Category: English

On the eve of our wedding, the yacht my fiancé was on capsized. He was officially declared dead. I cried until I almost passed out. Reeling from grief, I walked onto the street in a daze and was hit by a speeding car. As my life slipped away, I heard my fiancé’s best friend making a phone call: “Ethan, you need to get back from Switzerland right now! Chloe just got into a horrific car accident!” The sound of a glass shattering came through the line, followed by my sister’s whiny crying: “Ethan, you promised you’d stay in Switzerland with me for a year! You can’t leave!” It turned out my fiancé wasn’t dead. He had faked his death just to run off to Switzerland and be with my sister, Lily. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the very day Ethan “died.” Two weeks later. The news of my engagement to Julian Harrington, the sole heir of the Harrington empire, spread like wildfire through high society. Luke, the “loyal” friend who had helped Ethan orchestrate his fake death, rushed over to confront me, his face pale with anger. “Chloe, Ethan just passed away! How could you be so desperate to throw yourself into another man’s arms?” I looked at him, my voice cold and dry. “He’s dead, Luke. Am I supposed to rot in a grave with him, or am I allowed to actually live my life?”

The words of that phone call from my past life were burned into my soul. Dragging my legs, which felt like lead, I followed my raw instinct that the truth was waiting for me. I walked toward the glass conservatory in the backyard of the estate. The glass door was slightly ajar. Inside, a voice I knew all too well drifted out, dripping with casual amusement. “Is my funeral over yet?” The voice was coming from Luke’s phone on speaker. “Not yet, Ethan,” Luke replied with a chuckle. “How’s Chloe? She hasn’t suspected anything, has she?” Luke laughed. “Not a chance. She’s running herself ragged organizing your memorial. Yesterday, she almost fainted from crying so hard. She’s probably locked in her room weeping right now.” Ethan’s tone was entirely dismissive. “Good. Do me a favor and comfort her a bit.” Another friend, Mason, chimed in. “Seriously though, Ethan. You must really be head over heels for Lily. Faking your own death just to chase her to Switzerland? You even made us play along with this crazy stunt.” It was word for word, exactly like the conversation from my previous life. I gripped the cold iron railing outside the greenhouse so hard my knuckles turned white. My entire body trembled with rage. I heard Ethan speak again: “Mind your own business about my feelings. Just make sure she doesn’t find out.” Luke asked, “So, are you still going through with the wedding when you get back?” “Of course. Once I return, the wedding goes on as planned. But before I tie myself down, you’ve got to let me have one last wild ride for true love, right?” “Haha, true. Once you’re married, you’re locked down. No more freedom. Enjoy it, man!” The three of them laughed, a sickening, conspiratorial sound. My blood turned to pure ice. I had prayed a thousand times for Ethan’s survival in my past life, but I never imagined the truth would be this disgusting. In my past life, I died in the depths of this despair. But this time, I didn’t barge in to scream at them. I turned around quietly and walked away from the greenhouse. In the bathroom, I dry-heaved into the sink for what felt like hours. I looked at the woman in the mirror. I hadn’t slept in days. My eyes were bloodshot, my face pale and hollow. I splashed freezing water onto my face and wiped away the tear stains. This time, I would not be their puppet. When I walked out of the room, Luke handed me some tissues, his face a perfect mask of sympathy. “Chloe, don’t be too hard on yourself. Ethan is looking down on you from heaven. He wouldn’t want to see you like this.” I looked up at his hypocritical face. “Luke… do you think there’s any chance Ethan is still alive?” Luke’s eyes flickered with panic for a split second before he quickly regained his composure. “H-how is that possible? The search and rescue team recovered his personal belongings from the ocean. You saw them yourself.” A week ago, Ethan’s private yacht had lost contact in the bay. The coast guard concluded he was swept away by a sudden swell while attempting to abandon the malfunctioning vessel. I had stayed at the harbor all night, refusing to close my eyes. They searched for days, only recovering his jacket and watch. I had nearly fainted from grief. Today was supposed to be our wedding day. I had spent the morning clutching our photos, crying until my head throbbed. And now, I knew it was all a game to him. My grief was nothing but a punchline to them. How could I have been so incredibly stupid to believe their lies in my past life? Luke sighed. “Chloe, stop overthinking. If Ethan could see you now, his heart would break.” *His heart would break…* What a sick joke. Just this morning, I had thanked Luke for helping me arrange the memorial. It turned out they were all trash from the same dumpster.

Using the fragmented memories of my past life, I found an old iPad that my sister, Lily, had left behind at our family villa. I entered a few potential passwords, and on the third try, the screen lit up. There was a locked folder in her photo vault named “Lily’s Private Garden.” The latest photos in the folder were set against the backdrop of a picturesque town at the foot of the Swiss Alps. There was a close-up of two hands tightly locked together, followed by an intimate, breathless hug. I knew the tiny mole on the man’s hand all too well. The caption read: *”He said as soon as he handles the family drama back home, he’ll stay with me forever. What’s ten thousand miles? True love knows no distance.”* The location tag read: *Interlaken, Switzerland.* Scroll down, and there were her diary entries: *”Finally got my baby! Patience really pays off! 🥰”* *”Some people just won’t let go of a spot that doesn’t belong to them, but true love always wins~”* *”We are so in love. Forever and always!”* So, while I was literally losing my mind organizing my fiancé’s “funeral,” my darling sister was basking in the sweetness of “true love” in her private little world. I had been kept completely in the dark until the moment of my death in my past life. My relationship with Ethan wasn’t an arranged one. We met in high school. Back then, my parents had already set their eyes on Julian Harrington as my future husband. But I despised the idea of a transactional marriage. My parents’ marriage was purely for business. Since I was a child, I watched them pretend to be a loving couple in public, only to bring their respective lovers home behind closed doors. The few times they were in the same room, it was a toxic cycle of screaming matches and blame. I hated that hypocrisy. So, I ran from the idea of an arranged marriage. In my sophomore year, Ethan sat behind me. Whenever I was down, he’d hover around me like an eager golden retriever. Saying yes to him felt natural. We went from high school sweethearts to the altar. We had even gone back to our high school recently to give a speech. Everyone called us a fairytale come to life. I basked in that envy, truly believing I had found my soulmate. I never could have guessed that the man I thought would never betray me had been sleeping with my younger sister. In her digital diary, Lily affectionately called him “hubby” and posted “spicy snaps with my sister’s fiancé.” Ethan held her, posing for intimate photos. Though his face was kept out of the frame, his smug satisfaction was obvious. Every single “business trip” he took, he took her with him. Every night I thought he was working overtime, he was actually in my sister’s bed. I remembered once telling him not to work so hard. He had smiled and said, *”I want your parents to respect me, Chloe. I want to make enough money to give you a wedding that everyone will envy.”* Five minutes before his “accident,” Ethan had texted me: *”No matter what happens, Chloe, I will love you forever.”* In my past life, I cried every time I read that text. Now, it was just a pathetic piece of garbage.

I walked downstairs. A small, private memorial was being held in the living room. Ethan’s mother, Eleanor Sinclair, was sitting in the center. When she saw me walk down, her swollen, red eyes flared with pure hatred. “If you hadn’t begged my son to hurry back, he wouldn’t have rushed onto that yacht! You are the reason my son is dead!” Ethan was supposed to be in Switzerland overseeing a project. The day after his “accident” was our scheduled wedding dress fitting. He was supposedly rushing back when the yacht failed. When I first heard of his death, I swallowed my own grief to comfort Eleanor. But she had pushed me away, screaming, “You’re a curse! You killed my son!” Eleanor and I never got along. Before the accident, Ethan promised we wouldn’t live with her after the wedding. But over the last few days, consumed by guilt, I had let her use me as a punching bag. But now, looking at her weeping dramatically in front of Ethan’s massive oil portrait, she looked like a clown in a cheap soap opera. For some reason, a dry chuckle escaped my lips. She went stiff with rage. “What are you laughing at?!” She lunged forward, raising her hand to slap me. Mason rushed over to hold her back. “Mrs. Sinclair, please calm down! Chloe is just out of her mind with grief. She’s not mentally stable right now. Don’t take it out on her.” Luke added quickly, “Chloe, apologize to Mrs. Sinclair right now.” I walked slowly over to Eleanor. She assumed I was going to beg for forgiveness and turned her head away in disgust. “Save your breath. I will never forgive you. You were only engaged, not married. Don’t think you’re getting a single dime of my son’s estate.” I bent down and whispered directly into her ear: “Do you really not know who your son faked his death to run off with? Just wait until my sister gets back. The Sinclair family name is going to be dragged through the mud.” She gasped, clutching her chest, and fell back onto the sofa. It felt incredibly satisfying. The relatives panicked, swarming around her. Shaking her finger at me, she screamed, “She really did kill my son! Luke! Call the police! Have her arrested!” I let tears well up in my eyes right on cue, letting my body sway weakly. “Since you hate me so much, Mrs. Sinclair, I guess I have no choice but to pack my things and leave.” “Chloe, don’t say things in anger,” Luke tried to intervene. “Don’t stop me,” I said, putting on a brave, tragic face. “My presence only brings her pain. I’ve decided to move out.” Luke and Mason exchanged a panicked look. This was clearly not part of the script Ethan had written. Luke hurried into the corner to send a Snapchat message to Ethan. *Luke: “Your mom is losing it. She’s screaming at Chloe, and Chloe is packing her bags to leave the Sinclair estate.”* *Ethan: “My mom has a temper, but she’s sacrificed a lot for me. Tell Chloe to just deal with it and swallow her pride.”* *Luke: “But… your mom is relentlessly cursing her out. Chloe is determined to leave.”* *Ethan: “Let her leave then. It’s fine. Once I return, all it’ll take is one word from me to get her back.”* *Luke: “Alright, I’ll let her go.”* In my past life, I never saw these texts. But now, I knew exactly what they were playing at. I didn’t take much—just a small jewelry box and a few everyday clothes. I left the rest behind, telling the crowd, “I’ll leave these here as memories,” but in reality, I was making a clean, public break. My best friend, Nova Harrington, came to pick me up. “Chloe, are you really okay?” she asked gently. She had seen me crying like my world had ended just days ago. “I’m fine,” I said, leaning back against the leather seat. “I just need to get away from there.” Nova thought for a moment. “My brother has a penthouse downtown. He’s barely ever there, and his housekeeper keeps it spotless. Why don’t you stay there for a bit? Take your time finding a new place.” As she handed me the key fob, I asked, “Is your brother going to show up unexpectedly?” “No way. I asked him recently, and he said he has no plans of returning to the city anytime soon. Even if he does, he usually stays at the Harrington estate or a hotel. You’ll have the place entirely to yourself.” I slept for two solid days in the penthouse. The swelling in my eyes finally went down. On the third night, Nova dragged me to an exclusive, members-only cocktail lounge to take my mind off things. After a few drinks, I spotted Luke and Mason in a VIP booth on the second floor. I didn’t want to deal with them, so I turned my head, pretending not to see them. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke pull out his phone, snap a photo of my profile, and send it to Ethan. *Luke: “Just saw Chloe drinking her sorrows away at the Sky Lounge. Should I go over and comfort her?”* *Ethan: “Yeah, I did feel a bit bad about how things handled. She must be hurting.”* Luke pocketed his phone and started walking toward the stairs. But halfway down, his phone buzzed again. *Ethan: “Actually, don’t bother. Let her feel the pain of losing me a bit longer. When I ‘rise from the dead,’ she’ll cherish me even more.”*

*Luke: “True. You really know how to handle her.”* *Ethan: “Just keep an eye on her. The lounge is packed, make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”* *Mason texted Ethan: “Man, I wish I could find a girl as loyal, beautiful, and rich as Chloe. I’d die happy.”* *Luke replied to Mason: “You could always shoot your shot now while Ethan’s ‘dead.’”* *Mason: “Hell no, Ethan would literally murder me when he gets back.”* During my years with Ethan, several of his friends had tried to hit on me behind his back. Whenever Ethan found out, he cut them off instantly. But that cheap possessiveness was never loyalty. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a cloud synchronization alert. The locked folder from Lily’s old iPad had synced new photos. Lily had posted a new update: *”23 days left. Today he took me to see the Northern Lights~ Romance at the edge of the world, just for us. 🌌”* Below, she had replied to her own post using a burner account: *”Why does your man still have to go back? Why can’t he just stay with you forever?!”* Lily’s reply: *”He says he still has some responsibilities to handle back home. But it’s fine. Once he wraps things up, we’ll be free.”* Another comment from her burner: *”Some people are just holding onto a spot they don’t deserve. So annoying. Wishing you guys eternal happiness!”* Unbelievable. Over the past two days, I had stared at these photos and logs repeatedly. The process felt like carving Ethan out of my heart with a dull knife. It hurt, but it worked. Grief was slowly replaced by pure disgust. Now, looking at their lovey-dovey pictures, I felt nothing but relief that I had escaped. *Since you love documenting your happiness so much, let’s make sure everyone gets to appreciate it.* I took screenshots of all the logs and photos and sent them to a close friend who worked as an editor for a prominent business news outlet. *”I have some juicy gossip about the newly deceased tech rising star, Ethan Sinclair. I think your readers would love it.”* I had a few too many drinks at the lounge and didn’t get back to the penthouse until late. The alcohol had dulled my senses. I didn’t notice the “Under Maintenance” sign hanging on the guest bathroom door. Feeling dizzy, I walked up to the second floor and saw the light on in the master bathroom. The door was slightly open. Assuming Nova had left it on, I pushed the door open to turn it off. The sound of running water echoed. Through the frosted glass, I saw the silhouette of a tall, muscular man. I froze, my mind instantly clearing. I turned to bolt, but my foot slipped on a wet tile. A wet, muscular arm shot out from behind the glass door, catching me firmly by the waist. The man let out a low grunt as he shut off the water. “Who’s there?” The glass door slid open. Amidst the rising steam, Julian Harrington stood there. He had nothing but a white towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets ran down his chiseled chest and abs. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto mine. “Chloe?” It took me a few seconds to connect the mature, ridiculously built, and intimidating man in front of me with the quiet, aloof boy from high school. “I… I’m sorry. The guest bathroom had a sign on it, and I thought no one was here…” I stammered, my wrist still caught in his firm grip. His grip loosened instantly. His throat bobbed as he grabbed a dark silk robe, throwing it over his shoulders. He looked away. “You can use this bathroom. I’ll use the guest one.” Nova had told me he never came here. I didn’t expect… “Nova lent me this place. I didn’t know you were coming back tonight,” I explained, looking down. I realized the strap of my silk slip dress had slid down my shoulder during the slip. Julian, who had already turned his back to put on pair of sweatpants, answered in a low, even voice. “It’s fine. You can stay. I have a project in the city, so I’ll be dropping by occasionally. If you feel uncomfortable…” “I don’t,” I interrupted, pulling my strap back up. “This is your place. I’m the one intruding.” HiHis hand paused as he tied his sweatpants. “I should have let you know. Goodnight.” With that, he grabbed his clothes and walked out, heading to the guest room at the end of the hall.

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1 On our seventh anniversary, Mike knelt with a velvet box. The proposal I’d waited seven years for was happening. But when he tried to slide the ring on, it caught painfully on my knuckle. I bit my lip, forcing a smile as the metal bit into my skin. Paige leaned in, tilting her head playfully. “Let me try?” she offered. The ring slipped down her slender finger, fitting as if tailor-made. She froze, eyes wide, tugging at it. Mike caught her wrist gently. “Don’t force it,” he murmured, tender. “Keep it—it fits perfectly.” Only then did he glance at me, sheepish. “Sorry, Nina. Must’ve used Paige’s size by mistake. Thought you two were similar.” Paige put her hands on her hips, scolding him. “Unbelievable! Take her tomorrow, upgrade it!” Watching them, a heavy ache bloomed in my chest. I knew his allergies, his shoe size, every milestone of seven years. He didn’t know my ring size. I withdrew my hand. “Don’t bother,” I said quietly. “The wedding’s off.” The laughter in the room died instantly. Mike’s face darkened, a sigh escaping his lips as he looked at me with weary exasperation. “Nina, you literally just said yes to my proposal. Now you’re calling off the wedding just because of a ring size?” “I know I messed up, and you have every right to be upset,” he continued, taking a step toward me. “But marriage isn’t a game. Stop throwing a tantrum, okay?” Paige quickly took my hand, her expression turning urgent and pleading. “She’s right, Nina. You two have been together for seven years. You can’t let a silly little mistake end everything.” One was my childhood sweetheart, the other my closest friend. They both belonged to the city’s wealthy social circles. In the early days, they had disliked each other thoroughly, Paige calling him an arrogant snob, and Mike dismissing her as shallow. But then came a college camping trip where I got lost in the woods late at night. They had split up to search for me, crossing paths in the dark forest and spending the entire night shouting my name together under the beam of their flashlights. After that night, they gradually grew closer. Eventually, whenever the three of us walked together, they would fall into step beside each other, leaving me a few paces behind. Sometimes they would look back, laughing as they called out, “Hurry up, slowpoke!” Seeing my silence, Paige grew visibly anxious. She shot Mike a harsh look, then turned to me, the playful demeanor completely gone. “Are you mad at me for being careless and putting the ring on? I’ll take it off right now.” She began to violently yank the ring from her finger. Because of the tight fit, the rough friction scraped her skin, drawing a thin line of blood. She let out a sharp gasp of pain but didn’t stop until the ring popped free. She held it out to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Please don’t let me get in the way of your happiness. If you call off the wedding because of this, I’ll never forgive myself.” Mike’s brows furrowed deeply, his voice turning cold. “Nina, when did you become so petty? You are seriously throwing a fit over your best friend?” Looking at his face, a sudden wave of unfamiliarity washed over me. Because his mother preferred quiet, traditional women, I had spent years molding myself into a gentle, reserved version of myself. To marry him sooner, I had turned down graduate school and started working early, saving every penny, never even allowing myself the luxury of a five-dollar latte. Everyone in our circle assumed we would walk down the aisle. I had dreamed of his proposal a thousand times. But I never imagined that when the day finally arrived, I wouldn’t even be able to wear the ring. The humiliation and hurt pricked at my chest like a thousand tiny needles, making it hard to draw a full breath. Seeing the tears finally spill over my cheeks, Mike’s irritation melted into panic. He stepped forward to wipe my tears, then slowly pulled a small, beautifully wrapped box from his jacket pocket. Inside was a designer necklace I had admired for months but could never justify buying. “Nina, I was wrong,” he murmured, his eyes filled with sincere regret. “Please forgive me.” Looking at the apology in his eyes, my heart softened. For seven years, his kindness had always outnumbered his oversights. A crowd had gathered around us in the restaurant, and seeing my hesitation, they began to chant, “Say yes! Say yes!” In the end, my resolve crumbled, and I forgave him. Perhaps out of guilt, Mike became exceptionally attentive over the next few weeks. Slowly, the bitterness of that night faded, and I began to let myself look forward to our wedding day. Soon, our families arranged a dinner to finalize the wedding plans. My parents took a grueling nine-hour bus ride from our quiet upstate hometown, not even stopping for a drink of water before heading straight to the city. I was held up by an emergency at work and couldn’t leave, so I called Paige, begging her to pick up my parents and take them to the private dining room I had reserved. When I finally rushed into the restaurant, the scene inside made me freeze at the threshold. Paige was sitting right next to Mike and his mother, Mrs. Harrington. The four of them were laughing and talking, the atmosphere as warm and familiar as a holiday gathering. Meanwhile, my parents were squeezed into the far corner of the table. They sat stiffly, their hands resting awkwardly on their knees, offering hesitant, polite smiles. When the door opened and they saw me, their eyes lit up with instant relief. Before I could speak, Mrs. Harrington’s face darkened, her voice dripping with condescension. “Late to her own engagement dinner, and she couldn’t even bother to pick up her own parents? How incredibly irresponsible. I suppose this shows just how much she values family.” Mike frowned slightly. “Mom, Nina had a genuine emergency at work today.” His mother let out a dismissive scoff, rolling her eyes. “No work emergency is more important than family on a night like this.” She then turned, taking Paige’s hand in her own, her face instantly melting into a warm, affectionate smile. “You know, Paige, from the moment I met you, I knew we were kindred spirits. You are so sweet, well-mannered, and articulate. I only wish I were welcoming you into the family instead.” Paige waved her hands in modest embarrassment, offering a polite laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Harrington, please don’t say that. Nina was always top of our class, and she has a wonderful career. She is much more accomplished than I am.” Though she spoke highly of me, she made no move to shift out of the seat reserved for the bride-to-be, remaining nestled comfortably between Mike and his mother. My mother, missing the venom in the older woman’s words, leaned forward. She carefully reached into a canvas bag by her feet and pulled out a container of fresh peaches, presenting them with both hands in a gesture of eager accommodation. “Our Nina has always been a hard worker, Mrs. Harrington. She’s helped around the house since she was a little girl. These are fresh peaches from our tree back home, incredibly sweet. Please, try some.” Mrs. Harrington didn’t even look up, her tone entirely flat. “Oh, peaches. I nearly forgot, the supermarket down the block is running a sale on those, three pounds for two dollars.” My mother’s hands froze in mid-air. The peaches were plump and pristine. She had hand-picked them from our yard and carried them carefully on her lap through the entire bus ride to keep them from bruising. But to these people, they were just cheap, discounted produce. Seeing my mother slowly retract her hands, a fierce protective anger flared up in my chest. As I opened my mouth to speak, my father gently caught my wrist under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice quiet and gentle. “They come from a different world. It’s natural for them to be discerning. As long as he treats you well, a little slight to us is nothing. Our only worry is that if you face trouble in the future, we won’t be strong enough to stand behind you.” Looking at my parents’ weathered, kind faces, the urge to fight for this marriage suddenly evaporated. I looked back at the main table. I saw Paige sitting in my rightful spot, and Mike quietly sipping his tea without raising his voice to defend my family. In that moment, a cold clarity washed over me. It wasn’t just the ring. Some things simply do not fit, and they never will. The dinner ended awkwardly, the conversation drifting aimlessly without any actual wedding dates being set. Since my apartment was too small, I had booked a hotel room for my parents, planning to take them sightseeing the next morning. As we prepared to leave, Paige grabbed my hand, her eyes filled with concern. “Nina, you looked so pale during dinner. Are you alright?” Before I could answer, Mike cut in. “Paige, stop blaming yourself for everything. This isn’t your fault. My mother has always been particular, and she was just trying to see if Nina has the grace to handle it.” He then looked at me, his voice entirely casual. “Don’t take it to heart, Nina. My mother is all bark and no bite. If she really disliked you, she wouldn’t have shown up tonight at all.” I simply nodded, keeping my thoughts to myself. If Mike truly cared about me, how could he have remained silent while his mother humiliated my parents? By the time I settled my parents in their room and returned to our shared apartment, it was past nine in the evening. As I reached for my keys, I heard Mike’s voice carrying through the door. He was on the phone with his mother. “Out of all the women in the city, why do you have to throw your life away on Nina?” Mrs. Harrington’s sharp voice was audible even through the wood. “I thought you were just having fun, but you actually want to marry her! What do you see in her? Her impoverished background? Her unsophisticated parents?” “Mom, you can complain to me all you want, but please don’t say those things to her face,” Mike replied, his tone weary but yielding. “I love her, and I want to make this work.” He sounded as though he were defending me, but his words offered no real shield. He was merely managing his mother’s anger while reinforcing the narrative that he was a martyr for loving me. The final ember of hope in my heart went cold. I didn’t open the door. Instead, I walked back to the subway, returned to my parents’ hotel, and knocked on their door. “Mom, Dad,” I said when they opened it. “I’m going to take you around the city for a few days. And then, I’m coming home upstate with you.” “I am not marrying him.” That night, Mike sent dozens of text messages and tried calling me repeatedly. Even though I had resolved to leave, my heart still gave a involuntary flutter at the sight of his name on my screen. The first few messages were demanding to know where I was. But as I scrolled down, the tone shifted drastically. “Paige saw that you weren’t replying and didn’t come home. She was terrified something happened to you and went out to search. There’s been an accident!” My mind went completely blank. Driven by sheer instinct, I rushed out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and sped toward the hospital. Paige lay silently on the emergency room bed, her forehead wrapped in thick white gauze, her face pale. My knees buckled, and I let out a choked sob. Mike bolted up from his chair, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at me. “How do you have the nerve to cry?” he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. “If it weren’t for your childish stunt, Paige wouldn’t have gone out alone in the middle of the night to look for you. She ran into some drunks in an alley. When she tried to run, they threw a bottle at her head!” He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “How old are you, Nina? Running away and ignoring messages over a minor disagreement? How can you be so incredibly selfish?” A heavy weight of guilt pressed down on my chest, but looking at his furious, accusatory gaze, the injustice of it all burned through me. “I am deeply sorry about Paige, and I will take full responsibility for her medical care,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. “But you have no right to lecture me.” “I’ve spent the night thinking things through. The wedding is off, Mike. We are done.” Mike’s jaw dropped, his expression turning to utter disbelief. “Are you seriously still playing games at a time like this?” “You think I’m playing games?” I whispered, my teeth clenched. “At dinner yesterday, my parents and I were treated like garbage, and you didn’t say a single word to protect us. Your mother openly wished Paige was her daughter-in-law while you sat there staring at your teacup. To anyone else in that room, she looked like your fiancée, not me!” Mike opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, a weak voice drifted from the hospital bed. “Nina…” Paige had opened her eyes, her gaze trembling and filled with tears. “I heard everything you just said.” “All this time, you’ve resented me. You think I’m the obstacle between you and Mike, don’t you?” I froze, caught off guard. Before I could explain, the tears began to stream down her face. “I always thought of you as my sister, Nina. I’ve done nothing but support you. Even after getting hurt tonight, I didn’t blame you for a second. I can’t believe you think so poorly of me.” “Maybe it’s better this way. At least now I see where I stand. We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Right then, my phone began to vibrate violently in my hand. Before I could process Paige’s words, my mother’s sobbing voice came through the receiver, freezing the blood in my veins. “Nina… I went downstairs to grab some food, but as soon as I stepped out of the hotel, a group of people surrounded us. They were pointing and filming us with their phones, calling us grifters…” “Your father tried to reason with them, but they wouldn’t listen. Someone pushed him, Nina. He fell and hit his head on the concrete steps. We’re in the emergency room…” A cold dread washed over me. I opened my social media feed. Sitting at the top of the local trending page was my photo, accompanied by a scathing article accusing my family of attempting to extort a wealthy dynasty through a forced marriage. In an attached video clip, Mrs. Harrington sat gracefully in front of a camera, subtly but clearly exposing my parents’ names and our hometown address. The comment section was a toxic swamp of vitriol directed entirely at us. Slowly, I raised my phone, turning the screen toward Mike and Paige. “So, this is your idea of a compromise?” Mike glanced at the screen, then looked away, his expression hardening into defensive pride. “Don’t look at me like that. If you hadn’t behaved so terribly, my mother wouldn’t have felt the need to protect our family’s reputation.” “You brought this public scrutiny on yourself by hurting the people who cared about you.” Looking at him, he felt like a complete stranger. He hadn’t raised a finger to stop his mother. He had allowed it to happen. In that single moment, the very last trace of my love for him died. I turned toward the door. “Nina, this is your last chance,” Mike called out, his voice suddenly sharp. “If you walk out that door, we are finished.” I didn’t stop. My silence seemed to snap his restraint. “My mother was right! I spoiled you too much! Do you honestly believe you got that high-paying corporate job on your own merit? That company is a subsidiary of the Harrington Group! Do you think you could afford that beautiful downtown apartment on your salary? I was paying the landlord an extra three hundred dollars a month out of my own pocket!” “Everything you have is because of me! Without me, you are absolutely nothing!” His words washed over me, leaving me entirely cold. He spoke as if I should be deeply moved by his charity. But he didn’t understand. I never wanted a benefactor to secretly smooth my path only to use it as a leash to keep me subservient. Without looking back, I walked out of the hospital and ran to my parents. Fortunately, my father’s injury was minor. The next morning, I submitted my resignation, booked the earliest flight home, packed our belongings, and left the city behind. I transferred the full amount of Paige’s medical bills to her account, left a final message, and blocked Mike’s number permanently. But Mike, entirely unaware of what he had lost, remained convinced of his own power. He assumed I was simply throwing another tantrum and would eventually crawl back to him once my bank account ran dry. He even expected to find a warm dinner waiting for him when he returned to the apartment that evening. Instead, when he pushed open the front door, he froze.

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1 At our college graduation party, someone suggested we play “Me Through My Boyfriend’s Lens.” Every guy with a partner had to pull up three photos of his girlfriend from his camera roll. The cutest, the sexiest, and the funniest. When it was Austin’s turn, the crowd erupted, chanting his name and slamming their glasses. They declared him our star photographer and raised the stakes. Thirty pictures, they demanded, or he had to down his drink. Curious to see how he saw me, I leaned closer. But the moment I moved, Austin shut off his screen with a sharp, defensive flick. Without a word, he grabbed his glass and drained it. The laughter died, replaced by an awkward silence. Sensing the tension, Austin forced a casual laugh. “Caitlin is way too cute. I’m not sharing her with you guys.” The mood warmed back up. A friend nudged him, teasing that Austin had fried four memory cards shooting Brandi’s portfolios. There was no way he didn’t have thirty photos of his own girlfriend. He was just hoarding them. Brandi laughed it off, playfully hitting the guy. “Those were strictly for my portfolio!” The group chuckled and let the topic slide. I watched Austin release a slow, visible sigh of relief, his shoulders finally relaxing. My chest tightened, a cold weight settling in my stomach. Amidst the blaring music and clinking glasses, my voice cut through, flat and clear. “Austin, I want to see your camera roll.” The room went quiet again. Austin, sitting right next to me, went rigid. A second later, he recovered his smile and draped an arm around my shoulder, squeezing gently. “Come on, babe. I will show you when we get back home.” I shook my head. “I want to see it now. I am really curious to see what I look like through my boyfriend’s eyes.” I looked at him, forcing my lips to curve upward, though the warmth never reached my eyes. His grip on my shoulder tightened, his tone laced with soft exasperation. “Caitlin, don’t be like this. You know I have confidential family business files saved on there.” It was always the same excuse. In our three years of dating, I had never once looked through Austin’s phone. He had a locked vault on his device, and whenever I asked, he claimed it was filled with sensitive documents regarding his family’s logistics company. Since he had taken over a portion of the family business during our freshman year, I had never doubted him. I had respected his privacy and never brought it up again. But tonight, I did not want to be reasonable. His sheer panic made me desperate to know the truth. “I won’t look at your files,” I said, my voice steady. “Just text the photos to me.” “You don’t even have to send thirty. Just ten.” “We have been together for three years, Austin. Surely your phone has at least ten photos of me.” The more observant people in the room began to exchange knowing glances, their eyes gleaming with the anticipation of drama. As the silence stretched, my heart sank lower and lower. I had never imagined he would struggle to find even ten pictures. He could fill gigabytes of storage with Brandi’s modeling shoots, but he could not produce ten simple photos of the girl he supposedly loved. A wave of profound absurdity washed over me. I grabbed my bag from the booth, ready to walk out. Austin finally snapped out of his daze, reaching for my arm. “Caitlin, wait, let me explain…” Brandi stood up from across the table, quickly walking over to grab my hand. “Caitlin, is this because of what they said? Please don’t misunderstand.” “Don’t listen to them. You know I need to constantly update my social media for my modeling gigs, and Austin is the only decent photographer I know. It was purely professional. If it makes you uncomfortable, I will never ask him for help again.” “And who else is going to take them?” Austin suddenly snapped. His brow was furrowed, his voice dropping into a sharp, displeased register. “Did you forget that freelance photographer who stalked you to your apartment? What if you run into someone like that again?” Brandi shot him a desperate look, trying to signal him to stop talking, but he ignored her completely, his face tight with protective worry. “If anything happens to you, how am I supposed to face your mother?” The two of them stood there, arguing back and forth, entirely shutting me out of the conversation. Behind me, I caught the hushed whispers of two classmates. “Austin is still as protective of Brandi as ever.” “Well, they have been inseparable since middle school. If Brandi hadn’t dated that guy during freshman year, Austin probably would have confessed to her back then.” “Then what about Caitlin?” “Maybe she is just the placeholder? You know, the substitute for the dream girl.” My throat felt incredibly dry, my chest aching with a bitter, suffocating resentment. I wanted to speak, to defend myself, but as I parted my lips, I realized I had absolutely no ground to stand on. Austin finally finished his debate with Brandi. Having lost the argument, she huffed, crossing her arms as she walked to the far side of the room. When Austin turned his gaze back to me, the warmth was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, impatient irritation. “Caitlin, it was just a party game. Why do you have to ruin the mood like this?” “Brandi is my childhood friend. Am I supposed to stand by and watch her get hurt?” My hands clenched into tight fists at my sides. “I didn’t say that…” I just wanted to know if I mattered to you. But he cut me off, his voice flat. “You want photos? Fine. I will send them.” He tapped on his screen for a few moments. Soon, my phone buzzed with incoming notifications. Ten photos. Exactly ten, not a single one more. All of them featured me. A few curious onlookers peeked over my shoulder, letting out relieved chuckles as they patted my back. “See? He had them all along. Look at these, they are all candid shots. Austin was telling the truth, he just wanted to keep them for himself.” “Caitlin, you were totally overthinking it.” “Alright, drama over! Let’s get back to the music!” Nobody noticed that my fingers were gripping the phone so hard my knuckles had turned white. Yes, the photos were of me. But my eyes instantly locked onto the details at the edges of the frames. In one photo of me at a cafe, a familiar fabric peeked into the corner of the shot, the sleeve of the dress Brandi had worn that exact day. In another, a few stray locks of long, chestnut hair hovered in the margin. These weren’t candid photos Austin had taken of me because he found me beautiful. These were tightly cropped details, sliced out of larger photos he had taken of Brandi. My lungs felt tight, a sharp pain radiating through my chest. When he looked through that camera lens, who was he actually focusing on? Me, or the girl standing right beside me? A flood of memories rushed over me. We had started dating in the spring of our freshman year, and it wasn’t long before he introduced me to Brandi. At the time, she was still with her college boyfriend. The four of us would occasionally go out for dinners. Every single time we ordered, Austin would effortlessly recite Brandi’s favorite dishes, her exact spice tolerance, and her allergies. Once, Brandi’s boyfriend joked, “Austin, buddy, let me do the ordering next time, or Brandi is going to think I don’t care about her preferences.” Austin had laughed it off, promising to step back, but by the next dinner, he was right back to his old habits. Later, after Brandi broke up with her boyfriend, we still hung out constantly. Whenever I bought tickets for a movie or planned a weekend getaway, Austin would always add, “Great, let me text Brandi to see if she is free to join us.” When I voiced my discomfort, he would reassure me, saying that his mother had promised Brandi’s family to look after her. Since her family had helped him during his childhood, he felt obligated to repay the debt. I had swallowed my pride and endured it. Then Brandi started her modeling work, and her schedule became packed. I thought we would finally have some time to ourselves. Until that creepy photographer stalked her. The night she called him, terrified, Austin left me sitting alone in a dark movie theater to rush to her side. I understood the gravity of the situation, so I hadn’t complained. But after that night, Austin became her personal photographer. They spent more time together than we did. Across the room, the speakers blared a classic ballad about unrequited love. I looked over. Austin had reclaimed his seat next to Brandi, leaning in close to whisper something to her, his attention entirely consumed by her. In this crowded, noisy room, she was the only one who existed to him. A quiet, bitter laugh escaped my throat. I should have seen the signs long ago. I had simply chosen to remain blind. Without a sound, I slipped out of the room. I pulled out my phone. A text from my internship supervisor sat at the top of my notifications. The company wanted to offer me a permanent, full-time position. Austin came from a wealthy family and possessed incredible natural talent. I had desperately wanted to be successful enough to stand beside him as an equal. So, I had entered one of the most competitive firms in the city. Out of thirty interns, only one would be offered a contract. To secure my place in this city, I had worked myself to the bone. I had stayed up until dawn finalizing proposals even when running a high fever. I had planned to share this incredible news with him tonight. Now, I realized there was no point. My fingers tapped lightly against the glass screen. “Thank you for the opportunity, but I must respectfully decline. Please offer the position to someone else.” I was going back to Savannah. During our senior year, Austin had rented an apartment close to my office, and I had been living there with him. But that night, I didn’t go back. I went to my old dorm room instead. The next morning, I woke up to several missed calls and messages from him. “Why didn’t you come back last night?” “Caitlin, are you still throwing a tantrum?” “Brandi hired a female photographer, I won’t be shooting her portfolios anymore. Is that enough to satisfy you?” I read the texts, finding no trace of genuine remorse, only a tired, heavy annoyance. I began typing a reply, then deleted it. After some thought, I decided we needed to end this in person. I owed our three years together a proper conclusion. I sent him the address of a quiet cafe near campus. After waiting for thirty minutes, Austin arrived, but the familiar figure of Brandi was right behind him. Under the table, my fingers curled into tight fists. They walked over and sat down across from me. Austin picked up the menu, while Brandi offered a bright, cheerful wave. “Caitlin, you left so suddenly last night without saying goodbye.” “But oh my gosh, this cafe is absolutely beautiful! The lighting is perfect for a shoot. I should have asked my new photographer to come along. Oh well, Austin, you can just snap a few quick ones of me later.” Austin smiled, his tone a mix of indulgence and affection. “Whatever you say, princess.” He waved down the waiter. “A sweet latte, an iced americano, and…” He paused, finally looking at me. “Caitlin, what are you having?” A bitter pang went through my chest. Three years, and he still did not know my order. “Just a glass of water, please,” I told the waiter. Austin seemed to realize his mistake, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Are you sure? What about a cappuccino? Or a vanilla latte?” “Austin, it doesn’t matter,” I cut him off. “I asked you here because…” “Oh my gosh! Look at that sunlight!” Brandi squealed, pointing at the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Austin, quick, get the camera!” The sunlight streamed through the glass, catching the golden highlights in her hair, making her look radiant. Austin’s eyes lit up instantly. “That is perfect. Let me grab the camera.” He pulled out his phone, a vintage CCD camera, and his professional DSLR from his bag, carefully adjusting the settings as he began directing her poses. He was entirely absorbed in his work, treating it like a grand artistic endeavor. I remembered the times we had traveled together. When I asked him to take a single photo of me against a beautiful backdrop, he would snap a quick picture in three seconds flat, barely looking at the screen. He had never truly looked at me through that lens. As long as Brandi was in the room, his eyes would only ever find her. They continued their impromptu shoot, completely ignoring my presence. The waiter returned with the drinks, smiling warmly at them. “I don’t think I have ever seen a boyfriend so dedicated to taking photos of his girl.” “Yes, he is quite dedicated,” I said quietly. The waiter’s voice was clear, and Brandi’s eyes flickered in my direction. She had definitely heard him, but she made no effort to correct him. Instead, a subtle, smug triumph flashed deep within her eyes. “That expression is perfect!” Austin exclaimed, clicking the shutter. Whether he had heard the waiter or not, it didn’t matter anymore. I took a slow sip of my water, placing the glass back on the table with a soft click. “Austin, let’s break up.” Click. Austin took one last shot, reviewed the image on his screen, and finally turned his head to look at me. “What? Sorry, Caitlin, what did you say?” I glanced at Brandi, offering a faint smile. “Brandi heard me. You can ask her.” With that, I stood up and walked out of the cafe. On my way back to the dorms, my phone began to ring incessantly. I hesitated before picking up. A heavy silence stretched across the line for a full minute before his voice came through, low and tense. “Caitlin, you want to break up?” “Yes.” “Why? Have I not been good to you?” I was stunned by the question. He genuinely had no idea why I was leaving. If I looked at our relationship in a vacuum, Austin was a decent boyfriend. He bought me expensive gifts, helped me with career advice, and supported me whenever I faced challenges. But that was only when Brandi wasn’t involved. “Austin,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Have you ever paused to think about who you actually love?” The line went dead silent, his breathing catching. “I am not going to spend my life playing second fiddle to someone else. Let’s just end it here.” I hung up, refusing to answer any of his subsequent calls or texts. The next few days passed in quiet isolation. On my final day at the internship, my supervisor pulled me into her office. “Caitlin, are you absolutely sure about this? Most graduates would kill for a starting position here.” I smiled gratefully. “Thank you, but my mind is made up.” I knew that with my qualifications, I could secure a good job back in Savannah. When I stepped out of the office building, I was surprised to find Austin leaning against his car, his eyes locked onto me. He strode over, grabbing my hand in a tight grip. “Caitlin, what did you mean by that phone call?” “You are my girlfriend. If you want to end things, you owe me a real explanation.” “I have already said everything I need to say,” I replied, pulling against his grip. “Please let go of me.” His fingers dug in deeper, a stubborn, frantic energy rolling off him. “Is this about the photography? I told you, she has a new photographer now. I am done shooting for her.” “But you still took her photos at the cafe, didn’t you?” I asked, a mocking smile on my face. He flinched, his voice faltering. “That was… an exception.” I did not want to waste another breath. I pulled away and walked quickly toward the bus stop. My bus back to campus was arriving. Suddenly, a loud engine roared from down the street. As the motorcycle sped past, a gloved hand reached out and violently snatched my bag from my shoulder. The force of the yank sent me crashing onto the concrete. My palms and knees scraped hard against the asphalt, blood welling up immediately. “Caitlin!” Austin rushed over, his face pale with panic as he knelt beside me, trying to pull up his phone to dial 911. Before he could dial, his phone began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID, freezing for a fraction of a second before answering. “Brandi…” Within seconds, Austin stood up, his face turning completely cold. “That creep came back to your place?” “Hang on, I am on my way!” I bit my lip against the throbbing pain, my bloody fingers reaching out to grab the hem of his coat. “Austin…” He looked down at me, a flash of conflict crossing his eyes. Then, he knelt back down, using his thumb to gently wipe some dirt from my cheek. “I called the ambulance, they will be here soon. Brandi is in immediate danger, I have to go help her. Caitlin, wait for me.” Before I could say a word, he turned and ran down the street, disappearing around the corner. I stared at his retreating back, slowly letting go of the breath in my throat. The question I wanted to ask him, Now do you see who you really love? remained unspoken. I thought my heart would break, but perhaps the physical pain of my scraped limbs numbed the ache. I felt incredibly, terrifyingly calm. When my parents heard the news, they drove through the night to reach the hospital. The police were efficient, apprehending the thief and returning my stolen belongings within a day. I spent three days recovering in the hospital. Many friends came to visit, but Austin was never one of them. Lying in bed, I scrolled through my feed and saw Brandi’s latest post. It was a picture of a harbor at sunset, with the caption: Grateful for the harbor that always waits for my ship. I tapped the heart icon and closed the app. The next day, Austin finally rushed into the hospital lobby. “I am looking for Caitlin. Which ward is she in?” The receptionist checked her computer and looked up. “I am sorry, she was discharged yesterday.” Unable to reach me by phone, he drove straight to my office, only for my supervisor to adjust her glasses and sigh. “Caitlin? She declined our offer, resigned from her internship, and left the city. She should be back in her hometown by now.” Her words hit him like a physical blow, pinning him to the spot. Austin’s face drained of all color.

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1It was the first day of preschool, but my daughter was nowhere to be found. My phone buzzed with a text from Patrick, my wife’s high school sweetheart. He asked if I could guess where she was. This was the fourth time he had pulled one of his twisted pranks on me. When Megan and I started dating, he made me believe she died in a car crash. I ran three miles down an icy road in tears. On our wedding day, they disappeared for twenty-four hours, leaving me humiliated before a hundred guests. When Sophie was born, he brought a fake DNA test to the hospital. I only got the truth after collapsing from a panic attack. Megan always defended him. She would cradle his face and scold me for being too sensitive. But this time, he was messing with our four-year-old. Shaking, I called Megan. She picked up sounding annoyed and said Patrick was just playing hide-and-seek. Then she hung up. I stared at my screen. The GPS tracker on my daughter’s profile glowed a steady red. The location was right in the middle of Blackwood River. The September river water was bone-chilling. I didn’t even bother kicking off my shoes. Following the red dot on my screen, I threw myself directly into the rapids. The freezing current instantly swallowed my chest, sending violent tremors down my spine. The mud at the riverbed was incredibly soft and slick. My foot slipped, and my entire head went under the murky, freezing water. “Sophie! Sophie, where are you!” I choked on a mouthful of dirty water, fighting desperately to stand up. My throat was so tight I could barely breathe. Up on the banks, people were shouting about a man jumping into the river. I could see the flashes of phone cameras pointing at me. I didn’t care about any of it. My mind was consumed by the image of Sophie’s bright smile when we left the house this morning. She was terrified of water. I usually had to spend half an hour just coaxing her into the bathtub. There was no way in hell she would willingly go near a rushing river. I bent over, plunging my bare hands into the freezing current, dragging my fingers through the rotting sludge. My fingernails tore against sharp rocks, but I couldn’t feel the pain. The blood welling from my fingers was instantly washed away by the current. Suddenly, my fingertips brushed against something soft. My heart violently contracted. I gripped the object with both hands and tore it out of the heavy mud. It was Sophie’s pink strawberry backpack. The fabric was completely waterlogged, making it as heavy as a brick. My hands shook uncontrollably as I ripped the zipper open. My daughter wasn’t inside. There was only a soggy, ruined coloring book. “Sophie!” I screamed at the top of my lungs at the empty river. My vocal cords tore, making me sound like a dying animal. There was nothing on the surface but floating dead leaves and garbage. Fear wrapped its icy fingers around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. I pulled my soaking wet phone from my pocket and dialed Patrick’s number. It rang for nearly a full minute before he finally picked up. “Patrick! Where is my daughter! Where the hell is she?!” The line went dead silent for a second. Then, a lazy, arrogant chuckle filtered through the speaker. “It’s hide-and-seek, man. You have to find a good hiding spot.” “Are you out of your psychotic mind! You don’t play games with a child’s life!” My entire body was convulsing. I couldn’t tell if it was from the freezing water or the blinding rage. “Stop yelling. I’ll text you the address. Come find us yourself.” My phone chimed. A location pin for a luxury downtown hotel popped up on the screen. My knuckles turned completely white as I gripped the steering wheel, pressing the gas pedal straight to the floor. Twenty minutes later, I kicked open the door to Room 8012. “Sophie!” I charged into the room with bloodshot eyes. The main lights were off, the blackout curtains drawn tight. The only illumination came from a dim, amber bedside lamp. Clothes were scattered across the carpet. A man’s dress shirt was heavily tangled in a woman’s silk slip dress. On the bed, Megan was frantically pulling the heavy duvet up to cover her bare chest. Patrick was leaning against the headboard, completely shirtless. There were fresh, faint red scratch marks trailing down his neck. When Megan saw me standing there, dripping muddy river water onto the expensive carpet, raw panic flashed across her face. But it only lasted a second. She quickly pulled a plush bathrobe over her shoulders, got out of bed, and pointed a manicured finger right in my face. “What the hell is wrong with you, Declan! Who told you to come here!” “Today is Sophie’s first day of preschool! Instead of staying with her, you’re tracking me down? Are you completely insane!” The absolute humiliation of her betrayal mixed with the boiling anger of being played. My temples throbbed so hard my vision blurred. But I didn’t have time to waste on her garbage. I didn’t even look at her. I locked my eyes onto Patrick, who was still lounging on the mattress, and forced the words out through gritted teeth. “I am going to ask you one last time. Where is Sophie.” Patrick instantly put on his signature innocent, victimized expression, shrinking back slightly behind Megan’s silhouette. “Whoa, Declan, calm down. The game ended hours ago.” “Sophie got tired, so I dropped her back off at the preschool.” I raised my arm and hurled the soaking wet strawberry backpack across the room. It hit the floor with a heavy, wet thud. “You dropped her off?” I pointed a trembling finger at the ruined bag. “I pulled that out of the deep mud at the bottom of the river! You expect me to believe you took her back?!” A brief flicker of guilt crossed Patrick’s eyes, but he quickly recovered, throwing his hands up in a casual shrug. “Well, maybe she dropped it in the water while she was playing. It’s just a cheap backpack. Buy her a new one. Do you really need to act like a psycho over this?” I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I lunged across the room, grabbed Patrick by the hair, and dragged him off the mattress, slamming him hard onto the floor. “Where the fuck did you leave her! That river has a deadly undercurrent! She is four years old!” Before I could land a punch, Megan threw herself at me. Her acrylic nails dug deep into my forearm, tearing off a strip of skin. “Declan, you are out of your mind! Let him go right now!” She shoved me backward with all her strength, immediately dropping to her knees to cradle Patrick’s head, checking his face for bruises. Then she looked up at me. Her eyes were so cold they felt completely alien to me. “Are you just using this as an excuse to throw a tantrum, Declan?” “You just said it yourself, the only thing in the river was her bag. Patrick was nice enough to take her out for some fresh air. So what if they lost a stupid backpack?” “Sophie is probably sitting in her classroom perfectly fine right now, and here you are, biting people like a rabid dog!” I stared at the woman kneeling on the floor. The biological mother of my child. I was standing in front of her, soaked in freezing mud, telling her I found our daughter’s belongings at the bottom of a rapid river. She didn’t show a single ounce of fear or concern for her child. Her only instinct was to protect the man she had just been sleeping with. A bone-deep chill washed over me. It was so cold that even the fire of my rage was extinguished. I turned around and walked out. Looking at her for one more second made me physically sick. Driving toward the preschool, I gripped the wheel so hard my hands went numb. My brain kept flashing back to the image of Sophie leaving the house. She was wearing her brand-new pale yellow autumn sweater, her hair tied in two little braids. She had wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and whispered, “Daddy, I’m going to be so good today. You have to be the first one to pick me up, okay?” I had kissed her soft cheek and promised I would. When I pulled up to the preschool gates, I didn’t even turn the engine off. I threw the door open and sprinted into the courtyard. “Sophie! Is Sophie Wright in her classroom!” Ms. Davis, the head teacher, jumped back in shock. “Mr. Wright? What happened to you? Why are you wet?” I grabbed her shoulders. “Where is she? Is she inside?” Ms. Davis froze, a look of pure confusion and rising panic crossing her face. “Mr. Wright… A man named Patrick came with your emergency pickup code. He took her home two hours ago.” A bomb went off in my skull. My legs completely gave out. I dropped straight to my knees on the playground asphalt. Patrick was lying. Megan was covering for him. My daughter was gone. “Call the police… please call the police…” I collapsed onto my hands, my freezing fingers fumbling frantically to pull out my phone. I couldn’t hit the right numbers on the screen. Ms. Davis had to dial 911 for me. Leaning heavily against the iron gates of the school, I dialed Patrick’s number one more time. “The school said she never came back. I just called the cops.” “Patrick, the police are on their way. Tell me exactly where you left her.” The line was dead silent for a long moment. When Patrick finally spoke, his voice was still infuriatingly lazy, but now he added a gross layer of fake victimization. “Why are you trying to frame me, Declan? I walked her right up to the front gates. If she ran off because she wanted to play, how is that my fault?” The phone was abruptly snatched away. Megan’s shrill voice pierced my ear. “Declan, I have had enough of your drama! Patrick said he brought her back, which means he brought her back.” “Why would he lie to you? Honestly, I think you hid her yourself just to get back at us.” “You actually called the cops? Stop embarrassing yourself and go home!” I hung up the phone. She was beyond saving. The patrol cars arrived in ten minutes. I rode with them straight to the precinct to pull the city security footage. The timeline rewound to two and a half hours ago. Patrick was holding Sophie’s hand as they walked out of the preschool gates. Sophie was wearing her pink strawberry backpack, skipping happily to keep up with his long strides, looking up at him and chatting. There was no audio on the cameras, but just looking at the footage, I could tell my daughter was smiling so sweetly. It felt like someone was twisting a jagged knife into my heart. The cameras tracked them down the river walk. They walked into a dense cluster of willow trees. That specific stretch of the riverbank was a blind spot for the cameras. There was only one distant camera that caught blurry shadows. Fifteen minutes later, Patrick walked out of the trees alone. His hands were completely empty. He stood on the curb, casually lighting a cigarette, before hailing a cab. I pressed my face against the glowing monitor, my eyes burning with dry heat, desperately praying to see what happened in those trees. But there was nothing. No footage of her falling in. No shadows of a struggle. He had just walked away, leaving a four-year-old girl alone on the edge of a deadly river. I sat completely frozen in the surveillance room for four hours. Every ticking second felt like someone was scraping the flesh off my bones. The muddy water had dried onto my clothes, turning them into a stiff, freezing shell. But the cold in my chest was infinitely worse. Just as the sun began to set, the lead detective pushed the door open. His police radio was buzzing with static. His face was incredibly grim. He looked at me, his lips pressing into a thin line. His eyes were full of absolute pity. “Mr. Wright… A local fisherman just called in from the lower basin, about six miles downstream…” “They found a little girl in the reeds. She matches the description.” The surveillance room fell dead silent. Nobody breathed. A loud, deafening ringing filled my ears, blocking out all other sound. I tried to stand up, but my legs were completely numb. I crashed hard onto the tile floor, then scrambled desperately to get back on my feet. “Take me to her.” My voice was so broken it didn’t even make a sound. “Take me… I need to see her.” The cruiser sirens wailed all the way to the lower riverbanks. It was pitch black outside. Yellow police tape blocked off the marsh. Red and blue emergency lights pulsed against the dark water. A few crime scene investigators were crouching around a small, white tarp. I don’t know how I walked over there. My legs felt like solid lead. With every step I took, I felt a piece of my soul die. The medical examiner looked up at me, let out a heavy sigh, and gently lifted the corner of the white plastic. Under the tarp was the pale yellow autumn sweater I had dressed her in that very morning. The beautiful fabric had been soaked into a repulsive grayish-brown. Her tiny face was bloated and paper-white. Her lips were a deep, bruised purple. Her eyebrows were furrowed tight. It looked like she had been so incredibly terrified in the water. I dropped to my knees. Reaching out, I gently wrapped my hand around her tiny fingers. They were so cold my heart practically stopped. There was thick black sludge packed under her fingernails. Strands of river weed were tangled around her knuckles. She must have been fighting the current, desperately trying to grab onto anything she could. But she caught nothing. The detectives were saying something to me. They were explaining that the current was too aggressive, that there was a hidden undertow, that once she fell in, she was swept away instantly. Because the cameras didn’t catch the fall, they had to classify it as an accidental drowning for now. I couldn’t hear any of it. I just kept my head bowed, using the cuff of my shirt to gently wipe the mud off her cold cheeks. I would wipe a spot, stain my sleeve, and use a clean patch of fabric to wipe again. “Don’t be scared, baby. Daddy is here.” There was a massive, suffocating lump in my throat. My voice shook violently. “Daddy is going to take you home. We’ll turn on the fireplace. You love sitting by the fire. Daddy will make you some hot pastries.” She didn’t move. From that exact second, my entire world stopped spinning. After they finished processing the scene, the coroner told me she had to be taken to the morgue’s cold storage while they waited for the investigation to close. I held onto Sophie and refused to let go. “No cold storage,” I shook my head frantically. “My daughter hates the cold. She’s terrified of the dark. It’s too freezing in there. She’ll be so scared.” I begged them for hours. Maybe they just took pity on a broken man. Eventually, the captain signed a special release form, allowing me to take her directly to the crematorium. The hallway was completely empty. I sat alone on a metal bench, staring blankly at the heavy iron doors. The phone in my pocket wouldn’t stop vibrating. I pulled it out. It was Megan. There were dozens of missed calls from the afternoon stretching into the night. She had finally realized her daughter hadn’t come home. Looking at the word ‘Wife’ flashing on the screen, it felt like I was looking at a complete stranger’s name. The heavy iron doors finally pushed open. The attendant handed me a wooden urn. It was still warm to the touch. That sickening warmth seeping through the wood was the absolute last trace of heat my daughter would ever leave in this world. I clutched the urn tightly to my chest and answered the phone. Megan’s voice immediately exploded through the speaker, high-pitched and frantic. “Declan! Where the hell did you take our daughter?!” “The preschool said you never brought her back yesterday! Are you out of your mind? Are you seriously using our child to scare me?!” The crematorium hallway was dead quiet, making her shrill voice echo off the tiles in a way that sounded utterly pathetic. I lowered my head, using my sleeve to gently dust off a speck of ash on the wooden box. “You don’t need to look for her anymore,” I said softly. Megan paused. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Sophie is dead.” I pressed my cheek against the warm wood and closed my eyes. “I am holding her ashes right now.”

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1 A TikTok street interview went viral; the host asked Ryan how he maintains a long relationship. Smiling to the camera, Ryan shared they never skip daily routines even mid-fights: goodnight texts, meal photos and constant updates. The quote shot him to top trends, netizens praising him as the ideal boyfriend. Among warm comments stood one bitter reply from his ex Natalie, claiming Ryan used to have a violent temper. My smile faded. Their breakup was brutal, so I rushed to defend him online. I wrote he calms his rage by assembling furniture at our future house and sends blurry work photos to signal he needs comfort. Users went crazy over his thoughtfulness. My training ended early, so I rebooked a flight to surprise and comfort him in person. The door of our new house hung ajar when I arrived. Ryan pinned a woman against our wedding portrait, her messy handprints smearing my face in the photo. My hand shook on the doorknob. His daily reminder chimed. He snapped a blurry photo of curtains and tossed his phone aside. The woman sneered that his sweet girlfriend would collapse if she learned the truth behind those photos. Ryan stayed cold and unyielding, telling her to hush and calling me a far better girl than her.In my pocket, my phone vibrated. The blurry, dark picture of the curtains popped up on my screen. With a slight shudder of my hand, the door swung open. Our eyes locked. Ryan froze for a brief moment, then slowly, calmly, he began buttoning his shirt. He walked over and took the suitcase from my hand. “Maybe it is better you saw this. Keeping it from you was getting exhausting.” He pointed at the woman. “This is Natalie. My ex.” Natalie arched an eyebrow. She walked past me to the cabinet, pulling out a bath towel with practiced ease. She looked me up and down, then tilted her head toward Ryan. “You have decent taste. No wonder you like her. The sweet girl looks even better in person than she does on social media.” Ryan’s expression darkened. He grabbed her wrist. “Social media? She is different from you. Stay away from her.” Natalie slapped his hand away, stuck her tongue out, and strolled into the bathroom. The sound of running water started almost immediately. Ryan turned back to me, pulling me toward the sofa. “If you were coming back early, why didn’t you ask me to pick you up?” He sighed, trying to smooth things over. “Even when we fight, I am still your boyfriend.” It took me a long time to find my voice. “Not anymore,” I whispered. Ryan’s brow furrowed. With a sudden sweep of his hand, the orange-scented candle I had brought back as a gift was knocked off the coffee table, shattering on the floor. “Jane, I can never bring myself to take my anger out on you. What is so wrong with me finding an outlet?” He glared at me. “I update you on every single detail of my day. Is that still not enough for you?” In an instant, his words tore open a buried memory. Years ago, my parents had a silent fight, and my father walked out, vanishing for a week. My mother had gone out into a raging blizzard, crying as she tried to reach the police station, only to receive the news of my father’s fatal car crash. She collapsed in the snow, breaking her leg. At the funeral, Ryan held my trembling hand and whispered over and over, “Don’t be afraid, Jane. I will always tell you where I am. I will update you on everything so you never have to worry.” Now, the sharp scent of the orange candle mixed with the musk of sex in the room, making my eyes burn with tears. Ryan’s warm fingertips touched my cheek, his tone softening. “The house is finished. Let’s get married. We can move your mother in with us.” He pulled a ring box from his pocket. “I even designed the place with her in mind.” I looked around the apartment. There were no thresholds at the entrance, the hallways were wide enough for a wheelchair to turn smoothly, and all the sharp corners of the furniture were wrapped in soft padding. My chest tightened. The doctor had told me my mother’s health was failing rapidly, and her greatest wish was to see me walk down the aisle. The bathroom door clicked open. Natalie stepped out, wrapping the towel loosely around herself. “So? Does she like the ring?” She smiled, looking at us. “Since we fell for the same man, our tastes must be identical.” She patted Ryan on the shoulder, the towel slipping down a fraction more. “Just deduct my consulting fee from my wedding registry gift.” I could not take it anymore. I grabbed the ring and hurled it straight at her face. “Why are you always here? Do you not have your own home? Why do you have to ruin everything?” A heavy silence fell over the room. Natalie’s eyes welled with tears, and she let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “Actually, I don’t. My dad abandoned us, and my mom died of a heart attack.” She bent down, picked up the ring, and placed it on the coffee table. As she pulled on her coat, she mumbled, “I’ll leave. If you need a discount on wedding catering, let me know. I can get you a deal.” Ryan grabbed her by the wrist to stop her. He turned his gaze to me, the anger in his eyes no longer hidden. “Jane, didn’t you just say we were broken up?” My mouth opened, but no sound came out. He let out a cold laugh, grabbed my suitcase, and pushed me out into the hallway. The door slammed shut in my face. Through the thin wood, I heard his voice, sharp and clear. “Then who said this house was yours?” At three in the morning, the wind off the river was freezing, bringing down a sudden torrent of rain. Standing by the curb in nothing but thin clothes and slippers, the rain poured down my collar and ran down my back. I shivered to the bone. I hailed a cab back to the research institute’s staff apartments. The driver was an older woman. She glanced at me in the rearview mirror and spoke gently. “Sweetheart, there is nothing in this life you can’t get over. The past is just scenery. You have to keep moving forward.” She paused, handing me a tissue. “My daughter is about your age. Don’t cry. Your mother would be heartbroken to see you like this.” I reached up to touch my face, only to realize I was completely drenched in tears. She was right. I had to look forward. I took a deep breath and sent a message to my director. “I will take the lead on the joint research project in Boston.” Within seconds, my phone rang. The old director’s voice was filled with excitement. “You’ll take it? That changes everything. Our success rate just doubled. I thought you backed out because you were getting married. I’ll book your flight right away.” When I unlocked the door to my apartment, I was shocked to find Ryan sitting on the sofa. Hearing the door, he stood up, wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my neck. “Jane, I am so sorry. You have no idea how worried I was about you.” I pushed him away, looking straight into his eyes. I held out my hand. “Give me back my keys.” Ryan gripped my shoulders, his tone patronizing, as if he were dealing with a throwing a tantrum. “Stop being childish, Jane. Tomorrow I will help you pack, we will move your things to our new place, and then we will head to City Hall to register our marriage.” He hesitated before adding, “But Natalie has no one else in this world. We should set aside the guest room for her, okay?” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was the confirmation for my flight to Boston, departing in three days. I gave a dull nod. Ryan stared at me, visibly caught off guard by how quickly I had surrendered. A relieved smile spread across his face. “I missed you so much while you were gone.” He leaned in to kiss me, but a wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed him away and gagged. He reached out to pat my back, but I took a sharp step away from him. His fingers hovered in the air before he slowly pulled his hand back. The next second, his phone began to ring. “Ryan, Natalie just had a massive asthma attack at the mixology competition!” Ryan hung up the phone. When he looked at me, his eyes were filled with profound disappointment. “Jane, don’t do things like this again.” I stared at him, confused. He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. “You saw on her social media that she has asthma, so you deliberately brought that orange-scented candle into the house to trigger her.” “Stop these pathetic little games.” “Get some sleep. I will come by to help you move tomorrow.” The door clicked shut behind him. Outside, the headlights of his car swept across the window before fading into the rainy night. My phone screen lit up with endless notifications from the institute’s group chat. “Jane, let’s celebrate your promotion and the Boston trip. We are out tonight, come join us!” I looked at the bar location they shared. It looked familiar. Perhaps driven by the final, stubborn ember of resentment in my chest, I replied, “On my way.” The bar was a blur of flashing lights and loud music. My colleague Lily immediately pulled me into a booth and handed me a glass of juice. “You finally made it! This place is famous for its live mixology tournaments.” She pointed toward the stage. In the center of the spotlight, Natalie was flipping bottles, the liquor carving elegant arcs through the air. I let out a bitter laugh. Of course it was this bar. Lily leaned in closer, whispering the local gossip. “You missed the drama earlier. The bartender coughed a few times, and this incredibly handsome guy rushed in from outside. I heard he is her ex. Apparently, they had a horrible breakup years ago, but true love always finds a way, right?” I followed her gaze. Right across from the stage, Ryan was leaning back in a leather chair, a drink in his hand, his eyes locked onto Natalie. When his eyes shifted and caught mine, he froze. He stood up abruptly, cutting through the crowded dance floor, and grabbed my wrist with a tight grip. “Jane, are you stalking me?” He hissed. “Do you really trust me that little?” Lily leaned over, confused. “Jane, is this the devoted guy from online? Are you guys friends?” Only then did Ryan notice my colleague sitting next to me. I took a slow sip of my juice and smiled faintly. “No, we aren’t close.” In our three years together, he had never once attended a single gathering with my coworkers. I had always assumed he had social anxiety. It turned out he simply reserved his presence for a different circle. Natalie noticed the commotion and walked over from behind the bar. She looked at me, a smirk playing on her lips as she lightly shook a metallic shaker. “You wouldn’t snub my signature drink, would you?” I frowned, but before I could speak, Lily blocked the glass. “Sorry, my friend doesn’t drink. Find someone else.” Natalie’s eyes turned red instantly. She looked around at the gathering crowd, letting out a soft sigh. “I guess my mixology skills aren’t refined enough to impress this lady.” Without warning, Ryan snatched the juice from my hand and forced Natalie’s cocktail glass into my palm. “Just one glass, Jane. Give it a try.” I stared up at him, my voice barely a whisper through my gritted teeth. “Ryan, you know I have a life-threatening alcohol allergy.” He leaned in close to my ear, his voice low. “Today is Natalie’s big championship. I know about your allergy.” “But if someone with an allergy drinks it and loves it, doesn’t that prove how incredible her skills are?” A mocking smile touched my lips. The logic was entirely absurd. He paused, then added, “If you help her win this trophy tonight, I can finally marry you with a clear conscience. Jane, just consider this a favor to help me fulfill her dream.” Lily’s voice was filled with shock. “You are Jane’s boyfriend?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “Why?” I locked eyes with him. “Why should I have to pay the price for your lingering attachment to your ex?” Embarrassment flashed across Ryan’s face, and he coughed nervously. Natalie chose that moment to tug gently on his sleeve. “It is fine, Ryan. If I don’t win tonight, I can always try again in three years.” Ryan squeezed her hand, then glared back at me. “Jane, your mother’s physical therapy bills still have two unpaid cycles.” My vision blurred, and a loud ringing filled my ears. “Fine, Ryan. I will drink this.” My hand shook as I raised the glass. “And we are officially done.” He smiled, dismissive of my words. “Sure. We can stop being boyfriend and girlfriend, and go straight to being husband and wife.” I downed the liquid in one throat-burning gulp. By the time the empty glass hit the table, my vision was already spinning. I tried to stand, stumbling blindly toward the exit as my airways began to constrict. Suddenly, my jaw was forced open. Ryan pulled a small amber bottle from his pocket, popped two pills, and forced them down my throat, tilting my head back to make me swallow. “You are fine, Jane. I always keep your allergy meds on me. I wouldn’t have pushed you if I didn’t have a safety net.” He began rubbing my back to help me catch my breath. But my breathing did not improve. My chest felt as though it were being wrapped tighter and tighter in plastic wrap. Bright red hives began spreading rapidly from my wrists up my arms. Ryan’s brow furrowed. “What is going on? Why isn’t the medicine working?” Natalie let out a sharp gasp, covering her mouth in mock horror. “Oh no… when I was at your place the other day, I think I mixed up my asthma inhaler pills with the allergy meds in your coat pocket…” Lily jumped up, frantically dialing 911. Ryan’s face turned icy cold. He shoved Natalie’s hand away. “How could you be so stupid? You can’t do anything right.” But in the next heartbeat, he grabbed Natalie’s arm, pulling her toward the exit. “I am taking her to get a new inhaler before she gets blamed for this.” As he passed me, he cast a brief, detached glance downward. “Jane, your friend already called the ambulance. You are smart, you can handle yourself.” I collapsed onto the floor, my phone slipping from my hand and ringing loudly. Lily answered it for me. Just before darkness claimed my consciousness, a voice drifted from the speaker. “Miss Jane, your mother… she jumped from the building during her physical therapy session.”

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1 I turned back toward the mirror to touch up my lipstick, but the loud click of the camera shutter made me freeze. In the reflection, my fiancé Carter and my twin sister Lily were pressed together, perfectly framed in the photographer’s lens. When I walked back onto the set, the entire studio fell dead silent. Carter finally realized what had happened. His smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before he shrugged it off. “You guys look practically identical anyway. Let’s just use this shot.” My throat tightened until it ached. Just because we were twins, Carter had treated her like me more times than I could count. She was the one in our family portraits. She was the one in our couple’s photoshoot. And now, she was the one in my wedding photos. I stared at the two of them. They looked exactly like a happy set of newlyweds. Reaching up, I ripped the veil out of my hair and roughly wiped the expensive makeup off my face. “Why don’t you let her marry you, too.” I turned on my heel and walked out. Carter closed the distance in three long strides, grabbing my arm. “We’re supposed to be taking our wedding photos. Why do you always have to ruin the mood?” My eyes burned with unshed tears as I forced the corners of my mouth up. In the hallway mirror, my smeared makeup made me look completely pathetic. He had no idea. Just to fit into this designer gown, I had essentially given myself an eating disorder, throwing up every meal I forced down. I had tortured myself to squeeze into the suffocating tulle and lace. And I didn’t even get the chance to step in front of the camera. Lily hurriedly stepped off the backdrop, her face a mask of perfect, innocent guilt. “Lucia is definitely jealous. I was just joking around to see if Carter could tell us apart. I guess I took the prank too far.” She tried to playfully push me toward the center of the set. Carter shifted his weight, physically blocking the spot. His voice dropped into a heavy, warning tone. “It’s just a picture. She’s your sister. Just let her have this.” There it was again. That heavy, suffocating concept. Let her have it. The plus-one ticket for the European cruise. I had to let her have it. The front seat on the rollercoaster. I had to let her have it. Carter pulled us both to stand side-by-side in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “Look at you two. Nose, ears, eyes, it’s all the same. Why go through the hassle of reshooting? It’s just a waste of film.” Looking at the two nearly identical faces in the glass, I managed a smile that felt worse than crying. Carter used to trace the small beauty mark under my left eye, telling me it was the most unique thing about me. I guess I wasn’t that unique to him after all. It felt like his choice to propose to me was just a random flip of a coin. Before I could process the thought, Carter reached down and twisted the engagement ring off my finger. “Since Lily loves being in front of the camera, let her stand in for you. Go sit down and take a breather.” He slid my ring onto Lily’s finger. It was a flawless fit. Whenever I wore that ring, it squeezed my finger until the circulation stopped. A cold realization washed over me. Back in college, Carter had accidentally kissed Lily. Since that day, their dynamic had shifted into something far too close for comfort. Maybe that kiss wasn’t an accident. Maybe every time he ‘mixed us up’, he knew exactly what he was doing. Walking out into the glaring sunlight, I pulled out my phone and dialed my wedding planner. “Hi. I need to cancel my entire wedding package.” The planner gasped loudly into the receiver. “Lucia? You’ve been putting this together for six months.” “Is there something you’re unhappy with? We can always tweak the details.” I had tweaked the three-hour ceremony a million times. Carter vetoed every single idea I had. He called my choices tacky, exhausting, or too cheap. The final aesthetic we settled on was a pastel pink fairy-tale theme. It was Lily’s dream aesthetic. The guest list was stacked with Lily’s sorority sisters and friends. The vows I was supposed to read were practically written by Lily. Even the mermaid-style gown I was wearing right now was the exact cut Lily had been obsessing over on Pinterest. I was just so tired of fighting for my own life. Glancing back through the glass doors, I watched them strike goofy, intimate poses to use up the rest of the studio time. I spoke softly into the phone. “No need.” “Cancel it. I’ll cover whatever cancellation fees we owe.” “Cancel what?” Carter’s confused voice echoed right behind me. I hung up the phone without missing a beat and shook my head. Remembering the two VIP concert tickets I had found in his jacket pocket that morning, I used them as my cover. “I meant we should cancel the trip for the music festival.” Carter froze. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. “How did you know Lily and I were going to that concert?” I stared at him, completely numb. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go, so I didn’t get you a ticket.” “But since you know, you can help us pack. Put together some cool outfits for us. Lily has been begging to see this band live for months.” The bridge of my nose stung. I was the one who had been begging to see them. I was the one who stayed up until 3 AM trying to secure tickets in the queue and failed three times. Noticing the absolute deadness in my eyes, Carter awkwardly tried to backpedal. “Look, I can FaceTime you during the best songs. You know how crazy those crowds get. It’s not safe for Lily to be in a mosh pit alone. You’d be worried sick about her.” I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, and then I laughed. The only person worried about her was him. After the shoot wrapped, Carter’s mom, Eleanor, called and told us to come check out the newly renovated house Carter bought for us. When we pulled into the driveway, she was already waiting on the porch. “Mom! I missed you so much!” Lily practically vaulted out of the car and threw her arms around Eleanor. Eleanor pinched her cheek, her face lighting up with genuine warmth. “Look at my girl, getting prettier every day!” I stood a few feet away, feeling like a trespasser who had stumbled onto their private family reunion. I had tried calling her ‘Mom’ so many times over the years. Eleanor always shot me down with a cold stare, telling me to save it for the altar. I guess Lily had beaten me to the punch. I swallowed the ‘Mrs. Bennett’ that was resting on my tongue. As we walked up to the door, Lily casually pressed her thumb to the biometric lock. It clicked open instantly. She walked in like she owned the place. Carter didn’t blink. He just watched her with a fond, indulgent smile. Sensing my rigid posture, Eleanor let out a dry, awkward chuckle. “You’re always working, Lucia. Lily was the one who helped me pick out the tiles and the paint. Whose fingerprint was I supposed to register?” But Carter had explicitly told me his mom didn’t want ‘outsiders’ meddling in the renovation. So I had stayed out of it. Turns out, I was the outsider. Stepping into the hallway, I reached for the handle of the master bedroom. Carter’s hand clamped over my wrist, pulling it back. His tone left no room for argument. “Lily is still interning downtown. Living here is way closer to her office than her crappy apartment. My mom agreed.” I forced the corners of my mouth up, slowly pulling my arm out of his grip. “Then where are we sleeping?” Carter pointed toward a cramped guest room in the corner. It was half the size of the master. “That’s plenty of space for us.” “The master has an en-suite bathroom. You’re always paranoid about me mixing you two up, right? This way, we avoid any awkward run-ins. Win-win.” Lily leaned against the doorframe, a sly smirk playing on her lips. “Oh please, it’s not like you’d actually mix us up. Lucia doesn’t exactly have my curves. I’m way out of her league.” Carter’s gaze instinctively dropped to Lily’s chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He suppressed a grin. “Stop messing around.” Watching the two of them flirt right in front of me made my stomach churn with violent nausea. Without a word, I turned and walked into the tiny guest room. Through the thin drywall, I could hear them wrestling and laughing in the hallway, accompanied by Eleanor’s fond, enabling chuckles. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and texted my Aunt Valerie overseas. “That guy you wanted to set me up with. I’ll meet him.” The next evening, Carter drove Lily to the neighboring state for the concert. My phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Lily had posted a photo. The stage lights illuminated their faces in the dark crowd. Surrounded by cheering fans, they were making out. Deeply. The caption read. [Someone’s kissing skills haven’t improved at all. I’ll give him a C-minus.] Carter had commented publicly, entirely shameless. [You’re the gross one. I had to use three bottles of mouthwash after.] Their flirty banter filled up my entire screen. I sat on the edge of the guest bed, zipping up my suitcase. I opened my browser and booked a one-way flight for the following morning. At 2 AM, a phone call shattered the silence of the room. “Is this Lucia? Are you related to Lily? She and Carter are down at the precinct. They were picked up during a vice raid at a downtown motel. Come bail them out.” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. When I rushed into the glaring fluorescent lights of the police station, Lily was sitting on a metal bench. She was wearing nothing but Carter’s oversized white button-down. Her bare legs were pale and exposed. She was sobbing into her hands, looking like a total victim. Carter was hovering over her, rubbing her shoulders. He didn’t even look at me when he started talking. “The show ended late. I didn’t want to drive all the way back in the dark, so we booked a room.” “But I wasn’t going to let a girl stay in a sketchy motel alone. So I stayed in the room with her.” He paused, adding defensively. “We slept in separate beds.” The sheer audacity of his lie made my vision blur. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “If you were in separate beds, why did vice squad haul you in for suspected solicitation?” Lily looked up, her face stained with perfect, glistening tears. She stood up, trying to grab my hand. “Lucia, I broke out in hives. Carter was just helping me put ointment on my back. I couldn’t wear my clothes, so…” Carter immediately backed her up. “She’s my sister too. Stop being paranoid.” They always hid behind that ‘brother-sister’ excuse to justify crossing every single boundary. Carter did her laundry. He even bought her tampons. Lily would regularly walk into his bathroom wearing practically nothing to ‘hand him a towel’, always making sure to compliment his abs. Now, they were dragged into a police station half-naked, and they were still playing the sibling card. I took a deep breath. Hours of suffocating grief and betrayal crystallized into a single, sharp sentence. “We’re done, Carter.” The man’s face froze. He stared at me like I had grown a second head. His shock quickly morphed into disgust. “Are you insane? You’re breaking up with me over this?” “What the hell is wrong with your brain, Lucia? We’re family! We aren’t sick freaks like you think we are!” Lily blinked her wide, watery eyes, her voice trembling. “Lucia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a fight. I’m sorry…” “You don’t need to apologize to her!” Carter barked, his glare piercing right through me. “We’ve let her get away with this jealous crap for way too long. She just wants to drag your name through the mud. God knows what kind of toxic garbage she’d pull once we’re actually married.” “Let’s go.” He shot me one last hateful look, wrapped his jacket around Lily, and walked out to his car. He left me stranded at a police station in a city I barely knew. He never called to check on me. Carter didn’t come home that night. But I didn’t call him to ask where he was. I didn’t need to. Lily posted a story on her Instagram. Carter was asleep in her bed, dead to the world. The comments were flooded with their mutual friends typing [Happy Honeymoon]. He didn’t explain. I didn’t ask. Until 3 AM, when the front door nearly came off its hinges. I opened the door to find Carter standing there, completely unhinged. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hallway. “She is your own flesh and blood! Are you seriously spreading rumors that she’s a whore? Defamation is a crime, Lucia!” A cold knot formed in my stomach. “Tell me the truth. Did you leak those photos online?” He shoved his phone directly into my face. On the screen, a viral post showed blurry photos of Carter and Lily being escorted out of the motel by the cops. The angles were vicious. It made them look exactly like a john and an escort. From the master bedroom, Lily was wailing hysterically. Her voice was totally blown out. “I don’t know who took those! I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not a slut!” I pushed his phone away, staring dead into his eyes. “I didn’t post anything.” “You think I did this?” The rage in Carter’s eyes didn’t flicker. He looked at me with pure venom. “Guilty people always play dumb.” “Do you realize this is going to ruin her graduation? She’s going to be a laughingstock at her firm!” “How could you destroy your own sister’s life like this?” I dug my nails into my palms and threw his own logic back at him. “Karma never misses.” “You bitch!” Carter’s face went dangerously dark. His patience evaporated. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. “You can tell your lies to the cops.” When the sirens wailed down the street, he literally shoved me out the front door. I pounded on the wood, begging him to open up. He knew I was up for a massive promotion at work. He knew a police inquiry would destroy my background check. But he didn’t care. As the neighbors peeked through their blinds, the officers put me in the back of the cruiser. At the station, I explained everything. The officers checked my phone, realized it was a domestic dispute, and cleared me of any cyberbullying charges. As the officer walked me to the lobby, my phone buzzed. It was an email from my department director. “Are you out of your mind? I was about to name you Head of Operations, and now HR is dealing with police inquiries about you!” “Clean out your desk. You’re done.” An automated termination letter popped up right after. Everything I had bled for over the last decade vanished into thin air. I clutched my phone to my chest, sank to the dirty linoleum floor, and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. Lily’s graduation was right around the corner. Carter agreed to be the model for her final photography portfolio. The guy who used to complain about wearing shorts in public was now posing half-naked in front of Lily’s lens. The ‘bonus content’ of her project featured deeply intimate, boudoir-style shots of the two of them ‘sacrificing for art’. Carter didn’t even bother blocking me from seeing the posts. He fully expected me to do what I always did. Beg, cry, apologize, and claw my way back to him. But this time, I went ghost. Carter kept bombarding my phone with texts. [Take some time to reflect on your toxic behavior.] [Lily is handling the rest of the wedding prep. You just have to show up. Be grateful she’s saving you the headache.] [I expect you to be perfectly behaved on the wedding day.] But by the time he sent that last text, I was already at cruising altitude, flying across the Atlantic. Next day. The wedding venue. Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, Carter stood at the altar. Looking around at the pastel pink floral arrangements, he felt a smug sense of victory. Lucia had finally compromised. But the dead silence on his phone left a heavy, gnawing anxiety in his gut. The officiant’s voice echoed through the microphone. “And now, let us welcome our stunning bride!” The heavy oak doors swung open to thunderous applause. The bride, face obscured by a thick veil, glided down the aisle. Carter’s heart hammered violently against his ribs. When she finally reached him, he reached out and lifted the veil. The blood drained from his face. His entire body locked up. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

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Just as I had convinced myself to become a sugar baby for a greasy, middle-aged businessman, floating text suddenly materialized out of thin air right in front of my eyes. [This cannon fodder side character is ridiculously stupid. Her roommates are using her selfies to catfish hot billionaires, and she is out here willingly settling for a wrinkled creep.] [The worst part? She catches something incurable from the old guy, loses her mind, and ends up jumping off a roof. Tragic.] [You have to admit, the female lead is an absolute genius. To avoid getting caught, she dragged her other two roommates into the catfish ring so they were all complicit.] [The funniest plot twist is that the three billionaires are childhood best friends. LMAO. They were all hiding their online relationships from each other. If they had just compared notes once!] [In the end, all three guys fall for the female lead in real life. It just proves they did not love the side character’s face, they loved the female lead’s beautiful soul.] Behind me, my three roommates were busy flexing the luxury gifts their “online boyfriends” had just sent them. Brittany, the self-appointed dorm president, suddenly called my name and pointed her phone camera at me. “Sienna, give me a heart!” I looked straight into the lens and smiled sweeter than I ever had in my life. Since they were using my face as bait to reel in these massive catches, it was only fair that I claimed the fish for myself, right? 01 [Oh my god, Brittany sent that photo to Asher, and he absolutely loved it. He just transferred her another five grand to buy the newest iPhone.] [Asher is not just new money, his family has deep political ties. Five grand is literally pocket change to him. But whatever, all his wealth is going to belong to our female lead baby eventually anyway.] I looked down at my own phone. The screen was shattered like a spiderweb. Five grand for a single selfie. I fully admit, I was deeply jealous. Brittany should have been thrilled about the cash, but she suddenly let out a panicked gasp. The other two girls instantly swarmed her desk, asking what was wrong. Brittany shot a look in my direction, clearly thinking she was being subtle. Vanessa, who was sitting closest to me, cleared her throat and put on a fake smile. “Sienna, were you about to head to the dining hall? Could you grab a salad for me?” Ever since these three started their billionaire catfish operations, they decided campus food was beneath them and exclusively ordered delivery from five-star restaurants. If Astor University did not have a strict mandatory dorm policy for underclassmen, they would have rented luxury apartments off-campus ages ago. Vanessa was obviously just finding a cheap excuse to get rid of me. I kept a perfectly straight face, quietly slipped a disposable paper cup into my sleeve, and smoothly agreed before walking out. The moment the door clicked shut, I pressed the open end of the cup flat against the wood and pressed my ear to it. Brittany’s voice came through, trembling with sheer panic. “What do I do? Ash is asking to meet up in person again.” “This is the third time. If I reject him again, he is definitely going to get suspicious.” Brittany had milked Asher dry. In just one year, she had hoarded over a dozen designer bags, not to mention a mountain of other extravagant gifts. For her birthday this year, he literally shipped her a diamond necklace worth tens of thousands of dollars. Having grown addicted to this lavish lifestyle, Brittany was terrified of losing her golden goose. In comparison, Vanessa remained entirely calm, playing the mastermind. “Just agree to the date for now. When the time comes, tell him your roommate had a medical emergency and you cannot make it. Penny and I will back up your story.” Brittany acted like she had just been handed a life preserver, thanking Vanessa profusely. With the crisis averted, the dorm fell silent. The floating comments, however, were going absolutely wild. [Our female lead is truly the brains of this trio. So smart!] [Those two should literally worship the ground the female lead walks on. They would not have a dime without her brilliant ideas.] [Luckily, all three male leads eventually fall for the female lead, forcing these two freeloading parasites to cough up everything they stole.] Reading that, I finally confirmed my theory. Vanessa was the legendary “female lead” the comments were raving about. And that greasy old man I almost sold my soul to? He was a contact Vanessa had specially introduced to me. 02 I did not even have to eavesdrop to find out the details. The floating text helpfully leaked the exact location of Brittany and Asher’s supposed date. Incredibly, it was the exact same luxury hotel where I had just been hired for a part-time job two days ago. Because I had previously planned on accepting the sugar daddy arrangement, I had lost all motivation to work and called the hotel to decline the job. Thankfully, when I called the hiring manager back, he did not give me any grief. He told me I could come in and start my shift immediately. I could not help but reach up and touch my own cheek. I knew exactly why the manager was so accommodating. It was because of my face. Ever since middle school, I knew I was stunning. My locker was constantly stuffed with love letters. But my mother always drilled it into my head that I should never use my looks for deceitful gains. So I had always kept my head down, relying on my own hard work to make a living, never once considering taking a shortcut. Ironically, I refused to take the shortcut, but someone else happily borrowed my face to take it for me. I rushed to the hotel. Thanks to my looks, I was immediately assigned to the front entrance as a VIP greeter. Through the comments, I knew Asher had been sitting in his private dining suite waiting for Brittany for three solid hours. Exactly five minutes ago, he received the text that he was being stood up. Catching a glimpse of a tall, imposing figure descending the grand staircase, I deliberately shifted my tray of drinks and crashed right into him. Asher was already visibly frustrated from being stood up by his online girlfriend. When I bumped into him, his head snapped up, his eyes flashing with irritation. I kept my head bowed, frantically apologizing while dabbing at his expensive suit jacket with a napkin. Right before he could snap at me, I jerked my head up. The absolute second Asher saw my face, he froze completely. He grabbed my wrist with an iron grip, his voice cracking with unfiltered shock and joy. “Baby?!” I put on a flawless mask of confusion and quickly yanked my hand back. “Sir, I believe you have the wrong person.” Asher panicked, stepping closer. “Baby, it is me. It is Ash.” “Sir, I honestly do not know you. Please step back.” My absolute coldness acted like a bucket of ice water over Asher’s enthusiasm. He stood frozen in the lobby, his expression cycling through confusion, realization, and then a dark, stormy anger. Just as the tension reached a breaking point, my cell phone rang. 03 Listening to the voice on the other end, I let my tears spill over, crying silently and beautifully. I hung up the phone. Completely ignoring the mess I had made and not even bothering to tell my manager, I bolted toward the hotel exit. Asher chased right after me. He reached out, instinctively wanting to wipe the tears from my cheeks. But his hand hovered in the air, stopping just short of my skin. I did not let him pull away. I grabbed his hovering hand, letting my tears fall thick and fast. “Sir, do you have a car? It is impossible to get a cab around here right now. Could I please beg you to drive me to City General Hospital?” In the passenger seat, I kept up a quiet, heartbreaking rhythm of soft sobs. Asher kept his eyes on the road, freeing up one hand to pass me a tissue. “Did something happen? Maybe I can help.” I bit my lip, looking incredibly embarrassed. “We are complete strangers. You driving me is already too much of an imposition.” Asher glanced at me. “It is fine. I just like helping people.” Getting the exact opening I needed, my cheeks flushed red, and I asked with hesitant desperation, “Could you… could you possibly lend me some money?” Terrified he would think I was a scammer, I quickly promised, “I swear I will pay you back. I can write you a formal IOU right now.” My mother was diagnosed with acute leukemia last year. She required long-term hospitalization and aggressive chemotherapy. The hospital had just issued a final notice. If we did not clear the massive balance today, she was getting kicked out of her bed. I watched Asher’s brows furrow deeply. I lowered my eyes, playing the tragic victim. Thanks to the comments, I knew Brittany’s entire persona with Asher was stolen straight from my actual life. A dead father, a critically ill mother, and a beautifully broken girl holding it all together. Brittany had milked a fortune out of him using my real tragedy. Same face. Same exact tragic backstory. If Asher could not put the pieces together now, his IQ was genuinely in the single digits. When Asher finally spoke, his voice was tight and raspy. “Are you absolutely sure you have never heard the name Ash?” I tilted my head, pretending to search my memory very hard. “I really have not. But it does sound slightly familiar, like someone mentioned it in passing.” Asher did not say another word for the rest of the drive. When we got to the hospital billing department, he bypassed me entirely and deposited a flat hundred thousand dollars into my mother’s account, guaranteeing we would not have to worry about bills for at least three months. Because of Asher’s massive deposit, the staff even upgraded my mother to an intensive care VIP suite. Watching my mother sleep peacefully, a massive weight lifted off my chest. I pulled out my phone and sent a twenty-dollar tip to the nurse who had agreed to call me at that exact time. Exposing Brittany’s lies to Asher was really just a side quest today. Securing my mother’s treatment was the real victory. Finally catching my breath, I looked up at the floating comments. [Is this side character completely insane? Her little stunt just threw the female lead’s entire plan into chaos.] [Asher is completely ignoring Brittany’s texts. Brittany is throwing a massive tantrum in the dorm, blaming the female lead for giving her a terrible excuse.] [Our female lead baby has never been treated this unfairly! She tried to help, and now she is getting yelled at. I am so mad!] 04 I had already drafted the IOU while sitting in the hospital waiting room. On the drive back, I held it out to Asher, but he refused to take it. I stubbornly kept my hand suspended in the air, playing the role of the fiercely independent, prideful poor girl to absolute perfection. Asher finally sighed deeply, shaking his head in defeat as he accepted the piece of paper. I could feel it. The way he looked at me had completely changed. Whenever Brittany took his money, she never once politely declined. Half the time, she outright asked for it. Before today, Asher probably did not think much of it. But now, comparing her greedy behavior to my stubborn, tearful independence, Asher was obviously feeling a deep sense of whiplash. Even though this amount of money was nothing to him, this was the fundamental flaw in the male ego. I can give it to you, but you are not allowed to reach out and demand it. More importantly, Asher originally fell for Brittany because of my face. He only bothered to learn about her “inner beauty” because he was captivated by my photos. When Asher offered to drive me all the way back to campus, I politely declined. I asked him to drop me off back at the hotel where I worked. Just before I stepped out of the car, Asher suddenly pulled up a photo on his phone and asked me when it was taken. I nailed the look of utter bewilderment. “Why do you have a picture of me on your phone?” Asher looked me dead in the eye. “My online girlfriend sent it to me.” I muttered softly, acting incredibly confused. “Online girlfriend…” I suddenly froze, my eyes widening in horror as I slapped a hand over my mouth. Asher’s sharp gaze locked onto me. “You know something, do you not?” I stammered, looking terrified, before finally spilling the beans about my three roommates and their massive online dating ring. “That photo… my roommate Vanessa took it yesterday. She loves taking candid pictures of me in the dorm.” In reality, Brittany was the one obsessed with snapping pictures of me. Even though all three roommates used my face, their methods were completely different. Brittany preferred the organic route, constantly finding sneaky excuses to take real-time photos of me. Penny was lazy, she just stole old pictures off my social media feeds. Vanessa, the female lead, was the true mastermind. She used advanced AI to manipulate my face into whatever videos or photos she needed. She even used deepfake software to video chat with her targets. By pinning the blame entirely on Vanessa right in front of Asher, I was throwing her straight under the bus. The floating text instantly exploded, cursing me out with every vile word in the dictionary. Watching Asher’s face turn completely thunderous, I slowly closed my eyes. The comments insisted that Asher would eventually fall in love with Vanessa’s brilliant mind anyway. I decided I was going to sever that little red thread of fate right here, right now. 05 Asher operated with ruthless efficiency. He dumped Brittany instantly, demanding she return every single penny he had spent on her, or he was bringing down a massive lawsuit on her head. But the money was already gone. Brittany desperately begged Penny and Vanessa for a loan, throwing an absolutely apocalyptic tantrum in the dorm. She straight up blackmailed them. Because Penny had once logged into her social media on Brittany’s laptop, Brittany had secretly memorized the username of Penny’s billionaire boyfriend. If they did not bail her out, she was going to expose all of them. If she was going down, she was dragging the whole ship with her. I have no idea how the three of them negotiated a truce behind closed doors. All I know is that the mountain of designer bags stacked in Vanessa and Penny’s closets mysteriously vanished overnight. And Brittany was permanently exiled from their little alliance. The second I walked into the dorm, the atmosphere was suffocatingly weird. Looking at Brittany sitting alone in the corner, I knew this was only the beginning of her nightmare. I pretended to be completely oblivious and sat down at my desk to study. Vanessa suddenly hovered over me and physically dragged me out into the hallway. She looked at me, eyes burning with gossip. “My aunt told me your mom’s hospital bill was completely paid off today.” She paused, winking conspiratorially. “Did you go on a date with Mr. Henderson this morning?” Mr. Henderson was the greasy old creep Vanessa had so generously introduced me to. Vanessa’s aunt worked as a nurse at the hospital where my mother was admitted. That was how Vanessa found out about my desperate financial situation, allowing her to “kindly” point me toward selling my body to an old man. I looked at Vanessa’s eagerly expectant face and shook my head. “Someone lent me the money. I paid it off for now.” Vanessa looked highly skeptical. “That is a massive amount of cash. Who would casually lend you that kind of money?” “Besides, loans have to be paid back eventually.” She was gearing up to gaslight me into calling Mr. Henderson, ready to hype up his wealth and generosity. I cut her off smoothly. I remembered reading online that the fastest way to make someone shut up is to ask them for a loan. “Vanessa, your boyfriend buys you all those luxury bags and gives you a massive weekly allowance. Could you lend me some money to pay off my debt?” Vanessa snapped her mouth shut instantly. She stuttered out a pathetic excuse about how she had already spent all her allowance. She was not entirely lying. Every dime she scammed off her online boyfriend went straight into funding her elite spa treatments and luxury skincare routines. Before I could press her further, Vanessa spun around and darted back into the dorm. I followed right behind her, just in time to hear Penny sighing in massive relief. “Thank god Declan has not demanded we meet in person yet.” Unfortunately for her, she was celebrating way too early.

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Ten days after I lost the baby, my mother somehow found out. She packed her bags overnight and endured a grueling forty hour bus ride across the country, traveling over a thousand miles from the Blue Ridge Mountains all the way to New York City. Thunder rumbled outside the penthouse windows. A violent storm was swallowing the Northeast. After the doctor noted my severe depressive tendencies, Alistair grounded me inside our home. I was completely forbidden from leaving the apartment. I had no choice but to ask him to pick up my mother from the station. A few moments after I sent the text, a single, lonely “.” popped up on my screen. I could not remember when it started, but our text thread had devolved into my one sided paragraphs met with his single punctuation marks. A period meant agreement. He would do it. A question mark meant opposition. A flat rejection. Although he was icy and distant, Alistair was always a man of his word. He handled things efficiently. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, practicing my smile, praying my mother would not notice the hollow look in my eyes. I just wanted our family to be together. But right before lunch, Alistair walked through the front door. Alone. 1 “Where is my mother?” I gripped the edge of the dining table. A sharp cramp twisted through my lower abdomen. I had overestimated my own emotional resilience and entirely underestimated the physical toll of losing a child. I did not even have the energy to be angry. He froze, genuinely startled by my question. As if suddenly remembering something trivial, he pulled his phone from his tailored slacks and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I apologize. I will have Harry go pick her up right now.” “I had a highly classified board meeting today. I asked Valerie to handle my personal errands.” “She was the one replying to your messages. There must have been a miscommunication in the schedule.” It was impossible to describe how I felt in that exact second. Beneath the swirling hurricane of emotions, only one word remained. Humiliation. I always believed that the cracks in a marriage should be handled privately between a husband and wife. Now, my desperate, ignored pleas for affection were being managed by his secretary. The shame magnified a hundred times over, making me want to scream and sob. I could not even focus on the fact that he casually referred to picking up my mother as a “personal errand.” “You are my husband. She is just your assistant. How could you let her text your wife on your behalf?” “This is our family business. She is an outsider. I do not want her involved in our…” I could not finish the sentence. Because Alistair looked right at me and said, “Since when is she an outsider?” “Were you not thrilled with the flowers and gifts she picked out for our anniversary?” His words made my ears ring with a deafening screech. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to the back of my skull. My vision fractured into sharp flashes of black and white. So for the past two years, every ounce of romance and tenderness I thought came from my husband was actually orchestrated by another woman. “Alistair, if I had known those gifts were not from you, I never would have accepted them.” “What is the difference? The flowers were bought. The gifts were delivered.” “Of course there is a difference! I thought you actually cared about me.” My voice trembled uncontrollably. My fingernails dug deep into my palms, but the pain felt muted, like it belonged to someone else. “Of course I care about you.” His tone was laced with heavy exhaustion. “You are my wife. I want to spend my days with you too.” He stepped forward and pulled me into his chest. His large hand gently rubbed circles into my spine. Through the thin fabric of my loungewear, his body heat bled into my skin. My body surrendered before my logic could stop it. My shoulders sagged, and I melted into his embrace. It felt exactly like a person falling off a cliff finally being caught. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. His warm breath brushed against the shell of my ear. “But if I asked you to be my executive assistant, would you even understand the financial reports?” The room plunged into a suffocating silence. He was right. I would not understand them. Compared to Valerie, a woman groomed from birth with an elite Ivy League education, my background was a joke. I was a high school dropout. A girl who gutted fish at the docks. I could never sit at his polished mahogany tables. Realizing his words had cut too deep, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to fix it. He was usually a man of impeccable manners and restraint. He hated making people uncomfortable. Pursuing a working class girl like me was probably the only reckless, out of character thing he had ever done in his entire life. Before he could speak, the heavy oak door was pushed open. A vicious gust of wind and rain howled into the foyer. My mother stood dripping wet on the marble floor. 2 “Gem, what is going on here?” Her silver hair was plastered to her skull by the freezing rain. Her thin, worn jacket was splattered with street mud, clinging tightly to her frail frame. Her hearing was not great. Years of working near loud factory machinery had taken its toll. She must not have heard him. I prayed she did not hear him. Forcing back the burning tears threatening to spill, I rushed over and pulled her inside. “Mom, I told you I wanted to go with Alistair to pick you up. He refused to let me out of the house.” She stared deeply into my eyes for a long time before letting out a breath of relief, a soft smile touching her lips. “He is just worried about your health, sweetie. You should listen to him.” “I know, Mom. We are doing great.” “We really are.” Alistair reached out and gently supported her arm. “Lunch is already prepared. I will have Martha show you to a guest room so you can freshen up. My mother is on her way as well. We will all eat together.” He deflected the tension perfectly, sealing the cracks without missing a beat. Just like nothing had ever happened. I had spent the entire morning preparing lunch. I made a batch of savory, rustic meat pies from scratch. Before we moved to the Blue Ridge Mountains, my mother lived in a gritty Pennsylvania steel town for thirty years. It was her favorite comfort food. When Alistair’s mother arrived, Valerie was trailing right behind her, carrying her designer coat and pulling out her chair with natural, practiced intimacy. I swallowed the bitter taste of disgust in my mouth, turned around, and walked to the kitchen to grab the meat pies. The moment I stepped back into the dining room, a chorus of elegant laughter echoed off the walls. “Oh, my goodness! Why are you drinking the finger bowl water? That is so dirty!” My mother froze. The rim of the porcelain bowl clinked sharply against the glass table. Alistair’s mother casually swirled the floating lemon slices in her own crystal bowl. “It is water for washing your hands after the meal.” “But country folks do not know about these little etiquette rules. We cannot blame you.” Valerie smiled sweetly, her eyes curving into crescents as she waved for the housekeeper to take the bowl away. “Please do not take it to heart. One of my colleagues told me a story about her rural relatives visiting the city. They drank the mouthwash thinking it was a cocktail, and they started foaming at the mouth while talking! They terrified themselves to tears. We laughed about it in the office for days.” “I will print out a dining etiquette guide for you later. You will get the hang of it if you study hard.” My mother kept her head bowed. Her narrow shoulders trembled slightly. A few drops of the lemon water had splashed onto her faded trousers. She tried to discreetly wipe it away with her thumb, but it only made the dark stain spread. I walked straight to her chair, picked up the porcelain finger bowl in front of her, and drank the remaining lemon water in one single gulp. My mother’s head snapped up. She grabbed my wrist. “Gem!” Her calloused, ice cold fingers shook against my skin. I squeezed her hand reassuringly and locked eyes with Valerie. “What exactly do you want my mother to study? Care to teach me right now?” Valerie’s smile shattered. She shot a nervous glance at Alistair’s mother before forcing another bright, plastic laugh. “Gemma, sweetie. I was just trying to lighten the mood. I wanted to make her smile.” “Is that so? Why don’t you make me smile, then?” My mother tugged frantically at the hem of my shirt under the table. She abruptly stood up, forcing a wide, apologetic smile at Alistair’s mother. “Please forgive her. Gem has not been feeling well these past few days. She is just a little snappy.” “She gets that temper from me. Please do not hold it against her.” She pulled me gently behind her back. She used her slightly hunched, fragile body as a human shield to protect me from their judgment. 3 I sat back down next to my mother. The housekeeper placed the warm meat pies in front of me. “Why are these filled with vegetables? I specifically made the heavy pork ones.” Alistair’s mother dabbed her lips with a linen napkin. “That heavy grease and salt from the country is a terrible way to nourish the body. It completely violates our family’s dietary standards. I had the private chef prepare organic truffle and scallop tarts instead.” My fingers curled into tight fists. I opened my mouth to fight back. My mother quickly patted the back of my hand. “Sitting on a bumpy bus for forty hours really turns your stomach. Heavy pork would have been too greasy anyway. A light meal is exactly what I needed.” She picked up a small piece of the pale, bland tart with her fork and shoved it into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Delicious. Absolutely delicious.” The rest of the meal tasted like pure ash in my mouth. My father died when I was young. The year he passed, a wealthy local businessman knocked on our door. He offered to support us financially, but only if my mother agreed to become his secret mistress. My mother beat him out of the yard with a broomstick. After that, the local gossip made it impossible for us to stay in town. She packed all our belongings into a single duffel bag and took me from Pennsylvania all the way down to the rural mountains of North Carolina. She begged a local coffee farm owner to let her work the fields. She begged distant relatives to let us sleep in their drafty shed. She begged the high school principal not to expel me when I broke the nose of a bully who insulted our poverty. The year I was supposed to take my college entrance exams, she worked herself into a hospital bed. I juggled studying with taking care of her. When my test scores came back exceptionally high, she tried to drag her sick body out of bed to pick up extra shifts to pay my tuition. The day my university acceptance letter arrived in the mail, I tore it perfectly in half and threw it into the woodstove. The very next morning, I walked down to the local fish market and got a job gutting fish. When she came home from the clinic and saw the burnt corners of the thick envelope in the ashes, she crouched on the kitchen floor and stared at it for a very long time. When Alistair proposed to me, she was terrified his elite family would look down on me. She sold our tiny, worn down house just to scrape together fifty thousand dollars for my dowry. Even though that money could not even buy a single wheel on one of Alistair’s luxury sports cars, she sold her home anyway. The moment my wedding reception ended, she immediately grabbed her bags and headed to the bus station to travel back south. She claimed the farm needed her for the harvest season. But I knew the truth. She was terrified that if the Kensington family saw her rough, calloused hands and heard her thick country accent, they would despise me for my lowborn roots. She was terrified that staying even one extra day would ruin my perfect fairytale. Before she boarded that bus, she shoved her entire life savings into my hands. “Gem, keep this money. Do not let his family treat you like you are worthless.” “I am a useless mother. I could not even afford to send you to college.” “But seeing you this happy… I can finally rest.” And now, she had endured forty hours of pure agony on a rattling bus to make sure I was okay. And I could not even let her eat a slice of her favorite pie. 4 After lunch, Alistair’s mother stood up and left. The suffocating tension in the living room finally eased. The housekeeper walked up to Alistair carrying a plastic bucket. “Sir, how should I dispose of this?” Valerie was walking down the sweeping staircase. She took one look at the bucket and pinched her nose in disgust. “What smells like rotting garbage? Martha, throw that out immediately.” Forty hours sitting upright on a rattling bus was brutal. Despite my mother’s careful protection, a few of the farm fresh eggs she brought had cracked. The yolk had soaked into the protective rice husks, brewing a faint, sour stench in the humid summer heat. My mother panicked and desperately reached into the bucket, trying to salvage the unbroken eggs. She looked terrified and entirely consumed by guilt. “The roads were just too bumpy. I wanted you to have some real, organic farm eggs to help your body heal.” She kept her head down, refusing to meet my eyes. “I didn’t mean to make a mess.” She hurriedly pulled a plastic grocery bag from her worn backpack. “Alistair, I know your work requires a lot of brainpower. I foraged these wild black walnuts from the mountain myself. They are incredibly fresh and sweet. Please, have some.” Valerie laughed brightly. “Walnuts do not actually boost brain function. That is a total myth.” “Besides, this is New York City. We have absolutely everything. We are not lacking anything here.” Wild black walnuts were delicious, but foraging them by hand meant the natural juices stained your skin pitch black. The stains were impossible to wash off for weeks. Alistair glanced at the stained plastic bag, frowned slightly, and subtly stepped backward to avoid her. My mother’s hands froze in midair. The desperate hope in her eyes slowly shattered, fading into a dull, empty gray. She slowly pulled her hands back and nervously wiped her palms against her thighs. “Right. Of course. This is the big city.” “You have everything here. You have everything.” Valerie kept smiling. “Your country accent is so incredibly thick. You really need to speak slower, or Alistair will not understand a word you are saying.” Having delivered her final insult, Valerie hugged a stack of legal folders to her chest and marched upstairs. The living room descended into dead silence. Alistair checked his platinum watch. “It is getting late. I will have the driver take you to your hotel now.” “I had Valerie book a premium hot spring suite for you. You should relax and enjoy yourself.” I snatched the plastic bag of walnuts from my mother’s hands and glared at him. “Why does she have to stay at a hotel? We have empty guest rooms right here.” He looked down at me, his expression perfectly calm and rational. “You just suffered a miscarriage. Are you going to take care of her, or is she going to take care of you?” “Besides, Valerie’s guest room cannot be moved.” “And why exactly is her room off limits?” My mother quickly intervened, waving her hands with a forced, breathless laugh. “A hotel is perfect! I can sleep anywhere. And I have never been to a real hot spring before.” She grabbed her backpack and practically sprinted toward the front door, slipping quickly into the backseat of the waiting luxury car. “Gem.” “I am completely fine. You just take care of yourself.” She forced her spine to stay perfectly rigid as she sat in the car. It was a desperate attempt to prove she was strong. I closed my eyes and fought every instinct screaming at me to get in that car and leave with her. Instead, I stayed behind and carefully picked the unbroken eggs out of the trash. By the time I remembered the bag of wild walnuts, someone had already tossed them into the garbage bin. I knelt on the cold kitchen floor and dug the plastic bag out of the trash. The handles were tied together in a frantic, impossibly tight knot. Terrified that the bumpy roads would ruin them, my mother had tied four dead knots to keep them safe. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my mother. “Gem, do not throw a tantrum at Alistair. I am really okay.” “If he does not want to eat the walnuts, do not force him. Please, do not start a fight with your husband because of me.” I wiped the coffee grounds off the outside of the plastic bag, ripped it open, grabbed a handful of the crushed walnuts, and shoved them into my mouth. Tears streamed down my face like a broken dam. 5 The salty tears mixed with the earthy walnuts, creating a bitter, suffocating paste in my mouth. It was not even walnut season. How long did she spend wandering the mountains to find these? How many hours did she spend smashing the hard shells open with a hammer? How long did it take to peel the bitter skin off every single piece? I forced my throat to open, pitching my voice an octave higher so she would not hear the violent sobs wrecking my chest. “Mom, he loved them. He just ate a whole handful.” “Oh, thank god. That is wonderful.” “I am just getting old and useless. My brain does not work right anymore. You need Alistair to protect you now.” “Do not fight with him. Do not make me worry about you, okay?” “I know, Mom. Get some sleep. I will come pick you up first thing in the morning.” After hanging up the phone, I grabbed the plastic bag and slowly walked upstairs. In the study, Alistair was leaning over a desk, reviewing documents with Valerie. Catching sight of my bloodshot, swollen eyes, Alistair frowned. He held up a hand, signaling Valerie to stop talking. He walked over and pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, offering it to me. “I know Valerie’s scheduling had a slight hiccup today, but you finally got to see your mother. There is no reason to keep throwing a temper tantrum.” He actually thought I was crying because I was jealous of Valerie. He could not even comprehend that I was weeping for my mother’s shattered dignity. Alistair was a man who lived his entire life saying ‘no’ to people. He had no concept of what it felt like to have your entire heart ripped out and casually tossed into the garbage. Or maybe he just did not care. “Gemma, sweetie. I admit I made a mistake today, and I hope you will not hold a grudge against my boss.” “I promise I will go to the hotel first thing tomorrow and personally apologize to your mother. Can you forgive me?” I shook my head. “No. I do not forgive you.” Alistair’s face instantly darkened. He stared at me critically for a few seconds before gesturing for Valerie to leave the room. “I understand your emotions are unstable right now.” “But you have no right to humiliate Valerie like that.” “You are Mrs. Kensington now. You are no longer that…” I heard the unspoken words echoing loudly in the silence. “I should no longer act like a petty, uneducated fishmonger. Is that what you mean?” He stiffened, but he did not deny it. After a long, agonizing silence, looking at the towering man standing in front of me, I finally asked the question burning a hole in my chest. “Alistair. Do you regret marrying me?” 6 The story of Alistair and I was painfully simple. It was the classic tale of Cinderella finding a cursed frog prince. I did not care that he was temporarily paralyzed in a wheelchair. He did not care that I constantly smelled like gutted fish. We met. We understood each other’s pain. We fell madly in love. We truly believed we were two halves of a whole soul. But then the frog turned back into a prince. He reclaimed his rightful place as the heir to the Kensington empire. His legs fully healed. Ignoring the vicious objections of his entire aristocratic family, he married me. In fairy tales, the wedding is the final page. It is the happily ever after. But outside of the fairy tale, real life kept moving. The flawless, impenetrable mask Alistair always wore finally cracked. He reached out and gripped my shoulders tightly. Before he could speak, his phone rang. The moment he saw the caller ID, a flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes. A woman’s voice spilled through the speaker. She was speaking rapid French, her tone slurred and dripping with intoxication. “Alistair… I made a mistake. I really made a mistake. I regret running away from the wedding.” Alistair’s voice immediately softened into a puddle of absolute devotion. “I do not blame you.” “Can you please come see me?” Valerie had grown up in the exact same elite circles as Alistair. Using French to communicate was their little secret code. He covered the microphone and looked at me. “There is a massive corporate emergency. We will finish this conversation when I get back, alright?” He had no idea his lie was completely transparent. He also had no idea that for the past two years, in a desperate attempt to become worthy of his world, I had secretly taught myself French. I looked at him and said, “Alright.” I walked back to our master bedroom alone. I sat on the edge of the mattress and swallowed the wild walnuts my mother had brought, one by one. If Cinderella realized she was completely miserable after moving into the castle, would she regret putting on the glass slipper? I did not know the answer to that. But I tossed and turned until dawn, completely unable to sleep. My mother sacrificed everything she had just to see me happy. Was I actually happy? 7 At four in the morning, the heavy rain finally stopped. The streets of Manhattan smelled like wet asphalt and ozone. Since I could not sleep, I went down to the kitchen and cooked a fresh batch of meat pies. A drop of boiling water splashed onto the back of my hand. The sharp, stinging pain briefly snapped my wandering mind back to reality. I packed the pies and a thermos of hot soup into a bag, hailed a yellow cab, and headed straight to the luxury hotel. When I walked through the revolving doors of the grand lobby, I noticed a small crowd of employees gathered near the entrance. My mother stood in the center of the circle, her back facing me. She was bowing so deeply her spine was almost parallel to the floor. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I will leave right now.” “Leave? Who said you could just walk away? We were nice enough not to call the cops on you, and we let you sleep on the patio in the freezing rain all night.” Alistair specifically told me Valerie booked a premium hot spring suite. It poured rain in New York City all night long. Did my mother really sleep on the cold concrete outside? It felt like someone reached into my chest and crushed my heart with their bare hands. “Look what you did! You tracked mud all over our custom carpets. We have VIP clients arriving any minute. Can a beggar like you afford to pay for this damage?” Panic consumed my mother. She frantically dug through her pockets and pulled out a faded cloth handkerchief. She bent down to scrub the mud stains out of the carpet. Her knees were ruined by severe arthritis. She could not even squat properly, so her legs shook violently as she hovered over the floor. “I will clean it. I promise I will clean it up.” She dropped to her knees and scrubbed the expensive fabric with her cheap handkerchief. After a few frantic swipes, the cloth was so filthy you could not even tell what color it used to be. I was suffocating. I dropped my thermos and prepared to sprint across the lobby. Before I could move, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb outside. Alistair stepped out first. Valerie followed closely behind him. The hotel manager’s sneer instantly morphed into a glowing, sycophantic smile. He rushed toward the sliding glass doors. “Mr. Kensington! Welcome, sir. Please, right this way. We will have this mess cleaned up immediately.” Before he could finish his sentence, my mother looked up from the floor. The moment she recognized the man in the tailored suit, she grabbed her aching knees and dragged herself to her feet. “Alistair! Alistair!” “I accidentally got some dirt on their rug. Please tell them not to be mad at me.” The hotel manager stared at Alistair in shock. “Mr. Kensington, do you know this woman?” Valerie gracefully brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do we look like the kind of people who would associate with someone like that?” “It is pathetic how these hillbillies will claim to be related to anyone with money just to get a handout. How embarrassing.” Alistair acted like he did not hear a single word. He walked right past my mother without even glancing in her direction. My mother froze like a statue. Under the hotel manager’s disgusted, mocking glare, she crushed the filthy handkerchief in her fist and bowed her head in total submission. “I apologize. I apologize… I had the wrong person.” “Harry! Clear the lobby immediately! Our investors are going to be here any second.” “Do not make me question your professional competence.” The manager nodded furiously and signaled for the security guards to swarm forward. A burly guard shoved my mother backward. She lost her footing, and her arthritic knees slammed brutally against the sharp marble steps. I lost my mind. I sprinted forward and violently shoved the guards away. “Mom!” When she saw my face, she panicked, desperately trying to hide the mud soaked handkerchief behind her back. “Gem, what are you doing here? I was just about to come see you…” “Mom, stop talking. I saw everything.” She forced a broken, agonizing smile that looked more painful than crying. “I am just getting old. My eyes do not work right anymore. I thought I saw someone else. I embarrassed you.” My throat felt like I had swallowed a handful of burning coals. The heavy metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Mom, what are you talking about?” “You are the strongest, most amazing mother in the world.” Her eyes instantly flooded with tears. A heavy drop rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the back of my hand. “Gem…” She could not finish her sentence. The weight of her body suddenly collapsed against my shoulder. She went completely limp, sliding toward the marble floor. “Mom!” “Call an ambulance! Somebody call a fucking ambulance!” 8 I stood in the agonizingly long line at the hospital billing counter. My palms were drenched in cold sweat, crushing the admission papers in my grip. The elderly man at the front of the line was counting out crumpled dollar bills one by one. Time stretched into an unbearable eternity. The emergency room doctor told me she collapsed from severe hypoglycemia. If I had arrived even ten minutes later, she could have died. Due to years of brutal physical labor, her body was a minefield of underlying health issues. Treating her was not impossible, but the long term recovery would cost an astronomical amount of money. My hands shook violently as I dialed Alistair’s number. It rang three times before the call was rejected. My heart crashed into my stomach. I dialed again. It went straight to voicemail. I opened my texts and typed: My mother is in the hospital. A second later, a single “.” popped up on my screen. Staring at that tiny dot, which looked exactly like a speck of useless dust, the blood in my veins boiled until I saw red. Logically, I knew Alistair was probably in the middle of a massive corporate negotiation. That text was probably sent by Valerie. But I still hated him with every fiber of my being. I hated Alistair. But more than anything, I hated myself. After paying the emergency room deposit, my bank account was completely empty. When we got married, Alistair handed me a black card with no limit and told me to buy whatever I wanted. I refused to take it. My mother always told me that being poor did not mean you had to surrender your pride. Our family was already completely outmatched by the Kensington dynasty. We could not give them another reason to look down on us. That was her pride. And it was mine, too. But I only had a high school diploma. If I went out to find a job, I would just be working a cash register or stocking shelves. Alistair could not bear the thought of his wife doing manual labor, so I never brought up finding a job again. He paid for my food, my clothes, my entire existence. Whenever he traveled to Europe for business, he would bring back expensive trinkets he thought I might like. Over the last two years, I had written a few web novels online for pocket change. I barely had a few thousand dollars saved up. I forced my mother to take the entire fifty thousand dollar dowry back to North Carolina with her. When a woman walks down the aisle brimming with hope and dreams of a beautiful future, she never imagines she will end up this completely pathetic. I stared at my bloodshot, tear stained reflection in the hospital glass. I raised my hand and slapped myself across the face as hard as I could. Gemma, how did you become such a useless piece of trash? I pulled up Alistair’s mother’s phone number and hit dial. “Mrs. Kensington, my mother is in the hospital. I need money right now…” Her mocking sneer was completely unfiltered. “I was wondering how long you would last. You finally found a convenient excuse to beg for a handout, didn’t you?” “Speak up. How much do you want? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? A million?” “This time your mother is sick. What pathetic excuse are you going to invent next time?” “I knew the second that woman showed up at my door, nothing good would come of it.” I gripped the phone so hard the plastic cracked. My fingernails dug deeply into the flesh of my palm. “Three million.” “Excuse me? Do you honestly think you are worth that much?” “I will divorce Alistair.” I still did not know if Alistair actually regretted marrying me. But standing here today, I absolutely regretted putting on that glass slipper. It was freezing cold. It was suffocatingly tight. It had crushed every single one of my foolish, romantic delusions into dust. Love is not omnipotent. And it certainly does not last forever, despite what the diamond commercials try to sell you. 9 Saying those words out loud was not nearly as painful as I imagined it would be. The woman on the other end of the line went dead silent. It was clearly not the answer she was expecting. “Are you actually willing to let him go? I thought you were so desperately in love with Alistair you would rather die than leave him.” “I do love him. But I am not the only woman in the world who loves him. If you do not trust my word, we can draft a legally binding contract.” “You voluntarily wire the funds. I voluntarily sign the divorce papers.”

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Born spoiled, I’d always been the center of my family’s world. On move-in day, bodyguards hauled my custom luggage into the dorm. Scanning the cramped room, I laid down my rules. AC at seventy, nonstop. Silence after eleven. Wipe the bathroom dry after every use. No manual labor—five hundred a pop for chores. My three roommates stared, stunned. “Don’t take this wrong,” I added. “First time sharing a room. Better to be upfront.” Then I handed out gifts: full La Mer sets and the latest Apple bundles. Their eyes lit up; they squealed, calling me a god. Yet the dorm’s quiet martyr, Melissa, stirred trouble. She whined I was flaunting charity, insulting her pride. “She thinks money buys me,” she sneered. Even wilder, my fiancé Preston flew in from Europe to defend her. “Jena, tone it down,” he snapped. “Melissa’s got nothing. Dumping luxuries on her is suffocating. Drop the spoiled act.” Watching him shield her, I laughed. Since they saw me as a bully, I’d show them exactly how a true Upper East Side heiress operates. 1 My family is obscenely wealthy. My friends always jokingly call me Manhattan royalty. Honestly, it is not much of a joke. I have the backing of a century-old elite dynasty. So when I stood in the doorway of a dorm room smaller than my walk-in closet at home, realizing four girls were supposed to live here, I genuinely had a headache. I waited in the hallway until my bodyguards finished setting up my bed, and only then did I step inside. My three roommates were standing awkwardly to the side, sizing me up. Their faces displayed unfiltered, blatant judgment. I glanced at the line of bodyguards standing outside the door and the mountain of designer luggage taking up half the dorm. Okay, maybe it was a bit excessive. I took a seat on my freshly made mattress, offering a polite smile to my new roommates. “Hi everyone. I am Jena Kensington, born and raised in New York. We are going to be roommates for the next four years.” “I have never shared a room before, so I have a few ground rules.” “First, the AC stays at seventy degrees all day. I will pay the electricity bill.” “Second, I am a very light sleeper. Total silence after eleven at night.” The three girls across from me exchanged incredibly awkward looks. Their eyes screamed two words: high maintenance. I waved my hand, and my bodyguards carried in three massive gift boxes. “These are welcome gifts from Miss Kensington,” one of the men announced. The three girls opened their boxes, and their faces went entirely blank for a solid minute. Full sets of La Mer skincare, brand new MacBook Pros, iPads, iPhones, and a massive Chanel lipstick vault. I knew my demands were a bit much, so buttering them up with gifts was only fair. This was standard networking in my social circle anyway. Throwing money at a problem is always infinitely cheaper than owing someone a favor. “I do not mean anything malicious by this. I just want to set boundaries early so we do not fight later.” A girl named Brooke, who had a loud and outgoing vibe, immediately accepted the terms. “Oh my god! I thought we were getting a spoiled brat with princess syndrome, but we got actual royalty!” “You are way too generous, I almost feel bad taking this.” I offered a soft smile. “Also, I refuse to do manual labor and I do not clean. If you clean my area, it is five hundred dollars. If you pick up my packages from the mailroom, it is a thousand.” I paused for a second before continuing. “If you guys are not comfortable with that, I can always ask the girls next door.” Brooke jumped up instantly, pulling the girl next to her, Roxy, up with her. “I am comfortable! Things like serving royalty should absolutely stay in-house. Consider me hired.” Roxy looked at me with more determination than my own security detail. “Miss Jena, I actually know a bit of martial arts. I will be your personal bodyguard on campus!” As the ice broke and we started laughing, I noticed the last girl, Melissa, sitting quietly in the corner. She was gripping the designer shopping bags so hard her knuckles were white, biting her lower lip. I did not think much of it at the time. I just assumed she was shy and took longer to warm up to people. I had no idea this girl was about to bring the most unexpected drama into my college life. 2 When did I realize things were weird? Girls from the neighboring dorms would pass me in the hallway and pretend I was invisible instead of smiling like they used to. During lectures, everyone sat a solid three seats away from me, except for Brooke and Roxy. I thought I was just being paranoid. After all, I grew up in gated estates with security so tight I barely ever saw my own neighbors. I did not have a great radar for being socially iced out. Until one night, Brooke finally snapped. I had just stepped out of the shower, toweling my damp hair, when Brooke pushed the door open and sat on the edge of my bed with a bizarre expression. “Jena, have you seen this?” “Seen what?” She hesitated, then pulled out her phone and opened a massive group chat. I scrolled up. A girl named Ashley had fired off three consecutive texts. “Do you guys know that Jena girl from class four? She brought literal bodyguards on the first day. She really thinks she is a princess.” “She gave her roommates La Mer, but the catch is they have to be her maids. Five hundred to clean, a thousand to fetch packages. Is that not just humiliating people with money?” “Melissa from the dorm next door told me. She said she felt incredibly humiliated receiving the gifts, but was too terrified to say no because she did not want to get on Jena’s bad side.” Reading that, I admit, my blood pressure spiked. There were nearly a hundred replies under Ashley’s texts. Some called me a tasteless newly-rich snob, while others called me a toxic elitist. Someone even sent a row of candle emojis with a sarcastic comment: “Poor Melissa, having to share a room with a monster like that.” I handed the phone back to Brooke. “Melissa started all this?” “The texts literally name-drop her, but look at Melissa playing dumb in the chat!” Brooke was fuming. I scrolled further down. Melissa had sent a pitiful little paragraph. “I did not want everyone to know. I just complained to Ashley privately. Please do not attack Jena or cause her any trouble.” Brooke rolled her eyes so hard I thought they would get stuck. “Give me a break! A private complaint that somehow spread to three different majors?” I stayed quiet. Brooke thought I was genuinely hurt and quickly added, “Jena, do not let it get to you. Bitches like her just cannot stand seeing other people thrive. If you want to put her in her place, I have your back!” I shook my head. “No need. Something this petty does not require an operation.” The next morning on my way to class, I purposely walked right past Melissa’s usual row. She was staring down at her textbook. Without a word, I dropped my bag and sat in the empty seat right next to her. She stiffened instantly. The girls sitting around her darted nervous glances in my direction. I unlocked my phone, pulled up the screenshot of the group chat, and slid it directly onto her textbook. “Care to explain?” Melissa took one look at the screen, quickly shoved the phone back toward me, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I… I just felt a little uncomfortable, so I casually vented. It was just a joke.” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “You gladly accepted my La Mer, the Apple tech bundle, and the Chanel lipsticks. And then you went behind my back and told the entire school I was giving you charity? That I used my money to humiliate you?” Her eyes instantly flooded with tears. A few students nearby were already turning their heads. Melissa suddenly covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling as her voice cracked into a sob. “Jena, what did I ever do to you? Why are you hunting me down just to bully me?” She sniffled, looking up at me with eyes full of stubborn grievance. “You dumped all those wildly expensive things on me. I know you are filthy rich, but you know exactly what my financial situation is. How am I supposed to pay you back?” “I am terrified to even use them. I leave them in my closet and feel sick looking at them every day. So what if I complained to Ashley? Am I not allowed to have feelings?” I sat there in total silence, watching her put on a masterclass performance. Melissa simply stood up, her chair legs screeching harshly against the floor. “Yes, I am poor! So just because I took your stuff, I am supposed to fall on my knees and worship you?” “What gives you the right to act so superior and dictate our relationship? You weaponized your money to crush my self-esteem. Am I not allowed to feel uncomfortable?” The moment she finished her speech, the tears fell even harder. The students around us started whispering furiously. “Jena, back off. Just because you have money does not mean you can psychologically torture people.” My voice was deadpan. “Melissa, are you done crying?” Her sobbing hitched for a second. “First. If you felt so incredibly guilty and pressured by the gifts, you can bring them all back to me tomorrow.” “Second. You claim my money turned you into a slave. Funny how you did not feel humiliated when you were cashing in.” Her mouth opened, tears still streaming down her cheeks, but no words came out. I stood up and smoothed out my jacket. “I saved the screenshots from the group chat. I strongly advise you to watch your step.” I cast a cold glance at the crowd of self-righteous students around us. “I do not care if they believe your little act. But cross me again, and I will not be this polite.” After my warning, Melissa and her internet defenders stayed dead silent for two days. But a week later, I received a phone call from my fiancé, Preston. 3 Preston is my fiancé. Our families go way back. When we were ten years old, the adults had dinner and finalized our arranged marriage right on the spot. If you scrolled up in our chat history, his last message was a dry “Happy New Year” from months ago. “Jena, is Melissa your roommate?” “You know her?” “She is my family’s sponsored charity student. We have paid her tuition since high school. She called me a few days ago, crying hysterically for hours.” I inspected my manicure, entirely unbothered. “And?” “She said you forced incredibly expensive gifts on her, and she was too terrified of being isolated to refuse. Later, she vented about the pressure in the dorm, and you publicly humiliated her in front of the entire lecture hall.” Preston sighed, his tone dripping with condescension. “Jena, she really struggles financially. Your lifestyle is a massive burden to her. Can you just tone it down? Interact with people normally instead of throwing your wealth in their faces.” “I am saying this for your own good. Your arrogant personality is going to make you a lot of enemies.” I basically had the whole picture now. Melissa had the guts to spread rumors behind my back because she thought she had a powerful backer. But she severely miscalculated one tiny detail. Preston did not have the authority to lecture me. I found the entire situation hilarious. “Preston, you know perfectly well that if I actually wanted to ruin someone, they would not even be allowed to set foot in New York.” Preston choked on his words. Before he could respond, I hung up. A man who could not even be bothered to text me on holidays for ten straight years had just flown across the Atlantic to lecture me over a charity case. I tossed my phone onto my desk. Brooke leaned over, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Jena, who was that?” “A self-important idiot.” The next afternoon, Preston was leaning against a luxury sedan right outside the campus gates. He was dressed in a sharp custom suit, exuding the effortless arrogance of someone who had never worked a day in his life. Standing right beside him was Melissa, her head bowed, eyes red-rimmed, looking like she had just survived a war zone. As I walked out of the gates, Preston stepped forward and blocked my path. “Jena. We need to talk.” I glanced at the crowd of nosy students gathering around us and gave a short nod. We sat down in a high-end cafe near campus. Melissa sat practically glued to Preston’s side. She kept her eyes glued to the table, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. Preston cut straight to the chase. “Jena, maybe I was not clear enough on the phone yesterday, so I will say it to your face.” “Melissa has had a brutal life. Getting into this university took everything she had. Your extravagant gifts and the way you speak to her are psychologically crushing.” I leaned back into the plush leather chair, took a sip of my iced lemon water, and said absolutely nothing. Seeing me ignore him, Preston’s frown deepened. “You were spoiled rotten by your family since birth. You cannot comprehend the struggles of normal people. But since you are my fiancée, I expect you to have some basic empathy.” “Melissa has cried to me multiple times. She says she is terrified to even breathe in the dorm, constantly paranoid that she will upset you.” Melissa finally looked up, her voice trembling violently. “Preston, please stop. Jena is not targeting me. I am just too sensitive. It is all my fault.” As she spoke, fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away with her sleeve in a blatant display of tragic bravery. Seeing this, Preston’s face darkened completely. When he turned back to me, his voice was laced with pure anger. “Jena, look at what you have reduced her to! Can you not just swallow your pride and apologize to her?” I finally set my glass down and looked Preston dead in the eye. “Preston. How old are you?” He froze. “What?” “You are twenty-five, right?” I let out a mocking laugh. “A twenty-five-year-old man getting played like a fiddle by a teenager. You flew all the way back from Europe just to play white knight. Do you not feel pathetic?” Preston’s face turned completely rigid. “Jena, watch your attitude.” I tilted my head, my gaze completely bypassing him to lock onto Melissa. “Melissa. I will ask you one last time. Did I, or did I not, bully and humiliate you?” My voice was eerily calm. Melissa bit her lip so hard it almost bled. “You… you forced the gifts on me in front of everyone. I was too scared to say no.” I let out a harsh scoff. “Too scared to say no, but perfectly fine turning around and telling the whole campus I treated you like a beggar?” “Fine. If you were so scared to take them, give them back. Go to the dorm right now and bring them to me. I will wait.” Melissa’s face drained of all color. “What is wrong? Can you not bear to part with them?” I tilted my head, staring her down. “Or have you already cracked open the La Mer? Booted up the MacBook? Swatched the Chanel lipsticks?” Melissa’s tears spilled over again. She turned frantically to Preston, her voice cracking. “Preston, I swear I did not. I did not open them. I have not even touched the packaging.” Preston reached out and patted her shoulder protectively, then shot me a venomous glare. “Jena, that is enough! It is just some cheap skincare. Why are you acting like a psycho over this?” “Melissa is poor, so what if she is a little sensitive? Can you not just be the bigger person and let it go?” His words were so absurd I actually laughed, but the warmth completely vanished from my eyes. “Preston, I dropped thousands of dollars of my own money to ensure a peaceful living environment for four people. And somehow I am the villain?” Preston took a deep breath, trying to suppress his temper. “Jena, regardless of your intentions, your arrogant attitude is the problem. You have always been.” “My arrogance is backed by my family’s empire. I do not owe her a single thing.” Preston suddenly shot up from his chair. “Jena! You are crossing the line! I came here in good faith to mediate, and you are purposely making this as ugly as possible!” “You are humiliating Melissa in public. Do you have zero conscience?” Melissa tugged at his sleeve, sobbing quietly. “Preston, please, let us just go. It is my fault. I should never have told you.” Preston glared at me, his chest heaving with rage. Then, he violently snatched the iced coffee from the table and sloshed it directly across my chest. “Jena, I will make you get on your knees and beg Melissa for forgiveness.” The shock of the freezing coffee left me stunned for exactly two seconds. When I looked up, Melissa was hiding behind him, the triumphant smirk in her eyes completely undisguised. I snapped out of it, blinking hard until my eyes were genuinely red and glassy. Then I pulled out my phone, snapped a selfie of my ruined blouse, recorded a tearful voice memo, and sent it straight to my family group chat. “Daddy. Preston hit me and threw coffee on me to defend a charity student. My eyes are swollen from crying.” Across the table, Preston sneered. “Our families are close allies. Do you really think playing the victim is going to get me punished? You really think you are a princess!” Three. Two. One. Screeching tires echoed from the street, followed instantly by the cafe doors being violently shoved open. “Who has a death wish and dares to touch my precious girl?!”

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1 Camera flashes blinded me as I lifted the microphone. There he was. The man I had been married to for five years, standing right in front of me, though he only saw another nameless entertainment reporter. I stared at the script glowing on my phone screen and forced myself to ask the cruelest question imaginable. “How are things progressing with your new leading lady, William?” He took his girlfriend’s hand, lifting it high for the sea of flashing lenses to catch the sparkle of their rings. “Everything is perfect. Is that the headline you wanted?” A sick joke. He had to remember the truth. The custom band catching the light wasn’t just set with crushed diamonds. It was set with my ashes. My fingers trembled so violently I nearly dropped the microphone. It had only been ten days since the old “me” died. My body hadn’t even gone completely cold before the ring holding my cremated remains was slipped onto another woman’s finger. Yes, I came back. I woke up in the body of a journalist I had never met in my life. A girl who had drowned, only to breathe again with my soul trapped inside her ribs. We shared nothing in common, except perhaps the shape of our eyes. I looked at my former husband, Hollywood’s current golden boy, William. Then I looked at the flawlessly styled actress glowing beside him, Serena. My stomach pitched into a violent roll. Sickening. It was enough to make me want to vomit right on the red carpet. Serena’s face was the picture of pure, unfiltered bliss. She probably had absolutely no idea she was wearing a dead woman’s remains like a shiny little trophy. I could not even finish the questions on my phone. My vision blurred. The glitz and glamour around me suddenly smelled like rotting flowers. Ignoring the weird looks from the camera crews, I shoved my way through the crowd and sprinted to the restroom. I gripped the edge of the porcelain sink, gasping for air. The cold water splashing against my face was a sharp reminder that I was actually alive. I was no longer the dying woman from my past life. I wasn’t trapped in a sterile clinic halfway across the world, staring blankly at the ceiling with my head shaved, completely numb from the painkillers, waiting to become a lifeless shell. That was when I finally understood. William’s frozen heart would never beat for me again. I was just fixing my makeup when the restroom door swung open. I recognized her instantly. Serena. The exact catalyst that finally pushed me to sign those divorce papers. I still remembered my last birthday. The first notification that popped up on my phone wasn’t a sweet message from my husband. It was a trending gossip alert. William and Serena officially confirm their relationship. That was the exact day I planned to tell him I was leaving the country to get treatment for stomach cancer. He never came home that night. “Are you okay? You looked really pale out there.” Serena tilted her head, her big eyes swimming with fake concern. I wasn’t used to this polite version of her. Then again, I was no longer the annoying wife standing in her way. I wasn’t the woman she once sneered at, telling me the unloved one was the real homewrecker. I shook my head, pretending to casually admire her hand. “That is a gorgeous ring. Custom pieces like that must take forever to make, right?” Of course it was gorgeous. I designed it myself. “Oh, I know! William said it took him ages to get it perfect. He gave it to me the day before yesterday and just held my hand, staring at it for the longest time.” Serena giggled, radiating sugary sweetness. I almost laughed out loud. I shouldn’t have asked. Knowing the truth just made the nausea worse. So William hired a jeweler to forge my ashes into a ring on the exact day of my memorial service, and then gifted it to his mistress the very next morning. I really wanted to crack his skull open and see what kind of twisted garbage was rotting inside his brain. Giving your dead ex-wife’s ashes to your new girlfriend. Talk about out with the old, in with the new. I blew the red carpet assignment. My boss cornered me in the office, threatening to fire me if I messed up the next exclusive. And of course, the folder he tossed on my desk had William’s face on it. It was supposed to be an intimate lifestyle feature, so the interview was scheduled at his private estate. The house that used to be my home. I stood on the porch, feeling completely hollow. It had only been a couple of weeks, yet I was standing at my own front door as an absolute stranger. Before I could even knock, the door swung open. It wasn’t the Hollywood star greeting the press. It was Serena. “Oh, it’s you! The reporter from the premiere. William didn’t even tell me he had a press junket today. I’ll just head out and leave you guys to it.” Her casual ownership of the space snapped me back to reality. I was not the lady of the house anymore. I had absolutely zero connection to this property. William jogged into the foyer holding a whisk. For years I had begged him to learn how to cook with me, and he always refused. Turns out, he just needed a different woman to ask him. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, lowered my head, and followed my camera crew inside. Nothing had changed. The decor was exactly the same. Some of my old trinkets were still sitting on the shelves. I honestly thought he would have burned everything. He burned all the handwritten letters and gifts I left him on the day of my funeral, after all. The interview was a disaster. William kept staring directly at me, but his eyes were completely out of focus. He was looking through me. By the eighth time I had to fake a cough to snap him out of his trance, I lost my patience. “William, if you could just cooperate with the questions, we can wrap this up and get out of your hair.” He blinked hard, like a man waking up from a heavy sleep, and rubbed the back of his neck. He always did that when he felt awkward. “Sorry. It is just… you look a lot like someone I used to know, Miss…” He trailed off. Right. My new name. “Cici,” I supplied smoothly. “My colleagues say I look a bit like Serena from certain angles. You must be missing your girlfriend already. Let’s speed this up so you can get back to her.” The lighting guys chuckled. She had only been gone for an hour. I expected him to laugh it off and play the part of the smitten boyfriend, but he just stared at me again until the silence in the room became painfully loud. Did his brain cells die in the last ten days? Seeing him jump right back to filming movies on day four after my death, and doing couple reality shows by day five, I genuinely thought the man was a sociopath. The final segment was a rapid-fire Q&A. A real struggle for someone who spent her entire past life as a jewelry designer, not a journalist. “Fans notice you keep a lot of vintage decor. Would you say you are someone who holds onto the past?” William shook his head without missing a beat. “No. Dwelling on the past is a waste of time. You get tired of looking at old things eventually. I just haven’t gotten around to throwing them out.” So that was why he burned the memory box I left him. He was making room for his bright new future. After we signed the divorce papers, I immediately booked a one-way ticket to a clinic in Switzerland. Not because they had better doctors, but because I just wanted to run as far away as possible. My private nurse was a sweet older lady who read too many romance novels. She used to hold my hand and tell me that men in books always realized their true feelings once they saw the tragic final letters their wives left behind. I was stupid enough to believe her. I thought I could weaponize my own death, wrapping it in a thick layer of guilt to serve as my ultimate revenge. During my final days, I forced my decaying body to sit up. I wrote exactly one hundred letters. I printed hundreds of photos. I drained my savings to craft a dozen pieces of custom jewelry. I packed it all into a heavy wooden trunk and shipped it back to Los Angeles. I thought he would break down. I thought he would sob over our ruined history. It was the most pathetic thing I ever did. When my soul was untethered from my body, I immediately drifted back to William. I waited for the devastation. Instead, he answered the phone call from the clinic with a chillingly flat, “Got it.” Over a thousand days of marriage. I thought my death would hit him like a hurricane, but his eyes didn’t even ripple. Romance novels are built on lies. Why would a man who spent months sleeping in another woman’s bed feel any guilt at all? I haunted him for seven days. His routine was so mind-numbingly normal it felt like a sick prank. Day one. William received my death certificate in the mail. He skimmed it, shoved it into a drawer, and booked a first-class flight to Switzerland. Day two. He signed the hospital release forms, picked out a generic headstone, and flew back with my urn. Day three. He hosted the funeral. Barely anyone showed up. Day four. He went straight back to the film set. That night, he hit a VIP club, got trashed, and held Serena in his lap, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Day five. He filmed a cheesy couples’ challenge for a reality show. My urn sat completely ignored behind the locked door of my old bedroom. Day six. The heavy wooden trunk I shipped arrived at his gate. He spent exactly thirty minutes flipping through my life’s final work. He did not shed a single tear. Day seven. He hired a private jeweler to crack open the urn and set my ashes into a pair of rings. And that wooden trunk? He dragged it out to Malibu. He lit a bonfire on the beach and watched my final, desperate fragments of love burn to cinders. I would have preferred him laughing at my pathetic attempt at closure. Anything would have been better than that terrifying, blank apathy. He looked at those letters like they belonged to a stranger he couldn’t wait to forget. Maybe he was just tired. He acted for a living, and he could not even be bothered to fake a sad face for a dead woman. As a weightless spirit, I could not even cry. I just hovered over the flames, watching the agonizing effort of my final dying weeks turn into dirty gray smoke. The crackling fire mocked my ridiculous delusions. I actually thought a man who stopped loving me years ago would suddenly magically care. That was the day Vivian, the celebrated jewelry designer and Hollywood’s best-kept secret wife, truly ceased to exist. And that was the day Cici’s life began. The sun was starting to set when the interview finally wrapped. I stood up and stretched my stiff shoulders. I never realized holding a basic conversation with him was this exhausting. I had a secondary motive for coming here today. I needed to steal back my old design sketches. Back when I thought I was dying, I abandoned all my portfolios in his study. Now that I was alive and broke, I needed my intellectual property back. During the B-roll house tour, I spotted them shoved into a dusty corner of his office, crumpled and neglected like actual trash. Thank god they survived the Malibu bonfire. “I noticed a stack of design sketches in your study,” I casually mentioned as the crew packed up. “I actually have a friend in the industry looking for vintage concepts. Would you be willing to sell them?” Since I was less than nothing to him, the papers had to be worthless. “Those?” William replied, his voice terrifyingly soft. “They are not for sale.” A punch straight to the gut. Why would an A-list actor hoard crumpled jewelry sketches? He had zero use for them. While my brain scrambled for a counteroffer, William stepped closer. “Do you really want them?” I nodded quickly, putting on my most innocent, eager expression. William closed the distance between us. He leaned in, his dark eyes tracing the lines of my face with a disturbing intensity. He looked like a man making a very dangerous gamble. “I will give them to you for free. Under one condition.” He paused, his gaze dropping to my lips. “I want you to stay by my side. As a body double.” A body double? For who? My feet glued themselves to the hardwood floor. My eyes went wide with sheer panic. Before I could even process the absurdity, his hand clamped down on my wrist. He dragged me down the hallway and stopped dead in front of a very familiar door. My old bedroom. The one he had kept locked. William shoved the door open. He pointed a shaking finger at a massive portrait of me hanging over the bed. The next words out of his mouth made me seriously question my own sanity. “Play her. Pretend to be her, and I will give you whatever you want.” He wanted me to play the role of my dead self, just so I could get my own sketches back?

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