer of corporate humility. “Well, we are in the twenty-first century now. We don’t believe in arranged marriages in the traditional sense,” Jon was saying, adjusting his cuffs. “An alliance of this magnitude… I really must consult with my sister first.” He turned to Martha. “Go upstairs and bring the eldest Miss Davis down.” The elegant stranger immediately held up a hand, halting him. “The eldest?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “No, no, there’s been a misunderstanding. The girl our family is here to propose to is Mia.” Mrs. Carmichael sat frozen, staring into her teacup, a humiliated flush creeping up her neck. A sharp prick of shock hit my chest. I instinctively looked at Jon. Jon’s triumphant smile faltered. He looked incredibly displeased that Bella wasn’t getting to choose between two elite suitors. He frowned at the elegant woman. “Mrs. Astor, are you absolutely certain you mean… Mia, and not Bella?” Before she could answer, a cold, authoritative voice drifted in from the grand entryway. “We are certain.” I whipped my head around. A man stood in the foyer. Dressed in a sharp black overcoat and tailored trousers, his features were strikingly handsome, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The woman I want,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “is Mia.” 7 Theo Astor. The sole heir to the Astor dynasty. There wasn’t a single person in New York high society who didn’t know his name. His father was the Chairman of Astor Holdings. His mother was old-money New England royalty, a direct descendant of the Vanderbilt line. They were, without question, one of the top three most powerful families on the East Coast. Gold… was him? I stared blankly at the man walking into my living room. He was breathtaking. Broad shoulders, narrow waist—he looked like he had stepped straight out of a Tom Ford campaign. He stopped at the base of the stairs, looked up at me, and offered a soft, private smile. “We meet again, Mia.” The breath finally caught in my lungs. It was him. The voice was exactly the same. I lowered my eyes, my fingers gripping the mahogany banister to hide my trembling. “We meet again…” Theo’s dark gaze flicked to my swollen, red eyelids. For a fraction of a second, his jaw tightened. When he turned to look at my brother, the smile remained on his lips, but the warmth in his voice was completely gone. “Mr. Davis, do you have a problem with my judgment?” Jon offered a sycophantic, nervous laugh. “No, no, of course not.” “Then why did I just hear you question whether Mia was the one I wanted? Did you assume I’m incapable of recognizing the woman I have feelings for?” His tone was sharp, laced with a double meaning that cut through the room like glass. Jon’s laugh turned stiff. He shot me a dark, covert glare—I couldn’t tell if it was a warning or an accusation. “How could I ever assume that?” Jon muttered. Theo dismissed him entirely. He turned his attention back to me, and the ice in his voice melted instantly into something akin to a spring breeze. “So, Mia,” he asked gently. “This arrangement. Do you accept?” It felt like he was holding up the sky for me. Like he was coaxing me out of a dark corner. For some inexplicable reason, an ache rose in my throat. “I—” I wanted to say yes. We had agreed to it last night. But the moment I opened my mouth, a frantic voice interrupted from the top of the stairs. “Is that you? Theo?” It was Bella. She had slipped out of her room and was now standing on the landing above me, staring down at Theo with a mixture of breathless joy and engineered shyness. Theo? Why was she speaking to him so informally? My chest tightened. My fingers gripped the banister harder. Bella had already composed her features into a picture of elegant grace as she descended the stairs, bypassing me entirely. “Five years ago, at the Ivy League debate tournament in Boston. I was the second speaker for the opposition. Do you remember me?” 8 Did Theo remember her? Was he going to be just like Colin? Was he going to see Bella shining in the spotlight and immediately forget I existed? Was he going to be like Jon—the second Bella entered the room, all the gravity shifted to her? I stared at Theo, my stomach tying itself into a sickening knot. But Theo just looked at her. His gaze swept over Bella’s perfectly made-up face without a flicker of recognition. Without missing a beat, he asked in a voice made of absolute frost, “Who are you? And why on earth would I remember you?” Bella’s radiant smile shattered. Seeing her shock, Jon desperately tried to salvage the situation. “Oh, so Bella and Mr. Astor are old acquaintances! Well, looking at it that way, it must be destiny that you two reunited in my home today.” Destiny? But Theo came here for me. It felt like someone had poured battery acid straight into my chest. The sour, burning sting rushed right behind my eyes. Terrified that Jon would notice and reprimand me again, I ducked my head, trying to blink away the blurriness. Then, Theo’s voice sliced through the tension. “Mr. Davis, it was a collegiate debate tournament. By your logic, I’m ‘destined’ to marry half the corporate litigators in Manhattan.” He paused, and I heard his footsteps move closer to the stairs. “Mia.” His voice was back to that soft, steady rhythm. I looked up, straight into eyes that held absolutely no doubt. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Will you marry me?” It was as if a warm gust of wind had swept through the suffocating house, blowing away the dust and leaving nothing but sunlight. In that moment, I didn’t care about Jon’s suddenly furious expression. I didn’t care about Bella, who was standing there pale and trembling on the verge of tears. All I saw was Theo Astor, waiting for me with a patient, reassuring smile. “Yes,” I breathed out. “I will.”

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Chapter 1 1 My best friend and my boyfriend were both individuals with Asperger’s syndrome—and high-IQ geniuses. I, on the other hand, was just their sidekick. At seven years old, while they were discussing high school physics, I was the one packing their backpacks. At seventeen, they were accepted into Ivy League universities early, while they casually picked a local state college nearby for me. At twenty-five, they graduated with their PhDs and became the “golden duo” of a top-tier research institute. I was just the receptionist there. We shared an apartment, where I managed their diets and daily lives, never once able to break into their high-level conversations. Even my own wedding turned into a backdrop for them to debate an experiment. “Ethan, the ceremony is starting,” I said, anxiously pulling his arm to get him to the altar. “What?” “The wedding…” “I wasn’t asking you.” Ethan didn’t even look at me. His eyes were locked onto my best friend, Chloe. “What were those parameters you just mentioned?” Chloe patted my arm, coaxing me in a low voice: “Don’t throw a tantrum, Emma. We’re in the middle of discussing an experiment. Just stall for a bit.” “It’s just a wedding. Worst case, we can host another one some other day.” The two of them immediately dove back into a sea of data I couldn’t understand. Reaching a point of excitement, they completely abandoned me and a room full of guests, hurrying out the door to head back to the lab. On their way out, they even bumped into the champagne tower, sending it crashing to the floor. Leaving me standing there, utterly humiliated. But this time, I didn’t clean up their mess like I usually did. Host another one? I didn’t need to. I was done being the genius’s bride. … At 2:00 AM, the front door unlocked. The two of them pushed the door open, discussing loudly, completely inconsiderate of the fact that they were waking me up. “See, Ethan? I told you we needed to tweak the parameters my way. It clicked perfectly!” Ethan pinched Chloe’s cheek, a little stubborn but clearly amused. “You just got lucky.” When they saw me walk out of the bedroom, Ethan casually tossed his jacket onto the floor. “Emma, do the laundry for us. And make us some ramen. Chloe is hungry.” He didn’t seem to care at all about how today’s wedding had ended. “I’m tired.” I said it coldly. It was my very first time refusing him. Ethan froze. Chloe bumped his shoulder hard and winked dramatically. “Idiot! Your EQ is so low! Can’t you see Emma is throwing a fit?” “You ignored her for our experiment today, and she’s mad!” With that, she pinched Ethan’s chest and laughed. “There, there! I punished him for you. Don’t be mad anymore, bestie!” Ethan hissed in pain and rubbed his temples exhaustedly. “Emma, we’re exhausted enough from the lab. Can you just give us a break?” “It was just a wedding. How could that be more important than our research progress? Honestly, nobody cares about that stuff except the bride.” “Worst case, we’ll just throw a bigger, better one.” I couldn’t even count how many times this had happened. Two years ago, during our graduation trip, I waited for them at an international airport for seven hours. Ethan eventually called to tell me they lost track of time in the lab. A year ago, at our engagement dinner, Chloe claimed there was an “equipment anomaly” and dragged Ethan away, leaving me to handle the guests alone. Over the last six months, I had made four appointments at City Hall for us to get our marriage license, and he stood me up every single time. Every time, Ethan’s excuse was that he couldn’t leave the lab. In their world of scientific research, everything related to me was forever insignificant. “What do you mean, ‘just a wedding’?” Even my question fell on deaf ears. The two of them were already huddled over a stack of documents, arguing again. Everyone envied me for having such a successful fiancé and best friend. But I truly didn’t want to be this invisible, nonexistent shadow anymore. Silently opening my phone, I updated my resume, submitted it online, and bought a one-way ticket to Chicago. 2 Early the next morning, a severe storm rolled in. I hurried downstairs, planning to catch a ride to work in Ethan’s car. Even though I was just a receptionist, we did work at the same institute. Ethan started the car while deep in conversation with Chloe, who was sitting in the passenger seat. I frantically tapped on the window, but he didn’t notice and drove straight off. “Ethan, wait!” I chased after the car for a few steps, slipped on the slick pavement, and fell hard, scraping my elbow. Ethan still didn’t see me. Whenever Chloe was around, he was blind to my existence. I could only hastily wipe away the bloody mud, endure the stinging pain, and run toward the subway station. By the time I reached the institute, I was late. Ethan and Chloe were walking shoulder-to-shoulder when they passed the front desk. Seeing me, the smiles vanished from their faces. Ethan frowned. “Is this how you do your job? Look what time it is.” “Why didn’t you wait for me this morning?” I asked, forcing down my heartbreak. Before Ethan could reply, Chloe chimed in. “It’s not that Ethan didn’t want to wait for you, Emma. If you don’t do research, you wouldn’t understand. Every single second of our experiments is crucial. We really can’t waste time waiting.” She patted my shoulder, speaking in a low, coaxing tone. Ethan sighed heavily. He looked at me with exasperation, like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “You knew it was storming. Why couldn’t you leave the house earlier?” “Ever since we were in school, I’ve told you to be more disciplined. Why do you never listen?” “I don’t expect you to achieve greatness like Chloe, but can’t you even do a basic receptionist job properly?” But I clearly remembered all the times Chloe forgot her bag. He was always so patient with her. He would laugh and tease her, calling her a “genius in the lab, but a lovable klutz in life.” In that moment, I suddenly felt too tired to even argue. The next second, Ethan abruptly took a step back, turning his head to pretend he didn’t know me at all. Someone was approaching. Ethan had told me the institute forbade office romances, so we had to strictly avoid suspicion. The passing colleagues stopped to tease him and Chloe: “Oh, Dr. Brooks, Dr. Bennett! If it isn’t the institute’s golden duo!” “Did the lovely couple come to work together again today?” I kept my head down numbly. I was used to this. At the institute, Ethan and Chloe were the perfect match. Childhood sweethearts, twin geniuses, dual PhDs, rising stars. Until someone gasped: “Who says Ethan doesn’t know how to spoil a girl? Isn’t that bag the new season’s limited edition? That’s so expensive and hard to get!” I stole a quiet glance and froze. Chloe’s bag was indeed beautiful. I had mentioned that exact bag to Ethan before. He had gone online and bought me a cheap, unbranded knockoff instead. He told me he was too busy and couldn’t tell the difference. But now, the authentic, limited-edition color was slung over Chloe’s shoulder. “Hey, you, the receptionist. Can’t you see Dr. Bennett and Dr. Brooks are discussing work here?” “Pour them some tea. You have zero situational awareness.” I quickly snapped back to reality, suppressing the sour ache in my chest. I nodded apologetically and hurried over to pour the tea. Suddenly, getting overly excited about their conversation, Chloe threw her hands up. The scalding hot tea spilled everywhere. It ran straight down my sleeve and soaked my shirt. The pain made the blood drain from my face. Ethan shoved me aside and carefully grabbed Chloe’s hands. “Chloe! Are you okay?!” After making sure Chloe wasn’t burned, he frantically checked the data sheets on the table, inspecting them meticulously. Only then did he finally look at me, his voice dark with anger. “You can’t even pour a cup of tea properly? Do you have any idea how important her hands are for our experiments?!” “Alright, Ethan, do you care more about me or the experiment?” Chloe feigned annoyance. Then, she finally noticed me clutching my arm, which was now a massive, blistering red patch. She let out a gasp. “Ethan, Emma got burned really badly! Go get the burn ointment, hurry!” Only then did Ethan frown and pull my arm over to inspect it. Seeing no one else around, he blew on it gently and lowered his voice. “Does it hurt? Wait here. I’ll go get the medicine.” But I waited until the end of my shift, and the burn ointment never came. Because Ethan had turned right around, taken Chloe into the lab, and completely forgotten about a trivial matter like me. 3 Soaked from the storm and suffering a severe burn, I developed a high fever that afternoon. Perhaps seeing that I looked genuinely terrible, Ethan broke his own rules, ended his work early, and drove me home. Tonight, I planned to officially tell him the wedding was off, and that I was leaving. My head was splitting as I lay delirious against the window. Halfway home, Chloe, sitting in the passenger seat, suddenly gasped in excitement. “Ethan, change routes! Professor Davis is giving a seminar at MIT tonight! We have to go! It’s exactly the direction we’re researching!” Ethan’s dark eyes instantly lit up. “An opportunity like this is incredibly rare. We can’t miss it.” “But… Emma isn’t feeling well. Shouldn’t we take her home first?” Ethan hesitated for a few seconds, checking his watch. “No. The storm is causing massive traffic jams. We won’t make it in time.” “Emma, get out. Take a cab home yourself. Don’t worry, we’ll be home to take care of you as soon as it’s over.” I barely had time to plant my feet on the pavement. The black Audi sped off impatiently into the rain. Burning up with a fever, I nearly passed out on the side of the road. It took me two hours to get home, drenched like a drowned rat. The dishes from the weekend were still piled up in the sink. The two grand scientists’ time was far too precious. If I didn’t do the chores, no one did. Once, I asked Chloe to help me hang the laundry. Ethan had started a massive screaming match with me over it. Forget it. I’m moving out anyway, I thought. I forced myself to ignore the filthy apartment and collapsed exhaustedly onto the sofa. Coincidentally, the algorithm on my phone recommended the live stream of the exact seminar Ethan and Chloe had gone to attend. It sounded like alien code to me; I couldn’t understand a single word. Until the Q&A session. Ethan took Chloe’s hand, and they walked up to the microphone together to ask a question. Brilliant and beautiful. The audience erupted into cheers and applause. The host tactfully smiled and asked, “Are you two doctors a couple?” Chloe answered with a hint of pride: “Yes! We’ve been classmates since kindergarten, and now we even share the same research field.” The college students in the crowd playfully cheered: “You guys are so lucky! You must have so much in common to talk about!” Chloe smiled warmly, nodding. “Absolutely! If you’re looking for a partner, make sure you find someone walking the exact same path as you!” Ethan, who rarely spoke in public settings, actually chimed in: “I agree with her. Don’t weigh yourself down with a burden on your life’s path.” A burden? I let out a bitter laugh. Because of their neurodivergence, they had severe deficits in self-care. In elementary school, they couldn’t tie their shoes. I was the one who crouched down to tie them. In middle school, they couldn’t read a map or take the bus. I was the one holding their hands to guide them. Even in college, I went over regularly to clean their dorms, and I nursed them when they were sick. For my boyfriend and my best friend, I had practically forfeited my own life. That day, the institute’s “golden duo” went viral on social media. From kindergarten to their PhDs, Ethan and Chloe’s intertwined history was laid bare for the world to see. Their names were always listed side-by-side on honor rolls. They always stood shoulder-to-shoulder during speeches. They tied for top valedictorian in the state, scoring the exact same points in every subject. Even in their academic papers, they constantly referenced and debated each other. They had become the literal definition of soulmates. No one noticed that in the corner of every single group photo, there was a tiny, blurry me. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to stop scrolling. Ethan and Chloe, who promised to come home early to take care of me, didn’t return all night. The next morning, I drafted my resignation letter and arrived at the institute right on time. I immediately noticed the atmosphere around me was bizarre. “She’s not even that pretty for a receptionist, yet she’s delusional enough to think she can be a homewrecker.” “She’s so manipulative. Yesterday, she followed Dr. Brooks to the parking lot and forced her way into his car.” “But guess what? I saw her get kicked out halfway down the street! Karma!” I checked the company group chats and realized someone had recorded a video of me trying to catch a ride with Ethan the day before. In the video, his expression was ice-cold, all his attention focused entirely on Chloe. It really did make me look like a desperate homewrecker throwing herself at him. Just as I was about to publicly clarify our relationship, Ethan beat me to it, sending a message to the entire group chat. “Emma is just our roommate, and she is Chloe’s best friend.” The moment he sent that, the looks of absolute disgust directed at me only multiplied. “Have you no shame? Trying to steal your own best friend’s man?” My whole body went cold. I couldn’t help but march up to Ethan and confront him: “Why didn’t you tell them I’m your girlfriend of several years?! What do you mean ‘just a roommate’?!” Ethan closed his eyes, his voice frigid. “What did you want me to say? Everyone here already assumes Chloe and I are together!” “If I deny it, what will they think of Chloe? Do you have any idea how many vicious rumors would start?” “From now on, we need to keep our distance and avoid suspicion.” “Once we host the makeup wedding and invite the colleagues, the truth will naturally come out.” So he did understand the destructive power of rumors. So he wasn’t entirely oblivious to the world outside of his research. He was perfectly capable of being considerate of others’ feelings—it was just that the person he considered had never been me. It didn’t matter anymore. Because there was never going to be a second wedding. 