Category: English

Dorian Thorne belonged to me for two years. In those two years, he went from an untouchable, elite golden boy to a man who knew exactly how to please me. Our breakup was incredibly messy; the news of him kneeling to win me back caused a massive uproar in our social circle. When we met again, he was my prospective fiancé’s uncle. The corporate marriage between the Kensington and Thorne families was just waiting for his nod. From beginning to end, he only said two words: “Not worthy.” Later, he pinned me against the door, shutting out the desperate calls of my prospective fiancé from the hallway. “Vera, he’s not nearly as fun to play with as I am.” 01 The youngest son of the Thorne family had somehow taken a liking to me. Everyone knew he was pursuing me. My best friend, Blair, advised: “Just give in. He’s totally obedient to you anyway.” Before I could even nod, someone else made the decision for me. The marriage between the Kensingtons and the Thornes was a massive social climb for the Kensingtons. My dad couldn’t have asked for anything better. The two families sat together, chatting enthusiastically. Preston Thorne whispered his confession beside me. “Vera, after we’re married, I’ll listen to you in everything.” My inner annoyance steadily climbed. I suddenly craved a cigarette. Preston was great—gentle, polite, rich, and handsome. But unfortunately, he really wasn’t my type. “Then in the future, I get to be on top every time. Is that okay?” 02 Preston’s face turned incredibly ugly. Right after I said that, someone sat down in the empty seat at the head of the table. The first thing that caught my eye was that pair of pale, long, elegant hands. The mole on his index finger was so familiar it sent a jolt of terror through me. In that split second, panic boiled up from the bottom of my heart. I subconsciously grabbed my phone. But I must have accidentally tapped something. A low, hoarse voice played from the phone’s speaker. “Vera, let me kiss you… breathe first… don’t touch me there.” I stiffly raised my eyes and met the gaze of the man at the head of the table. Honestly, I wanted to die. 03 During that dinner, I couldn’t taste a thing. I had imagined ten thousand ways of reuniting with Dorian. But never like this. That audio came from a video sent in a group chat by a friend—a secretly recorded video from an after-party five years ago. In the video, Dorian was pinned down and kissed by me. His ears were impossibly red. Among my group of rich, idle friends, Dorian was a well-known existence. I loved seeing men cry. In the two years Dorian was with me, he shed quite a few tears. Once, after making him cry, I took a picture, posted it on Instagram, and captioned it: [Such a good boy. I love him so much.] The comments section exploded. Then everyone knew I was keeping a “boy toy.” 6-foot-2, six-pack abs, incredibly obedient, and he only called me “Mistress.” A friend left a harsh comment: [Are you even treating him like a human being? Huh? You absolute psycho!] 04 I am a psycho. I have to admit it. Dorian was with me for two years. In those two years, he went from the highly praised, untouchable elite to someone who was very good at pleasing me. With me, most of the time he didn’t have to suffer financially. But when I went crazy, my methods of tormenting him came one after another. He often had red marks on his wrists from being restrained. His lips often had cuts. Some people did try to stand up for him. A suitor of Dorian’s. His face was so handsome it looked like a top-tier 3D modeler’s most perfect creation. There were quite a few people who liked him. “If you really like Dorian, you shouldn’t treat him this way. “His reputation is going to be completely ruined by someone like you. “I hope you break up with him sooner rather than later.” I sat on the balcony railing, swinging my legs. After hearing her out, I smiled kindly. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Dorian was sitting at the other end of the corridor. His long legs spread apart, his arm resting on the back of the chair, propping up his chin as he looked at me. He radiated an aura of laziness and exhaustion. I swayed my body. In my peripheral vision, he abruptly stood up. That laid-back demeanor vanished completely. If I fell from here, I wouldn’t die, but injuries were unavoidable. He was terrified. “But there’s one thing I need to clarify. “I don’t like Dorian.” The shadows on the ground stretched long. The footsteps rushing toward me suddenly stopped. The setting sun behind Dorian was as red as blood. 05 At this dinner, Dorian only said two words from start to finish: “Not worthy.” My dad’s face looked terrible. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud: “Huh? How are we not worthy?” “Uncle~” I followed Preston’s seniority and called him that: “Preston and I are deeply in love.” The man at the head of the table looked up at me. His face was just too top-tier. My gaze shifted downward, resting on his lips. A very beautiful lip shape, one I had bitten open many times. “Veronica.” Not Vera, but Veronica. Or at the very least, it should have been Ms. Kensington. In the past, no matter how terribly I behaved, he never called me by my full name. I understood him. Dorian was angry. Because of what I just said. Which word in that sentence? Uncle? Preston? Or deeply in love? My hand was grasped by someone; it was Preston. “Uncle.” His voice was gentle: “Vera is straightforward, please don’t be hard on her. She means no harm.” I tried to pull away, but couldn’t. “Preston, let go.” This was said by Dorian. There was no specific tone, but it inexplicably made one’s heart tremble. Preston immediately withdrew his hand. “Grandpa said I’ll be the one to decide if this marriage happens or not. “Ms. Kensington, being deeply in love is useless. You’d be better off figuring out how to convince me.” “Convince you how?” Silence. No answer. The dinner ended abruptly. 06 A long road. The car took a sharp turn into a dark alley. Dorian and I were not heading the same way. When we parted, my dad pushed me into his car. My dad whispered a warning behind me: “No matter what method you use, make him agree.” Preston wanted to tag along. Dorian commanded: “Sit in the passenger seat.” So Preston closed the back door. Just as he walked to the passenger side, the car sped off. A closed-off road, the car stopped at the end of the alley. Dorian’s voice was very low: “Get out.” I reached for the door; it was locked. I frowned: “It’s locked, how am I supposed to get out?” The driver in the front seat unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Me: “…” Only the two of us were left in the car. The person beside me clearly sighed. The next second, a strong force grabbed my waist, forcefully hauling me onto his lap. Dorian’s hand wrapped around my wrist. He pressed my hand against the knot of his tie. In the dim car, his crimson lips parted. “Untie it.” I did as told. “Buttons.” I undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Keep going.” So I rested both hands on his neck. Slowly, inch by inch, moving up to his jawline. Cupping his face, I tilted my head back to look at him. His voice was husky: “Vera, not enough.” I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. Dorian trembled slightly and smiled. “Deeply in love? “Heh, Vera, what are you doing to your prospective fiancé’s uncle right now? Hmm?” I rested my chin on his shoulder and smiled too. “Uncle. “Is this convincing enough? “My dad told me to use every possible method to make you agree.” Between Dorian and me, from the past to the present, I always believed I held the initiative. Even now that he was the future head of the Thorne family. Even though I had gone from being the true heiress to the fake one. However, as time passed, many things were indeed unpredictable. The moment Dorian opened his mouth, I became the passive one. “Want to be Mrs. Thorne? “Vera, be mine.” 07 At night, I sat in the study. On the desk lay an old relationship contract. The phone next to it kept vibrating. Calls were pouring in. From my dad, my mom, Blair, and Preston. I opened the first page of the contract. In the Party B column, the name “Dorian Thorne” was eye-catching. After a long while, I called Blair back. The topic cut straight to the point. She spoke first: “Did it work?” “No, Blair. Dorian is back.” She didn’t care: “Oh, and then? You still miss him and want to get back with your ex? “Wake up, sis. Men are never as important as your career.” I chuckled softly: “They both have the last name Thorne, what do you think?” Finally, the other end of the line went silent. “Why have I never heard of him in the news about the Thorne Corporation?” “I don’t know. I only found out today that he’s the Thorne heir.” I asked: “In the past, was I…” “Vera, run. I have a little money, I can support you.” “Was I… really that terrible back then?” Blair cursed: “What do you think? You absolute psycho! And he’s a psycho too! Being tortured like that and still not leaving.” “He was just…” I rubbed my nose guiltily. “You put a dog collar with a bell on him. You only allowed him to wear bespoke suits from that one specific brand because you thought he looked best kneeling in them. You should burn incense thanking God he’s not retaliating against you right now.” Me: “…” Put that way. The days back then were quite wild. 08 When I was 20, Dorian and I signed a relationship contract. No other reason. We both got what we needed. That year, the long-lost biological daughter of the Kensington family was found. Many things that belonged to me were subtly being transferred to her name. The sense of loss made me irritable. As for Dorian. He had a very rare condition—touch starvation. Not only that, his skin was allergic to others’ touch. When I met him, it was so severe he relied on medication every day to control it. I was his exception. How much of a psycho was I, exactly? Dorian was a year older than me, but he had to call me “Mistress.” When kissing him, I liked to bite his lip until it bled. Usually, when it was over, he would remain expressionless, raising a hand to wipe the blood off his lips. “It doesn’t hurt. I like it a lot.” This was my demand; I needed him to provide me with good emotional value. No matter how much it hurt, he had to endure it. When his symptoms flared up, he knelt on the expensive suit I bought him. With his hands tied behind his back, eyes red, begging me. “Please, help me.” I sat leisurely, my posture noble, the tip of my stiletto lifting his chin. “Hmm? How should I help?” “Hold my hand, or… anything… just physical contact…” Just as he was about to break down, I leaned over and cupped his face. Dorian’s body trembled, his jawline taut. The symptoms eased, but clearly not enough. “Vera…” I shook my head: “Wrong.” “Mistress…” I pushed further: “Dorian, you know what I like.” So he looked at me. After a long time, his eyes reddened, and finally, a tear fell. Finally, I hugged him just as he wished. “So impressive. What are you thinking about to be able to cry so quickly?” I always asked this every time Dorian cried. “Thinking about… the day you won’t want me anymore.” I rested on his shoulder and laughed. “What a great actor.” 09 The reason for the breakup was also simple. The contract expired. It ended very unpleasantly. He tried to win me back; I refused. That night, I found myself literally handcuffed in a basement. Dorian sat to the side. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent. He didn’t say a word. His face was just too stunning. So much so that my first reaction wasn’t even disgust. “Baby, this is illegal.” Dorian ignored that statement and brought a piece of watermelon to my lips. “Open.” I chewed twice: “It’s a bit bitter.” He chuckled: “So delicate. How can watermelon be bitter.” He put the half-eaten watermelon from my mouth into his own. “Why don’t you untie me? What if you feel sick? If I’m locked up, I can’t help you.” “I can take medicine.” Me: “…” Understood. No room for negotiation. Dorian pinched my chin. Forcing me to look him in the eye. His eyes were bottomless, truly validating that saying. He was too good at acting normally. “Vera, I should have just kept you locked up like this. “From morning till night, handcuffed here. “Pleasing me. Kissing, hugging, doing delightful things, and then I’ll grant you brief moments of freedom.” I shook my head: “I don’t like begging.” “It’s not up to you.” On the third day of being locked up, I hadn’t had a drop of water. Dorian couldn’t pry my mouth open no matter what. “Open your mouth. Otherwise, I’m giving you a nutrient IV.” He sounded fierce. I leaned against his shoulder. My entire body was weak. “Dorian, my stomach hurts.” The “pain” tactic usually only works on those who care about you. Those few words sent Dorian into a panic. He scooped me up and carried me out. His footsteps were frantic. The one thing Dorian hid the worst—was his love for me. Later, Blair came to pick me up, and I didn’t say a word about the details. “What happened to you two?” “Nothing.” “Dorian asked me to pass on a message to you.” “Hmm?” “He said, ‘Ms. Kensington, I hope you have smooth sailing from now on. Don’t ever let yourself fall into my hands one day.’” A prophecy fulfilled. What goes around comes around. 10 Preston was waiting downstairs early the next morning. Overnight, the situation became clear. Dorian gave the nod. The Kensington-Thorne marriage was set in stone. “Vera, you’re amazing. You even managed to persuade my uncle.” I kept my head down. Wondering how to phrase my words to minimize the damage and loss. “I was angry yesterday and told your uncle we were deeply in love. Sorry, actually I…” Preston interrupted me: “My uncle said you’re quite suitable to be a part of the Thorne family.” I paused. “Don’t be in a rush to reject me. Vera, haven’t you been fighting for the Boston Harbor project?” I started looking at Preston seriously. Objectively speaking, as a son-in-law for the Kensingtons, he was the most suitable. Why not Dorian? Because if it came to a capital game, Dorian was completely capable of turning the Kensington Corporation into a mere shell. And Preston wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t. Naturally, my dad preferred him. “How are you going to help me?” “I’ll take you to meet a few people.” I said: “Your condition?” “None. Just casting a brick to attract a jade, trying to win your favor.” I had learned a truth very early on. Resources don’t just flow into your hands because you try your hardest. On the way to the Thorne family’s summer resort. Blair sent me a message. Her intelligence network was always formidable. [Dorian’s exact words: Veronica Kensington is quite suitable to be a part of the Thorne family.] [Does this mean you and Preston are a done deal?] I rubbed my temples: [Dorian’s exact words: Want to be Mrs. Thorne? Be his.] [HOLY SHIT!!!] Three exclamation marks to show her shock: [What are you thinking now?] [Right now, I’m in Preston’s car.] User is typing… A long pause: [That’s so fucking wild. Are you two-timing? [If Dorian finds out you’re secretly meeting Preston…] I replied: [Watch your phrasing. It’s not a secret meeting. Besides, Dorian isn’t that idle.] 11 Dorian was very idle. He was sitting with several executives of the Boston Harbor project. Someone saw me before he did. He sneered. Then instructed the people around him: “Hey, put out your cigarettes.” I knew this guy. Last name Cole, Griffin Cole. I had met him a few times in college with Dorian. His punchable voice rang out: “Put ’em out, put ’em out, or someone’s going to get anxious in a minute.” Only then did Dorian look up. His eyes collided with mine. His index finger tapped the table slowly. He smirked: “You should put them out.” No one listened to Griffin. But as soon as Dorian spoke, the others swiftly extinguished their cigarettes. Preston greeted him. He nodded: “Have you eaten breakfast?” Preston quickly answered: “Yes.” “And Ms. Kensington?” I had stomach issues; I couldn’t go hungry. Preston had picked me up early, so I hadn’t had time for breakfast. “Not yet.” Preston looked apologetic: “I’m so sorry, I forgot. What do you want to eat? I’ll have someone…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Dorian cut him off. “Have someone prepare a bowl of clear broth noodles for Ms. Kensington. No cilantro, a soft-boiled egg, and extra greens.” Griffin scoffed: “How many years has it been? You still remember?” A simple, brief exchange. No matter how dense Preston was, he should have understood by now. In today’s gathering, the one casting a brick to attract jade was someone else. All sorts of clumsy tricks. Luring me into the trap. “It truly is hard to forget. Unlike some people… completely heartless.” Me: “…” The Boston Harbor project was worth billions. Dorian offered a springboard. There was no reason for me not to jump. I chatted with Griffin and the others from morning till night. When the contract was signed, I breathed a sigh of relief. Griffin looked at me with admiration: “Ms. Kensington, you’ve got skills.” “You flatter me, Director Cole.” Another person changed the subject. “I heard the Kensingtons and Thornes are arranging a marriage. With Preston Thorne?” Griffin laughed heartily: “Ms. Kensington is highly ambitious; Preston probably isn’t a match for her.” “Then who else in the Thorne family is around Ms. Kensington’s age and is a good match?” Griffin raised an eyebrow, deciding not to answer for me this time. “Dorian.” You could hear a pin drop in the room. I repeated: “Dorian Thorne.” 12 I heard a similar conversation again that night. I swear. I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. I was dozing on the balcony. The heavy curtains hid me. The door opened outside. Dorian and Preston’s voices drifted in. “Uncle, you used me.” Dorian’s voice was cold: “Hardly.” I peeked through the gap in the curtains. I decided not to make a sound for now. “You clearly knew I liked her, and the Kensington family preferred me.” “Does it matter?” Dorian narrowed his eyes: “You even need my approval to marry her.” That was brutal. In my line of sight, Preston swayed on his feet. “Besides…” Dorian paused. He turned his head and glanced toward the balcony. Fine. He knew I was here. “Besides, I like her quite a bit too.” Dorian finished his sentence: “Preston, what do you have to compete with? “Vera securing the Boston Harbor project was seventy percent skill and thirty percent favor. Do you think Griffin Cole gave that favor because of you?” Every word pierced the heart. Preston was left speechless. Dorian’s move was ruthless. Killing two birds with one stone. Taking down Preston and striking at me. “Veronica is ambitious, and I have power and influence. We’re a match made in heaven.” Me: “…” I was just about to speak up. An audio recording echoed in the empty room. It was a past interview of mine. A deleted segment. The host asked: “Ms. Kensington, you’re successful in business, what about your love life?” “I have no expectations for romance.” “Not even when you were younger?” How did I answer back then? I said: “No.” “But I heard Ms. Kensington dated in college.” After a long pause, I opened my mouth: “Just playing around.”

