Category: English

1 The welcome-home banquet was halfway through cutting the second tier of the cake when the fake heir suddenly grabbed my hand, his eyes brimming with tears. “Brent, could you… please move out first?” The grand ballroom fell dead silent. Whispers rippled through the guests. He looked like he was about to crumble right there, his voice trembling. “I know you’re the true Smith heir. But I’ve lived here for eighteen years. Ever since you came back, I live in constant terror that I’ll be thrown out.” “Please, Brent, I’m begging you. Just move out for a little while. Give me time to adapt, please?” My father, Richard, instinctively pulled Tristan into his arms, his eyes red with heartache. My fiancée, Audrey, stepped up beside him, throwing a cold, disgusted glare in my direction. In the next second, luminous floating text flashed across my vision. [Don’t you dare agree! You’re the legitimate heir! Why should you leave?] [Call him out right now! He’s intentionally backing you into a corner!] [Cry! Throw a tantrum! Make your parents feel guilty!] In my past life, I fell for those floating comments. I smashed a glass at the gala, forced my parents to pick between us, and created a massive scene. The result? The entire elite circle branded me a ruthless, ungrateful monster. My adoptive parents ended up dead and crippled because of Tristan’s schemes, and I burned to death in a rigged fire. This time, I just let out a quiet, amused chuckle. … “Sure. If you’re that terrified, I’ll pack my bags.” Tristan’s sniffling hitched. He stared at me, dumbfounded. Audrey frowned, the harsh lecture she had ready completely catching in her throat. Some guests pitied me, others laughed silently, and a few already had their phones out, waiting for the wild child from the countryside to go insane. I reached over and casually straightened Tristan’s crooked silk tie. “You’re used to the main estate. Don’t stress yourself out. I’ll move into a hotel.” Richard let out an immediate sigh of relief. But realizing how bad it looked, he hastily reached for my arm. “Brent, that’s not what I meant. You just got back. How could we make you stay in a hotel?” Tristan burrowed deeper into his shoulder, tears spilling over. “Dad, I didn’t mean to drive Brent away. I’m just… I’m so scared.” Audrey immediately cooed softly, comforting him. “No one blames you, sweetie.” I smiled. “Let’s just do as he says.” The floating text went wild. [Are you out of your mind? He told you to get lost and you’re actually doing it?] [This is high-society power play, not a charity show!] [Give him an inch and he’ll crush you into dust later!] I lowered my eyes, ignoring the glowing glyphs. In my past life, I thought the same way. I felt robbed of eighteen years. I thought I deserved a bedroom, a hug, a little favoritism. So I fought. I forced Tristan out of the master suite, forced my parents to admit he was just adopted, forced Audrey to honor her engagement with the real Smith heir. And what did I get? He faked a high fever, and Richard nearly fainted from grief. Audrey publicly sneered, “Bloodline isn’t a pass for cruelty, Brent. You’re heartless.” By playing the delicate, fragile victim, Tristan turned everyone against me. In the end, my adoptive father was run down by a truck on a rainy night while trying to deliver evidence that proved my innocence. My adoptive mother died of illness under the stigma of blackmailing a wealthy family, asking me with her final breath, “Brent… are you eating well at the Smiths’?” I never had the heart to answer her. In this life, I won’t fight for a room. A bedroom isn’t a life. Audrey stared at me coldly. “Brent, don’t play hard to get.” I met her gaze with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, Audrey. I won’t fight you for him either.” Her expression turned rigid. Tristan clutched Richard’s sleeve tightly. “The arrangement between our families was always meant for the two of you over all these years,” I said, raising my glass just loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear clearly. “Since you only recognize him, keep it that way. I wish you two a long and happy life together.” Muffled gasps broke out among the guests. Tristan’s face drained of color. He wanted me to lose my temper, not to publicly bless them. Once the blessing was spoken aloud in front of high society, he and Audrey were bound together in the public eye. The romance was theirs, but so was the shared liability. After the banquet ended, the butler asked if I wanted to rest in the main house first. I shook my head. “Book me a hotel room. I’m leaving tonight.” Richard panicked. “Brent, please don’t do this. You’re breaking my heart.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Dad, Tristan said he’s afraid.” He choked on his words. Up on the landing, Tristan stood wrapped in a cashmere blanket, a glint of quiet triumph buried deep in his eyes. The hotel suite was silent. I unzipped my suitcase. I didn’t have many clothes. Stuffed at the very bottom was a battered leather folder left by my adoptive mother, Hannah. She and my adoptive father, Thomas, ran a small pharmacy in a quiet upstate town. Growing up, I learned to sort pillboxes, check lot numbers, and verify invoices alongside them. When the Smith family finally tracked me down, everyone scoffed at the faint smell of antiseptic on my clothes. Only Thomas had neatly folded every single piece of my clothing before I left. “Brent, rich or poor doesn’t matter. Just don’t let anyone step on you.” I pulled out the folder. Inside was a faded copy of an old ledger and a heavily worn security badge. The badge read: Aegis Pharma – Sector 7. The serial number ended in 07. It was the logistics pass from the old plant the year I was snatched away. Before I died in my past life, I finally learned that my disappearance had been no accident. I whipped out my phone and texted my adoptive sister, Zoe. Put the original badge into a bank vault. Dad and Mom shouldn’t go out alone recently, and record every single unknown caller. Zoe replied in seconds. Are the Smiths picking on you again? My throat tightened as I stared at the screen. The ones who truly gave a damn about me were never my blood relatives. No. I moved out on my own terms. A string of exclamation marks flooded the screen. Bro, did they kick you out?! I chuckled softly and typed back: I walked out voluntarily. Standing outside the mansion is the only way to see what’s really rotting inside. Early the next morning, the executive secretary arrived at my hotel to take me to Old Man Smith’s estate. Grandfather was the sole surviving founder of Aegis Pharmaceuticals, holding the master keys to the family trust. In my past life, I wept and ranted in his study about how unfair life was. He had looked at me with cold disgust and asked, “Besides crying, what else can you actually do?” After that, he gave up on me entirely. This time, I walked into his sunlit study and placed three formal documents directly on his mahogany desk. “Re-verification of DNA Ancestry Records.” “Archive Access Request for Aegis Sector 7.” “Agreement on Smith Family Asset Boundary Division.” The old man lifted his sharp eyes. “You just got back, and you’re already dividing up the estate?” “Clarifying it,” I corrected calmly. “Tristan can keep living in the main house, keep being the precious Smith son, and keep using family resources. That’s fine by me. But every authorization needs to be spelled out in black and white.” Grandfather narrowed his eyes. “Why?” “Because emotions can be messy, but accounts must be spotless.” Silence stretched across the study. Suddenly, the old man let out a short, dry laugh. “You don’t look like the pushover everyone saw at the party last night.” “Too many eyes last night,” I replied coolly. “Bad for business.” He flipped through the pages. The luxury real estate, sports cars, personal drivers, PR team, and jewelry access Tristan enjoyed were all categorized as Smith Family Authorizations, not natural inheritance. His role as Executive Chairman of the Aegis Foundation would remain, but every grant approval, facial authentication log, digital signature, and public statement had to be archived and traceable. Grandfather set down his fountain pen. “You’re giving him a graceful way out?” “I’m buying insurance for the family.” He studied me for a long moment before signing his name with a heavy flourish. “Take this to your father.” That afternoon, in the Smith living room. Tristan’s face paled when he saw the document. Richard didn’t understand the legalities; he just felt I was stirring up unnecessary trouble. “Brent, Tristan already let you move back… Why are you pushing this legal junk?” “Precisely because I moved out,” I said smoothly. “It stops the press from claiming the Smiths mistreat their adopted son, and stops anyone from saying I came back to purge him.” Audrey picked up the paper and scanned it. “This just ensures Tristan stays protected under the Smith name?” “Exactly.” Her tense posture relaxed slightly. Evelyn, my biological mother, thought it over. “Sign it. It looks good to the public.” Tristan had no valid ground to refuse. He signed his name with trembling fingers, tears welling in his eyes. As his pen pressed into the paper, I caught the white hue of his knuckles. Perfect. He had just personally turned the first key to his own ruin. I stayed at the hotel for two weeks, yet the family contacted me far more than they ever did in my past life. Evelyn sent clothes via the driver. Richard sent homemade soup, always looking like he wanted to say more. “Brent, don’t hold a grudge against Tristan. His heart is frail; he can’t handle stress.” I took the thermos. “I understand.” “Then when are you moving home?” “When he stops being terrified.” Richard stood speechless. I didn’t move back, but I started spending my days in the Aegis Archives. Grandfather had granted me temporary clearance. The flagship project of Aegis was called The Beacon Initiative. Twenty years ago, the company made its fortune off a rare-disease drug, later folding its entire neuro-pharma pipeline into Beacon. Rumor had it that after Tristan was adopted, Aegis miraculously secured key regulatory approvals. From then on, he was dubbed the family’s blessing. He played the part brilliantly, gala dinners, hospital visits, children’s foundation campaigns. He was always the face of gentle virtue. In the deep archives, however, I found an archived email. The sender was my adoptive mother, Hannah. Years ago, she had documented severe adverse reactions from that drug in local community pharmacies and urged Aegis to update its warning labels and clinical filings. Aegis had quietly adopted her recommendations back then. Only then did the regulatory approval pass. Staring at the printed email, my fingertips went icy cold. His so-called blessing was built on the quiet brilliance of my adoptive mother. The door opened. Tristan walked in holding a cup of coffee, a dutiful, innocent smile on his face. “Brent! I heard you’ve been grinding away in the archives. I brought you a hot latte.” I didn’t reach for it. His eyes instantly welled up. Outside the open doorway, several employees walked past, slowing their steps to peek inside. I reached out, took the coffee, and set it on the desk. “Thanks.” Tristan glanced at the old files beside my hand. “The Beacon Initiative is really complex. It must be tough for you since you just got back. Grandmother used to say that in pharma, trust and consistency are everything.” I looked up at him. “So you think it should be handed over to you?” He flinched, waving his hands in exaggerated panic. “That’s not what I meant at all!” “Good.” I handed him the draft schedule for the upcoming Anniversary Gala. “Aegis’s anniversary is next month. You’ll continue representing the foundation as the keynote speaker. The public loves your story. You can talk about Beacon while you’re up there.” A flash of greed lit up his eyes before he quickly suppressed it. “Is that… okay? You just came back…” “Your public image is solid, and the media knows you. You’re the best fit.” The floating text flared back up. [Are you insane?! He’s going to use this to lock in his position as the true heir!] [Don’t give him the spotlight!] [Take the microphone back!] I didn’t even give the floating glyphs a second glance. Without a stage, how could he suffer a grand downfall? That night, Zoe sent me a photo. Bro, the manager of Sector 7 back then was Victoria Smith. She’s currently the Executive Vice President. Aunt Victoria. Tristan’s biggest ally. In my past life, when I was framed for leaking trade secrets, she was the first to hand over the evidence to the police. I texted back: Don’t dig any deeper. Stay safe. Duh, I value my life. I smiled faintly at the screen. This time, we’d play it smart. A week before the anniversary, Tristan dominated the trending topics. #SmithFamilyBlessing #EighteenYearsOfLove #TheGentleFaceOfAegis Media outlets painted a tear-jerking narrative. How Aegis was on the brink of collapse until Tristan was brought home, how he started doing charity at thirteen, how the late matriarch called him the light of the Smith family. The comments were full of applause: [The real son moved to a hotel immediately. Guess the family knows who really matters.] [Tristan is the real gentleman here.] [Who cares about bloodlines? Contribution is what counts.] Evelyn frowned over the PR report. “Tristan, these articles are laying it on too thick.” Tristan hung his head, looking pitiful. “Mom, I had no idea my team wrote it like that. If Brent is unhappy, I’ll have them take it down immediately.” Audrey immediately jumped to his defense. “Taking it down will only make us look guilty! Tristan has done charity work for years. It’s normal for the press to praise him.” Richard nodded along. “Exactly. Brent isn’t that narrow-minded.” Everyone turned to look at me. I casually flicked through the foundation’s back-end authorization system. “The traction is great. The anniversary needs publicity.” Evelyn blinked. “You don’t mind?” “Would it matter if I did?” She went quiet. I slid the tablet across the table to Tristan. “Since the press will ask about charity projects, you should personally sign off on these three major patient support partnerships tonight.” Tristan’s fingers stiffened. “Doesn’t the foundation’s secretariat usually process these?” “You’re the Executive Chairman,” I reminded him coolly. “You always tell the media you’re hands-on. You can’t have other people signing your name forever.” Audrey frowned. “Brent, there’s no need to hassle him over paperwork.” “When you take over your family firm, Audrey, do you let your secretary sign legal contracts for you?” Her face turned red with frustration. Tristan had no choice but to pick up the tablet. Facial recognition. Digital signature. Project confirmation. One after another. By the time he finished, his face was pale as chalk. I felt fantastic. On the night of the Aegis Gala, the grand ballroom lights were blinding. Partner hospitals, regulatory consultants, board members, press outlets, and financial influencers, everyone was present. Tristan stood under the spotlight in a bespoke tuxedo, looking like a delicate flower cultivated in a glass house. Audrey stood by his side. Noticing me, she leaned in and whispered coldly, “Brent, don’t make a scene tonight. Tristan prepared for months.” I smiled softly. “Relax. Nobody wants to see his full performance more than I do.” She scowled. The event began, and Tristan stepped up to deliver the opening address for the foundation. His tone was soft, his cadence practiced. “I may not bear the Smith blood, but this family gave me my name, and taught me to honor every human life.” Thunderous applause erupted. The main screen displayed photos of him visiting sick children, sterile hospital rooms, smiles, flowers, warm hugs. Picture-perfect PR. Then, the host transitioned into The Beacon Initiative. Tristan’s eyes glistened with tears. “My grandmother handed this legacy to me with her blessing. I have never let her down.” Just as his voice trailed off, the giant screen abruptly went black. An archived video cut in. In the footage, the late Mrs. Smith lay in a hospital bed, her voice frail but unmistakable: “Beacon… must never, under any circumstances… be given to Tristan…” The entire hall erupted into chaos. Evelyn bolted upright from her seat.

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I finally pulled a secret chaser figure from a mystery box, beaming as I proudly displayed it on my husband’s desk. He glanced at it for a fraction of a second, then tossed it right into the trash can. “You’re twenty-six years old. Isn’t playing with this stuff a little childish?” Swallowing my hurt, I retrieved the figure and listed it on a local reselling app. Almost immediately, a buyer from nearby snapped it up. She mentioned she lived close and asked if I could deliver it in person. The moment I stepped into her home, I froze at the entryway. An entire wall of display cabinets stretched across the room, packed with insanely expensive, limited-edition figures. The hostess gave me a warm smile. “My younger boyfriend bought all of these for me. I told him I’m in my thirties and playing with toys makes me look silly, but he insists that in his eyes, I’ll always be a girl.” Just then, the front door clicked open. A man walked in holding two iced beverages, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. I stepped aside, but as my eyes caught his profile in my peripheral vision, the blood in my veins turned to ice. This man, who spent fortunes collecting rare figures and treated her like a queen, was the exact same husband who had called me childish and thrown away my secret chaser just yesterday. Joey. 1 Our eyes locked, and the color drained from his face instantly. “Joey, you’re staring at her. Don’t scare the poor girl,” Stella said playfully, wrapping her arm around his. She handed me one of the drinks. “She’s the girl who sold me the secret chaser figure. Her name is Gemma. You two should introduce yourselves.” Joey regained his composure, giving me a curt nod. “Hello.” He turned straight back to Stella, his voice dripping with unbearable tenderness. “You don’t need to buy secondhand stuff anymore. Whatever you want, I’ll buy it brand new for you.” Stella swayed his arm gently. “Secondhand is fine. Otherwise, my heart aches seeing you wait in line for hours every time a limited edition drops.” I dug my nails into my palms until they nearly drew blood, yet I felt no pain at all. Stella had bragged that the figures on the wall were rare collectibles gathered from all over the world. One particular figure made my eyes sting. It was an overseas exclusive released a year ago that I had coveted for months. Joey had been on a business trip to that country back then. I hadn’t even dared to ask for the whole figure, only begging him to bring back a matching commemorative sticker. He had frowned and snapped at me at the time, telling me he had a mountain of work to do and no time for useless garbage. It turned out he wasn’t short on time. He just refused to spare a single shred of patience for me. Yet for Stella, he was more than willing to queue up all day for an entire exclusive figure. “Oh, Gemma, I have a duplicate figure I’d love to gift you,” Stella suddenly offered. “Let me grab it from the bedroom.” The moment she turned the corner, Joey stepped forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the shadow of the entryway. “Go home first,” he hissed in a low whisper. “I’ll explain everything when I get back.” My voice rasped with bitter humor. “Explain what? Explain that you’re hiding a mistress and cheating on your wife?” Panic flashed across his eyes. He shoved me toward the door, slamming it shut with a loud bang. My wrist throbbed with a burning pain, and tears streamed down uncontrollably. Through the thin wood of the door, muffled voices drifted out. “Oh? Why did Gemma leave? I didn’t get to give her the gift.” “I just let her go. She’s just a stranger selling secondhand toys, there’s no need to get close to her.” Then came the sound of wet, affectionate kissing. I leaned against the hallway wall, my stomach churning with pure nausea. Suddenly, a realization struck me like a lightning bolt. My period was a month late. I stumbled back to my apartment, tore open a pregnancy test, and waited. Two bold red lines appeared. I was pregnant. Before I could digest the news, the lock clicked. Joey was home. In a rush, I wrapped the test in paper and threw it into the trash. He walked in, catching sight of my deathly pale face, and his brows furrowed. “Why do you look so sick? Are you feeling unwell?” He reached out to touch my forehead, but I pulled away coldly. He withdrew his hand, letting out a heavy sigh. “What happened earlier wasn’t what you think. Stella is the older girl from next door where I grew up. When I was young and my family struggled to eat, her family helped us out. She has a congenital heart condition. Before her mother passed away, she begged me to look after her. I only agreed to pretend to be her boyfriend so she could recover in peace.” “So you cheated on your wife and bought her an entire wall of limited edition figures?” My chest felt as though a crushing weight had settled on it, making it hard to breathe. “Joey, I just realized you have a whole second home out there.” “And she’s eight years older than you!” My voice rose uncontrollably, my whole body shaking. “You called my hobby childish, but you flew across the world to build a wall of toys for her!” Guilt flickered in Joey’s eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “Fine, I already thought those toys were silly anyway. If you like them, I’ll buy them for you from now on. I’ll handle Stella properly. Her heart is weak and she can’t take stress, so don’t go making a scene.” I stared at this man I had loved for six years, feeling an overwhelming sense of strangerhood. “Joey, let’s get a divorce.” He dismissed it as a temper tantrum, a sneer tugging at his lips. “Stop dramatic. I’m just taking care of her. It’s not like I don’t love you. You’re the one who holds the marriage certificate with me.” “Besides, you can’t live without me. Don’t ever mention divorce again. I’m taking Stella to the movies now. Stay home and stop being unreasonable.” The door clicked shut gently. Six years of dating, three years of marriage. I had given him my heart and soul, only to be told not to trouble his mistress. Before I could process the pain, a message popped up from Stella. I’m so sorry, sweetie. My boyfriend has a quick temper and couldn’t host you properly. I saved a figure for you, drop by whenever you’re free to pick it up. I clicked into her social media profile and scrolled through years of posts, every single one revolving around Joey. My dream figure was completely out of print, so Joey contacted the manufacturer directly to custom-make a set for me. Birthday surprise: a huge box of mystery figures! He canceled an important business meeting just to line up for them. Love my younger boy so much! I casually mentioned a celebrity figure, and he delivered it to my hands the next morning. My boy always keeps his promises. Every photo hid subtle traces of Joey. Back when I drank until I threw up at business dinners just to help him secure clients, all I asked for in return was one afternoon accompanying me to a toy shop. Yet he turned around and grabbed every new release for Stella at the first opportunity. By the time I reached the bottom of her feed, the sharp sting in my chest had numbed into complete emptiness. I replied with a short text. No thanks. I don’t want it anymore. I didn’t care about the figures, and I didn’t want Joey anymore either. I contacted a divorce attorney immediately, sending over all the evidence of his infidelity. That wall of figures was purchased with marital assets after our wedding, and in court, I wouldn’t yield a single cent. That night, Joey returned home holding a newly released box set of figures, holding it out to me. “Look, isn’t this the series you wanted before?” I didn’t look up, folding my clothes neatly. “Return it. I don’t want it.” The smile on his face vanished, replaced by annoyance. “You cried begging me for it before. Now that I bought it, you’re pushing it away. Stop looking for trouble.” “I really don’t want it,” I repeated calmly. “What you owe me was never just a toy set.” He lost his temper completely. “Gemma, are you ever going to drop this!” Right then, his phone rang. In his rush, he accidentally hit the speakerphone button, and Stella’s tearful voice echoed loudly. “Joey, my heart hurts so much… my chest feels so tight…” Joey’s face paled. He bolted toward the door, his arm swinging wildly as he stood up, shoving me hard onto the floor. My lower back slammed against the sharp corner of the table, causing me to gasp in agony. In the next second, a searing, excruciating pain flared up in my lower abdomen. “Joey!” I grabbed his sleeve tightly, eyes red. “My stomach hurts so bad, please take me to the hospital, I’m begging you…” He yanked his arm free in frustration. “Enough! Stop using fake pain to compete for attention! This is a matter of life and death for her!” He walked out without looking back once. The pain worsened, and warm blood trickled down my legs. I forced myself to dial emergency services, and an ambulance rushed me to the hospital. Because of that blow, I suffered a miscarriage. Lying in the hospital bed, my eyes remained dry, unable to squeeze out a single tear. While the procedure tormented me, Stella updated her social media. The photo showed her snuggled in Joey’s arms, his hand resting gently over her chest. The caption read: Joey was terrified! Honestly my heart didn’t even hurt that much, I just wanted to trick him into staying longer, teehee. Hidden from him! Seeing those words, the emotional dam broke, and I sobbed uncontrollably. I had prayed for this child for three years. Gone, all because of a single lie. Soon after, another message from Stella popped up. Gemma, let’s meet up. You really need to take this figure, or I’ll feel too guilty. My fingers hovered over the screen before typing a response. Okay. Good. It was time to lay everything out in the open. The next day, as I reached the entrance of the cafe, Stella rushed toward me and slapped me hard across the face. A loud crack echoed through the air. “Gemma, do you have no shame?” Stella’s eyes were red, her voice trembling. “I treated you like a friend, and you tried to seduce my boyfriend behind my back!” I covered my burning cheek, my ears ringing. She shoved her phone in front of my face, showing a photo taken a month ago of Joey and me holding hands in the park. “I went through your social media and realized you two were together all along! Selling me that figure and coming to my house was just a deliberate act to brag and trigger me, wasn’t it?” Her voice rose into a dramatic sob, her hand clutching her chest as her knees buckled toward the ground. “I’m begging you! My heart is weak, I can’t live without Joey! Please let us go, I’ll give you my entire wall of figures!” Bystanders gathered, pointing fingers while phone cameras aimed straight at me. “How shameless! Being a side chick and picking on a sick woman!” I took a deep breath, raised my hand, and slapped Stella right back across the face. “Your boyfriend?” My voice trembled as I pulled our marriage certificate from my bag. “Joey and I registered three years ago. We are legally married.” “As for that wall of figures, it was bought with marital assets. My lawyer has prepared the paperwork, and I will reclaim every single cent.” The crowd fell silent for a moment. “They have a marriage certificate?” “So the sick woman is the mistress?” Stella swayed, her eyes welling up with tears. “Impossible… Joey told me he wasn’t married…” Before she could finish, a heavy force shoved me back. “Gemma!” Joey rushed forward, wrapping Stella securely in his arms, his eyes filled with rage as he glared at me. “Who gave you permission to hit her? You know her heart is bad!” Stella leaned against him, clutching her chest as she whimpered. “Joey, tell me, are you really married? Am I… am I the mistress?” Joey hesitated for only a second. “No.” “She has delusions. This marriage certificate is a forgery. She’s just a crazy woman who has been stalking me.” Those words pinned me to the spot like ice. “Joey, have you lost your mind? We are legally…” His expression turned completely cold as he grabbed Stella’s wrist. “Stella, slap her back.” I stared at him in disbelief, hearing only his frozen voice. “She hurt you just now. Hit her back. I will never let anyone bully my girlfriend.” That gave Stella all the confidence she needed. SLAP! Another heavy strike landed on my other cheek. Stella bit her lip. “That’s what you get for lying and playing the homewrecker.” She looked at Joey, feigning worry. “But… where did she get such a realistic marriage certificate? Forgery is illegal, shouldn’t we call the police?” A flicker of reluctance crossed Joey’s eyes, but in the next second, he snatched the marriage certificate from my hand and tore it to shreds! The scraps fell to the ground like drops of blood. On the day we registered, he had held that certificate in his hands, kissing it over and over. Gemma, you’re finally my legal wife! In just three short years, for another woman, he tore apart our marriage with his own hands. “It’s just a fake document anyway. Let’s see how you spread rumors now,” he said, his voice raspy and final.

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In my past life, I didn’t realize Vincent Sinclair loved the wrong person until our wedding day. When my twin sister returned from abroad and appeared at the venue, the ruthless heir to the Sinclair empire froze. His eyes turned bloodshot as he stared dead at her. That was the moment I finally understood. He had spent the last two years showering me with money, resources, and a borderline obsessive pursuit, all because I shared a face with her. Given a second chance, I stood by my second-floor window and looked down at the man who had been standing in the snow all night waiting for me to cave. Without a shred of hesitation, I texted him my sister’s flight details. 1 Since his true love was back, this stand-in was officially retiring. The text had barely gone through when the man downstairs reacted. I hid in the dark bedroom, watching him pull his phone from his overcoat. He glanced at the screen. Then his head snapped up. His piercing gaze locked straight onto my window. Even with the thick blackout curtains drawn, I instinctively shrank back against the wall. My screen lit up. Vincent’s text arrived instantly. “Where did you go? When are you leaving?” I could feel his suffocating presence bleeding through the screen. I tossed the phone onto the mattress and ignored him. 2 Ever since he cornered me at the hospital two years ago, this man had forced his way into my life. Armed with the brutal lessons of my past life, I knew exactly what his so-called devotion really was. It all belonged to my sister. I had suffered enough. Since I couldn’t expose my sister’s existence, my only option in this life was to avoid him like the plague. But arrogant elites like Vincent never understood the concept of backing down. His method of courting was aggressive and raw. Designer bags, limited edition sports cars, showing up to chauffeur me everywhere. He wanted the whole world to know I belonged to him. My friends told me to accept my good fortune before I drained the patience of this untouchable billionaire. After all, this was Vincent Sinclair. He had the wealth, the looks, and the power to make anyone lose their mind. My phone buzzed twice. Him again. “Playing dead?” Snowflakes began to drift outside the window. Vincent cast one final, lingering look at my apartment before pulling open the door of his black SUV and sliding in. He didn’t start the engine right away. The car sat idling in the winter cold for over ten minutes before finally creeping away into the night. I rubbed my aching temples. When Vincent placed someone on a pedestal, he was the perfect lover. That was exactly how I fell so hard for him in my previous life. But when he turned ruthless, he knew exactly how to drive a knife straight into your heart. I refused to relive a single day of that hollow, suffocating marriage. 3 For the past few days, my sister had been packing her bags for her return to the States, and I had been quietly arranging my visa. Stella and I were identical twins. Apart from our personalities, we shared every physical trait down to a strand of hair. Swapping identities was basically second nature to us. Years ago, our mother was the secret mistress of a wealthy man. When the scandal threatened to ruin him, she hid in a rural town to give birth to us in secret. Nobody knew she had twins. Eventually, that wealthy man found his conscience and brought our mother back to his mansion. But his strict condition was that she could only bring one child. So I was taken into the Hastings estate, and Stella was shipped off to Europe. For twenty years, to keep the secret buried, we operated like shift workers, constantly rotating between domestic life in New York and our hidden life abroad. To maintain the illusion, we even majored in the same subject at university and seamlessly shared the same social circles. So naturally, Stella knew a guy named Vincent was relentlessly pursuing “me.” 4 In my past life, I was in too deep. I couldn’t bear to share Vincent with anyone. Even knowing my twin existed, I selfishly kept her a secret from him. It wasn’t until I stood at the altar in my white gown that I became the ultimate punchline. But this time around, the second Vincent showed up, I snapped a photo and sent it straight to Stella. “A romantic debt you left behind five years ago?” Stella, always the optimist, instantly replied with a string of laughing emojis. “I barely just turned eighteen five years ago! Be serious.” She had absolutely no memory of this gorgeous billionaire. Even after I sent a zoomed in, candid shot of Vincent’s face, she swore she had never seen him in her life. I could only reply in helpless frustration. “But five years ago I was living in London. The girl he knew couldn’t possibly have been me.” 5 My visa paperwork was almost finalized. I thought I could shake Vincent off completely before leaving the country, but fate had other plans. Two in the morning, inpatient ward. I had just finished assisting my attending physician with a grueling marathon surgery. I collapsed onto the concrete steps of the stairwell, dozing off from pure exhaustion. In my hazy state, a heavy cashmere overcoat carrying a faint scent of cedar was draped over my shoulders. I snapped my eyes open and met Vincent’s dark, piercing gaze. This billionaire heir, a man notorious for his clinical germaphobia, was sitting casually next to me on the filthy stairwell floor. “If it exhausts you this much, why did you insist on clinical surgery?” he asked, turning his head to look at me. I stayed quiet. When our mother gave birth to us, she suffered a massive hemorrhage. It was a surgeon who dragged the three of us back from the brink of death. That was the reason we both chose medicine, but I had no intention of sharing my trauma with him. I turned my face away. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed to meet directly at the airport this weekend.” The stairwell was dead quiet, making his voice sound impossibly clear. “You are a terrible liar.” “I asked your department head. He said you are following him to a medical symposium in Chicago on Wednesday.” He paused, his tone absolute. “So the other night, you never left your apartment. You were hiding upstairs from me.” Before I could react, he leaned in. His chin rested naturally against my shoulder. “Rina,” he whispered my name into the dim light, his voice laced with a heavy, helpless sigh. “What exactly do I have to do to make you say yes?” His presence completely enveloped me. My eyes burned with unshed tears. It wasn’t that I was playing hard to get. I had simply been broken so thoroughly by his coldness in our past life. This time, I just wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. I forced myself to give him a vague brush off. “Just give me a few more days.” Wait for Stella to return. Wait for the real destined lovers to reunite. This was always their love story. I was just going to step aside and let my sister make her own choice. 6 Friday night, JFK Airport. Stella and I stood in the second-floor restrooms, both wearing identical khaki trench coats and gripping matching silver suitcases. She pulled me into a bone crushing hug. “See you in five years! We’ll swap back then.” I gave her a quiet smile, ignoring the promise. If she met someone she loved here and built a stable family, I would be perfectly happy staying in Europe forever. After a hurried exchange, we went our separate ways. She rolled her suitcase toward Dr. Harrison’s academic team, and I turned my back, heading straight for International Departures. Sitting in the departure lounge, watching the planes idle on the tarmac, my phone vibrated. A text from Stella. “Your billionaire prince actually came to the airport to pick me up.” Just as I reached to power off my phone, a second message popped up. “But he stared at me for a solid minute, and his very first question was demanding to know who I really was.” 7 Staring at that line of text, a cold shiver crawled up my spine. Vincent went to pick her up? Not only did he go, but he instantly recognized that she wasn’t me? That was impossible. Stella and I even had a matching birthmark behind our left ears. For twenty years, even our own mother mixed us up occasionally. Vincent and I had only been entangled for two years. We had barely even held hands properly. How could he possibly see through the perfect illusion? Before I could process the panic, the airport intercom chimed. Boarding for the flight to London was beginning. I shot up from my seat, shoved my powered down phone into my coat pocket, grabbed my boarding pass, and marched toward the final security checkpoint. It didn’t matter if he recognized Stella. As long as I got on this plane and crossed the border, the tragic mess of my past life could never catch up to me. The line was agonizingly long. I kept my head down, shuffling forward inch by inch. Finally, it was my turn. I handed my passport and ticket to the TSA agent. The agent flipped it open to verify my details. Suddenly, a large hand reached over from the side, crossing the security tape, and slammed down flat over my passport. The veins on the back of his hand bulged. With an undeniable, terrifying force, he ripped my passport right out of the agent’s grip. My stomach dropped to the floor. I whipped my head around. Vincent stood there in a long, charcoal wool coat, the freezing winter air still clinging to his shoulders. He stood right outside the security barrier, glaring down at me with lethal intensity. People around us began to stare. The agent frowned, clearly annoyed. “Sir, please do not interfere with the screening process. What are you doing with her passport?” Vincent completely ignored the agent. His gaze was nailed to my face. “Rina Hastings.” He said my full name. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a crushing, absolute authority. “You think you’re clever? Trying to pull a disappearing act?” 8 I swallowed hard, forcing my racing heart to steady, and plastered a look of absolute confusion onto my face. “Sir, you have the wrong person.” I deliberately mimicked Stella’s lighter, slightly innocent tone. “My name isn’t Rina. I think you are looking for someone else.” Vincent let out a dark, furious laugh. He flipped the passport open to my photo page and shoved it right in front of my eyes. “Is that right? Then please, Miss Stella, explain to me why this passport has your sister’s name printed on it?” I stared at the bold letters spelling out ‘Rina Hastings’ and choked on my own words. To escape him, I had told Stella to use her real identity in New York to take over my life, while I took my own passport to flee the country. The handoff had been flawless, yet he had caught me right at the finish line. “This… this is my sister’s passport. I grabbed the wrong one by mistake.” I forced myself to keep spinning the lie. “Please give it back. I am going to miss my flight.” Vincent wasn’t buying a single word of it. Without another word, his hand shot out, wrapping like an iron shackle around my wrist. He physically yanked me out of the security line. His strength was terrifying. I stumbled a few steps before catching my balance. “Vincent! Have you lost your mind? Let me go!” I couldn’t keep the act up anymore, dropping my voice into an angry, desperate hiss. Hearing me use my actual tone to say his name, he stopped in his tracks and threw a freezing glare over his shoulder. “Done pretending to be your sister?” He dragged me toward the terminal exit, his strides massive and relentless. I thrashed against his grip, yelling, “Since you already know she’s my twin, you should know the real girl you want is back! Go find her! Why are you dragging me away?” Vincent stopped dead. He spun around, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look up into eyes burning with the rage of a man who had been played for a fool. “Who the hell told you she was the one I was looking for?” 9 He shoved me into the passenger seat of a black SUV parked at the curb. The doors locked with a heavy, metallic click. Vincent stalked around the hood, slid into the driver’s seat, and slammed on the gas. The massive vehicle tore out of the airport loading zone. The heat blasted through the cabin, but my hands and feet were like ice. “Where are you taking me?” I shrank back against the door, watching him like a trapped animal. Vincent stared at the road ahead, his jaw locked tight, refusing to say a single word. This cold, merciless demeanor was a perfect mirror of our broken marriage in my past life. Back then, he used to look at me with this exact same ice, cutting off all my escape routes with a single sentence. Fear and a deep, aching injustice twisted together in my chest. I gritted my teeth and decided to burn it all down. “Vincent, what exactly do you want from me? The girl you met five years ago wasn’t me! You spent the last two years hovering over me, buying me things, playing the devoted suitor, all because I share a face with her!” I unleashed two lifetimes worth of suffocating secrets in one breath. “Now she is back. She’s single, she’s beautiful, and she is right there ready to pick up where you two left off. Why are you so obsessed with holding onto the cheap stand-in?” The deafening shriek of burning rubber filled the air. Vincent violently jerked the steering wheel, slamming the SUV onto the highway shoulder. He turned his head, looking at me as if I had completely lost my mind. “Rina, what exactly is rattling around inside that head of yours?” He unbuckled his seatbelt, leaning heavily into my space, his words slipping through clenched teeth. “Who told you I met her here five years ago?” 10 I froze. “Didn’t you?” I fired back instinctively. “Five years ago I was in Boston, and she was here in New York. You couldn’t possibly have met me in Boston.” Vincent stared a hole through me. Suddenly, he reached up and tore at the collar of his expensive dress shirt. He popped the top three buttons, yanking the fabric aside to expose the skin just below his left collarbone. There was a deep, jagged scar there. It looked like an ugly centipede fused to his flesh. “Five years ago. Boston. A back alley in the South End.” He spoke slowly, enunciating every single syllable. With every word, my heart violently stuttered in my chest. “I was ambushed. They slashed my artery. I was bleeding out against a dumpster, waiting to die.” “A Chinese girl walked by wearing a gray beanie and a thick winter scarf. She didn’t call the cops, because I told her if she called them, my enemies would find me and I would be dead.” Vincent watched my eyes widen in absolute horror, a dark, mocking smirk curling his lips. “She used a pocket suturing kit to stitch my artery closed with her bare hands. And when she finished, she tied off the thread using a highly unusual modified double loop surgeon’s knot.” He let go of his shirt and leaned back into his seat. “Three years later, I was standing in the surgical observation deck at Manhattan General. I watched a young intern close up a patient, tying that exact same modified double loop knot.” The silence in the car was deafening. I felt a violent ringing in my ears. Something massive inside my reality just shattered into dust. That modified knot was a technique my mother invented when she was working as a rural barefoot doctor. She only ever taught it to me. Stella hated the sight of blood and refused to even hold a needle. The person who saved him in Boston five years ago… was me. 11 “You…” I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry I couldn’t make a sound. If the girl from five years ago was me. Then his relentless pursuit over the past two years, all the resources he poured into my career, the nights he spent standing in the snow waiting for me… all of it was meant for me? I was never a stand-in? Then what the hell was my past life all about?! In my previous life, at our wedding ceremony, Vincent’s eyes had turned bloodshot as he stared dead at Stella. The moment that turned me into the laughingstock of high society… was that all a misunderstanding too? I felt like a rat trapped in a maze, finally seeing a sliver of light, only to smash headfirst into a solid brick wall. “If you recognized me, why didn’t you ever mention Boston?” I clenched my jaw, desperately hunting for a flaw in his story. Vincent let out a bitter scoff. “How the hell was I supposed to bring it up?” He shifted the car back into drive, his tone dripping with self-deprecating irony. “I tested the waters countless times. I asked if you had ever lived in Boston. I asked if you had ever saved anyone on the streets.” “And what did you tell me? You looked me dead in the eye and said you were so squeamish you couldn’t even swat a fly, that blood made you faint, and that your only trip to Boston was a quick vacation.” Vincent shot me a complicated sideways glance. “You guarded yourself against me like I was a serial killer. If I had walked up and confessed that I was the bleeding mob heir you patched up in an alley, you would have bought a one-way ticket to Antarctica that very afternoon.” I was completely speechless. Because he was absolutely right. I had spent every waking moment hiding from him. In my past life out of crippling inferiority, and in this life out of pure terror. The SUV merged seamlessly back into the speeding traffic. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the window, watching the city lights blur together, my mind in absolute chaos. If the person he loved was truly me, then what exactly caused the tragedy in my previous life? I had to figure this out, or I would never find peace. Just as I opened my mouth to probe into the events of our past life, the phone in my pocket began vibrating violently.

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1 On our fifth anniversary, Laurie flaked at the last minute, claiming a sudden emergency at the office. Seeing how crushed I was, my best friend, Jasper, and my younger brother, Sam, offered to take me to the amusement park. All day long, they went out of their way to pamper me, buying cotton candy and waiting in line for roller coasters. I genuinely thought they just couldn’t stand seeing me down. That was until I went to grab drinks and overheard them whispering behind the vending machines. Jasper lowered his voice. “Laurie blew off their fifth anniversary just to chase the Northern Lights in Iceland with Simon.” Sam shrugged it off. “She’s just helping her first love cross an item off his bucket list. So what? At the end of the day, she’s still marrying my brother.” Jasper let out a quiet chuckle. “We just need to keep Sean distracted until tonight so he doesn’t catch on.” Standing behind the vending machine, a wave of bitter irony washed over me. What I mistook for sympathy was nothing more than an elaborate cover story orchestrated by the people I trusted most. I tossed the drinks into the trash, turned on my heel, and walked out of the park. I pulled out my phone and sent Laurie one final text: You can watch the Northern Lights with him. You can give him the rest of your life, too. Then, I blocked her. I left every group chat with Jasper and my brother. I was done playing my part in a circus where everyone knew the script except me. I hadn’t been walking for ten minutes before Sam caught up to me. He grabbed my wrist, showing no guilt whatsoever, only annoyance. “Sean, why are you running off like that? Jasper waited in line for an hour to get fireworks tickets.” Jasper rushed over too, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “We were just chatting casually. Why do you always take things out of context?” I looked at them. “What was the context I missed?” Sam choked on his words for a second, then scowled. “Simon has had severe trauma since he survived that avalanche two years ago. The doctor said going back to an aurora observation site helps with recovery. What’s wrong with Laurie keeping him company?” “So there was no emergency at the office.” “Laurie was just worried you’d overthink things,” Jasper said, softening his tone. “Sean, she’s planning to propose to you as soon as she gets back. Why ruin a five-year relationship over something so small?” I suddenly laughed out loud. They had mapped out my entire day, calculating when I should eat and when I should watch the fireworks. The only thing they hadn’t calculated was that I would overhear the truth. My phone vibrated in my palm. Laurie was calling from an unknown number. The moment I picked up, her voice came through. “Unblock me.” In the background, I could hear the howling arctic wind. And Simon’s voice. “Laurie, come quick. The sky is lighting up.” Laurie covered the receiver, her voice turning distant for a second before returning, calm as ever. “The safety emergency was real. After I resolved it, I just happened to join him on the trip.” “A detour from Boston all the way to Iceland?” Silence hung on the other end for two full seconds. “Sean, stop twisting my words.” “I’m not twisting anything. I’ve let it go.” “I saw your text,” her tone turned cold. “It’s fine if you’re disappointed or angry, but don’t test me with breakups.” Jasper immediately chimed in. “Sean, just let her stay with Simon until his treatment session is over. We can talk when she gets back.” Sam added from the side, “If Laurie actually still liked Simon, would you even have had a chance with her for the past five years?” That sentence pierced my eardrums like a needle. Laurie must have heard it too, because her voice softened slightly. “I’ll be back in three days. The launch for the Boreal System is that same day. Make sure you finalize the presentation slides.” The Boreal System was an early warning risk control software I had spent four years building. During the hardest stretch, I slept in the office for three straight months. Laurie had once placed an aurora snow globe on my desk, promising that when the system officially launched, she would take me to see the real Northern Lights. Now, as the system was about to be released, she had gone to see them with someone else first. “Laurie, we’re broken up.” She let out a soft sigh. “You’re just speaking out of anger. Sean, don’t make me deal with your emotions when I get back.” The line went dead. Sam rubbed his nose and reached out to pull me. “Alright, Laurie explained everything. Let’s go, the fireworks are starting.” I dodged his hand and took a cab home alone. In the entryway sat the custom watch Laurie had given me two months ago. Underneath the box was an Iceland travel brochure. I used to think it was a subtle hint at a proposal. Now I realized it was just a page dropped from Simon’s itinerary. The computer in the study was still on. Laurie’s corporate account hadn’t logged out, and an itinerary confirmation email was centered on the screen. The flight was booked two weeks ago. The hotel was an aurora view suite. The guests listed were Laurie and Simon. The so-called emergency was a lie prepared for me from the start. Just as I was about to close the tab, a new email popped up. The sender was Jasper. Subject: PR Contingency Plan Regarding Mr. Sean’s Exit from the Boreal Project. Sent three days ago. I opened the attachment. The very first line read: If Sean discovers the Iceland trip, his brother, Sam, will handle comforting him, while Jasper delays him. And on the last page, there were two words personally approved by Laurie: Approved. The next morning, Laurie sent her assistant over with a necklace. The assistant placed the velvet box on the table with a smile. “Ms. Gosling said this is an anniversary gift. She hopes you can cool off and join the launch rehearsal on time this afternoon.” The pendant was a silver snowflake. Identical to the one I received on my birthday three years ago. I flipped over the bottom of the box and saw the duty-free receipt. Location: Iceland Airport. Quantity: Two. I pushed the box back across the table. “Thank her for me, but please tell her to give this to someone more suitable.” The assistant looked awkward. “Mr. Sean, Ms. Gosling also said that the Boreal project is at a critical stage. It’s best not to bring personal feelings into work.” I raised my eyes. “Take a message back to her for me too: Don’t use other people’s hard work to please her ex.” That afternoon, I went to the company headquarters. A massive poster hung by the entrance of the launch hall. Laurie’s name was at the top, and Simon stood right beside her, labeled as the Creative Founder of the Boreal System. My name was completely gone. Jasper was directing the staff to swap seat tags. When he saw me, he immediately dragged me aside. “Why are you here early?” “If I didn’t come early, how would I know someone else is sitting in my seat?” He lowered his voice. “This is just a marketing strategy. Simon is an avalanche survivor. Using his story gives the media a narrative they actually want to cover.” “So you erased my name.” “Ms. Gosling said that true achievers don’t need to obsess over credit.” I stared at the man who had been my friend for twelve years. When he was maliciously fired by his previous employer, I brought him into Laurie’s company and begged her to make him the PR Director. The first time he received a bonus, he hugged me crying, swearing he would never let me down. Now, he was using the crisis management skills I taught him to manage me. The giant screen suddenly lit up. Laurie joined the video conference remotely from Iceland. She wore a black parka, with a snow-covered wooden cabin behind her. Simon was wrapped in her scarf, sitting by the fireplace. “Let’s start the rehearsal,” she said. I stepped in front of the camera lens. “Who approved that poster?” When Laurie saw me, her brows furrowed. “Simon’s story has more marketing value. After the press conference, I will credit your contributions in an internal memo.” “I don’t want an internal memo.” Simon rose from the sofa and interrupted softly. “Sean, don’t blame Laurie. I just felt a personal connection to the name Boreal, so I agreed to help promote it.” He raised his hand to adjust his scarf, revealing a woven cord on his wrist. I had woven that cord for Laurie myself. Embedded in the knot was an old microchip, the processor that burned out during the very first successful test run of the Boreal System. Laurie had said it was proof of what we endured together. I asked, “Where did you get the item on your wrist?” Simon subconsciously glanced at Laurie. Laurie said indifferently, “It’s just an old cord. He liked it, so he took it.” “That’s mine.” “Sean,” her tone grew sharp. “Don’t make a scene in front of the employees.” Whispers erupted among the staff below. Sam arrived out of nowhere and gestured to me from the front row. “Sean, come down first. Simon is just borrowing it. There’s no need to throw a fit over something so trivial.” I didn’t move an inch. “The core architecture of the Boreal System belongs to me. As of today, I am revoking the authorization.” The hall fell dead silent. Laurie’s gaze darkened. “All your development was completed at the company. The intellectual property belongs to the firm.” “The initial version was written before I ever joined this company. The original source code and copyright registrations are all under my personal name.” Jasper’s face drained of color. Sam rushed onto the stage and grabbed my arm. “Are you insane, Sean? The company invested tens of millions into this project. Revoking authorization now, are you trying to force Laurie to fly back just to soothe your ego?” I pulled my arm free. “I’m simply taking back what belongs to me.” Laurie stared at me through the screen for a moment, then let out a cold laugh. “You won’t do it.” “What?” “You spent four years pouring your soul into Boreal. It’s like your child. You won’t actually destroy it.” She was so certain. Certain that I couldn’t let go of the project, and certain that I couldn’t let go of her. “Continue the rehearsal,” Laurie instructed her assistant. “Temporarily suspend Sean’s backend access. We’ll restore it once he cools down.” The screen went dark. Security guards walked up to me and politely asked me to leave. As the elevator doors were closing, I saw two staff members carrying cardboard boxes out of the R&D department. Inside the boxes were my original handwritten calculation manuscripts. Stuck on top was an international shipping label. Destination: The wooden cabin in Iceland where Laurie and Simon were staying. I intercepted the two boxes. The assistant stepped in front of me. “Mr. Sean, this is Ms. Gosling’s arrangement.” “These manuscripts are my personal property.” “Ms. Gosling said Mr. Simon needs to understand the development process for his interview tomorrow.” I tore off the shipping label and hugged the manuscripts to my chest. “If he wants to tell a story, let him tell his own.” The assistant tried to stop me again, but Sam charged out of the elevator and yanked the boxes out of my hands. “Sean, stop throwing a tantrum!” His movement was too violent. The bottom of the box ripped open, sending hundreds of pages of manuscripts scattering across the floor. A passing employee dropped a cup of coffee, spilling brown liquid right onto the oldest stack of calculation sheets. I knelt down to pick them up. The edges of the paper were soaked through, crumbling at the slightest touch. Those were the very last data sets my father had helped me check before he passed away. He didn’t understand programming, so he wore his reading glasses, checking every single number line by line. Sam caught sight of the handwriting on the paper, and his expression froze. “They’re just a few draft pages. Everything is backed up on the cloud anyway.” I looked up at him. “This is Dad’s handwriting.” His lips twitched, but he quickly averted his eyes. “If Dad were still alive, he wouldn’t want to see you ruin Laurie’s company either.” Jasper knelt down to help me gather the papers, whispering, “Sean, once the Boreal launch succeeds, Laurie is giving you a five percent profit share. If you cooperate now, everyone wins.” “You all knew she was giving the creator credit to Simon, didn’t you?” His hands stopped. I asked again, “Iceland, the itinerary, the project, what else have you been keeping from me?” Sam answered impatiently, “Laurie just owes Simon an closure. They broke up back then because Simon went on a mountain survey for her and got caught in an avalanche.” “And?” “And so Boreal was originally something Laurie wanted to build for him!” Sam glared at me. “You were just the engineer who executed her vision.” Four years of development. Over fourteen hundred sleepless nights. In my brother’s mouth, it all boiled down to being the engineer who executed her vision. I picked up the dry manuscripts and turned to walk away. Laurie’s video call came through to the assistant’s phone. “Put him on.” The assistant handed the phone over. It was late at night in Iceland. Simon was asleep, resting his head on Laurie’s shoulder. She didn’t push him away, only kept her voice hushed. “Simon has an interview tomorrow morning. Hand over the manuscripts.” “No.” “Sean, stop being unreasonable.” “Laurie, do you have any idea that my father’s final notes are on these papers?” She went quiet for a moment. “I’ll hire an expert to restore them.” “Some things can’t be restored.” “Then rewrite them,” her voice carried a hint of exhaustion. “You’re a professional engineer. There’s no need to make things hard for a recovering patient over a few old sheets of paper.” Jasper reminded her from the side, “Ms. Gosling, the media already knows Simon is the project founder. If we don’t have the original manuscripts, the interview will fall apart.” Laurie didn’t hesitate. “Take the manuscripts.” The assistant took a step forward. As I backed away, my spine hit the wall, and the papers slipped from my arms again. Sam took the chance to grab the box, while Jasper blocked my path. Jasper whispered, “Once the launch is over, I’ll personally help you get them back.” “What makes you think you have the right to get anything back for me?” Jasper avoided my eyes. Over the phone speaker, Laurie settled the matter as effortlessly as she always did. “After the project concludes, I’ll stay at the family estate with you for a few days, and we’ll restore your father’s study to exactly how it was.” “What happened to the family estate?” The surrounding air instantly went still. Sam’s face turned ghostly pale. I glared at him. “What did you do to the estate?” “The company was short on cash flow last year, so Laurie used the house as collateral for a loan,” he stammered out. “It was just for temporary liquidity.” That house was the only legacy our father left us. Ownership was split fifty-fifty between us. My signature had never appeared on a single mortgage document. “Who signed my name?” Sam clutched the box tighter. “Sean, Laurie promised to buy me a new apartment. I just thought the old house was sitting empty anyway.” “I asked you, who signed my name?” His eyes turned red as he snapped back, “I forged your signature! But Laurie promised that once Boreal succeeds, the loan will be paid off immediately!” Laurie didn’t deny it. She remained composed on the call. “Sean, I will explain everything when I return. Sign the authorization extension right now, otherwise the bank will recall the loan early, and the estate will be repossessed.” The assistant conveniently handed over a pen and the legal document. The signature flag was already attached to the final page. I looked at my brother, looked at my best friend, and looked at the woman on the screen who had once promised to protect everything I cherished. Then, I took the pen. Laurie’s tense brows finally relaxed. What she failed to notice was that in the authorization duration column, I didn’t write Permanent. I wrote 72 Hours. Laurie didn’t contact me the day she landed. Instead, photos from the airport trending online took over the news. In the shots, she was pushing Simon’s luggage with one hand while keeping her other hand around his waist. They were both wearing matching red cords on their wrists. The caption read: A Decade-Long Aurora Promise Kept. Jasper called me, urging me to get to the office. “The media found out about your relationship with Laurie. Everyone is saying Simon is a homewrecker. You need to clarify things publicly.” “Clarify what?” “Say that you two broke up amicably a long time ago, and that her Iceland trip has nothing to do with you.” I hung up the phone. Half an hour later, Sam arrived at my apartment with two security guards. “Sean, Laurie is waiting at the estate. The bank reps are there too. If you don’t sign the permanent authorization today, the house gets seized.” I went with him. The gates to the ancestral estate were wide open. The pomegranate tree my father planted was uprooted and dumped by the courtyard wall. The antique furniture in the living room had been completely cleared out. Simon stood in the center holding a roll of architectural blueprints, chatting cheerfully with Laurie. “Let’s convert the study into a nursery. It’ll be convenient when we have kids after we get married.” I stopped at the doorway. Laurie caught sight of me, her expression faltering slightly. “He was just talking casually.” “This is my home.” The smile on Simon’s face faded. Sam hastily jumped in, “Sean, Laurie bought out your share of the title. If you marry her later, this will still be your home. Simon is just helping look at the renovation plans.” I walked over to the uprooted pomegranate tree and touched the jagged tally marks on its trunk. My father had carved those marks to measure mine and Sam’s height when we were kids. The axe cut sat right on top of the very last mark my father had made. Laurie walked up behind me. “The roots were rotten, which posed a safety hazard. I’ll have someone plant a new one.” “Where are my manuscripts?” She retrieved the box from her car. The top few pages had already been cut out and placed inside Simon’s media interview binder. Beside my father’s handwriting was Simon’s flourish signature. “The press required physical proof,” Laurie said smoothly. “I’ll return them after the launch.” I reached out and pulled those pages out of the binder. Simon reached over to stop me, and his sleeve caught the aurora snow globe sitting on the edge of the table. The glass shattered on the hard tile floor. Green glitter mixed with liquid spilled across the stone. When Laurie gave it to me, she had recorded a voice message in the base. When Boreal succeeds, we’ll get married. Now, the base was cracked in two, the recorded voice looping erratically: “We will… We will…” Simon turned pale with fright. “I’m so sorry, Sean, I didn’t mean to!” Laurie immediately shielded him behind her back, ordering her assistant to clean it up. I knelt down to pick up the broken base. She gripped my wrist tight. “There’s broken glass. Don’t touch it.” “Let go.” “It’s just an old trinket. I’ll buy you a brand-new one.” I looked up at her, a question slipping out. “Laurie, when you pursued me back then, was it because of him too?” She didn’t catch my meaning. But Simon’s face changed instantly. I pulled an old sheet from his interview binder. It was a wishlist written ten years ago: Watch the Northern Lights. Build a risk warning system. Propose under the pomegranate tree. Signed ten years ago by Simon. Every single thing I had ever done with Laurie was nothing more than an item checked off Simon’s old bucket list. Jasper hurried in. Seeing the list in my hand, he immediately said, “Why bring up ancient history? The fact that Laurie did all those things with you later proves she chose you!” Simon’s eyes welled with tears. “Laurie was just missing me too much back then, so she found someone with a similar personality to keep her company. But she wasn’t bad to you either, Sean. Please don’t force her to admit it.” I looked at Laurie. This was the final chance I was giving her. “Is what he said true?” Laurie offered no answer. She simply placed a legal statement in front of me. “The launch is about to start. Sign this first.” In the statement, I was to admit that I had never participated in the core development of Boreal, and that I apologized to Simon for maliciously attempting to claim ownership. Further down was an incident liability confirmation. During their time in Iceland, Simon had remotely altered the testing parameters, nearly causing the partner company’s hardware to overload. They wanted me to take full responsibility for the malfunction. Sam coaxed me softly, “Sean, Simon has a medical condition, he can’t handle an investigation. You’re a professional engineer, at worst you’ll just face a temporary suspension.” Jasper added, “Once the statement is released, the public outrage will settle down. You’ve loved Laurie for five years, you can’t really stand by and watch her company fail its IPO, right?” Laurie handed me the pen. “Sean, sign it. I will settle the estate loan immediately. Once this passes, we will get married as planned.” I didn’t take it. She took my hand and forced the pen into my palm. “Don’t act out of spite. I know you won’t leave.” At that exact moment, the pain ran so deep that there were no tears left to shed. I signed my name at the bottom of the statement, pulled out another document from under it, and handed them both over to her. Laurie only glanced at the signature before instructing her assistant to release it to the press. She failed to notice that the second document was not an authorization extension. The second the statement went live online, the main screen in the launch hall went black. Laurie’s phone blasted a piercing system alarm. Her assistant rushed in, face pale as a sheet. “Ms. Gosling! The Boreal System authorization just expired!”

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1 On our honeymoon’s first day, I dragged three massive suitcases alone through the crowded terminal. Josh walked ahead, arm wrapped around Brooke’s shoulders, shielding her from the rush. “Hurry up, Linda. You know Brooke is fragile. I can’t let her stay in this crowd.” Before I could reply, a heavyset man slammed into me. I hit the floor, luggage crashing down. Sharp pain flared across my knees and shins. Looking up, neither of them had bothered to look back. We’d grown up together. Brooke’s severe medical condition meant she was treated like spun glass, everything revolving around her. As kids, Josh always stepped between us. As we got older, even after we started dating, he’d drop everything and sprint to her the second she called. Now, on our honeymoon, he’d insisted on bringing her along because he worried about her health. For years, I compromised. I swallowed my pride. I took a step back. But I was human too. I bled when I fell. And there would always be a day when I was just too hurt to take another step forward. … The freezing temperature of the airport tiles seeped through my clothes, chilling my chest. Just as I pushed myself up, Josh finally appeared in front of me. “If you fell, why didn’t you say something?” He pulled me to my feet, then immediately grabbed two of the suitcases, marching forward at a brisk pace. “Let’s go. We are going to miss the flight.” I glanced up at the giant departure board. “Don’t we still have three hours?” Josh’s shoulders went visibly rigid. “Linda, we aren’t going to the beach anymore.” I froze in my tracks. Panic seized my chest as I scrambled to unlock my phone. I pulled up the itinerary. Our original destination, the pristine beaches of Maui, had been completely altered. We were booked for a snowy mountain resort in Aspen. “Josh…” I held my phone up. My hands were trembling violently. I couldn’t tell if it was from hauling the heavy bags or from the absolute shock of his words. “Brooke hasn’t been feeling well. She really wanted to see the snow…” Because of Brooke. Again. “Josh, this is our honeymoon.” A trip I had spent three months agonizing over. I had meticulously planned out every single outfit, matching my dresses, shoes, and jewelry. I had mapped out two completely different itineraries for us to enjoy by the ocean. When I sent him the plans, he didn’t utter a single word of complaint. I even swallowed the bitter pill of letting him drag her along on our romantic getaway. And now he was telling me that our honeymoon had been hijacked. Relocated to the freezing mountains, all because Brooke wanted to see the snow. Behind my back. Without a single word. “Honestly, a vacation is a vacation no matter where we go.” Josh reached out to grab my wrist, trying to pull me forward. I ripped my hand away. “You two go. I am not going.” My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss. I grabbed the handle of my remaining suitcase and turned around. But Josh grabbed my arm in a vice grip. “What is your problem, Linda?” “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum just because we aren’t going to an island?” I didn’t answer. One of the wheels on my suitcase had snapped off during the fall. Dragging it felt impossibly heavy. Josh stood blocking my path, a deep scowl carving into his forehead. He looked incredibly annoyed. “Linda, can you please show an ounce of empathy? You know exactly how sick Brooke gets.” I raised my eyes, looking past him to the glowing flight boards. I forced back the sharp burn of tears threatening to spill. Right. Brooke was sick. Because she was sick, she had to crash the honeymoon I had dreamed about for months. The sunny beaches I longed for had to be swapped out for the freezing altitude of Aspen. Because she was sick, Josh spent the entire morning shielding her from the crowds, while I was left dragging three oversized bags alone, getting knocked to the ground until my legs were black and blue. I desperately wanted to ask him, what about me? Even now, he hadn’t bothered to ask if I was hurt. How many times had this happened? I had lost count. After a long, suffocating silence, I meticulously peeled his fingers off my arm, swallowing the heavy lump of grief wedged in my throat. “You better hurry. Don’t let Brooke wait too long.” Hearing this, Josh glanced down at his expensive watch. He shot me one last disappointed glare. “Linda, you seriously need to work on this toxic attitude of yours. Acting like the world is ending over a slight change of plans is just pathetic.” I kept my mouth shut, dragging my broken suitcase toward the exit. A slight change of plans? I didn’t think so. When we were planning our wedding, I wanted a massive, joyful celebration. Josh told me we had to consider Brooke’s sensory issues. She couldn’t handle loud noises or large crowds. So the vibrant, beautiful wedding of my dreams was downgraded to a cramped, dimly lit chapel with exactly four people in attendance, including the priest. After we got married, I just wanted a normal life with my husband. Josh told me Brooke’s parents were too old to provide the care she needed, and he wanted to move her into our spare bedroom. So my private marital sanctuary became a crowded house of three. Before all of this, I had sat him down multiple times. I asked him to establish some healthy boundaries. I reminded him that he was a married man now. But he just brushed it off. He told me Brooke was our childhood best friend, and taking extra care of her was simply the right thing to do. So it happened again. And again. And again. I was supposed to be his wife, his partner in life, yet I was always the one being pushed to the back of the line. And now, as I dragged a broken suitcase through the chaotic airport traffic, Josh was already boarding a plane with Brooke. Our honeymoon had officially become their romantic getaway to Aspen. By the time I finally managed to hail a cab, my phone buzzed with a text from Josh. [Make sure you text Brooke and explain why you left. I don’t want her stressing out and thinking this is her fault.] I didn’t reply. The phone vibrated again. It was a text from Brooke. [Linda, did you back out of the trip because of me? I feel so awful. This was supposed to be your honeymoon…] I didn’t reply to that either. I simply flipped the phone to silent and tossed it into my purse. Watching the city blur past the taxi window, I felt nothing but a bone deep exhaustion. All those tiny, neglected details had finally crushed me. I was so incredibly tired. I just wanted to escape. I wanted to be as far away from them as physically possible. I had the driver take me straight to my office building. I left the broken suitcase in the lobby and rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. I handed in my formal resignation, then walked over to my cubicle to pack my things. Sarah, my team lead, stood by my desk with a look of genuine regret. “Are you seriously leaving us, Linda? Upper management was just talking about putting you up for a massive promotion.” I gave her a quiet nod, carefully placing the small potted plant Josh had given me years ago into the cardboard box. Sarah wasn’t lying. I was on the fast track to a director role. But the only reason I had taken this job, the only reason I stayed in this city, was because Josh wanted to settle down here. And looking back, it was painfully obvious that he only wanted to stay here so he could keep a close eye on Brooke. At least Josh and I hadn’t filed our official marriage certificate yet. Walking away was going to be remarkably simple. By the time I wrestled my massive suitcase through the front door of the apartment, Josh and Brooke had just landed in Colorado. My phone lit up with his incoming call. “Brooke has been having a panic attack the entire flight because of your little stunt.” “Text her back right now.” I lay flat on the mattress, listening to his icy, demanding tone. My eyes slowly wandered around the master bedroom. The modern chandelier, the silk bedsheets, the vanity desk, the custom wardrobe. Every single piece of furniture in this room was chosen to fit Brooke’s aesthetic. When we were decorating, Josh insisted that everything had to be approved by Brooke. He claimed that if she didn’t like the environment, it would trigger her anxiety and worsen her physical health. I hadn’t fought him on it. I figured it was just furniture. It served the same purpose no matter what it looked like. But laying here now, the entire room felt suffocating. I didn’t care if she was supposed to be my friend too. “Josh, I am so completely exhausted. I…” Before I could even get the explanation out, Brooke’s delicate voice filtered through the receiver. “Noley, what woman are you talking to on the phone?” “Come here and help me with the zipper on my dress.” I froze on the bed. Noley. What woman. The zipper on my dress. It was an overwhelming amount of information packed into three sentences. It would be impossible for any normal person to ignore. While I was stunned silent, Brooke’s voice shifted. “Oh, it’s Linda!” “Linda, you aren’t mad at me, are you? I saw you didn’t reply to my text.” “Please don’t overthink this. I practically begged Josh to bring me to Aspen. You know how much I love the snow.” “And you know how weak my joints are. I didn’t want to pull a muscle reaching for my zipper, so I just asked Josh for a tiny favor.” She had an air tight explanation for absolutely everything. I let the silence hang, refusing to give her the validation she wanted. I was entirely done fighting over these twisted little details. Because the truth was, neither of them cared about how I felt. “Linda, we are heading out to grab dinner! Talk to you later!” Click. The line went dead. I didn’t sleep a single minute that night. I lay perfectly still in the dark, replaying years of neglected boundaries and broken promises. I watched my own shadow stretch across the wall. I felt completely numb. Paralyzed. Until eventually, I couldn’t feel anything at all. Around five in the morning, right as my eyes were finally starting to close, I heard the heavy click of the front door unlocking. I pushed the bedroom door open. Josh was walking into the living room, supporting Brooke by her waist. Brooke looked completely drained, but the moment she saw me, she forced a sweet, innocent smile. “Linda, we came back!” She walked over and wrapped her arms around me. I stiffened, awkwardly patting her back. “Why are you guys back so soon?” The moment the words left my mouth, Josh shot me a look of pure disgust. “Because of you, obviously!” “How can you be so incredibly selfish, Linda?” “It is a massive effort for Brooke to travel, and you had to ruin the entire trip by throwing a tantrum!” I pushed Brooke away, locking eyes with him. My patience had officially evaporated. “I am the selfish one?” “Josh, when you decided to drag her along on our honeymoon, did you consider my feelings for even a second?” “When the two of you hijacked our itinerary and changed the destination without telling me, did you consider my feelings?” “And the wedding…” “Shut up! Just shut up, Linda! Brooke is standing right here!” “You always bring up the exact same things. Brooke has a severe medical condition. Why do you constantly insist on competing with a sick woman?” “Competing?” The tears I had been fighting back finally broke, spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. “Please stop fighting, Linda.” “It’s my fault. It is all my fault.” “My body is just a burden. I ruined your special trip.” She started crying hysterically, stepping forward to grab my hands. I instinctively stepped back, brushing her hands away. She dramatically stumbled backward, landing flat on her behind. Before my brain could even process what was happening, Josh lunged forward and shoved me hard in the chest. I flew backward, crashing violently onto the hardwood floor. “Why the hell did you push her?” “Are you actually a psychopath, Linda?” Without another word, Josh scooped Brooke up into his arms and sprinted out the door toward his car. Panic finally set in. I didn’t even have time to process the betrayal. I grabbed my keys and followed them to the emergency room. Brooke was rushed into a private examination room. I sat on the cold plastic chairs in the hallway, watching Josh press his face against the glass window of the door, his eyes wide with frantic worry. A passing nurse stopped and gently tapped my shoulder. “Miss, do you need me to wrap that up for you?” I blinked in confusion. The nurse pointed down at my arm. I finally realized that when Josh shoved me, I had scraped my arm against the sharp edge of the coffee table. Thick drops of blood were slowly pooling on the linoleum floor. I panicked and tried to cover the gash with my bare hand, but the nurse gently pulled my wrist away. “Don’t do that. You’ll introduce bacteria into the wound.” “Come with me to the trauma bay.” I followed her down the hall in a daze. She carefully cleaned the wound with antiseptic, glancing back out toward the hallway. “That guy out there, his wife is the one in the room, right?” I froze for a second, realizing she was talking about Brooke. I gave a slow nod, saying nothing. “Your brother sure is dedicated to his wife. He’s been staring through that glass since they got here. He didn’t even notice his own sister was bleeding everywhere.” The gauze tightened around my arm, bringing a sharp, burning sting. When I walked back out to the hallway, Josh was still pacing in front of the window. He didn’t spare me a single glance. An hour later, the doctor finally walked out. He assured us that Brooke was perfectly fine. Her daily maintenance routine had protected her joints. She just needed some rest. I stood by the wall. Just as I instinctively moved forward to help Brooke walk, Josh finally noticed the thick white bandages wrapping my forearm. “What happened to your arm?” I paused, then smoothly stepped out of his reach. Josh froze, his hand hanging awkwardly in the air. He stared at me, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say a word. That night, I lay frozen on the edge of the mattress. I heard the rustle of the sheets behind me. Josh slid his arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest. In the pitch black room, his voice was low, carrying a hint of genuine warmth. “Linda, about what happened this morning… I was out of line.” “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” “Can we just drop the attitude now?” “Let me see your arm.” I kept my mouth completely shut. Hot tears streamed down my face, soaking silently into the cotton pillowcase. He reached down, trying to touch my bandaged arm. I smacked his hand away. His tone instantly hardened. “Linda, what exactly is your problem?” “We are practically married. We have our whole lives ahead of us.” “Are you seriously going to hold a grudge over one little mistake forever?” I took a shaky breath, forcing the violent sob back down my throat. “Josh, it’s not one little mistake. It’s a thousand of them.” I sat up, turning on the lamp, wanting to finally lay everything out on the table. Click. Josh reached over and plunged the room back into darkness. I nudged his shoulder. He rolled over, giving me his back. “Linda, I just don’t get you. We all grew up together. Why are you so completely incapable of making room for Brooke?” Staring at the back of his head, I suddenly let out a laugh. The sound was hoarse, ugly, and broken in the quiet bedroom. Why couldn’t I make room? Because love is inherently territorial. It demands to be chosen first. In that exact moment, a chilling realization washed over me. Josh had probably never loved me at all. So it made perfect sense that he couldn’t comprehend why I refused to tolerate his obsession with another woman. The next morning, I changed my flight ticket. Before the sun was fully up, I hauled my suitcase out the front door. Josh and Brooke had already left the apartment. I had no idea where they went. But I did know that today was my birthday. And for my first gift of this new year, I was giving myself a completely new life.

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1 On my nineteenth trip abroad, Justin bypassed tourist spots again, dragging me into a dense rainforest. Insects crawled through mud, guttural calls echoed. I clutched his sleeve, pleading we turn back. He ignored me, eyes fixed on his phone’s blinking red dot. A viper coiled around my calf. I reached for Justin, but he leapt forward, catching Renee, his childhood best friend who’d vanished two years ago, as she jumped from a tree. “Took you long enough,” she teased, arms around his neck. “I promised I’d bring you home,” he murmured. I collapsed onto the mud, blood pouring from the snakebite. The truth hit: nineteen trips weren’t memories for us. They were cover while he hunted her. He’d promised marriage after our travels. I’d followed him through deserts, rapids, and snow-capped peaks. All I got was a man whose eyes held only another woman. I was exhausted. His journey was over. And so were we. … The rental car broke down right when the rain started to fall. Justin popped the hood, checking the engine while dialing emergency services. He scowled, his face full of annoyance. “You really need to watch where you’re walking,” he snapped at me. “Now we all have to waste time waiting for an ambulance because of you.” I sat helplessly on the muddy shoulder of the road. Listening to his complaints, I didn’t even have the energy to respond. Looking up, I saw Justin and Renee wearing full-body protective gear. I was wearing ordinary hiking clothes. Justin hadn’t told me our final destination, nor had he prepared any gear for me. He hadn’t even spared me a single glance when the snake bit me. Tears mixed with the rain, dripping onto the blood-stained mud beneath me. By the time the ambulance arrived, my consciousness was fading fast. Justin and Renee climbed into the back with me. He held my hand, but his head was turned completely toward Renee, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I left the hotel in the middle of the night,” Justin said softly to her. “I was terrified you’d run away again if I was a minute late. Don’t pull a stunt like this ever again. Do you have any idea what the last two years have been like for me?” As he spoke, his grip on my hand tightened painfully. I knew that intensity wasn’t meant for me. Renee tossed her hair back, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “That was your punishment! You have to remember: the first peeled shrimp always goes into my bowl!” Justin offered her an indulgent laugh. “Alright. I promise.” As darkness pulled me under, their conversation echoed relentlessly in my mind. Two years ago, Renee had stormed off and vanished simply because Justin placed a single peeled shrimp in my bowl at dinner. Yet I was supposed to be his fiancée. Justin and Renee grew up together. When I met her for the first time, she smiled and called me “sister,” but her arm naturally slid through Justin’s. Justin had told me not to overthink it. “I only see her as a little sister.” But do normal siblings bathe together and scrub each other’s backs? Renee had endless demands. She insisted on riding shotgun in his car, demanded that Justin hand-feed her, and forced him into fitting rooms to zip up her dresses. Her total lack of boundaries chilled my heart time and time again. I had fought with Justin over it. Seeing his complete lack of remorse, the thought of breaking up crossed my mind for the very first time. Pathologically, that was when Renee vanished, and Justin suddenly insisted on taking me on a world tour. He never mentioned Renee’s name. He claimed that traveling together before marriage would help us understand each other better, promising we’d tie the knot the moment we returned. He thoughtfully packed my bags, swaying my resolve to leave. During the trip, I noticed something was off. Sometimes he insisted on staying in a single city for three months; other times, he demanded we board a flight the moment we landed. “Can’t we explore a little?” I had asked him at an airport terminal, feeling exhausted. “I heard the local food here is amazing.” Justin had kept his head down, staring intently at the red dot on his phone screen. “It’s all tourist traps. The scenic spots are overcrowded. Just look up pictures online.” It wasn’t until today that I finally understood: the red dot he monitored twenty-four hours a day was Renee’s real-time GPS location. She ran, and he chased. A wave of overwhelming grief jolted me back into a brief state of consciousness. Their voices drifted into my ears once more. “Why did you even bring Sadie along?” Renee complained softly. “To cook for me,” Justin replied casually. “You know how sensitive my stomach is.” Yes, we all knew how delicate Justin’s digestive system was. Ever since I got together with him, I had been meticulous about his diet. Even while traveling, I did my best to buy fresh groceries and cook his meals personally. It turned out I had treated him too well, so well that he forgot how I had spent countless nights hunched over toilet bowls, throwing up from severe motion sickness and unfamiliar food. In Justin’s eyes, I was nothing more than a glorified live-in maid. Renee never cared about his health. Whenever she wanted something, Justin would indulge her without question. Once, he ate ultra-spicy hotpot with her and ended up collapsed on the floor in agony from acute gastritis. Yet the next time she invited him out, he went without hesitation. I had once thought Justin was just too polite to say no, so I offered to decline her invitations on his behalf. Before I could even finish my sentence, Justin had snatched my phone away. “Renee just wants to eat hotpot. What did she do wrong?” Right. She did nothing wrong. So what did I do wrong? All I wanted was a loving, complete outcome for our relationship. All I wanted was for the man I loved to have eyes only for me. He couldn’t do it. And I was done waiting. When I woke up, the hospital room was completely empty. I picked up my phone from the nightstand and saw a text Justin had sent two days ago: [The hospital is too depressing, so we left first. The bills are paid. Get some rest, and I’ll bring you a souvenir when we get back.] Staring at those cold words, a bitter, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. Right then, my phone pushed a notification for Renee’s latest social media update. They had visited the city’s most famous cathedral, waited in line for viral ice cream, and taken dozens of intimate photos along the beach. In the photos, Justin was smiling brighter than I had ever seen in five years. We had been together for half a decade, yet looking at him now felt like watching a complete stranger flaunt his happiness with someone else. He claimed he hated crowds, yet he abandoned every single one of his rules for Renee. Or rather, Renee was his only rule. I stared at those photos for a long time, unable to process the hollow ache in my chest, until the doctor walked into the room. I couldn’t understand a word of the local language. Seeing the solemn expressions on their faces, an unsettling dread filled my heart. With trembling hands, I pulled up a translation app on my phone. The cold, robotic voice translated the doctor’s words: “We were unable to save your baby.” My hands went limp, and the phone crashed onto the floor. The sharp sound echoed in the quiet room, shattering my heart into pieces. I refused to accept it. I gestured frantically, trying to double-check with the doctor. In that moment, I desperately prayed that the translation app was broken. When the doctor offered a solemn, confirming nod, all the strength drained from my body. My hands drifted unconsciously down to my flat stomach. Justin suffered from severe oligospermia, and my uterus had been severely damaged from a previous miscarriage years ago. This was supposed to be our last chance at having a child. If I hadn’t followed him into that rainforest, if I hadn’t been bitten by that snake, my baby might still be alive inside me. It was too late. Grief and resentment consumed me, but I still forced myself to call Justin. He deserved to know. It was his child, too. The phone rang endlessly. It wasn’t until the thirteenth call that he finally picked up. Justin’s impatient voice blasted through the receiver. “You’re awake? We’re very busy right now, we’ll talk later.” Hearing his voice, tears spilled down my cheeks. “Justin… our baby is gone,” I choked out, struggling to string the words together. Justin hesitated for a single second before letting out a mocking laugh. “Our baby? Sadie, come up with a better lie next time. Trying to trick me into coming back with a stunt like that is pathetic.” I froze, stunned into silence. He didn’t believe me. I had told him about the pregnancy weeks ago. He had nodded while sitting right beside me. He hadn’t listened to a single word I said. Justin loved me even less than I had imagined. I forced down the lump in my throat, trying to explain again, but the loud chime of an airport boarding announcement rang over the line. My heart skipped a beat. “Justin, where are you?” He fell silent for a moment before moving to a quieter spot. “Renee wants to go home.” The final thread holding my composure together snapped. “So?” I wept. “You just abandoned me? Justin, I’m still in the hospital!” I never imagined he could be this heartless. He had left me stranded in a foreign country without a second thought, all for Renee. “Who knew when you’d wake up?” Justin replied, his tone flat and unbothered, as if discussing the weather. “You can’t expect us to wait around forever.” A moment later, Renee’s voice drifted into the background. “Sadie, you’re so independent, I’m sure you can manage to fly home on your own, right? We’ll be waiting for you back home!” Home? That was never my home. In a foreign land, unable to speak the language, I handled my own discharge paperwork and dragged my exhausted body back to the hotel. The room was in disarray. Justin’s jacket was still tossed over the sofa, evidence of how hurriedly they had packed, terrified I might wake up and slow them down. I numbly packed my belongings. While clearing out the nightstand, I found Justin’s old tablet tucked between the mattress and the frame. His messaging account was still logged in. After a brief hesitation, I tapped on his chat thread with Renee. Even though they had seen each other every day, their chat history was endless. Justin sent her pictures of fallen leaves on his morning commute, ordered extra portions of food whenever he found a good restaurant, and replied to her messages instantly, even during major corporate meetings. Everything he gave to Renee was something I had spent five years praying for. My chat window with Justin was always dead silent. No matter what I sent, he replied with a single, transactional “Okay.” I let out a soft, bitter laugh. My fingers scrolled upward through the logs, landing on the day Renee had vanished two years ago. Justin had sent hundreds of frantic texts and made dozens of calls. [Renee, where are you running off to?] [Please stop scaring me. Just send me one message, please.] [I was wrong. I promise I’ll peel the shrimp for you first next time.] Even through plain text, I could feel his desperation and guilt. The words “I’m sorry” appeared repeatedly. Early the next morning, Renee had finally replied: [If you can find me, I’ll forgive you and go back with you.] Attached was a blurry photo of an unnamed highway. Renee always dropped subtle clues, and no matter how cryptic they were, Justin never complained. He simply replied: [Wait for me.] Then he transferred money directly to her bank account with a note: [Don’t skimp on yourself.] Seeing this version of Justin left me thoroughly stunned. He had never worried about me. When I was once stranded on a mountain during a storm for a day and a night, Justin didn’t make a single call. When I finally dragged myself home, exhausted and bruised, he merely offered a cold remark. “I’m very busy. I don’t have time to deal with trivial matters.” When I suffered my first miscarriage, bleeding heavily on a hospital bed with my life hanging by a thread, Justin hadn’t answered his phone once. He was attending an art exhibition with Renee. It wasn’t until I was discharged that he casually drove over with Renee to pick me up. “Your constitution is too weak,” he had said, his tone as light as air. “You need to exercise more.” I wasn’t blind to his blatant favoritism. I had once deliberately left home for a few days, desperate to see if he would worry about me. He didn’t. He worked as usual and went out drinking with his friends at night, a smile glued to his face. “She’ll come back on her own,” he had told his friends confidently. Justin was certain that my love for him would keep me by his side forever, certain that I would forgive everything he did. But long before I loved him, I loved myself. I calmly shut down the tablet. I booked two one-way flight tickets. One to Chicago to pack up my remaining life. And one to Seattle, to erase Justin from my existence entirely. After a grueling ten-hour flight, I landed in Chicago, only to find an electronic invitation waiting in my inbox. A welcome-back party for Renee was being held at The Grand Plaza Hotel. It was the exact venue I had booked months ago for our wedding. Every single detail of the ballroom had been designed by me. Yet the woman standing in the spotlight wasn’t me. On Renee’s social media feed, the venue looked almost identical to my original wedding vision, except every single red rose had been replaced with white Lisianthus flowers. [Thank you to Justin for flying these flowers in! I love them so much!] In the photo, Justin’s reflection in the glass was slightly blurred, but the tender, affectionate smile on his face was unmistakable. Of course. Justin had always insisted that whatever Renee wanted, she would get. In this relationship, I had always been the outsider. Being squeezed in the middle was unbearable. I hated it. Returning to our apartment, I packed my bags without stopping for a moment. Everything connected to Justin was left behind. While I was packing, my phone rang. It was Justin. He lowered his voice, his tone sharp and hurried. “Are you back in Chicago? Hurry up and bring the gift on the desk over to the hotel. I was in a rush and forgot it.” I walked over to the desk. Sitting right in the center was an exquisite velvet jewelry box. Inside was a limited-edition diamond ring—one of only three in the entire city. “Justin, sending a ring to a friend isn’t appropriate, is it?” I said quietly. When this ring was first released, Justin had promised he would fight to buy it for me as a wedding band. Now, that promise had been completely wiped from his mind. Justin’s tone turned impatient. “What’s inappropriate about it? Renee likes it.” “You’re getting jealous over nothing again. It’s just a ring. I’ll buy you another one later.” I let out a faint smile. What I wanted was never just a ring. In the hotel ballroom, Justin was pacing like a nervous wreck, shuffling his feet to hide his anxiety. “It’s still not here? Can’t you hurry her up?” he grumbled to his friend. When the courier finally appeared at the door, the weight on Justin’s chest lifted. However, the courier didn’t just deliver the ring box. He also handed over two official medical reports. One was my hospital discharge report for a complete miscarriage. The other was an official medical diagnostic report confirming Justin’s severe oligospermia. Justin’s eyes widened in horror. His fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. “This… this is impossible…”

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1 When I saw the intern Topher leave a stack of crucial expense reports unattended on the copy room printer, I didn’t gather them up. Instead, I pulled out my phone and tagged both the CEO and the Director of Finance in the company Slack channel: [“Topher left his stack of expense receipts on the main printer. Could Finance please come count them in person? I want to make sure nothing goes missing and causes a misunderstanding.”] In my previous life, I had done the nice thing and handed the papers back to him. Half an hour later, our boss screamed because the ledgers didn’t match. Topher panicked, eyes wide and innocent: [“That sequential twenty thousand dollar receipt was definitely in that stack… Artie was the only one who handled my papers…”] [“Artie, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t play a joke like this!”] The boss didn’t listen. He fired me on the spot and called the cops, accusing me of embezzlement. I lost my permanent contract, my five thousand dollar commission, and was blacklisted industry-wide. I died young, working triple shifts for DoorDash to pay debts. Only after death did the truth surface. Topher had secretly sold that twenty thousand dollar receipt for a corporate tax write-off and needed a scapegoat. Framing me also let him steal the only permanent position. This time, I would make Finance audit every single sheet in front of the whole office. If even one page is missing, Topher, you can rot in a cell. … “Artie, what the hell is this?” Topher stormed over to my cubicle, shoving his phone screen in my face. It displayed the message I had just dropped in the general channel. His eyes were already welling up, rimmed with a pathetic red. “I just accidentally left my papers on the tray. Did you really need to put me on blast in front of the whole company?” “Are you purposely trying to humiliate me?” I didn’t even look up from my keyboard. I just gave him a quiet, flat response. “Those are high value corporate receipts. I’m just following protocol.” He sucked in a sharp breath, spun on his heel, and marched straight toward Donovan’s office. I watched him walk away. My chest felt completely hollow, calm as a stagnant pool of water. Three minutes later, Donovan’s office door swung open. “Artie. Get in here.” I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Topher was curled up in the corner of the leather sofa, clutching that stack of expense reports. Tears were already spilling down his cheeks. Donovan sat behind his massive mahogany desk, a printed ledger spread out in front of him. He tapped his pen against the wood, completely out of patience. “Topher says someone tampered with his paperwork. A twenty thousand dollar receipt is missing.” “I never touched his papers.” Topher looked up, biting his lower lip. “But Artie… I left those papers on the printer at exactly eight thirty. You went into the copy room at eight thirty three…” “The security badge logs show it…” He handed his phone to Donovan, displaying a screenshot from the building’s access system. Black and white proof. I absolutely had gone in there. I went in to grab my own performance review forms. I was in and out in under two minutes. But right now, that digital log was the only piece of evidence pointing straight at me. Donovan’s gaze pierced through me like a physical blade. “Care to explain that?” “I went in to grab my own printouts. I did not touch his belongings.” Topher’s voice dropped to a fragile whisper. “Artie, my stack was resting right on top of the output tray. There’s no way you could have missed it…” He let the sentence hang in the air, dropping his head to wipe at his eyes. He didn’t make a direct accusation. He didn’t yell. He just stated the setup. Every single word he spoke sounded like I really don’t want to suspect you. But the subtext was screaming It couldn’t have been anyone else. Donovan slammed his hand against the desk. “Twenty grand is not pocket change. Artie, open your bag.” “Absolutely not. You have no right to search my personal belongings.” “Refusing means you are guilty.” Topher stood up quickly, gently tugging at Donovan’s sleeve. “Donovan, please don’t do this. Maybe I just miscounted…” The way he begged for mercy on my behalf was far more lethal than any accusation. Donovan shook off the intern’s hand. “You don’t need to cover for him, Topher. We are getting to the bottom of this.” He picked up his desk phone and punched in an extension. “Marcus, get to my office right now.” Marcus, our HR Director, walked in sixty seconds later. Donovan gave him a quick rundown of the situation. Marcus glanced at the security logs, then looked at me. “Artie, are you willing to cooperate with a bag search?” “No.” The entire office outside seemed to hold its breath. The door wasn’t shut tight. Everyone in the bullpen had heard every single word. Faint whispers started floating through the gaps in the blinds. “He won’t let them search his bag. Do you think he actually stole it?” “Twenty grand, man. That is a felony right there…” “No wonder he caused a scene in the Slack channel this morning. He was trying to divert attention.” Topher started crying again. I just stood perfectly still, letting the weight of everyone’s stares wash over me. I wasn’t panicking. Because I had already prepared for exactly this. The gossip spread through the corporate grapevine faster than I could have ever imagined. When lunchtime rolled around, nobody asked me to join them. The guys I normally grabbed burgers with, Greg and Ben, completely ghosted me. The two girls from administration didn’t even look in my direction. The four of them walked to the food court together. I could see them whispering as they waited for the elevator. I sat alone at my desk. Down the hall, I could hear voices carrying from the breakroom. “Artie always looked like such a straight shooter. You really never know with people.” “I heard his dad is in the hospital. Medical bills are piling up. He’s desperate.” “Desperate doesn’t mean you steal company property! You can flip a twenty thousand dollar receipt on the gray market for thousands in cash.” “Ugh, I feel so bad for Topher. He’s just an intern. If the company makes him cover that loss, his life is ruined.” I walked up to the breakroom entrance, holding my empty coffee mug. The moment they saw me, the room went dead silent. They grabbed their drinks and shuffled out, avoiding eye contact. Nobody apologized. Nobody thought there was anything wrong with what they were doing. At two in the afternoon, Topher put on his second crying performance of the day. This time, it was right at his desk, in full view of the entire floor. He took a phone call, hung up, and buried his face in his arms. His shoulders shook violently. Greg rolled his chair over and asked what was wrong. Topher shook his head, his voice muffled by his sleeves. “Finance just told me… if we can’t recover that receipt, I might have to cover the tax discrepancy out of my own pocket…” “I barely make two thousand a month as an intern. How am I supposed to pay that back?” Greg immediately shot a dirty look across the room, glaring right at me. Topher sniffled and added another line. “It’s my own fault for being careless and leaving it on the printer…” “I don’t blame Artie… he probably has his own struggles right now…” I don’t blame him. He has struggles. Every single word was another nail in my coffin. At three o’clock, Donovan called an all hands meeting. Standing at the front of the conference room, his eyes swept over the crowd, lingering on me for a heavy second. “The company is treating this missing document as a severe breach of trust.” “Until the internal investigation is concluded, the parties involved will have all operational permissions suspended.” Parties involved. It was just me and Topher. And in their eyes, Topher was the bleeding heart victim. Which meant the real target of that suspension was me. After the meeting, I returned to my desk to find my network access gutted. I couldn’t log into the project backend. The client tracking spreadsheets were locked out. When I checked the approval portal for my five thousand dollar commission, the status read in bold red letters: EMPLOYEE REMOVED FROM PROJECT. Eleven months of grinding, all down the drain. I stared at the grayed out screen. It was exactly like my past life. With a single phantom piece of paper, he had manipulated an entire office into taking his side. I didn’t shed a tear. I had cried all my tears in my last life. Crying didn’t fix anything. Part of me wanted to stand up right then, scream at the top of my lungs, and swear to them that I was innocent. But not yet. The timing wasn’t right. When I swiped my badge the next morning, my desk was gone. My monitors, my keyboard, my family photos. They had all been relocated from the premium window spot down to a dark corner right next to the men’s restroom. A junior admin approached me, looking like a deer in headlights. “Marcus gave the order. He said you are being temporarily reassigned.” I hadn’t signed a single piece of paperwork agreeing to a transfer, but they had already executed the punishment. At nine sharp, Marcus walked over with a clipboard. “Artie, here is your reassignment notice.” “While the investigation is ongoing, you are being moved from Sales to Administrative Support. Your pay will reflect the standard rate for the new role.” I skimmed the paper. My base salary was being slashed from four thousand a month to minimum wage. “The investigation isn’t even over, and you are already demoting me and cutting my pay?” Marcus kept his face completely neutral, offering a subtle roll of his eyes. “This is to protect you just as much as it protects the company.” I refused to take the pen. Marcus frowned. “I need an answer by end of day tomorrow.” “If you refuse to sign, HR will process this as a voluntary abandonment of your job.” After he walked away, I noticed the entire atmosphere on the floor had turned toxic. People took wide detours just to avoid walking past my new desk. If I walked into the kitchenette to get water, whoever was inside would immediately grab their cup and bolt. When I went into the restroom, the guys talking in the stalls instantly went dead silent, waiting until they heard the door click shut behind me to resume their gossip. At ten thirty, Donovan summoned me to his office again. Topher wasn’t there this time. Instead, there was a fresh document waiting on the leather blotter. A mutual separation agreement. “Artie, I will make this quick.” Donovan leaned back in his plush chair, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. “This missing document is causing a massive disruption. The company cannot afford to let this drag out.” He set his mug down and slid the paper toward me. “We part ways mutually.” “You get a severance package. Four thousand two hundred dollars. You sign it, you pack your box, and you leave today.” “Let’s keep this professional. It’s the best option for everyone.” I had bled for this company for eleven months. I had pulled countless all nighters. I built three major client pipelines from scratch. Tomorrow was the absolute final day of my probationary period. Next month, my five thousand dollar commission was scheduled to hit my bank account. And he thought he could buy my silence for a measly four grand. “I’m not signing that.” Donovan’s face darkened like a thundercloud. “You better think this through. If you don’t take the mutual exit, I will terminate you with cause.” “That termination goes on your permanent employment record. And the stated cause will be theft.” Theft. He had already played judge, jury, and executioner. No actual investigation. No conclusive findings. No physical proof. Just a digital door log and an intern’s fake tears. That was all it took. I looked at the dollar amount printed on that piece of paper, and I suddenly found it incredibly funny. In my past life, I had stood in this exact office, crying, begging him to just review the evidence one more time. In this life, I wasn’t begging for a damn thing. After lunch, I submitted a request for two hours of personal time off. Nobody asked where I was going. Nobody cared. By the time I swiped back into the building, it was almost five. Topher was leaning against the breakroom doorframe, chatting and laughing with a few coworkers. The moment he saw me, his smile hitched. “Hey Artie. Where did you run off to this afternoon?” “Personal errands.” He nodded, not pushing the subject. But his eyes followed me down the hall, tracking my every move. He was trying to figure out if I was still a threat. He probably concluded that I wasn’t. Because in his mind, I was already a dead man walking. My network access was gone. My desk was by the toilets. The entire office was treating him like a martyr, and the boss wanted me gone by sundown. Tomorrow was the final deadline for the full time contract approvals. As long as I took the severance today, or got fired tomorrow, that permanent spot was his. He had won. That was exactly what he was thinking. Just like the last time. I sat down at my desk and unlocked my phone. The stage was set. The final day. The deadline for contract conversions. When I walked into the bullpen at eight in the morning, Topher was already at his desk. He was wearing a brand new button down shirt. His hair was perfectly styled. A faint, arrogant smirk played on his lips. It was the smile of a victor. At nine, Donovan sent out an office wide alert, calling everyone to the main conference room. The agenda was listed as a quarterly wrap up and a personnel announcement. Every single person in that room knew exactly what was about to happen. They knew who was getting the permanent contract. The room was packed tight. Donovan stood in front of the projector screen, spending five minutes running through boring sales metrics. Then he cleared his throat and picked up a manila folder. “Now, for our personnel update.” “After a comprehensive evaluation, the company has decided to offer a permanent, full time position to Topher. He will be stepping into the role of Account Supervisor.” Supervisor. Not a junior associate. A Supervisor. He skipped two whole rungs on the corporate ladder in one day. The room erupted into applause. Topher stood up, offering a practiced, humble bow. “Thank you, Donovan. Thank you, everyone.” “I truly appreciate the trust this company has placed in me, and I promise to exceed your expectations.” Donovan raised his hands, gesturing for the room to quiet down. His expression shifted into something grim. “Additionally, due to the severe mishandling of company documents recently, we have decided to terminate our employment contract with Artie.” He didn’t even bother looking in my direction. His voice was laced with disgust. “Effective immediately. Human Resources will assist in escorting him off the premises.” “This company has zero tolerance for employees with compromised morals. We don’t need scum like that here.” The room fell dead silent for a split second. Then, someone actually clapped. Just a couple of people, clapping like they had finally purged a cancer from the office. Justice served. Topher turned his head to look right at me. Deep in his eyes, I saw the exact same malicious glint from my previous life. “Artie, you really shouldn’t have done it.” He walked over to me, his tone dripping with condescension. “I know things have been really tough for you lately, and you did put some good work in while you were here.” “If you ever need a reference or a little help landing on your feet, you just let me know.” Everyone was watching. His performance was Oscar worthy. The gracious victim extending forgiveness to his attacker. The newly minted Supervisor offering a helping hand to the disgraced, fired colleague. So kind. So professional. I stared right through him, not saying a word. And then, I smiled. Topher’s face twitched. He couldn’t comprehend why I was smiling. Why would a guy who just got fired in front of thirty people, while the whole room clapped for his departure, be smiling? I pushed my chair back and stood up. “Donovan, before I pack my things, can I have exactly two minutes of your time?” Donovan scowled, his voice thick with annoyance. “Take whatever complaints you have to Marcus. I am done dealing with you.” “Two minutes. That’s it.” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice unnervingly calm. “If you won’t let me speak here, I will gladly take my evidence straight to the Department of Labor.” The conference room felt like a vacuum. Donovan glared at me for five long seconds, then glanced nervously around at the crowd. “Fine. Speak. You have exactly one hundred and twenty seconds.” He aggressively tapped the crystal face of his wristwatch. I walked to the front of the room. Thirty pairs of eyes tracked my every movement. Some looked disgusted. Some looked pitying. Some just wanted a show. Most were just impatient for me to leave. I knew exactly what they were thinking. What could a desperate thief possibly have left to say? I turned to face the crowd, then locked my eyes onto Topher. “You told everyone I stole that twenty thousand dollar receipt, correct?” He frowned, his voice dropping into a warning tone. “Artie, the company has already made its decision…” “And you said the badge logs proved I was the only person who entered the copy room, correct?” He clamped his mouth shut. I let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Well then, let’s watch the tape together.” The projector screen behind Donovan flickered, the background suddenly shifting. As the image sharpened into focus, a collective gasp ripped through the room.

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Ethan Cole had been chasing my mom for years. She’d turned him down clearly and repeatedly. And he still had the nerve to grin at me and say, “Kid, when I finally win your mom over, remember to call me Dad.” He got on my last nerve. So I tied him up and tossed him onto the bed. Then I slapped his broad pecs until they swelled and grabbed him by the hair. “Is this what a father looks like after his son leaves him too wrecked to crawl?” “Stop hounding my mom.” “Or every time I see you, I’ll make you regret it.” 01 The brooch Ethan Cole had given my mom? She refused to keep it. He turned around and tossed it to me. “A little early gift from Dad, for when you start calling me that.” “It’s expensive, too.” I wasn’t taking his gift, and I certainly wasn’t accepting his favor. I gave his shin a light kick. “My dad is dead. If you want to join him, I’ll call you Dad.” He didn’t get angry. He just hooked an arm around my neck with a goofy grin. The warm, masculine scent of his cologne filled my senses. But there was nothing dignified about him. He acted nothing like a man who had just turned thirty. He blew lightly against my ear. “What a rude little mutt.” “Even if I’m not your dad, I’m still your uncle. Is that how you talk to your elders?” 02 That was exactly why having him as my uncle made it worse. Ethan Cole had lost both parents when he was young. Our families had always been close, so my grandparents took him in and raised him. My mom was eleven years older than him. He called her Sis. They’d grown up together. Later, my mom and dad fell in love and got married. By the time I was old enough to run around, teenage Ethan Cole had started chasing my mom. Trying to wreck my parents’ marriage would have been bad enough. But right after my dad died, Ethan doubled down and moved straight into our house. He’d been camped out there for years. I told him, “A toad like you has no business dreaming of a swan.” Smiling, he held up one knuckle. Then he slipped it between my lips and pressed it against one of my canine teeth. When he pulled it out, a faint tooth mark was left on his fingertip. He waved it in front of me. “Look at that. The little toad has fangs.” Immature. Stupidly, unbelievably immature. 03 Our apartment only had two bedrooms, and my mom usually came home late. Ethan insisted on waiting for her so he could make her a late-night snack before leaving. After cooking, he somehow kept chatting until it was too late and he was “too tired” to go home. So he squeezed into my bed again. Over the years, he’d taken over my bed often enough that several sets of his pajamas had ended up in my closet. He was a restless sleeper. One minute he’d roll over; the next, he’d throw a leg across my stomach. When I woke in a haze, it felt like I was wrapped up with an octopus. Warm breath brushed my neck, tickling my skin. I was just about to push him away when he mumbled, “Claire…” That was my mom’s name. Something hard pressed against the side of my thigh. I woke all the way up. Before I could even process the disgust, he leaned toward me. His lips landed on mine without warning. Heat shot straight through me. I shook with rage and kicked him out of bed. Ethan hit the floor with a dull thud and a breathless groan. He didn’t even get mad. Sitting there, dazed, he looked up at me. “What happened? Bad dream?” I smiled through my clenched teeth. “Yeah. Dreamed a dog bit me.” The shameless bastard still tried to climb back into bed, half-asleep. He reached for me. “Let me rub your ears. There, there. Bad dream, be gone.” I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me. Get out!” His hand stopped in midair. After several seconds, he slowly pulled back the knee he’d planted on my mattress. He looked a little annoyed now, too. He stripped off his pajama top and threw it straight at my face, almost like he was getting even. “Such a brat. You’re young, but you’ve got a hell of a temper.” By the time the shirt slid off my face, he was gone. I took a furious breath, only for his scent to flood my nose again. Pushy, overbearing, and impossible. I punched his pajamas twice, just to vent. “Damn it. What a jerk.” 04 These days, just seeing Ethan Cole made my whole body feel wrong. So I started taking the long way around him. He blocked the front door one day and asked, “What did I do to offend you now, Your Highness?” My eyes flicked over his full lips. I looked away fast. “Good dogs don’t block the door.” I didn’t expect him to be that shameless. He leaned close and murmured by my ear, “Woof. Can we make up now? Don’t talk trash about me in front of your mom.” I told him I had a summer job and would be late if I didn’t leave. After a few steps, I remembered something and glanced back. Ethan was still standing there with his arms crossed, smiling at me. “I’m not making up with you. We were never friends in the first place.” The restaurant was slammed with the dinner rush. Then I got stuck with an especially obnoxious customer. Pouring his drink wasn’t enough. He kept teasing me. “Aren’t you a little young to be waiting tables?” “Come stand beside me and keep my glass full. I’ll tip you.” I refused. “Sorry, I also have a few private rooms to cover.” “If you need anything, please call me.” When I tried to leave, he grabbed my hand. The unfamiliar touch made my stomach turn. I jerked away as if I’d been burned. He stared at me, his face going through several shades of red and white. Then he glanced at the other people at the table. His temper exploded. He picked up his wineglass and threw the drink in my face. “What kind of service is that? I’m spending hundreds of dollars on dinner here!” “Some punk who hasn’t even grown his first beard thinks he can give me attitude?” “Get your manager!” I was still trying to figure out what to say when the private-room door swung open. Of course it was Ethan Cole—the man I’d just said I would never make up with. Our eyes met, and mine immediately slid away from his flushed lips. The customer looked at Ethan, and his whole expression changed. “Mr. Cole! What a coincidence. I didn’t know you ate here.” Ethan walked in. “I heard something going on in here.” The customer hurried over with a smile. “Nothing serious. Just a disrespectful server.” “I’ll complain to the manager and take care of it.” “Are you entertaining clients tonight?” Ethan shook his head. “No. My kid is working here for the summer, getting a little life experience. I came to check on him.” The customer immediately started flattering him. “Of course someone from the Cole family is different.” “If I’m lucky enough to see your young man here next time I come in, I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” Ethan smiled. “Hear that, Julian? Mr. Carter says he’ll take care of you.” “Come here.” 05 He called me over. Mr. Carter’s face turned awkward in an instant. Ethan acted as if he hadn’t noticed. He simply reached out and wiped the wine from my chin. “What happened, little mess?” I was supposed to hate Ethan Cole. But his touch was so gentle. Gentle enough to make a dull ache rise in my chest. My voice came out almost plaintive, like I was looking for shelter. “He threw it at me.” Ethan pretended not to know. “Who would dare?” Then he turned to Mr. Carter. “You saw what happened, right?” “This kid has been spoiled rotten since he was little. I’ve always held him in the palm of my hand.” “He’s never had to suffer a single indignity, and the one time he’s out of my sight, this happens.” He looked back at me. “Who was it?” Before I could answer, Mr. Carter broke. He grabbed napkins and bent over to wipe my clothes. “I’m sorry. You see, we ran into an old acquaintance.” “My fault. I’d had too much to drink and didn’t recognize you.” “I sincerely apologize.” I’d never seen this kind of adult double-dealing up close. I’d never seen someone so much older than me bow and scrape, either. The unfamiliarity of it made me look at Ethan again without thinking. He smiled at me, his eyes crinkling. “Speak up, little prince.” “If you’re still upset, somebody’s about to have a very bad night.” A sheen of cold sweat appeared on Mr. Carter’s nose. I pressed my lips together. “It’s fine now.” 06 He took me away from the restaurant. “Come to my place and change. Your mom will worry if you go home like this.” He said it was for my mom. I appreciated it anyway. In his car, I murmured, “Thanks.” He’d clearly heard me, but he leaned over to tease me. “Hmm? What was that?” I turned my head and met his amused eyes. He was focused on me, close enough that his breath tangled with mine. I wet my lips and immediately faced forward again. “I said thanks!” He laughed, and the hand he ran through my hair only made a mess of my thoughts. 07 His place was enormous—a penthouse apartment that was several thousand square feet. I rarely went there, and every time I did, I complained. “Your place is this huge, and you still come crowd into my apartment every night.” He ignored that and told me to stay. He buzzed around like a busy bee, finding me clean clothes and a fresh towel. He changed the sheets, adjusted the humidifier, and lit a scented candle. It was more preparation than I’d ever needed to sleep in my own bed. Even after I burrowed under the covers, he kept planning cheerfully. “Hey, do you want to take a bath?” “I’ll have someone clean the tub tomorrow. You can soak for a while.” “What do you want for breakfast?” I couldn’t understand him. After spending all these years throwing himself at a brick wall in my house, wasn’t he tired of it? “Isn’t this a lot of trouble?” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “Not at all. The place finally feels lived-in.” “It’s usually pretty empty.” Moonlight washed over him, giving his whole figure a hazy, lonely look. I stared at his face, my thoughts tangled. For one strange second, Ethan Cole didn’t seem quite so unbearable. He turned to leave, and before I could think better of it, I called him back. He looked over his shoulder seriously, almost hopeful that I had more to say. I pressed my lips together, then said, “We’re good.” Ethan blinked, then broke into a smile. He walked to my bed and bent over me. The scent of him made my thighs clench before I could stop them. He brushed one fingertip across my nose. “Good night, brat.” 08 My mom always told me, “Your uncle is lonely. He’s had a hard life. You don’t have to be so hostile to him all the time.” For the first time, I thought I understood a little. I’d barely started seeing Ethan differently when he made another grand confession to my mom. An apartment building has no shortage of gossip. The neighbors downstairs were whispering, “Oh, please. He says he’s her little brother, but he’s sending her roses now.” “When Claire Bennett’s husband was still alive, that brother of hers was always showing up.” “They must have had something going on back then, too.” “Shameless.” My temper flared. I leaned over the second-floor railing and called down, “Gossiping about people behind their backs brings bad luck, you know?” Their expressions changed. “Watch your mouth!” “I’m talking to you the way you’re talking about other people.” When I got home, the roses still hadn’t been cleared away. My mom sat at the table, her eyes red as she wiped my dad’s framed photo. My heart clenched. My mom was such a strong woman. But she could still cry like she’d been hurt beyond words. She said, “If your dad were here, maybe there wouldn’t be so many rumors.” 09 I didn’t blame my dad for being gone. I blamed that idiot Ethan Cole. Furious, I stormed to his place. He was drunk, being helped out of a car by a beautiful woman. They looked far too familiar with each other. My clenched fists wouldn’t stop shaking. I took him from the woman, dragged him inside, and threw him onto the bed. Ethan looked miserable, his whole body flushed and burning hot. I grabbed his tie, wanting to choke him with it. “Ethan Cole, this is your final warning.” “If you ever dare to—” His mouth cut me off. He murmured, unfocused, “Come on. Let me do it…” I stopped cold. My fury plunged into ice. I heard my teeth click together. “What?” My voice came out cold enough to freeze. He fumbled at my clothes. “Give me…” “What the hell do you want?” A hard slap stopped him. I grabbed him by the throat and cursed. “You act like some tragic romantic while making my mom’s life miserable.” “And then you turn around and try to get into bed with someone else.” “You really think you get to have everything?” “You piece of trash—what gives you the right to chase my mom?” There were rules about not hitting someone in the face, especially not like that. I was his nephew. I was a full ten years younger than him. Ethan’s unfocused eyes cleared a little. For the first time, the man who was always smiling looked angry. His chest rose and fell hard beneath my palm. Heat radiated through his shirt, hot enough to burn me. “No right? Have I ever treated you badly? Have I ever treated your mom badly?” “Neither my mom nor I need anything from a filthy bastard like you!” “Do you hear me?” Ethan’s eyes burned red. The hand gripping my arm stood out with veins. Anyone would lose it after being cursed out by someone younger. Ethan was no exception. “Filthy bastard? Am I in bed with someone right now?” “No.” “I’m going after her, and no one’s going to stop me.” “You little bastard. I’ve treated you right for years, and this is what I get?” “Wait until I’m your dad. Then you can yell at me.” 10 That one line poured gasoline on the fire. I had never met anyone so shameless. Treating me right? Was that what he called watching my mom get worn down by his pursuit while the neighbors talked? Was it treating me right to start discussing my “new dad” when my father’s body was barely cold? Any good opinion I’d formed of him had clearly been a concussion. I pinned him down, my voice frighteningly calm. “You still want to be my dad?”

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1 I was his secret mistress for five years and even bore him two kids. He slammed a black credit card into my hand with a scowl. “A hundred million. Is that enough?” Me: “More than enough! Thank you, boss!” I assumed it was my severance package. Holding my babies, I walked away without looking back, even taking his Golden Retriever on the way out. Later, my best friend told me that on the day I left, he smashed three priceless antique vases in his office and screamed at his secretary: “I told her to buy an engagement ring! An engagement ring! Why the hell did she take the money and run?!” Holding my toddler, I blinked in utter confusion. “…Wait, what?” … Jordan’s corner office. The AC was blasting cold air, making my skin prickle. He sat behind his massive black ebony desk, his face darker than the wood. Slam. A sleek black card dropped onto the polished surface, sliding right in front of me. “Take it.” His voice lacked warmth, dropping like a block of ice onto concrete. I reached out, picking up the card. My fingertips brushed against the cold, metallic surface. He glared at me, his sharp gaze practically burning holes through my clothes. “Five years,” he spoke, his tone heavy with suppressed fury. “Is this enough?” I looked at him, then down at the card. I ran the numbers quickly in my head. Five years. Two kids. The prime of my youth. In exchange for an unlimited black card. Was it worth it? I didn’t know. But I knew it was time to end things. With an attitude like his, what else could this be? Maybe he found someone new. Maybe his family arranged a high-society marriage. Or maybe he was simply tired of me. None of it mattered. What mattered was that he was giving me a dignified way out. I took a deep breath and offered him my signature smile, a submissive, obedient smile I had practiced thousands of times over the past five years. “More than enough,” I nodded repeatedly. “Thank you, boss. Paid in full, I understand completely.” I clutched the card tightly in my palm. This was my security, my financial safety net for the rest of my life, and the future of my two children. Jordan’s face froze. He clearly hadn’t anticipated this reaction. The fiery rage in his eyes instantly crystallized into complete bewilderment. I didn’t linger to analyze his expression. Delaying only invited trouble. If I didn’t leave now, what if he changed his mind? “Well then, Mr. Irwin…” I stood up, offering a polite bow. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be taking my leave?” His lips moved, but no sound came out. “The kids…” he finally managed to squeeze out two words. “Don’t you worry,” I cut in immediately, speaking at breakneck speed. “I will take great care of the children. I’ll make sure they never disturb your new life.” “No need for child support either. The money on this card is more than enough. I promise they will vanish from your world completely.” Finishing my speech, I offered another flawless bow. Then I turned and walked toward the exit. My high heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floor. Every step felt like climbing a staircase toward total freedom. I could feel his gaze burning into my back like a spotlight, intense and suffocating. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t look back. The moment my hand touched the door handle, a low, strained sound echoed from behind me, squeezed straight from the depth of his throat. “Lynda!” My body stiffened. I didn’t turn around. I opened the door and walked out. Outside, his executive secretary, Brenda, stood trembling, looking at me in sheer panic before peeking past me into the office. I ignored her, heading straight for the executive elevator. Once inside, the doors slid shut. The mirrored walls reflected my face: calm, expressionless, composure fully intact. Only I knew that my heart was pounding wildly against my ribs. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Hi, movers? I need the fastest service you have.” “Thirty minutes? Great. I’ll send the address.” “Also, help me book three tickets to Silver Sands. The earliest flight available.” The elevator reached the ground floor. I stepped outside into the summer heat and exhaust fumes. It was stifling, but to me, it smelled like pure freedom. I glanced up at Jordan’s skyscraper towering into the clouds. Goodbye, Jordan. Goodbye to five years of being a bird in a golden cage. From today on, I, Lynda, am a free woman. With your hundred million dollars. Back at the luxury mansion Jordan provided, I burst through the front door. Nanny Mrs. Flora was sitting in the living room playing building blocks with my kids. “Miss Lynda, you’re back?” Mrs. Flora stood up. “Mrs. Flora,” I panted, trying to keep my voice steady. “An emergency came up at work. They’re sending me out of state for an extended business trip.” “Please help me pack the kids’ clothes. Just their daily essentials, and hurry.” Mrs. Flora blinked in surprise. “So sudden?” “Yes, extremely urgent,” I nodded, putting on a serious expression. “Company business.” Not daring to pry further, Mrs. Flora hurried upstairs to pack. I squatted down to look at my two angels. My oldest, Toby, four years old, looked just like Jordan, wearing a tiny serious frown on his face. My youngest, Penny, two years old, took after me, her eyes curling into cute crescents when she giggled. “Toby, Penny,” I stroked their soft hair. “Mommy is taking you both on a fun long trip. Are you excited?” Penny clapped her tiny hands, babbling merrily, “Yay! Trip!” Toby knitted his small brows, staring at me. “Mommy, did Daddy tell you to go?” My heart sank slightly. “No,” I shook my head. “Mommy wants to go.” “Daddy… Daddy is very busy. We shouldn’t bother him.” Toby nodded thoughtfully, asking no further questions. Relieved, I sprinted into my master bedroom and opened the safe. Inside were the cash and jewelry I had saved over the years, along with our passports, birth certificates, and official documents. I had already stored encrypted scans of everything on a flash drive. I swept everything into a pre-packed backpack, then opened the walk-in closet. I skipped the designer clothes he bought me, taking only a few comfortable cotton outfits I had bought myself. By the time I finished, Mrs. Flora came down with the kids’ luggage. “Miss Lynda, all packed.” “Thank you.” I pulled out a stack of cash from my purse, around three thousand dollars, and shoved it into her hands. “Mrs. Flora, thank you for taking care of us these past five years. This is your bonus.” “I might… not come back for a long time. Take the money and head back to your hometown today.” Mrs. Flora gasped, waving her hands nervously. “Miss Lynda, I can’t accept this! Mr. Irwin will fire me!” “He won’t. Take it. You earned it.” “Leave right now, and don’t look back.” Intimidated by my resolute tone, Mrs. Flora stood dazed, holding the cash. Ignoring her, I grabbed the suitcases and led my children out the front door. At the porch, a massive golden head poked out from the doghouse. It was Buster, Jordan’s Golden Retriever. Though technically his dog, I was the one who fed, walked, and bathed him most of the time. Buster looked at me, his tail spinning like a helicopter rotor as he let out a soft whine. He seemed to know we were leaving. Looking into his big, wet eyes, my heart melted. Given Jordan’s terrible temper, who knew how he would treat Buster when he got mad? Screw it. I’m taking the dog too. “Buster, come here,” I whistled softly. Buster darted over joyfully, nuzzling my leg. I unclipped his leash. “Come on, buddy. You’re coming with us.” And so, there I was: Lynda, a woman supposedly dumped by her billionaire sugar daddy. Leading two toddlers and a hundred-pound Golden Retriever, standing outside the gates waiting for the moving truck. The truck arrived. I loaded the kids and the dog into the back. The driver asked, “Where to, ma’am?” I gave him the address of a temporary storage facility on the outskirts of town. As the engine turned over, I cast one last glance at the golden cage I had lived in for five years. I had left the house keys on the entryway console. My SIM card had been snapped in half and tossed into a storm drain. Even if Jordan realized what happened, he would never find me. The moving truck rolled forward, the city lights melting into blurry streaks behind us. Toby and Penny were exhausted, leaning against my arms as they drifted off to sleep. Buster rested his heavy head on my lap, snoring softly. Looking out the window, I felt no sadness, no lingering regret. Only a massive, soaring sense of peace and anticipation for my new life. I pulled out the black card. It gleamed with a cold metallic sheen under the dim overhead light. I had no idea how much money Jordan had put in it. His claim of “a hundred million” was obviously exaggeration in anger. But a couple million, or ten million, had to be in there. It was more than enough. Enough for me to raise my kids and dog in a quiet corner of the world where nobody knew us. I let out a long breath. Jordan, this time, I’m truly gone. Taking your kids and your dog with me. One month later. In a quiet coastal town called Silver Sands, I rented a two-story storefront on a cozy street. The ground floor was converted into a bakery, which I redecorated simply. The top floor was a spacious two-bedroom apartment for me and the kids. Life became wonderfully peaceful. I didn’t touch Jordan’s black card. Not a single cent. I relied entirely on my personal savings, about three hundred thousand dollars. Spent frugally, it was enough to keep us afloat until the bakery turned a profit. I wanted zero financial ties to that man. The black card was buried at the very bottom of a biscuit tin, wiped from my mind. Every morning, I walked Toby and Penny to a nearby private preschool, then returned to manage my shop, baking cakes, making pastries, and brewing fresh coffee. Small-town life moved at a gentle pace, and the neighbors were warm and friendly. They only knew me as a single mother working hard to raise two kids. Nobody knew my past. It was bliss. Toby and Penny adapted quickly. They gained a sun-kissed glow and laughed constantly. Especially Toby, who used to frown like a miniature adult, now smiled every day. Buster became a local celebrity. He spent his afternoons napping by the bakery door, wagging his tail whenever regulars passed by. Kids from the neighborhood loved stopping to pet him after school. I assumed life would continue smoothly like this forever. Until one afternoon. I was in the back kitchen testing a new mango mousse recipe when my phone rang. It was a local, unknown number. “Hello?” “Lynda! It’s me! Jess!” my best friend’s frantic voice exploded through the speaker. I froze. “Jess? How… how did you get this number?” “Are you kidding me? You think I couldn’t track you down?” Jess hollered. “I paid a private investigator to check your newly registered ID records! You crazy woman, running away without telling me a word! Do you know how worried I was?!” A warm wave washed over my chest. “I didn’t want to get you involved in my mess.” “Forget that!” Jess’s tone turned eerily serious. “Lynda, answer me truthfully. What the hell happened between you and Jordan?” “Did you really run off with his money?” My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean ‘ran off with his money’? He gave me that card as a severance package!” “Severance package?!” Jess’s voice spiked an octave higher, piercing my eardrum so hard I jerked the phone away. “Who told you it was a severance package?!” Her yell left me completely baffled. “What else could it be? You should’ve seen his face that day, he looked ready to eat me alive! He slammed the card down and barked ‘Is this enough?’ If that wasn’t a breakup, what was it?” Silence fell over the line. A heavy, agonizing silence that lasted for ten full seconds. I could hear Jess’s deep, disbelieving breathing. “Jess? Are you still there?” “Lynda…” Jess’s voice drifted through the speaker, carrying an eerie tone of utter disbelief. “My cousin’s boyfriend works as a senior director at Jordan’s company.” “He said that on the afternoon you left, Jordan’s office looked like an earthquake hit it.” My chest tightened. “What… what did he do?” “He smashed his fifteen million dollar historical antique vase into pieces!” “Do you have any idea how expensive that was?! A fortune!” “He smashed two priceless porcelain vases right after!” “The entire executive floor was so terrified nobody dared to breathe!” “And he roared at his chief secretary, Brenda, for an hour straight!” I swallowed hard. “What… what was he screaming?” Jess took a deep breath, then recited in a slow, dramatic cadence: “‘I told her to take the card and pick an engagement ring!’ ‘Cartier! Tiffany! Harry Winston! Whichever she damn well pleases!’ ‘I told her to pick a ring! A ring!’” “‘Why the hell did she take the money and run?!’” “‘And where is my dog?! Brenda! Where the hell is my dog?!’” My brain exploded like a grenade detonated directly above my head. My grip failed, and my phone dropped to the floor with a loud clatter. I stood paralyzed in the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the back window, bright and warm. Out in the yard, Toby and Penny were chasing Buster around the grass, their bright, bell-like laughter echoing through the air as Buster barked playfully, his tail wagging furiously. Everything was so peaceful, yet so utterly absurd. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I bent down and picked up my phone. Inside my head, Jess’s voice echoed on an endless, screaming loop: I told her to pick a ring… pick an engagement ring… I stared at the goofy Golden Retriever in the yard. Then at my two toddlers rolling on the grass. Finally, my eyes landed on the biscuit tin buried in the pantry that held the black card. So… he wasn’t breaking up with me. He was… proposing? And I… I mistook his proposal for a breakup? Then I not only took his money and his kids, but also stole his dog on my way out? Wait… What?!

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To meet my online boyfriend in person, I lost eighty pounds, transforming from a hundred and eighty pound chubby girl into an absolute stunner. But the day before our grand meeting, I stumbled across a post on a forum. “Transferring my online girlfriend.” “Dating for over a year. Great voice, sweet, gentle, amazing emotional value. PM me if interested.” Someone asked in the comments why he was giving up such a great girl. He replied: “Dug up her real-life info online. She’s super fat. I’m a total eye-candy guy.” The comment section flooded with jokes: “Was interested until I read ‘fat.’ Totally turned off now.” “Who wants a human tank? Keep her for yourself, man, haha.” Only one person replied: “Check PMs.” I looked at the poster’s profile picture. It was identical to my online boyfriend’s. And the date of that post was three months ago. 1 I froze. It suddenly hit me that three months ago, Brad had indeed changed drastically. Back then, he had grown distant out of nowhere, even initiating a breakup, claiming he was tired of us. I thought he was just going through a phase, so I pleaded with him for a long time until he grudgingly agreed to stay together. Shortly after, he claimed he needed to switch to a new phone number and chat account because his old one was too cluttered, wanting a fresh start for college. So I added his new account. Even after that, he remained cold for a while, his personality shifting noticeably before he eventually warmed back up to me. I had assumed he just had a change of heart after getting bored, but… I stared down at my phone. A message popped up from my online boyfriend, whose avatar was Shin-chan: [Babe, I checked the calendar and noticed your period is coming up soon. I ordered some warm bird’s nest and peach gum soup for you. Make sure to drink it while it’s hot.] [I can’t wait to meet you next month, babe. I’m a little nervous. Are you excited?] I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass. So… who exactly was the person planning to meet me? 2 When my best friend Jess found me, she beat around the bush, looking hesitant. “Did you and Brad break up?” “Why do you ask?” I replied. Instead of answering, she handed me her phone. “See for yourself.” Back when we played online games together, Jess was close with one of Brad’s gaming buddies. The guy had sent her a screenshot of Brad’s private group chat. In the group, someone asked Brad: [Hey Brad, how come you haven’t brought your girlfriend to play games with us lately?] Brad replied: [Broke up with her.] Everyone was shocked. [Wait, weren’t you guys doing great? Why the sudden breakup?] [Her voice was sweet, so I always assumed she was hot. But one time she sent a picture where a delivery receipt was visible. I saw her real name, remembered her high school, and had someone look her up.] [Turns out she’s a two hundred pound land whale! I was completely horrified. You guys know I’m a looks guy. I almost threw up on the spot, so I dumped her right away.] Someone chimed in: [Haha! Her voice sounded good because the body fat was compressing her vocal cords! The sweeter the voice, the fatter the girl!] [I remember that girl was crazy about you though. She backed you up every time we played. Did she actually agree to let you go?] Brad: [She refused, so I transferred her account to someone else. It’s not like she knows my real name anyway.] He then shared a screenshot of the forum post where he put his online girlfriend up for trade. The group blew up: [Holy crap, that’s insane! You can actually transfer a girlfriend?] [Brad’s legendary. Now she won’t bother you anymore. She definitely hid her looks on purpose. If it weren’t for an online relationship, a guy like you would never date someone like her for a year. Serves her right.] [Getting suffocated by a wild hog for over a year, Brad must be traumatized. Heart completely sealed off now?] Brad: [Got a new target recently. There’s a really pretty girl in the freshman group chat. Total angel.] Brad came from a wealthy family and frequently dropped digital gift cards in the chat, so everyone loved sucking up to him. Replies flooded in: [As expected of Brad! Already found a top-tier beauty.] [Only a goddess is worthy of our Brad.] [Got any photos, Brad? Let us see!] Brad dropped a photo into the chat. The girl in the picture wore a delicate white sundress. Her light hazel hair was tied in a loose side ponytail draped over her shoulder. She was slender, fair-skinned, with soft, smiling eyes. She was undeniably gorgeous. I recognized her immediately. It was Haley, the girl everyone in the freshman group chat had been swooning over. The moment she dropped a picture earlier, the guys had declared her the official campus queen. Jess was fuming. “Brad dated you for over a year! The moment he flipped, he tossed you out like trash and put you up for trade! What a complete scumbag!” “Besides, this Haley girl isn’t even prettier than you! She looks like a bean pole. Just a bit pale and skinny!” “Gwen, post your photo in the group! Make him regret every choice he’s ever made!” I looked down at the screen. Among the sea of praise, only one guy had spoken up for me: [To be fair, that girl really liked you, Brad. I remember whenever you got ambushed in games, she was always the first to rush in to save you, dying for you every time. Isn’t this a little cruel?] A moment later, Brad replied casually: [I’m a visual person, what can I do? Just thinking about being with a human tank for a year makes me want to puke.] [If she wants to blame someone, she can blame her own ugly face.] 3 Walking home that evening, another guy stopped me on the sidewalk to ask for my phone number. After politely declining, I strolled along the street alone. The overcast summer dusk brought a chill, signaling an impending thunderstorm. I glanced at my reflection in a storefront window. A delicate, heart-shaped face framed by dark eyes, a sculpted nose, and full, striking features. I remembered my friend looking at me with envious eyes last week: “I spent six figures on my nose job in Seoul, and it still doesn’t look half as natural as yours! Every time we go out, everyone’s staring at you!” “I get complimented when I’m alone, but standing next to you makes me feel like a background character. Is this the difference between pretty and drop-dead gorgeous? Unfair!” I knew I was beautiful now. When I went out, strangers offered to pay for my drinks, people asked for my contact info constantly, and talent scouts had even approached me about modeling. But before Brad, my life was the exact opposite. I had been chubby since childhood. By high school, I weighed nearly two hundred pounds. My cheeks were so round my eyes vanished into folds of skin whenever I smiled. Lard bucket. Human tank. Pig monster. I had heard every insult in the book. It fed a deep, crippling insecurity. The heavier I got, the less I dared to dress up, and the less I dressed up, the worse I looked. I had crushes on boys like any teenage girl, but whenever they found out, they reacted as if they had been deeply insulted, hurling vile slurs at my face. Whenever I tried to diet, my parents would stop me, insisting I was cute just the way I was. They were overweight themselves and saw nothing wrong with it. My adolescence was defined by the relentless mockery of my peers. Until I met Brad in an online game. He was drawn to my voice and insisted on adding me as a friend. After a few gaming sessions, we grew close. Not long after, Brad confessed his feelings to me. I tossed and turned all night. I knew Brad came from a good family. During our time gaming together, he had gifted me countless in-game skins and offered expensive presents, all of which I declined. Though he never posted clear facial photos on his profile, his feed was filled with luxury vacation snaps showing his back. He was tall, broad-shouldered, clearly athletic, staying at high-end resorts. I knew he fell for my voice, but I was terrified that if he saw the real me, he would be disgusted. Yet I couldn’t help falling for him. Brad was charismatic and funny. Whenever I had a rough day, he would comfort me, even dropping digital gift cards in public chat rooms to get strangers to cheer me up. In the end, I said yes. I hid my weight, my location, and every detail of my personal life, terrified he would look me up. I even tested the waters once, asking softly, “What if I’m not pretty in real life?” He replied instantly: [With a voice as sweet as yours? Impossible. Stop teasing me, babe.] [Babe, when can we finally meet? I miss you so much.] [Babe, let me know which university you’re applying to. Let’s go to the same school so we can see each other every day.] After a long silence, I made up my mind. I was going to lose the weight. What followed was a year of absolute madness. I went to sleep starving every night, ignoring the sharp pangs of acid reflux and the exhaustion that left my limbs trembling after hours of cardio. No matter how my parents begged me to eat more, I stood firm. I wanted to be skinny. For nearly a year, I didn’t touch a drop of oil or heavy seasoning. Countless times, I cried myself to sleep from sheer hunger, holding onto the thought of him to pull through. And finally, the weight melted away. From one hundred and eighty pounds to one hundred and sixty, then one hundred and twenty, and finally settling at a lean one hundred pounds. I learned skincare, makeup, hairstyling, and how to dress for my body. During that year, Brad suggested meeting up several times, but I always found excuses to stall. I constantly felt I wasn’t pretty enough yet. Until the boys in my class started looking at me differently. Until love letters began piling up in my locker. Until strangers on the street began blushing when they asked for my number, calling me breathtaking. That was when it hit me: I had actually become beautiful. I finally gathered the courage to meet Brad in person. I applied to the exact same university he chose, agreeing to meet on orientation day. And yet… It turned out I was just a game to him. I had believed every sweet word he ever said. Looking back, he hadn’t even given me his real name. The name “Brad” was something I only learned through my friend’s acquaintance. From start to finish, he had never truly cared about me. 4 In the freshman group chat, Haley posted another set of photos. She was at Disneyland, wearing a cute Minnie Mouse headband and a pleated skirt, radiating youthful charm. The guy standing next to her had his face blurred out. But I recognized the luxury watch on his wrist immediately. It was the exact same watch Brad wore in his vacation posts. The chat burst into excitement: “The campus queen delivers!” “A goddess is a goddess! Who’s the lucky guy next to her?” “Looks like Brad! Brad’s a legend!” Jess had told me earlier that Brad started pursuing Haley the moment she dropped her photo in the group chat. He had flown straight to her city, showered her with gifts, and rented a private fireworks display for her. Now, they were officially together. Brad dropped a wave of digital cash into the chat room. “Say hi to my girl, boys.” Replies flooded in: “Brad’s huge flex! A match made in heaven!” “A total power couple. I believe in love again!” “Only our campus queen deserves a guy like Brad.” Someone brought me up: “You guys don’t know, but Brad was catfished by a human tank for over a year. Nearly ruined his appetite for life. Glad he finally found a true beauty!” Haley asked innocently: “What tank?” The guy retold the story, exaggerating every detail. The chat erupted into cruel laughter. “Holy crap, a tank actually dared to target Brad? Survived a whole year of that, Brad’s an absolute warrior.” “That kind of monster probably couldn’t get a guy in real life, so she used a fake voice to trick people online.” “I heard the tank applied to the same university as Brad! She might be a freshman here. Can’t wait to see how hideous she is in person.” Haley replied with a soft giggle: “She’s probably insecure. Being ugly isn’t her fault, but tricking people is definitely wrong.” Brad chimed in: “Don’t bring up the past. Makes me sick just thinking about it. At least I found you now.” Brad had no idea that I had joined the freshman chat using a burner account weeks ago. I had watched his entire romance unfold from start to finish. Someone asked Brad: “What’s the tank’s real name, Brad? Might run into her during orientation.” Brad typed: “Gwen.” “Sounds basic as hell. No wonder she’s ugly.” The very next second, I switched to my main account in the chat. I changed my nickname directly to: Gwen The group chat fell dead silent. I knew every single person behind those screens was holding their breath, waiting for the drama to explode. A few minutes later, Haley sent two messages. “Welcome to the group, Gwen!” “By the way, we’re having a freshman meetup at the restaurant near campus on the third. Are you coming?” I knew she wanted to turn me into a laughingstock. A faint, cold smirk touched my lips as I typed a single word. “Sure.” 5 Just as I was getting ready for bed, my online boyfriend, username NotAShellfish, sent a string of messages. [Babe, look at this bag! I bought it in Italy. The moment I saw it, I knew it would look amazing on you. I’ll give it to you when we meet!] [Babe, why aren’t you replying? Did you fall asleep?] [Babe! Babe! Babe!] I frowned at the screen. This guy had bought Brad’s account and was really committing to the bit. He was surprisingly generous, though. Last month, he sent me a designer necklace and a high-end skincare set. He transferred money on Valentine’s Day and randomly dropped cash into our chat whenever he felt like it. He knew I was supposedly overweight. What was he getting out of this? Did he have some weird fetish? Without hesitation, I dug up a photo of myself from a year ago and hit send. One hundred and eighty pounds. Broad shoulders, round face, eyes squeezed into thin slits by folds of soft cheek. [This is what I look like. If you can’t accept it, let’s break up. I don’t want to waste your time.] I refused to believe he could stick around after looking at that. A second later, his reply popped up: [Babe, you look so cute!] Me: ??? Was he out of his mind?! Frustrated, I typed back: [Look closely! I’m one hundred and eighty pounds! I’m fat!] [I see it! I think you’re adorable. Just make sure to stay healthy, babe.] My brows knit together tight. Was this guy also overweight, or did he genuinely have a feeder fetish? [What do you look like?] I asked. [I’ve never seen a picture of you.] NotAShellfish sent three images in rapid succession. Full body shots, candid angles, even a close-up of sculpted six-pack abs. I let out a cold laugh. The guy in the photos had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, defined obliques, and looked easily over six-two. Even crazier was the face, striking enough to debut as a male model, complete with warm hazel eyes that sparkled like sunlight on water and messy black hair pushed back to reveal a smooth, pale forehead. Full of youthful, effortless charm. Catfishing with stolen internet photos, huh? [Babe, these were just quick, unstyled snaps. Hope you’re not disappointed!] I smirked at my screen, typing back smoothly: [Not at all, babe! You look incredible. Is this really you? Can’t wait to meet!] [That’s awesome! By the way, there’s something I need to tell you when we meet.] I smiled knowingly. What else could it be besides admitting he used fake photos? [Sure,] I replied. 6 The moment my flight landed, my phone vibrated relentlessly. [Babe, where are you? I’m waiting at arrivals holding a huge bouquet of roses!] [Image] [Babe, I’m so nervous! What if you don’t like me when you see me!] The photo showed a massive bouquet of red roses, completely hiding the person behind it. This catfishing scammer certainly knew how to play the romantic card. My heart softened slightly. Forget it, I thought. When we meet, I’ll just lay everything out, clear the air, and we can start fresh as friends. After all, he had been genuinely sweet to me over the past three months. He stayed on the phone with me every single night, comforting me when I couldn’t sleep even when he was slurring his words from exhaustion. He bought me gifts for every minor holiday and remembered every detail of my routine, including my cycle dates. He was a genuinely good guy. So what if he was average-looking or a bit overweight in real life? It wasn’t a dealbreaker. A guy walking past me bumped my shoulder accidentally. I turned around, and he blushed furiously, rubbing his neck. “I’m so sorry! Actually, I noticed you on the plane. Could I get your number?” I waved my hand politely. “Sorry, I’m taken.” He flushed bright red. “Ah, sorry to bother you then!” I dragged my suitcase toward the arrivals gate. From a distance, I spotted the giant bouquet of roses standing out in the crowd. Behind the flowers was a tall, commanding silhouette, broad shoulders, narrow waist, effortlessly lean. Wait. Was he one of those guys who had a killer body but an average face? I refused to believe NotAShellfish actually looked like the model in those photos. What would be the point of catfishing if he already had a body like that? The guy holding the roses seemed impatient, peering over the petals as his eyes searched the crowd anxiously. My jaw dropped. Holy crap. He looked identical to the photos, in fact, in person, he was even more jaw-droppingly handsome! NotAShellfish wasn’t a catfish at all?! A few teenage girls nearby were already giggling, pointing at him shyly. I walked over, my mind a jumble of confusion. “Are you…” I expected him to look surprised when he saw my face, but he just frowned at me. “Can I help you?” he asked stiffly. I tilted my head, pulling out my phone. “Who are you waiting for? Want to trade numbers?” His expression darkened instantly. “I’m waiting for my girlfriend. Not interested.” I was stunned. Ever since I lost weight, no man had ever treated me with such cold indifference. NotAShellfish… did he actually have a thing for heavy girls?! Seeing that I hadn’t moved, he grew impatient. “Could you please step aside? My girlfriend’s coming out any minute.” I let out a helpless sigh. “Scallop, it’s me. Pumpkin.” “What scallop, what pump…” He froze mid-sentence, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You?! Pumpkin?!” “Impossible! No way! Don’t you look like… weren’t you…” “Weren’t I super fat and ugly?” I finished his sentence, explaining calmly, “I lost the weight.” “Or do you actually have a feeder fetish and only like heavy girls?” The guy who had been ice-cold a second ago flushed a furious, brilliant shade of red from his cheeks all the way to his ears! “No! That’s not… I mean, you were super cute before too, you weren’t ugly at all, I just…” “So am I cute now?” I found his sudden panic hilarious. “Yes! I mean, you’re cute now too, you’re gorgeous, I just didn’t expect…” In his panic, he shoved the massive bouquet directly into my arms. The heavy bundle caught me off guard, making me stumble backward. He panicked even more, reaching out awkwardly to catch my arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “Didn’t you promise to take me out for good food when we met?” I smiled. “Let’s go.” 7 Jasper, his real name, as I soon learned, was just like his online persona. Despite his unreal good looks, he didn’t have a single drop of arrogance. He was gentle, attentive, and incredibly sweet throughout the afternoon. Turns out he was a freshman too, enrolled at the same campus, though in a different department. He took me to an upscale steakhouse, pulling out my chair, cutting my steak, and blushing whenever I caught him stealing glances at me. After showing me around town, he dropped me off outside the private dining hall where the freshman meetup was being held. Standing by his car, he looked at me reluctantly. “Text me when you’re done. I’ll come pick you up.” The restaurant was packed. As I approached the private dining room, voices drifted out through the cracked door. “Is everyone here yet?” “Not yet, Gwen hasn’t showed up.” “Gwen? The tank who catfished Brad? Haha, she’s probably terrified to show her face!” “Seriously. Standing next to our campus queen would destroy whatever self-esteem she has left. People like her only dare to flirt behind a screen. Who wants a slab of lard in real life? Haha!” Haley giggled softly, leaning her head on Brad’s shoulder. “Don’t be so mean, guys. Being ugly isn’t her fault.” I raised my hand, reaching for the door handle.

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