4 My final shift at the institute was an evening shift. Just before it was time to clock out, the blaring sound of the building’s fire alarm shattered the silence. Followed immediately by thick, choking smoke. Fire! The blaze was spreading incredibly fast from the second-floor laboratories. Within seconds, the dense smoke made it impossible to see or breathe. Flames rapidly swallowed the first floor, searing my arm. I don’t know how much time passed, but I saw someone charge through the smoke holding a fire extinguisher. It was Ethan. “Ethan, I’m here…” Overwhelming pain and primal terror consumed me. Using the very last ounce of my strength, I grabbed the hem of his jacket, like a drowning woman clutching a piece of driftwood. But he didn’t even look down. “Chloe! Where are you?!” In the final seconds before I lost consciousness… I heard him screaming Chloe’s name with a raw, desperate hoarseness. … I woke up in the hospital. The burn wounds on my neck and arms throbbed with a searing, agonizing pain. Every slight movement pulled at my nerves. “It hurts…” Seeing Ethan standing by my bed, my chest felt like it was being crushed by a giant fist. The helplessness of being abandoned yet again, the agony of nearly burning to death… my tears began to fall uncontrollably. “Why didn’t you see me again?” I heard my own voice, ragged and raspy, carrying a pathetic sliver of desperate attachment. But I didn’t get an answer. What I got was Ethan, his eyes bloodshot with rage, violently smashing a glass cup against the wall near my head. “What the hell are you crying for?!” “Because of your negligence, Chloe got hurt! Our experimental data is gone! The life’s work of our entire team is reduced to ashes!” I flinched violently from the pain, my ears ringing from the crash. But Ethan had already lost all reason. He screamed at me: “Why can’t you ever do anything right?! You’re completely useless! You can’t even be a receptionist properly!” “Why do you always have to be such a burden?!” “Why didn’t you do your final security patrol last night?!” “The fire started in Lab 02 on the second floor. That’s a restricted area. It wasn’t my assigned zone. Someone inside the lab mishandled the equipment and caused—” Facing the condemning glares of my colleagues who had gathered in the room, I fought through the agony to explain. But my words only enraged Ethan further. Completely ignoring how weak I was after barely surviving a fire, he grabbed me by the collar of my hospital gown. “What are you saying?! Are you trying to frame Chloe?!” “Look at her! She’s your best friend!” “Because of your screw-up, she got hurt, she lost her data, and now you have the nerve to slander her? Do you have no conscience?!” Chloe stood behind him, head bowed, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t say a word. I heard the other colleagues whispering loudly: “Exactly, what does this have to do with Dr. Bennett? Emma is so quick to pass the buck. Nighttime security checks were literally her only job.” “I am not framing anyone.” “Ethan, you will see the evidence.” I wiped my tears away, forcing myself to remain calm. “The investigation team will provide a full report on the exact cause of the fire.” “Nurse, I would like these people to leave my room.” I used all my remaining strength to say it. In that moment, the heart that had hurt for so long finally, completely flatlined. All the memories, all the bonds the three of us once shared. It felt as if they had all burned to ash in that fire. Seven days later, I was discharged. This time, the apartment was an absolute disaster zone. There was barely a place to step. I quickly packed my luggage and boarded a flight to Chicago. Just as I settled into my new place, I received a message from the investigation team. “Ms. Emma, here is a portion of the security footage and the official fire cause report.” Watching the footage, I froze, my pupils contracting slightly. Chloe, Ethan… I think you’re going to have to say goodbye to the institute.

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Word on the street was that the boss’s pet project—his precious little mistress—was suffering from a severe case of main-character syndrome and had just been parachuted into the office as his personal assistant. I cut my vacation short immediately, booked the first flight back, and tucked myself into a corner of the office just to watch the trainwreck unfold. First, she managed to kill Charles’s five-thousand-dollar imported Japanese bonsai by watering it with boiling water. Her reasoning? She was deeply concerned that cold water would shock its root chakra. Then, at the quarterly investor summit, she actually served organic apple juice boxes and graham crackers. She claimed the corporate world was far too toxic and she wanted to help everyone heal their inner child. I was thoroughly enjoying the show until she decided to kick open my office door. She started throwing files, sweeping things off my desk in a manic frenzy. I rushed forward to stop her. “Stop it! Those are multi-million dollar active contracts! Don’t touch them!” She stopped, looking me up and down with sneering eyes. “Hmph. So you’re Charles’s wife. The one hogging the best office in the building!” I froze, completely thrown off. Before I could even correct her, she went completely off the rails. “You horrible woman! Why can’t you just let him go? Why won’t you divorce him and let us be happy?” “Don’t you know that the one who isn’t loved is the real intruder here?” My jaw hit the floor. His wife? Did she honestly think I had the corner office because of some marital claim? Was it even remotely possible for her to grasp that I had this office because I was the company’s undisputed top earner? The golden goose whose good moods literally dictated our profit margins? … My silence only fueled Misty’s confidence. She assumed she had struck a raw, unloved nerve. She put her hands on her hips, practically vibrating with triumph. “You’re so old. Why can’t you be mature like me? This is a business, and business is about efficiency. Yet you use your marriage to Charles to steal the best workspace. Aren’t you embarrassed?” A laugh bubbled up in my throat. She made it sound like I had clawed my way into this office, begging for scraps. In reality, Charles had practically begged me on his knees to move in here. He had discovered, with an almost religious superstition, that whenever I was happy, our sales numbers skyrocketed. I told him it was just a statistical anomaly, but he refused to listen. When the company grew and went public, he insisted on stacking every high-stakes contract right here in my office, hoping they’d soak up my good luck. I looked at this girl, whose brain seemed to have stopped developing somewhere in middle school, and tried to find the patience to explain. But she stepped closer, shoving a manicured finger hard against my forehead. “You don’t even have a college degree, yet you’re taking up space here! Do you have any idea how many qualified, hard-working people you’re robbing of a livelihood? You’re malicious!” She looked so deeply pained, as if she were a crusader for social justice. I stared at her, then actually let out a dry laugh. Word around the office was that Misty had dropped out of high school and bought her associate’s degree from some unaccredited online mill. “Misty, let’s talk about nepotism and taking up space. Our entry-level requirement is a Master’s degree. What exactly are your credentials?” Her face flushed a violent crimson. She pouted, her lower lip trembling. “I’m different. I’m his baby. Charles said I’m allowed to grow at my own pace.” I couldn’t help it. I snorted. But the sound triggered something in her. Her eyes welled with tears. “I have a pure heart! You horrible woman, how dare you mock me! I’m going to help Charles get rid of you!” Before the words had even fully left her mouth, she lunged at my desk, grabbing a thick stack of finalized contracts and ripping them in half. “Hey! Stop!” I scrambled to grab them. Anything kept in my office was irreplaceable. “Put those down!” I yelled, panic sharpening my voice. “Those are worth millions of dollars! You can’t afford to pay for this!” She startled, freezing at my tone. I seized the moment, pushing past her to snatch the torn pages, trying desperately to smooth out the creases. But then, a sudden, heavy force slammed into my shoulder. She had shoved me. Hard. I lost my balance, stumbling backward. My head collided violently with the sharp edge of the mahogany desk. A white-hot flash of pain shot through my skull. When I put my hand to my forehead, it came away slick with bright, hot blood. “Are you out of your mind?!” I screamed. She blinked, stunned by the blood, but then her face contorted. Her lower lip quivered, and giant tears spilled over. “You yelled at me!” She wailed, a shrill, piercing sound, as if she were the victim of a brutal assault. I sat there on the floor, holding my bleeding forehead, utterly speechless. She was the one crying? The noise quickly drew a crowd. Shadowy figures gathered at the glass doors. Then, a massive frame pushed through the onlookers. “What the hell is going on in here?” I looked up, hoping a colleague had finally come to help me. Instead, I saw a hulking, muscle-bound man whose cheap suit looked like it was begging for mercy against his bulging chest. He glared down at me with pure hostility. “Who are you?” I muttered, my head spinning. Before I could make sense of it, Misty launched herself across the room, burying her face into his chest. “Jax!” Jax? I blinked. Great. It wasn’t just one parasite; she’d brought her whole family onto the payroll. Misty sobbed hysterically into his shirt. “Jax, this awful woman hit me!” Excuse me? I stared at them, my head throbbing, blood dripping down my cheek. Who hit whom? Jax hovered over her, frantically inspecting her hands. “What did she do? Why is your hand red?” Her hand was barely pink—probably from the force of shoving me. Misty pointed a trembling finger at me. “It was her… this old hag. I just asked her to leave the office, and she attacked me! Jax, she humiliated me. I don’t want to live anymore!” Her wailing intensified. The sheer drama of it made my head hurt worse than the actual wound. Jax turned his gaze back to me, his jaw clenched. “So you’re the bitter old hag who refuses to sign the divorce papers.” I raised an eyebrow. Bitter old hag? Divorce papers? Charles certainly had a lot of skeletons in his closet. And why did everyone think I was his wife? Outside, the whispers from the hallway grew louder. “Who is that? She actually dared to cross the boss’s girl?” “I think it’s his wife. She barely ever comes to the office.” “Oh, right. I heard their marriage has been dead for years, but she refuses to sign the papers. Poor Misty has to live in the shadows. Honestly, Misty is basically the lady of the house anyway.” Even in my pain, my inner gossip-monger was fascinated. We had this much drama in the company? Why did I know none of this? And why didn’t these people recognize me? Ah. Because I hated being tied down. Charles had quickly realized that forcing me to clock in from nine-to-five destroyed my mood, which in turn tanked our quarterly earnings. So, he had arranged for me to work fully remote, traveling under the guise of “market research.” I spent my time traveling on the company dime, eating well, and coincidentally signing massive contracts along the way. Most of the newer hires had never actually seen my face. To them, I was just the mythical, stubborn wife. I took a breath, trying to clear my head. “This is a misunderstanding…” Misty wiped her eyes, her voice dripping with venom. “You’re a bad woman. You stole this office, and you stole Charles! Jax, destroy everything in here! Destroy it!” Destroy? I looked at the folders scattered across the floor. If these bid documents and contracts were destroyed, several multi-billion-dollar projects would fall through, and the company would go under. “Stop this nonsense!” I barked. Misty flinched, shrinking behind her brother. “Jax, she’s screaming at me again!” Jax stepped forward, his arm swinging in a wide, vicious arc. The slap landed across my face with a sickening crack. “You bitch! Who gave you permission to speak to my sister like that?” My vision went blurry. My cheek burned, swelling instantly. I sat there, entirely stunned. Me. Gloria. Five-time consecutive sales champion. The woman Charles treated like a fragile porcelain doll because my happiness literally funded his lifestyle. The last time I went through a breakup, a sudden storm had damaged our warehouse, and Charles had personally driven me to a lounge to buy me drinks just to cheer me up—which miraculously led to a massive public donation that rebuilt the facility. The time I got sick, our sales department lost every major lead until Charles hired a private medical team to treat me at home. Today, I was being publicly assaulted in my own office because of his mistress. Jax wasn’t done. He grabbed me by my collar, dragging me up until I was on my toes. He pointed his free hand at Misty, who was still dry-heaving with theatrical sobs on the floor. “Look at what you did to her! She’s a young girl, and you’re just a pathetic old woman. Have you no shame?” The murmurs outside grew, but nobody stepped in. Nobody wanted to cross the boss’s muscle. “If you don’t make my sister forgive you today,” Jax snarled, his hot, foul breath in my face, “I’ll make sure you don’t walk out of here.” He shoved me back. My head cracked against the bookshelf, leaving me dizzy. I stood up slowly, leaning against the wood for support, and pulled my phone from my pocket. I tapped Charles’s number. Before it could ring, a small hand snatched the phone away. “What are you doing, sweetie?” Misty held the phone, tilting her head with a look of mock innocence. “Are we trying to post a little status update? Let me help you.” “Give it back,” I said, reaching for it. She ducked away easily, and Jax grabbed my arms, pinning them behind my back. “Misty, give me the phone,” I said, trying to keep my voice level, though anger was clawing at my throat. Misty raised the camera, snapping several quick photos of my blood-streaked, swollen face. “Stop!” I turned my head, but Jax forced my face back toward the lens. I struggled against his grip, my voice shaking with rage. “You are going to regret this.” Misty giggled. “Why are you trying to scare me? I’m just trying to help you, sweetie.” She looked down at the screen, her eyes lighting up with malicious curiosity. “Ooh, who are all these contacts with the stars next to their names? Are these your little sugar daddies?” My blood ran cold. Every single contact with an asterisk was a high-profile client I had spent years cultivating. One of them was the CEO of Nova Tech, with whom we were scheduled to sign a massive, company-defining contract tomorrow morning. If anything went wrong with that deal, the company would collapse. “Those are the company’s VIP clients! Don’t touch those names!” My voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Misty, please. Do not mess with those contacts. Give me the phone.” She didn’t listen. If anything, my panic only excited her. She selected the photos of my beaten, bloody face and hit “send” to every starred contact. “Oops,” she gasped, tapping her cheek with faux innocence. “I hit send.” She smiled, bright and vacuous. “It’s okay, sweetie. Now your sugar daddies can see the real you. That way, you’ll know who really loves you! Aren’t I helpful?” The room seemed to tilt. “Recall the messages! Use the unsend button! Those are our most critical accounts!” With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I wrenched myself free from Jax’s grip and lunged toward her. But Jax was faster. He tripped me, and as I hit the floor, his heavy boot came down hard on the side of my face, pinning my head to the carpet. I ignored the pain of my skin scraping against the floor. “Unsend them! There is a billion-dollar deal on the line!” Misty just stood there, smiling down at me as the seconds ticked away, rendering the messages permanent. Rage boiled over. “Misty, you are a brainless, pathetic idiot!” I screamed, my voice muffled by the carpet. “You’ve ruined everything! Everything is gone!” Jax ground his boot harder into my temple. “Who gave you permission to talk to my sister like that?” Just as he prepared to put his full weight down, a familiar voice cut through the air. “What is all this racket? Don’t you people have work to do?” The crowd outside parted instantly. “Move, move, the boss is here!” Jax quickly lifted his boot, his face shifting from thuggish rage to a slick, sycophantic grin. I lay there like a discarded rag. Charles walked into the office, his sharp gray suit impeccable. Misty immediately threw herself into his arms. “Charles! You’re finally back!” She clung to his arm, rubbing her face against his sleeve, her voice dissolving into soft, trembling whimpers. “You have no idea what your wife did to me!” She held up her slightly pink hand. “She hit me, Charles! And she called me a brainless idiot! She refused to leave the office, and when I tried to reason with her, she just went crazy. Jax only stepped in to protect me…” She buried her face in his chest, sobbing softly. “Did I do something wrong, Charles? Why does she hate me so much? I was only trying to help…” Jax chimed in, looking suitably righteous. “Mr. Shen, she was brutalizing my sister. I couldn’t just stand by and watch.” “Enough,” Charles said, raising a hand. His gaze swept across the ruined office, past the torn papers, and finally landed on me, crumpled on the floor, my face a mess of blood and tangled hair. A flash of irritation and disgust crossed his features. “We’ve been over this,” he said coldly. “There is nothing left between us. Why do you keep dragging this out?” He tossed a set of divorce papers onto the floor in front of me. “Just sign it. This isn’t good for anyone.” Misty quickly scooped up a pen from the desk and shoved it toward my hand. “Sign it, hurry!” I didn’t have the energy to argue. Using what little strength I had left, I scribbled my signature on the line. Charles looked slightly surprised by my sudden compliance. But as he took the papers back and his eyes slid down to the signature line, he froze. He stared at the name written in my familiar, sharp handwriting: “Gloria.” His pupils dilated, and the color drained completely from his face. When he looked down at me again, his eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated terror.