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My boyfriend sent my roommate a selfie. He didn’t know that her laptop was hooked up to the big screen in the college auditorium. The entire audience got a front-row seat to the photo. My classmates told me they’d stick by my side and help me put on the ultimate revenge show. 01 For tonight’s campus talent show, I was on music duty, but my laptop suddenly died. In a panic, I sprinted back to the dorm, grabbed my roommate’s MacBook, and made a mad dash back to the auditorium. Because I had helped this roommate submit assignments before, I knew her password. Once I logged in, I saw her Mac Messages app was still open. The host was supposed to go on stage in one minute. She was giving me desperate looks, so in my frantic rush, I quickly connected the projector and loaded up the slides. Just as everything was ready and I was about to close out my roommate’s messages, a new text popped up. The sender was Carter Hayes, my boyfriend. My hand trembled, and muscle memory made me click the chat window. “When are you getting here? I’m itching to see you.” Our college wasn’t massive; everyone pretty much knew everyone. At that exact moment, the chat box was projected clearly onto the giant screen. The previously noisy, buzzing auditorium instantly went dead silent. The host stood frozen on the sidelines, completely forgetting to walk on stage. My roommate’s reply synced to the big screen in real-time. “I’ll be there soon, what’s the rush?” “I’m dying to see you, babe.” “Chloe won’t find out, right?” “Nah, she’s got her drama club performance tonight.” The entire audience turned to look at me with overwhelming pity. Pretty much everyone knew me. They knew I was Chloe, the unlucky girlfriend in question. Immediately, the laptop chimed again. Carter sent a photo. In the picture, he looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. His hair was still dripping wet, and he was flexing in the mirror with a smarmy “I know you can’t resist this” smirk on his face. On the massive projector screen, every single detail was blown up for the world to see. How should I put it… the audience’s gaze somehow grew even more pitiful. I stood completely still, a tidal wave of shock and rage rising higher and higher in my chest. Carter and I had been dating for a long time. Just last week, I went to his house for dinner and met his parents. His parents owned a small local business. To my face, they kept praising me for being smart and capable. But when his mom pulled Carter into the kitchen to whisper, I overheard her. “This Chloe girl is too ambitious. She’s got a stubborn streak. Might be hard to keep her in line later on.” It wasn’t until Carter mentioned that my family was going to buy us a house in cash that his mom’s tone finally softened: “Well, that’s good then. Just make sure your name gets put on the deed. And remember, the man is the head of the household. You have to make sure you keep her on a tight leash.” That conversation had been a thorn in my side ever since it happened. I had planned to sit down and have a serious talk with Carter about it, but I never expected he’d already be actively looking for his next target. The host standing off to the side was Zoey Miller, my absolute best friend. After a moment of silence, Zoey walked out onto the stage. She tossed her cue cards aside and brought the microphone to her lips: “First of all, thank you all for coming. “Tonight’s event was supposed to be a play carefully put together by our drama club. But given the… technical difficulties we just witnessed, I’m afraid the show can’t go on as planned.” A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the crowd, though everyone clearly understood why. “However,” Zoey announced loudly, “we’ve just discovered that real life is way more dramatic than any script. Since you’re all here for a show, why don’t we play one out in reality?” The room was quiet for a split second before erupting into wild applause and whistles. This auditorium full of theater kids was absolutely thrilled by Zoey’s proposal. “Don’t worry, Chloe!” “We’ll help you get payback!” “Let’s play this cheating trash and his side piece!” I looked out at the crowd, the warmth in my chest evaporating the chill of betrayal. With so many people standing by my side, I realized I had nothing to be afraid of. 02 My roommate had a thing for Carter. I had sensed it for a long time. Whenever Carter and I went for a walk, we’d magically bump into her. She was always twisting her ankle or feeling faint, begging Carter to walk her to the campus clinic. Back then, Carter barely gave her the time of day. It was obvious he genuinely wasn’t interested. So why the sudden switch to acting like her absolute lapdog? My gut told me there was more to this story. I shared my suspicions with Zoey. By now, Zoey had fully embraced her role as the executive director of this revenge plot, and she immediately started giving out orders. The vanguard consisted of Carter’s three roommates. They were dispatched to gather intel. The three frat guys coordinated perfectly and quickly got results. They noticed that Fall Campus Recruiting was right around the corner, and Carter hadn’t sent out a single resume. So, two of the guys played bad cop. They relentlessly mocked Carter, saying he only ever passed his classes because his girlfriend did his homework, and since he didn’t actually know anything, he probably gave up on job hunting altogether. The third guy played good cop. When Carter was fuming mad, he dragged him out to a college bar for some beers. A few drinks in, Carter took the bait. Tipsy and visibly smug, he leaned in and bragged to his roommate: “Do you know who Mia Evans is? She’s the daughter of the CEO of Apex Innovations!” Mia Evans is my roommate. We happen to share the same last name. The roommate immediately reported this intel back to base. When Zoey and I heard the news, we looked at each other in dead silence. After a long pause, Zoey patted me heavily on the shoulder: “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe… How many times have I told you? Being low-key is fine, but being too low-key is a problem.” “Look at this! Mia isn’t just trying to steal your boyfriend, she’s trying to steal your dad!” Zoey grabbed her phone, ready to figure out a plan to publicly clarify that I was the actual daughter of the Apex Innovations CEO. I thought about it for a second, then reached out and pressed my hand over hers. “Don’t,” I said quietly. “If Mia wants to play the rich heiress so badly, let’s play along. Let’s let her really enjoy the fantasy.” Zoey froze, then caught my drift, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Damn, Chloe. You’re evil. I love it.” 03 Mia had been practically invisible for her first three years of college, but lately, she had become the hottest commodity on campus. Guys were showing up early to lecture halls just to save her a seat, hoping to chat her up between classes. Guys were sliding into her DMs, asking if she wanted to catch a movie, offering to buy the tickets in advance. She started receiving a steady stream of little gifts: anonymous flowers, surprise coffees, expensive snacks. Mia’s ego went straight to her head. She walked into the dorm carrying a massive pile of imported snacks, dropping loud hints: “Ugh, I don’t even know who keeps sending me all this. It’s so annoying, I’m going to get so fat if I eat all this.” One of our other roommates chimed in: “You can share with us! We can all get fat together.” “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly do that,” Mia flatly refused. “These are heartfelt gifts from those sweet boys. If I gave them to someone else, it would break their hearts.” I rolled my eyes so hard internally I practically saw my own brain. Back when Carter was pursuing me, he’d buy me fruit and pastries. Every single time, Mia would insist on “sharing the wealth” and snatch away a huge portion. Funny how she lacked all that empathy back then. Maybe sensing my coldness, Mia deliberately provoked me: “Sigh, Valentine’s Day is coming up. I have no idea how many gifts I’m going to get. I finally understand what a ‘sweet burden’ really is.” “Unlike some people. Even with a boyfriend, they probably won’t get a single thing.” She was clearly banking on the fact that Carter wouldn’t buy me anything, so she was preemptively rubbing it in my face. Normally, I would have clapped back immediately. But for the sake of the upcoming show, I instantly contorted my face into a look of deep, wounded insecurity. “Y-you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I defended Carter with a pale, shaky voice. “Carter was just really stressed with midterms before, so he forgot. He’ll definitely get me something this year.” Mia laughed out loud. “Oh, really?” She was fully expecting to watch me humiliate myself. But to her shock, on Valentine’s Day, Carter actually did give me a gift. And it was way more expensive than anything he’d ever bought me. When I walked back into the dorm wearing the necklace Carter gave me, Mia’s face cycled through shades of red, white, and green. I let out a soft, internal scoff. Mia still didn’t understand men. Or at least, she didn’t understand Carter. She thought that just because they had hooked up, Carter had already chosen her over me. But Carter was far more calculating than Mia realized. Yes, Mia was supposedly the daughter of the Apex Tech CEO, but she hadn’t actually done anything concrete for his career yet. Meanwhile, I was his long-term girlfriend, practically a fiancée, and the actual local girl whose family promised to buy him a house in cash. It made no sense for him to drop me just yet. And because he felt guilty for cheating, even though he skipped gifts in the past, he made damn sure to buy me one this year. I never liked showing off my relationship, but for the sake of dramatic effect, I immediately touched the pendant, putting on my best “I’m the luckiest girl in the world” face, and gushed to the room: “I only mentioned this necklace in passing once, and Carter actually remembered!” “He went to three different mall boutiques just to find it.” My other roommates were absolute Oscar-worthy actors. Every single one of them plastered a look of pure envy on their faces. “Wow, I saw that on TikTok! It’s this year’s exclusive Valentine’s edition, right?” “That’s so expensive! But our Chloe deserves the best.” The roommate assigned to play the “mean girl” stepped up on cue. She shot a sideways glance in Mia’s direction and said snarkily: “Unlike some people, who just get bought off with cheap grocery store candy and a bag of chips.” Mia completely lost her mind. Honestly, a gift is about the thought, regardless of the price tag. But that was a concept Mia’s vanity could never grasp. Deeply stung, she practically tore the dorm door off its hinges as she stormed out. My roommates and I exchanged a look. I casually tossed Carter’s expensive necklace onto my desk, pulled out my phone, and texted Zoey: “Mia just bailed. Knowing her, she’s headed straight to Carter.” Zoey replied instantly: “Copy that!” In the ‘Revenge Alliance’ group chat, Director Zoey pinned an announcement: “Who shares a lecture with Carter right now?” Soon, the boots on the ground reported back with live intel— Carter was sitting in a lecture hall. Mia was spamming his phone with back-to-back calls. Visibly annoyed, Carter slipped out the back door and met Mia in the woods behind the science building. The very first words out of Mia’s mouth were: “Break up with Chloe.” Carter looked frustrated. “Babe, didn’t I tell you? We have to take this slow…” He had probably used that excuse a dozen times by now. Mia cut him off impatiently: “No more taking it slow. Do it tomorrow!” Carter wasn’t happy. He considered himself a big man on campus—handsome, smooth-talking, always popular with the ladies. No girl had ever ordered him around so aggressively. “Mia, you’re crossing a line,” Carter frowned. Of course, Mia wasn’t listening. She had been jealous of me for way too long. The second she thought she had the upper hand, it was ruined by Carter’s Valentine’s gift to me. This was the absolute peak of her humiliation. She had already taken the first step of lying about her identity. Now, we were guiding her right into taking the second step. And exactly as predicted, she took it. “Carter, if you don’t break up with Chloe immediately, I won’t lift a finger to help you during campus recruiting.” Carter’s eyes lit up instantly. He grabbed Mia’s hands: “You agreed to help me? You’ll talk to Mr. Evans and get me straight into the core engineering team?” Mia nodded haughtily. “Obviously. He’s my dad. It’s literally just one sentence from me.” Carter was so thrilled he picked Mia up and spun her around in circles: “Thank you, Mia. Thank you so much.” Listening to the live-streamed audio, a mocking smile crept onto my face. Thank her while you can, Carter. Because soon enough, you’ll be thanking her whole damn family. 04 The next day, Carter came over to dump me. His roommates texted our group chat, letting us know he had left the building. Zoey immediately whipped out a sliced onion and shoved it near my eyes. I was furious. “You don’t trust my crying skills?!” Zoey patted my back. “I trust you, I trust you! You’re the star of the drama club! The problem is Carter is such an idiot, I’m terrified you’ll start laughing in his face…” That made me even madder. “That still means you don’t trust my acting!!” Mid-argument, a knock sounded at the door. I opened it. Carter stood there. “Chloe.” He wore a perfectly calculated look of regret. “I’m here to break up with you.” I snapped into character in less than a second, my face falling into a mask of pure, devastated disbelief. “What? What are you saying?” Behind Carter, Zoey and my roommates were silently giving my performance a standing ovation. “I thought about it a lot, and I just don’t think we’re a good match.” I played the desperate, clinging girlfriend: “Why? We literally just met each other’s parents…” “My family doesn’t think we’re a good fit either.” Carter let out a heavy, solemn sigh. What a textbook manipulator—even while dumping me, he left a breadcrumb. “I still love you, Chloe. But I’m afraid we just don’t have a future. If we don’t end it now, it’ll only hurt more later. So I’d rather be the bad guy and do it today.” You are the bad guy, you pretentious prick. I sobbed and pleaded a bit more. Carter’s heart remained made of stone, so I finally, agonizingly, agreed. I thought he was going to leave, but then he said: “Since that’s settled, I’m going to take back the things I left with you.” He picked up the expensive necklace from my desk and asked: “Where’s the rest of it?” Oh my god. I practically barked out a laugh. This was the first time in my life I’d seen someone refer to gifts they gave as “things I left with you.” Zoey, predicting I might break character, lunged forward and grabbed my face. Her hands still had onion juice on them. The tears started flowing instantly. “Are you really not going to leave me with a single memory of us?” I wept. Seeing me cry so tragically must have softened his ego a little bit. “You can keep this one.” He picked through the pile of gifts and placed something in my hand. I looked down and almost broke character again. It was a cheap, scribbled Christmas card he gave me freshman year. Taking back the expensive jewelry and leaving me his worthless autograph? How generous. Zoey, seeing my mouth twitching into a smile, viciously wiped my face with the onion again. When Carter looked back at me, I was clutching his freshman year Christmas card, tears streaming down my face, sobbing uncontrollably. He definitely walked away thinking: Wow, this girl is so deeply in love with me. Meanwhile, I was thinking: Wow, this onion is incredibly spicy. 05 The second Carter’s footsteps faded, my roommates started tearing him apart. The group chat was blowing up with people raging on my behalf. One roommate argued that I shouldn’t have let him take the gifts back so easily. I couldn’t care less. All the gifts he ever gave me added up to barely a thousand bucks. What I saved was the million-dollar cash payment my family would have blown on his future house. Besides, I had a feeling the upcoming acts of this play would be more than enough to cover the price of admission. After dumping me, Carter’s relationship with Mia didn’t go as smoothly as he planned. Riding the high of having a roster of campus orbiters, Mia started playing hard to get. She dropped hints that she had plenty of options now and didn’t necessarily need Carter. Furious, Carter stormed back to his dorm, grabbed his roommate Liam by the collar, and screamed: “Did you leak Mia’s real identity?! Where else would all these guys be coming from?!” Liam obviously knew the exact truth, but his acting chops were top-tier. He stared back at Carter with wide, innocent eyes. “I didn’t say a damn thing! Think about it man, the source of the rumor is Mia herself. She probably told all those guys to flex on everyone!” Carter had no way to verify it, and he was terrified that pushing Liam too hard would cause him to blab to the whole campus. He just gritted his teeth: “Just keep your mouth shut.” At this point, Carter was already harboring some resentment toward Mia, feeling like she was stringing him along. But since he’d already burned the bridge with me, he swallowed his pride and resorted to aggressively sucking up to her. Carter clearly studied the rom-com male lead playbook. He brought her coffee in the morning, carried her bags in the evening, and even pulled the classic move of giving her a piggyback ride over a puddle on a rainy day. Watching this unfold with the Revenge Alliance chat, we all marveled at how deeply Carter had deluded himself into thinking he was the star of a movie. I have to admit, his handsome face was a pretty good smokescreen. After weeks of relentless rom-com stunts, Mia finally agreed to make it official. They posted a massive photo dump on Instagram to soft-launch the relationship. In every picture, Carter was smiling like he’d won the lottery. He absolutely believed his life as a wealthy, pampered son-in-law was just beginning, and every step from here on out would be bathed in gold. You’re overthinking it, Carter. Right here? This is your peak. Next up, you’re going to find out exactly how deep of a hole you’ve dug for yourself. 06 Carter submitted his resume to Apex Innovations. His interview was scheduled for a week later. That week was the absolute highlight of Mia’s life. Not only was Carter at her beck and call, but our dorm roommates—having “heard” she was the Apex heiress—seemingly betrayed me and flocked to her side. In the past, Mia’s hygiene was terrible. She’d constantly make excuses to skip chore duty, and our Neat-Freak roommate would always tear into her. But now? Neat-Freak completely ignored the mountain of Amazon boxes and takeout bags piling up on Mia’s desk. She even cooed softly: “Mia is a high-class girl. How could she possibly concern herself with trivial things like taking out the trash? Just leave it there.” In the past, Mia slept through lectures, skipped homework, and tried to get our Valedictorian roommate to help her cheat on finals. The Valedictorian used to roll her eyes and look at Mia with blatant disgust. But now? Valedictorian pulled a full 180. She practically bowed to Mia, saying: “Us try-hard scholarship kids only know how to read books. One day, we’ll all just be working for you anyway.” (In the group chat, Neat-Freak told Valedictorian she was overacting and sounded entirely too sarcastic). In the past, Mia loved playing the fragile damsel in distress. Our D1 Athlete roommate couldn’t stand it, constantly telling her to hit the gym instead of trying to fit into that toxic, stick-thin influencer vibe. But now? Athlete praised Mia’s looks daily, insisting that an heiress like Mia was supposed to be pale and fragile, and that’s exactly why boys loved her. Mia was still the exact same Mia. Not a single one of her flaws had changed. Yet, entirely because of her supposed “Dad,” everyone around her completely changed their attitude, treating her like absolute royalty. Shortcuts like that can make anyone lose their mind. Mia completely lost herself. Drowning in endless flattery, she fully sank into the role. Subconsciously, she genuinely started believing she was the daughter of the Apex Tech CEO. This delusion bled into her relationship with Carter. When he nervously asked her if he was guaranteed to pass the interview, Mia boldly declared: “My dad owns the company. You just go in there and say you’re my boyfriend. Who would dare reject you?” Carter was so ecstatic he picked her up and spun her around three times. The day of the Apex Innovations interview finally arrived. Zoey and I got there early and slipped into the building’s security room. Zoey aimed her phone at the CCTV monitors, live-streaming the feed to the group chat. Wearing a crisp, tailored suit and clutching his resume, Carter strutted up to the front desk like he owned the place. While he was signing in, a group of executives walked out from the hallway. Leading the pack was CEO Evans. He was heading out to a meeting. For context, I hadn’t formally introduced Carter to my parents yet. My dad didn’t know him from Adam. But Carter had definitely stalked the company’s website and recognized CEO Evans’s photo. Believing he was finally meeting his future father-in-law, Carter puffed out his chest, desperate to flex his “insider status.” He practically leaped forward and loudly announced: “Good morning, Uncle!” He was so loud that everyone in the lobby turned to look. Seeing the audience, Carter puffed up even more. By pure coincidence, the HR Recruiter scheduled to interview him walked out at that exact moment. Eager to show the HR rep that he had serious connections, Carter smoothly asked CEO Evans: “I hope you’ve been doing well, Uncle. We were thinking about getting together for dinner next week.” CEO Evans: “?” Carter, assuming my dad’s stunned silence was just him rushing to his meeting, quickly played the understanding son-in-law: “I see you’re busy, Uncle. We’ll chat later.” Carter gave a suave smile and turned to head toward the interview rooms. The HR Recruiter, sensing something bizarre, hurried over to my dad: “That’s the intern candidate I’m about to interview. Do you know him, sir?” CEO Evans looked baffled. “Never seen him in my life.” The Recruiter tried to jog his memory: “Based on the way he called you ‘Uncle,’ could he be Chloe’s boyfriend?” “Impossible,” CEO Evans stated flatly. “Chloe just went through a breakup.” Relieved, the HR Recruiter decided to do things strictly by the book. She would evaluate Carter based entirely on his actual merits. Walking into the conference room, the HR rep began the interview. After a few standard behavioral questions, she pivoted to the technical portion. “What is the difference between a mutex and a semaphore?” “Can you explain multi-threading programming?” “Suppose you have a single-threaded standard C application that keeps crashing, but it never crashes in the exact same place. What do you think could be causing this?” Guys, if Carter knew the answers to any of these, would he be spending all his energy trying to marry into a trust fund? So, after ten agonizingly awkward minutes of dead silence, Carter raised his hand, stopping the HR rep from asking the next question. He gestured confidently: “I think you need to take another look at my resume.” The HR rep was entirely confused. “I already reviewed your resume when you applied online.” Giving her a highly suggestive wink, Carter pushed his freshly printed physical resume across the table. “I highly suggest you look at it again.” The HR rep must have been questioning her reality, wondering what massive secret was hiding in this kid’s painfully mediocre resume. But given his immense confidence, she opened the folder. Page one: normal. “Look at page two,” Carter smiled knowingly. The HR rep flipped to the second page. In the security room, Zoey and I let out a scream of laughter. For his second page, Carter had printed out a massive, full-color selfie of him and Mia cuddling. The HR rep stared at the giant, glossy faces of these two college kids, then slowly looked up at Carter. Carter flashed her a blinding, “Now you get it” smile. I am absolutely certain that in her entire professional career, this HR rep had never encountered something so profoundly unhinged. She sat in absolute silence for two full minutes. Finally, maintaining peak professionalism, she told Carter: “I think we can conclude the interview here.” The HR rep just wanted to get this insane person out of her building. But Carter, convinced that the HR rep had finally understood his VIP status and was “fast-tracking” him, stood up and excitedly shook her hand. “Excellent. I look forward to receiving my offer letter. Oh, by the way, the standard entry-level package is around $100k, right? Since it’s me, is there any way we can make a special exception and bump that up?” This time, the HR rep was silent for five full minutes. Zoey and I were laughing so hard in the security room we couldn’t breathe. When we finally left the security room, we bumped right into Carter in the lobby. Carter looked us up and down, a smug smirk twisting his lips. “Here for an interview?” Zoey had been laughing so hard that she hadn’t managed to reset her facial expressions yet. The look on her face screamed ‘I am looking at a clinically insane person’. Carter noticed. His smile dropped into a cold sneer. “You’d better watch your tone with me. Because whether you get hired here or not is entirely up to me.” Zoey scoffed, “Aren’t you just here for an interview too?” Carter sneered, “Do I look like I’m in the same league as you?” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and strutted out the glass doors. Zoey and I watched him leave, sharing a knowing look. Well, the setup was done. It was about time for the climax.