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Chapter 1 I scored a severely battered merman at a bargain price. The seller said he was incredibly stubborn—he refused to sing, and he refused to cry. I looked at the crybaby merman who currently hummed to himself all the time. He doesn’t seem like it. Later, he kept pulling out his own scales and handing them to me. He seemed deeply anxious, looking like he didn’t want to be with me at all. Once his wounds healed, I released him back into the ocean. The merman burst into tears: Giving scales is how mermen propose! It’s a proposal! You absolute monster, this isn’t catch and release—this is abandonment! 01 This was a merman covered in scars. The shipping crate was far too small for his size. He was curled up pitifully, his hands bound tightly behind his back with restraint straps. He wore a cheap muzzle over his face, and a yellow plastic tag was punched through his ear. On it was his serial number: 531. His beautiful silver tail had completely lost its luster. After verifying the contents, I signed the delivery manifest. From today onward, he was my merman. I reached out to pick him up, but his eyes snapped open, and he let out a low, warning growl. Those ice-blue eyes were full of arrogance and high alert. I fell into a momentary daze. That color… it looked exactly like the merman I had seen when I was a little girl. Because of that, when my best friend, Chloe Stewart, sent me the auction link, I had bought him without a second thought. 02 I cleaned and treated his wounds. Once I undid his restraints, he dove straight into the indoor pool. I had pre-filled it with saltwater, matching the salinity of the ocean. I pulled some prepared salmon from the fridge, walked to the edge of the pool, and kept it brief: “Eat.” He slowly approached and reached his hand out toward me. If I had known enough about mermen, I would have recognized that this was a hunting posture. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize this until a sharp, piercing pain flared on my arm. My bracelet snapped and fell into the water. Luckily, my reflexes were fast enough that I only suffered a tiny scratch. A bead of blood dripped into the pool, blooming in the water. His nose twitched, and he froze. Looking at his reaction, I thought: Maybe he didn’t mean to scratch me? Perhaps human skin was just too fragile compared to what he was used to. I sighed and bandaged the scratch on my arm. To avoid repeating my mistake, I decided to consult the digital manual the seller had sent with the order: [Mermen do not share human language; communication requires patience.] [Mermen can operate in terrestrial environments, but they need regular hydration and require additional freshwater intake.] [This species is inherently vigilant. Domestication varies by individual. For the owner’s safety, we recommend using an aquarium initially and viewing through glass. Direct contact is not advised.] [Some mermen possess the ability to transform their tails into legs. Our store is not responsible if your merman escapes using this ability.] [If treating the merman as a companion, please note there is no reproductive isolation between humans and mermen.] [Please note: A merman’s stamina and endurance far exceed that of an ordinary human.] 03 That was it? Having no other choice, I contacted customer service. I sent them my order number. Customer Service replied instantly: [Hi bestie! As stated on the product page, this is a clearance item. He refuses to sing, refuses to communicate, and refuses to produce pearls. He has an antisocial personality and is only recommended as a low-tier bedroom companion.] [If you are returning him because of a lack of singing or pearls, we do not accept refunds!] Me: [The merman scratched me. Should I be worried about some sort of marine bacterial infection?] Customer Service: [Don’t worry bestie, all our mermen are sanitized!] I thought for a moment, then asked: [I tried feeding him salmon, but he won’t eat. Does he have specific food preferences?] Customer Service: [Bestie, theoretically, mermen can eat whatever humans eat. He might just be unaccustomed to his new environment, or maybe he prefers his food cooked!] Cooked? Mermen eat cooked food? What do wild mermen do? Do wild humans help them grill their fish? Though confused, I accepted it and followed up: [How well-done should it be?] After a pause, Customer Service replied: [Bestie, Lexi thinks medium-rare should be perfect!] Oh my god. Do wild humans also need to know how to sear a perfect medium-rare? Me: [Who is Lexi? Is she an expert?] Customer Service: [Bestie, I am Lexi! (Heart emojis)] I couldn’t find a tutorial for “medium-rare salmon,” so I just pan-seared it a bit and called it a day. Walking back to the pool, I picked up a piece of salmon with chopsticks and ate it right in front of him. “It’s edible,” I said. He stopped right in front of me, the water level just resting above his collarbones. With lowered eyes and water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, he slowly raised his hands from the water. Only then did I see that resting in his cupped palms was my broken bracelet. He had retrieved every single bead. He placed the bracelet in my hand and offered a sweet, obedient smile. It was like a completely different fish from the one I met an hour ago. I thought: Lexi was right. He really does love medium-rare salmon. 04 “Thank you,” I smiled. He swished his silver tail, looking rather pleased. Putting the bracelet away, I picked up my chopsticks again and offered a piece of salmon to him. He looked at me, didn’t reach for it, but obediently opened his mouth, waiting for me to feed him. I brought it closer, and he bit down. The next second, his eyes went wide. He shrank back instantly, his eyes turning completely red. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he wanted to spit it out but didn’t dare to. Tears pooled in his eyes, swirled around, and finally spilled over. Round, perfect pearls dropped into the pool. Human-merman relations suddenly grew unprecedentedly tense. “What’s wrong?” I pinched his jaw, commanding, “Open your mouth.” He looked at me pitifully, obediently parting his lips and sticking out the tip of his tongue. A merman’s mouth is slightly different from a human’s, possessing a sort of alien, predatory beauty. The tip of his tongue was flushed red from the heat. That was it? Didn’t the seller say he wouldn’t cry? He seemed pretty fragile to me. Perhaps the sensation of “hot food” was so foreign to him that he was overreacting. I waited for the rest of the fish to cool down completely before feeding it to him. He seemed to really enjoy it. After he finished eating, I stared at the serial number on his ear tag. 531. I fully intended to let him go once he healed, so giving him a name felt unnecessary. But I hated calling him by a number. “Caspian,” I said. “From now on, I’ll call you Caspian.” He tilted his head, probably not understanding. He just slowly swam to the edge of the pool, rested his chin on the rim, and looked up at me. “Caspian?” Oh, so he can talk. 05 I suddenly remembered the manual stated mermen needed supplemental freshwater. I fetched a glass of water and handed it to him, but he vehemently resisted, turning his face away and refusing to drink. I had to contact Customer Service again. Lexi told me that in their natural environment, mermen primarily get their freshwater intake through their food—live fish. If the fish isn’t fresh enough, they get dehydrated. Furthermore, a merman’s default concept of “water” is seawater. Until they realize a body of water is fresh, they won’t drink it proactively. Now I understood. I grabbed a cup of ice cubes from the fridge. I tipped the ice into my palm and held it out to Caspian. He leaned in, raising his hands from the water. But instead of grabbing the ice, he gently held onto my hand. Maintaining that posture, he lowered his head and delicately picked up an ice cube with his teeth. His lips brushed against my palm, causing a slight tickle. Crunch, crunch, crunch. The crisp sound of ice shattering was distinct—it would make for a great ASMR video. He seemed to love it. The chill of the ice clearly brought him immense comfort. I had one ice cube left in my palm. My body heat began to melt it, and a stream of cold water slowly trickled down the lines of my palm. Caspian saw it. As if afraid to waste a single drop, he lowered his head, darted his tongue out, and swept the water into his mouth. He even traced the wet trail, pressing soft kisses along my arm. Because of the ice, the temperature inside his mouth was freezing, his tongue and lips cool against my skin. My fingers curled involuntarily. Finally, he took the last ice cube and narrowed his eyes in pure bliss. I handed him the cup, and he finished all the ice cleanly. “Caspian, do you like it?” I asked him. He tilted his head and pondered this for a long time. Suddenly, a look of realization dawned on his face. He flipped over and dove to the bottom of the pool. A moment later, he resurfaced, holding a handful of pearls. One by one, he dropped them into the empty glass. “Like?” He pointed to his own eyes, those ice-blue irises looking at me with intense anticipation. “Like?” His tail swished gently beneath the surface. I picked up the glass and gave it a shake. The pearls clinked together, making a crisp sound. Did he think “like” meant things that were beautiful and shiny—like ice cubes, like pearls, like his eyes? It seemed he didn’t grasp the true meaning of the word “like.” Meeting his expectant gaze, I shook my head. “That’s not what it means.” Caspian looked utterly devastated, his silver tail drooping lifelessly in the water. 06 Over the next few days, I started teaching him simple vocabulary. “E-ve-lyn Hayes.” Caspian enunciated my name syllable by syllable. I nodded. “Yes. I am Evelyn Hayes. You are Caspian. Cas-pi-an.” Instead of repeating his name, he said mine again: “E-ve-lyn Hayes.” As if he had remembered something incredibly joyful, his tail began to wag. “E-ve-lyn, Evelyn.” I sighed. His communication skills were slightly lower than an adult Border Collie’s. Since Caspian could move on land, he always tried to sleep in my bed. I ended up buying him his own. It was a hydrogel bed specifically designed for mermen. It was cool and incredibly soft to the touch. If you pressed a finger into it, it would leave a dent that slowly bounced back. I called Caspian over and personally demonstrated by lying down on the hydrogel bed. “This is your bed.” I stood up, gesturing for him to try it. He touched it gently with his finger. The moment his fingertip sank into the material, his eyes lit up. Caspian laid his entire body on the bed, pressing his cheek against the cool surface, his tail quivering slightly with sheer joy. Then, he looked up at me, shifted over to make room, and curled his tail into a circle. He patted the center of the tail-ring, urging me to join him. “No,” I refused. “I have my own bed.” Mermen might love these beds, but for me, it was far too soft. It lacked support and made me feel insecure. I thought I would finally get a good night’s sleep. But when night fell, he stood steadfastly by my bed, looking down at me obediently. I tried to reason with him. “You have a bed now. You should sleep in your own bed.” He tilted his head, acting as if he didn’t understand a single word, his tail swaying silently. Mermen have such a sense of entitlement, I thought. Any surface in this house that can be slept on, he assumes is his. I sighed. “Forget it. Get up here.” Without a moment of hesitation, he leaped onto the mattress and pulled me into his arms. He rested his chin against the top of my head, wrapped his long tail around my legs to cage me in, and let out a deeply satisfied sigh. Does he really not understand? It feels like he understands perfectly when it’s something he wants to hear. When he doesn’t want to listen, he plays the “I’m just a fish, how could I possibly understand human speech?” card. But his tail was smooth and cool, the temperature perfect against my skin. It was essentially a natural cooling blanket. I let him be. 07 I don’t know how long I slept, but I was jolted awake by a searing heat. I opened my eyes to find that the usually cool-tempered merman had turned into a living furnace. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth slightly open, and his lips were an alarmingly bright shade of red. Seeing that I was awake, he pressed himself flush against me, his tail tangling tightly around my legs. “Let go. You’re too hot,” I said, showing zero guilt about kicking out my personal cooling blanket now that it was malfunctioning. Caspian didn’t let go. He reached up, cradled my face, and lowered his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. After the kiss, he grabbed my hand and pressed it flat against his chest. Beneath his burning skin, his heart was beating at a terrifying speed. He looked up at me with pitiful, trembling eyelashes, looking as though he might burst into tears at any second. “Evelyn…” His voice was incredibly hoarse. I finally realized what was happening. I hooked one arm around his waist, scooped the other under his tail, and lifted him effortlessly. Caspian looked bewildered. But he accepted the new scenario almost instantly. Without a trace of struggle, he rested his head in the crook of my neck and nuzzled against me. I carried him straight to the pool. And tossed him in. The seller had mentioned that while mermen could operate on land, they needed to regularly replenish their hydration. His body was burning up, and his voice was completely shot. He was definitely dehydrated. From the water, Caspian stared at me in sheer disbelief. Seeing that I was completely unmoved, he swam a few agitated laps around the pool. Yep. Definitely dehydrated. Look how happy he is doing laps in the water. Eventually, Caspian retreated to the furthest corner of the pool and silently began crying little pearls. I nodded in satisfaction. Ah, tears of joy. 08 In the morning, before I was fully awake, I felt something lightly playing with the hand I had left dangling off the side of the bed. I opened my eyes and looked over. Caspian was lying on the floor beside my bed. He was holding his arm up, playing with my fingers. Scattered all around him was a sea of pearls. Seeing that I was awake, he gave me a look of deep, mournful resentment. I didn’t know how long he had been lying there. I sat up on the edge of the bed, facing a logistical nightmare. While these pearls were exceptionally beautiful and expensive, there was currently nowhere to step. It took me zero seconds to recognize the massive slipping hazard. I used my foot to sweep a clear patch on the floor. “You clean all this up yourself.” He looked even more wronged. By the time I finished washing up and getting ready to leave, he was still picking them up, one by one. I ended up working later than expected that night. When I got back, the apartment was dark. The moment I flicked the lights on, I froze. Every single container in the house—bowls, vases, cups—was filled to the brim with pearls. Different sizes, all shimmering with an iridescent sheen. The quality was astronomical. I stood there confused: What did he do all day? Did he secretly transfer the deed to my house and buy it out? I found him on his hydrogel bed. The merman had dragged my comforter off my bed and wrapped it completely around himself, leaving only the silver tip of his tail exposed. Scattered around him were several pieces of my clothing that I wore often. What is wrong with this fish? I still need to wear those clothes, and he’s using them to build a nest? This is ridiculous. Nearby, a glass cup was overflowing with pearls. The little mountain collapsed, and a single pearl went clack, clack, roll across the floor. The bundle of blankets shifted. A listless hand reached out from underneath and blindly felt around the floor. I gently touched his fingers and pressed the runaway pearl into his palm. He stiffened, then poked his head out of the blankets. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. His grip on the pearl tightened. “Sorry… “Cleaned… it all.” The merman looked up at me with those ice-blue eyes. He reached out and gently tugged at the hem of my shirt. “Don’t be mad.” It suddenly clicked. He thought that because I left so early and came back so late… It was because I was angry with him. That was why he hadn’t dared to sleep in my bed, and why he had meticulously picked up every single pearl and stored them away. Imagining this merman thinking I was furious, sobbing while picking up pearls off the floor all day, made me want to laugh. But then I realized that mermen had no concept of “employment.” He didn’t know that a terrible thing called “overtime” existed in this world. When I thought about that, I felt like the one who should be crying was me. 09 “Caspian, I’m not mad,” I said seriously. “I was just working. It’s like hunting, do you understand? I went out to hunt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you so anxious.” He blinked. I wasn’t sure how much he actually understood, but he seemed to grasp that I wasn’t angry. I pulled a pair of small pliers from my bag, told him not to move, and carefully snipped off the yellow ear tag he had worn for so long. As expected, it left behind a pierced hole. I took out a small velvet box and opened it. Inside was a sapphire earring. The gemstone was a flawless cornflower blue, cut into a teardrop shape. The complex facets caught the light brilliantly, and at certain angles, it reflected an ice-blue hue that perfectly matched his eyes. Several strands of varying-length diamond tassels hung from it, looking exactly like white sea foam crashing against the waves. I clasped the earring into place, took his hand, and led him to the mirror. To make sure the earring was fully visible, I reached out and tucked a stray lock of silver hair behind his ear. “It matches your eyes perfectly. It’s beautiful. “Do you like it, Caspian?” The diamond tassels swayed gently. He turned to face me and lowered his head. For a split second, I wondered if he was going to bite me. But he just pressed a feather-light kiss against my ear. In the middle of the night, I woke up in a groggy haze. Caspian wasn’t beside me. He was sitting by the window, bathed in moonlight, carefully examining the sapphire earring. A melody drifted through the room. There were no lyrics, just a pure, haunting hum. It sounded as if I were suspended in the deep ocean, entirely disoriented, and someone had gently strummed a harp string. I guess it was true what they said—a merman’s song really did have the power to bewitch the mind. Didn’t the seller say he wouldn’t sing? But I was far too exhausted, so I closed my eyes and let it pull me back under. From that day on, Caspian hummed all the time. 10 My line of work is highly specialized, and it’s very easy to make powerful enemies. Eventually, they lost their patience and sent an assassin. When the hitman vaulted through my window, I was sitting calmly on the sofa. A cup of coffee, long gone cold, sat on the coffee table. I didn’t panic when I saw him. “I hope you’re here to offer me a bribe, our uninvited guest.” The assassin let out a cold sneer. “Our famously incorruptible Chief Prosecutor takes bribes now? “And what makes you think I look like I’m carrying cash?” I gave a light smile. “Everyone has desires. No one is truly incorruptible.” I leaned back against the sofa and crossed my legs. “Either the price wasn’t high enough, or the gift wasn’t right.” My gaze traveled slowly, deliberately, from his chest down to his waist. Being blatantly objectified, he finally realized what kind of “bribe” I was implying. He flushed with humiliated rage. “Hey!” At that moment, the smooth friction of scales sliding across the hardwood floor echoed through the room. Caspian slithered over to my side. He stopped at my legs, then slowly leaned down, obediently resting his head in my lap. His silver hair cascaded over my knees, the diamond tassels swaying back and forth. My fingers naturally found their way into his hair, gently combing through the strands. The assassin froze. “A merman? How do you have a merman? “Aren’t you the one pushing for the Oceanus Act?” I looked up, my fingers continuing their path through Caspian’s hair. “Are your bosses that worried about the Oceanus Act? “Once it passes, the buying and selling of mermen will be strictly prohibited. Do you know what that means? It means mermen will become infinitely more scarce.” I pulled Caspian up so he was sitting on my lap, his cheek resting against my collarbone. I reached out and lightly tilted his chin up. His eyelashes fluttered, his expression turning slightly dazed and pliant. I continued, “Did you really think those people care about the mermen? “No. What they care about is the scarcity. “Only when something is rare enough are they willing to pay for it—and they will pay unimaginable prices. “Tell your bosses to look at the bigger picture. Realize who our true target demographic is.” I looked the assassin dead in the eye. “Pushing the Oceanus Act is inevitable. Someone is going to do it eventually. “The only way to prevent genuine activists from gaining control is to have one of our own claim the spotlight first. “Obviously, I am that person.” He didn’t reply. It was probably a lot of information for a low-level hitman to process all at once. Caspian nuzzled his nose against the crook of my neck. He tilted his head up and gently bit my chin, looking incredibly impatient, like he couldn’t wait any longer. I wrapped an arm around the merman’s waist. “If you don’t plan on joining us, then please see yourself out. “We’re going to be very busy here.” 11 The assassin hesitated for a moment, but ultimately chose to leave. The very next second, a gunshot rang out. He spun around in sheer disbelief, only to see me pressing the merman protectively against my chest with one hand. In my other hand, a silenced pistol was still smoking. I walked over to his body and casually kicked his gun away. Then, I fished his phone out of his pocket, yanked his head back by the hair, and used his face to unlock it. “You… lied?” His eyes were losing focus, but he still glared at me with pure hatred. “You knew what would be the most profitable… why…” Scrolling through his phone, I didn’t even spare him a glance. “I just told you. “If I don’t take this position, someone from your syndicate will. “That is exactly why I must be the one standing here.” Once I found the contact for his handler, I tossed the phone onto the floor. “Don’t worry. Your boss will be joining you in hell very soon.” If you want to be the good guy, you have to be more ruthless than the bad guys. Otherwise, you won’t survive long enough to do any good. Once he stopped breathing, I picked up my phone and made a call. “Chloe, come over. I have a package that needs handling.” Chloe’s voice was groggy. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” I checked my watch. “2:14 AM.” She cursed at me and hung up. I put my phone down and turned around, only to find Caspian standing right behind me. He was holding out a single fish scale, offering it to me. Thoroughly confused, I took it. The scale was cool to the touch, shimmering with a pearlescent gleam. “What’s this for?” I asked. He kept his head down, refusing to meet my eyes. Seeing that I had accepted it, the merman turned and bolted, diving straight back into his pool. I looked down at the scale in my hand, deeply bewildered. What does this mean? Catching sight of the bleeding corpse still lying on my living room floor out of the corner of my eye, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. What else could it mean? He was terrified, obviously. I had just executed a man in cold blood right in front of him. If he wasn’t scared, what else was it? Was he shy?

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At my joint bachelor-bachelorette party, right when the Truth or Dare game was reaching its messy, drunken peak, the tequila bottle spun across the table and stopped, pointing directly at my fiancé’s best friend. She locked eyes with me, a slow, sharp smile spreading across her face. “I’ll confess,” she said, her voice cutting through the bass of the music. “I’m pregnant. And it’s Garrett’s.” A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. The chatter died instantly. Only my face remained frozen. As the whispers started rising around us, Garrett reached over, casually running his fingers through my hair with a sigh. “It was just an accident, Isla. Don’t overthink it. We both got blackout drunk that night. We were trying to save some cash, so we shared a cheap motel room, and things just…” “But I promise you, you’re the one who’s going to be Mrs. Mercer. I could never actually be with a tomboy like Gigi anyway.” Gigi scoffed, playfully pinching his side and cursing him for throwing his “bro” under the bus. I sat there, watching them laugh and flirt, before I finally spoke. “It’s fine.” He let out a visible breath of relief. The bottle spun again, its green glass blurring under the neon lights. This time, it stopped, pointing its neck directly at me. The room fell quiet, waiting for my truth. I looked around, my voice flat and entirely steady. “I have a confession, too. At our wedding in three days, the groom will be Callum Peterson.” … There was a beat of absolute silence, followed by a single laugh, and then a wave of mockery crashed over me. “Isla, stop acting crazy. Everyone knows how desperately you chased Garrett.” “Seriously. You spent three years sucking up to his mother just to get her blessing. Don’t ruin your only shot at getting married over a little temper tantrum.” “And Callum Peterson? He’s the crown prince of Seattle’s tech money. Why would a billionaire want Garrett’s discarded leftovers?” Garrett squeezed my hand lightly, his tone dismissive. “Babe, don’t be ridiculous.” “You know everyone here knows you’re obsessed with me. If you call off the wedding now, no one else is going to want you.” The engagement ring on my finger suddenly felt like a brand, tightening around my skin until my throat burned. He was right. Everyone in Seattle knew I was Garrett’s devoted shadow. I had done too many humiliating things for him over the years. Like the Valentine’s Day I had nine thousand roses flown in just to confess to him. Or the month I rented a fleet of drones to spell out “ISLA LOVES GARRETT” across the downtown skyline. Even now, the digital billboards on the commercial towers downtown were looping our engagement photos. I had played the part of the desperate girl for so long that he simply assumed I was his permanent property. Tears stung my eyes, but no one in the room cared about my humiliation. The bottle spun again, and this time it landed on Garrett. The atmosphere heated up instantly, and Gigi gave him a suggestive wink. “Garrett, we’ve played Truth for too many rounds. A real man chooses Dare. Do you have the guts to do something interesting?” Garrett raised an eyebrow, asking her what she had in mind. Gigi’s eyes gleamed. “Since it’s a bachelor party, how about a French kiss with someone in the room? After all, you won’t get a chance once you’re tied down.” She caught my tight expression, quickly covering her mouth with a fake display of apology. “You don’t mind, do you, Isla? I mean, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Back when we took lifesaving classes, we did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation all the time.” The crowd cheered in agreement. Garrett laughed, swatting Gigi’s hip playfully. “Kissing my bro? You’re sick.” “But fine, I’ll play.” He grabbed Gigi by the waist, pulling her into a deep, lingering kiss. The sight of them, framed by the flashing strobes of the lounge, made my stomach turn. A sudden wave of nausea hit me. I bolted for the bathroom and dry-heaved over the sink, waiting for the sickness in my throat to pass. After the party, Garrett pulled me aside by the car, looking slightly conflicted. “Isla, Gigi has been an orphan her whole life. This baby might have been an accident, but it’s her only real family now. She wants to keep it.” I closed my eyes, exhausted. “And?” “I’m thinking we should postpone the wedding. Just until she has the baby. It’s not like we haven’t pushed the date back before. You know the drill.” A familiar ache settled deep in my chest. Ever since my mother got sick a year ago, I had begged Garrett to marry me. Her only dying wish was to see me walk down the aisle. But Garrett always had a reason to say no. Gigi’s cat was sick, so he had to stay with her. Or his family counselor said the date was a bad omen for his business. The wedding had been delayed over and over, and now, I was just tired. I looked into his eyes and said quietly, “Garrett, let’s break up.” The hand he had raised to wipe a tear from my cheek froze in midair. His face darkened. He sat down on the hood of his car, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Gigi was right,” he said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “You women are so high-maintenance.” He looked at me with a condescending pity. “Look, if you’re going to throw a fit about the wedding, we can still do it. But Gigi is pregnant with my child, and I have a responsibility to take care of her.” “For the first year of our marriage, I’ll stay at our place on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, I’ll be with Gigi. Sundays we can split. Think of it as your way of making up for being so difficult about her situation.” I stared at him, unable to process the sheer audacity of his words. Before I could even find my voice, his phone rang. Gigi’s voice drifted through the speaker. Without another look at me, Garrett answered, turned, and walked away. Watching his retreating back, I remembered that our relationship hadn’t always been so one-sided. Back in college, when I tripped during a track meet, he had looked just as panicked as he did now. When did it change? Probably the night of Gigi’s welcome-home dinner, when I slipped and sprained my ankle. As Garrett bent down to check on me, Gigi had laughed. “Isla, do you have to do this now? I get that you want Garrett’s attention, but throwing a scene at your boyfriend’s best friend’s welcome dinner… yikes.” She had slung an arm around Garrett’s shoulder, acting magnanimous. “Go ahead and take her to the ER, Garrett. I won’t hold it against you. Some of us are tough, but your girl is fragile.” That exact dynamic repeated itself dozens of times over the next few years. Every injury, every moment of pain I experienced, was labeled by Gigi as “attention-seeking” and “manipulative.” Eventually, everyone around us accepted that narrative, using it to justify treating me like an afterthought. I squeezed the metal ring on my finger until it bent out of shape. I pulled out my phone and texted my old college friend. “Does your proposal still stand?” He replied almost instantly. “The courthouse opens at eight tomorrow morning. I’ll be waiting.” I wiped my face, typed a single word—”Yes”—and called a cab to go back to the townhouse to pack my things. But when I unlocked the front door, the first thing I heard was Gigi’s voice. “Garrett, let me borrow a shirt. I realized I forgot to pack clean clothes after my shower.” Garrett walked straight into the master bathroom with a fresh shirt. Through the cracked door, I heard their laughter. “You’re built like a boy anyway, there’s nothing to hide. You look ridiculous compared to my girl.” “Yeah, yeah! Your girl is the absolute best. I’m texting the group chat right now to tell everyone how whipped you are.” A few minutes later, Gigi stepped out of the bathroom wearing Garrett’s oversized white button-down. She paused when she saw me standing in the hallway, but her smile returned instantly. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Isla. We’ve been friends for so long that we could sleep naked in the same bed and feel absolutely nothing but brotherly love.” “Garrett only came in to help me because it’s second nature. Don’t go turning this into a whole drama, okay?” I stared at the fresh bite mark on her collarbone. I didn’t say a word. I walked past her into the bedroom to pack. As I pulled open my dresser drawer, a pair of black lace thongs fell out onto the floor. Before I could even look at them, Gigi snatched them up. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t have any clean underwear when I came over, so I just grabbed whatever Garrett had in his drawer. We don’t really care about boundaries like that. You get it, right?” She twirled the lace around her finger, looking at me with pure provocation. My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. I took a deep breath, forcing down the sickness in my stomach, and let out a cold laugh. “I get it. After all these years, you’re still just the ‘bro.’ I admire how hard you’re working to climb into my fiancé’s bed as his mistress.” Gigi’s eyes flared with venom. She raised her hand to slap me, and I instinctively blocked her arm. But with a sharp gasp, Gigi lost her balance and tumbled backward onto the floor. At that exact moment, the front door slammed open, and Garrett rushed into the room. He lunged forward to pull Gigi up, turning to glare at me with pure fury. “Isla! What the hell are you doing?” Gigi clung to his neck, giving me a smug, victorious look before putting on a weak voice. “It’s fine, Garrett. She’s just mad at me. She barely pushed me. Don’t be so mean to her.” “Girls are just fragile and jealous. It’s normal. We shouldn’t hold it against her.” Garrett grabbed my wrist, his eyes bloodshot. “Isla, when did you become so malicious? She just wanted to be a mother, so she asked me to help her have a baby.” “She didn’t mean to come between us. Can’t you just be the bigger person?” So there was no drunken mistake. No blackout night. It was entirely intentional. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I swung my free hand and slapped him across the face. “She’s wearing your clothes in my house, pregnant with your child, and you’re asking me to be the bigger person? Are you insane?” Garrett stared at me, shocked into silence. He touched his cheek, wiping a trace of blood from his lip. Slowly, his expression turned cold, and he looked at me with a quiet, cutting cruelty. “Isla, you got pregnant and had an abortion for me when you were eighteen. You did far worse just to keep me around. You don’t have some high-and-mighty dignity left to protect.” Gigi gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh my god, Isla. I thought you were one of those quiet, sweet girls. I didn’t realize you were that wild.” My body went completely numb. I stared at the man I had loved for a decade, unable to believe those words had come out of his mouth. Garrett watched me crumble, continuing with a calm indifference. “If I remember correctly, you were terrified your parents would find out, and I didn’t want the hassle of a kid. You went to that shady clinic all by yourself, didn’t you? You weren’t so dramatic back then.” I raised a trembling hand to cover his mouth. “Please… stop.” That lost pregnancy was the deepest wound of my life. We were young, foolish, and I had taken his sweet whispers to heart. “Have my baby, Isla, and I’ll get my mom to propose to your family.” Because of that lie, I had believed him. And in the end, it was just a lonely, painful afternoon in a cold room with a doctor who didn’t care. Tears fell onto Garrett’s hand. He finally softened slightly, letting go of my wrist and pulling me close. “Just be good. Apologize to Gigi, and we can pretend none of this happened. We can still get married tomorrow.” Maybe I had been hurt so many times that the pain had finally gone numb. I didn’t argue. Gigi watched us, her eyes darting between us before she patted Garrett’s shoulder. “Garrett, if she doesn’t want to apologize, let it go. You know how stubborn girls can be.” “But take it from me—don’t spoil her too much. A little attitude is cute, but this is just exhausting.” Garrett sighed, looking at me with deep irritation. “Isla, starting tomorrow, don’t bother coming to the office anymore. Gigi is right, you’ve gotten too reckless. You need to learn some humility.” “You can stay home and help Gigi out while she recovers from the birth. It’ll do you some good. As for the wedding, we’ll push it to next month.” I looked at his face, so calm, so entitled, and I nodded. “Okay.” I didn’t tell him that by tomorrow, I would be married to someone else. The next morning, Garrett left early to take Gigi to her ultrasound. He left a note on the counter: “Gigi wants those homemade cinnamon rolls you make. She’s my best friend and she’s pregnant, so try to show some grace as her sister-in-law.” I crumpled the note, tossed it into the trash, picked up my suitcase, and walked out of the house. Callum was waiting for me outside in his car. The moment he saw me, a genuine, warm smile lit up his face. Our wedding at the courthouse was small, quiet, and beautiful. Afterward, we rode around the city, the car window rolled down. Callum wanted everyone to know. Under the quiet warmth of the afternoon light, we exchanged rings and promised ourselves to each other. By afternoon, the city’s local lifestyle outlets were already buzzing with the news of the Peterson family’s sudden, quiet marriage. At that moment, Garrett was driving Gigi back from her appointment, passing through the city center. Seeing the massive digital billboards displaying wedding announcements, Gigi laughed. “Garrett, look at that. When are you going to grow up and throw me a massive wedding like that?” Garrett looked at her, and an involuntary feeling of distaste rose in his chest. She had short, boyish hair, wore a tank top with jeans, and even with her slight baby bump, she looked entirely unrefined. A sudden thought popped into his head: “If I’m going to marry someone, it has to be Isla. She’s elegant, soft, and when she looks at me, I can’t help but soften.” “Gigi is great as a friend, but as a wife… only if the lights are off.” He shrugged, dismissive. “Forget it. If I marry anyone, it’s Isla. If you’re that interested, you can be my best man.” Gigi glared at him, turning to look out the window. Suddenly, she gasped. “Garrett… the bride on that screen. It looks exactly like Isla.” Garrett didn’t even hesitate to scoff. “Impossible. Isla told me she’d never marry anyone but me. If she stopped chasing me, the sun would rise in the west.” “It’s probably just a lookalike.” But he still leaned forward, looking up at the massive display. And there, high above the city, he watched me press my lips against Callum Peterson’s.

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Chapter 1 At the wedding reception, the fake heiress took the opportunity during a toast to lean in close, a provocative smirk on her face. “Happy wedding day. I tested both your husband and your marital bed for you last night. So satisfying.” Blinded by rage, I slapped her hard across the face. In the next second, Liam Sterling slapped me six times in front of all our guests. “Chloe never fights with you, she gave you everything, and yet you still can’t tolerate her!” “I’d rather marry a dog than a low-class woman like you!” With a single order, he had me thrown deep into a dense forest, cast into a pit swarming with venomous snakes to “reflect on my actions.” After seven days of being tortured, my three biological brothers came to settle the score. My eldest brother, a corporate CEO, kicked me so hard my leg broke. “Chloe cried all night. I’ve already made the decision to transfer all the assets in your name to her.” My second brother, an A-list actor, twisted my arm until it snapped. “From now on, our family tree will only bear Chloe’s name. As for you, don’t ever dream of coming back to this family.” My third brother, a renowned surgeon, was the most ruthless of all. He plunged a scalpel directly into my abdomen. “Chloe has had kidney disease since she was a child. To compensate her, you must donate a healthy kidney!” Before I could utter a single word of protest, my internal organs were carved out of me while I was still alive. Under an agony so intense it could shatter a mind, the system’s cold, mechanical voice beeped in my head. [Congratulations to the Host! You have completed all the abuse plotlines for the cannon-fodder supporting female character!] [Just wait for this body to die physically, and you can return to your original world and enjoy a 10 billion dollar reward!] 1. Hearing that sentence, I suddenly stopped howling and crying. The despair and agony in my heart instantly transformed into the sweet relief of knowing I would soon be free. My oldest and second brothers had already left with my kidney. In the freezing snake pit, only my third brother, Dr. Julian Sterling, remained. Blood was still gushing from the incision. As Julian stitched me up, he frowned in annoyance. “If you had just cooperated and donated the kidney earlier, I wouldn’t have to operate under such primitive conditions.” “Making me do all this extra work. So annoying.” Just last week, when Chloe was handling some paperwork, she got a paper cut so tiny it was barely visible. Julian acted like the sky was falling. He called in a top-tier medical team to assist him in bandaging her finger, checking her “recovery progress” every three hours. But now, facing me—who had just had an entire kidney ripped out without anesthesia—he complained that basic stitches were a hassle. Perhaps seeing that I hadn’t made a sound for a while, he leaned over, patted my cheek, and injected me with antibiotics. “Stop faking it. I know you’re perfectly healthy. A minor injury like this is nothing to you.” “You’re just trying to play the victim to make me feel guilty, so you can steal my affection from Chloe, aren’t you? You’re so dark and petty. Since you’re part of the Sterling family now, put away those pathetic little schemes!” If this were the past, facing such misunderstandings from my own blood, my eyes would redden. I would defend myself, crying that I wasn’t that kind of person. But now, I felt only a numb, detached calmness. I closed my eyes, my voice hoarse. “You can leave too. I can wait here to die alone.” To me, the fastest way to freedom was to die immediately. But to Julian’s ears, it clearly meant something else. “Evelyn Sterling, what is that supposed to mean? Saying depressing things on purpose to disgust me?!” He intentionally yanked the suture thread hard. The fragile, bloody edges of my flesh violently tightened, and dark blood welled up, bringing an agonizing pain that a normal person could not bear. Seeing me gasp, breaking out in a cold sweat from the sheer agony, a flicker of reluctance flashed in his eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “You are my blood sister. To find you, we three brothers spent an unimaginable amount of money and effort. You have no idea. How could we possibly just let you die?” “At the end of the day, if you weren’t so narrow-minded, if you hadn’t refused to tolerate Chloe and hit her, why would you be suffering like this?” As he complained, he injected a dose of anesthetic near my wound. “As long as you promise not to make things difficult for Chloe when we get back, and properly apologize to her.” “I can take you back to the hospital. You’ll receive the best treatment, and you won’t have to suffer here anymore.” Listening to his patronizing, charity-like tone, I only felt colder and more cynical. I was a transmigrator, but I had crossed over into this world’s Evelyn Sterling when I was six years old. Three years ago, after I had eaten endless bitterness, the three Sterling brothers found me in tears, saying I was their long-lost biological sister, and brought me back to the Sterling estate. But upon returning, I discovered the family already had a beloved daughter: Chloe, the girl they had adopted. The moment I saw her, I recognized her. Back in the orphanage, she was the one who locked me in a dark closet so she could sneak out and take my place to be adopted by the Sterlings. For twenty years, Chloe enjoyed all the love and care of my family, while I bore all of her suffering. Yet, all she had to do was frown and pretend to be wronged, and my three biological brothers would unconditionally take her side and accuse me of being petty. Even Liam, the man I was arranged to marry since birth, only smiled at her while treating me with cold contempt. I was exhausted from this entanglement and pain. I didn’t want to waste another ounce of energy arguing. I simply raised my hand and forcefully ripped apart the incision that had just been stitched. When blood and intestines spilled out, Julian screamed so loudly his voice cracked. “Evelyn! Are you crazy?! You’re going to die!” Watching his panicked tears, I just pulled the corners of my mouth into a smile. “Die? That sounds wonderful.” “Living another second with you people… makes me sick!” After saying that, I could no longer fight the heaviness of my eyelids. My head lolled to the side, and I passed out. I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke up from the darkness. I thought I had already returned to my original world. But when I opened my eyes, I saw the familiar face of my eldest brother, Alexander Sterling. “You’re finally awake.” He had dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept, but his tone was brimming with impatience. “You’re a grown adult. Why are you so impulsive?” “Making life-and-death scenes over the smallest things. Where is the dignity of a Sterling heiress…” The thought of having to deal with this rotten world again made me feel completely drained. I had zero interest in defending myself. I interrupted him with hollow eyes. “You’re right. I’m an embarrassment. I don’t deserve to live.” “So, let me die.” Alexander’s expression shifted drastically. He instinctively raised his hand to slap me. But when he saw my ghostly, bloodless face, his hand stopped in mid-air. “Evelyn Sterling! I’m warning you, stop talking nonsense!” His voice trembled. The impatience in his eyes faded slightly, hiding a sliver of panic that even he hadn’t noticed. “I paid a massive price to pull you out of that mountain. It wasn’t so you could lie here speaking garbage!” I gave a cold, temperatureless smile. Paid a massive price? He was probably just terrified that if I died, there would be no one left to act as Chloe’s spare organ bank, and no one left for her to play the victim against. As I thought this, the hospital room door pushed open. My third brother, Julian, walked in carrying a bowl of medicine. Seeing me awake, a flash of joy crossed his eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was as aggressive as ever. “Drink this since you’re awake. Don’t make me force it down your throat!” He handed the bowl to me. The liquid was pitch black and smelled incredibly bitter. I turned my head away, closed my eyes, and refused. “No need. It’s a waste of medicine.” “You!” Julian’s hand was shaking with anger, but he didn’t force the medicine down my throat like he normally would. Instead, he placed the bowl on the nightstand and reached out to check my wound. When his fingertips touched the bandages, his movements were unusually gentle. For the first time, he showed a fraction of the tender care he normally reserved for Chloe. “As expected. Using the best medicine really speeds up the recovery…” He re-wrapped the bandages and glared at me fiercely. “You better behave. If that wound tears open again, I absolutely will not stitch you up a second time!” His words were harsh, but I clearly saw the bloodshot lines in his eyes and the subtle trembling of his fingertips. It seemed he had spent the last few nights staying up to watch over me. If it were the old me, I would have been moved by this tiny crumb of gentleness. I would have hugged him and cried about how wronged I felt. But now, I only found it ironic. I shook off his hand, violently threw off the blankets, and moved to rip my incision open again. Right now, living a single second longer was pure torture. As long as I could die faster, I didn’t care how. “Are you insane?!” Alexander grabbed my arm, gripping it so hard it felt like he might crush my bones. But when I groaned in pain, he instantly loosened his grip, roaring at me with a voice choked with tears: “Evelyn, what the hell are you trying to do?!” “Die.” My tone was as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “Letting me die is best for everyone.” “You won’t have to be conflicted anymore, and Chloe can peacefully be the sole Sterling heiress.” “So, do me a favor and let me die faster.” My words seemed to stab Alexander right in his sore spot. With red eyes, he raised his hand and slapped me—but it was lighter than any slap he had ever given me before. It felt more like an outburst of frustrated desperation. “I forbid it! You are the biological daughter of the Sterling family! Who would dare let you die?!” Julian panicked too. He stepped forward, pressed my shoulders down, and pinned me back onto the bed, his tone carrying a rare note of pleading. “Evelyn, stop this.” “I know it hurts. But if you just focus on recovering… from now on… from now on, I’ll spoil you more, okay?” Looking at the pleading in his eyes, I found it absurd. Where was this attitude before? When he was ripping out my kidney while I was fully awake, when he was making a mountain out of a molehill over Chloe’s tiny paper cut—why didn’t he think about “spoiling me more” then? I closed my eyes, refusing to look at them. I let Julian tuck the blankets back over me, and let him bring the bowl of medicine to my lips, but I kept my mouth clamped shut. During the standoff, my second brother, Nicholas Sterling, pushed the door open, followed closely by a pale-looking Liam. Seeing me, Nicholas’s eyes turned red, and he rushed to the bedside. “Evelyn, thank God you’re awake. You scared me to death.” When I was first brought back to the Sterling family, Nicholas had been the kindest to me out of all my relatives. He took me traveling, showed me beautiful sights, and told me how much the family had missed me and searched for me over the years. He would often tear up when talking about it. But later, after Chloe wiped her tears and complained about me to him a few times, he completely changed his face. He accused me of being a two-faced hypocrite who betrayed the family’s sincere love for me. Seeing him now only filled me with annoyance. I dodged his hand as he reached out to touch my face. Nicholas’s hand froze in midair. With a bitter expression, he slowly pulled it back. Seeing this, Liam stepped forward and took the medicine bowl from Julian. “Let me feed her. She might listen to me.” His confidence wasn’t surprising. After all, over the past few years, anyone with eyes could see how much I catered to and tolerated this fiancé of mine. I had loved him to my very core. Just as he walked toward me, the hospital room door opened again. “Evelyn, I came to see you.” Chloe, wearing a hospital gown and looking incredibly frail, walked in. Alexander immediately stood up and supported her. “Chloe, you just had a kidney transplant! Your body is still weak, why did you come over here?” Chloe shook her head, her eyes landing on me, full of fake guilt. “It’s all my fault. If I had stopped Evelyn that day, things wouldn’t have gotten this far.” “I felt so guilty, I had to come and apologize to her.” Saying this, she took the bowl from Liam’s hands and sat down by my bed herself. “Evelyn, stop punishing yourself. Drink your medicine and heal. Everyone has been so worried about you.” “I know you still blame me, but I truly never wanted to fight you for anything. Everything in the Sterling family was supposed to be yours…” Her words sounded like a humble retreat, but every sentence implied that I was narrow-minded, clinging to the past, and purposely gambling with my own health just to throw a tantrum. Before her spoon even touched my lips, I raised my hand and slapped the bowl away. With a loud crash, the porcelain bowl shattered on the floor. The scalding black medicine splashed all over Chloe, instantly turning the skin on her wrists and chest bright red. Chloe let out a sharp gasp, her eyes immediately welling with tears, her voice cracking. “Evelyn… how could you do that? I just wanted to feed you your medicine…” She bit her lip, looking like the ultimate victim. The tears swirling in her eyes were enough to make anyone’s heart ache. “Evelyn Sterling! Are you insane?!” Alexander flew into a rage. He yanked Chloe behind him and glared at me viciously. “Chloe came here out of the kindness of her heart to feed you, and this is how you treat her?!” Julian immediately rushed over to check Chloe’s burns, his voice thick with panic. “How bad is it? Are you burned badly? Call a doctor, quickly!” Nicholas also frowned deeply, his eyes full of profound disappointment. “Evelyn, you’ve gone too far! Chloe actively apologized to you. When are you going to stop this nonsense?!” Liam quickly stepped to Chloe’s side, pulling out tissues to wipe her clothes, his tone full of reprimand. “Evelyn, can you stop acting like a child? Chloe meant well. Even if you didn’t appreciate it, you shouldn’t have attacked her.” The four men crowded around Chloe, showering her with concern, completely ignoring me—the person who had just had a kidney carved out and whose incision was still throbbing with pain. Leaning against Alexander’s chest, Chloe sneaked a glance at me. A flash of triumph crossed her eyes, though her mouth kept up the innocent act: “I’m fine. Please don’t yell at Evelyn. She’s just in a bad mood right now…” If this were the past, this “white lotus” act would have left me shaking with fury. But now, I just found it laughably absurd. Such a clumsy, amateur manipulation tactic. Anyone else would see through it instantly. Yet these four men—titans in their respective fields—willingly allowed themselves to be played like fools by Chloe. Or perhaps, it was a case of one willing to hit and the other willing to suffer. I was merely a prop in their twisted little game. “If your hearts are aching for this animal, please take your heartache outside. Don’t dirty my hospital room.” Hearing my freezing, detached voice, all of them trembled with anger. “Evelyn Sterling, it seems you haven’t reflected nearly enough!” Julian looked at me with deep disappointment and snapped, “From this moment on, I am cutting off all your painkillers!” “When you finally figure things out, when you are willing to apologize to Chloe, then we will resume your medication.” Alexander chimed in, “Exactly! Let her taste what real pain feels like. See if she dares to be this stubborn then!” Nicholas sighed, his eyes full of helpless resignation, but he didn’t voice any objection. Liam stood to the side, nodding silently, clearly agreeing with the decision. I closed my eyes. I didn’t argue, and I wasn’t angry. Cut off my painkillers? So what? The pain of this physical wound was nothing compared to the twenty years of grievances and torment I had suffered. If anything, the pain would keep my mind clear as I waited for death to finally arrive. Seeing my completely unresponsive attitude, Julian immediately stepped forward and disconnected my pain pump. As an overwhelming, avalanche-like agony washed over me, the family I loved most, and my fiancé, nervously surrounded Chloe and walked out of the room. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud. Not a single one of them looked back. Enduring the blood leaking from my bitten lip, I reached under my pillow and pulled out a jagged shard of porcelain I had hidden away moments earlier. Without a second of hesitation, I dragged it across my throat. As I collapsed once more, I could feel the strength draining from my body. The pain from my wounds began to fade, and my heartbeat grew slower and slower… In the moment darkness finally descended, I actually smiled. This suffocating, agonizing life was finally over. … Out in the hallway, after walking a fair distance, Alexander suddenly stopped in his tracks at the front of the group. “You guys take Chloe to get her burns treated. My heart feels uneasy. I’m going to go back and stay with Evelyn.” As soon as he said that, Nicholas immediately spoke up. “No, I’ll go. Evelyn is really angry this time. Out of everyone in the family, I’ve always been the closest to her. I should be the one to talk to her.” Julian wasn’t happy about that. “What kind of talk is that? As if the rest of us aren’t her biological brothers!” “You guys are amateurs. What Evelyn needs most right now is a doctor. I’ll go back.” Seeing them all instinctively turn around to head back, Liam frowned and offered an apologetic smile to the still-confused Chloe. “They’re all going. If I, her husband, don’t go, it won’t look right.” “Anyway, your burns aren’t that bad. Just go have them treated yourself. I’ll come see you when I’m done.” With that, without even giving Chloe a chance to respond, he hurried after the three Sterling brothers. But when they pushed open the hospital room doors they had left only moments ago… a thick, unmistakable stench of blood hit them square in the face.

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Five years of marriage, and Drew told me I needed to get a life of my own. So, I enrolled in driving school. It was my first day of closed-course maneuver practice. The instructor handed out an intake form, asking for an emergency contact. The young girl next to me finished hers first, sliding the clipboard over with a warm smile. “Here you go, hon. Your turn.” “Thanks,” I murmured, taking it. As I did, my eyes accidentally brushed over her completed form. Emergency Contact: Drew Weston. Relationship: Husband. Because the name I was about to write on my own form was exactly the same. She didn’t notice my sudden freeze. She tilted her head, looking at my phone resting on my lap. “Oh, that phone case is gorgeous! Where’d you get it?” I couldn’t find my voice. That phone case was a gift from Drew. She pulled her own phone out of her pocket. “My husband had mine custom-made. He insisted it had to be one-of-a-kind.” Engraved on the back of her leather case was the exact same phrase: “My Journey is You.” … “Hey, you okay?” Sadie nudged me gently. Her smile was bright, youthful. Her perfectly manicured finger tapped the engraved words. “I know, it’s incredibly cheesy, right? I told him it was ridiculously corny, but he insisted on having a ‘special symbol’ for us.” I stared at those four words. My Journey is You. When Drew had slid the box across the table to me, his eyes had held that same soft, intense look. “Gwen,” he’d said, “wherever my path leads, it’s always going to be with you.” I looked down at the form on my lap. The line for Emergency Contact stared back at me, blank and white. Sadie leaned in closer. “What’s your husband’s name, by the way?” I capped my pen, my voice dry and raspy. “I… haven’t decided who to put down yet.” “What do you mean? Your husband, of course!” She giggled, waving her clipboard. “My Drew always says, no matter what happens, he has to be the very first person I call.” My fingers gripped the edge of the paper so hard it creased. “He sounds like a good man.” “The absolute best,” Sadie said, unzipping her handbag. “Honestly, he worries too much. I told him I was worried about getting sunburned during lessons, so he bought me this luxury UV jacket. I complained about being tired, and he literally offered to pay someone off to just get me a license.” She pulled a set of keys from her bag. A Porsche key fob. Dangling from the ring was a small, hand-stitched red linen charm. The stitching was delicate, though one of the corners was slightly uneven where the needle had slipped. The world around me seemed to tilt. Last night at 11:30 PM, Drew had texted saying he was stuck at the office. I had sat alone at the kitchen table, pulling the final thread through that exact linen charm, filling it with lavender and a prayer for his safety. He was always such an aggressive driver, and I just wanted him to make it home to me every night. This morning, I had tucked it gently into his briefcase. He had kissed the top of my head, murmuring, “Thank you, sweetheart. You always make the sweetest things for me.” Now, it was dangling from another woman’s Porsche keys. Oblivious to the color draining from my face, Sadie stroked the fabric of the charm. “He gave me this too. Said he had it custom-commissioned by an artisan.” I heard myself ask, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else, “Did he say who made it?” “No,” Sadie said, blinking her bright eyes. “Just that he went out of his way to get it for me. For luck.” A terrible, empty laugh threatened to escape my throat. “It’s… very beautiful.” “You think so? Do you believe in stuff like that?” “I used to.” Never again. She didn’t catch the bitterness in my voice, her eyes dropping to the canvas tote bag resting against my leg. “Oh, that’s a well-loved tote. The straps are practically fraying.” I folded the clipboard against my knees. “Yeah. I’ve had it for four years.” “Why don’t you get a new one?” “It still holds my things.” Sadie wrinkled her nose, clearly unable to comprehend the logic. “My husband would lose his mind if I carried something like that. He always says a woman should never settle for less, especially when it comes to her wardrobe.” I looked at her bag. I recognized it instantly. Last month, a notification had flashed on Drew’s phone. A pending charge of $8,500. When I asked him about it, he hadn’t even