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The day after the locks were changed, I posted a message in the company-wide Slack channel. “If anyone needs a spare key to the penthouse, please come see me directly.” When my phone screen lit up, I was staring blankly at the steaming water in the clawfoot tub, precisely 98 degrees. The message from the intern felt like a needle pressed into my pupil. “Hey Oliver, Serena actually gave me a spare key a few days ago. She said it would make things more efficient.” Efficient? The corner of my mouth twitched. My gaze drifted to the bowl of slow-simmered beef consommé on the nightstand, still radiating a faint warmth. My mind kept looping back to that strand of chestnut hair I’d found caught in the shower drain this morning. Coarse, wavy—entirely different from my own straight, ink-black hair. The mystery of the missing spare key from the entryway console finally had an answer. Last night, when Serena told me she’d lost her set, the sizzle of the steak in the kitchen had drowned out my doubt. She always used the keypad. Now, I realized her casual “I lost them” had been as calculated and light as a feather. I hung my suit jacket on the mahogany valet, watching my shadow stretch long across the hardwood floor. On the brass key rack, the silver fob was indeed gone. … The moment Serena walked through the door, her face was a mask of cold fury. “Oliver, have you lost your mind? What the hell was that message in the Slack channel? Do you have any idea what people are saying about him now?” I set the soup spoon down and looked at her, my gaze unwavering. “Why did you lie to me about losing the keys?” She froze. After a long beat, she exhaled, her voice dropping an octave into a deceptive softness. “Milo is my personal assistant, Oliver. Giving him a key was about logistics, nothing more. I only told you I lost them because I didn’t want you overthinking things. Are you really going to be this reactive?” I was silent for a few seconds. When I spoke, my voice was a raspy ghost of itself. “Should I just give him my set too, then?” “Oliver!” Serena’s voice sharpened, hitting the ceiling. “Milo left the office in tears this afternoon. He’s my employee, period. Can you please stop being so paranoid?” “Then how do you explain the handprints on the glass in the steam shower?” “What handprints?” I grabbed her hand and led her toward the master bath, pointing at the glass partition. But the surface was pristine. Empty. Serena wrenched her hand away, letting out a sharp, mocking breath. “I’m not doing this with you. Don’t let it happen again. Go fix your head.” Ten minutes later, I was removed from the company Slack. A notification popped up on my phone: my position as the “Executive Liaison”—a title she’d given me to justify my presence in her life—had been terminated. The grayed-out group icon and the termination notice felt like two successive slaps across the face. My skin burned. The aroma of the beef consommé drifted from the kitchen, but suddenly, it made my stomach turn. Two thousand, four hundred and eighty-five days. I was still waiting for the marriage certificate she had promised me years ago. Instead, I got a front-row seat to her publicly defending another man. My mind drifted back to the year my father jumped from his office window and my mother vanished into the night. Serena had been the one to hold me, her eyes red with a fierce vow. “Listen to me, Oliver. Even if the whole world turns its back on you, you have me. I can’t be a surgeon anymore, but I can sell the tech. I can build us a home. We’ll have a balcony full of flowers—you’ll plant hydrangeas, I’ll keep the succulents. We’ll have a life. A real one.” Back then, my heart ached with a gratitude so deep it was indistinguishable from love. I couldn’t say no to the woman who had lost the dexterity in her hands—the hands of a prodigy surgeon—saving me from that car wreck. So I stayed. I transformed from a concert pianist with a promising career into her high-end housekeeper, her personal chef, her shadow. Massages, gourmet meals, managing her social calendar—my entire existence was filtered through Serena. My mother hadn’t understood. “Is it worth throwing away your life’s ambition for her?” I had been so certain when I answered. But now, looking at Serena’s beautiful, increasingly distant face under the warm glow of the chandelier, I realized I had been catastrophically wrong. We settled into a cold war. She stopped coming home, though I still had the driver deliver her meals like clockwork. Meanwhile, Milo’s Instagram became a broadcast of my displacement. He posted a photo of the executive lounge door; a pair of black leather slippers sat by the threshold. They weren’t my size, and they certainly weren’t Serena’s style. Then came a photo of a new set of stoneware soup bowls—dark, masculine, nothing like the ones Serena usually preferred. In the photo, they were sharing a meal, their blurred reflections caught in the window, smiling at each other. Milo’s caption read: “Hearty soup with my favorite person. Some vintage relics are just meant to be replaced.” I had spent four hours slow-roasting the bones for that soup. The bowl they’d discarded was part of a set I’d bought her seven years ago for our first anniversary. The comments were a bloodbath of subtext. “Is the CEO finally trading up? This looks like a much better match than the last one.” Serena didn’t argue. She simply “liked” the comment. In the warmth of our living room, with the central heating humming perfectly, I felt a bone-deep chill. It was that casual, effortless “like” that did it. Seven years of giving everything I was, and I was just a “vintage relic” in the eyes of others, and a “previous model” to her. A notification pinged. Milo had tagged me in a post. “Oliver, I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding! I accidentally spilled something on my shirt the other day and had to use your shower. Please don’t be hard on Serena because of me.” “Serena said she’s added my biometrics to the smart-lock system now, so I don’t have to bother you for keys anymore…” followed by a smug emoji. He had every reason to be smug. On the surface, it was an apology. In reality, it was a flag planted in my territory, letting everyone know whose side Serena was on. A mutual friend commented: “Is this an apology or a victory lap? Serena, you’re really letting this slide?” Another replied: “Let it slide? Can’t you see the ‘Mr. CEO’ position is up for grabs?” Serena remained silent in the threads, but under the comment about “replacing the man of the house,” she posted a single smiling face. I stared at the screen until my eyes blurred with a stinging heat. I exited the app, opened the smart-home security settings, and deleted my own fingerprint from the system. I left only hers and his. Serena wanted to swap me out. And frankly, I was tired of being the help. That night, Serena finally came home. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes held a strange, bright intensity. She thrust a vintage leather-bound book of sheet music into my lap. “I told you I’d find this for you. Keep it.” She pushed me gently onto the sofa and sat down at the Steinway in the corner. Her back was to me, her shoulders hunched as she clumsily hunted for the notes with her scarred hands. If this had been a month ago, I would have been like Milo—I would have taken a photo and captioned it: “She’s trying so hard just to make me smile!” But now, I just asked quietly, “When did it start?” The piano went silent. Serena turned around, her brow furrowed into a tight knot. “I explained it. I even humbled myself to apologize. Oliver, what more do you want?” I looked her straight in the eyes. “There’s a pair of men’s slippers in your office. A new bottle of cologne in your gym bag. A high-end gaming console in the guest room. And the drawer in the nightstand? It’s full of a brand of protection we’ve never used. Your closet—” “Enough!” The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by our jagged breathing. Serena stood up after a few seconds. The sheet music was crumpled in her grip, her knuckles white. She looked at me with a cold, condescending disappointment. “Oliver, I’m starting to wonder if your father’s instability was genetic. What’s next? Are you going to threaten to jump off a balcony to guilt me?” “Like your father did when he found out your mother was leaving?” The words hit me like a physical explosion. My heart felt like it had been ripped open. I expected her to argue, to deny, to lie. I never imagined she would reach into my chest and twist the oldest, rawest scar I had. “In the adult world, we don’t say everything out loud. It’s called grace,” she said, her voice icy. “Whatever I do outside this house doesn’t change the fact that you were always going to be the man I married. I ruined my hands for you. I gave up being a surgeon for you. What else could you possibly want?” “Milo using the shower was a lapse in judgment, fine. He apologized. Let it go. Stop acting like a martyr.” The louder she spoke, the more clinical her gaze became. She framed it as if I were the one being unfaithful, the one being unreasonable. I looked at her and realized she wasn’t hiding out of guilt. She was acting out of the absolute certainty that I had nowhere else to go. She believed she owned me because I was “broken” without her. My throat felt constricted. I didn’t say another word. She remembered her ruined hands. She remembered her lost career. But she had conveniently forgotten that I had ruined my own hands too—not in a crash, but in the slow, agonizing death of a thousand chores, tending to her every whim until my technique was a memory. After she retreated to the bedroom, I sat at the piano. I pressed a key, then another. The notes were there, but the soul was gone. Later that night, I heard the front door click. Serena had slipped out. I opened my eyes in the dark. A few minutes later, Milo posted again. Five photos. Each one showed a drone-light display over the city skyline. Together, they spelled out: “SERENA LOVES MILO.” I had seen that same display three years ago. It was the night Serena’s company went public. She had given me the deed to the penthouse and a balcony filled with roses, peonies, and succulents. She had yelled into the night: “I kept my promise, Oliver! I’ll love you forever!” The woman was the same. The recipient had changed. My phone vibrated. A text from my mother. I turned off the phone, pulled my suitcase from under the bed, and began to pack. My clothes went in first. Everything else—the gifts, the mementos—went into the trash. When Serena returned the next morning, she saw the suitcase by the door. She loosened her silk tie, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “And where do you think you’re going?” “On a trip.” “A trip?” She laughed as if I’d told a joke. “You’ve waited on me hand and foot for seven years. You haven’t spent a single night away from this house. You think you can just leave?” “Oliver, if this is some play to make me crawl back to you, it won’t work.” “I don’t think I’m in the wrong here, and I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong with Milo. I’ve supported you for seven years. It’s time you grew up.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t even look at her. I just tucked the suitcase back into the closet for now. It felt light—empty, almost. Just like the house I’d lived in for seven years, and the marriage I’d been waiting for. I thought it was a sanctuary; it was just a cage. Serena nodded, satisfied. “Good. You’re learning.” “Nobody else in this world is going to give you a home like this, Oliver. You should be grateful for what you have.” Her words were cold, punctuated by the faint scent of a strawberry-flavored vape—Milo’s brand—clinging to her hair. My heart gave one last, dull throb of pain. “Just remember, you aren’t that shining star on the stage anymore. You’re just my domestic partner. A man who’s lost his edge. Stay quiet, stay obedient, and I’ll keep taking care of you…” Her voice drifted off as she turned on the shower. I couldn’t hear the rest, but I’d heard enough. I smiled to myself. She didn’t know that my passport and essentials were already in that bag. I wasn’t staying because I was “grateful.” I was staying because my flight wasn’t until the day after tomorrow. The next day, Serena called me—a rarity. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. “The annual gala is tonight. The board and the investors all want to finally meet you.” She let out a small, flirtatious laugh. “Come. Use the opportunity. Propose to me in front of them. Let’s make it official.” My heart skipped a beat, then went flat. No excitement. No joy. But I agreed. Not because I had hope. But because after seven years of giving her my soul, I wanted a definitive ending. That evening, she sent a courier with a gift. A vintage-style leather watch strap and a tailored black tuxedo. My favorite color. My exact size. A ghost of warmth flickered in my chest. When the double doors of the ballroom opened and I walked toward the center of the room, I froze. In the center of the gala floor, on a platform draped in white orchids, stood Serena. She was wearing a stunning black diamond-encrusted gown and a sapphire pendant. And Milo was there, down on one knee, holding a ring box. The flashes of the cameras were blinding. The roar of congratulations felt like a tidal wave crashing over me. I should have been devastated. But I wasn’t. I just felt a profound sense of “of course.” Seeing me, Serena stepped off the platform and hurried over. She kept her voice low, urgent. “This proposal is just for show, Oliver. It’s for Milo’s birthday wish. He needs a ‘best man’ to stand with him for the photos. Just play along for tonight. I’ll explain everything when we get home.” She didn’t even realize how insane she sounded. She shoved me toward the platform, positioning me right next to Milo. And so, I stood there. The actual partner of seven years, forcing a smile for the cameras. I watched the woman I loved take the engagement ring I had picked out months ago and let another man slide it onto her finger. I watched them gaze into each other’s eyes. I watched them embrace and kiss while the room erupted in applause. I had dreamed of this moment. In my dreams, I was the one holding the ring. In reality, I was the prop. During the cocktail hour, Milo followed Serena around with a glass of custom-made ginger-infused water. It was my recipe—the one I’d perfected after dozens of tries to help with her chronic migraines. “You’ll be my ‘Water Man’ forever, won’t you?” she had once joked. Now, she’d given that recipe to him too. “The CEO and Mr. Milo are a match made in heaven,” a guest toasted. “I bet we’ll hear wedding bells and see a baby within a year.” “From your lips to God’s ears,” Serena laughed, raising her glass. Milo looked at me, his grin widening with triumph. He leaned in close under the cover of the noise. “Oliver, the proposal you waited seven years for? I got it with one little lie. You’re just as pathetic as your deadbeat dad. Why don’t you do the world a favor and follow in his footsteps?” His voice was low, but loud enough for Serena to hear. A few guests nearby went silent. Serena just sipped her wine, her eyes darting away, pretending she hadn’t heard a thing. I picked up a glass of red wine from a passing tray. I took a slow sip, then threw the rest of the glass directly into Milo’s smiling face. The room went dead silent. I turned to Serena. “Why did you really bring me here? To be a groomsman? To pass a loyalty test? Or just to be the punchline for your friends?” Serena’s face flushed with anger. “Oliver! I explained this to you! What the hell is wrong with you?” She stepped in front of Milo, shielding him. I didn’t look at her. “Whatever it was, you got what you wanted,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Serena, we’re done.”

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The rules of Truth or Dare have a brutal clarity on the final night of a reality dating show. The loser has to confess the story behind their most cherished gift. It was Janet who turned the spotlight on Parker, her eyes sparkling with a practiced, feline curiosity. She pointed to the faded red silk cord around his wrist—frayed, salt-worn, and looking entirely out of place against his designer watch. “A lucky charm from a secret lover?” she teased, her voice carrying that effortless flirtatiousness that had made her the season’s fan favorite. Every camera lens in the room pivoted. I felt my stomach drop, my fingers instinctively curling around the identical cord hidden beneath my own sleeve. I had spent an entire afternoon on my knees at a secluded chapel three years ago, praying for our future while that cord was blessed. Now, in front of millions of viewers, Parker didn’t even blink. “Just a lucky string my mom got me,” he said, his voice flat. “Nothing special.” As the group erupted into giggles, Parker reached down, untied the knot, and tossed the cord into the overflowing trash can next to the sofa. In the roar of the celebration, my fingertips went ice-cold. That discarded thread was supposed to bind our fates together. It turned out it couldn’t even hold his interest. When my phone buzzed with a new notification, for the first time in seven years, I didn’t check for his name. I tapped ‘send’ on a draft I’d been holding for weeks. And the recipient wasn’t Parker. 1 The production moved to the living area of the beach house. The air was thick with expensive perfume and the lingering scent of tequila. “Janet, you cheated back there,” the host said, wagging a finger. “Truth or Dare means you answer, not ask. That’s three penalty shots for you!” Janet let out a melodic laugh, pressing a hand to her chest as she leaned back. “Oh, I’m a total lightweight. I’ll be under the table. Parker, be a hero and save me?” The rest of the cast groaned in mock protest, but Janet’s eyes were locked on Parker, wide and pleading. It was the “damsel” act she’d perfected since Episode One. Without a word, Parker reached over, took the shot glass from her hand, and knocked it back. The second shot followed. Then the third. He slammed the empty glass onto the marble coffee table with a decisive clack. “Look at Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor,” another contestant smirked. “Confession Night isn’t until tomorrow, Parker. You’re making it a bit obvious, don’t you think?” Parker let out a faint, lopsided smile. “Just helping out a friend. It’s no big deal.” I watched him, a dull ache throbbing behind my ribs. I remembered our college graduation party—how I’d turned down a guy’s confession and the crowd tried to peer-pressure me into drinking. Parker had stood there with a dark scowl, silent. Later, when I’d had a single drink to be polite, he’d spent the rest of the night complaining about the smell of alcohol on my breath. But for Janet, he was a hero. For her, it was “no big deal.” I let out a short, jagged breath of a laugh. Parker’s gaze snapped to me. It was only for a second, but his eyes were hard, carrying a sharp flick of warning. Don’t ruin this, they said. I looked down, my thumb tracing the red cord on my wrist. “Rowan!” I looked up. The host was beaming at me. “Since Parker took the hit for Janet, her question is void. It’s your turn. You’ve been the quiet one all season. Tell us—what’s the most unforgettable gift you’ve ever received?” The room went quiet. Janet was practically draped over Parker’s shoulder now, her silk slip dress sliding dangerously low. Parker’s arm was stretched across the back of the sofa, almost—but not quite—circling her. I stayed silent for a few heartbeats. The bitter taste of irony was heavy on my tongue. “I have a red cord, too,” I said, my voice quiet but steady. “But it wasn’t from my mother.” The cameraman zoomed in. I didn’t look at Parker, but I could feel the air around him stiffen. “I hiked to a chapel in the mountains years ago to get it. It was supposed to ensure a ‘happily ever after’ with the person I loved.” I kept my eyes on the host, ignoring the way Parker’s hand clenched into a fist on his knee. Janet blinked, her expression a mask of manufactured sympathy. “That’s so romantic. So, did you end up with him?” I forced a smile, swallowing the salt in my throat. I looked her right in the eye. “Of course I did.” Parker suddenly broke into a fit of coughing, the veins in his neck bulging. As the others crowded around him with water, he shot me a look of pure venom. The conversation shifted, the laughter filled the room again, and the “quiet moment” was over. During a break in filming, I retreated to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Parker followed me. He used the open refrigerator door to shield us from the cameras, his voice a lethal whisper. “What the hell was that, Rowan?” “I was answering the question, Parker.” “That’s private. We agreed to keep our history out of this show. You’re going to blow everything.” He paused, his jaw tight. “I threw that cord away for the cameras. It’s a performance. Don’t make it more than it is.” I looked at him, really looked at him, and realized he had no idea how much of a stranger he’d become. I remembered the chapel priest telling me the cord only worked if the heart was sincere. I had knelt for four hours until my legs went numb. I thought I was being devout. I was just being a fool. “Parker,” I whispered. “Do you even remember you have a girlfriend?” Before he could answer, Janet’s voice drifted in from the hall. “Parker? Are you done with those fruit platters yet?” Parker’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. “Almost ready, Princess!” The tone was so natural, so intimately playful—a voice he hadn’t used with me in years. He finished rinsing the grapes and pushed past me, his shoulder clipping mine. “We’ll talk tomorrow when the cameras are off,” he muttered. I watched him set the platter down in front of Janet. She picked up a slice of starfruit, took a bite, and made a face. “Ugh, too sour.” Parker naturally reached out, took the half-eaten fruit from her hand, and finished it himself. I finished my water and looked away. It was time for the final segment of the night: The “Ship Highlights.” 2 The production team projected the “High-Sweet Moments” onto a massive screen. This was the part where the audience’s favorite pairings were showcased, and we had to vote on which couple had the most “chemistry.” The winners would get a “Special Privilege” for the final confession night. Parker and Janet’s first date took up the most screen time. They were at an archery range. Parker was standing behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his hands over hers as he helped her draw the bow. His chin was practically resting on her shoulder. “Lift your elbow,” he whispered on screen. “Control your breathing.” The live-stream comments scrolled past in a blur of heart emojis. OMG, this is literally a Rom-Com. Parker is so smooth. He knew exactly what he was doing picking this date! They look like a power couple. Look at that height difference! On screen, Janet let him “teach” her for a few minutes before smirking. She drew the bow back with perfect form and hit the bullseye. Parker looked stunned, stepping back as a look of genuine admiration flooded his face. “You knew how to do this the whole time?” Janet turned around, handing him the bow with a wink. “I had to give you a reason to put your arms around me, didn’t I?” The screen showed Parker’s ears turning bright red. He looked flustered, shy, and completely smitten. My heart felt like it was being scraped by a dull blade. I had only seen that look on him once before—the night of our high school graduation when we’d snuck into the equipment shed for our first real kiss. In the years since, he’d always said we were “adults now” and needed to “be professional” in public. He’d become so obsessed with his image as a rising songwriter that he’d pushed me into the shadows of his life. The comments were losing their minds. Get them a room! Janet is a literal queen of flirting. Parker is toast. Is this Parker’s first love? He looks so innocent! Even the other contestants were nodding along. “Why are we even voting?” one girl joked. “Just give them the privilege card now. Nobody can compete with that.” I sat in the corner of the sofa, a plush throw blanket pulled over my knees, my fingers white-knuckled as I gripped the fabric. Janet was leaning her head on Parker’s shoulder, whispering something that made him chuckle. “Wait, wait,” the host said, trying to maintain some suspense. “We have to see everyone’s clips. The underdog might still surprise us!” As the reels continued, the girl sitting next to me gasped. “You know, I just noticed something. Rowan, you barely have any solo screen time, but in every group shot, your eyes are always on one person.” The room went deathly silent. Parker’s hand, holding a glass of water, froze mid-air. The host leaned in, sensing blood in the water. “They say the eyes don’t lie. Who were you looking at, Rowan? Who’s the secret crush?” Parker was staring at me, his eyes wide with a desperate, silent plea: Don’t you dare. I let out a soft laugh. I let my gaze drift past Parker, past the cameras, to where Gordom was leaning against the far wall, a cup of black coffee in his hand. Gordom was the “dark horse” of the show—a quiet, brilliant architect who mostly stayed out of the drama. The host followed my gaze and let out an “O” of realization. “Oh! So Rowan has had her sights set on the quiet one all along. You’ve just been shy!” Gordom looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine. There was a flicker of something intense and unreadable in his expression. “I thought she liked—” someone started to say, but Parker cut them off by slamming his glass onto the table. The sharp clink made everyone jump. The crew handed out cards and pens. “Time to vote! Write down the couple with the most genuine connection.” I took my card. In my peripheral vision, I saw Parker writing quickly, his pen flying across the paper. I didn’t need to see it to know what name he was writing. The results were announced immediately. Parker and Janet: Seven votes. A clean sweep. “It’s official! Parker and Janet are the nation’s choice!” The room erupted. Janet turned to Parker with a look of triumph, and he didn’t pull away. He looked back at her with an intensity that felt like a physical blow to my chest. I took my blank card—the one where I hadn’t written a single name—folded it twice, and tucked it into my pocket. Nobody noticed. As the cameras cut, I started down the hall toward my room. I heard heavy footsteps behind me. Parker grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the shadows of the alcove under the stairs. “Since when do you have a thing for Gordom?” he hissed. I looked down at his hand on my wrist. “It’s just for the cameras, Parker. Isn’t that what you told me? Why are you so worked up?” 3 A flash of guilt—or maybe just annoyance—crossed Parker’s face. He didn’t let go. “Are you pissed about the vote?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I told you a thousand times, the stuff with Janet is just branding. You saw the comments. The audience eats that shit up. It’s what my label wants.” He stepped closer, looming over me, his breath warm against my skin. Usually, this proximity would make my heart race. Now, I just felt tired. “You don’t have to explain,” I said. “I didn’t say anything on camera. Your ‘brand’ is safe.” I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. “We’ve been together for seven years, Rowan. You know how I feel about you. Why can’t you just trust me for once?” I’d heard that line so many times. He always framed my hurt as a “lack of trust,” making himself the victim of my “insecurity.” But he was the one who threw away the cord. He was the one who drank for Janet. He was the one who had spent six weeks flirting with another woman while I watched from the sidelines. “You’re right,” I said, my voice hollow. “I get it now.” He exhaled, looking relieved. He patted my shoulder as he walked past me. “Good. Just stick to the script.” That night, we were supposed to send our “Heartbeat Texts”—the daily anonymous message to our choice. Out of twenty-one nights, I had sent twenty to Parker. Tonight, the streak ended. The next morning was the final day of filming. The host gathered us in the courtyard. “For our final morning game, we’re doing a classic: Partner Push-ups. The winning pair gets a ‘Special Privilege’ card that could change everything for tonight’s Confession Gala.” The group buzzed with excitement. We all reached into a glass bowl to draw numbered balls for pairings. I was the last to draw. Ball number 3. Parker opened his palm. Ball number 3. The silence that followed was heavy. One of the other guys laughed nervously. “Maybe we should swap? Parker and Rowan haven’t really spent any time together. It’ll be awkward as hell to do partner push-ups.” Janet looked at Parker, a pout forming on her lips. “I don’t care about the rules, but I wonder who Parker would really want to partner with?” Everyone waited. Parker looked at me, his brow furrowed. “Rowan,” he said, his voice low. “Give your ball to Janet.” I looked at the number in my hand. Only last night, he was asking me to “trust his heart.” Now, he was asking me to hand my spot to the woman he was supposedly just “pretending” to like. “It’s just a game,” he added, his voice tinged with impatience. “Don’t take it so seriously.” I looked at him, and for the first time in seven years, the pedestal I’d put him on finally crumbled. He was right. It was just a game. I dropped the ball back into the bowl. “Fine. Take it.” Parker looked stunned for a split second. He probably expected me to put up a fight, to cry, to make a scene. But I was done fighting for a seat at a table where I wasn’t wanted. Suddenly, a hand reached into the bowl and tossed another ball back. “If Rowan is switching, I’m switching too,” Gordom said. He stepped forward, his gaze steady on mine. “Rowan, care to partner with me?” I looked up at him. “I’d love to.” Janet beamed and grabbed Parker’s arm. “Then it’s settled! Let’s go, Parker.” Parker didn’t move. He kept staring at me, his jaw working as if he wanted to scream. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I walked over to Gordom. “You ever done these?” Gordom asked, his voice a warm baritone. “A few times.” “Do you want to be on top or bottom?” Someone in the back coughed. Gordom’s ears turned pink, and he quickly clarified, “I mean—for the weight distribution—” “It’s okay,” I laughed. “You do the work. I want to win.” He nodded. I lay down on the mat, and he positioned himself over me, his arms caging my body. By the twentieth push-up, his face was flushed, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. “If you’re uncomfortable… we can stop,” he whispered, his eyes locked on mine. “No,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I want to win.” From the next mat over, Janet’s giggles punctuated the air. “Slow down, Parker! Save some energy for later.” “Parker, you must work out all the time.” “Parker, do you need me to cheer louder?” Her voice was like a mosquito in my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the edges of the mat. 4 Gordom won. His grey t-shirt was soaked with sweat, but he didn’t look tired. He looked triumphant. The host stepped forward with a flourish. “Gordom and Rowan take the prize! And here is your privilege card: The power to swap any person’s confession target tonight. The chosen person cannot refuse.” Janet’s eyes widened. Parker’s expression went from annoyed to borderline murderous. After the game, we were sent to our separate rooms to write our final confession letters. If a couple successfully “matched” tonight, they would be sent on an all-expenses-paid luxury date. I sat at my vanity, the blank card staring back at me. I didn’t hesitate. I wrote the name and tucked the card away. There was a knock at the door. Parker walked in without waiting. “Rowan, about tonight… please,” he started. “Don’t pick me.” The words were short, but they hit me like a physical weight. I held my breath, waiting for the rest. I knew he’d rented out an entire amusement park for Janet. I’d overheard the producers talking about ten thousand balloons and a diamond necklace hidden inside one of them. “One in ten thousand”—his way of telling Janet she was the only one. “I don’t want you to do anything impulsive,” he continued, his voice grainy. “Once the show is over, we can—” “Parker,” I interrupted, looking him in the eye. “It’s been seven years. Have I ever been impulsive?” He looked at me, a flicker of something like shame in his eyes. “The only impulsive thing I ever did was hike up that mountain for a piece of string,” I said. He was silent for a long time. Then he noticed my bare wrist. “You took it off? The cord?” He seemed to relax, a small, arrogant smile tugging at his lips. “I get it. You’re hurt. But look, after tonight, I’ll take you back to that chapel. We’ll get a new one together.” After tonight. Always after he was done with whatever was more important than me. A producer knocked on the door. “Five minutes to the Gala!” Parker didn’t say another word. He turned and headed downstairs. The courtyard was transformed. Fairy lights dripped from the trees like liquid gold. The host took the stage, looking like he was about to burst with secrets. “Before we begin, the Privilege Card has been played! Let’s see whose fate has been shifted.” All eyes turned to me. My phone buzzed in my pocket—multiple times. I glanced at it under the table. Parker: I told you not to pick me. Why can’t you just listen? Parker: Even if you confess, I’m going to reject you on live TV. Don’t do this to yourself. Parker: Rowan, don’t make a fool of yourself. Don’t ruin my career. I put the phone away and didn’t reply. Janet was the first on stage. She stood in the spotlight with a bouquet of white roses, her gaze fixed on Parker. “Parker, this journey has been a whirlwind,” she said, her voice trembling with just the right amount of scripted emotion. “Meeting you was the highlight of my year.” The audience (the other contestants and crew) cheered. “Say yes! Say yes!” She walked down and handed the flowers to Parker. He took them, his movements mechanical. When it was his turn, he stood at the mic, his eyes scanning the crowd. He looked at me for a split second—a look of pure warning—then turned to Janet. “I came here looking for inspiration,” he said. “And I found something I didn’t expect…” I stopped listening. I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at Gordom. When the applause died down, it was my turn. I walked up the petal-strewn aisle. Parker stood up instinctively, then caught himself and sat back down. I gripped the microphone. “The person I’m choosing tonight is…”

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When May kicked the door open for the third time, flanked by her entourage, I was slowly straightening my collar in front of the mirror. Clifford, the lead counsel for the Sterling Group, spoke first. His voice was as clinical as a scalpel. “Mr. Smith—pardon me, Gavin. This is the third documented instance of marital infidelity.” “The prenuptial agreement is ironclad,” he continued, adjusting his glasses. “You are to leave with nothing. No assets, no alimony, and you are permanently waiving all custodial rights to your son.” May stood behind him. Those eyes, which I once thought held the stars, were now filled with nothing but a toxic, concentrated hatred. “The first time, you claimed she was a stranger. The second time, you played the amnesia card.” “Three strikes, Gavin. What’s the script this time?” She slammed the divorce papers onto the nightstand so hard a spray of ink speckled the mahogany. I didn’t look at her twisted expression. I didn’t care about the predatory clauses in that contract. As my fingers brushed the pen, I felt a sudden, inexplicable lightness. The moment my signature hit the paper, I heard May catch her breath. As I turned to leave, her controlled facade finally shattered into a scream that echoed down the hallway. But it didn’t register. Wasn’t this the ending she had been writing for us all along? … Clifford snatched the papers away before the ink could even dry. As if terrified I’d change my mind, he turned to May with a triumphant nod. “It’s done, May. He signed.” May stared at me, her brow furrowed. I suppose she was waiting for the encore—waiting for me to rip the papers to shreds like the last two times. Waiting for me to drop to my knees, forehead hitting the floor until I bled, sobbing, “Please, for the sake of our son, just believe me one last time!” I calmly capped my pen and set it on the table. “I’ll have my things moved out as soon as possible. As for visitation—” “You don’t deserve to be a father,” she interrupted, her voice dropping to a low, jagged growl. “You will never see him again.” I didn’t look up. I just let out a small, tired laugh. “I was actually going to say… I don’t want them. The visitation rights. You can keep them.” The indifference in May’s eyes flickered. For a split second, she looked unsettled. She couldn’t wrap her head around this sudden “efficiency.” For the last four years, she and our son had been my entire universe. I used to feel a pang in my chest just hearing the boy call Clifford “Uncle T” one too many times. To walk away now, so cleanly—it wasn’t like me. “Pathetic,” she spat, finally finding a way to rationalize my behavior. “You’re throwing away your own flesh and blood for whatever tramp you have waiting outside.” “Tell me, Gavin… was it worth it? All those schemes you used to crawl into my bed, forcing me to have that child—what was it all for if you’re just going to discard him now?” I listened to her, but the urge to defend myself had simply evaporated. The first time she “caught” me in a hotel room, I was catatonic with confusion. I had screamed myself hoarse trying to explain I hadn’t touched anyone. But May was always certain I was obsessed with her. And because the woman I was allegedly with had vanished—leaving nothing but a blurred silhouette on a security feed—May “mercifully” believed me. But she took our son away. I was relegated to once-a-month visits, scheduled a week in advance through Clifford. Every second was supervised. I had to watch Clifford’s smug face while I held my boy. I had to ask permission to buy him clothes or toys. If Clifford didn’t approve, the gifts never made it past the front gate. My mental health spiraled. Then came the second “affair.” I had taken a job to keep my mind busy. On a business trip, I woke up in a haze in a cheap motel. A stranger was lying next to me, watching me with a predatory grin. I called the police myself, but the medical exam showed no signs of assault. To May, that just meant I hadn’t had time to “finish the job.” After that, I was banned from parent-teacher conferences. May told the school Clifford would handle everything. She told me to stay home so I wouldn’t “embarrass the family.” When our son pointed a finger at me and called me a “bad man,” she stood by and said nothing. And now, the third time… I was tired of the game. I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. So why was she asking me why? Clifford stepped closer to her, lowering his voice in a mock-whisper that he intended for me to hear. “May, I’ve seen a lot of deadbeat dads in my career, but I’ve never seen one sign away his rights this eagerly.” “He’s probably been planning this for a while. A kid is just baggage when you’re trying to live a playboy lifestyle. Don’t waste your breath on him.” He glanced at me, a flicker of something dark and heavy in his eyes. I smiled. He seemed to have forgotten… four years ago, he was the one who drafted that absurd “three strikes” prenup with surgical precision. May’s face turned several degrees colder. “You’d better mean it. Don’t come crawling back to my doorstep on your knees.” She turned and swept out of the room. I watched her back, the corners of my mouth twitching. I won’t be back, May. Years ago, to convince myself I was worthy of you, I visited every cathedral and small-town chapel I could find. I prayed until my knees were raw. I traveled five thousand miles on a spiritual pilgrimage just to hear a priest tell me that “love is a destiny, regardless of birthright.” I thought I had found a miracle. It turns out I just found a curse. This time, my knees wouldn’t bend an inch. Clifford looked at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, Gavin, time is money, and I’m sure you have a ‘busy’ night ahead of you. We’ll leave you to it.” The door clicked shut. Silence flooded the room. I looked down at the woman still sleeping off a drug-induced stupor on the bed. A wave of nausea hit my stomach. I had woken up before her; I could have left before they arrived to “catch” me. But I was bored of being the mouse. I had stayed just to end the game. I threw on my coat and walked out without looking back. The next evening, I went back to the house to pack. When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I found it stripped bare. My clothes, my books—everything was gone. The maid wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Sir… your things were moved to the garden shed. Mr. Clifford said… he said the master suite needs to be ready for its new owner immediately.” I let out a dry laugh. Four years of marriage, and I didn’t even get a decent goodbye. I walked to the storage shed in the backyard. It was a graveyard of boxes and plastic bags. I knelt and started digging. Nothing else mattered, except for my mother’s jade bracelet. It was an heirloom passed down through six generations, the only thing in this world that truly belonged to me. Finally, I found it at the very bottom of a crate. I clutched it in my palm, letting out a long, shuddering breath. As I started to gather a few shirts, a high-pitched, mocking voice came from the doorway. “What are you doing?” I turned. Parker stood there, his small frame silhouetted against the light. He looked exactly like May, but he had adopted that same condescending posture as Clifford. “Taking my things,” I said, returning to my packing. Usually, I would have rushed to hug him, even if he pushed me away. This time, I was a hollow shell of calm. “Those aren’t yours.” He walked inside when I didn’t respond, deliberately stepping on a pile of my sweaters. “Uncle T says everything in this house belongs to Mommy. You aren’t allowed to take anything.” I paused. “These are my personal belongings, Parker.” “You bought them with Mommy’s money.” He put his hands behind his back. “Mommy’s money belongs to the Sterlings. Sterlings don’t give things to outsiders.” Outsourcer? I looked up at him. My four-year-old son was looking at me as if I were a common thief. The coldness in his eyes was even sharper than May’s. “I’m taking one thing,” I said, tightening my grip on the bracelet as I stood up. “The rest you can burn for all I care.” “No.” He stepped in front of the door, spreading his arms wide. “You can’t steal from us.” “Parker, move.” “No!” he shouted. “You’re a beggar! A thieving beggar! Uncle T said once you leave, you’re never coming back, and if you touch anything, it’s stealing!” My pulse throbbed in my temples. “I’m saying it one last time. Move.” “No! Give it back!” He lunged at me, grabbing for the red silk pouch in my hand. I instinctively pulled back, and the silk tore. The jade bracelet slid out, hitting the concrete floor with a sickening crack. It shattered into jagged shards. I stood frozen. I remembered the day my mother put it on my wrist. She was so frail then. “Gavin, this has survived six generations. Give it to your daughter one day. Or your son’s wife.” I had no daughter. I would never have a daughter-in-law. All I had was this bracelet. Six generations of history, shattered by my own son. Parker stood there, muttering under his breath, “You should have just let go…” My eyes burned as I looked at him. “I told you… that was all I had left of your grandmother.” “You think she cares? Do you even know why she’s rotting away in that nursing home?” Parker blinked, taking a half-step back. “I don’t have a grandmother. I just know about the old lady who’s a money-pit.” The blood roared in my ears. “Uncle T said so. He said she stays in that fancy room and burns through Mommy’s money, and she’s never going to get better anyway. She’s just a waste of—” “Say that again.” My voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. It was a low, vibrating hum of pure rage. Parker looked startled, but he bit his lip and doubled down. “She’s a money-burning old lady! What are you going to—” I shoved him. He tripped over a box and landed hard on his rear. He stared at me for one shocked second before letting out a blood-curdling scream. “MOMMY! MOMMY!” I stood there, my palm tingling. I looked at my son wailing on the floor, but all I could hear was “money-burning old lady.” That woman was my mother. His grandmother. The woman who, despite being fresh out of surgery, spent weeks hand-knitting him a baby blanket. The woman who, every year on his birthday, had the nurses help her call him just to whisper a blessing. And he called her a waste of money. A sharp piece of jade sliced into my palm. The pain cleared my head. May burst in, saw Parker on the floor, and scooped him up. “Parker! What happened?” Parker buried his face in her neck, sobbing hysterically. “He hit me, Mommy! Make him leave! I want Uncle T!” May looked at me, her eyes flashing with cold disgust. “Gavin, have you lost your mind? Putting your hands on a child?” “I didn’t hit him,” I said quietly. “I pushed him.” “Is there a difference?” I looked down at the broken jade in my hand. “Yes. Hitting him would be an act of a father trying to discipline a child. Pushing him was simply giving him what he deserved.” May stiffened. She looked down at her son. Parker’s cries subsided into a smug mumble. “I was just telling the truth… Uncle T said that old lady is just burning Mommy’s cash…” May pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s a child, Gavin. Don’t be so sensitive. Clifford manages our family’s finances; he was likely discussing fiscal realities, and the boy overheard. Don’t make this a moral crusade.” “Clifford does so much for this family. You wouldn’t understand the pressure he’s under.” She caught sight of the shattered bracelet in my hand. For a fleeting second, her voice softened. “Look, I brought Parker here today so we could talk. But the divorce… let’s not tell him just yet. I don’t want to affect his development.” I knew what she meant. She wanted me to play the part of the disgraced ghost until she was ready to announce her “new” family. I didn’t say a word. Talk? About what? In four years, the total time she and my son had spent talking to me didn’t equal half the time she spent with Clifford. It was May who had pursued me in college. She was the one who broke down my walls, making me believe in a “possibility” that everyone said was impossible. I had prayed for a miracle, and I thought I got one. Now I realized the miracle was a mirage. My mother was waiting for me. I picked up my bag and walked out of the shed. In the living room, Clifford was kneeling in front of Parker, whispering something to soothe him. I walked past them like they were ghosts. Behind me, Parker wailed again. “The bad man is ignoring me!” He stamped his feet, furious. He was used to me groveling after he threw a tantrum. He was used to me saying, “Don’t be mad, Parker. Daddy’s sorry.” When I didn’t even give him a glance, his world tilted. May’s voice cracked like a whip. “Stop right there!” I stopped. “Come here and apologize to Parker,” she commanded. “You scared him.” I paused. I realized this might be the last time I’d ever see them. I didn’t have the energy to fight. I walked over and knelt down. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking her in the eye one last time. “I shouldn’t have pushed him.” Parker sniffled, then suddenly spat directly into my face. The glob of saliva slid down my cheek. “Dirty man,” he chirped in his sweet, childish voice. “You deserve it.” May watched with icy indifference. “Even a child can see through your disgusting behavior, Gavin. Your affairs have consequences.” I slowly wiped the spit from my face. I started to laugh. “My affairs?” The setups were so clumsy, so transparent—did she really not see the holes? Or did she just choose not to? “May, for four years, you and Clifford have been a couple in everything but name. You even sent my son to stay at his house. Who’s really the one stepping out here? We’re getting divorced. Can we at least stop lying to ourselves?” Clifford’s face went pale. His eyes welled with performative tears. “Gavin, how could you say something so cruel? May, I…” “Gavin, enough!” May’s gaze burned into me. “You want to talk about being ‘unfaithful’? Fine. Since you’re so convinced we’re ‘dirty’—” She stepped toward me, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the bedroom. “I’ll show you what dirty actually looks like.” She threw me onto the floor and used one of my own ties to bind my wrists. Then she turned, grabbed Clifford by his lapels, and pulled him close to her ear. “Do you want me?” she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. Clifford hesitated for a heartbeat before wrapping his arms around her. “May, I’ve waited a lifetime for this…” They began to lose themselves in each other, clothes hitting the floor. I bit my lip until I tasted copper. “May, we’re getting divorced. You can do this whenever you want. Why do you have to humiliate me like this?” She stopped, her hand gripping my chin. “Humiliate you? Gavin, you think you still have enough dignity left to be humiliated?” “May, honey, don’t let him distract you…” Clifford murmured, breathing against her neck. She let go of me and sank back into his embrace. I closed my eyes, silent tears tracking through the dust on my face. Then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a call from the nursing home. I struggled against my bonds to reach it. When I finally pressed ‘accept,’ it wasn’t my mother’s voice. It was a nurse, her voice trembling. “Mr. Smith? You need to get here immediately. Your mother… she found out about the divorce. She thinks she’s a burden to you. She’s on the roof—” “What?” “She said—” The line went dead with a burst of static. My brain exploded. “May!” I screamed. “Something’s wrong with my mother! Let me go! Please, just let me go!” She glanced back at me, a mocking smile on her lips. “Trying to use the ‘dying mother’ card again, Gavin? I told you, I’m watching the show. You stay put.” “I’m not lying! The hospital called! She found out about the divorce and she’s—” “Enough.” She stood up. “The ink isn’t even dry on the papers. How could she possibly know? You probably told her yourself just to trigger another crisis. It’s your own fault.” She turned back to Clifford. I lunged toward the door, my wrists screaming against the tie. “May! She saved your life! She saved Parker! She took that hit for you three years ago! Please don’t do this!” “Gavin!” She looked at me with pure exhaustion. “Is your mother your hostage? Every time you get caught cheating, it’s either ‘think of the baby’ or ‘remember the accident.’ I’m done.” “I’m not—” I choked on a sob. “This is real. Please…” Clifford wrapped his arms around her waist. “May, everyone knows she only jumped in front of that car to save her grandson. If it had just been you, she wouldn’t have moved a muscle. You’ve already paid her medical bills for years. You’ve done enough.” “Let’s not let him ruin the mood…” The last spark of hesitation in May’s eyes died. I stopped begging. I threw myself at the door, my head slamming into the wood. Blood smeared the white paint. She marched over, grabbed me, and threw me back into the center of the room. “You wanted the truth, Gavin? Here it is. You’re going to watch.” She tore a strip of duct tape and slapped it over my mouth. Then she hauled me up and shoved me into the walk-in closet, locking the door from the outside. The light disappeared. In the darkness, I heard them continue. Again. And again. The next evening, May returned from a gala. She stood in the living room, rubbing her temples, and habitually called out: “Gavin? My head is killing me. Make me some tea.” No one answered. She frowned and turned to the maid. “Where is he?” The maid looked confused. “Ma’am, I was going to ask you. Parker had a fever this morning—102 degrees—and he’s been calling for his father. Also… the hospital called. They said Gavin’s mother jumped last night. The body is at the morgue. No one has come to identify her.” May froze. “What did you say?” A cold realization gripped her heart. “You… you didn’t let him out?” The maid looked blank. “Let him… out of where?” May bolted up the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs. She threw open the closet door—

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I never imagined that the woman I called my sister, the person I shared every secret with, would suddenly cut me out of her life like a tumor. It happened in a flash of cold contempt. She tossed a debit card at me, her voice dripping with a disdain I didn’t recognize, calling it “compensation” for all the years I’d spent “sucking up” to her. I was reeling. I couldn’t wrap my head around what had shifted between us. Then, later that night, in a private VIP suite of the most exclusive club in the city—a club, ironically, owned by my own family—I witnessed a scene that will be burned into my retinas forever. She was on her knees. Someone was shoving her head down, forcing her to buff the shoes of a man who looked like he’d been carved out of pure grease. I lunged forward to pull her up, but she shoved me back so hard I hit the wall. Her eyes were feral, filled with a terrifying malice. “What is wrong with you?” she spat, her voice a jagged blade. “This is a private moment between me and my man! How did a nobody like you even get in here? Are you trying to steal him? Get out! Now!” She screamed at me, physically pushing me toward the door. I wanted to scream back. I wanted to tell her that this club was my birthright, that I hadn’t snuck in—I belonged here. But before I could find my voice, the man in the leather armchair let out a low, oily chuckle. “Since she’s already here,” he said, his eyes raking over me, “why don’t we let her stay?” 1 I had just stepped out of my internship at the firm, still buzzing from a quick call with my brother, when the receptionist handed me an envelope. Inside was a debit card. She told me my best friend, Norah, had left it for me. Confused, I pulled out my phone. I had a message from her sent thirty minutes ago. A single paragraph that made the world tilt on its axis. We’re done. Don’t look for me. Tell Wyatt it’s over, too—I don’t want him anymore. There’s ten thousand dollars on that card. Divide it between the two of you. Consider it a tip for all those years you spent barking at my heels like loyal little dogs. I stood frozen on the sidewalk. Norah was supposed to be my sister-in-law. We were family. How could she just… flip a switch? I thought back to last night. It was our birthday—we shared the same day. Norah had surprised me with a mango cake she’d baked herself. The thing was, Norah was deathly allergic to mangoes. She’d made it because it was my favorite flavor. I remembered the red, itchy hives blooming across her hands and the way my chest had ached with a mix of guilt and overwhelming love. When I started to cry, she’d wiped my tears, laughing and calling me a “forever-child.” We’d made a wish together. Mine was for our friendship to last a lifetime, for her to officially become a part of my family. Hers was for my brother and me to always be happy, healthy, and safe. We’d stayed up late, whispering about double weddings and our future kids being cousins. How does everything die in the span of a single sleep? My head was a chaotic mess. The card in my hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Norah was a scholarship student, a girl who had clawed her way up from nothing. When I first met her at the university, I’d heard the rumors—disabled parents, a brother with severe cerebral palsy. She survived on grit and the meager wages from three different part-time jobs. I remember seeing her for the first time in the corner of the cafeteria. She was wearing a faded, threadbare hoodie, eating plain white rice with a side of the free soup. My heart had broken for her. I started “complaining” that my food tasted terrible, sliding my steak and sides over to her tray every day. She’d looked up at me once, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a fierce, incredible light. From that day on, she became my shadow. She tutored me, held my spot in the library, and looked after me with a devotion I’d never known. Then, a year ago, I was in a horrific car accident. The hospital’s blood bank was low. Norah didn’t hesitate; she gave me everything she had. When the doctors told us I’d suffered kidney failure, she begged them to test her. When they found a match, she pleaded with them to take hers, despite being malnourished and frail. She’d begged the doctors not to tell me, fearing I’d live under the shadow of a debt I could never repay. What she didn’t know was that my family owned the hospital. My parents knew everything the moment the intake forms were signed. We never let on that we knew, but in my heart, I vowed that Norah would never want for anything again. Because of that sacrifice, my brother, Wyatt, had fallen for her. He was moved by her soul, her quiet strength. With my help, they started dating. The call I’d just had with Wyatt? He was planning to propose tonight. The ten thousand on that card… to me, it was pocket change. But for Norah, it was four years of grueling, agonizing savings. I didn’t believe for a second she was walking away because she wanted to. I didn’t believe she’d stopped loving Wyatt. The only logic my panicked brain could find was that she was sick—some terminal diagnosis she didn’t want to burden us with. Terrified, I called Wyatt. He couldn’t reach her either. He was already headed into the city. All these years, I’d followed my parents’ rule: stay low-key. They wanted me to build my own life from the ground up, so no one knew I was the heiress to the Vanderbilt-level fortune of the East Coast. Not even Norah. But in that moment, I didn’t care about the secret. I wanted to find her and tell her that we didn’t care about the burden. We had the money, the resources, the best doctors in the world. Whatever was breaking her, we could fix it together. 2 By the time I reached the VIP suite at The Zenith, the air was thick with the scent of expensive gin and the sound of breaking glass. My stomach did a slow, sickening roll. I checked the room number my assistant had pinged me and pushed the door ajar. The sight inside turned my blood into ice. Norah was there, but she wasn’t the girl I knew. She was wearing a crimson, low-cut dress that looked cheap and desperate. Her makeup was heavy, almost theatrical. She was being held down on the floor by another woman—one of the club’s regulars, a girl named Crystal. In front of them sat a man who looked like a thumb in a suit. He was short, morbidly obese, and radiated a kind of oily cruelty that made my skin crawl. That was Silas Dickson. “Mr. Dickson, I told her to just lick the scuff off your shoe, but she’s acting like she’s too good for you,” Crystal purred, shoving Norah’s face closer to the floor. “Clearly, she doesn’t respect your position.” Dickson’s face turned a mottled purple. He grabbed Norah by the hair and slammed her head against the glass coffee table. The glass cracked. Blood began to bloom on Norah’s forehead, stark and terrifying against her pale skin. “I’m the only reason you’re making a cent in this city, bitch,” he growled. “Lick the shoe. Now.” Even with blood streaming down her face, Norah crawled forward. “Mr. Dickson, please. I’ll drink. I’ll sing. Just… don’t make me do that.” He kicked her back, the force snapping the delicate chain around her neck. Norah lunged for the necklace, her eyes wide with panic. But Crystal snatched it first. “Oh, look at this. I thought I’d lost my necklace. This little whore must have stolen it.” “Give it back!” Norah screamed, her voice breaking. “That’s mine!” I recognized it instantly. It was the birthday gift I’d given her last night. Knowing she’d refuse anything obviously expensive, I’d had our family’s jewelry team design a custom piece—understated, no brand name, but made of the rarest platinum and diamonds. It was one of a kind. Crystal, who had spent enough time around wealth to recognize quality, knew it was worth a fortune. She leaned into Dickson’s chest. “She’s been here two days and she’s already stealing, Silas. You have to teach her a lesson.” Dickson loved the “pure” types. He loved breaking them. The more Norah fought, the more he wanted to crush her under his heel. Norah was sobbing now, a mix of blood and tears masking her face. She knelt, her forehead touching the carpet. “I’ll do it. I’ll lick the shoes. Just please, give me back the necklace. My sister gave it to me. It’s… it’s more important than my life.” Crystal laughed, crossing her legs. As Norah crawled toward her, Crystal planted her stiletto directly on Norah’s cheek. “I’ve hated your face since the moment you walked in here. Playing the virgin in a place like this? Who do you think you are?” I was shaking, my vision tunneling with rage. I burst into the room and shoved Crystal back with everything I had. “Don’t you dare touch her again!” I stepped in front of Norah, my eyes burning as I stared down everyone in that room. There were at least ten people, all of them frozen in shock at my intrusion. Norah’s face went white. After a flash of pure terror for me, her expression hardened into a mask of disgust. “This is a high-end club, Cassidy. How did a loser like you sneak in? Get out. I can’t stand the sight of you.” I stared at her, stunned. “Norah, talk to me. What is happening? Whatever trouble you’re in, I can fix it. I promise.” The room erupted in cruel snickers. Norah started shoving me toward the door. “I’m in trouble because of you! You’re getting in the way of me making real money. If you want to help, then leave! Go!” I stumbled back, but I heard the desperation in her voice. She wasn’t angry; she was trying to shield me. She was trying to get me out of the line of fire. I grabbed her hand. I was seconds away from telling her that my brother owned this entire building, that he was on his way, and that I could make everyone in this room disappear from the social fabric of this city with a single phone call. But then, Dickson’s voice drawled out, “Norah, is this the sister you mentioned? Since she’s here, it would be rude not to have a drink.” 3 Norah swayed, her face turning the color of ash. “Mr. Dickson, she’s just a kid. She’s annoying and has a terrible attitude. I’ll drink with you. Anything you want, as much as you want.” Dickson just arched an oily eyebrow and waited. Without a second thought, Norah grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the table and began to chug. She only had one kidney. Alcohol was poison to her. This much, this fast—it could kill her. I tried to grab the bottle, but she swung an arm to ward me off. “You don’t get a drop of this, Cassidy. This is top-shelf stuff. Way out of your league.” She was still standing between me and Dickson, a human shield. My heart felt like it was being shredded. I snatched the bottle and smashed it on the floor. “Stop it! You can’t do this to your body! Norah, talk to me!” “Do what?” she spat. “I’m a girl from the gutters, Cassidy. I finally found a way to the top. Men like Mr. Dickson are my salvation. You? You’re just a broke anchor dragging me down.” “You need to leave,” she whispered, her eyes pleading even as her words remained harsh. “You’re like a leech. It’s disgusting.” It hit me then—the bitter irony. I had kept my wealth a secret to protect her dignity, and now, that same secret was letting her believe she had to sell her soul to save me. Crystal spoke up then, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Honey, didn’t she tell you? Your ‘big sister’ sold herself to this club for three years. All for a hundred thousand dollars. She told the manager her sister was dying and needed the cash for surgery. For the next three years, she’s a dog. If we tell her to eat off the floor, she eats.” Norah didn’t have a sister. Unless… My heart stopped. I looked at her, and the tears were streaming down her face. She squeezed my hand, a silent goodbye. “Cassidy, just go. Please. I’ll get the money. I won’t let you die.” A hundred thousand dollars? That was a month’s allowance. And what surgery? I wasn’t sick. I started to explain, but Dickson was done waiting. He kicked the table over. Three hulking security guards stood up, closing in on us. I felt a cold resolve settle over me. “I’ll pay the hundred thousand. I’ll pay double. I’m taking her with me right now.” I turned to the door, but two men blocked the exit. Their eyes were bright with a sick kind of excitement. Dickson leaned back on the sofa, letting Crystal light his cigar. Through a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, he smirked. “In my world, there are rules, little girl. You broke my bottle, you crashed my party. You think you can just walk out?” My palms were sweating. I knew how these “nouveau riche” types operated. They felt invincible in their small ponds. “I apologize for the disruption,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “Two hundred thousand. Let us go, and you can find ten other girls to entertain you.” I thought I was being reasonable. But I’d made a mistake. I had bruised his ego. Dickson slammed his fist onto the arm of the sofa. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? You think you’ve got more money than me? In this city, I am the money!” I learned later that Dickson was a lottery winner turned slumlord who had been humiliated by old money his entire life. To him, anyone acting superior was a target. He gave a sharp nod. Two men grabbed my arms, pinning me. From a side room, they rolled out a massive, cylindrical glass tank. It was nearly nine feet tall, narrow, and made of thick reinforced acrylic. It looked like a vertical coffin. They started filling it with water. Norah let out a strangled scream. She lunged at Dickson, but a guard kicked her in the stomach, sending her sprawling across the floor. She coughed, gasping for air, but still managed to crawl to his feet, sobbing. “Mr. Dickson, she’s just a child! Please, take me instead! I can hold my breath! Put me in the tank!” 4 Crystal stood over me, grinning. “You’re in for a treat, sweetie. Silas calls this ‘The Golden Three Minutes.’ If you can get out in three minutes, you both walk. If not… well, we seal the lid and watch the show until you stop kicking.” “This is murder!” I screamed. Dickson laughed. “In this zip code, I’m the law.” “Mr. Dickson treats people like you like ants,” Crystal added. “You think you’re special? What, is your family richer than him? Do you have more power? Please.” Dickson checked his watch. “Hurry it up. The Manhattan heavyweights are coming by tonight to talk about the new pier development. I don’t want a mess when they get here.” Crystal’s eyes lit up. “The ones from the Vanderbilt circle? I heard the heir is only here because his little sister is going to school nearby. They say he’d burn the world down for her.” Dickson’s bravado flickered into something like genuine fear. “Exactly. If I want to land that deal, I need to impress them. Crystal, go get that ten-million-dollar vintage watch I won at auction. I want it ready as a gift for the sister if she shows up.” He turned back to me, his face twisting into a sneer. “See that? That’s real royalty. You? You’re just a toy. Throw her in.” I struggled as they lifted me toward the top of the tank. “You’d better let me go! My brother is the man you’re waiting for!” The room went silent for a beat. Then, they erupted into hysterics. “You? The princess of the East Coast?” Dickson doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Then I’m the King of England!” Crystal was laughing so hard she had to lean on the tank. “And I’m the Queen! Come on, ‘Your Highness,’ give us a performance. I’ll make sure to buy plenty of funeral flowers with your ‘royal’ money.” Dickson grabbed a half-full bottle and smashed it against my forehead. “Let’s add some color to the show.” My head rang. The world spun as blood blurred my vision. Splash. The water was ice cold. I gasped, and my lungs burned as I broke the surface. “Start the clock!” someone yelled. I clawed at the sides of the tank, but it was perfectly smooth. There was no grip, no way to climb. The blood from my forehead turned the water into a swirling, pink mist. Through the glass, I saw them. I saw Norah being dragged across the floor, her clothes being torn as she fought them off. She picked up a shard of glass, ready to end her own life to protect her dignity, but they just laughed and kicked her again. I pounded on the glass, my screams turning into a pathetic trail of bubbles. The faces around the tank weren’t human anymore. They were monsters, illuminated by the blue light of the club, grinning at my slow, rhythmic drowning. The three minutes passed. I saw a guard slide the heavy acrylic lid over the top and lock it. Oxygen was a memory. My lungs felt like they were filled with molten lead. My limbs grew heavy, drifting like seaweed in the crimson-tinted water. My vision began to flicker, fading to black. Dickson leaned his face against the glass, his smile a distorted nightmare. “So much for the princess. Toss the body in the alley for the strays.” Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the suite were kicked open. Wyatt strode in, flanked by a wall of men in black suits.

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I’ve had a secret since I was a kid: at a gambling table, I don’t lose. It’s not a streak; it’s a law of nature. This past spring break, my roommates were itching for a thrill. They dragged me to a private, high-stakes club in the desert outskirts of Vegas, certain they could strike it rich. To give them the “joy” of winning, I spent the whole night playing the opposite of my instincts, effectively “feeding” them my own savings, dollar by dollar. But in that final round, I let my focus slip for just a second. In the blink of an eye, the house swept the board. They didn’t just lose the “winnings” I’d funneled to them; they burned through their own cash and ended up deep in the hole with a group of predatory loan sharks. I was about to say, “Don’t worry, I can cover it,” but they turned on me before the words could leave my mouth. They lunged, tied me up tight, and prepared to hand me over to the house to settle their debt. Looking at their twisted, desperate faces, I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “Save your energy. This place wouldn’t dare touch me.” Bella, my roommate, sneered as if I’d lost my mind. She pointed a trembling finger at my nose. “If you hadn’t spaced out, we wouldn’t have lost! You’re the one going to the wolves, not us.” “Once the house takes a few of your fingers as collateral, maybe we can actually go back to campus in one piece!” Watching their greed strip away their humanity was almost comical. They had no idea. This underground gold mine—the very tiles they were standing on—was something I won in a card game years ago. Whether I’d lose a finger remained to be seen. But I knew one thing for certain: by tomorrow, there’d be a few heads on the table serving as the next round’s stakes. … 1 Bella yanked my hair back, forcing my face up to meet her crazed eyes. “Judy, quit acting like you’re already dead!” Her eyes were bloodshot, and her spit hit my cheek. “We just lost five rounds in a row. You blew your cash, and then you blew the money we borrowed! If we don’t hand your ten fingers over to the house today, none of us are getting out of here!” I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey on the hotel carpet, my scalp screaming in protest. But I didn’t struggle. I just looked at her—this girl I’d shared a dorm with for four years. “Bella, did the gambling rot your brain?” I asked, my voice laced with a cold, sharp edge. “Leaving aside the fact that your losses have nothing to do with me, we’re in a high-end establishment. You’re kidnapping someone in a luxury suite. Do you have any idea who runs this territory?” “I don’t give a damn who runs it!” Macy, another roommate, stepped forward and drove her heel into my knee. “Stop trying to scare us with ‘rules’!” “Exactly! We’ve already made the arrangements!” Bella let go of my hair and crossed her arms, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across her face. “I might as well tell you—the man in charge of this whole operation is my uncle.” I arched an eyebrow. “The man in charge?” “That’s right!” Bella looked down at me as if I were a bug. “Everything in this building moves when my uncle says so. Once we hand you over, he’ll take what’s owed in blood, and then he’ll sell whatever’s left of you to some offshore ‘entertainment’ ship. Our debt gets wiped, and we get a nice little finders’ fee to disappear.” I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Bella’s face contorted. “What’s so funny? You finally snap?” “I’m laughing at how pathetic you are.” I shifted my bound wrists, my tone dripping with mockery. “If your uncle was really the King of the Strip, if he really held the keys to this kingdom, would he really need three college girls to pull off a messy kidnapping in a hotel room? He would have had his enforcers snatch me off the floor the moment I stood up.” The room went deathly silent for two seconds. Bella’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. Hitting a nerve felt good. Enraged, she swung her arm back and delivered a heavy slap across my face. “Shut up! You’re just a bitch who doesn’t know when she’s beaten!” The metallic taste of blood blossomed in my mouth. I ran my tongue over my split lip, my eyes going stone cold. “I’m the one out of my depth?” I stared her down. “Fine. What’s his name? This ‘uncle’ of yours.” Bella gritted her teeth. “Write it down for your obituary! His name is Mr. Ray—Ray ‘The Hammer’ Vance!” Ray Vance? I almost lost it again. Just last month, I was sitting in the penthouse office reviewing the monthly HR reports. There was a new hire, a guy who wasn’t even qualified to work the floor, so they stuck him at the service entrance to check IDs. His name was Ray Vance. Mr. Ray? The Hammer? The world is truly teeming with idiots. BANG! The hotel door was kicked open. A middle-aged man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit with a protruding gut sauntered in, followed by four scrawny guys in “Security” shirts. “Uncle Ray! You’re here!” Bella’s face instantly shifted into a fawning mask of adoration as she rushed to meet him. “Here she is! She’s got the looks—she’ll definitely fetch a high price!” When Ray’s eyes landed on my face, he visibly swallowed. “Damn… she’s a premium find.” He crouched in front of me, rubbing his hands together, reaching out to touch my face. I jerked my head back and spat right at him. “Keep your filthy hands off me.” Ray froze. He blinked, then backhanded me across the head. “The bitch has claws!” He stood up and turned to his ‘security’ detail. “Boys, we just hit the jackpot. The Ghost has been in a foul mood lately, looking for some new… amusement. This girl is pure, she’s got fire—exactly his type.” He stepped on my calf, grinding his shoe into the bone. “Tie her tighter! If we deliver her to The Ghost’s bed tonight, we’re set for life!” 2 THUD. Ray kicked me in the stomach. I curled into a ball on the floor, coughing up a bit of red-tinged saliva. “Bella… maybe we shouldn’t kill her…” Macy whispered, shrinking back, covering her eyes. Tiff, the third roommate, was white as a sheet, trembling behind Bella. “Shut up, you cowards!” Bella hissed. I looked up at Bella, offering one final test. “Bella, it’s not too late. Untie me, and I’ll act like this never happened. I’ll pay off your debt. We’ve been friends for four years. Don’t throw your life away over a moment of desperation.” Bella froze for a second. Then, she let out a peal of hysterical laughter. “You’ll pay? With what? You lost your last dime just trying to buy a bottle of water!” She lunged forward, grabbing my chin in a bruising grip. “Judy, it’s because you have money that we’re doing this!” Her face was distorted by years of repressed envy. “Four years, and you were ‘so good’ to us. But why does one of your handbags cost more than my entire tuition? Why do you get to wear designer clothes and never work a shift while we’re out handing out flyers for pennies just to eat? I’m sick of it!” She shoved my head back against the carpet. “When you’re sold and gone, you’ll just be a ‘missing person.’ Your rich parents will come to campus, desperate. And we—your best friends—will be there to cry on their shoulders. They’ll give us ‘thank you’ money for our help, won’t they? Your useless life is finally going to pave the way for ours!” The other two girls seemed ignited by Bella’s venom. The hesitation vanished, replaced by the same ugly greed. They began hurling insults: “Always acting so damn superior! Every time you paid for dinner, you thought you were being nice? It was disgusting!” “I’m so done with the ‘Little Miss Princess’ act. Once you’re in a brothel, your family’s money will be enough to put a down payment on a condo for me downtown!” I lay there, listening to the depths of their malice, and I actually smiled. “Fine,” I whispered. “You chose this.” You can’t save people who are already dead inside. “Enough talk with a corpse!” Ray interrupted, impatient. He grabbed my collar like he was lifting a stray kitten and hauled me up. “If The Ghost wasn’t busy on the floor tonight, do you think we’d be wasting time here?” When Ray mentioned ‘The Ghost,’ his eyes filled with a terrifying, cult-like devotion. “The Ghost is the Reaper of this town! One word from him, and the whole Strip trembles! They say he carved his way to the top with nothing but a blade and a cold heart. Being sent to his bed is the greatest honor you’ll ever have—if you survive the night.” I smiled inwardly. A blade? Yeah, I remember. He was bleeding out in an alley, his insides nearly on the outside, when I found him. I gave him his life back. I groomed him, placed him in the spotlight, and made him the “Reaper” so he could take the bullets meant for me. The whole underworld knew: the legendary Ghost was just a loyal, rabid dog I kept on a very short leash. I let out a cold snort. “Since he’s so terrifying, why don’t you take me to him right now? I want to see if he dares to touch a single hair on my head.” Ray’s face darkened. He delivered another stinging slap. “You don’t even get to speak his name, bitch! Let’s see how much you talk when you’re kneeling at his feet, begging for mercy!” He signaled his men. “Grab her! Straight to the penthouse office!” Two guards grabbed my arms, wrenching them behind my back, and dragged me toward the door. Bella followed close behind, her eyes wide with excitement. “Uncle! Make sure he cuts off a few fingers in front of us!” 3 I was thrown onto the floor of the penthouse office. Two guards held me down against the massive mahogany desk. “Uncle, look!” Bella cried out, pointing to a crystal picture frame on the corner of the desk. Ray strode over and picked it up. Inside was a photo of a young girl in a white sundress. “I knew it!” Ray’s eyes lit up. “I told you he liked them pure. Look—this girl in the photo looks just like this bitch!” I glanced at the frame. It was a photo of me when I was six, taken at a theme park. Of course it looked like me. That idiot actually kept it on his desk. “Not just the photo! Look at the wall!” Macy pointed to a bulletproof glass case behind the desk. Inside were two brass casings stained with dried blood. Ray looked at them with religious awe. “See that? Those are the bullets he took for the business. He’d die for the rules, for this house!” He grabbed my hair again, forcing me to look at the display. “A brat like you, causing trouble here? You’re going to be skinned alive!” My scalp throbbed. But looking at those bullets, I couldn’t help but smirk. “He’d die for the house?” I repeated. Three years ago, a rival syndicate sent a hit squad after me. Kael—the man they called The Ghost—didn’t even have time to draw his gun. He threw himself in front of me and took those two rounds to the chest. “You’re still smiling?!” Ray was losing his mind. My lack of fear was an insult to his reality. I stared at him, my voice steady. “I’m just curious. If he’s such a martyr, where is he? Why hasn’t he shown his face?” “You little whore! You think you’re worthy of his time?” Ray was livid. He pulled a tactical knife from his belt and slapped the cold flat of the blade against my cheek. Bella stepped up, grinding her stiletto into my calf. “Uncle! Stop talking and do it! She was so tough downstairs—cut her thumb off first!” The other roommates crowded around, their faces twisted with anticipation. “Yeah! Do it! Let’s see how she acts then!” Ray hissed, moving the blade to my right thumb. “Consider this a little ‘welcome gift’ for him tonight. Hold her down!” The guards put their full weight on my shoulders. Just as the knife began its downward arc— A low, guttural voice echoed from the doorway. “What exactly are you doing in my office?” 4 Kael stood there, draped in a charcoal-black suit that made him look like a shadow given form. The room froze. The girls, who a second ago were screaming for blood, scrambled back into the corner, their mouths clamped shut. Ray’s bravado evaporated instantly. He transformed into a whimpering poodle, bowing and scraping as he hurried toward Kael. “Sir! I didn’t expect you back so soon!” Kael didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on the desk, though the guards were still blocking his view of me. The lighting was dim, my face obscured by my own hair. “I asked a question,” Kael said, his voice like grinding stones. “What are you doing in here?” Ray gestured wildly toward me, desperate for credit. “Sir, we caught a cheat! A little brat who thinks she can spit on the rules of the house. She’s been insulting your name, acting like she owns the place!” Bella, afraid her uncle would take all the glory, chimed in. “Yes! She’s a fraud, a liar! We were just… cleaning house for you, Sir! Setting an example!” Kael’s brow furrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features. Ray misread the cue. To prove his loyalty, he didn’t even wait for Kael to come closer. He spun back to the desk, raising the knife high above his head. “Don’t you worry, Sir! I won’t let this trash offend your eyes a second longer. I’ll take her hand right now!” The blade caught the light—a cold, silver flash. It came down with everything Ray had. “Die!” Bella shrieked, her eyes wide with malicious joy. CRACK. The sound of bone and steel meeting flesh echoed through the room. A spray of warm, copper-scented liquid hit the mahogany desk. A severed piece of a finger flew off, rolling across the carpet. “AHHHH!” Bella’s triumphant grin turned into a horrific gasp. Ray stood there, his arm trembling, the knife frozen in mid-air. The fawning look on his face was replaced by a terror so deep he looked like he’d seen the devil. Because the blade hadn’t hit my hand. My thumb was untouched. Kael had caught the blade with his bare hand. The force of the strike had been so great that the knife had sliced clean through his own pinky finger. Kael didn’t even look at his mutilated hand. He slowly lifted his head. Those eyes, usually as dead as a winter pond, were now a roaring, bloodshot red. He stared at the shaking Ray Vance and spoke with a terrifying softness: “I took bullets for her… and you thought you could touch her?”

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In preschool, the other kids called me a freak. I didn’t want to be a freak. More than that, I didn’t want to be the reason my mother cried. That day, I finally found the shards of courage I’d been hiding and told her: I didn’t want to play my brother anymore. I even asked her if she could just let him eat me—let the ghost of the boy take what was left. But Mom said I’d already done the eating. She told me I ate him while we were still in her womb. Back then, she’d used the promise of twins—a boy and a girl, the perfect “million-dollar” pregnancy—to marry into a family that lived behind iron gates and sweeping lawns. But when the dust settled, there was only me. A daughter. A consolation prize. My father walked away, leaving her with nothing but a grudge and a name that didn’t belong to her anymore. As punishment, she forced me to live two lives. One week, I wore the wig and the dresses, playing the daughter. The next, she’d take the clippers to my head, buzz it down to the scalp, and I’d become her son. Whenever I faltered, she would unravel. She’d scream that she was supposed to have a pair of kings, but I’d played the hand wrong. She’d ask the air why I was the one who survived. She’d demand I give her son back. During those fits, I would go still. I let her mold me, trim me, erase me. Mom was right, after all. I owed her. I was living on borrowed time, using a heart that should have been shared. 1 Mom’s favorite refrain was that the wrong twin died. If it had been me, she said, she’d still be in that limestone townhouse with the floor-to-ceiling windows, draped in the life she deserved. “It’s because of you—this useless, extra weight—that your father left us,” she’d whisper, the electric hum of the clippers vibrating against my skull. She’d stare at my reflection in the cracked vanity mirror, her grip so tight it felt like she was trying to peel the skin from my head. “Do you have any idea how rich he is?” she’d ask. “His guest house is bigger than this entire roach-infested apartment. If Danny were alive, I’d be sitting on silk right now. Not here. Not like this.” She suddenly yanked a handful of my hair. I winced, my neck snapping back, but I didn’t make a sound. In the mirror, Mom’s eyes were rimmed with a manic red. She wasn’t looking at me; she was looking through me, searching for a ghost. She told me that if I ever stopped being “good,” she’d send me back to the dark place—back to the womb—so Danny could finish what I’d started and take his turn at living. I was terrified of being sent back. I was terrified of losing the only person who looked at me, even if she looked at me with hate. “When I grow up,” I used to tell her, “I’ll get rich. I’ll buy you a house bigger than the one Dad has.” She’d just laugh, a sharp, bitter sound like glass breaking. “Your own father didn’t even want you for free. You’re a deficit, Maisie. You’ll spend your whole life trying to pay back a debt you can’t afford.” Today was a “Danny” day. The razor felt cold, a biting winter against my scalp. My hair couldn’t be longer than a half-inch, or the illusion would shatter. I hated the clippers. I hated the way the tiny, prickly hairs got under my shirt and itched until I bled. But if it kept her sane—if it kept her here—I’d let her shave me bald every day. I thought I could handle it. I really did. Until I started school. Last week, it was a “Maisie” week. I wore a sun-yellow dress with daisies on the hem. The other girls told me my hair looked pretty, and the teacher, Ms. Parker, even braided my wig into tiny, intricate plaits. I felt light. I felt real. But this week, the wig was in its box. I was in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, my buzzed head exposed to the fluorescent lights of the classroom. The other kids stared. “Wait, are you a boy or a girl?” I opened my mouth, but the answer felt like a lead weight. “She was a girl yesterday! Now she looks like a thumb!” a boy named Toby shouted, pointing a sticky finger. “She’s a freak! A half-and-half!” They formed a circle around me. It felt like the walls were closing in, the way Mom said the womb did. “Freak! Freak! Freak!” I tried to push past them, but someone shoved me back. I tripped, my knees skidding across the rough concrete of the playground. Blood blossomed through my skin, hot and stinging. That night, I sobbed into my pillow. I wanted to be like the other girls. I wanted to keep my braids. I didn’t want to be a debt collector for a ghost. But I didn’t have the right to choose. I had eaten my brother. The thought took root in my mind, growing like a dark vine. Give him back. Just give him back, and Mom won’t be sad anymore. I waited until she was mid-shave, the clippers buzzing near my ear. “Mom?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum. “What?” she snapped. “I… I don’t want to be Danny anymore.” 2 The buzzing stopped. Mom’s hand froze in mid-air. She set the clippers down with a deliberate thud, then walked around to face me, crouching so her eyes were level with mine. “What did you just say?” I shivered, but the words I’d practiced in the dark finally spilled out. “Can we… can we just let Danny eat me now?” Mom went perfectly still. Seconds ticked by like hours. She stood up slowly, looking down at me with a terrifying blankness. She blew a few stray hairs off her palm, watching them float down onto my face like gray snow. “Oh,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, lethal chill. “I see. Two days of school and suddenly you’re too good for this? You think you can just stop paying what you owe?” “No,” I said, the words tripping over each other. “I want to give him back to you. Then you can go back to the big house. You can be happy again.” I didn’t tell her the other part—that I was tired of being a freak. It felt too selfish to mention. “Mom, you said it. You said if you sent me back, he’d come back.” I expected her to be relieved. I thought she’d be happy I was finally offering her the one thing she actually wanted. Instead, her eyes turned into chips of flint. “Maisie. Who do you think you’re talking to?” She grabbed my shoulder and spun me back toward the mirror, pressing the clippers against my skin harder than before. It hurt. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You’re just like your father! You’re looking for an exit strategy!” Her voice rose, hitting a jagged, hysterical pitch. “You two ruined my life, and now you want to just skip out on the bill?” Her breathing became ragged, hot against the back of my neck. “You manipulate, you lie… just like him! ‘Oh, poor Danny,’ you say, but you just want to leave me here alone in the dark!” The clippers caught on a stray knot, yanking sharply. I gasped as a stinging heat flared across my scalp. When I reached up, my fingers came away red. Mom saw the blood. She didn’t stop. She just moved the blade to the other side, her strokes faster, more violent. “A useless girl like you doesn’t get to ‘exchange’ herself for a son. I told you—you belong to me for life!” She didn’t stop until the buzzing eventually died out. That night, she sat on the floor and cried until her voice gave out. The next morning, the “Mom” I knew returned. She made oatmeal, dressed me in a boy’s flannel, and walked me to the school gates. But when Ms. Parker saw me, she stopped dead. “Lydia,” the teacher said, reaching out toward the red scab on my head. “What happened here?” Mom swiped her hand away. “She was playing explorer. Fell into a rosebush. You know how clumsy kids are.” Mom’s voice was as smooth as silk. Ms. Parker didn’t look convinced. Her brow stayed furrowed the whole time she watched Mom walk away. Once we were inside, Ms. Parker took me to the “Quiet Corner.” “Maisie,” she whispered, “is there anyone else at home? An aunt? A grandma?” I shook my head. “Just Mom.” Ms. Parker hesitated. “And… is she kind to you, honey?” I blinked. No one had ever asked me that. Was she kind? I thought of the times she brushed my wig so gently I’d almost fall asleep. But I also thought of the bathroom floor, the locked doors, the way her fingernails left crescents in my arms. But those were my fault. I was the one who ate Danny. “Mom is good,” I told her, my voice steady. “She takes care of me.” “Then why the hair, Maisie? Why the clothes?” I looked at the floor. I didn’t want to lie, but the truth felt like a secret language. “I’m paying her back. It’s my turn to be Danny this week. If I do it long enough, maybe he’ll come back for real.” 3 I didn’t look up. I was waiting for her to laugh, or to tell me I was a freak like the boys on the playground did. But she didn’t. She just let out a long, shaky breath and touched the edge of the bandage she’d put over my cut. “Does it hurt?” she asked. I nodded, then shook my head. “A little. But it’s okay. I’m a boy this week. Boys are supposed to be tough.” Ms. Parker’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. She turned away quickly, wiping them with the back of her hand, then turned back with a brittle smile. “You’re very brave, Maisie.” That one sentence kept me warm all afternoon. When the bell rang, Mom was waiting at the fence. Ms. Parker walked me out, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “Lydia, do you have a moment? I’d love to do a quick home visit this evening,” Ms. Parker said. Mom’s face went from neutral to porcelain-white. Then, she snatched my arm, her grip digging into my elbow. “What did you tell her?” Mom hissed, right there in front of everyone. Her nails bit into my skin. “I didn’t say anything!” I cried out. “Don’t lie to me!” “Lydia!” Ms. Parker stepped between us, trying to pry Mom’s hand off. “You’re hurting her!” Mom jerked back, her eyes wide and wild, fixed on me like I was a traitor on a battlefield. “Maisie is a wonderful girl. She didn’t say anything wrong,” the teacher said, her voice dropping into a calm, authoritative tone. “A home visit is standard. I just want to see her environment.” Mom stared at her for a long time. Then, a fake, chilling smile stretched across her lips. “Oh. A visit. Of course.” She patted my head, her hand heavy and stiff. “I thought she’d gotten into trouble. We’d love to have you, Ms. Parker. Excuse the mess.” The walk home was silent. When we got inside, Ms. Parker followed. I watched her eyes sweep over our apartment. It was a museum of “Two.” Two of everything. Two toothbrushes. Two sets of shoes. The most haunting part was the wall with the wardrobes: one painted a soft, dusty rose with princess decals; the other a sharp navy blue with racing cars. Ms. Parker took a sharp breath. “Lydia… isn’t Maisie your only child?” Mom smiled. “This is a private matter, Ms. Parker. You’re here as a teacher, not a therapist.” She glared at me. “Maisie, go to your room.” I turned to go, but Ms. Parker called out. “Wait.” She turned back to Mom, her voice softening, pleading. “I’m trying to help. The kids at school… they’re bullying her. She’s confused, Lydia. And these bruises—” she gently lifted my sleeve to reveal the mottled purple marks on my forearm. “You have to know this isn’t right.” The fake smile on Mom’s face shattered. It didn’t just fall away; it exploded into rage. “And what do you know?” Mom’s voice started to tremble. “My parents died when I was a kid. I clawed my way into a life that mattered! I was carrying twins! Real, beautiful twins!” She pointed a shaking finger at me. “And then this… this thing happened. I’ve sacrificed everything to keep her fed, to keep her clothed. Do you have any idea how hard I work?” She began to scream. The veins in her neck stood out like cords. “I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m the victim here!” I started shaking. “Mom, you’re right. You’re right. It’s my fault.” Mom turned that terrifying gaze on me. “Yes! It is your fault! You’re the one who ruined everything!” 4 “Lydia, stop!” Ms. Parker pulled me into her arms, shielding me. “Do you hear yourself? She’s a baby! She’s five years old!” Mom went feral. She lunged forward, trying to yank me away. “Get your hands off my child! You have no right!” Ms. Parker held on tight, though I could feel her heart hammering against my back. “Lydia, look at me. If you don’t calm down, I am calling the police.” “Call them! Let them take me!” Mom shrieked, collapsing into a heap of hysterical sobs. Seeing her like that broke something inside me. I couldn’t stand her pain. I squirmed out of Ms. Parker’s arms and crawled over to Mom on the floor. “Mom,” I whispered. She looked at me, her face a mask of tears and smeared mascara. “Mom, let Danny eat me. Please. If I go away, you won’t be scared anymore.” Mom stared at me for an eternity. Then, she let out a soft, hallow laugh. “Fine,” she whispered. “Then go die. Go die and give him his turn.” Ms. Parker froze. “You’re sick,” she breathed, her voice thick with horror. “You aren’t a mother. You’re a monster.” Mom didn’t even look at her. She stood up and pointed toward the door. “Get. Out. My house, my rules.” Ms. Parker tried to argue, but Mom shoved her. “Out! Now!” The door slammed shut, the lock clicking with finality. Mom turned back to me, her eyes dead. “Smart girl,” she said quietly. “Found yourself a little protector, did you? You think a teacher can save you from who you are?” “No,” I whispered. “I gave you everything! I sent you to that school so you could be someone! And you use it to turn people against me?” She grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and dragged me into my bedroom, throwing me inside and locking the door from the outside. “Stay in there and think about who really loves you!” I sat on the floor in the dark. I already knew she was the only one who loved me. But I was thinking about what she said. If I died, Danny could come back. There was a way. A real way to pay the debt. I stood up and walked to the window. It was a warm evening. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t even feel brave. I just felt like a check that was finally being cashed. I climbed onto the ledge and let go. The fall was fast. A rush of wind, a blurred world, and then— CRACK. It hurt. For exactly one second, it was the worst pain I had ever known. And then, it was nothing. I felt light. Like a balloon that had finally untied its string. Inside the apartment, I heard Mom screaming. “What was that? Maisie! You better not be breaking things in there! I’m not letting you out until you apologize!” I floated up. I passed through the ceiling and saw her kicking the door. “Mom, I’m not breaking anything!” I shouted. But she couldn’t hear me. She kept kicking until she slumped against the wood, sliding down to the floor. She put her face in her hands and started to sob. I tried to reach out and hug her, but my hands passed right through her shoulders. “Don’t cry, Mom,” I whispered. “Danny’s coming. You’re going to have your son back.” Mom sat there for a while, then wiped her eyes. She knocked on the door softly this time. “Maisie? Come out. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you to think she’s better than me. I’m your mother.” She sounded so small. So fragile. I can’t come out, Mom. I’m gone. Suddenly, a thunderous pounding came from the front door. “Lydia! Open the door!” It was Ms. Parker. Mom groaned and went to open it. Ms. Parker burst in, followed by two police officers. Her face was bloodless, her eyes wide with a terror I’d never seen. “Lydia!” she screamed, grabbing Mom by the shoulders. “Did you push her? Did you push her out the window?” Mom’s jaw dropped. She stood frozen, the world slowing down as the realization began to bleed into her mind. 5 “What… what are you talking about?” Mom’s hand stayed on the doorknob, her body a statue. Her eyes were wide, but they were vacant, like she was listening to a language she didn’t speak. “Maisie fell!” Ms. Parker shrieked, tears streaming down her face. “I was outside on the phone with the police, and I turned around and—” Mom didn’t wait for the rest. She shoved Ms. Parker aside and bolted for the window. We were on the sixth floor. She leaned out so far I thought she might fall too. I floated beside her, looking down. A crowd had gathered around the flowerbed. In the center of the concrete, there was a small shape. A blue t-shirt, khaki shorts. A buzzed head. The limbs were twisted at impossible angles. Beneath it, a dark, velvet red was slowly blooming across the gray pavement. That was me. “No,” Mom whispered. It wasn’t a word; it was a ghost of a sound caught in her throat. She stared at the little body, her eyes unblinking. Then, her bones seemed to turn to water. The officers caught her before she hit the floor. “Ma’am? Ma’am!” Her eyes moved, but they didn’t see the room. She tried to speak, but her voice was gone.

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My eighth attempt at reasoning with the smart lock manufacturer ended in another dead end. Frustrated, I pulled up their official website and fired off a scathing review. “This lock is absolute garbage. The passcode fails in the middle of the night for no reason, and I’m left stranded outside my own home. Save your money!” I hammered the keys, my pulse thrumming with irritation. The company replied almost instantly, hiding behind three sterile-looking inspection reports they attached to the thread. “We’re sorry to hear about your experience, but our products are military-grade and pass a triple-layer quality check before shipping,” they wrote, the digital equivalent of a shrug. I was ready to tear into them again when a notification popped up. A new comment from a user with a blank black avatar. “Are you sure it’s the lock? Maybe your husband is changing the code on purpose. He could be hiding someone in there while you’re at work.” I actually snorted at the screen. Hiding someone? My husband, Patrick, was the Chief of Neurosurgery. He spent twenty hours a day at the hospital, barely finding time to come home himself, let alone host a guest. “My husband works enough overtime to qualify for a cot in the ER. He barely has time to see me, let alone anyone else,” I shot back. A few minutes passed. Then, the black avatar replied again. “Honey, you don’t have to hide someone in your own apartment. Have you checked the floors above or below you?” The words hit me like a physical chill. My fingers felt heavy as I instinctively opened the tracking app on my phone to check Patrick’s location. On the screen, the little red dot representing his phone pulsed. It showed him exactly six meters away from me. 1 I’d set up the location sharing years ago during a hiking trip in the Tetons, and Patrick had likely forgotten it even existed. I stared at that red dot until my eyes burned. My mind was a complete blank. Patrick and I were the “it” couple—college sweethearts who actually made it. Six years of dating, three years of marriage. For nine years, he’d carried me on a pedestal. He’d come home from a double shift and still insist on doing the laundry or vacuuming just so I could rest. On his rare days off, he’d spend the afternoon at the farmer’s market, picking out the best ingredients to make me honey-glazed ribs or garlic butter shrimp. I would have believed in ghosts before I believed Patrick was capable of infidelity. He was obsessed with me. Why would he go through the elaborate trouble of resetting our door codes just to sneak around? But the red dot kept blinking. According to the map, he was in our building. If he wasn’t in our unit, he had to be above or below. Mrs. Gable lived upstairs; Mrs. Higgins lived below. Mrs. Higgins was sixty-two. My legs moved before I could tell them to stop. I climbed the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I reached Mrs. Gable’s door and took a ragged breath, trying to stop the shaking. It was impossible. Mrs. Gable was at least six years older than Patrick and worked in liquor sales. If Patrick were going to throw our life away, surely he’d do it with one of those gorgeous, young surgical nurses who looked at him like he was a god? He had better taste than this. He wasn’t that desperate. I remembered a few years back, a young intern with a powerful family background had made a very public play for him. She’d send massive bouquets of roses to his office and home-cooked bento boxes. She even cornered me at the hospital entrance once. “June, let’s be real,” she’d said, tossing her perfectly highlighted hair. “You’re an orphan with no connections. You can’t help Patrick’s career. Give him up, and I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars and a promotion at your firm.” Patrick had walked up right then to pick me up. He didn’t even look at her. He just shoved her aside, his face uncharacteristically dark. “I love June,” he’d said, his voice like cold steel. “And I’ll never have any interest in a woman who thinks she can buy people. Get out of our way.” He’d pulled me away, his grip firm. I remember being shocked; Patrick was usually the most polite, soft-spoken man I knew. That display of venom was entirely for me. He lost a shot at a Deputy Chief position because of that girl’s father, but he didn’t care. That night, he held me so tight I could barely breathe. “June, a hundred thousand can’t buy my life. I’ll make more for us. Don’t you ever think about leaving me.” A man like that doesn’t cheat. I stood at Mrs. Gable’s door, looking at my phone. The red dot was three meters away. My stomach lurched. I turned to go back down. Three steps down, the distance changed to four meters. I stood on the landing for ten minutes, paralyzed. Then, I turned back around and knocked. I heard a frantic scuffling from inside. It took a full two minutes before the door creaked open. Mrs. Gable stood there, and the sight of her made my blood turn to ice. Her face was flushed, her hair was a mess, and she was fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, trying to hide her chest. Pinned to her collar was a silver brooch—a black butterfly with onyx wings. It was crooked, hanging precariously from the fabric. A bomb went off in my brain. He was here. He was actually here. It turns out when a man is hungry enough, he doesn’t care about the menu. The rage was a physical thing, hot and blinding. I kicked the door open and screamed at the top of my lungs. “Patrick! You son of a bitch! Get out here!” The bathroom door snapped open. Patrick stepped out, his hands covered in dark grime, looking at me with pure confusion. “June? What are you doing here?” 2 I stared at him. He was a mess—his white dress shirt was streaked with grease and gray smudges. His face was smeared with dirt. I stood in the center of the living room, my chest heaving, the words dying in my throat. Patrick quickly wiped his hands on a rag, mumbling, “You’re home early. Mrs. Gable had a burst pipe, and she was worried it would leak down into our place. She asked if I could take a look before the emergency plumber got here.” He walked over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his voice returning to that familiar, soothing tone. “I’ve got dinner warming in the oven for you. I was just about to head down.” Mrs. Gable stepped forward, looking embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, June. I know Dr. Halloway has so little free time, but I didn’t know who else to call.” Patrick naturally wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Neighbors help neighbors, Mrs. Gable. No worries.” “I’ve patched it for now,” he continued, leading me toward the door. “But you’ll definitely need a pro to look at it tomorrow. Come on, June. Let’s go home.” The tension drained out of me so fast I felt lightheaded. My heart settled back into its rhythm. Everything made sense now—they were just in the bathroom working on the plumbing. I managed a weak, apologetic smile for Mrs. Gable as we left. But as the door started to swing shut, I looked back. I saw Patrick glance over his shoulder at her. Their eyes met for a split second, and they shared a look. It wasn’t a neighborly nod. it was a secret, knowing smile. A silent communication that didn’t need words. My heart didn’t just drop; it shattered. Back in our apartment, Patrick bent over our smart lock, tinkering with the keypad. A moment later, it beeped. “Probably just a sticky key,” he said. “I’ve cleared the cache and reset it through my phone. Should be fine now.” He shed his dirty shirt and headed into the kitchen, his voice cheerful. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to try this. I made a new wasabi-infused lobster tail. Tell me if it’s better than the place downtown.” He held a piece of succulent meat to my lips. I opened my mouth mechanically. I chewed, I swallowed, but it tasted like ash. “It’s good,” I whispered. “Perfect.” Patrick chattered away as he shelled the rest of the lobster for me. He talked about the hospital, about a patient whose prognosis was improving, about his successful surgery that morning. He mentioned how his phone hadn’t stopped ringing even on his day off, with interns asking for advice. Normally, I’d be laughing, engaging with his stories. But all I could see was that look he gave Mrs. Gable. It wasn’t the look of a man who’d just fixed a pipe. It was the look of a conspirator. He noticed my silence and pressed a hand to my forehead. “You okay? You look pale. Work was that bad?” I pushed down the bile in my throat. “Just tired.” “Go lie down on the sofa. I’ll handle the dishes.” He moved through the kitchen with the practiced ease of a man who had done this a thousand times. He looked so honest. So grounded. I started to gaslight myself. I’m just sensitive. The lock is stressing me out. That internet troll got inside my head. Patrick is perfect. Patrick is busy. How could he possibly be cheating? But a voice in the back of my head wouldn’t shut up. Every time he has a day off, the lock ‘breaks.’ That’s not a coincidence. That’s a barricade. The sound of running water filled the kitchen. My gaze drifted to the smart lock at the entrance. Its screen was dark, like a silent, judging eye. Driven by a sudden, sickening impulse, I grabbed my phone and opened the tracking app again. The red dot was right here, overlapping with mine. My fingers trembled as I swiped up to view his location history. As the list of addresses loaded, a cold sweat broke out across my skin. March 8th: 1422 Magnolia Court. March 14th: The Highrise on 5th. March 18th: Velvet Lounge & Bar. He’d stay for an hour, sometimes four. And during those exact windows, I had texts from him. “At the grocery store, babe. Need anything?” “Dropping off some files at the clinic, be back soon.” And my replies: “Honey, the lock is acting up again. I can’t get in. Please hurry.” And ten minutes later, like clockwork, Patrick would always appear to “fix” the lock and let me in. My head spun. My vision blurred. Nine years of devotion. Nine years of a “perfect” marriage. It was all a curated performance. He was cheating. And it wasn’t just one woman. He was resetting my access to my own home from his phone, locking me out so he’d have time to finish his business and drive back to play the hero. 3 Patrick finished the dishes and dried his hands. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I smell like a sewer. If I don’t scrub down, you’ll be complaining about the smell all night.” I exited the app and sat perfectly still, watching him walk into the bathroom. The moment the shower started, I grabbed my keys and ran. “June? Can you grab me my robe?” his voice echoed through the door, warm and muffled. “June? You there?” The door clicked shut behind me. I practically threw myself into a taxi and gave the driver the first address on the list: Magnolia Court. I shoved a wad of cash at the driver and sprinted toward the unit. When the door opened, a woman I didn’t recognize stood there. “Can I help you?” I stared at her. She was short, with a bob cut and a slightly round face. She wasn’t a sexy nurse. She wasn’t a “trophy” mistress. She was just… ordinary. Plain clothes, plain face. A woman you wouldn’t look at twice in a crowd. Then I looked at her collar. My pupils dilated. The silver brooch. The black butterfly with onyx wings. It was identical to the one Mrs. Gable had been wearing. My brain felt like it was fracturing. Shards of memories and suspicions collided. I couldn’t breathe. I turned and ran down the stairs, the pain in my head so sharp I thought I might lose consciousness. I collapsed onto a stone bench in the courtyard and called my best friend, Bella. I was incoherent, sobbing. “June, stay put!” Bella’s voice was sharp with worry. “I’m coming to get you. Do not move. We’ll figure this out.” Bella arrived within minutes. She pulled me into a hug, rubbing my back, her expression grim. “June, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’re going to get through this.” I shoved my phone in her face, pointing at the tracking history with a shaking finger. “Bella, you have to come with me. I need proof. I need to catch him in the act.” Bella looked at the screen, her expression strange. “June… you’re just stressed. Let’s go home and sleep. We can deal with this in the morning.” I pushed her away, my voice rising to a scream. “Are you even on my side? Patrick is a liar! He’s been cheating on me for God knows how long! He’s been locking me out of the house like a dog so he can screw around!” The tears were a deluge now. My heart felt like it was being pricked by a thousand needles—not a sharp pain, but a dull, pervasive ache that wouldn’t stop. I wiped my face and stood up. “Fine. Stay here. I’ll do it myself. I’m going to tear that fake mask right off his face.” Bella scrambled to follow me. “June, wait! I’ll go with you. If he’s really doing this, I’ll help you bury him. Just… slow down.” I didn’t slow down. We drove to the next address. My heart felt like it had stopped beating as we reached the door. The door opened. A young girl, maybe twenty, with a ponytail and bright, clear eyes, looked at us. “Hi? Are you looking for someone?” A fresh wave of agony hit me. He was truly a monster. He was rotating through them—the older woman, the plain woman, the college girl. He was just sampling lives. The kitchen door behind her swung open. A familiar figure stepped out. “Tilly, who is it?” The girl turned back with a bright smile. “I don’t know, maybe they have the wrong house.” The silver butterfly brooch on her chest glinted under the hallway light. She turned to him, naturally taking a plate from his hands. A plate of honey-glazed ribs. The way he looked at her—the tenderness, the practiced domesticity—it was a mirror image of how he looked at me. He was taking care of her. He was giving her the exact same “unique” love he gave me. The last thread of my sanity snapped. “Patrick!” I lunged forward, fueled by a year’s worth of repressed subconsciousness, and slapped him across the face with every ounce of my strength. The sound echoed through the small apartment. Patrick’s face slowly turned toward me, a red handprint blooming on his cheek. “June? How… how did you find me?” The girl, Tilly, screamed and tried to push me away. “You crazy bitch! Why did you hit him? Get out!” A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in my chest. My head slammed against the doorframe as she shoved me. Suddenly, the world was a strobe light of disjointed images. Blood. So much blood. The sound of sirens—the rhythmic wail of an ambulance, the harsh pulse of a police cruiser. Faces blurred in and out of view. Someone was screaming my name. “Patient’s BP is bottoming out! Heart rate is crashing!” “Get a hundred milligrams of epinephrine, IV, now!” The black butterfly on the girl’s chest hovered over me, flickering, stinging my eyes. The world went black. 4 It was dark and freezing. Suddenly, a pair of headlights cut through the gloom, illuminating the world—and Patrick’s terrified face. The car swerved violently to the left. Patrick steered directly into the path of the oncoming semi-truck. The airbag deployed with a thunderous bang. I saw the massive grill of the truck crush the driver’s side. Patrick was pinned, the metal folding around him like paper. I stared, paralyzed, as he reached out a trembling hand toward me. Blood was pouring down his face, masking his features, but he was smiling. “June… stay strong… take care of yourself.” “Don’t cry, baby. I’m… I’m always with you.” Patrick coughed, a spray of crimson hitting the silver butterfly brooch pinned to my coat. His fingers twitched, his voice fading to a whisper, a broken doll trying to stroke my cheek one last time. I screamed. “Patrick, wake up! Don’t you dare close your eyes!” “Patrick, the baby! You haven’t seen the baby yet! Stay with me!” The sirens were deafening now. People were pulling at the wreckage, trying to get to him. “Stop! You’re hurting him!” I shrieked. Yellow police tape was being unrolled. The crowd was whispering. “He’s gone. Crushed instantly.” “Look at the car. He swerved left. He took the full hit to save his wife on the passenger side. What a man.” The rain started to pour. A crane began to lift the heavy freight from the mangled remains of our car. When they pried the door open, I saw him—what was left of him. A sharp, electric pain shot through me, and I fainted. I felt something warm and wet running down my legs. I was shivering, curled into a ball on the floor, tears streaming down my face. “June, wake up. June, it’s Mom. I’m here.” A warm hand touched my face. Wet droplets—tears that weren’t mine—fell on my cheek. The shivering began to subside. “June, please open your eyes. You’re scaring us.” I blinked. White ceiling. The smell of antiseptic. A familiar face appeared above me. “June, my sweet girl. You’ve been through so much.” My mother held me tight. My head was a mess of static and stabbing pain. I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed. “Mom, I had the most horrible dream. Patrick died. There was so much blood.” Her body stiffened. Her voice was cautious, trembling. “June… it’s okay. It’s over now.” What do you mean, it’s over? The memory of Patrick in the apron, serving ribs to that girl, flashed back. “Mom, Patrick is cheating on me. I saw it. I saw them.” “He’s so cruel. You treated him like a son, and he betrayed me.” My mother looked at me with a heart-wrenching expression. She stroked my hair, her voice breaking. “June, don’t think about that right now. Just rest.” I became frantic. I grabbed Bella, who was standing at the foot of the bed. “Bella, you saw it too! Tell her! That girl, Tilly, she was there!” The tears wouldn’t stop. Patrick, how could you? I’ve been with you since we were eighteen. I lived in basement apartments with you, I supported you through med school… Bella stepped forward, her eyes filled with a terrible, heavy sadness. She looked at my mother, then back at me. “Mrs. Halloway, tell her the truth,” Bella whispered. “Don’t let her live in the fantasy anymore. Even if it breaks her, she deserves to know.” I stared at Bella. What was she talking about? I was the one who was cheated on. Bella leaned in, her voice steady and devastating. “June. Patrick is dead. He died saving you.” “You aren’t dreaming. This is the reality.”

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I was out back in the woods, mid-swing with a splitting maul, when a guy in a suit showed up claiming he was my “protection detail.” The poor guy looked like he’d seen a ghost—or maybe it was just the way I handled the axe. He dropped a slip of paper with an address on it and bolted before I could even ask who was paying him. The night before I left for the city to join the Montgomerys—my biological family, apparently—my foster mom gripped my hands tight. She wouldn’t stop fretting. “The city’s got lights and money, Aggie, but those high-society types? they’ve got rules that’ll suffocate a girl like you. Don’t let them look down on you.” “If they give you even a second of grief,” she added, “you come right back to the Ozarks. I can still outwork any three of those city boys to keep us fed.” I just laughed and puffed out my chest. “Don’t you worry, Mom. Nobody’s gonna push Aggie ‘The Hammer’ around. Not a chance.” To prepare for the lions’ den, I stayed up all night devouring about two hundred “Secret Heiress” stories on my Kindle. I was ready for everything: the jealous sister, the cold-hearted father, the scheming stepmother. I had my counter-moves mapped out. The next morning, sporting two dark circles under my eyes, I rumbled up to the Montgomery estate driving my beat-up 1974 International Harvester tractor. I stared at the massive, gilded iron gates. Locked. Classic, I thought. The ‘Power Play’ cold shoulder. Just like the books said. I hopped down, took a deep breath, and delivered a kick that would’ve leveled a barn door. The gates creaked open. “Aggie’s home, losers!” I bellowed. But the scene inside stopped me cold. My biological parents and the “fake” heiress weren’t sneering at me from a balcony. All three of them were on their knees in the foyer, faces ash-white, trembling like they were awaiting a firing squad. “W-welcome home… Miss Montgomery!” they stammered in unison. I stood there, completely floored. This wasn’t the script. Where was the condescension? Where was the drama? 1 I scratched my head, looking at the three of them huddled on the floor. “Uh… what exactly is the vibe here?” My biological mother, Diane, and the girl who’d been living my life, Maisie, traded a terrified glance. Diane forced a jagged, awkward smile. “Aggie, darling… this is the welcome ceremony we spent all night rehearsing. Do you… do you like it?” I stared at them, my skepticism dial turned to ten. Man, city people are freaking weird. I sighed and waved a hand. “Alright, get up. The floor’s probably freezing.” They looked like they’d just been granted a stay of execution, helping each other up with shaky limbs. That’s when I noticed their clothes. For “Old Money” billionaires, they looked… plain. Almost aggressively so. Is this a trap? I wondered. Are they trying to make me feel guilty? Maisie stood tucked behind the parents, her eyes downcast, looking like a kicked puppy. She looked like she wanted to say something but was too scared to breathe. Robert and Diane stepped forward, hugging me with the kind of ginger care you’d use for a live grenade. “Aggie, we’re just so glad you’re back.” They led me upstairs to pick a room. When we passed a suite that looked like it belonged in a Disney castle—all silk and mahogany—the three of them stiffened. I saw the shame flash across their faces. Here it is, I thought. The classic trope. The fake daughter gets the palace, and the real daughter gets the broom closet. I know how this ends. But then Robert pointed to a modest, beige bedroom tucked near the servant’s stairs. “That’s… that’s where Maisie stays now.” I blinked, looking from the “Princess Suite” back to the beige room. “Fine. I’ll take the big one,” I said, testing them. Their expressions went from nervous to downright bizarre. “Is that a problem?” I barked. “No! No, no!” Diane squeaked. “Aggie can stay wherever she wants!” At dinner, Maisie came to find me. She stood in the doorway, looking all soft and innocent. I went on high alert. This is it. She’s mad about the room. She’s going to fake a fall or start a fight to make me look like the villain. Instead, she reached out and gently took my elbow. “Sister… I noticed the floors were just waxed. They’re slippery. Let me help you down.” When we got to the dining room, there wasn’t a five-course meal served by a butler. It was just home-cooked food. No staff in sight. I was convinced: They’re playing ‘poor’ to test my character. How original. Suddenly, the front door slammed open. A woman in a designer suit walked in like she owned the place. I expected her to be a mean aunt or a socialite rival, but Robert and Diane jumped like they’d been shocked. “Mrs. Hannigan,” they whispered. Maisie leaned in, tugging my sleeve. “That’s the housekeeper,” she whispered. I ignored them and went back upstairs to unpack. Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, Maisie knocked. She was carrying a warm glass of milk. My internal alarm bells went off. According to every trope I’d read, there was an 80% chance that glass was hitting the floor, and a 100% chance I’d be blamed for it. “Sister, have some milk,” she murmured, her head low. “It helps with sleep.” I watched her, stone-faced, waiting for the performance to begin. Suddenly, her foot slipped. She lurched forward, losing her balance completely. The glass flew from her hand, shattering into a million pieces at my feet. And now come the waterworks, I thought. She’ll cry, say I pushed her, claim she was just being sweet, and the whole family will burst in to condemn my ‘brutality.’ I folded my arms and waited. I even had my comeback lines ready. 2 But the screaming never came. Maisie hit the floor hard. I heard her knee crack against the hardwood—a dull, painful thud. She didn’t even look at her leg. She scrambled up, frantic, her first instinct being to check me for glass shards. Her face was a mask of pure panic and apology. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Aggie! The floor was too slick—did it hit you? Are you hurt?” She looked at the mess, her eyes welling with actual tears of terror. I stared down at her, feeling… confused. I hadn’t even touched her. Maybe she’s just a really good actress, I reasoned. Establishing a baseline of innocence before the big move. I decided to play along. “I’m fine. Go to bed.” The next morning, I was yawning my way to the stairs when a shadow blocked my path. Maisie was standing at the top of the flight, looking like she’d been crying for hours. Bingo, my brain whispered. The Staircase Scene. She’s going to ‘fall’ and blame me. This is the big one. I braced myself. I’d seen this movie. When she tipped, I’d grab her and pull her into a hug, ruining her little drama. Suddenly, Maisie lunged. She grabbed my arm with a grip so tight it actually surprised me. Wow, she really doesn’t want me to escape the frame, I thought. I was about to flip her over my shoulder and end the charade, but she didn’t push. She started guiding me down the stairs, one agonizingly slow step at a time. Her voice was trembling. “Aggie… I had a nightmare. I dreamed you fell down these stairs.” “And then I got up for water and realized how slippery the wood is. I was so scared. Please, let me hold onto you. You have to be careful.” Me: “…” I tried to pull my arm away. I was a girl who could carry a butchered hog over a mountain trail without breaking a sweat. I didn’t need a waif-like girl to help me walk. But the more I pulled, the tighter she clung, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t push me away. I can’t let you get hurt.” I looked at her, then at the ceiling. What is happening in this house? When we finally reached the foyer, Robert and Diane were waiting. They saw Maisie clutching my arm, and their first reaction wasn’t to ask what she was doing. They rushed me like a NASCAR pit crew, checking me for bruises. “Aggie! Are you okay? Did something happen?” Diane’s voice was pure anxiety. Robert turned to Maisie, his voice stern but shaky. “Honey, don’t grab her so hard. You’re going to bruise her arm.” The whole family was a mess of frantic energy. Diane ran to the kitchen to order my favorite breakfast (or what she thought was my favorite), and Robert started digging through a first-aid kit, insisting on putting ointment on a “red mark” that wasn’t even there. That’s when Mrs. Hannigan, the housekeeper, sidled up to me with a plastic smile. “Good morning, Miss Montgomery. I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself yesterday. You can call me Elizabeth.” I arched an eyebrow. “Is that right, Beth?” Her smile faltered for a micro-second. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, oily whisper. “Listen, honey. You’re new here. You don’t know how deep the water is with your parents. You and I? We’re the outsiders. You’d better watch your back with them.” I nodded slowly, playing the part. It almost made sense. Their behavior was too weird to be normal. 3 A few days passed in a strange, quiet truce. Before I could really start investigating the family dynamics, I was told I’d been enrolled in the same elite private school as Maisie. Finally, I thought. The School Arc. Maisie probably realized she couldn’t break me at home, so she was going to use her “Queen Bee” status to make my life a living hell on campus. Monday morning, as I headed for the door, Maisie came running up, out of breath. She shoved a breakfast burrito into my hand and wheeled out a bubblegum-pink electric scooter. “Aggie! Let me give you a ride to school!” I stared at the scooter, then at the sprawling mansion behind us. “Does this family not own a car?” “The… the car is in the shop,” she stammered, looking pained. I patted her shoulder. “Maisie, your lies are getting pathetic.” Her face turned bright red. “I… I…” I didn’t wait for her to finish. I grabbed a Lime scooter from the sidewalk and zoomed off. At the school gates, I didn’t even get five feet before a guy with bleached-blonde hair and a sneer blocked my way. “The boss wants to see you.” I looked up. A few yards away, a guy was leaning against a black Range Rover, sucking on a lollipop and holding a photo. “So, you’re the hillbilly the Montgomerys dragged home?” I rubbed my hands together. Yes. Finally. The Plot is moving. He looked me up and down with pure disgust. “I’m Hunter. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll crawl back to whatever hole you came out of.” I flipped a piece of invisible lint off my shoulder and gave him my best ‘main character’ smirk. “I’m your worst nightmare, kid.” Hunter’s face turned purple. “You… you little…” The surrounding students gasped. “Who is she? Nobody talks to Hunter like that!” “She’s a dead girl walking.” Hunter waved his hand at his goons. “Teach her some manners!” “Stop! Don’t touch my sister!” Maisie came sprinting toward us, nearly tripping over her own feet. Hunter didn’t even look at her. He just stuck out a foot, tripping her. She went face-first into the dirt right in front of me. I looked down at her. “Okay, that was a bit much. You don’t need to bow that low.” Maisie started sobbing, but she still tried to scramble up and stand between me and Hunter. Hunter just pushed her back down. “Shut up, you little brat. Get lost before I make you.” Maisie’s eyes were wide with terror. She stopped crying. She looked paralyzed. I looked at Hunter, then back at Maisie. I looked at Hunter again. He had the same arrogant, shifty eyes as Mrs. Hannigan, the housekeeper. Oh. I get it now. The “fake daughter” wasn’t a villain. She was a punching bag. And the housekeeper’s son was the one holding the whip. I stepped forward, grabbed Hunter by the collar, and executed a perfect judo hip throw. He hit the pavement with a sound like a wet sack of flour. “The name,” I said, leaning over him, “is Aggie.” Hunter was wheezing, clutching his back. I looked at Maisie on the ground. “Get up. Kick him.” She blinked through her tears. “I… I can’t…” I glared at her. “Kick him, or I’ll kick you. Pick one.” Maisie shivered, found a spark of courage somewhere in her gut, and delivered a shaky kick to Hunter’s ribs. Then another. Hunter howled. “You’re dead! Aggie, I’m gonna kill you!” As the crowd dispersed, Maisie followed me like a lost puppy, her eyes full of something I hadn’t seen before. “Aggie, that was… incredible.” “Aggie, you’re so cool.” “Aggie…”

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