looked up from his laptop. “Corporate gifting. Don’t worry about it.” At that exact moment, I had been standing in the supermarket, debating whether to buy the organic spinach or save eighty cents on the regular head. Sadie patted the leather of her Chanel bag. “I told him it was too expensive, but he said his money is only worth making if it’s spent on making his wife happy.” I slowly unfolded the paper on my lap. “Where does your husband work?” “Downtown, in the Financial District,” she answered quickly. “He owns a boutique PR firm in One Plaza.” My pen hovered over the paper. I knew that address by heart. Drew left our house every morning at 8:30 AM and returned at 10:00 PM. He told me the startup phase was brutal, that the pressure was crushing, and that he couldn’t afford to lose focus. “Gwen, be reasonable,” he’d say whenever I asked for a weekend away. “I’m doing this for our future.” Sadie peered at me, her brow furrowing. “Are you okay? You look incredibly pale. Is it the heat?” I shook my head. “No. Just a sudden chill.” “Well, you should finish filling that out. The instructor is going to call us in a minute.” She handily offered me her pen. “So, who’s the emergency contact going to be?” I took the pen. The tip hovered over the empty box for a long, agonizing moment. In the end, I didn’t write Drew’s name. I wrote my own. Sadie blinked in confusion. “Why did you put your own name down?” I slid the clipboard into the registry bin. “Because if something actually happens, I’m the only one who’s going to catch me.” Before she could parse my words, the instructor bellowed from across the parking lot. “Alright, ladies! Let’s get moving.” Sadie jumped up, offering me another dazzling smile. “Come on, let’s go. My husband told me not to worry—he said he’ll handle any messes if I scrape the curb.” I turned my phone face-down on the plastic bench, hiding the identical custom case. Just before the screen went black, a text from Drew popped up. [Don’t call me around noon. Packed with back-to-back meetings.] “Why don’t you take the back seat first? I’ll go ahead,” Sadie said, pulling open the door of the dusty sedan. “Ugh, what is that smell? It’s suffocating.” The instructor shrugged. “It’s a student car, kid. Get used to it.” “I can’t deal with this,” she groaned, sliding into the driver’s seat and immediately pulling out her phone. “I have to text my husband.” I climbed into the back. Sadie pressed the voice memo button, her tone instantly melting into a sweet, helpless pout. “Babe, the car is so stuffy and gross. I don’t think I can do this.” Within seconds, the reply came back. Drew’s voice—crisp, rich, and painfully familiar—filled the cramped sedan. “Hang in there, sweetheart. Just get through the first day. Didn’t you say you wanted to drive us down to the coast this summer? Give it thirty minutes. I’ll take you out for oysters tonight to make up for it.” Sadie whined. “But it’s boiling in here.” “Is there water in the car?” “Yeah.” “Drink some. But don’t drink it too cold. Your stomach is sensitive, remember? No ice water.” I looked down at my hands. Before leaving this morning, I had prepared a thermos of warm ginger-infused rice porridge for Drew. He had been complaining of stomach issues for weeks, and I spent hours over the stove every morning making sure he had something gentle to coat his stomach. He had barely glanced at the thermos this morning. “Too bland, Gwen. I’ll grab something at the office.” Later, as I was taking out the trash, I found the thermos sitting in the bin, still completely full. Sadie put her phone down, turning back to me with a triumphant grin. “See? He’s such a micromanager.” “It’s nice to have someone care,” I whispered. She laughed. “Doesn’t your husband micromanage you?” I thought about it. “He told me to get a life of my own.” “Well, that’s good too! At least he isn’t clingy.” The instructor tapped the window. “Adjust your seat first.” “How do I do that?” Sadie asked, flustered. “Lever on the left,” the instructor muttered. “Which left?” I leaned forward and pointed it out for her. She gave me an apologetic smile. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.” As my fingers brushed the underside of her seat to show her the lever, my fingertips came away coated in a layer of gray dust. Sadie noticed my hands, her gaze lingering on the calluses lining my palms. “Do you do a lot of housework?” she asked, her voice dropping slightly. I pulled my hand back, rubbing my fingers together. “Some.” “Drew doesn’t let me touch a thing,” she said, raising her hands to show off her pristine, freshly manicured nails. “He says a woman’s hands should never look worn down. It’s his golden rule.” The silence inside the car grew heavy, suffocating. I stared at her. “What did you just say?” “Oh, just that he doesn’t like my hands looking rough,” Sadie said with a soft giggle. “Direct quote from my husband.” I folded my hands into my lap, hiding my palms. During our second year of marriage, Drew had said those exact words to me. We were living in a drafty, old apartment. The pipes had frozen that winter, and I had to wash our clothes and dishes in ice-cold water. My knuckles had cracked and bled from the dry cold. He had taken my raw, stinging hands into his, his brow furrowed with genuine worry. “Stop doing this, Gwen. It breaks my heart to see you like this.” But then his business grew, and he got busier. The cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the care of his aging parents—it all silently transitioned into my sole responsibility. If he ever noticed the dry cracks on my fingers after that, he would simply sigh. “Go buy some high-end hand cream, Gwen. Don’t make it look like I’m neglecting you.” Sadie finally managed to start the car. She pressed the gas too hard, and the sedan jerked forward violently. She let out a sharp shriek as the instructor slammed his passenger-side brake, bringing us to a grinding halt. “Easy on the clutch!” the instructor barked. “I’m done. I can’t do this,” Sadie cried, her eyes welling with tears as she grabbed her phone again. “I really can’t. He’s going to be so worried.” She dialed, and the call was answered on the first ring. She immediately put it on speaker. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Drew’s voice was soft, laced with an easy, reassuring warmth. “I almost crashed,” Sadie sobbed, playing up her distress. “Are you hurt?” “No…” “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” he murmured, his tone incredibly tender. “If you want to learn, I’ll find a private track and coach you myself. If you don’t, I’ll have someone park a car at the driving school tomorrow just so you can sit in it and get comfortable. Whatever you want.” Sadie sniffled. “You have to come pick me up early tonight.” “I will. I’ll bring that cheesecake you like.” “Strawberry.” “I know. No mango, right?” A sudden wave of nausea washed over me, hot and violent. Last night, my fever had spiked to 102 degrees. When I called Drew, the phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Gwen, I’m with a client.” “Drew, I’m really sick,” I had whispered, shivering under the blankets. “Can you please come home and take me to the clinic?” “You’re a grown woman, Gwen. There are meds in the cabinet. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill.” I had hung up, called an Uber, and dragged myself to the urgent care clinic alone. While waiting for the IV drip, I had texted him a picture of the medical bill. His response was two words: [Submit insurance.] I pushed the car door open before the vehicle had even fully stopped. “What the hell are you doing?” the instructor yelled. I ran to the edge of the asphalt, gripping the concrete planter by the trash cans, and retched until my chest ached and my vision went black. Sadie ran over, rubbing my back with a worried expression. “Oh my god, are you okay? Is it really heatstroke?” I wiped my mouth with the back of my trembling hand. “I’m fine.” “Do you need to call your husband?” I pulled out my phone and opened my thread with Drew. His last message mocked me from the screen. [Don’t call me around noon. Packed with back-to-back meetings.] I pressed down on the message thread and hit Delete. “No,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “There’s no one to call.” … “Do you want a bite of cake?” During our break, Sadie sat next to me on the bench, holding an open clear plastic box. “My husband had a courier drop this off. He was worried my blood sugar would drop.” It was a beautiful slice of strawberry shortcake, topped with fresh glaze. I knew the bakery well. Three months ago, for our fifth wedding anniversary, I had stood in line for two hours to buy a small signature cake from that exact shop. Drew had taken one bite at the dinner table before putting his fork down. “It’s too sweet.” “But you used to love this place,” I had said. He had rubbed his temples, his voice flat. “People change, Gwen. Stop holding me hostage to who I was years ago.” The rest of that cake had ended up in the trash. I had washed the plastic box and kept it, unable to throw away the physical proof of my wasted effort. Sadie offered me a small plastic fork. “Come on, just a bite. It’s seriously not too sweet.” I shook my head. “No, thank you. You eat it.” “If you say so.” She took a large bite, hummed in delight, and began scrolling through her phone. “He wants me to meet his friends tonight. I really don’t want to go—they can get so rowdy.” “What friends?” I asked quietly. “Just his usual circle.” She turned her phone toward me. “Look, they made me drink with them last time, and they kept calling me ‘the future Mrs. Weston.’” The video on her screen was bright and loud. I recognized every single face in that frame. Luke, his college roommate. Tyler, his business partner. And Jax, his childhood best friend. They were raising their glasses, cheering at Sadie. “To the future Mrs. Weston! Looks like Drew’s finally met his match!” In the video, Sadie laughed, hiding behind Drew’s shoulder. Drew wrapped an arm around her waist, blocking the drinks with his other hand, a relaxed, easy smile on his face. “She’s not a big drinker, guys. Go easy on her.” Luke laughed boisterously. “Man, look at how protective he is! When’s the wedding, Drew?” Drew looked down at Sadie, his voice soft but clear. “Soon.” The video looped, and Sadie blushed, locking her phone. “They’re always teasing us.” I picked up my water bottle, then set it back down. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I had never met any of them. When we got married, Drew had insisted on a small, private dinner with only our parents, claiming he hated ostentatious displays. Later, whenever I asked about meeting his friends, he would dismiss it. “They’re loud, crude, and they drink too much. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around them, Gwen.” I had believed him. I had actually thought he was protecting me. Sadie looked at me curiously. “Does your husband take you out with his friends?” “Not really,” I said. “Why not?” “He said he wanted to shield me from them.” Sadie blinked, a little taken aback. “I guess… that sounds sweet, in a way.” I forced a small, empty smile. “Yes. Very sweet.” Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was Drew. I looked at the screen, but I didn’t answer. Sadie peered over. “Your husband?” “Yes.” “Aren’t you going to pick up?” “No rush.” The ringing stopped. Then a text popped up. [Why aren’t you answering?] I stared at the words. Thirty seconds later, another message followed. [Are you still upset about last night? I really was swamped, Gwen. I’ll bring home dinner tonight, okay?] Before I could even think of a reply, Sadie’s phone rang. She picked it up immediately, her voice turning bright and airy. “Hey, babe.” Drew’s voice came through her speaker, so clear it felt like he was standing right beside me. “Did you get the cake?” “I did.” “Don’t eat too much. Save room for dinner.” “I know, I know.” “And don’t push yourself too hard this afternoon. If it gets too hot, go wait in the lounge. Your skin burns easily.” Sadie giggled. “You sound like my dad.” Drew let out a low chuckle. “If you let me, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” I looked down at my bare arms. To save money, I hadn’t bought a luxury UV jacket. I had simply found an old silk scarf in my closet and tied it around my neck. The scarf had belonged to Drew’s mother. She had given it to me years ago, saying it was too old-fashioned for her taste and she had no use for it. Sadie hung up and turned to me. “Oh, look, your husband texted again.” I tapped the notification. [Actually, don’t wait up for dinner. Something came up with a client, so I’ll just grab a bite near the office.] I typed back: [A client?] He replied instantly. [Yeah.] Sadie stood up, closing her cake box. “I’m going to go wash my hands, Gwen. Be right back.” “Okay.” Once she walked away, I untied the silk scarf from my neck. There was a small, stubborn grease stain on the edge that had never come out in the wash. I stared at it for a few seconds, then dropped it into the trash can beside the bench. My phone buzzed again. [Don’t overthink it. I’ll make it up to you this weekend. I promise.] I stared at the words I promise. I didn’t reply. “Alright, class is over! Are you heading out, Gwen?” Sadie gathered her things, waving to me from the exit. “My husband is here to pick me up.” I stood near the glass doors of the registry lobby. Sadie stood on her tip-toes, searching the curb. “Oh, there he is! The black Maybach under the tree. He drove himself today.” The sleek, black luxury car sat idling in the shade of a large maple. Through the windshield, I could see Drew’s profile. He was wearing the crisp, white button-down shirt I had ironed for him this morning. The phone in my pocket buzzed again. [Stuck at the client dinner. Don’t wait up.] I looked at him in the car, and then down at the text on my screen. Sadie started jogging toward the parking lot, but then she paused and turned back to me. “Gwen! How are you getting home? Do you want a ride? My husband can drop you off.” “No, thank you,” I said. “Are you sure? He’s really nice, I promise!” she insisted with a bright smile. “He looks a bit stern, but he’s incredibly sweet once you get to know him.” My fingers brushed against a small object in my pocket. It was a hand-woven macramé key ring I had spent the last few evenings crafting. In the center of the weave, I had carefully stamped two tiny metal initials: D.W. I had planned to save it for his birthday next month. But there was no point in waiting anymore. “Sadie,” I called out. She stopped. “Yeah?” I walked over and handed it to her. “The thread on your Porsche key ring is coming loose. Take this. You can use it instead.” Her eyes lit up as she took the woven charm. “Oh, wow! Did you make this yourself?” “Just a hobby.” “Are you sure? This is so beautiful.” “Keep it,” I said, placing it firmly in her palm. “Consider it a parting gift.” Sadie squeezed my hand, her smile genuine and warm. “Thank you so much, Gwen. You are seriously the best.” I stood on the sidewalk, watching her run toward the idling Maybach. The passenger door opened, and she slid inside. Through the windshield, I saw her immediately hold up the new key ring, showing it to Drew. Even from a distance, I saw the exact moment Drew took the charm from her hands. And I watched his face completely fall.

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Chapter 1 The day my boyfriend complained about me to my best friend for the fifty-fifth time, I read through their entire chat history. “I stayed up all night gaming with her, and today I forgot to go with her to try on wedding dresses. Now she’s crying and throwing a fit. So annoying!” “She dresses like a middle schooler. It’s so ugly.” “She’s a grown adult, is it really that hard for her to call an Uber in the rain? She insisted I come pick her up. So dramatic!” After every single complaint, my best friend replied with a cute, sympathetic meme. “I told you from the beginning that she was like this, but you didn’t believe me. Now you know.” He used to tell me, “Simple and elegant is perfect.” Now, he stared at my dresses and frowned: “Even a middle schooler dresses better than you.” He used to promise he would pick me up from work every day. Now, he just coldly typed a single line into the chat box: “You’re an adult. You can’t even figure this out yourself?” I bit my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood slowly spread across my tongue. Dylan walked out of the bathroom, snatched the phone from my hand, and yelled at me: “Who told you to touch my stuff?!” He immediately typed a quick follow-up message to her: “She’s checking my phone now. Unbelievable.” So our three-year relationship was just a miserable prison sentence that he needed to constantly vent about to an outsider. Fine. Since being with me was such pure torture, he wouldn’t be part of the good days ahead. … I was just about to speak, but Dylan frowned and cut me off first: “Harper, people have a right to privacy, don’t you understand that?” I pointed at his glowing phone screen, my voice raspy. “Your privacy is talking trash about your own girlfriend with another woman?” Every time he was with me, his head was buried in his phone, tapping away. When I asked, he always said it was “work.” I believed him for three years. Three years. It turned out I had believed my way into a mountain of resentment. He actually laughed, giving me an “are you seriously doing this?” look. “Mia is your best friend. What’s the big deal if I joke around with her for a bit?” A joke. He called that a joke. “Besides, work hasn’t been going well for her lately. I played some video games with her so she could vent her frustration. Is that a crime?” He sounded so entirely self-righteous. I didn’t respond. I just stared at him silently. Recently, I had been working so much overtime that my period completely stopped and my hair was falling out in clumps. He hadn’t even offered me a glass of water. My eyes stung fiercely. I clenched my fists and forcefully swallowed my tears. He probably noticed I didn’t look well, and his tone finally softened a fraction: “Alright, fine. I’ll go with you to try on wedding dresses tomorrow.” Tomorrow. Today, I stood in that bridal boutique completely alone. The consultant rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath: “She’s tried on so many dresses and hasn’t bought a single one. Her boyfriend hasn’t shown up once. Is she just here to waste our time?” Enduring the judging stares of everyone in the room, I fled from the store I had loved for two whole years. “The wedding dress… we can talk about it later.” Dylan immediately dropped the subject, plopped down on the sofa, and went back to tapping on his phone. “Mia is coming over soon. We’re having hot pot for dinner.” Mia was coming. Whenever she came over, she never told me. She only ever coordinated with him. Out of seven days a week, she managed to come over for six. She claimed she was coming to keep me company, but when she was here, we barely spoke two words to each other. The smart lock on the front door chimed. Fingerprint recognized. Mia dropped several grocery bags onto the floor and shouted at him: “Dylan, what are you standing around for? Get over here and help me!” He laughed and got up immediately. “Coming!” Mia directed him to wash the vegetables and prep the dipping sauces, acting entirely like the lady of the house. “Harper, you go rest for a bit. We’ll call you when it’s ready.” She slapped him playfully on the back and put her hands on her hips. “Wash those properly! Look, there’s still dirt on this lettuce.” He didn’t get annoyed at all. He just smiled and replied, “Yes, ma’am. I know, I know.” That natural dynamic. That effortless, taken-for-granted intimacy. He and I had never had that. In the summer, if I leaned against him, he said it was too hot. In the winter, if I touched him, he said he hated the cold. When I did the chores, he sat on the couch playing video games, never lifting a finger. The spicy, numbing smell of the hot pot broth flooded my nose, and I sneezed violently a few times. Mia smiled at me, her eyes curving into crescents: “Smells amazing, right? Dylan and I specifically hauled this back from Austin last month.” I froze. “Last month… when did you guys go to Austin?” She turned to look at him. “You didn’t tell Harper?” Dylan didn’t even look up. “It wasn’t a big deal, nothing worth bringing up.” Mia walked over, grabbed my hand, and pressed me down into a dining chair: “I had a business trip last month, and he kept me company. On the way back, we took a detour to Austin for a few days.” Last month. During those few days, I was burning up with pneumonia, sitting in the hospital alone attached to an IV drip. I texted him, and he never replied. It turned out he was out having the time of his life with her. My heart was overflowing with a sour bitterness. I laughed at how stupid and pathetic I was. Mia suddenly shook her wrist. “Look, a bracelet! Pretty, right? Dylan picked it out just for me.” “Where’s yours? When we bought them, they were supposed to be matching best-friend bracelets.” Dylan walked out carrying a plate of sliced beef and casually replied: “I don’t know where I threw it. If you like it, I’ll buy you ten more online later.” “Let’s just eat. I haven’t eaten all day.” Then he looked at me, and his tone actually carried a hint of grievance: “Someone was throwing a tantrum today. Didn’t buy groceries, didn’t make dinner.” Mia laughed brightly and answered for me: “Oh, you know Harper’s just like that. It’s not like you just met her today.” Dylan grabbed a piece of tripe with his chopsticks, not even looking up: “If she were even half as good as you, I wouldn’t be this exhausted.” Mia hissed, the spicy broth burning her tongue. He immediately followed up: “Oh, by the way, that movie you’ve been wanting to see is out. Want to go watch it?” “Sure!” Mia wiped her mouth with a napkin and turned to me. “Harper, want to come?” Before I could even open my mouth, Dylan answered for me: “Don’t bother with her. Last time we went to a movie, she sulked the entire night.” Last time. He was over an hour late. He showed up when the movie was almost over, sat down, and spent the entire time staring at his phone, texting. When I argued with him about it, he threw a fit and walked out. Mia nudged me with her elbow. “Harper, why is your temper getting worse and worse lately?” I put my chopsticks down. Smack. “My temper has always been exactly like this.” Dylan frowned deeply. “Harper, what is your problem now?” “Mia was nice enough to come over and cook, and she bought all these groceries. Do you have no conscience?” I looked him straight in the eyes. “Dylan, I never eat spicy food.” Mia slapped her forehead. “Oh! I forgot! Harper, I’m so sorry.” Dylan immediately went back to complaining. “Is it really that serious? Why didn’t you just say something earlier?” “I have told you. Many times.” Three years. He couldn’t remember that I didn’t eat spicy food. He couldn’t remember what I was allergic to. He couldn’t remember my birthday. But he remembered every single thing Mia liked. She liked spicy food, so our apartment always smelled of chili oil. She obsessed over a pop star, so he flew across the country with her to see a concert. She wanted to go to Austin, so he took time off work and stayed with her for a week. But during the week I had a 102-degree fever from pneumonia, he didn’t reply to a single message. After I said that, I stood up and walked right out the door. I went to my parents’ house. As soon as I walked through the door, my dad held up his phone and asked me, “Did you throw another fit at Dylan?” “No.” “He just texted me. Said he forgot to go with you to try on wedding dresses and complained a bit.” My dad sighed. “You aren’t a kid anymore. Stop constantly picking fights over trivial things.” My entire body went numb. Dylan’s texts were always faster than my own grievances. He always complained first, played the victim first, and secured his spot on the moral high ground first. He magnified all my flaws and told everyone how incredibly understanding he was for putting up with me. “Dad, I just want to be alone for a bit.” My mom called out from behind me: “So when are you guys finally getting married?!” I didn’t answer. I just walked straight to my childhood bedroom. In this relationship, Dylan was somehow the victim in everyone’s eyes. No one knew what the actual truth was. The next morning, the second I walked into the office, Dylan called. His voice was laced with anger: “Where are you? Weren’t we supposed to go try on wedding dresses today?” Faintly through the receiver, I could hear Mia’s voice: “Dylan, the oatmeal is burning.” I leaned back in my office chair, my tone perfectly calm. “I forgot.” His voice spiked in volume: “Harper, what is that supposed to mean?! Just because I flaked on you a few times, you’re getting revenge on me, is that it?” “You’re still hung up on that stupid bullshit from yesterday? You didn’t listen to a single word of my explanation, did you?!” “I have a meeting to prep for. I’m hanging up.” Before he could finish yelling, I ended the call. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed. Dylan had posted a Facebook status: “Some people are just too spoiled. I specifically took the day off to wait for her for our wedding dress appointment, and she brushes me off with an ‘I forgot.’” “Three years, and she’s still this dramatic.” The attached picture was a screenshot of a text conversation. Dylan: “With Harper’s temper, no one else could possibly tolerate her but me.” Mia: “It’s okay, don’t be mad. Harper is just like that. She might actually be busy. I’ll go with you to order your tuxedo.” Dylan: “Having a best friend as good as you is her greatest blessing.” Mia: [Cute meme] “She’s just like that. Don’t be mad.” The comment section exploded instantly. Dylan’s cousin: “What is Harper throwing a tantrum over now? You can’t keep indulging her like this.” His buddy: “My future sister-in-law is a literal powder keg, living up to her reputation. Mia is so great. If you two were together, I bet you’d be insanely happy.” Mia liked the comment and replied with a shy emoji. Dylan replied with a sighing emoji. That evening after work, Dylan rarely came to pick me up, but today he was parked outside. On the passenger seat sat Mia’s favorite plush toy, and in the cup holder was a half-empty iced coffee. “Get in.” I didn’t move. He gave me a light shove. “What are you staring at?” His gaze swept over the plush toy, and he sighed, his tone saturated with impatience: “Here we go again, right?” I shook my head. “Let’s break up.” His face instantly darkened. “Are you ever going to drop this?! Just because Mia and I are a little close? Just because I complained about you a little bit?!” I looked at him. “You think that was just complaining?” I asked. “You two, a single man and a single woman, staying out all night together. Where you went, what you did—I knew absolutely nothing.” He scoffed. “Mia and I are completely innocent. How many times do I have to explain it to you?” I let out a dry laugh. “Right. Completely innocent.” He immediately pulled out his phone and started typing a message right in front of me. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of that familiar chat window— “Harper is threatening to break up with me again.” I reached out and lunged for the phone. He dodged backward. I threw myself at him, grabbed the phone, and with every ounce of strength in my body, smashed it into the concrete. The moment the screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, I heard my own voice breaking along with it: “Who the hell is Mia to you?! You report every single thing to her?!” “Are you just complaining, or are you desperately searching for excuses to talk to her?!” He shoved me violently. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” I was thrown backward, landing hard on my back, my palms scraping painfully against the rough asphalt. I pushed against the ground to stand up, but a sharp, excruciating pain shot through my ankle, and I collapsed back down. Dylan stood a few feet away, holding the phone with the shattered screen. His expression was pure disgust. “You just fell down. You don’t have to sit on the ground and pretend you can’t get up.” I looked down at my ankle, which was already swelling rapidly. No matter what I said, he wouldn’t believe me. In his eyes, I was always just making a scene over nothing. I pulled out my own phone, my fingertips trembling against the screen. “I’ll call 911 myself.” He let out a derisive scoff. His shattered phone buzzed. A message from Mia popped up on the cracked lock screen: “Come home quick. Dinner’s ready.” He yanked the car door open, the engine roared to life, and he dropped one final sentence: “You just sit there and think about what you did.” The taillights disappeared around the corner. I sat on the freezing concrete, the unsent 911 call still on my screen. The security guard from my office building ran over and helped me up. “Miss, your ankle is huge! Where’s your boyfriend?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He sighed. “One look and you can tell he doesn’t care about you at all.” I finally broke down and cried. At the hospital. Torn ligaments. After wrapping my ankle in a cast, the doctor told me to stay off my feet as much as possible. I signed the paperwork alone, paid the bills alone, and hobbled on crutches from the pharmacy to the IV drip area all by myself. It wasn’t like this three years ago. At a party three years ago, he saw me from across the room and pursued me relentlessly, claiming it was love at first sight. Back then, when I had a 102-degree fever, he stayed awake all night watching over me until his eyes were completely bloodshot. Mia had laughed beside us. “His love for you is biological. He can’t escape it.” He prepared twenty-two birthday presents for me, making up for every year from age one to twenty-two. He said he wouldn’t marry anyone but me. He said he would treat me perfectly forever. My phone lit up. Mia sent me a voice memo. I tapped it. Dylan’s voice exploded from the speaker: “Is Harper completely psychotic?! The second she gets emotional, she just smashes things! She shattered my phone without blinking! I’ve put up with her for so long, and I’m so damn tired! Tell me, what is the difference between her and an absolute lunatic?!” Mia’s soft voice coaxed him: “Don’t be mad. I’ll buy you a new one later.” He had gone running to her to complain again. Washing his own hands completely clean, and dumping every ounce of blame onto me. Mia immediately followed up with a text message: “Harper, Dylan is furious. Just swallow your pride and apologize. He talks tough but he has a soft heart, you know that.” I typed back: “Mia, you know exactly how many performances you’ve put on for us over these last few years.” There was a long silence on her end before she replied with a “wronged” emoji. “Harper, what are you talking about? I’ve only ever done what’s best for both of you.” I stared at that line and laughed. What’s best for me—so every time he complained about me, you always gracefully agreed with, “She’s just like that.” What’s best for me—so you kept all those chat logs degrading me, and never deleted a single one. What’s best for me—so you spent three years acting like his surrogate girlfriend, with absolutely zero boundaries. When I got home, I laid out everything that had happened, from beginning to end, for my parents. I pointed to the cast wrapped around my ankle. “Do you still think he’s a good guy now?” My parents were speechless. The person who screams the loudest isn’t always the one in the right. My phone buzzed. Dylan was calling to yell at me: “What the hell did Mia do wrong?! She was just trying to convince us to get back together! When are you going to stop with this passive-aggressive bullshit?! She’s crying so hard right now she’s going to pass out.” I asked, “Are you guys still together right now?” It was the middle of the night. “Obviously,” he said righteously. “She’s actively trying to convince me to apologize to you. Though honestly, you should apologize to Mia first.” “I did nothing wrong, and I’m not apologizing.” “You are completely unreasonable!” He slammed the phone down. My parents, listening to the entire exchange, looked absolutely livid. The next day, I took the day off work. While scrolling through TikTok, I saw a new video Mia had posted. She was wearing the exact wedding dress I had tried on seven times. The camera panned, and Dylan was standing right next to her. “Does it look good?” He smiled adoringly. “You look beautiful in everything.” “Is that all?” she asked, tilting her chin up. Dylan dropped to one knee, pulled a ring from his pocket, and slid it onto her finger. “Are you satisfied now?” She nodded. “Satisfied.” “Put it on my card.” A sales associate could be heard whispering in the background: “She’s so much more decisive than that Ms. Harper from last time. Now this is true love.” I waited for seven appointments, and never got it. She was wearing it now. The video froze on the frame of him kneeling. I paused it. His eyes were full of absolute, willing devotion. It turned out he wasn’t impatient. He wasn’t too busy. He was just those things when it came to me. I couldn’t cry. My eye sockets ached with how dry they were. It felt like I had cried a lifetime’s worth of tears over these past few days. The comments were flooded with “You two are so perfect for each other!” and “Congratulations!” Dylan’s mother liked the video. Mia replied to her: “Waiting for good news!” A week later. I went to Dylan’s apartment to pack my things. Mia walked out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her hair was a messy bedhead, and she was wearing Dylan’s t-shirt. “Harper, what are you doing here?” I opened my suitcase and tossed my important documents in first. “Grabbing my stuff, then I’m leaving.” She leaned against the wardrobe, admiring her freshly manicured nails: “Harper, I don’t want to be mean, but Dylan used to complain to me all the time. He said you were a dead fish in bed. You didn’t know how to do anything. He was never in the mood when he was with you.” I stopped what I was doing. She smiled. “So I spent the last few days teaching him a few things.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “He even told you about that?” Mia tilted her head: “What’s the big deal? It’s just sex. If he doesn’t tell me, who is he supposed to tell? Besides, we’re best friends! Talking about it won’t kill you.” Her eyes were completely filled with provocation. I stood up and sneered. “Am I supposed to thank you?” “Why are you getting mad?” She sighed. “I guess it makes sense. You always had a terrible temper. It’s human nature that he wouldn’t like you.” —It was always like this. Her so-called “mediating” was just pouring gasoline on the fire. Stepping on me, to show him just how amazing she was. I raised my right hand. And slapped her hard across the face. She screamed, her entire body twisting to the side as her forehead slammed into the corner of the wall. At that exact moment, the front door burst open. Dylan charged in and violently shoved me away—my ankle wasn’t fully healed, and I crashed heavily into a cabinet. Pain flared through my spine. “Harper, what the hell are you doing?! What did Mia ever do to you?! She even helped pick out your wedding dress so you and I could just live happily ever after!” I gritted my teeth and roared: “Dylan, why the hell does she get to pick out my wedding dress?!” “What ‘happily ever after’?! I broke up with you days ago!” “The wedding is canceled, and I already wired the engagement money back to your parents!” He was completely stunned. He froze for two seconds, his voice weak: “You wired… the money back?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “526563”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel