My ex-girlfriend broke up with me but refused to move out right away.
She asked to crash at my apartment for a few days until she could find a new place.
Thinking about our three years together, I soft-hearted and gave her a temporary smart-lock passcode.
But when I got back from my business trip tonight, I couldn’t get in.
The screen on the smart lock read: Access Denied. Incorrect Passcode.
I pressed the doorbell.
Inside, I heard the rustle of slippers, followed by a man’s annoyed voice.
“Who the hell is it at this hour? So annoying.”
The door opened just a crack, held by the security chain.
A strange man was standing there, wearing my bathrobe and my slippers, looking at me with pure disgust.
“Oh, so you’re Chloe’s clingy ex?”
“Chloe told me about you. You guys broke up already. Isn’t it a bit pathetic to show up here?”
For a second, I thought I was hearing things.
I had been on a business trip for three days. Now, returning to my own home, a total stranger was blocking my door and calling me pathetic.
I pushed the door.
He immediately blocked it with his shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing? This is breaking and entering!”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Get out of my way.”
From inside, Chloe’s voice rang out.
“Tyler, who is it?”
She walked over to the entryway. The moment she saw me, her face froze.
But she quickly masked her guilt.
“Ethan? Why are you back so suddenly?”
I laughed.
“Do I need to RSVP to come back to my own home?”
Chloe frowned. “Can you not talk like that? I just haven’t found a suitable apartment yet. Tyler only came over to help me pack.”
I looked at the men’s shoes in the hallway, the men’s coat thrown over the sofa, and the unwashed dishes on the table.
“He’s helping you pack, so he needed to change my smart lock passcode?”
Tyler jumped in immediately. “Your lock? Chloe lives here, and I’m her boyfriend. What’s wrong with me being here?”
I ignored him and looked straight at Chloe.
“I let you stay because you promised it would be five days max. The rules were clear: no guests, no lock changes, and don’t touch my study.”
She avoided my gaze.
“Tyler is only staying for one night.”
“Then why is he wearing my slippers?”
Tyler’s face darkened.
“Alright, that’s enough. You’re a grown man. Being this petty over slippers after a breakup? No wonder Chloe dumped you.”
I pulled out my phone and called the building manager.
“Marcus, someone changed the lock on my apartment. Please come up with security right now.”
Tyler sneered. “Stop pretending you own this place.”
Chloe whispered, “Ethan, stop making a scene. You’re only making me lose what little respect I had left for you.”
Those words were colder than the draft coming from the hallway.
Four years of relationship, and in the end, she stood beside a guy she barely knew, painting me as a bitter stalker.
The building security and local police arrived almost at the same time.
Since I didn’t have the physical deed on me, I showed them my ID and the digital ownership registration on my building’s resident app.
But Chloe lied straight to their faces, claiming this was a post-breakup property dispute and that Tyler was just here to help her.
Tyler was an even better actor.
“Officer, I don’t want to be rude. But he just can’t let her go. He showed up tonight completely out of his mind.”
The officers looked at us, then at the time.
It was already past 10 PM.
They ordered both sides to bring full legal documentation to the precinct the next morning to verify ownership and warned us not to escalate the conflict tonight.
Before leaving, I looked at Chloe. “Tomorrow at 10 AM, I’m coming back with the building management. You both better be packed and gone.”
Chloe said nothing.
Tyler stood inside the doorway, giving me a smug, arrogant smile.
“Sure. See you tomorrow.”
I turned and stepped into the elevator.
Before the doors closed, I saw Chloe shut the door, and Tyler’s hand naturally slid around her waist.
At that moment, I didn’t feel sad.
I just felt sick.
Not long after I checked into a hotel, my phone buzzed.
A notification from my smart lock app popped up:
Admin permissions updated.
New Admin Name: Mr. Tyler.
I didn’t storm back right away.
Instead, I got a text from Chloe.
She said: “I really just need a few days to transition.”
I replied: “Fine, five days max. No guests, no lock changes, and stay out of my study.”
She had replied: “Deal.”
Every single word now felt like a joke.
At 9:50 AM, I stood outside my door with Marcus, the building manager.
This time, the door opened quickly.
It was Chloe.
Her hair was in a messy bun, and she was wearing a black lounge cardigan I had bought for her.
Seeing Marcus and the security guard behind me, her expression soured.
“Was it really necessary to bring a whole crowd?”
I pushed past her and walked inside.
Three people were sitting in the dining room.
Tyler was leaning back in a chair, casually sipping coffee like he owned the place.
An older woman sat at the head of the table, drinking the last bottle of organic milk I had left in the fridge.
An older man sat on the sofa watching TV, with two large suitcases resting near his feet.
The master bedroom door was wide open, with their clothes scattered all over my bed.
The older woman looked up and frowned at me.
“So you’re the ex?”
Before I could speak, she slammed her fork onto the table.
“Young man, have some self-respect. Chloe is about to marry my son. Showing up here to harass her? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
I turned to Chloe.
“So this is what you meant by Tyler staying for ‘one night’?”
Her lips trembled.
“His parents… they just came to see the place.”
I repeated, “See the place?”
Tyler wiped his mouth and slowly stood up.
“Yeah. To inspect our future home.”
Chloe looked at me, keeping her voice low but loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Ethan, please don’t lose your mind in front of Tyler’s parents.”
Tyler’s mother chimed in immediately. “My son bought this place for their marriage. Who gave you the right to come in here and throw a tantrum?”
Marcus couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Ma’am, the building registry lists Mr. Ethan as the sole owner of this condo, not Mr. Tyler.”
Tyler’s mother blinked, then let out a harsh laugh.
“Your system must be outdated. My son is too busy with work to update the paperwork.”
Tyler added, “The title transfer is still processing. You guys from management should mind your own business.”
I almost laughed out loud.
“Title transfer?”
I pulled out my phone and started recording.
Chloe immediately reached out to block the camera.
“Ethan, what are you doing? There are elders here. Have some manners!”
I lowered my phone and stared at her.
“Chloe, did you show me any respect when you let them in here?”
Her face turned pale.
Tyler’s mother kept nagging.
“You’re a grown man. Getting dumped and refusing to let go? It’s pathetic.”
Tyler’s father hadn’t said a word, but he glared at me with hostile eyes.
I didn’t want to waste my breath on them.
I turned toward my study to grab the paper copy of my deed from the drawer.
But after two steps, I froze.
On Tyler’s left wrist was a vintage mechanical watch.
It had a silver dial with a tiny scratch on the bezel.
It was the watch my dad left me before he passed away.
I always kept it in the deepest corner of my study drawer.
Now, it was on Tyler’s wrist.
My voice went entirely cold.
“Take that watch off.”
Tyler looked down at his wrist.
He grinned.
“This?”
He intentionally waved his hand.
“It’s my watch. Why should I take it off?”
I walked up to him.
“The back is engraved with ‘Arthur.’ That’s my dad’s name.”
Tyler’s eyes flickered with panic for a split second.
But he quickly recovered.
“What a coincidence. I bought this vintage watch used, and it already had an engraving. You can’t just claim everything that looks like yours is yours.”
Tyler’s mother jumped up.
“Are you trying to scam us now? My son can buy whatever he wants. Why would he take your cheap trash?”
I looked at Chloe.
She knew.
She had seen me polish that watch.
She knew how much my dad meant to me.
I asked her, “Are you going to tell the truth?”
Chloe bit her lip, her eyes welling with tears.
But when she spoke, she said, “Ethan, don’t drag your dead dad into this. You’re being really toxic right now.”
I went numb for a second.
Then, a bitter laugh escaped my throat.
“My dad’s heirloom is on his wrist, and I’m being toxic?”
Tyler stepped in front of me, lowering his voice.
“Have you had enough?”
I reached out to grab the watch.
He grabbed my wrist instantly. His grip was tight and aggressive.
“Are you trying to rob me?”
I twisted my arm and grabbed him back. “Give it back to me!”
Tyler’s mother screamed and lunged forward.
“Get your hands off my son!”
She shoved me hard.
My back slammed into the edge of the dining table. A sharp pain shot up my arm as my elbow cracked against the wood, making my entire left side go numb.
Chloe yelled instantly, “Ethan, stop fighting!”
I looked up at her.
She was standing right behind Tyler, looking at me as if I was the maniac who had broken into their home.
Marcus quickly stepped between us.
“No violence! There are cameras in this building! We can talk this out!”
Tyler shook off my hand and pulled out his phone to call the cops.
He was faster than me.
“Yes, 911? There’s a man who broke into my apartment. He’s trying to rob me. Yes, it’s my girlfriend’s crazy ex.”
Listening to him twist the truth so effortlessly felt surreal.
He was using my address to report me for breaking into my own home.
I used my backup phone to dial 911 as well.
Tyler’s mother was still screaming. “What a nightmare to deal with this loser first thing in the morning. No wonder he has no future.”
Tyler’s father finally spoke.
“Young man, don’t make this ugly. Leave now, and you can still save some face.”
I ignored the pain in my arm and turned on my phone camera again.
“Keep talking.”
Tyler sneered. “Without proof, stop claiming this is your place. We can sue you for harassment.”
I said nothing.
The police arrived quickly.
It was the same two officers from last night.
Tyler immediately greeted them, looking like the perfect, humble victim.
“Officers, he barged in with building security today and tried to rob my watch. My elderly parents are terrified.”
Tyler’s mother wiped her eyes on cue.
“Yes, Officers. We just came to visit our son’s new home, and this man rushed in and started attacking us.”
The officer turned to Chloe.
“What’s your story?”
Chloe kept her head down.
After a few tense seconds, she said, “The condo belongs to Tyler. Ethan is my ex. He just… couldn’t accept the breakup.”
The officer demanded both sides provide proof.
I said my documents were in the study and on my cloud drive, and that I could log in to show them.
But Tyler blocked the study door.
“Who knows what he’ll do in there? What if he steals something from my house and blames me?”
Tyler’s mother backed him up. “Exactly! Don’t let him in. This is my son’s house. He can’t just rifle through our things!”
I stared at the study door.
Inside that room were my physical contract, my dad’s photos, and the maintenance receipt for that watch.
Now, a stranger was blocking it.
I said, “Move.”
Tyler crossed his arms.
“No.”
The officer frowned. “Mr. Tyler, if we need to verify property ownership, blocking access is not helpful.”
Tyler immediately played dumb.
“Officer, I’m not blocking. I’m just worried he’ll get violent. You saw how he tried to steal my watch.”
Tyler’s mother sniffed. “A grown man using his dead father to get sympathy. Who knows what kind of sick mind he has.”
My vision went blurry with rage.
I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white.
Chloe saw this and whispered, “Ethan, just stop.”
“Stop what?”
I turned to her.
“Four years, Chloe. You know who bought this condo. You know whose watch that is. Are you really going to lie with them today?”
Her eyes turned red.
“I just want to start a new life! Why do you have to make things so difficult for me?”
I was completely dumbfounded.
“You want to start a new life by taking my apartment?”
She went quiet.
Tyler pulled a piece of paper from under the table.
It was clearly prepared beforehand.
He slid it over to me.
“Sign this.”
I glanced at it.
It read: I, Ethan, confirm that I only came here today to retrieve personal items. I acknowledge that I have no claim over this property and promise never to contact or harass Chloe or Tyler again.
I felt a wave of nausea.
“You guys have some serious nerve.”
Tyler shoved a pen into my hand.
“Sign it, and we can all move on. You’re a guy. Do you really want to drag this to the precinct and your company? It won’t look good for you.”
As he spoke, he grabbed my wrist, trying to force my fingers around the pen.
My arm was already bruised from the collision. When he yanked it, a sharp pain shot up, making me break into a cold sweat.
“Let go.”
Tyler leaned in close to my ear.
“Ethan, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Chloe is mine now. Do you really want her to look down on you forever?”
Tyler’s mother urged, “Sign it! Sign it and get out! We’re trying to have breakfast.”
Tyler’s father watched silently, not stopping him.
Chloe stood beside Tyler, keeping her mouth shut.
They surrounded me in the middle of my own living room like a pack of wolves.
For the first time, I realized this wasn’t a misunderstanding.
They had planned this together.
Just as Tyler tried to force my hand down onto the paper, the doorbell rang.
A cold, sharp voice came from the door.
“Who told him he had to sign that?”
🌟 Continue the story here
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After I slapped my husband Ethan Vance’s mistress, Chloe, he had my entire family sent to a private psychiatric sanitarium.
Since then, I never dared to cross him again.
When Chloe had cramps, I warmed her milk.
When Chloe went into labor, I stayed up all night to serve her.
Only after her baby with Ethan was born did I finally dare to beg him, with bated breath, to release my family.
But Ethan only let out a mocking laugh, tossing a casual sentence my way:
“Aria, do you know how I met Chloe in the first place?”
“Your dear brother and father personally put her in my bed.”
“Aria, she’s your half-sister.”
He looked at my increasingly pale face with a sneer, unlocked his phone, and pushed it in front of me.
“Your father and Julian were never locked away in that sanitarium. For the past three years, they’ve been right by Chloe’s side.”
On the screen, my father and Julian were doting on Chloe and her baby, their faces filled with a pure joy I had never once seen directed at me.
In an instant, my eyes welled with tears.
My heart felt as if it were being slowly ripped apart, inch by inch.
Ethan continued in his self-satisfied tone.
“Aria, you’ve been very obedient these past three years. Keep it up. Tell me what kind of compensation you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Though…” He smiled mysteriously, “Even if I offer it, you probably won’t want it, will you?”
I wiped my tears, lifted my chin, and forced a smile:
“Ethan, I’m afraid you won’t be able to afford the compensation I want.”
Ethan scoffed.
“Name it. I’ll do my best to satisfy you.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“Since you want to compensate me, give me cash.”
“I want a hundred million dollars. Not a single penny less.”
Ethan’s eyes turned cold.
He suddenly sneered and spoke to the phone on the desk.
“Chloe, looks like neither of us guessed right.”
I hadn’t noticed when the screen had switched to a FaceTime call.
Chloe was smiling, looking at me with pure mockery.
“Aria, we had a bet on what you would ask Ethan for once you found out the truth.”
“I bet you would reject any compensation and go crazy, throwing a tantrum in his office. Ethan bet you would use this to blackmail him into never divorcing you.”
“As for Dad and Julian, one guessed you would demand Ethan send me away, and the other guessed you would self-harm to force him to compromise.”
She turned the camera to the side.
My father was holding Chloe’s baby with a beaming smile, but the moment he saw me on screen, his warmth vanished.
“Aria, I really didn’t expect you to open your mouth and demand money from Ethan!”
“Has our family ever let you go hungry or cold all these years? How did you become so materialistic? What makes you any different from those greedy gold-diggers out there!”
Julian patted Chloe’s head, his eyes full of affection and helplessness, but when he looked back at the camera, his expression iced over.
“Aria, I know you’re angry.”
“If you’re short on cash, I can wire you some. But you shouldn’t have demanded it from Ethan.”
“Chloe and Ethan love each other. They don’t owe you anything.”
“Is that so?”
With bloodshot eyes, I cut him off.
“Stealing my husband, stealing my father and my brother, destroying my marriage and my home.”
“Playing me like a fool for three years, tricking me into being her maid for three years.”
“And you say they don’t owe me anything?”
Julian frowned.
“Aria, watch your mouth.”
“We didn’t mean to lie to you. You’ve just been stubborn since you were a kid. If we hadn’t done this, how could you have ever accepted Chloe?”
“Chloe has been depressed since giving birth. We were worried about her postpartum depression, so we came up with this bet just to cheer her up. Don’t take it to heart.”
The corners of my lips twisted into a dry laugh.
“In that case, just give me the money.”
“Dad, give me fifty million. Julian, give me thirty million. I can keep acting for you guys and play maid for Chloe. How does that sound?”
Julian’s face turned livid.
“Aria Montgomery, when are you going to stop throwing this tantrum?”
I sneered.
“It’s just a little bit of pocket money. Don’t tell me the wealthy Vance and Montgomery families of New York can’t even afford this much?”
“Enough.”
“Since you love money so much, you can have it.”
Ethan glanced at me, pulling a document from his drawer.
“Chloe has already given birth. My child cannot be a bastard. Sign these divorce papers, and a hundred million will be wired to your account immediately.”
Looking at those few thin sheets of paper, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I grabbed the pen and signed my name.
The look Ethan gave me suddenly became complicated.
“Do you really care about money that much? You weren’t like this before…”
Suppressing the knife-like pain in my chest, I squeezed out an indifferent smile.
“If I don’t take the money, what else can you give me?”
He stared at me, his dark eyes deep and unreadable.
“Maybe you could beg me not to divorce you.”
“Aria, if you just beg me, I’ll tear this agreement up right now.”
Beg him?
I bit my lip so hard it almost bled, remembering the first few months after I discovered his affair with Chloe.
I had begged him countless times.
I had even slit my wrists just to force him to come home.
But my blood pooling on the floor only earned me a cold sentence from him:
“Don’t do this next time. Chloe can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“And then what?”
I looked at him calmly, my voice dripping with irony.
“And then you’ll tell me this is just another one of your bets, designed to make me a laughingstock?”
I let out a bitter laugh, my throat tight.
“Ethan, stop testing me.”
“Haven’t you played me enough these past three years?”
Something cold rolled down my cheek.
The tears I had held back for so long finally spilled over.
Ethan instinctively reached out to wipe them away.
For a brief second, a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes.
He sighed.
“Chloe had my baby, after all. She’s still young and a bit spoiled. Just let her have her way this once.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep the position of Mrs. Vance open for you. Marrying Chloe is just to get the baby registered under my name.”
He paused, then added as if to reassure himself.
“I’ll give you the hundred million. Take the money and travel for a while. Once I handle everything, we’ll remarry.”
“You should be satisfied with that, right?”
I tilted my face up, smiled, and gave a soft hum.
“Then book me a ticket to Switzerland. We promised we would go see the Alpine lakes together.”
He let out a sigh of relief and pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Okay.”
“Go by yourself first. Once things are settled here, I’ll join you.”
“Aria, wait for me.”
Leaning against his shoulder, I didn’t say another word.
But in my heart, I knew I would never wait for him again.
Seeing that I had complied, Ethan finally spoke up.
“Give me the keys to the villa. You need to move out for a while.”
“Chloe is moving in. You know she’s been in a bad mood since the delivery. Pack your things thoroughly. Don’t leave anything behind that might ruin her mood.”
“Besides, we’ve lived in that villa for years. It’s getting old anyway. Don’t hold a grudge against her.”
He cleared his throat, taking out a set of keys and a property deed from his drawer.
“I’ve bought you a new villa in the south of the city. Move your things there first.”
I remained silent, but my mind drifted back to when we first bought our old villa.
We had designed the layout together, chose the color of the curtains, and picked the paintings for the foyer. We even agreed to reserve two nursery rooms—one in pink, one in blue.
He said it was our love nest. He had personally carved a wooden sign to hang at the entrance, naming it Aria’s Haven.
But later, he stayed up all night with Chloe in his office while I lost my baby all alone in that empty villa.
I smiled, taking the keys and placing them in his hand.
“It’s fine.”
“New is good.”
From now on, everything I owned would be new. Not just the house.
After leaving the Vance Group headquarters, I drove to the private sanitarium alone.
Over the past three years, I had pushed open the ward doors countless times, crying hysterically as I watched my father and Julian pretend to be patients.
But none of them knew that I had met someone else here.
I pushed open the door to a quiet room. Sunlight spilled across the windowsill where a young man sat, gazing into the distance.
His features were sharp, radiating a cold, rebellious aura. His messy hair fell over his forehead, gilded by the sunlight.
If any reporter were here, they would recognize him instantly—the youngest son of the French shipping tycoon, who had been secretly sent to this sanitarium years ago.
I spoke softly.
“I have the money now. I’m taking you out of here.”
Ethan had no idea that my real destination wasn’t Switzerland. It was France.
When I went back to the villa to pack my bags, the maid looked at me with a strange, hesitant expression.
I frowned, walked into the living room, and instantly understood why.
My belongings were strewn all over the floor in a messy pile.
And Chloe was walking down the stairs, wearing a snow-white wedding dress.
I bit my lip, staring at her.
She lifted the hem of the dress and smirked.
“Aria, this is the main gown Ethan personally designed for you back then, right?”
“Well, Ethan already promised to give it to me.”
“He said that since you’re out of shape now anyway, you can’t fit into it. It’s the dress’s good fortune that I like it.”
She spun around, letting the skirt flare out.
“Aria, do you think I look good in your dress? Does it fit?”
The pristine white gown looked magical under the crystal chandelier.
Chloe looked radiant, her face flushed with happiness and arrogance.
Years ago, Ethan had stayed up for several nights just to draw the blueprints for this dress.
The first time I tried it on, he told me:
“Aria, this is a one-of-a-kind gown for the one-of-a-kind girl in my life.”
The words were still echoing in my ears, but the man had already changed.
Chloe didn’t realize that since I didn’t even want Ethan anymore, why would I care about a meaningless piece of fabric?
I gave a calm smile, slowly releasing my clenched fists.
“Chloe, did no one ever teach you that you have to pay for taking other people’s things?”
“This gown is worth thirty million dollars. I expect that amount wired to my account as soon as possible.”
Chloe’s face instantly twisted in anger.
“You bitch! You’ve monopolized Ethan and stolen my family for so many years! How dare you demand money!”
With that, she raised her hand and lunged forward to slap me.
But the gown’s train was far too heavy. I simply stepped aside, and Chloe tripped over the lace, crashing heavily onto the floor.
My father and Julian came rushing down the stairs.
“Chloe! What happened?”
Julian glared at me with pure rage.
“Aria! Did you push Chloe again?!”
Before I could speak, a heavy slap landed squarely on my face.
A burning pain erupted across my cheek.
I looked at my father in absolute disbelief.
His face was flushed with anger as he barked:
“I knew you were bitter and never truly accepted Chloe! But she just gave birth and she’s still weak! How could you lay a hand on her!”
Chloe sobbed, playing the victim.
“Dad, don’t be mad at Aria. It’s not her fault. Aria said this dress costs thirty million, and I have no right to wear it if I don’t pay her. But I don’t have that kind of money… she didn’t mean to push me.”
She looked up with tearful, pitiful eyes.
“It’s my fault for not having the money to give her. Dad, Julian… if we give her the money, will she stop being mad at me?”
My father let out a harsh scoff, completely enraged.
“Chloe, you are too kind! Give money to this ungrateful wretch? In her dreams! I should have known she’d turn out just like her mother—a greedy, money-grubbing bitch!”
A sharp pang hit my chest. I clutched my cheek, staring at him.
His face was contorted with hatred, spitting insults. The mask of fatherly love he had worn for years was cracking completely.
Julian quickly stepped in to hold him back.
“Dad, don’t.”
A tiny spark of hope flared in my chest.
But in the next second, Julian spoke coldly.
“If we push her too hard, she might show up and ruin Chloe’s wedding.”
“Since she loves money so much, just give it to her. Consider it charity for a beggar.”
He pulled out a black card and threw it at my face with utter disgust.
“There’s over thirty million in there. Is that enough?”
“Take it and get out. Don’t ever show your face in front of Chloe again.”
I stared down at the black card belonging to the Montgomery family.
The last thread of connection in my heart snapped.
I bent down slowly, picked up the card, and let out a careless laugh.
Looking at my scattered, messy luggage, I didn’t even feel like packing anymore.
“Since you can afford the price, I’m selling all of this to you.”
I stared at him mockingly.
“Since you’ve already accepted your new sister and your new family, I won’t stay to eyesore you. From this day forward, I have nothing to do with the Montgomery family!”
I grabbed my legal documents from my bag and turned to leave.
“Wait—”
Chloe called out, her face cold.
“Since you said you’re selling everything for thirty million, shouldn’t you leave one more thing behind?”
I frowned, not understanding.
She sneered. “You’re divorcing Ethan. You shouldn’t be wearing that wedding ring anymore, right?”
I looked down at the gold band on my ring finger, suddenly realizing what she meant.
This gold ring was the first gift Ethan gave me when we started dating.
He had hand-forged the matching couple rings himself, engraving our names inside.
He once told me that gold was the most stable element in the world.
Just like our love.
But we both forgot that gold is also the softest metal. A little bit of external force, and it becomes completely deformed.
After ten years of entanglement, the ring had practically grown into my skin. It wouldn’t budge.
I tugged at it twice but couldn’t get it off. Frustrated, I grabbed a pair of heavy scissors from the desk and aimed them straight at the metal band.
The moment the blades snapped the ring, a sharp shout came from the doorway.
“Aria, what are you doing!”
The scissors were violently wrenched from my hand, and Ethan pulled me into a desperate embrace.
“You’re trying to hurt yourself again, aren’t you—”
His voice died in his throat as his eyes fell on the severed ring.
He looked completely devastated.
“You… you actually cut the ring? Why?”
“Ethan, I wanted that ring.”
Only then did Ethan notice Chloe standing nearby.
Chloe’s expression was incredibly tense, her fingers tightly gripping her skirt.
“Aria already sold all her belongings to me for thirty million. Ethan, you made that ring with your own hands. I want to keep it. You don’t mind, do you?”
Ethan quickly let go of me, turning to Chloe with a doting smile.
“Chloe, that design is outdated. If you like gold, I’ll forge a brand new set for us.”
Tears welled in Chloe’s eyes.
“But I want you to melt this one down and use it to make my new one.”
“You promised me that once our baby was born, you’d give me whatever I wanted.”
Ethan fell silent for a long moment before nodding helplessly.
“Okay.”
I let out a mocking laugh, pulled the broken ring off my finger, threw it onto the floor, and turned to walk away.
But Chloe called out to me yet again.
“Aria, you just said you want nothing to do with the Montgomery family. In that case, there’s one more thing you need to surrender.”
She looked at the men with red, watery eyes.
“Dad, Julian, Ethan… I am a daughter of the Montgomery family. I want to legally change my name and return to the family registry.”
My father nodded eagerly.
“Of course! It’s a joyous occasion. I’ll hire the best consultant to find you a beautiful new name—”
But Chloe cut him off.
“Dad, I’ve already decided on my future name.”
A malicious smile spread across her lips.
“I want to be called Aria Montgomery.”
“So, Aria, I’m going to need you to legally change your name.”
“Ethan, this is my very last request. You’ll make sure it happens, won’t you?”
Aria… was the name my late mother gave me. It was her final blessing of love.
Ethan knew that.
But after a brief struggle, he still opened his mouth.
“Aria, just change your name. I’ll compensate you with more money.”
I smirked, nodding without hesitation.
“Sure. As long as the price is right.”
Ethan let out a sigh of relief.
“I’ll have my assistant wire you another fifty million immediately.”
Very soon, Ethan’s legal team escorted me to the government office to process the name change.
Holding my brand new ID, I looked up at the sky and smiled.
My name, my identity, my marriage… I had shed everything from my past. From now on, I was truly free.
When I arrived at the airport, Ethan called me.
“Aria… now that you’ve changed your name, go to the villa in the south of the city. I’ve already had people move your stuff there.”
“Chloe is just throwing a childish tantrum. I’ll make her change it back in a few months. Don’t take it personally.”
I gave a faint “mm-hmm” and hung up.
A message from a real estate agent popped up on my Snapchat.
“Aria, the villa has been sold according to your terms. The buyer was thrilled with the low price and paid in full. Check your account to confirm the wire.”
I replied to confirm, verified the transfer, popped my SIM card out, and tossed it into the airport trash can.
Then, I turned to the young man standing beside me with a smile.
“Let’s go. Our gate is boarding.”
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It took my roommate a whole week of cornering Holden Pierce outside his frat house just to get him to give up his number for me.
To thank her for helping me take that terrifying first step, I drained my entire summer internship savings to buy her the Prada bag she’d been obsessing over.
Right after that, I threw my entire soul into texting Holden.
I agonized over every word. By day, we shared the mundane little details of our lives; by night, we traded our deepest, quietest secrets in the dark.
A year passed. We became the kind of intimately tethered friends who could talk about absolutely anything.
Finally, I gathered every ounce of courage I had.
“The weather is gorgeous tomorrow. Do you want to finally meet up?”
Holden replied instantly.
“Baby, didn’t we just say goodnight?”
I stared at the glowing screen, my brow furrowing in confusion. The door to our apartment swung open. Blakely walked in, her arms wrapped around a massive bouquet of roses. Her cheeks were flushed, and she offered me a sheepish, breathless smile.
“When I got his number for you?” she said, her voice dripping with an apologetic lilt. “I think I kinda forgot to mention I was asking for a friend.”
“He… he’s always thought the person he’s been texting was me.”
01
The entire room went dead silent.
The only sound left in the world was the rapid-fire pinging of my phone.
Holden’s messages came flooding in, one after another:
“Did I scare you with the sudden confession?”
“I’ve been preparing for this for a long time, honestly.”
“Over this past year of talking to you, I’ve felt just how incredibly sweet and genuine you are.”
“At first, I thought I just saw you as a friend. But then, whenever I didn’t hear from you, this physical ache would settle in my chest. That’s when I knew. I fell in love with you.”
“I’m so sorry for just tracking you down and springing this on you without warning – ”
But the thought remained unfinished.
One by one, right before my eyes, the messages vanished. “Unsent.”
“I’m really sorry,” Blakely said with a shy, giggling smile. She set the roses on her desk and pulled a velvet box from her Prada bag.
She opened it, kept the necklace for herself, and casually tossed the matching earrings onto my bed.
“Faye… I said yes to him,” she hummed. “So, obviously, I can’t have him texting you anymore.”
She crouched by my feet, resting her chin on her hands as she leaned on my knees, looking up at me with bright, beaming eyes.
“I just gave him my actual number. I told him my old phone got hacked, so…”
A cold, prickly sweat broke out across my forehead.
My mind scrambled, violently rejecting the impossible reality unfolding in front of me.
With trembling fingers, I typed a single “?” into our thread.
Send.
A second later.
The text bubble stayed stubbornly green. Beneath it, a harsh, unforgiving notification: “Message Not Delivered.”
My heart didn’t just break; it flatlined.
Three hundred and sixty-five days.
Just like that, Holden had blocked me. Erased me.
Even though just last night, we had stayed up texting until 2 AM, baring our souls.
Seeing me frozen, Blakely unceremoniously shoved the earrings into my palm.
“Oh, come on,” she said, her tone light and breezy. “Honestly, if I hadn’t been the one asking for his number in the first place, Holden probably would never have talked to you anyway. You know how he is. Aloof. Untouchable. Half the girls on campus have tried and failed. Just take the earrings as a – ”
“Blakely,” I said. My voice was hollow. I turned my head, physically unable to look at her. “We aren’t friends anymore.”
Before she could manufacture a response, I pushed past her.
Clinging to whatever shred of dignity I had left, I climbed into my bed and violently yanked the privacy curtain shut.
In the dim, enclosed space, I scrolled through a year’s worth of history.
In the beginning, it was a sea of blue bubbles – just me, trying so hard. Then, he started replying. A trickle at first.
Eventually, if I went quiet for a few hours, Holden would be the one sending the “?”
For the last three months, it was as if our roles had flipped.
He was the one chasing my attention, initiating the late-night talks.
I had been so incandescently happy. My chest had felt full of light. I thought I had poured every drop of bravery I possessed into getting to know Holden Pierce, and I truly believed it hadn’t been in vain.
…But now.
It was all shattered glass.
I pulled the duvet over my head and wept until my lungs ached, eventually spiraling into an exhausted, feverish sleep.
Early the next morning, a voice called out from the apartment doorway.
“Faye! There’s a guy downstairs looking for you. Tall, lean, incredibly gorgeous. He said his name is Holden.”
02
The sleep vanished from my veins instantly.
I glanced over. Blakely’s bed was empty.
I scrambled down, moving purely on adrenaline. A part of me wanted to dress up, to look perfect, but a larger part panicked at the thought of keeping him waiting.
I threw on a heavy oversized coat, pulled a surgical mask over my face to hide my swollen eyes, and bolted downstairs.
During that three-minute elevator ride, a thousand wild hopes bloomed in my chest.
The most logical explanation? He spent the night with Blakely and realized her vibe, her way of speaking, completely contradicted the girl he’d been texting for a year.
He figured it out. He was here to apologize…
“Faye.”
His voice cut through the brisk morning air – crisp, resonant, beautiful.
I tried to steady my erratic breathing, keeping my eyes cast downward.
My gaze landed on his wrist. He was wearing the matte-black watch we had spent a whole night picking out together online.
I let out a muffled, hesitant, “Yeah.”
“What is it that you want?” Holden asked.
My head snapped up.
I looked at him through my thick-rimmed glasses.
His face was an unreadable mask of stone. His eyes, usually so warm in my imagination, were devastatingly cold.
“Blakely was crying all night,” he said, his voice laced with ice. “Because of you. I don’t know when you first found out about me, or when you developed this little obsession – ”
He let out a harsh breath, his brow furrowing as he raked a disgusted look over me. He was barely keeping a lid on his impatience.
“Let me make this perfectly clear. The girl I want is Blakely. Now, and forever. That isn’t going to change. So I’d appreciate it if you stopped taking your jealousy out on her. Do you understand?”
Tears instantly blurred the edges of the world.
I dug my nails into my palms, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.
“Actually… the person who was texting you all year… it was me.”
The moment the words hung in the air, a cruel, mocking laugh dropped from above me.
“Blakely called it,” he sneered. “She said you were exactly this kind of person. She warned me you’d do anything to get your way – even lie and claim you were the one behind the screen.”
The look he gave me then was one of pure, visceral repulsion. He leaned in, his expression deadly serious.
“So let me spell it out for you. Even if it “had” been you, I would never look at you twice. I only want Blakely – ”
I stopped breathing for a second.
Then, a quiet, self-deprecating laugh slipped from my lips.
I unclasped the matching matte-black watch from my own wrist – the one I’d bought to match his – and dropped it onto the concrete.
As I turned my back to walk away, I heard a flicker of hesitation in his voice.
“Faye – ”
03
Like an idiot, my feet stopped moving.
I couldn’t help it. I had harbored a quiet, burning crush on this boy for two years.
I had spent another entire year agonizing over every text, building a bridge between us.
You can’t just amputate that kind of love in a single morning.
A foolish, desperate part of me thought: “If he asks, I’ll pull out my phone right now. I’ll show him the logs. I’ll prove it.”
“Faye?”
His tone had softened. It almost sounded… placating.
He stepped up behind me, his voice dropping low.
“Blakely just got her period. I bought her these pads, but I forgot to ask that other girl to run them up. Could you – ”
“Fine.” I snatched the pharmacy bag from his hand and marched straight back into the dorm building.
The last ember of hope in my chest fizzled out, turning to cold, gray ash.
I realized then that Blakely was right.
If she hadn’t been the beautiful, popular girl stopping him on the sidewalk to ask for his number, Holden Pierce never would have given me the time of day.
04
I tossed the pharmacy bag onto Blakely’s bed.
A few minutes later, she breezed in from the apartment next door, a trailing entourage of her new sorority friends in tow.
“Faye!” she chimed. “My boyfriend is treating us all to dinner tomorrow night. You’re coming, right?”
I didn’t even blink. I kept my back to her. “No.”
The second the word left my mouth, a chorus of catty, hushed giggles erupted from her friends.
“Oh my god, I told you. She’s still completely hung up on him.”
“Does she seriously think Holden would ever date “her”?”
“If you hadn’t practically begged him for his number for a week, a wallflower like her wouldn’t even be on Holden’s radar. He wouldn’t know she existed.”
“Guys, stop it!” Blakely interrupted, her voice entirely too loud, dripping with faux reprimand as she walked over to me.
“Faye isn’t like that. She’s just having a hard time adjusting. Right, Faye?”
She batted her wide, glossy eyes at me, slipping into that familiar, cloying pout she’d used on me a hundred times before.
“My ex just cheated on me, and then out of nowhere, Holden confesses his love? It feels like destiny. You’re my best friend. I just really want your blessing.”
As she spoke, she purposefully let her cardigan slip off her shoulder, revealing the jagged, ugly scar near her collarbone.
The scar she got “saving my life.”
My chest tightened. The guilt, as always, did its job.
I looked away, swallowing the bile in my throat. “Fine.”
05
I spent the entire next day forcing myself to swallow reality like a jagged pill.
When evening came, I washed my face, skipped the makeup, and walked to the restaurant.
When I arrived at the private room, Blakely and her entourage were in the restroom. Holden was sitting alone at the large table.
He glanced up, his eyes sweeping over me with cold indifference.
He gave a microscopic nod, then visibly pulled his hands off the table and leaned back, putting physical distance between us as if I were a threat.
My heart still did a stupid, pathetic little stutter.
Unbidden, memories of the old Holden – my Holden – rushed into my mind:
“I think I just saw that stray cat you were feeding yesterday. Is this her?”
“Thank you for listening to me vent last night. Are you really still not going to tell me your name?”
“Please don’t cry. Just stay away from guys like that. He’s taking advantage of the fact that you have too big of a heart.”
…
I was snapped out of my daze as the door swung open and Blakely made her grand entrance, flanked by her girls.
The moment her eyes locked onto me, her radiant smile froze. A flash of genuine panic crossed her face.
“F-Faye… why didn’t you text me you were here? I… I would have come outside to walk in with you.”
Before I could answer, Holden’s demeanor flipped like a switch. The ice melted into a warm, adoring smile. He reached out, pulling her hand into his, his voice a low, intimate murmur.
“She’s a grown woman, baby. She doesn’t need an escort. You’re cramping, you should just be focusing on yourself right now.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a sage-green Yeti tumbler, placing it gently in front of her.
“Ginger tea.”
The table erupted in a chorus of “awwws”.
Blakely flushed, playing the blushing girlfriend perfectly. She took the tumbler, but then, without thinking, asked, “Is this green cup yours?”
Before he could answer, she coyly picked a chunk of pineapple off the fruit platter with a fork and held it to Holden’s lips.
“You are so sweet to me, Holden.”
Holden didn’t move.
Blakely’s hand hovered there, the atmosphere turning slightly awkward. She pushed the fork a little closer to his mouth.
“He’s deathly allergic to pineapple.” The words were on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill out.
But I watched as the light in Holden’s eyes suddenly dimmed. Something dark and conflicted passed over his face.
In the blink of an eye, the mask was back in place.
He smiled, opened his mouth, and ate the pineapple.
His eyes crinkled in absolute adoration. “Thanks, baby.”
06
Holden sat there, leaning lazily back in his chair, watching Blakely chatter and laugh with her friends.
His fingers rhythmically, almost anxiously, tapped against the mahogany table.
His eyes were dark and unreadable.
I knew exactly what was spinning in his head.
He was wondering how the girl who had spent three weeks helping him pick out that exact sage-green Yeti tumbler could possibly ask him whose cup it was.
“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Holden said, flashing a polite, effortless smile as he stood up.
As he walked past, I caught a glimpse of what was clenched tightly in his fist.
Benadryl.
Blakely didn’t notice a thing. As soon as the door clicked shut, she turned her benevolent, queen-bee gaze on me.
“Faye, did you order yet? Seriously, get whatever you want. Holden said he’s paying for everything as a ‘thank you’ for putting up with my mood swings.”
I don’t know what was wrong with me. I had been starving all day, but suddenly, the thought of food made me nauseous.
“Whatever is fine,” I mumbled.
“Okay!” Blakely stuck her tongue out playfully and waved the waiter over.
“We’ll take all of this. Oh, and my friend here is deathly allergic to cilantro, so please make sure there’s absolutely none in her food. She’ll literally throw up.”
She looked up at the door, flashing a perfect, sickeningly sweet smile. Holden had just walked back in. She was putting on a masterclass in ‘Look what a caring friend I am.’
But Holden just stood by the door. His face went entirely blank, his eyes losing focus as a sudden, heavy realization seemed to hit him.
07
When Holden stepped out to take a phone call later, Blakely leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper for her friends.
“We went out to the quad last night, and you guys… he kissed me! We were just looking at the stars, and he went totally quiet, stared at me for like two whole minutes, and just went for it. He was so romantic. He told me I was breathtaking and that I needed to stop being so insecure…”
Amidst the squeals of her friends, she turned to me. The shy act dropped, replaced by cold calculation. She reached under the table and pulled out the Prada bag I had bought her a year ago.
“I was actually going to tell Holden the truth,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto mine. “But you saw it yourself… I’m the one he’s in love with. So, I can’t just hand him over to you. Here. This is the bag you bought me for getting his number. I’m giving it back. We’re officially even.”
“Screeech.”
My chair scraped violently against the hardwood floor.
I couldn’t breathe in this room anymore.
“I have to go,” I choked out.
I bolted for the door. I was moving too fast, completely blinded by tears.
As I rushed down the hallway, I slammed hard into a solid wall of a chest.
I didn’t even look up. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed, my voice shattering as I shoved past him and ran out into the night.
08
After that night, Holden and Blakely became the campus IT couple. Their romance was loud, public, and cinematic.
Everyone across the university knew that Holden Pierce, the untouchable ice prince, had finally been tamed by Blakely Davenport.
The guy who used to look through people was suddenly opening car doors and carrying her tote bags, sickeningly gentle around her.
Blakely was completely drunk on the power and the romance. She didn’t bother pretending to care about our fractured friendship anymore.
As for me, I survived by burying myself in campus clubs, student government, anything to keep me exhausted so I wouldn’t have to think about it.
Until one evening.
I was walking back to the apartment when I saw two silhouettes tangled together in the shadows beneath a large oak tree.
I was going to keep my head down and walk past.
But the voices anchored me to the sidewalk.
“Baby, why are you mad? Why would I ever like Faye?” Holden sounded genuinely baffled. “I have strict boundaries. I don’t even talk to other girls. You – ”
“I just hate knowing she wanted you!” Blakely whined, pushing him away slightly to pout. “We live in the same apartment. Whenever you come over, you’re going to see her… Why don’t I just move out and we get a place off-campus together?”
“I’m not doing that to you,” Holden said, his brow furrowing in the moonlight. He looked at her, a strange, calculating look in his eyes.
“For a whole year, you were so shy you wouldn’t even tell me your name. Why are you suddenly rushing everything?”
He took a deep breath, dropping his voice into a soothing, methodical cadence.
“It’s not fair to you. I want to do this right. When we graduate, we can move in together properly. We have our whole lives. There’s no need to rush, okay?”
The autumn leaves rustled above them, making Holden’s voice sound impossibly crisp in the cold air.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he said, “I do have a friend who’s single, though.”
“He’s gorgeous, but… he’s arrogant, a little reckless, total bad-boy energy.” Holden clicked his tongue. “Honestly, I have no idea if Faye could even handle a guy like him.”
Blakely let out an awkward, breathy laugh. “Yeah… that’s a great idea.” She muttered, “I’ll tell her when I go inside. I’m sure she’ll be “thrilled”.”
09
Graduation was looming.
I had already signed a lease for a small studio off-campus to get away from Blakely.
So, to avoid any more drama in our final months, when Blakely pitched the idea of setting me up with Holden’s friend, I just flatly said yes.
A few nights later, Blakely was on FaceTime with Holden. She yanked me into the frame, grinning maliciously.
“Holden’s friend is insane looking, Faye. Like, model gorgeous. I mean, his temper is awful, so you’ll just have to deal with that. He actually got arrested in high school, but hey, I heard he hasn’t put anyone in the hospital in a while!”
On the other side of the screen, a guy was yelling in the background, his voice dripping with pure, aggressive irritation.
“Are you out of your fucking mind, Holden? When have I ever wanted to be set up? Who told you to give out my number? I’ve told you a million times, I’m not dating anyone! Get that phone out of my face, I’d rather jump off a bridge than – ”
He shoved his face into the camera to yell at Holden.
Then, our eyes met.
The guy froze.
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After I shoved Wayne out of the path of a speeding truck, my cognitive development froze. I was physically growing, but mentally, I stayed five years old.
From then on, Wayne became the one who raised me.
He spent years teaching me how to write my name, over and over. He taught me to memorize our phone number, to boil pasta.
Until Isla showed up.
She was his new assistant at the firm—brilliant, polished, and glowing. They were a team. He secured the clients; she drafted the proposals. Everyone said they were the perfect match.
Slowly, I noticed him staring at her photos on his phone, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, no matter how hard I tried to boil pasta without letting it stick to the pot, no matter how hard I tried to stay out of his way…
He stopped teaching me.
“Marina, what can a child’s brain actually learn? No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be like Isla.”
The exhaustion and annoyance in his eyes suffocated me.
Finally, I tried getting a part-time job. But I couldn’t remember how many spoonfuls of sugar went into a coffee. The shop manager yelled at me, called me stupid, and kicked me out. I walked home in tears.
I stared at the old academic certificates plastering my bedroom walls—relics from before the accident—and cried for three days straight. I hated myself. I screamed at my own mind, asking why I had thrown my brain away.
When the tears dried, I begged Wayne to help me practice one last time.
He was busy proofreading a long email for Isla. He didn’t want her to face any heat from the gallery curators, so he spent ten minutes agonizing over a single comma.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Without even looking up, he shoved a flyer into my hand.
“If you really want to learn, go to the Beacon Center. Even the kids there are smarter than you.”
I didn’t say a word. I just took the flyer and followed the map.
The classroom was bright, lined with colorful foam play mats. A man in a light gray button-down shirt was kneeling on the floor, patiently teaching an eight-year-old boy how to tie his shoelaces, over and over.
He looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He paused, then offered a warm, gentle smile.
“Are you here to learn how to tie laces, too?”
…
I stared at his smile, my voice stumbling over the words as I tried to explain my situation.
“I… I want to grow up. I want to live on my own. I don’t want to be a burden anymore…”
The man stood up quietly, waiting patiently for me to piece my broken sentences together.
“You’re different from the children here. You’re capable of basic self-care. Are you sure you want to enroll?”
Was even this place going to turn me away?
Panicked, I dug into my pockets and pulled out every dollar bill I had.
“I can pay tuition!”
He let out a soft sigh, pulled out a registration form, and began writing.
“I’m Simon. Simon Beckett. I’m the instructor here.”
“I’m very strict, Marina. Learning here will be hard work.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Once the form was filled out, he had me ink my thumbprint at the bottom and sit among the children.
As soon as I sat down, the phone in my pocket vibrated. It was Wayne.
“I’m taking Isla to meet the curator. I’ll be back late.”
“Stay inside. Don’t go wandering off. There’s food in the fridge, use the microwave—”
He cut himself off with a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.
“Forget it. You don’t even have a normal brain. What do I expect you to remember?”
“Just eat it cold. Don’t touch the microwave, the outlets, or the stove.”
A dull ache bloomed in my chest. I knew how to use those things. I wasn’t as stupid as he thought. But before I could speak, the line went dead.
While I was staring at the blank screen, Simon called my name.
“Marina, I was just explaining how we build memory association. Why don’t you show us?”
Anxious, I stood up. He laid out three cards on the table.
One showed a sugar bowl, one a licking flame, one a snowflake.
“Marina, when you worked at the coffee shop, what scared you the most?”
“I… I was scared of forgetting if the customers wanted sugar, or if they wanted it iced or hot…”
He spread the cards before me, explaining that the sugar bowl meant extra sweet, the flame meant hot, and the snowflake meant iced. Then he drew one at random.
“What does this one mean?”
I scrambled for the answer, but my mind suddenly went completely blank.
My face burned. Instinctively, I covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the look of pure disappointment.
Whenever I failed to memorize our phone number, Wayne would look at me exactly like that.
“You’ve been trying to memorize a simple number for months, Marina. Are you a blockhead? Even a toddler is smarter than you! Forget it. Teaching you is a waste of time.”
But then, a gentle hand pulled my fingers away from my ears.
Simon laid the card flat in front of me.
“Don’t rush. When you try to think too fast, your brain locks up.”
He pointed to the card with the flame.
“What is this?”
“A fire.”
“And what does fire represent?”
“Hot.”
“Exactly. If a customer wants a hot drink, you associate it with the flame.”
He walked me through each card like that. On the final draw, I pictured the symbols just as he had suggested. This time, I remembered.
“See? No rush. You can do this.”
As we walked back to our seats, a little girl wearing a mushroom-patterned dress held her hand high in the air for a high-five.
“You did so good!” she cheered.
Nobody had called me good since my father died.
My throat tightened, but I blinked the tears back.
When class ended, a cold wave of anxiety washed over me.
I had spent all my money on the tuition. I didn’t have enough for a cab, I didn’t know the way, and I had never taken the public bus alone.
Simon watched the last of the children leave, then turned his gaze to me.
“Where do you live? Getting you home is your final lesson for today.”
On the bus, at every stop, he pointed out landmarks. “Look at the curved green bench. Look at the gray pedestrian bridge…”
Finally, the bus pulled up next to a massive bed of blooming roses.
“This is your stop, Marina. If you can’t remember the street names, remember the roses. They’ll guide you home.”
I stared at the apartment complex. For the first time in my life, I hadn’t waited for Wayne to fetch me.
Whenever I used to ask Wayne to teach me the way home, his impatience would flare.
“Why do you need to know the directions? With your brain, you can’t go out alone anyway. Stop making trouble. Nobody has time to hunt you down every single day.”
Eventually, I stopped asking.
Venturing out meant making trouble. And making trouble was terrifying.
At the entrance of the complex, I saw Wayne.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. The moment he caught sight of me, he lunged forward and grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip.
“I told you to stay put! Why can’t you just listen to plain English?”
He squeezed so hard I thought my bones would snap.
“Isla is still waiting for me to meet the curator, and I had to spend the last hour scouring the streets for you! Are you doing this on purpose?”
His eyes were rimmed with red, burning with the same desperate anger I’d seen years ago.
Once, we had gotten separated in a crowded mall. He had panicked so badly he tripped and cracked his kneecap searching for me. After that, he tied a red string around both our wrists. The cord chafed his skin until it bled, but he refused to take it off.
“This way, I can show you the world, and I never have to worry about losing you.”
But then Isla came along, the red string disappeared, and Wayne locked me inside.
“I was at the training center,” I whimpered, shaking my head through the pain. “Dr. Beckett is teaching me.”
Wayne stiffened. A cold, mocking sneer crept onto his face.
“Dr. Beckett? You’ve known him for a day and you already trust him?”
“You’re beyond help, Marina. If you actually want to get better, you should check into an asylum.”
I bit my lip, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I’m not crazy. I learned how to take the bus home today.”
He looked down at me, his expression icy.
“Something a normal toddler can do, and you think you’ve accomplished a miracle?”
He banned me from going back.
“You’re just begging to get conned. What else do you know how to do besides be a burden?”
The next day, Wayne stayed home. Isla came over to the apartment, too.
Her voice was sweet and bright, and she looked at me with an air of amused curiosity.
“Wayne mentioned you went to some… special development center?”
She reached into her purse, pulled out a small, beautifully wrapped box, and slid it across the table.
“A little gift. I’m sure you can use it in your classes.”
She opened the box with a sweet smile.
Inside was a pink pacifier.
I recognized the words on the label: “Soothing. Ages 0-2.”
“If you can’t understand what’s going on and want to call Wayne, just use this. Newborns chew on these and quiet down instantly. It’ll keep you nice and quiet so you don’t keep calling Wayne and interrupting his work.”
My fingers clenched into fists. I understood.
She was laughing at me, treating me like a brainless baby.
I pushed the box back. “I don’t need it. Dr. Beckett can teach me.”
Wayne’s voice rang out, devoid of warmth.
“She went out of her way to bring you a gift, and this is how you behave?”
“Honestly, Marina, what Isla brought is probably more useful than whatever that fly-by-night teacher of yours is peddling.”
His cold stare made my chest ache. It brought back a memory from childhood, when some older neighborhood boys tried to trick me into eating mud, promising it would make me smart. Wayne had tracked them down and fought them all. He came home bloody and bruised, but he wouldn’t back down.
“Marina isn’t stupid! Nobody gets to treat her like she’s stupid!”
But now, he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the people who mocked me.
Was it because I had grown even stupider in his eyes?
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t care. I’m going to class.”
Wayne’s face darkened. He grabbed my arm, dragged me out of the apartment, and forced me into his car.
He drove in silence, eventually pulling over at a chaotic, unfamiliar intersection. Groups of men lounged on the corner, smoking and drinking from cheap beer bottles.
“Didn’t your precious teacher show you how to navigate?” Wayne hissed. “Let’s see if his little tricks actually work.”
He put the car in drive, giving me one last, piercing look.
“It’s been twenty years, Marina. I’d love nothing more than for you to prove me wrong.”
The car sped away, leaving me on the curb.
One of the smoking men turned his head and whistled. “Hey sweetheart, boyfriend dump you? Want a ride?”
I scrambled backward, panic flooding my chest, and ran as fast as my legs could carry me.
I ran until my lungs burned and my knees shook. I collapsed in a crying heap in front of a small convenience store.
My phone buzzed. It was Simon.
“If you can’t commit to showing up for class, Marina, don’t come back.”
I gripped the phone tightly, sobbing.
“I’m sorry. I’m so useless. I’m lost again.”
A heavy silence hung on the other end of the line.
“Don’t cry,” he said, his voice firm but quiet.
“I taught you how to read the streets. Tell me, what do you see around you?”
I forced my tears back, blinking rapidly. “A green grocery store… and a bridge shaped like butterfly wings…”
“Excellent. Stay right there. Don’t move.”
I crouched near the storefront. After what felt like an eternity, a figure came sprinting through the intersection.
Simon’s collar was unbuttoned, his breathing heavy.
Instinctively, I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest. His ears flushed a deep crimson, and he gently, firmly pushed me back to arm’s length.
“Next time, do exactly this. The clearer you describe your surroundings, the faster someone can find you.”
He paused, his gaze softening.
“But next time, you’ll find your own way home.”
I nodded quickly.
For that day’s lesson, Simon rode the city buses with me for four straight hours. By the end of it, I had finally figured out how to identify the correct routes.
As we wrapped up, a wave of exhaustion and self-doubt hit me.
“How long does it take to become an adult?” I asked quietly.
He reached out and gently ruffled my hair.
“Even if you feel like a child, you are the brightest one I know.”
“Before this, you just didn’t have anyone to guide you properly.”
“Let’s give it a month. Let’s work hard together, okay?”
When I got home that evening, Isla was still there. Wayne was meticulously editing her proposal.
“Don’t just say ‘we are highly professional,’” Wayne murmured, his voice patient. “It sounds too cold, too aggressive. Read the next line for me.”
He guided her through the text, syllable by syllable, polishing every word.
He had only ever used that tone with me once—years ago, when he was tracing the letters of my name on a sheet of paper.
In the years since, whenever I asked him to help me read, his patience had evaporated into frustration.
“You’re going to be like this forever, Marina. What’s the point of learning a few letters?”
Wayne looked up as I walked through the door, his eyes scanning me coldly.
“How many strangers did you have to beg to get yourself home today?”
Isla rose from the couch, offering a patronizing smile.
“Well, at least she made it back. That’s better than getting caught in the rain because she didn’t know enough to run inside.”
The mockery behind her smile made my stomach turn.
I wanted to retreat to my room, but Isla stepped into my path, pointing to a book in my hands.
“Marina, I noticed that math textbook in your room. I’m actually really interested in advanced mathematics. Would you mind letting me have it?”
My heart seized.
I clutched the book tightly to my chest. It was the only thing I had left of my father.
Growing up, it had just been my dad and me. He used to hold me in his lap, pointing at the numbers and equations in this very book.
“This book kept me company while I grew up, Marina. Now it’s going to help you grow up, too. You’re going to be a mathematician, just like your old man.”
But when I was seven, on Wayne’s birthday, my father and I had gone to celebrate with him. I had run into the street, and my father had dove to push me out of the way. He was struck by a speeding car and died instantly. The trauma and head injury froze my mind at five.
My father was gone. My brain was broken. And this book was the only physical piece of his warmth I could still touch.
Wayne stood up, stepping over and reaching for the book.
“Give it to Isla, Marina. She’s a brilliant student. You can’t even read half the words in there. Keeping it in your room is just a waste of space.”
I squeezed the book tighter, tears springing to my eyes.
“No! Wayne, you promised! You know this was my dad’s!”
Wayne’s face hardened, a dark shadow crossing his features.
“Marina, I know exactly what I owe you and your father. You don’t need to constantly throw it in my face.”
He yanked the book from my hands with a sudden, violent pull.
“Rip.”
The spine snapped. The worn pages tore down the middle, scattering across the hardwood floor like dead leaves.
I dropped to my knees, frantically trying to gather the torn sheets, my tears blurring my vision and dampening the paper.
Wayne’s jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his voice came out cold and sharp.
“I’ve spent twenty years of my life taking care of you, and I didn’t cry. You lose a stupid book and you act like the victim.”
He grabbed his coat and left with Isla.
I sat on the floor, trying to piece the shredded pages back together, but they wouldn’t fit.
My phone buzzed. It was Simon, checking my homework.
“Marina, did you memorize the symbols I gave you?”
I wiped my face with a trembling hand.
“Dr. Beckett… my dad’s book is broken. Can you… can you teach me how to fix it?”
The line went silent for a beat. Then, he read out an address.
“Okay. Remember the path I taught you. Use your landmarks and find your way to this address.”
“If you can find me, I’ll help you fix your book.”
I wiped away my tears and stood up.
“I can do it.”
The sycamore tree. The gray utility pole. The blue iron gate.
Maplecrest Road. I had made it.
Simon was standing near the bus stop, his shadow stretched long under the amber glow of the streetlamp.
“You found it,” he said softly. “Looks like I have a book to repair.”
He led me into a small workshop filled with tools and machines I couldn’t name. Putting on a pair of thin gloves, he meticulously aligned the torn edges of the pages, applying a clear, specialized adhesive with steady fingers.
As he pressed the final page down, he looked up.
“We’ll let the glue cure overnight, and it’ll be as good as new.” He paused. “Did your father write these notes in the margins?”
I looked down, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness.
“Yes. My dad always said I had a mind for numbers, just like him. He said one day I’d be able to read this book.”
I instantly regretted saying it. I braced myself for the inevitable. He was going to tell me I was foolish, just like Wayne did.
But Simon only handled the page with utmost reverence.
“He was right,” Simon said, his tone quiet and utterly serious. “I will teach you.”
“We’ll start with the vocabulary. One day, you’ll read every single page.”
I stared at his downcast eyelashes. In my chest, it felt like a butterfly had suddenly fluttered its wings.
I threw myself into my lessons every day.
I learned how to measure and mix cleaning solutions with water.
I learned how to pick fresh vegetables at the market.
During our last session, Simon played the role of a coffee shop customer.
“Flame card: hot coffee. Three sugar bowl cards: extra sweet.”
I got it perfectly right.
He gently patted my head.
“Your mistakes in the past weren’t because you couldn’t do it, Marina. They were because you were afraid. Just be brave. You’re going to be fine.”
When the coffee shop manager had kicked me out, Wayne had blamed my tears.
“Look at you. Of course they threw you out. What did you expect?”
That tone had always convinced me that I was fundamentally broken.
But now, sitting across from Simon, I realized that maybe things could actually be different.
I packed up my flashcards, feeling like the day I could finally leave Wayne’s shadow was drawing closer.
When I got home, Wayne was packing a suitcase.
“I didn’t make a single mistake with the coffee orders today,” I said, wanting him to know.
Wayne’s eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn’t read.
“And? What of it?”
“Does that mean you can stand by my side like Isla does? Does that mean people will stop looking at me with pity because I’m saddled with a stray?”
He zipped his suitcase without looking at me.
“I’m going abroad with Isla for a week. She’s been planning this exhibition for months, and it’s incredibly important to her. I need to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”
I watched his back.
I remembered a few months ago, when I had caught a terrible fever. I had crept into his room holding a bottle of medicine.
“Can you teach me how to read this label? I don’t want to take the wrong dose.”
He hadn’t even looked up from his laptop.
“With your brain, I could explain it a thousand times and you’d still get it wrong. Isn’t it enough that I portioned them out for you?”
“But what if you’re not here?” I had asked.
“Then you wait until I get back. Stop making everything so difficult.”
His patience hadn’t vanished. It had just been redirected to someone else.
Before he walked out the door, I asked in a small voice, “Wayne… what if one day I can take care of myself?”
He cut me off, his voice flat.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not going to abandon you, Marina. But do me a favor and just stay put for the next few days. Please.”
To keep me from wandering off, he locked the deadbolt from the outside. He said he left food, but he had forgotten.
The fridge was practically empty—just a bag of frozen dumplings and a couple of eggs.
I stared at the stove, my hands trembling as I took a step back.
The last time I tried to cook, the pot had boiled dry, filling the kitchen with thick, black smoke. After Wayne put out the fire, he had smacked my palms as punishment.
“I’m going to take care of you for the rest of your life. Isn’t that enough? Why do you keep doing stupid things?”
I had never touched the stove since.
But my stomach was screaming with hunger.
With trembling fingers, I called Simon.
“Dr. Beckett… the door is locked from the outside. Can you… can you teach me how to boil dumplings over the phone?”
His voice came through the receiver, calm and incredibly patient.
“Fill the pot halfway with water.”
“Once the water starts bubbling, count to a hundred and twenty.”
I counted. One, two, three…
“Dr. Beckett, they didn’t burn! They’re perfect!”
But then, a strange, sweet, sulfurous smell hit my nose.
Like rotten eggs.
I remembered what Simon had taught me.
“A rotten egg smell means a gas leak.”
Wayne had mentioned a faulty pipe weeks ago, but he had brushed it off. “You don’t know how to use the stove anyway, so there’s no point in fixing it.”
“BOOM.”
A sudden blast of heat knocked me off my feet as flames erupted from beneath the stove.
I dropped to my knees, crawling frantically toward the living room, coughing violently. Instinctively, I dialed Wayne’s number.
The call connected, but his voice was tight with annoyance.
“Marina, for God’s sake, give me a second to breathe, will you?”
The line went dead. He had turned off his phone.
A searing pain shot through my arm—a stray ember had scorched my skin. Tears of pain and terror streamed down my face.
“Think, Marina. Simon taught you what to do. Think.”
Damp towel. Cover your nose and mouth.
I dragged myself into the bathroom, slamming the door and stuffing a towel into the crack beneath it.
The smoke began to seep through. My throat burned. My eyelids felt heavy, pulling me down into a dark, suffocating weight.
With the last of my strength, my thumb pressed a contact on my screen. I didn’t even see who it was before everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, the sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose. I was in a hospital bed.
Wayne’s mother, Mrs. Adler, was sitting beside me, her face pale and her eyes swollen from crying. She clutched my hand, sobbing, begging my deceased father for forgiveness.
“Thank God a good Samaritan got to you in time… We couldn’t reach that stupid boy of mine. The doctor said if they had been even a minute later…”
She glanced toward the corner of the room.
Simon was standing there, his face haggard.
I realized then that my last call had been to him.
I stared up at the white ceiling tiles, my voice raspy but clear.
“Mrs. Adler… can I have the keys to my father’s old apartment now?”
Mrs. Adler’s sobs redoubled. “Marina, sweetie, how can you live on your own? Wayne is supposed to look after you forever.”
I looked at her, my gaze steady.
“I’m twenty-five. I want to grow up now.”
Mr. Adler, who had been standing silently by the window, walked over. Without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a brass key, and gently pressed it into my palm.
Because I had managed to block the door and protect my airway, my injuries were minor, and I was discharged a few days later.
I moved into my father’s old apartment.
Simon came over to help me unpack.
“Marina, do you know what the most terrifying, yet most wonderful thing in the world is?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“It’s knowing that you have only yourself to rely on.”
I looked at him and smiled, the sun catching the dust motes in the quiet room.
“I know, Simon. I know.”
…
Wayne and Isla spent seven days abroad.
The moment his plane touched down, he turned on his phone. A barrage of missed calls and urgent text messages flooded his screen.
The final message was from his mother.
“From this day on, consider Marina dead to you.”
Panic-stricken, he raced back to the apartment, only to find the building charred and black, surrounded by yellow caution tape.
The neighbors were standing in clusters, whispering.
“The fire was massive. They carried the poor girl out, and she wasn’t even breathing. Who knows if she made it.”
“Did you see the guy who carried her out? He looked absolutely terrified. I guess she has a new boyfriend.”
Every drop of blood in Wayne’s veins turned to ice.
🌟 Continue the story here
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At the annual Met Gala-style charity auction, I wore the exact same bespoke tuxedo as my fiancée’s personal assistant.
Chase stood across from me, a smug, barely suppressed snicker pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, Lucas,” he whispered, loud enough for the nearby photographers to catch. “You’re supposed to be a man of pedigree. Why on earth are you wearing a knockoff? And a cheap, bargain-bin replica at that?”
Cassandra, my fiancée, stared at me with unmasked disgust. “Your attire is utterly embarrassing tonight, Lucas. Chase, you’ll be my escort for the evening.”
I stood perfectly still under the flashing lights of the ballroom. I knew my best friend, who had gifted me the suit, would never buy a fake. He’d spent months coordinating with a legendary Savile Row designer to get it made.
There was only one logical explanation. A thief had entered my home.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t raise my voice. I simply turned away from Cassandra and walked toward the quietest corner of the ballroom, where her older sister sat alone in a polished titanium wheelchair.
“Tonight,” I said, offering a slight bow, “I would be honored to be your escort.”
In our world, the arrangement was absolute: a man of the Mercer family had to marry a woman of the Langford dynasty to secure the generational trust. But the contract never specified which Langford daughter.
Beatrice Langford had lost the bitter family power struggle to her younger sister, Cassandra, only because a devastating car accident six months ago had left her paralyzed from the waist down.
What the Langfords didn’t know was that I possessed a legacy of my own. Beyond my family’s declining real estate empire, I was the sole practitioner of a rare, near-mythical school of neuro-regeneration—a lineage of precision micro-acupuncture known in whispered high-society circles as “The Weaver.” I had restored movement to patients on the brink of total paralysis.
A pair of damaged legs was nothing more than a puzzle waiting to be solved.
…
Three months into my engagement with Cassandra, my prospective father-in-law had insisted we attend this high-profile charity gala together to present a united front to the Wall Street press.
Before we left, my future in-laws had repeatedly lectured me about looking presentable, desperate to ensure I didn’t tarnish the pristine Langford brand.
By chance, the event fell on my birthday. My closest friend, Toby, had surprised me with a custom-tailored, bespoke tuxedo. I had hoped to step into the grand ballroom and finally feel like I belonged in this glittering, superficial world.
Instead, the moment I walked through the heavy mahogany doors of the Plaza Hotel, I saw him. Chase, Cassandra’s twenty-four-year-old personal assistant, was wearing the exact same midnight-blue tuxedo with silk-faille lapels.
We were identical. Except we weren’t.
As I approached him, my eyes locked onto the drape of his jacket. It was flawless. The fabric had a liquid sheen, the stitching invisible. Then I looked down at my own lapels. The fabric was stiff, the cut slightly off, the lining cheap polyester.
Mine was a blatant, embarrassing imitation.
Chase covered his mouth, letting out a soft, theatrical giggle.
“Honestly, Lucas, you have a family name to uphold. How could you show up in a replica that looks like it was bought off a discount rack?” He adjusted his cuffs, making sure the diamonds on his links caught the light. “An event this important, and you dress like this? It’s a slap in the face to Cassandra.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a toxic purr. “If you couldn’t afford a real custom piece, you should have just asked. I’m sure Cassandra would have bought you something passable.”
I ignored the bait. “Where did you get that suit, Chase?”
“Cassandra bought it for me, of course,” he said, puffing out his chest. “She was terrified I’d look as provincial as you, so she had it imported.” He emphasized the word provincial with a sickening, triumphant grin.
Cassandra stepped up beside him, her expression hardening the moment she saw me.
“Did you take my suit, Cassandra?” I asked quietly.
Her face flushed with immediate outrage. “Lucas, watch your tongue. It’s a tuxedo. Do you honestly think I can’t afford to buy one for my staff?”
“This specific tuxedo was hand-crafted by a master tailor in London. It is a one-of-a-kind piece,” I replied, my voice steady. “Toby pulled every favor he had to secure it for my birthday. If the real one is on your assistant’s back, then someone took it from my closet and replaced it with this trash.”
Cassandra let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You are being utterly ridiculous. I am a Langford. Why would I ever resort to petty theft? I didn’t realize you were this pathetic, Lucas.”
Toby, who had just entered the ballroom, rushed over to my side. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes darting between me and Chase.
“Wait… Lucas, what is going on? That’s the tuxedo I got you. Why is he wearing it? And why are you in a knockoff?”
I kept my gaze fixed on my fiancée. “You’ll have to ask Cassandra.”
“Toby,” Cassandra snapped, “you bought Lucas a fake, and now you’re trying to pin your cheapness on me!”
“I have never bought a counterfeit in my life! Especially not for Lucas!” Toby, furious, grabbed the hem of Chase’s jacket. “This is the exact garment I picked up from the courier!”
“Get your hands off him!”
With a sharp crack, Cassandra’s palm struck Toby’s cheek.
The sound echoed in the immediate radius of the lobby. I watched Toby’s cheek bloom into a violent red, and a cold, dangerous fury ignited in my chest.
“Cassandra!” I stepped forward, my fist clenching, but Toby grabbed my forearm, his grip tight and pleading.
“Lucas, don’t,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Please, don’t ruin things with her. We can’t afford to anger the Langfords.”
Chase watched the interaction with a smug satisfaction he barely bothered to hide, though he quickly lowered his eyes to play the martyr. “Cassandra, maybe I should just go change. I don’t want to be the reason you and your fiancé have a falling out. If Lucas wants the suit so badly, he can have it.”
“Don’t waste your breath on him,” Cassandra said, brushing a hand over Chase’s shoulder. “He’s just a classless, insecure boy from a family of failing developers. He doesn’t know any better.” She turned her icy glare back to me. “Your presence here is an embarrassment. Chase will be my guest. Don’t speak to me for the rest of the night.”
She slipped her hand through Chase’s arm, and they walked away, leaving us in the shadow of the grand staircase.
I led Toby into the private holding room down the hall, waving over a server to bring us a bucket of ice. Wrapping a handful of cubes in a cloth, I gently pressed it against his swollen cheek. My chest burned with a mixture of rage and guilt.
“I’m going to make her pay for that, Toby. I swear to God.”
“It’s just a slap, Lucas. It’ll fade by tomorrow,” Toby said, trying to offer a reassuring smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just don’t fight her. Your dad’s entire restructuring loan is dependent on this marriage. We can’t fight the Langfords.”
“She set me up,” I whispered, my teeth grinding. “She stole my suit to humiliate me in public, and then she laid a hand on you. I won’t let this go.”
But Toby’s words lingered, heavy and suffocating. I remembered my father sitting in his study three months ago, his hands trembling as he held a glass of whiskey.
“Lucas, the Langfords approached us. They want an alliance. They are willing to inject enough capital to save our entire portfolio and expand us nationwide. The only condition is that you marry into their family.”
“Why us?” I had asked, skeptical. “New York is swimming with eligible bachelors from families ten times wealthier than ours.”
“Superstition,” my father had sighed. “Their patriarch believes in old-world cosmic alignments. An astrologer told him that the Langford dynasty will crumble in this generation unless a daughter marries a son of the Mercer bloodline. It’s foolish, but to them, it’s life or death.”
“It’s absurd. I’ve never even met Cassandra.”
“If you don’t do this, Lucas… everything we’ve built for three generations will go into foreclosure. We’ll be ruined.”
Looking at my father’s tear-stained face, I had yielded. I had no one in my life, no great love to protect. I figured a marriage of convenience was a small price to pay to save my family.
When I first met Cassandra, she seemed cold but competent. I figured we could coexist. But her infatuation with her assistant had quickly crossed the line of professional boundaries.
I recalled a afternoon a month ago when I was riding in the back of Cassandra’s town car. Chase was in the front passenger seat. I was nursing a severe migraine, suffocating in the stagnant air of the cabin. When I reached to roll down the window, Cassandra snapped at me.
“Leave it. Chase gets hot easily, and I have the climate control set perfectly for him. If you open the window, you’ll ruin the air.”
“I’m nauseous, Cassandra. I need some air.”
“Then close your eyes and deal with it. It’s a short drive. Stop being so dramatic.”
Before I could reply, she locked the windows from the master console. When the car finally pulled up to our destination, I stumbled out and threw up on the pavement. Instead of checking on me, Cassandra had immediately inspected the side of her car to ensure none of her pristine paintwork had been soiled.
I had tolerated the disrespect because I believed it was simply the price of a transaction. But tonight, the transaction was void.
The Langfords needed a Mercer to secure their legacy. But Cassandra wasn’t the only Langford daughter.
Leaving Toby in the lounge, I walked back into the ballroom and headed straight for the dim corner where Beatrice sat.
“Beatrice,” I said, looking down at her. “Do you have a companion tonight?”
She blinked, startled by my sudden presence, before glancing down at her lap. “No. I usually keep to myself these days.”
“Then tonight, I am your date.”
Beatrice stared at me, her brow furrowing. “Aren’t you engaged to my sister?”
“I am,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “But I can easily become yours.”
She let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You’re losing your mind, Lucas.”
“You know the terms of the family trust,” I murmured, leaning down slightly. “The Langford heir must marry a Mercer. Do you have no desire to reclaim your birthright?”
Beatrice looked down at her useless legs, the spark of fire in her eyes briefly dimmed by grief. “My father will never hand the keys of the empire to a woman who cannot even stand on her own.”
“What if I can heal you?”
She froze, her breath catching. “What?”
“If I make you walk again, will you have the courage to take back what belongs to you?”
“If I hadn’t survived that crash intact, Cassandra wouldn’t even be in the conversation,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “The throne was always meant for me.”
“Then let’s make a deal. I heal you, and you become my shield.”
“And if you fail?”
“Then my life is yours to dispose of.”
Beatrice studied my face, searching for any sign of deceit. Finding none, she leaned back, a cold, calculating smile gracing her lips. “Very well, Lucas. I’ll take that bet.”
I stepped behind her wheelchair and began pushing her toward the center of the glittering ballroom. Within seconds, Cassandra and Chase intercepted us, their faces twisted in amusement.
“Lucas? What on earth are you doing with my sister?” Cassandra asked, her voice dripping with condescension.
“Since you found yourself a new escort, I figured I should do the same.”
“So you chose the cripple?”
Chase chuckled softly beside her. “Well, Ms. Langford, I suppose a man wearing a knockoff tuxedo belongs with a broken-down partner. It’s a fitting match.”
Beatrice didn’t flinch. She slowly looked Chase up and down, her gaze colder than ice. “Interesting. Looking at the two of you, I would have assumed the fake was the one standing next to my sister. I suppose natural elegance is something you’re born with, whereas certain street rats can be dressed in the finest silks and still smell of the gutter.”
Chase’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. “How dare you!” He tugged on Cassandra’s arm. “Cassandra, your sister is humiliating me!”
As Cassandra opened her mouth to lash out, Beatrice raised a hand, cutting her off. “What? Are you going to slap me too, Cassandra? Go ahead. Let the press have a field day with the Langford sisters brawling at a charity gala.”
Cassandra clenched her jaw, pulling Chase back. “Forget it. We don’t waste our time on charity cases.” She turned her venomous gaze to me. “But Lucas, you are still my fiancé. Parading around with my sister is a public insult to me.”
“And replacing my bespoke wardrobe with cheap replicas to dress your assistant is a compliment?” I retorted, stepping closer. “If people laugh tonight, Cassandra, they won’t laugh because I can’t afford a real suit. They will laugh because the great Cassandra Langford is too cheap to dress her own fiancé properly, choosing instead to lavish her resources on her help.”
Cassandra’s chest heaved with fury. “You—!”
“What? Want to try slapping me too?” I asked quietly. “Furthermore, let me make one thing clear. From this moment on, I will be attending to Beatrice. I am taking over as her personal physician to repair the nerve damage in her legs.”
Cassandra let out a loud, mocking laugh. “You? A doctor? The finest neurosurgeons in Switzerland couldn’t fix her spine, and you think your little family remedies will do the trick?”
“Western medicine has its limits,” I said calmly. “I practice a different art.”
Cassandra sneered at Beatrice. “You’re actually going to let this fraud touch you? Don’t cry to Father when he leaves you completely paralyzed.”
“Being dead would be preferable to living under your shadow, Cassandra,” Beatrice replied smoothly.
“Fine. But let me remind you, Lucas—if you happen to kill my sister with your little needles, my father will ensure you spend the rest of your life in a dark cell.”
“I welcome the challenge.”
At that moment, Virginia, Cassandra’s mother, swept into the circle, her face tight with irritation.
“Lucas, there you are! I have been looking for you everywhere. Why are you lingering in the corner with Beatrice instead of standing by Cassandra’s side? And what in heaven’s name are you wearing? Are you deliberately trying to embarrass our family?”
“If you find me that embarrassing, Mrs. Langford, you are more than welcome to call off the engagement,” I said, my voice completely devoid of warmth. “No one is forcing your daughter to marry me.”
Without waiting for her reply, I wheeled Beatrice toward the exit.
Behind us, Virginia’s voice rose in a shrill screech. “Did he just walk away from me? The nerve of that boy! I will ensure his father’s business is ruined by morning!”
Cassandra’s cruel laughter followed us into the night. “Don’t worry, Mother. Let him play doctor. When he fails and kills her, Father will destroy him for us.”
We ignored them, stepping out into the cool New York air and boarding a waiting town car.
Once we arrived at Beatrice’s private penthouse, I unlocked a velvet-lined rosewood box containing my family’s heirloom silver needles.
I looked into her eyes. “Do you trust me, Beatrice?”
Without a single moment of hesitation, she nodded. “Start.”
“It will take thirteen days,” I said, gently rolling up the hem of her trousers. “On the thirteenth day, you will stand.”
I paused, looking at her. “Your mother… she is still in a vegetative state at Mount Sinai, correct?”
“Yes,” Beatrice whispered, a shadow of profound grief crossing her face.
Beatrice and Cassandra were half-sisters. Six months ago, a brutal car crash had not only shattered Beatrice’s spine but had plunged her mother, Miriam—the true matriarch of the Langford fortune—into a deep, irreversible coma. Conveniently, Virginia and Cassandra had seized control of the family estate immediately afterward.
“If you trust me,” I said, “I can wake her up too.”
Thirteen days later, the grand ballroom of the St. Regis was decorated for my formal engagement party to Cassandra.
I arrived wearing a meticulously tailored, modern high-collar obsidian suit, a sharp contrast to the western formalwear of the guests.
When I entered the reception hall, I found Cassandra and Chase already holding court near the champagne tower. Chase was dressed in an identical obsidian suit, though his was adorned with ostentatious gold embroidery along the collar.
To any outsider, it was impossible to tell which of us was the groom.
Cassandra smiled mockingly as I approached. “Lucas, look. Chase is acting as your best man today. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“A best man who dresses identically to the groom?” I asked, my voice dry. “And this is an engagement party, not a wedding. Why would I need a best man?”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” Cassandra dismissed with a wave of her hand. “It looks festive. Stop being so incredibly petty.”
“I’m not petty at all,” I replied, a slow smile gracing my lips. “In fact, I don’t care what he wears. Because I’m not the one getting engaged to you today.”
Cassandra’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about? If you aren’t marrying me, who else would you marry? Beatrice?”
“Exactly.”
I stepped back as the double doors of the ballroom swung open. I wheeled Beatrice directly toward her father, Robert Langford, who was standing with a group of major shareholders.
“Mr. Langford,” I announced, my voice echoing across the silent hall. “I am ready to fulfill the Mercer alliance. But the woman I am marrying is Beatrice.”
Cassandra rushed forward, her face contorting with rage. “Are you insane? Beatrice is a useless cripple! She can’t inherit the firm, and she certainly can’t lead this family!”
“Who says Beatrice is a cripple?” I asked.
Before the eyes of the city’s elite, Beatrice placed her hands on the armrests of her chair. With slow, deliberate grace, she rose to her feet.
At that exact second, Robert’s personal assistant burst through the doors, pale and breathless.
“Sir! Mr. Langford! Your wife… Miriam has just woken up!”
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I have always struggled with social anxiety, and growing up, Leo was always the one who stepped in to speak for me.
“My Hope is a little shy,” he’d say, a protective arm slung over my shoulder. “Don’t scare her.”
For years, I believed him. I believed that his protection was my sanctuary.
Until the night before the varsity debate tournament. I was huddled in the quietest corner of the campus library, clutching my speech, my palms slick with sweat.
Leo had promised to run through my arguments with me. But then Phoebe, the new transfer student in our department, sent him a text saying her laptop had crashed. Just like that, he stood up and walked away.
Before he left, he slapped a sticky note onto my desk.
“I wrote the entire brief for you,” he said, his voice flat. “Just read it. You can’t rely on me for everything, Hope.”
I stared at that sticky note, waiting for him to come back. I waited the entire night.
Later, as I walked past the computer lab, I heard Phoebe’s soft, teasing laugh drift through the cracked door.
“Are you sure you should have left her like that? What if she cries?”
Leo’s response was low, dismissive.
“Let her cry. She needs to grow up anyway.”
The next day, under the harsh auditorium lights, my throat closed up. I choked on my opening statement. In the past, Leo would have been the first to jump in, to seamlessly pivot and cover for me.
But that day, he was sitting right next to the judges’ panel, his head bent toward Phoebe, effortlessly twisting open a bottle of water for her.
When the round ended, he finally looked at me, his forehead creasing with irritation.
“Hope, honestly, you embarrassed me out there today.”
I looked at the water bottle in his hand, and then at the sticky note in mine. The ink of his handwriting was still clear.
But the shield that had protected me from the wind for years had turned its back, leaving me entirely in the cold.
…
When Leo finally held the bottle out to me, the cap was already loosened.
I didn’t take it.
My thumb pressed against the corner of the sticky note, the paper softened and warped by the sweat of my palms. It held the opening hook he had crafted for me.
Phoebe stood right beside him, a soft, sympathetic smile on her lips. “Oh, Leo, don’t be so hard on her. She was already so nervous.”
Leo’s brow didn’t clear. “I’m not being hard on her. I’m just trying to make her realize that in the real world, you can’t always count on someone to swoop in and save you.”
Ryan, our third speaker, glanced between us and offered a quiet, awkward shrug. “I mean, Leo has a point, Hope. It was pretty rough up there. Even the judges were looking uncomfortable.”
I lowered my eyes, quietly tucking the sticky note into the folder of my printed brief. “Yeah. I know.”
My flat response seemed to catch Leo off guard. His hand hovered in the air, the water bottle suspended between us.
“Good,” he muttered, pulling his hand back. “Because the divisional round is next week. You need to go back to the dorm and practice. A lot.”
Phoebe leaned in, her eyes bright. “Honestly, Hope’s writing is beautiful. It’s just her delivery—it’s a little too soft. Maybe I could run some drills with her before the next round?”
Leo turned to look at Phoebe, his tone instantly softening. “Focus on your own laptop first. We don’t need it crashing in the middle of the night again.”
A few other teammates chuckled. Someone cracked a joke: “Listen to him. He sounds like a nagging husband already.”
Phoebe’s ears flushed pink. She gave Leo a playful shove. “Shut up, you guys. Stop making things up.”
Leo didn’t pull away. He just let out a low, comfortable laugh.
My hands froze on my papers. I took a slow breath and packed them into my tote bag, zipping it shut.
Once, that warm, intimate laugh had belonged solely to me.
I remembered our freshman year, during our first seminar. The professor had made everyone stand up and introduce themselves. I had stood at the front of the lecture hall, my fingers frantically digging into my sleeves, unable to squeeze out a single syllable.
Leo had stood up from the very back row, offering a charming, easy smile to the room.
“Her name is Hope,” he had said. “She’s a bit shy, so don’t stare too hard, guys. Give her a break.”
The room had chuckled, the tension dissolving. And I had breathed a sigh of relief.
He still laughed like that now. Only the recipient had changed.
On the way back to the dorms, Leo caught up to me. His fingers wrapped gently around my wrist, pulling me to a halt.
“Why are you walking so fast?” he asked, looking down at me. “Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment because of what I said? I was just trying to help.”
I tried to tug my wrist back, but his grip remained firm.
“I’m fine.”
He watched me, the familiar warmth of his palm seeping through my skin. “Hope, I know you better than anyone. When you say you’re fine, you’re the exact opposite.”
Phoebe caught up with us then, her footsteps light on the pavement. “You two have that childhood-friend telepathy, don’t you? Even your arguments have secret codes.”
Leo let go of my wrist, adjusting his jacket with a shrug. “She’s always been like this. Quiet. A little dramatic. You just have to humor her and she’ll bounce back.”
I clutched my folder a little tighter against my chest. “I don’t need to be humored, Leo.”
Leo blinked, clearly taken aback, before letting out a soft laugh. “Alright, no humoring. But you’re going to read through your opening arguments three times tonight. I’ll test you tomorrow.”
Phoebe tilted her head. “Can you test me too, Leo? I’m terrified I’m going to drag the team down during the divisionals.”
Leo reached over and took the heavy binder from her arms. “You don’t need it. Your impromptu delivery is much better than hers.”
He said it so casually, so naturally, that it felt like a physical blow.
My eyes fell to the corner of the yellow sticky note peeking out of my bag, and suddenly, his neat, bold handwriting felt like an eyesore.
At the entrance of my dorm building, Leo pulled a fresh pad of sticky notes from his backpack and handed them to me.
“You always forget to highlight your transitions,” he said. “Take these. I’ll help you map out your logic tomorrow.”
They were pastel yellow.
Ever since middle school, he had always bought me this exact shade. He used to say that yellow was bright enough to cut through my cluttered thoughts, helping me find my focus.
I took the pad, my lips parting to say thank you, when Phoebe suddenly gasped, frantically rummaging through her purse.
“Oh no! I think I left my campus card in the debate hall.”
Leo immediately turned around. “I’ll go back with you to get it.”
He took a couple of steps, then looked back over his shoulder. “Go on up, Hope. Don’t wait for me. Make sure you practice tonight. No slacking.”
I stood there, watching them walk away shoulder to shoulder. A sudden gust of wind caught the sticky notes in my hand, flipping the top page open.
There was handwriting on the very first sheet. Three words, written in Leo’s unmistakable hand:
“For Phoebe.”
I stared at it. I walked up to my room, placed the pad on the corner of my desk, and didn’t touch it for the rest of the night.
My roommate, Bella, walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her wet hair. Seeing me motionless at my desk, she tapped the wood.
“You’ve been staring at that piece of paper for thirty minutes, Hope. Is it going to sprout legs and talk to you?”
I slowly peeled off the top sheet, crumpling it into my fist. “Leo gave me the wrong pad.”
Bella leaned in, squinting at my hand. “Is that… Phoebe’s name?”
I nodded, pushing the rest of the yellow pad away. “He probably bought them together and got them mixed up.”
Bella dropped onto her bed, sighing heavily. “Stop making excuses for him, Hope. He didn’t speak up for you once today. But the second Phoebe looked at him, he couldn’t wait to play the gentleman and open her water bottle.”
I didn’t answer. I just opened my laptop to revise my brief, the bright screen illuminating my pale face.
A notification popped up on my phone. It was a text from Leo.
“10:00 AM tomorrow. Debate room. Don’t be late.”
A few seconds later, another message followed:
“Let’s move past today. Don’t let a small thing get between us.”
I stared at the words for a long time before typing out a single word: “Okay.”
The next morning, I arrived at the debate room ten minutes early.
The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the gap, Phoebe’s voice drifted out.
“Do you think my delivery would sound more persuasive for this rebuttal? Hope is just… so soft. She doesn’t really hold the room’s attention.”
Then, Leo’s low murmur replied: “That’s why I want you to practice it. We aren’t officially changing speakers yet, but we need a solid backup.”
My hand froze on the doorknob. Inside, someone on the team chuckled.
“Wow, Leo. Talk about planning ahead. But if Hope finds out you wrote a parallel brief for Phoebe, won’t she shut down again?”
Leo’s voice remained calm, entirely indifferent.
“She won’t make a scene. She’ll just hide in her room and pout for a couple of days. She always does.”
Phoebe let out a soft, pleased laugh. “You really have her figured out, don’t you?”
Leo didn’t deny it. “She can’t function without me.”
When I finally pushed the door open, the room fell into a sudden, awkward silence.
Leo looked up and saw me, his expression smoothing out instantly. “You’re here. Sit down, don’t just stand at the door.”
I noticed the papers in Phoebe’s hand. They were identical to mine—even the placement of the sticky notes was exactly the same.
I stared at them, my voice barely a whisper. “Is that… my brief?”
Leo’s tone took on a professional, slightly stern edge. “Your arguments are strong, Hope, but your delivery is too unstable. Phoebe is going to run through it to demonstrate how it should sound. Watch and learn from her.”
I looked from the papers to Phoebe’s face. “So… am I still the second speaker for the divisionals?”
Phoebe didn’t say anything. She just smoothed down the edges of the paper.
Leo leaned back in his chair, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. “Right now, you should be focusing on how to improve, not obsessing over who gets to read the speech.”
Bella walked into the room behind me, letting out a sharp, cold laugh. “Hope stayed up all night writing that brief, Leo. Since when did her work become community property?”
Leo raised his head, his tone polite but icy. “This is debate team business, Bella. Stay out of it.”
Bella opened her mouth to argue, but I reached out and gently pulled her sleeve. “It’s fine,” I murmured.
Hearing those words, the tension in Leo’s shoulders visibly eased. He probably thought I was doing what I always did—shrinking back, letting him have his way.
When the practice run began, Phoebe took the podium with my notes. Her voice was clear, her pacing immaculate. The rest of the team immediately showered her with praise.
“Now that’s what a second speaker should sound like!”
“Honestly, Phoebe makes this brief sound so much better.”
“Hope, you should really take some notes. Don’t let Leo’s prep work go to waste.”
Leo stood by the whiteboard, glancing over at me. “See? No one is attacking you, Hope. I’m doing this for your own good.”
I nodded slowly. “I see.”
My calm reaction didn’t seem to satisfy him. He walked over, ripping off a sticky note and slapping it onto my folder. “Revise this transition. Don’t make it so convoluted. The judges won’t have the patience to sit through your build-up.”
I looked down at the note. In the bottom corner, instead of the star he usually drew for me, there was a tiny sketched flower.
Phoebe giggled from behind him. “Oh, I drew that. Just a habit. You don’t mind, do you?”
I shut my folder. “No. I don’t mind.”
Leo kept his eyes on me, his tone dropping. “You’re acting weird today.”
I met his gaze. “I’m just taking your advice. Trying to grow up.”
During the lunch break, I went to the campus print shop to make fresh copies of my revised notes. Next to the main printer, a draft of the divisional roster was lying face-up. The wind rustled the pages, revealing a yellow sticky note stuck to the corner.
“Hope’s emotional state is too unstable. Slotting Phoebe in as second speaker.”
The signature at the bottom belonged to Leo.
The printer attendant stepped out, glancing at the machine. “Your copies are ready, miss. Don’t forget your papers.”
I picked up my warm sheets of paper, my voice barely audible. “Excuse me… is the divisional roster being submitted today?”
The clerk flipped through some files on the counter. “Yep. Has to be turned in to the Student Government by five tonight. Why?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Thank you.”
When I returned to the debate room, Leo was walking Phoebe through the cross-examination strategy. He held a red pen, patiently circling key points on her sheet. His voice was unusually gentle.
“Pause for half a second here,” he instructed. “Don’t rush. When you rush, you sound overly defensive.”
Phoebe rested her chin in her hands, looking up at him. “What about Hope? When she gets nervous, she just stops talking altogether.”
Leo smiled faintly. “That’s why she needs to practice.”
I walked in and set my printed files on the table. “Leo, I need to ask you something.”
He didn’t look up from Phoebe’s paper. “In a minute. Let me finish smoothing out this section for Phoebe.”
Bella stood up from her corner. “How long does it take to answer a single question, Leo? Didn’t you use to say that whatever Hope had to say was the most important thing in the room?”
Leo finally raised his head, his expression hardening. “Bella, you’ve been looking for a fight all day.”
Phoebe quickly tried to play peacemaker. “Hey, let’s not fight. We’re all on the same team. Hope, what did you want to ask?”
I kept my eyes on Leo. “The divisional roster. Have you turned it in yet?”
Leo’s fingers tensed around his red pen. He slowly set it down. “Not yet. Why do you ask?”
“Can I see it?”
He slid his folder shut, his voice dropping an octave. “Hope, don’t you trust me?”
He had asked me that same question before. Back in high school, before the homecoming assembly, I had been terrified of forgetting my lines and asked if he could stay late to help me run through them.
He had pressed a sticky note onto the back of my hand then, smiling. “Don’t you trust me? If I say you can do this, you can.”
He had stayed with me until midnight that night. And for years, whenever he said “trust me”, I did.
But now, looking at his hand firmly clamping the folder shut, I slowly retracted my hand. “I do.”
Leo’s posture relaxed slightly. “Then stop overthinking. I’ll take care of it this afternoon.”
Phoebe slid a paper cup of milk tea toward me. “Here, Hope, have something sweet. Don’t be so tense. Leo is just tough love, but he has a soft heart.”
Bella reached over and pushed the cup away. “She doesn’t drink taro milk tea. Phoebe doesn’t know that, Leo, but did you forget too?”
Leo went quiet for a beat. “It slipped my mind.”
Phoebe looked appropriately embarrassed. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought all girls liked taro.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine.”
Suddenly, a couple of students from the Student Government knocked and entered the room. The senior in the lead, Adrian, was holding a stack of official forms. His eyes swept across the room.
“We’re collecting the signed divisional rosters today. Who is Hope?”
I stood up. “I am.”
Adrian handed me a sheet. “There’s been a change to your registration details. I need you to review it and sign to confirm if everything is correct.”
Leo reached out to intercept the paper before it reached me. “She gets overwhelmed easily. I’ll review it for her.”
Adrian didn’t let go of the form. “The student has to sign it themselves. No proxies allowed.”
Leo’s hand hovered in the air, his polite smile fading. “I’m the team captain. I’ve always handled her paperwork.”
Adrian ignored him and looked directly at me. “Do you need him to handle it for you, Hope?”
The room fell dead silent. Everyone was waiting for my answer.
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out of my tight throat. “No. I don’t.”
Leo shot me a warning, displeased look.
I took the form from Adrian. My eyes scanned the page. Under the slot for the second speaker, my name had been crossed out, and “Phoebe” was written in its place. In the remarks section, there was a typed note:
“Hope has voluntarily stepped down to serve as a research assistant.”
I clutched the paper, my fingers trembling slightly. I didn’t sign.
Adrian spoke softly. “If this wasn’t your decision, you have the right to refuse to sign.”
Leo stepped closer, his finger pressing down on the corner of the paper. “Hope, let’s not make a scene in front of guests. Just sign it, and I’ll explain everything later.”
I looked up at him. “Why am I the research assistant?”
He glanced around the room, keeping his voice low and measured. “Because your current headstate isn’t suited for the stage. Phoebe can win this for us. We can’t risk the entire team’s performance just to accommodate your anxiety.”
Phoebe bit her lip. “Hope, please don’t misunderstand. I only just found out about this. Leo said you were under too much pressure, so I agreed to help out.”
Ryan chimed in quietly from the back. “Actually, it makes sense. Hope writes the arguments, Phoebe delivers them. It’s a pretty efficient division of labor.”
Bella let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Efficient? You steal her work, kick her off the stage, and then force her to sign a paper saying she did it voluntarily? Yeah, sounds real fair.”
Leo tapped his knuckles on the table. “That’s enough. Quiet down.”
I stared down at the form. My eyes drifted to the open binder on Leo’s desk, where a corner of a print receipt was peeking out. The print timestamp was from two nights ago, at the third-floor library printer.
The night he had told me Phoebe’s laptop crashed.
But the receipt showed that Phoebe’s account had been used to print my entire, completed brief.
I slowly folded the registration form and handed it back to Adrian. “I need some time to verify this.”
Adrian nodded understandingly. “Sure. Bring it to the Student Government office before five. After that, the system locks.”
Once Adrian was out of earshot, Leo turned on me, his eyes dark. “Hope, you just put me in an incredibly difficult position.”
I pulled my tote bag close. “You could have told me beforehand.”
“And if I did, would you have agreed?” he countered, exasperated. “You would have cried, shut down, and made everyone walk on eggshells around you. How would we have prepped for the debate then?”
Phoebe said softly, “Leo, don’t say that. I’m sure she didn’t mean to make things hard.”
Leo rubbed his temples. “I know she didn’t. That’s why I made the decision for her.”
I stared at him. “For me?”
“Hope, I’ve spent our entire lives shielding you from things,” he said, his tone softening back into that patronizing warmth. “You know that. This is no different. I’m helping you.”
Bella grabbed my wrist. “Hope, let’s get out of here.”
Leo stepped in front of the door, blocking our path. “We have a mock trial at three. You can’t leave yet. At least hand over your research notes before you go.”
I looked at his outstretched hand. The hand that used to block microphones when I was too terrified to speak. The hand that used to slip reassuring notes into my palms.
Now, it was just a barrier keeping me trapped.
I handed my bag to Bella. “I need to use the restroom.”
Leo stepped aside. “Don’t be long.”
I didn’t go to the restroom. I went straight to the third floor of the library.
The printer tracking system in the campus lab was still logged in. The student worker on duty recognized me and pulled up the logs, offering a casual comment:
“Your debate team has been printing a lot lately. Actually, that tall guy—Leo, right?—came by last night asking to delete one of the print history entries. Said he didn’t want his girlfriend to get the wrong idea.”
My chest tightened. “Which entry?”
“Uh, let me look… He said someone borrowed his account, and leaving the log would cause a misunderstanding. It was Phoebe’s account, printing a full brief at 9:27 PM two nights ago.”
I stared at the screen. The digital footprints were clear as day.
Phoebe’s account: 9:27 PM, printing my debate brief.
Leo’s account: 9:29 PM, printing the registration change form.
At 9:30 PM, he had sent me that text: “Don’t be nervous. I’ll be right there with you tomorrow.”
I took a photo of the screen on my phone.
When I returned to the debate room, the mock trial was already underway. Phoebe was standing at the podium, delivering my words with effortless charisma.
Leo sat by the judges’ table, a thick pad of yellow sticky notes in his hand. Every time she finished a point, he would walk over and stick one onto her folder.
“Great job here.”
“Brilliant point.”
“Flawless finish.”
Every single note was pastel yellow.
I stood by the doorway, listening to the quiet chatter of the team members.
“Phoebe is honestly such a better fit than Hope.”
“Yeah, Leo should have made this swap weeks ago. Hope’s writing is fine, but her delivery is just too painful to watch.”
“But won’t Hope be upset?”
“Ah, Leo said she’s codependent. He’ll just buy her some food and she’ll be fine.”
When the mock round concluded, Phoebe had scored the highest marks in the room. Leo stood up, clapping his hands. “Perfect. We’re running this exact version for the tournament.”
I stepped into the room. “And what about me?”
He turned, his brow furrowing when he saw me. “Where were you? The team’s been waiting for you to hand over the research.”
Phoebe trotted over, clutching her notes, her expression a mask of sweet guilt. “Hope, I’m so sorry. We ran a trial and the chemistry was just so good. Do you think I could take this round? I promise I’ll make it up to you and let you have the next one.”
I looked past her, straight at Leo. “Is that what you want too?”
Leo’s voice remained even, bathed in that familiar, reasonable tone. “Hope, don’t put so much weight on a single tournament. Pushing yourself onto a stage you’re not ready for will only make you look foolish.”
I gave a small nod. “I didn’t sign the change form.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a different sheet of paper. “I figured. That’s why I prepared a withdrawal statement for you. You just need to sign this.”
Bella’s voice shook with rage. “Leo, are you out of your mind?”
Leo ignored her, holding the pen out to me. “Just sign it, Hope. Don’t make things difficult for the team.”
I looked down at the paper. In the section for the reason for withdrawal, it read:
“Student is experiencing psychological instability and is currently unfit for public speaking engagements.”
Phoebe said softly, “Hope, please don’t be mad at Leo. He stayed up so late last night drafting this to make sure the wording was gentle enough so it wouldn’t impact your future applications for campus clubs.”
Leo snapped his head toward her. “Phoebe.”
She quickly shut her mouth, realizing she had let something slip.
But the truth was already out in the open. It wasn’t a last-minute decision. He had planned this long in advance.
Leo pushed the pen closer to my hand. “Come on, Hope. Be good. Sign it, and I’ll take you out to that diner you love.”
I took the pen. Just a second before the nib could touch the paper, Adrian’s voice drifted in from the doorway.
“Hope, I brought your original registration form.”
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During our dinners, Logan would always snap the sharp wooden tips off the skewers and place them right next to Cassie’s hand.
He made sure the broken, blunt ends faced outward so she could grab them easily without looking.
I sat across from them, watching in silence as Logan anticipated her every need.
“Be careful,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her. “Don’t poke your lip like you did last time.”
Meanwhile, the table in front of me was crowded with plates of extra-spicy wings and chili-laden dishes. There wasn’t a single thing I could eat.
Once Cassie had eaten her fill, Logan reached over and pushed her leftover skewers toward me like an act of charity.
“Go ahead and finish these. Don’t let them go to waste.”
I looked down at my hand. The faint, jagged scar between my thumb and forefinger was still visible—a reminder of the heavy, rusted kitchen shears he had handed me last month. He hadn’t asked if I was hurt then; he had only sighed, annoyed, and told me to go buy some Neosporin.
But right now, because Cassie had managed to get a microscopic wooden splinter in her finger, he was holding her hand like it was made of spun glass, spent five minutes delicately working a pair of tweezers.
I quietly pushed the remaining chili-covered skewers back to the center of the table and stood up.
“It’s going to rain soon. You two finish up, I’m going to head back.”
I thought of our wedding, scheduled for next month.
Deep down, a quiet certainty settled in my chest: the groom had to change.
…
Logan looked up at me, his hand holding the tweezers pausing for a fraction of a second.
“Wait for me—” He cut himself off, his eyes lingering on my thin jacket before shifting to Cassie, who was shivering slightly beside him.
“Get home safe,” he said.
The bulb above our apartment porch had been dead for over a year. I had asked Logan to fix it countless times, but he never got around to it. Every night, I had to fumble through the pitch-black entryway to find my keys.
Our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, caught me struggling in the dark. “Back alone again, Naomi? I thought you two were heading out of town today to visit your parents.”
I forced a polite smile. “Something came up at his work. He couldn’t get away.”
It was four hours later when the front door finally clicked open.
Logan’s right shoulder was dark and soaked from the rain. He shook off his coat and hung it on the rack. “It’s supposed to freeze tomorrow. Make sure you pack an extra jacket for Cassie when you go out. You know how she always forgets.”
“Why are you so late?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Logan glanced at me, kicking off his shoes. “You left too early. If you’d stayed, you could’ve caught the movie with us. If you really want to see it, I can take you this weekend to see it again, or you can just go by yourself.”
“When this weekend?”
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Things are just crazy at work right now. I can’t say for sure. Besides, Cassie’s been struggling to find a job since she moved here, and she’s really depressed. I need to keep an eye on her.”
I stared at him.
“Crazy at work.” I had heard those three words for years.
Whenever my plans clashed with Cassie’s needs, I was always the one expected to yield, to compromise, to step back. In the end, his solution was always for me to do things alone.
“My parents called,” I said. “They wanted to know why we canceled again.”
“Didn’t I tell you to just tell them I was slammed with a new project? We’ll go down together next time. It’s the same thing.” He sighed, loosening his collar. “Cassie is completely alone in this city. She doesn’t know anyone. It’s exactly like how we were when we first arrived.”
Looking into his eyes, a sudden wave of memory washed over me.
When I first followed Logan to this city, I had nothing but a single, battered suitcase. He had held my hands, his eyes burning with a fierce, protective warmth. “We’ll buy our own place here,” he had whispered. “I promise I’ll take care of you forever, Naomi.”
I had believed him.
But somewhere along the way, I had ceased to be the only person he wanted to protect. I had simply become one of his many responsibilities—and the easiest one to neglect.
“I know I’ve been spending a lot of time helping her lately,” Logan said, stepping closer and tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “But her mother practically begged me to look after her. She’s like a little sister to me, Naomi. Once she gets settled on her own feet, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
I flinched slightly, tilting my head away from his touch. I didn’t answer.
He could plan out Cassie’s future so clearly, yet he completely forgot how long my parents had been waiting for us to visit. I hadn’t been home for the holidays in years, and this trip had been his idea in the first place. I had spent weeks looking forward to it.
Now, a simple “she’s like a sister” was supposed to excuse everything, pinning me to a wall of quiet humiliation.
It wasn’t that he was too busy. He just didn’t think I was worth his time or his patience.
He noticed the mug in my hand and frowned. “Is that hot chamomile tea?”
“I’m not feeling well. My stomach has been cramping.”
His brow furrowed further. “Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known, I would’ve ordered some soup to the apartment. You shouldn’t have come out to a spicy diner in the first place.” He paused, adjusting his watch. “Look, since you’re under the weather, I’ll just partner up with Cassie for the neighborhood association’s charity scavenger hunt next week.”
“You know that’s an event for couples, right?” I said.
Sensing the coldness in my voice, Logan reached out and squeezed my hand. His voice dropped to a coaxing murmur. “I know, babe. But the grand prize is a luxury weekend getaway voucher. It’s a waste not to try. Once we win it, you and I will go on a trip. Just the two of us.”
I had spent three consecutive days refreshing the registration page just to secure a spot for us in that event. The voucher was for a coastal resort I had dreamed of visiting for months.
Yet even a promise like that could be reassigned to Cassie without a second thought.
I remembered last New Year’s Eve. A single, panicked phone call from Cassie about a blown fuse was all it took for Logan to leave me in the middle of our dinner. I had spent the night curled up alone in bed, flinching at the sound of the thunder outside, unable to sleep until the sky turned gray.
Since Cassie moved to this city, I had lost count of how many nights I spent waiting up for a husband-to-be who never came home.
“Oh, by the way,” Logan added, “Cassie has a business trip next weekend. I’ll need to go with her.”
“When?”
“Next Friday. Her mother asked me to accompany her to make sure she’s safe.”
The tightness in my throat was almost suffocating, but I forced the words out anyway. “You promised we’d go to my parents’ house next weekend. Do you even remember what day next Saturday is?”
He blinked, his mind blank as he tried to calculate the date. “Cassie’s trip is her very first major assignment for her new job. We can visit your parents anytime, Naomi. And we can celebrate your birthday when I get back.”
He poured a little warm water into my mug, his tone incredibly reasonable. “How about we celebrate your birthday a few days early? And just ask your parents to wait a little longer.”
“My parents haven’t seen us in a year, Logan.”
“It’s fine. I’ll buy some really nice gifts to bring over when we finally go. They’ll understand.”
A profound, hollow exhaustion settled deep into my bones. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Fine. Whatever you want.”
Logan froze, surprised by my sudden compliance. “You’re agreeing just like that?”
I offered a small, empty smile. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
It really didn’t. I used to scream, to cry, to demand his attention. But the result was always exactly the same.
On my birthday last year, he had stayed late to help Cassie finish a project at her apartment. The small strawberry cake I had bought sat on the counter, melting into a sweet, sticky mess by the time he finally unlocked the door.
His only comment back then had been: “You shouldn’t eat cake so late at night, Naomi. It’s bad for your figure.”
Before I could say anything, a sharp wave of nausea hit me. I bolted to the bathroom and threw up until my ribs ached.
When I finally wiped my mouth and walked back out, Logan was already gone. The bedroom light was turned off.
It was always like this. He never waited for me.
I pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and sent a message to a name I hadn’t written to in a long time.
[I’m getting married next month. Do you want to be the groom?]
Then, I opened a travel app and booked a one-way ticket for the following week.
Seven days. That should be more than enough time to pack up my life. Since he was never going to accompany me home, I would simply go alone—and never come back.
“Can you drop me off at the office today? It’s pouring outside,” I asked the next morning.
Logan was standing by the counter, carefully packing fresh, warm croissants from the bakery down the street into a brown paper bag.
“Cassie’s been craving these French pastries all week. If I don’t get them to her office right now, they’ll get cold,” he said, his fingers busy with the tape. He didn’t even look up at me.
“When will you be home?”
“Not sure. She’s still settling into her apartment, so I should probably drop by after work to see if she needs help with anything.” He paused, finally looking at me. “Make sure you grab some breakfast downstairs. That new bakery Cassie likes is really good. You should try it.”
His phone buzzed. He picked it up and began typing rapidly. I caught a glimpse of the screen. Cassie’s contact name was saved with an ‘A’ in front of it, ensuring she always remained at the very top of his list.
Without another word, he grabbed his keys and rushed out the door, leaving me alone in the quiet apartment.
The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the windowpane. I zipped my coat up to my chin and grabbed the old, squeaky black umbrella from the stand by the door. The good, sturdy one was gone; Logan had taken it to Cassie because she “liked the bright color.”
By midday, my stomach cramps had escalated into a sharp, burning pain. Unable to focus, I took a sick day and returned home to rest.
But as I reached our door, the sound of muffled laughter and playful banter filtered through the wood.
“It’s pouring out there! Thank God you picked me up, Logan.”
“I’m completely soaked. You’re seriously the best, keeping a change of my clothes here.”
“Stop squirming. Your hair is still dripping. You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t dry it.”
I stood frozen in the hallway, my hand hovering over the handle.
I had no idea what face to wear if I walked in. Should I smile and tell them to carry on? Or should I demand to know why Cassie had a wardrobe in our shared home?
Before I could make up my mind, the door swung open from the inside.
“Naomi! What are you doing standing out here?” Cassie squeaked, her eyes wide. “Logan and I were just about to run out and grab some road trip snacks for next weekend. You should come with us!”
She was wearing my favorite oversized knit sweater. On her feet were the matching couple’s slippers I had bought for our home.
“My stomach is killing me,” I said quietly, leaning against the doorframe. “Could you bring back some medicine?”
Logan’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s wrong? All of a sudden?”
“Probably the spicy food from last night.”
“I told you that you shouldn’t have gone out,” Logan sighed, his tone a mix of irritation and mild concern. “Just wait inside. I’ll text you when I buy it.”
I didn’t reply. I walked past them into the living room and sat on the sofa.
On the coffee table, the hair dryer was still warm to the touch. Logan hadn’t dried my hair in years. He always said it took too long and made his wrists ache.
Two hours crawled by. My phone remained completely silent.
Unable to bear the throbbing in my abdomen any longer, I opened an app and ordered the medicine myself. The nearest pharmacy was barely two hundred yards away. Within ten minutes, the delivery courier was knocking on the door.
He looked at my pale face and the sweat beaded on my forehead. “Are you alright, ma’am? Is there no one else here to help you?”
Before I could answer, the elevator doors down the hall chimed.
Logan walked out, his arms laden with grocery bags and boxes of snacks. There was no pharmacy bag in his hands.
He saw the delivery courier and blinked. “Oh, you already ordered it? Perfect, saved me a trip down.”
I took the package, thanked the courier, and shut the door without saying a word.
Cassie bounded into the living room, dropping her bags and grabbing my hand. “Naomi, you have to help me yell at Logan! His photography skills are absolutely tragic. He took a photo of me, and my face looks so weird! I just caught him taking ugly candid pictures of me on his phone.”
She held up Logan’s phone, scrolling through the screen.
I glanced at it. His camera roll was a dense gallery of Cassie—Cassie laughing at a cafe, Cassie walking in the park, Cassie looking at the rain. There was barely a trace of me on his device.
“Cassie wants your signature spicy garlic noodles tonight,” Logan said, walking into the kitchen.
“I still don’t feel well,” I said, my voice flat. “I can’t cook tonight.”
Logan poured a glass of lukewarm water and handed it to me. “Come on, Naomi. She’s been talking about your garlic noodles for weeks. Just make it quickly, and then you can go straight to bed.”
Cassie stood beside me in the kitchen, casually reaching into the cabinets and pulling out the pans as if she owned the place. “Yours are just so much better, Naomi. Logan’s cooking is practically a biohazard.”
My hands froze. In our five years together, Logan had never cooked a single meal for me.
“Naomi,” Cassie said, leaning against the counter as the water began to boil. “You’re not mad that Logan is going on the trip with me over your birthday, right?”
“No,” I said.
And I meant it. I wasn’t angry anymore. Even if I were, it wouldn’t change a single thing.
“Cassie’s going to stay over tonight,” Logan announced later that evening as he cleared the table. “I’ve already made up the guest room. The light fixture in her apartment broke, and the landlord can’t get a repairman out there until tomorrow.”
“Do whatever you want,” I replied, looking out the window at our own porch, still swallowed by the dark. I let out a soft, dry laugh.
The next morning, I was awoken by whispered arguments from the hallway.
When I went into the bathroom to wash my face, I saw a brand-new pink toothbrush resting in the holder, pressed tightly against Logan’s.
“Our neighbor saw me coming out of the building this morning and looked at me like I was some kind of homewrecker,” Cassie sobbed, her voice muffled against Logan’s chest in the living room. “Logan, maybe we shouldn’t hang out so much. Is Naomi upset because you didn’t go to her parents’ place?”
Logan gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t talk nonsense. Naomi and I have been together for years. She’s not the type to get worked up over something so trivial.”
They caught sight of me standing at the edge of the hallway and stiffened.
Logan cleared his throat and stood up. “You’re up. The neighborhood association just posted the final participant list for the scavenger hunt in the group chat.”
He looked at me expectantly. “Go into the chat and clarify things for everyone so they don’t get the wrong idea.”
“Clarify what?” I asked.
“Just tell them you willingly gave your spot to Cassie because she really wanted to go. She’s feeling incredibly hurt by all the gossip.”
“Okay.”
I pulled out my phone and sent the message to the neighborhood group chat immediately.
But the neighbors weren’t easily appeased. Within seconds, a message popped up: [The rules clearly state this event is for couples and spouses only. What exactly are Logan and Cassie supposed to be?]
Cassie’s eyes immediately welled with fresh tears. “I’m so sorry, Naomi… I didn’t know. I just wanted to win that trip with Logan. Maybe you should go with him instead, and I’ll just watch from the sidelines.”
“No need,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “It’s just a neighborhood game. We can go on a trip anytime without a voucher.”
Hearing this, Cassie’s face instantly cleared, and she beamed.
I stood there, my nails digging hard into my palms. I loved traveling. But ever since Cassie arrived, Logan’s free time had been entirely consumed by her. The last time we had managed to align our schedules for a vacation, we had only driven to a neighboring county for a single afternoon because he was terrified Cassie would get lonely.
No one had asked for my input, yet the decision had already been made.
Logan glanced at me. “I bought breakfast. Come eat. It’s oatmeal.”
I looked at the cardboard cup on the table. It was maple-flavored oatmeal, a scent that had made me nauseous since childhood.
“Logan, why do you always buy the things I hate?”
Cassie quickly stepped forward, grabbing my hands with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Naomi! I picked it out. I didn’t know what you liked.”
I pulled my hands back and turned to walk back to the bedroom.
Logan’s voice followed me down the hall. “Cassie was just trying to be nice, Naomi. It’s just breakfast, no need to make a big deal out of it. I’ll get you something else next time. By the way, there’s a high school reunion dinner tonight. Are you coming?”
“No,” I said.
“I’m free tonight, so let’s all three of us go,” Logan said, completely ignoring my refusal. “Cassie wants to make some new friends in the city.”
I didn’t argue further. I simply nodded.
When we reached the car, Cassie naturally opened the front passenger door and climbed in.
“Cassie gets carsick easily,” Logan said, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Go ahead and sit in the back, Naomi.”
When we arrived at the restaurant, Cassie immediately linked her arm through Logan’s. “Walk on my right, Logan. It’s safer away from the street.”
Logan cast a brief glance back at me over his shoulder. “Watch out for the traffic, Naomi.”
I trailed behind them at a leisurely pace, watching them laugh and tease each other. When the traffic light turned yellow, they hurried across, leaving me stranded on the opposite side of the intersection.
At the entrance of the restaurant, several of our old classmates recognized them and waved excitedly.
“Logan! Look at you, bringing a date!”
“Are you guys wearing matching neutral tones? That is so adorable!”
“You two look so happy. When’s the big day? When are we getting wedding invitations?”
The wedding I had spent six months planning was supposed to happen next month. But now, there was no longer any need for it.
Logan laughed off the comments, looking down at Cassie before casting a reassuring, placating glance in my direction. “Stop teasing, guys. She gets embarrassed easily.”
He paused, then added, “We’ll be finalizing the wedding plans soon. I’ll make sure you all get invitations.”
He didn’t deny his relationship with Cassie. And he didn’t mention my name once.
At the banquet table, Cassie sat directly next to Logan. I sat on the opposite side, facing them.
Throughout the meal, Logan peeled shrimp, placing them into Cassie’s plate one by one.
Someone at the table looked across at me. “Naomi, where’s your boyfriend tonight?”
“He was busy,” I said smoothly. “He couldn’t make it.”
“Oh, come on. No matter how busy a guy is, he should make time for you. Just look at how attentive Logan is to his girl.”
Logan’s hands didn’t falter. He continued peeling the shrimp, his focus entirely on Cassie’s plate. I laid my chopsticks down.
He really was an incredibly attentive man. Just not to me.
Cassie giggled, holding a peeled shrimp up to Logan’s lips. “You eat some too, Logan.”
He leaned forward and took it from her fingers.
Someone at the table began to cheer. “Oh, look at you two! Get a room! Or at least give us a kiss!”
Logan didn’t offer any explanation. He merely offered a warm, boyish smile.
Cassie blushed, hiding her face in her hands. “Stop it, you guys are terrible!”
By the time the dinner ended, Cassie was visibly tipsy. Logan supported her with an arm wrapped around her waist as they walked out. Realizing I had left my coat on the chair, I turned back to retrieve it.
When I finally walked out to the parking lot, they were already sitting in the car.
An old classmate who was walking by noticed me getting in. “Wait, is Naomi riding with you guys too?”
“We’re heading the same way,” Logan replied casually.
The drive back was cramped and silent.
“Cassie’s not feeling well,” Logan said quietly, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “Let her lean against you so she can sleep. You should close your eyes too. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
I leaned my forehead against the cold glass of the window, watching the streetlights blur into long, yellow smears.
“The day after tomorrow, Cassie and I will celebrate your birthday early,” Logan continued. “Her business trip might run a bit long, so I want to make sure we do something before she leaves. We’ll go to that upscale Italian place you’ve been wanting to try.”
I stared at the lock screen of my phone. The countdown timer showed only a few days left.
“Okay,” I murmured.
Even my own birthday had to be scheduled around Cassie’s availability, Cassie’s tastes, and Cassie’s convenience.
Logan drove straight to Cassie’s building, seamlessly punching in the security code at her door. Inside, two pairs of matching house slippers lay neatly on the rug. I didn’t ask. He lifted Cassie into a bridal carry and bore her gently to her bed.
“Logan… can you stay with me tonight?” Cassie whimpered from the pillows, clutching his sleeve.
Logan turned around, looking at me with a deeply conflicted expression. “She’s always been afraid of the dark since we were kids, Naomi. Can I just…”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Logan, do you know what tomorrow is?”
He blinked, momentarily lost. “What?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Forget it.”
The night was pitch-black, and the wind was cold as I walked home alone. For a second, fear crept in, and I pulled out my phone to call him. But my finger hovered over his name, and then I slowly locked the screen.
The next morning, 9:00 AM came and went. There was no message from Logan.
I took a cab to the bridal boutique alone.
The first time we had passed this shop, Logan had literally dragged me inside by the hand. He had stared at me, his eyes shining with absolute certainty. “Do you like it?”
I had laughed and told him I did, but urged him to leave, telling him we weren’t ready.
But his face had turned incredibly solemn. “It’s going to happen sooner or later, Naomi. I’m going to marry you anyway. We might as well pick it out now before someone else steals the most beautiful bride in the world from me.”
Now, I was the only one standing in front of the mirrors.
The consultant looked behind me anxiously. “Ms. West… your wedding is next month, but the groom still hasn’t come in for his final fitting…”
I forced a faint smile. “I’d like to look at some other styles first.”
I waited for exactly thirty minutes. Logan’s figure never appeared in the doorway.
I let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Actually, don’t hold the dress. Cancel the entire order, please.”
As I stepped out of the boutique, the sunlight felt blindingly bright. The streets were filled with couples holding hands, laughing, sharing umbrellas.
My phone rang. It was my mother.
“Sweetie, the invitations are being printed today. Is Cassie going to be your maid of honor, or do you have other bridesmaids?”
I froze. “Mom, who told you Cassie was the maid of honor?”
“Logan called us a couple of weeks ago,” my mother said, sounding confused. “He said he had already ordered a custom dress for her and everything.”
The afternoon sun was warm, but a sudden, icy chill settled deep in my chest.
“Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “The groom isn’t Logan. Don’t send invitations to him or Cassie.”
I hung up and sent Logan a text: [Are you free today? I have something to tell you.]
I stood on the sidewalk for forty minutes. No reply, no call.
It wasn’t until noon that his reply finally flashed on my screen.
[Cassie’s stomach is acting up again. I’m at the clinic with her while she gets an IV. Let’s talk another day.]
I stared at the words for a long time.
When my stomach was cramping, he forgot to buy the medicine. But the moment Cassie felt a slight discomfort, he could abandon everything to sit by her hospital bed.
Six months ago, he had told me he wanted to give me the wedding of my dreams. I had spent every day since then planning, organizing, and executing every single detail alone because he was always “too busy.”
Suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to feel angry.
[No need for another day, Logan. Let’s break up.]
Within seconds, a FaceTime request flashed on my screen.
When I answered, Cassie’s face appeared, pale but pleading. “Naomi, please don’t be mad at Logan! I’ll tell him to go to the bridal shop right now, I swear!”
Logan’s guilt-ridden face appeared behind her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Naomi. I didn’t forget about the fitting. But Cassie drank too much last night and was throwing up blood this morning. I’ll make it up to you and go with you tomorrow, I promise.”
Before he could finish, Cassie let out a small gasp in the background. “Logan! The restaurant just messaged. They said they only have a table for two available for tomorrow night!”
The line fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Logan’s brow furrowed tightly. He bit his lower lip, looking deeply conflicted.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. “Cassie, let’s cancel the dinner. Tomorrow is Naomi’s birthday, and I promised to go to the bridal shop with her. You leave for your business trip the day after. If we don’t go tomorrow, Naomi and I won’t have another chance before the wedding.”
Cassie’s lower lip trembled, and she began to pout.
I offered a small, thin smile to the camera. “It’s fine. You two go ahead.”
Logan’s brow furrowed deeper. “Naomi…”
Cassie quickly tugged at his sleeve. “See, Logan? Naomi said it’s fine. She’s not mad.”
Logan remained quiet for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Alright… then we’ll go to the bridal shop the second I get back, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’ll call you later,” Logan said, looking relieved.
The call disconnected. It had lasted less than sixty seconds.
The following evening, a mutual friend sent me a screenshot of Cassie’s private Instagram feed.
It was a photo of an elegant, candlelit dinner. [My 400th meal with Logan.] In the center of the table was a beautifully decorated cake with the number ‘400’ piped in gold icing.
They could find the time to celebrate a arbitrary number, yet my actual birthday was treated as an inconvenience to be negotiated.
I screenshotted the image and forwarded it to Logan.
Below her post, our old classmates had left dozens of comments: “You two are literally soulmates,” “So sweet!”
Logan replied to my text almost instantly: [Cassie is just young and childish, Naomi. She doesn’t mean anything by it.]
A few minutes later, another message popped up: [Naomi, I’m so sorry. Cassie’s flight got bumped up. I have to drive her to the airport tonight.]
I replied: [Okay.]
At exactly 12:05 AM, a final text arrived: [Happy birthday, Naomi. I promise you, by the end of this year, I’m going to make you my wife.]
I stared at the words.
In all the years we had been together, this was the very first time he had remembered to wish me a happy birthday so early. He was finally promising to marry me, but I no longer wanted to be his wife.
The next morning, as the plane tore through the clouds, Logan sat in his seat, his brow furrowed in a tight knot.
His thumb scrolled aimlessly over his phone screen. I hadn’t replied to his birthday message.
Just before his signal vanished completely, his social media feed refreshed one last time.
An old high school friend had posted a photo of a thick, gold-embossed wedding invitation.
But the name of the groom printed on the card was not Logan Barrett.
🌟 Continue the story here
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My wife was a communications officer on a deep-sea research vessel, yet I could never seem to reach her.
Every time she went out to sea, she told me the satellite connection was unstable, that waiting three to five days for a reply was just part of the job.
I believed her. I believed her for two whole years.
Until her ex-boyfriend, Chase, posted a series of screenshots on his feed.
They were FaceTime calls. Thirty-one times in a single month. The shortest session lasted forty minutes. The resolution was so crisp I could see the polished wooden deck of the vessel and the raw, star-strewn sky stretching out behind her.
I went back and scrolled through my own chat logs with her.
Her longest delay had been fourteen days. When she finally replied, she sent two words: “Sounds good.”
After that, I stopped staying up late, staring at my screen and waiting for it to light up. I stopped sending long, rambling paragraphs about how much I missed her.
My messages shrank from three lines to a single sentence: “Stay safe.”
Then, to just one word: “Safe.”
Eventually, all I sent was a single period.
And then, not even that.
When she finally came ashore and returned home, she looked at me, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Why haven’t you been texting me lately?”
I only smiled.
There were only three days left before our divorce hearing. It was about to end, and she didn’t even have a clue.
…
Gloria stood in the entryway, her heavy canvas duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
In the past, I would have changed the sheets to fresh cotton, waited at the pier for hours just to catch her eye, and lined up her house slippers so they faced the door the moment she walked in.
Today, I didn’t get up. I sat at the dining table, quietly sorting through a stack of legal documents.
She stared at the thick pile of paper, her eyebrows knitting together.
“Ryan, I’m talking to you.”
I pressed down on the stapler. The sharp “click” echoed in the quiet room. “How long do you have ashore this time?”
The question caught her off guard. Her sharp tone softened, just a fraction.
“A week. I head back to the ship next Tuesday. The crew is having a welcome-back dinner tomorrow night.”
For the past two years, whenever she docked, she claimed she was too exhausted to do anything but sleep. But on Chase’s Instagram, she was always awake—strolling along the marina with him, helping him select camera gear, staying on video calls with him until the sky turned gray.
I kept my head down, aligning the edges of the papers, and didn’t reply.
Gloria slid a small, silver box across the table.
“For you. I was at sea during our anniversary. Consider this a makeup gift.”
My fingers stilled against the paper.
I opened the box. Inside was a bracelet made of coarse, unpolished sea shells. The edges were jagged, and the tiny paper tag on the underside read: “Harbor Souvenirs – Clearance $4.99.”
Before I could say a word, my phone buzzed on the table.
Chase had just updated his feed.
In the photo, he was standing at the edge of the pier, a string of deep-blue, iridescent sea pearls draped around his neck. In the bottom corner of the frame, I spotted the distinctive navy-blue cuff of Gloria’s department jacket.
His caption read: “Someone remembered that I’m afraid of the dark, so she brought me a piece of the ocean.”
I turned my phone screen toward Gloria.
She glanced at it. Her expression faltered for a second, but she quickly smoothed it over.
“He needed those pearls for his documentary shoot. He’s just borrowing them. The shell bracelet is much more practical. It suits you.”
I nodded slowly.
“Right. Chase gets the deep-sea pearls, and I get the clearance rack.”
She opened her mouth, clearly unaccustomed to this quiet, detached version of me, but her phone cut her off with a cheerful FaceTime chime.
Chase’s name flashed across the screen.
Gloria answered almost instinctively.
On screen, Chase was wearing a black technical windbreaker. I recognized it instantly—Gloria had bought it before her last voyage, insisting the ship’s deck got too cold and that she couldn’t go without it.
His voice sounded thick, raspy.
“Gloria… I think I have a fever. The hotel lobby’s closed, and the pharmacy down the street is locked up. I’m a little scared out here by myself.”
Gloria looked at me.
There was a brief flicker of hesitation in her eyes, followed quickly by the quiet apology of someone who had already made up her mind.
“Ryan, he just got to the harbor. He doesn’t know anyone here. I’m just going to drop off some medicine. I’ll be back soon.”
I watched her hand reach for the car keys.
“You just got home,” I said quietly. “We haven’t seen each other in months.”
She frowned, her patience wearing thin. “Don’t be like this. He’s sick, Ryan.”
When the door clicked shut, the silence in the house felt heavy, almost physical.
I sat back down at the table, placed the cheap shell bracelet into a clear plastic evidence bag, and sealed it. I wrote a neat label on the front: “Anniversary Gift Discrepancy.”
Then I pulled up my messages and texted Donna, my attorney.
“Adding one more item to the filing.”
Donna replied almost instantly: “Understood. Saved to file.”
Half an hour later, Chase sent me a direct message. It was a photo of a box of Tylenol, a steaming mug of tea, and Gloria’s hand gently resting on his forehead.
“Hope you don’t mind, man.”
I typed out a reply: “I don’t.”
After sending it, I set my digital voice recorder on the counter to charge.
The next evening, Gloria sent me a location pin.
“Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late. My director and colleagues are all going to be there. Please, give me some grace tonight.”
I read the text, slipped the small voice recorder into my coat pocket, and left the house.
The dinner was held at a seafood restaurant overlooking the docks.
When I entered the private dining room, it was already packed. Gloria was in her formal whites, and Chase sat right beside her, her official team jacket draped over his shoulders. Pinched to his lapel was her authorized research communications badge.
I recognized that badge.
Before her voyage, I had asked if I could keep it on my desk as a keepsake while she was away. She had refused, telling me strict maritime protocols prohibited civilians from handling official equipment.
Now, it sat on Chase’s chest like a quiet, public seal of ownership.
Gloria looked up, noticed me, and pointed toward a small table near the service door.
“Why don’t you sit over there? The main table is mostly for the active crew. It might be awkward for you.”
Chase looked up, offering a small, sheepish smile. “Hey, Ryan. Gloria, why don’t you let him sit here? I can move to the corner.”
Despite his words, his hands remained flat on the table. He didn’t make the slightest move to stand.
Gloria waved it off, her voice low. “Don’t worry about it. He’s fine over there.”
I took my seat by the door, reached into my pocket, and silently switched on the recorder.
It didn’t take long for the alcohol to loosen everyone’s tongues.
“Chase and Gloria really are the dream team,” one of the junior researchers laughed, clinking his glass. “One captures the ocean on camera, the other keeps us connected to the shore.”
“Honestly, back before you two broke up, we all said you were made for each other.”
“And Gloria really looks out for him. No matter how bad the satellite connection got out there, Chase’s video calls never seemed to drop.”
Gloria only smiled, sipping her wine. “Stop it, you guys.”
She never once looked in my direction.
Chase lowered his head, his cheeks flushing pink, playing the part of the modest, misunderstood artist.
When the main courses arrived, Gloria carefully flaked the tender flesh from the center of the baked salmon and placed it on Chase’s plate.
“Watch out for the bones,” she murmured.
Then she slid his iced soda away and replaced it with a cup of warm chamomile tea. “Your stomach has been acting up. Why are you still drinking cold things?”
I stared at the platter of raw oysters in the center of my own table.
She knew my digestive system couldn’t handle raw, cold shellfish. During our first year of dating, she would call restaurants ahead of time to make sure there was a warm broth prepared for me.
Somewhere along the way, the person she remembered to care for had changed.
Chase picked up his glass and walked over to my table.
“Ryan, I want to toast you. Honestly, I’ve wanted to apologize for a while now.”
The table grew quiet.
“The sea is incredibly isolating, and Gloria gets so lonely out there. Sometimes I only call her because I’m worried the pressure will get to her.”
A colleague at my table chimed in, eager to keep the peace. “Yeah, Ryan, you have to understand the nature of the job. The mental toll on a communications officer is intense.”
“Don’t take it personally, man. Chase is family to us. He’s not an outsider.”
“Exactly. Gloria is so devoted to her home. You young guys shouldn’t let small things ruin a good marriage.”
I looked at their earnest, dismissive faces. A quiet, dry laugh escaped my throat.
“Thirty-one video calls in a single month, averaging forty minutes each,” I said, my voice steady. “Is that what we’re calling ‘professional support’ these to-and-fros?”
The room went dead silent.
Gloria’s face turned a sharp, dangerous crimson. “Ryan. Do you really have to do this here?”
Chase’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Ryan, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m working on a documentary. I needed to verify maritime data. Gloria was only helping me review the technical coordinates.”
I pulled my phone out and laid it flat on the table, letting the screen light up.
“Does verifying technical coordinates require her to sing you Happy Birthday at two in the morning?”
For a fraction of a second, the sweet, helpless look on Chase’s face cracked. But he quickly recovered, his shoulders trembling slightly. “I was having a panic attack that night. She was just trying to keep me grounded.”
Gloria took over, her voice hardening.
“Ryan, Chase was severely depressed last year. I couldn’t just stand by and watch a friend spiral.”
“Friend.”
The ultimate, all-forgiving shield.
I didn’t say another word. I simply set my glass down.
The mood of the dinner was thoroughly ruined, and for the rest of the evening, no one dared look my way. Gloria threw several sharp, resentful glances in my direction.
When I stepped out to the restroom, Chase followed me in.
He stood at the mirror, adjusting the collar of Gloria’s jacket, a faint, cold smirk playing on his lips.
“You really don’t need to be so threatened by me, Ryan,” he said, turning on the faucet. “If Gloria actually cared about you, nothing I do would make a difference anyway.”
I washed my hands, the cold water splashing over my skin.
“Did you know,” he continued, drying his hands with a paper towel, “that even out in the middle of the ocean, I’m the first person she pings when she gets a signal?”
He stepped closer. “The stars, the storms, the exact minute they drop anchor—I hear about it before you do.”
I turned off the tap. “You know she’s married.”
He met my gaze in the mirror. “I do. That’s why I’ve never pushed her. She’s the one who can’t let go of what we had.”
He pulled out his phone and showed me a text message from Gloria.
“He’s stopped texting me,” she had written. “It’s actually a relief. It’s so peaceful.”
The timestamp matched the exact day I stopped sending her the single period.
Chase smiled softly. “Ryan, a woman doesn’t leave because you make a scene. She leaves because you’ve lost your value, and you’re just too stubborn to walk away with your dignity intact.”
I grabbed a towel and dried my hands.
“You can save that speech for the judge.”
His smirk vanished.
I walked back out into the corridor. Gloria was waiting near the exit, her arms crossed, her eyes burning with resentment.
“The second you walk into a room, everyone is miserable,” she hissed. “Ryan, can you please stop bringing your domestic insecurities into my professional life?”
I looked at her, seeing her clearly, perhaps for the first time in years.
“I’m going to stay at my dad’s house starting tomorrow.”
She let out a harsh, impatient breath. “I only have a few days off, and you’re still going to play these childish games?”
I walked past her, back into the dining room to grab my coat. In my pocket, the tiny red light on the voice recorder was still silently blinking.
When we got back to the house, I immediately went to the bedroom and began packing my things.
Gloria stood in the doorway, her arms folded, her face tight.
“If you leave tonight, our parents are going to know we had a fight. Is that what you want?”
I folded my sweaters into my suitcase. “It’s not a fight, Gloria. It’s a separation.”
“Ryan.”
She said my name with that slow, patronizing patience she always used when she was trying to keep her temper.
“I admit I talked to Chase more than I should have. But you don’t have to make a perfectly normal friendship look so ugly.”
I stopped folding.
“When my stomach was cramping so badly last winter that I couldn’t stand, I texted you. It took you fourteen days to reply. That exact night, you spent an hour on FaceTime with him.”
She scoffed. “The ship has strict bandwidth rules. Personal messages are deprioritized.”
I reached into my briefcase, pulled out a stack of printed logs, and laid them on the bed.
“March fifteenth. I had a hundred and two fever. I asked if you could just call me for five minutes. You didn’t reply. That same night, Chase posted a screenshot of a sixty-three-minute video call with you.”
“April twentieth. A water main burst in our basement. I had to deal with the flooding alone until dawn. Chase posted a video of you showing him the moonlight reflecting off the ocean.”
“May ninth. My dad had a heart attack. I was standing at the hospital billing window, my hands shaking so badly I couldn’t type my PIN. You were busy singing Chase Happy Birthday while your crewmates whistled in the background.”
She stared at the printouts. For a long moment, she couldn’t find her voice.
“Chase was in a really dark place then,” she whispered. “His family had cut him off. I was genuinely afraid he was going to hurt himself.”
I let out a soft laugh. “The day my dad was in surgery, I was afraid too.”
Her eyes flickered, a sudden, brief look of regret washing over her features. But then, her phone rang.
It was Chase.
She picked up, pressing the speaker button.
Chase’s voice came through, thick with tears and ragged breathing. “Gloria… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come tonight. Your husband… he cornered me in the restroom. He said he was going to expose me, that he was going to ruin my career and make sure I never work in this town again.”
Gloria’s head snapped up, her gaze hardening instantly. “You threatened him?”
I went back to packing my shirts. “The restaurant has cameras.”
“There’s no need to check,” she snapped, her voice cold. “Chase wouldn’t make up something like this.”
A bitter wave of clarity washed over me.
For the past two years, every single one of my grievances required a mountain of proof to be taken seriously. But Chase only had to cry once, and it became an absolute truth.
Chase’s voice continued over the speaker: “Am I just causing trouble for you guys? I just… I didn’t want you to feel lonely out there on the water, Gloria…”
“Don’t cry,” Gloria said, her voice dropping to a gentle, comforting murmur. “It’s not your fault.”
She hung up and glared at me. “Why do you have to push someone who is already so fragile?”
“Does he have a clinical diagnosis?” I asked.
“Ryan, do you have to be so incredibly heartless?”
I reached into my drawer and pulled out another document. It was a printed transcript of a voice memo I had sent her last winter.
“Gloria, I’m barely holding on. The house is so cold, and my stomach is killing me. I don’t want to be a burden, I just… I just need to hear your voice.”
I had sent that audio file to her, and only her.
Yet yesterday afternoon, Chase had forwarded that exact file back to me with a brief text: “Honestly, Ryan, you really need to see a therapist.”
I held my phone up, showing her the message.
“Did you send this to him?”
The color drained from Gloria’s face. “I… I only wanted him to help me understand if you were going through a manic episode. He took some psychology classes in college.”
My hand began to tremble. The glass of water on the nightstand slipped from my fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. A stray shard sliced across my palm, and bright red blood began to well up in the crease of my hand.
Gloria saw the blood. But her first instinct was to grab her phone and text Chase:
“He’s losing his temper. Don’t be scared.”
I looked down at the blood dripping onto the floor.
It was funny, really. When you reach a certain level of exhaustion, even physical pain takes a moment to register.
I grabbed a tissue, pressed it against my hand, picked up my suitcase, and walked out the door.
The ER lobby was brightly lit, smelling of antiseptic and cold air.
Donna was waiting for me near the entrance, holding a folder containing the court papers. When she saw my hand, she went to the nurses’ desk to grab some sterile gauze before handing me the documents.
“The court date is set,” she said softly. “Three days from now. Nine in the morning.”
I took the papers with my good hand. “Perfect.”
Donna hesitated, looking at me closely. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to try mediation first?”
I looked at the clean, straight cut across my palm.
“I’m sure.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Gloria: “Chase is really shaken up by how you acted. I’m going to stay at his place tonight to make sure he’s okay. Please use this time to calm down.”
Donna caught a glimpse of the screen but said nothing.
I took a screenshot of the message and saved it to the drive.
The next morning, Gloria called me.
“I’m taking Chase out to the old lighthouse today to help him shoot some b-roll. You’ll have to take your dad to his follow-up appointment yourself.”
I stared at the medical slip in my hand. “You promised you’d come with us.”
“It’s just a routine check-up, Ryan, not surgery,” she said defensively. “Stop using your family to guilt-trip me.”
My dad was standing right next to me at the clinic entrance, holding his travel mug. He didn’t ask any questions. He just handed me the warm mug and patted my shoulder.
“Let’s go, son. Let’s get these tests out of the way.”
After reviewing the scans, the doctor recommended a more detailed screening.
My dad smiled weakly. “Well, when you get to my age, the machinery starts to rust.”
The quieter he was, the tighter my chest felt.
While I was standing in line at the billing counter, I tried calling Gloria. It went straight to voicemail.
But on Instagram, Chase’s documentary account had just uploaded a reel.
The wind was howling at the lighthouse. Gloria was standing right behind him, holding the legs of his tripod steady.
Chase smiled into the camera: “The best part of this job is knowing that whether she’s out at sea or back on land, she’s always within reach.”
My dad looked down at my phone screen, watching the video loop. It took him a long time to speak.
“Has it always been like this, Ryan?”
I locked the phone and slid it into my pocket. “Yeah.”
For the first time, I didn’t try to make an excuse for her.
At eight that evening, Gloria finally came home.
She set a plastic container of seafood chowder on the dining table. “We finished shooting near the harbor. I grabbed this on the way back. It’s still warm, you and Dad can share it.”
My dad was severely allergic to shellfish.
My stomach couldn’t handle heavy, cream-based soups.
She had forgotten all of it.
I walked over to the table, picked up the container, and dropped it directly into the trash can.
For the first time, Gloria lost her temper.
“Ryan! What is wrong with you lately? I try to bring home dinner, and you throw a tantrum. I don’t bring anything, and you complain that I don’t care. Is there literally anything I can do right in your eyes?”
My dad stood up from the sofa.
“Gloria,” he said, his voice quiet but heavy. “Ryan spent the entire day running around the hospital with me. You promised you would be there.”
Gloria’s tone softened slightly, but her jaw remained tight. “Dad, it’s not that I didn’t want to go. Chase has a deadline, and he was out at the lighthouse alone. If his equipment failed, he would have lost weeks of progress.”
My dad didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked into the guest room.
My phone vibrated again.
Chase had sent another screenshot. It was a photo of him and Gloria standing under the shadow of the lighthouse, the golden sunset spilling over the ocean behind them.
“Ryan, please don’t be mad at her. She’s just too kind-hearted to say no.”
I typed a quick reply: “We’ll let the judge look at her kindness tomorrow morning.”
Within sixty seconds, the photo was deleted from his feed, and the video was taken down.
Then, Gloria’s phone rang.
She answered, and Chase’s panicked voice spilled out. “Gloria… Ryan just texted me. He said something about court tomorrow. Is he actually suing me? I just wanted to share a nice memory. Why is he trying to destroy my life?”
Gloria stared at me, a sudden, genuine look of fear finally creeping into her eyes.
“Ryan… what is he talking about?”
I walked into the study, picked up the thick manila envelope from my desk, and laid it out in front of her.
The court summons, the petition for divorce, the detailed communication logs.
One by one, I spread them across the table.
🌟 Continue the story here
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I had just laid down in bed when my best friend’s frantic ringtone blared out, shattering the quiet of my room.
“Weston, where the hell are you? The ceremony is about to start! Why aren’t you here yet?”
I blinked, completely dazed. “What ceremony?”
Tayler sounded like he was about to have a stroke. “Your wedding to Sabina Lancaster, you idiot!”
I figured he was pulling some elaborate prank, but then he flipped the camera. The screen filled with the glittering, high-ceilinged ballroom of the Olympic Hotel—one of Seattle’s most exclusive venues. There were my parents, all our aunts, uncles, and family friends, dressed to the nines and mingling around beautifully decorated tables.
And right there, beside the grand floral arch at the entrance, stood an elegant gold-trimmed welcome sign:
“The Wedding of Weston Davis & Sabina Lancaster”
My stomach did a violent flip.
Sabina Lancaster. The brilliant, untouchable tech mogul who had recently topped the city’s billionaire list. She was also the girl I had harbored a silent, agonizing crush on all through high school.
She was Seattle royalty. I was just another underpaid corporate drone grinding out a living on an entry-level salary.
I hadn’t seen her since our graduation night, and I didn’t even have her phone number, let alone her social media.
Getting married? To “her”? What kind of sick, impossible joke was this?
But Tayler sounded dead serious, and in the background, I could hear the anxious murmur of a crowd waiting for the groom. Determined to get to the bottom of whatever madness was happening, I threw on a jacket and bolted out the door.
But the very second I stepped onto the street, the blinding headlights of an out-of-control semi-truck roared around the corner.
There was a deafening screech of tires, a violent impact, and then—nothing.
When my eyes snapped open, the phantom pain was still vibrating through my bones. I was back in my bed, panting for breath, right at the exact moment Tayler’s call began to ring again.
…
I woke up drenched in cold sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The memory of the truck hitting me felt incredibly real, but even in the face of death, a single question consumed me: “Why did everyone think today was my wedding day?”
With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone and searched: “Sabina Lancaster wedding.”
Nothing. No press releases, no social media speculation, absolutely no news about her dating, let alone getting married today.
I checked my contacts, my call logs, my text history, and my photo archives. There wasn’t a single trace of her name or face.
My phone vibrated violently in my hand again. Tayler’s anxious voice cut through the speaker.
“Weston, the coordinator is losing her mind. Where are you?”
“The guests are starting to whisper. You need to get down here right now, man. It’s showtime!”
The sheer panic in his voice made my blood run cold.
I took a screenshot of my clean search results and fired it over to him. “Tayler, jokes have limits. Sabina Lancaster and I live in entirely different worlds. We have zero connection. How on earth could we be getting married?”
There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, Tayler flipped his camera again, panning across the crowded chapel lobby.
There she was. Sabina Lancaster, breathtaking in a sweeping white silk gown, surrounded by her bridesmaids and a flock of venue coordinators.
“Are you losing your mind, Weston? You literally signed the marriage license last week. Now you’re claiming you’re single? What is this, some weird panic attack where you pretend you’re a bachelor from five years ago?”
“Stop screwing around. Everyone is waiting.”
The rest of the groomsmen crowded into the frame.
“Weston, buddy, where did you go? You disappeared out of the dressing room, we’ve been turning this hotel upside down!”
“The woman proposed to you ninety-nine times! She spent over ten million dollars on this wedding alone. What more do you want?”
“Sabina proposed to me ninety-nine times?” It was laughable.
She was Seattle’s famous “Ice Queen”—untouchable, brilliant, and notoriously private. What could a guy like me possibly offer to capture the heart of a tech billionaire?
Suddenly, her clear, crisp voice echoed near the microphone in the background.
“Did anyone find Weston? Is his phone connected?”
“No, not yet…” Tayler stammered, quickly cupping his hand over the receiver.
Sabina’s eyes darkened. She turned to her security detail, her voice turning to pure steel. “Check the hotel cameras. Find Weston Davis. Now.”
Tayler lowered his voice, whispering frantically into the phone.
“Did you hear that? She’s been looking for you for hours.”
“Stop playing games. I don’t care how much she spoils you, if you leave her standing at the altar in front of the entire city’s elite, she will never recover from the humiliation. And frankly, neither will you.”
“If you don’t show up in five minutes, I can’t protect you.”
He aimed the camera toward the entrance. My parents stood there, their faces drawn with anxiety, scanning the lobby. Guests were whispering behind their champagne flutes.
Their panic felt too real to be an act.
But in my previous life—just minutes ago—I had believed them, and it had cost me my life on that asphalt.
I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. “Tayler, I have never dated Sabina Lancaster. We are not getting married. If this is some sick AI deepfake prank, I’m hanging up.”
Tayler let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “AI? Weston, did a mule kick you in the head? Look at this. Does this look like a simulation?”
“This is your wedding, not mine. If you want to ruin your own life, fine. I’m done.”
He snatched a screenshot of something, fired it over to me, and slammed the phone down.
I stared at my screen, completely numb.
It was a picture of a marriage certificate.
And there, clearly stamped and authenticated by the state, were our names and photos: “Weston Davis” and “Sabina Lancaster”.
I zoomed in, looking for any signs of digital manipulation, overlapping pixels, or editing. Nothing. It looked entirely authentic.
But I had no memory of signing it. My phone’s camera roll didn’t have this photo.
My brain was short-circuiting.
Tayler and I had been best friends since we were kids; he was a terrible liar who always stuttered when he tried to pull a fast one. He hadn’t hesitated once. And my parents had no reason to participate in such a cruel, elaborate hoax.
If it was real… why did I have absolutely no memory of loving her?
Then, I remembered someone.
My Aunt Martha worked at the county clerk’s office. If there was a marriage certificate on file, she would know.
I messaged her the screenshot immediately. “Aunt Martha, please tell me the truth. Is this real?”
She called me back instantly, sounding exasperated. “Weston Davis, if this is another one of your stunts to get me off your back about settling down, it isn’t funny! I have set you up with half the eligible people in this city, and you’ve shot every single one of them down. Now you’re sending me fake certificates?”
Hearing her familiar, nagging voice grounded me.
“So… it’s a fake?”
“Of course it is!” She flipped her camera to show her dual computer screens at the government office. “Look at the registry yourself. Your file says ‘Single.’ I’m the clerk for this district. If you got married here, do you really think I wouldn’t be the one processing the paperwork?”
I stared at the screen. The status column clearly read: “Unmarried”.
One of her coworkers leaned into the frame, chuckling. “Gotta admit, though, whoever forged that did a hell of a job with the seals.”
“Weston, your aunt is losing sleep over your bachelor status,” the coworker teased. “Stop messing with her and bring a real partner in to sign the papers!”
I let out a long, shuddering breath.
Thank God. My aunt loved me like her own; there was no way she would skip my wedding to work a weekend shift. If the state database said I was single, then I was single.
But then, my phone buzzed again. A new group chat named “Operation: The Big Day” popped up.
Notifications began flooding in, tagging me repeatedly.
“Weston, where the hell are you? The officiant has asked three times. We need you in the wings!”
“Hurry up! The press outside is starting to ask questions!”
My head throbbed.
When had this group chat even been created? Why had I never noticed it before?
Then, a voice note came through.
“Weston, are we doing this or not?”
It was Sabina.
Her voice was clipped, carrying a sharp, dangerous edge of irritation.
Then my mother’s voice popped up:
“Weston, honey, what is going on? Marriage isn’t a game. Why are you hiding? Get down here right now. Sabina has been pacing the green room for an hour. If you’re doing this to be stubborn, your father and I are going to be extremely angry. Get in here.”
Frustration bubbled up in my chest. I screen-recorded my video call with Aunt Martha showing the registry and threw it into the group chat.
“Mom, Dad, what is wrong with you guys? Why are you playing along with this? I’m not married. This joke isn’t funny anymore.”
I expected them to back down, to admit the prank had gone too far. Instead, my mother’s voice came back, practically shrieking.
“Martha! What the hell are you doing? The boy is having a panic attack, and you’re helping him play make-believe? Are you out of your mind?”
Then, Aunt Martha’s voice came through the chat, sounding sheepish and defensive.
“Oh, Grace, I’m sorry! I thought Weston was just having cold feet and wanted me to help him stall! I didn’t think he’d actually hide from his own wedding!”
“Weston, sweetie, I’m so sorry! You really are getting married today. I filed the papers myself last Tuesday! Just go inside. I’m waiting in the second row to watch you walk down the aisle!”
I stared at the screen, my mind completely fracturing.
If Aunt Martha was sitting in the wedding chapel, who was the woman working at the county clerk’s office?
I frantically dialed my aunt’s direct work number.
She picked up, sitting at her desk in her beige cardigan, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Weston, I am in the middle of a stack of deeds. Why are you calling me again?”
A cold sweat broke out across my back.
How was this possible? How could there be two of her?
Both versions of her felt entirely authentic, real down to the subtle cadence of her speech. I forwarded the call log to the group chat, my fingers shaking violently.
“I’m not married. Look at this. What are you guys trying to do to me?”
The group chat, which had been a flurry of notifications, suddenly went dead silent.
Then, a direct voice note from Sabina arrived.
“Weston, you keep sending these absurd deepfakes. What are you trying to prove?”
“My patience is wearing thin. I am giving you exactly five minutes. If you aren’t here, you will have to deal with the consequences.”
I shivered.
Sabina Lancaster was a titan of industry. She wielded power that could ruin families with a single phone call. Why would a woman of her stature spend millions of dollars and enlist my entire family to play a psychological game with an ordinary guy like me?
The sheer cost of the flowers alone—cascading white Juliet roses flown in from France—cost more than my entire net worth.
My phone rang again.
The screen lit up: “Sabina Lancaster”.
My breath caught. My fingers trembled so hard I nearly dropped the phone.
I had searched my contacts ten times. Her name had not been there.
How was it suddenly appearing now?
With a racing heart, I slid the bar to answer.
Sabina’s striking, pale face appeared on the screen, framed by her bridal veil. Her eyes were rimmed with red.
“Weston,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, painful whisper. “Time’s up. Are you… really not coming?”
A strange, sharp ache bloomed in my chest. “Sabina… we… we aren’t married. We don’t even know each other. Right?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she closed her eyes for a long, agonizing second.
A bitter, tragic smile touched her lips. “Wow. You really are something, Weston.”
“Three years. We’ve been together for three years. I thought if I loved you unconditionally, if I gave you everything you ever wanted, I could finally break through that wall of yours…”
“But I guess I was delusional.”
Seeing the raw devastation on her face, I felt an instinctual urge to reach out. “No, it’s not like that…”
Deep down, a part of me wanted this to be true. I had loved her from afar since our sophomore year of high school. The reason I had remained single all these years was because no one else could ever compare to the memory of her.
But my survival instinct screamed at me. I had died in the street because of this wedding. I couldn’t gamble my life on a hallucination.
I took a deep breath, looking at her with a heavy heart. “Sabina… we aren’t together. Please… stop playing this game with me.”
The warmth drained from her eyes, leaving them as cold as winter ice.
She nodded slowly, a single tear escaping down her cheek, and ended the call.
Before I could process the silence, my parents called back.
“Weston, have you lost your mind? Sabina is a saint! She has cherished you, and you’re throwing her away like garbage!”
“How can you be so incredibly selfish? You spent our entire relationship demanding she prove her love to you because of your insecurities, and now you pull this stunt on your wedding day? What is wrong with you?”
I was on the verge of tears. “Mom, Dad, please listen to me! We never dated! I don’t know her!”
My father’s roaring voice cut me off.
“Enough of this ridiculous act!”
“I’m telling you right now, Weston—if you do not walk through those chapel doors in ten minutes, you are no longer our son.”
The line went dead. When I tried to call back, a robotic voice informed me the number was no longer in service.
Panicking, I looked up the Olympic Hotel’s public number and dialed the front desk.
“Hi, is there a wedding scheduled today for Sabina Lancaster and Weston Davis?”
The receptionist’s polite voice answered immediately. “I’m sorry, sir, but our main ballroom is currently closed for a complete structural renovation. There are no events scheduled today. Would you like me to connect you with our events coordinator for a future booking?”
The tension in my shoulders finally broke.
I knew it! They were lying to me.
It had to be an incredibly elaborate setup orchestrated by Sabina. She had the resources to manipulate everyone around me. But why? What did she want from a nobody like me?
Then Tayler sent me a link.
I clicked it, and my vision blurred at the sight on my screen.
It was a live broadcast. Sabina was standing on the steps of the hotel ballroom.
Her eyes were bloodshot as she addressed the crowd, announcing the cancellation of the wedding.
A mob of reporters surrounded her, their flashbulbs illuminating her pale, stoic face.
The internet was already exploding with headlines: “Tech Heiress Left at the Altar by No-Name Fiancé”.
My parents and Tayler were desperately trying to hold her back.
“Sabina, please, just give him a few more minutes!”
“Weston isn’t like this. Something must have happened to him on the way. Please, let us find him!”
“I’ll go to his apartment myself,” Tayler pleaded, sweat dripping down his face. “I’ll drag him here, and he will explain everything, I promise!”
Aunt Martha was crying in the background. “Yes, Sabina! Weston loves you so much! He acts distant sometimes because he’s intimidated by your success, but he’s wanted this his entire life. He was crying tears of joy when you got your license! He wouldn’t do this on purpose!”
Sabina let out a hollow, bitter laugh.
“Not on purpose?”
“Three years ago, the moment I saw him again, I promised myself I would never let him go.”
“I gave him my entire heart. We planned this day for a year. I thought he was as excited as I was, but it turns out I was just making a fool of myself.”
“He thinks he can humiliate me in front of the entire world and get away with it.”
She pushed past the reporters, ready to leave.
Tayler grabbed her arm. “No, Sabina, please! Weston might be an idiot, but he wouldn’t do this. Give him one more chance!”
Then, Tayler turned directly to the camera, screaming into the lens:
“Weston, what the hell are you doing?!”
“Stop throwing a tantrum and get down here! Are you really going to destroy your own happiness over this?!”
Seeing the genuine agony on their faces, my resolve began to crumble.
Could it be true? Was my memory flawed?
I grabbed my keys and bolted out of my apartment. In the hallway, my neighbor, Mrs. Hudson, looked up from her mail in surprise.
“Oh, Weston! Didn’t you just get home from work? Going out again?”
My throat tightened. “Mrs. Hudson… do you know if… if I was supposed to get married today?”
She blinked, then chuckled warmly. “Oh, Weston, you and your sense of humor. Aren’t you still very much single?”
A chill ran down my spine, but I didn’t stop. I pressed the elevator button and ran toward the street.
No matter what game was being played, I had to see it with my own eyes.
Every muscle in my body was tense as I drove, constantly checking the mirrors for any rogue semi-trucks.
But I made it to the Olympic Hotel without incident.
I ran through the revolving doors and into the lobby, but the moment I reached the entrance of the ballroom, the blood froze in my veins.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air.
The grand, glittering ballroom from the video was gone.
In its place was a dark, hollow cavern of concrete, exposed wires, and dust. Not a single soul was inside.
“No… this can’t be happening,” I whispered, looking around in terror. “Where is everyone? Where is the wedding?”
A man in a hard hat and a high-visibility vest walked over to me. “Sir? Can I help you?”
“The wedding…” I gasped. “Sabina Lancaster… the wedding?”
“We’ve been under structural renovation for the last two months, buddy,” he said gently, reaching down to help me up. “No events here. You must have the wrong venue.”
As he pulled me up, my eyes locked onto a distinct tattoo on the web of his hand—a small, dark crescent moon.
In that split second, everything clicked.
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Ten years after my father died, I ran into my mother, Diana Senn, while working the afternoon shift at a local boba tea shop.
Unlike me – struggling to scrape together enough change for dinner – Diana looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. She wore an elegant, tailored silk dress, her posture flawless as she navigated the nearby boardwalk with her new husband and son, looking every bit the billionaire philanthropist the magazines made her out to be.
She was looking at her pampered son, her voice dripping with maternal warmth as they approached the counter. “Too much sugar isn’t good for you, sweetie. Just one cup today.”
Even with my face mask on, she recognized me instantly. I saw the sudden, sharp shift in her eyes as they narrowed, her face instantly hardening.
Her voice dripped with quiet sarcasm. “Is your father dead? Did he really make you work a service job to ‘build character’ after high school graduation instead of taking you on a trip?”
I kept my head down, pretending her words didn’t cut right through me. I slid the cup across the counter. “Here’s your drink. Have a nice day.”
Her son, Christian, noticed the sudden tension. He looked me up and down, his eyes filled with a teenager’s easy arrogance. “Mom, do you know this guy?”
Diana’s jaw tightened. She stared at me for a long, agonizing second before spitting out two words: “I don’t.”
They walked away, leaving me standing behind the register. As she turned, a faint, cloying scent drifted from her – the sickeningly sweet smell of wild honey and copper. It was the distinct scent of the love-worm. I let out a bitter, silent laugh.
She was right about one thing, though. My father was dead.
Everyone knew it. Everyone except her.
…
“Man, she’s even more stunning in person,” my coworker sighed, leaning on the counter with an envious stare. “Forty years old and she looks like that. Rich, beautiful, devoted to her family. Must be nice to be her kid.”
I froze, the metal shaker heavy in my hand.
Nice? To be loved by a woman who threw you away like yesterday’s trash, who left you penniless, and who blocked your birth registration out of spite, turning you into a ghost in your own country?
My father had to work illegal, backbreaking construction jobs under the table just to buy groceries. When he died, I couldn’t even afford a proper casket for him.
I had the grades to go to Stanford. Instead, I’d been forced to drop out because there wasn’t a single cent for tuition. While other kids my age were spending their post-graduation summer on European beaches, I was pulling double shifts, working myself to the bone just to survive.
I gave a faint, empty smile and kept shaking the tea.
“Honestly, Wyatt,” my coworker teased, nudging my shoulder, “you kind of look like her. You sure you aren’t some long-lost relative of Diana Senn? If you could get on her good side, you wouldn’t have to slave away in this heat.”
It was true. Diana’s brand as the ultimate doting wife and mother was plastered across every billboard and social media feed. Even without a smartphone, I couldn’t escape her face.
Somewhere in the foggy corners of my memory, I remembered what her love felt like. Warm. Safe.
Until he showed up. Until Uncle Charles ruined everything.
“Fifty more cups. Made by him.”
A voice, both foreign and dreadfully familiar, broke through my thoughts.
I looked up. Diana was standing there, her eyes ice-cold as she stared at me.
My coworker stammered, “Ma’am, he can’t do fifty alone… we usually split the large orders – ”
As the CEO of the Senn Group, Diana wasn’t used to being questioned. She possessed the kind of quiet, terrifying authority that could silence a room with a single glance. My coworker withered under her gaze and stepped back.
I was used to being bullied, used to keeping my head down. But as I silently grabbed a fresh cup, she was the one who couldn’t bear the quiet.
She frowned, her manicured fingers tapping the sticky counter. “Are you mute? I told you to make the drinks.”
I didn’t look at her. “It’s my job.”
She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, looking around the cramped, sweltering shop. The cheap ceiling fan hummed loudly, doing nothing but pushing the hot, humid air around. “You call this pathetic little place a job? Is this how your father raised you?”
At the mention of my father, the father who had been buried in an unmarked grave for ten years, the mask of indifference I’d worn all day finally cracked.
“I don’t have a father,” I said, my voice dead.
Diana blinked, caught off guard. Then, a look of profound disgust washed over her face. “A liar raises a liar, I see. You won’t even acknowledge the man who raised you.”
I opened my mouth to tell her the truth – that he was dead – but shut it the moment Christian swaggered back into the shop.
“Mom, what are you doing back here?” He looked at my stained apron and cheap sneakers, his brow furrowing with jealousy. “Are you looking for him? You lied to me. You do know him.”
Diana’s face softened instantly. It wasn’t fear, but a desperate, coddling need to keep him happy, to make sure her golden boy never felt threatened.
She gently smoothed his hair. “Of course not, sweetie. I just wanted to buy some drinks for the security staff.”
“Oh. Good.” He glared at me, his eyes carrying the same possessive, controlling streak as his father, Charles.
Diana whispered something in Christian’s ear. He smirked, gave me a final, mocking look, and walked out.
The shop went quiet again. Diana stared at me for a long time, as if waiting for me to beg. When I didn’t, she spoke with a cold, magnanimous pity.
“Go home and tell your father this: the moment he admits he was the one who put that blood-binding love-worm in me all those years ago, I’ll forgive him.” She paused, her voice tightening. “Once he begs for my forgiveness, I will personally compensate both of you for everything you’ve suffered over the last decade.”
Looking at her stubborn, arrogant eyes, a wave of bitter grief crashed over me. I clenched my fists, fighting back the tears stinging my eyes.
“You want him to apologize?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “He’s been dead for ten years.”
Behind me, my coworker gasped, dropping a freshly sealed cup of boba. It burst on the floor, splattering black pearls across our shoes.
Diana’s immediate reaction wasn’t shock. It was disbelief.
She let out a mocking, cynical laugh. “Still playing these pathetic games! When your father cursed me, he denied it to the very end. He was always so clever, so full of tricks. You expect me to believe he just died?”
Her impatience flared, her brow furrowing deep. “I am a woman of my word. If he apologizes, I will let the past go. Even if he hadn’t cursed me back then, I still would have married him. But his greed got the better of him. He touched my boundaries…” She stopped herself, shaking her head as she looked at me. “I’ll give him three days. Tell him he has three days to come to me.”
Three days.
“Three days from now is the anniversary of his death,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of hope. “If you want his apology so badly, you can come with me to his grave.”
“Don’t test me!” Diana snapped, her voice rising, unable to bear the word ‘death’ associated with him. She took a deep breath, smoothing her designer dress. “Do not push my patience, Wyatt.”
I watched her walk out, my heart completely numb.
But I hadn’t expected her family to strike so soon.
The very next afternoon, Christian showed up at the boba shop. He brought four burly bodyguards with him, effectively blocking the entrance.
“Ten thousand cups,” Christian demanded, pointing a finger at my chest. “By tomorrow morning.”
Like mother, like son. Their cruelty lacked any real imagination.
“I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Even if you chopped me into a hundred pieces, it is physically impossible to make ten thousand cups in twenty-four hours.”
The wealthy heir looked like he’d never heard the word ‘no’ in his entire life. His face twisted with rage. “Fine. Refuse me, and I’ll have my guys trash this place. Let’s see how a broke loser like you pays for the damages.”
“On what grounds?” I yelled, my anger finally boiling over. “You can’t just destroy a business and blame me!”
“I have money, power, and lawyers,” Christian sneered, leaning in close. “Who do you think the police will believe?”
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. Slowly, I lowered my head.
My father’s memorial was in two days. I needed every cent of my paycheck to buy him flowers and a small offering. I was already drowning; I couldn’t afford a lawsuit. My aunt was coming from the mountains, and I didn’t want her to see me ruined.
But I had severely underestimated how malicious Christian could be.
By the time my hands were cramping and raw from making a hundred cups, he decided he was bored.
“Not fast enough,” he barked. He signaled his bodyguards.
Before I could react, two large men grabbed my arms, pinning me to the floor.
“Since you made them, you should drink them,” Christian smiled, grabbing a cup off the counter.
Drinking a hundred cups of sugary liquid would rupture my stomach. I thrashed, trying to scream, but Christian grabbed the back of my neck, slamming my face near the floor. He leaned down, whispering in my ear so the terrified customers outside couldn’t hear.
“Angry? Feel helpless? Do you want to curse me too, just like your pathetic father did to my mom? I honestly don’t know how shameless parasites like you and your dad had the guts to try and steal my mother’s wealth. You think you can do dirty tricks and get a payout? Keep dreaming.”
He stood up, his face cold and indifferent. “Pour it down his throat.”
In broad daylight, they forced cup after cup of milk tea down my throat.
My stomach bloated to the point of agony, my chest tightening until I couldn’t breathe. By the time they finished, I collapsed onto the floor, my eyes rolling back as white foam seeped from my lips.
When I finally woke up in the hospital, the first thing I saw was a face that looked eighty percent like my father’s.
For a split second, my mind slipped. “Dad…?” I whispered.
The man’s eyes flashed with a brief, sharp flicker of disgust before quickly smoothing into a warm, gentle smile. “Wyatt, you’re awake,” he said. It was Charles. He paused, looking around the sterile room. “You’ve been asleep for a whole day. Why hasn’t your father come to see you?”
Uncle Charles.
As memory rushed back, my skin crawled. It was him. Ten years ago, he was the one who had cast the love-worm on Diana, trying to force her to love him. When she discovered the curse, he had masterfully pinned the entire thing on my father, throwing us from luxury into a living hell.
Remembering that I had almost called him ‘Dad,’ a wave of nausea hit me.
“Get out,” I rasped, my throat raw. “You don’t deserve to be here. Get the hell out!”
Charles’s face fell, a look of deep hurt masking his eyes. “How can you say that to me, Wyatt? We’re family. We share the same blood.”
In the span of a second, his expression turned dark.
I knew what was coming.
The hospital door swung open. Diana walked in. Seeing Charles’s pained expression, her eyes turned into absolute daggers, directed entirely at me.
“What did you do to Charles?” she demanded.
Looking at her immediate, unquestioning defense of him, a suffocating weight settled on my chest.
Was this how helpless my father felt back then?
One frown from Charles was all it took to condemn us without a trial.
I wanted to scream at her, to ask if she remembered how much she used to love my father. But I knew the words would only bounce off her armor of hatred.
“I hoped ten years of poverty would teach you and your father some humility,” Diana said, looking at Charles with deep tenderness before turning back to me, her voice dripping with venom. “But you’re still as wicked as ever. Where is your father? Is this how he raised you?”
“Diana, don’t be angry,” Charles said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “He’s just a child. He didn’t mean it. Don’t ruin your health over this.”
My stomach churned, and I began to dry heave over the side of the bed.
Charles’s expression hardened slightly.
Diana’s jaw clenched. “What is wrong with you? Apologize to your Uncle Charles right now!”
Apologize to the man who ruined my life?
“Never,” I said, staring straight into her eyes.
Diana raised her hand, her face flushed with fury. “Why, you – ”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Charles intervened, catching her wrist and offering me a sweet, patronizing smile. He brought over a bowl of broth from the bedside table. “Just drink this broth as an apology, Wyatt. Don’t force him, Diana. He’s innocent in all of this.”
The hypocrisy made me physically ill. I grabbed the bowl and choked down the hot liquid in seconds, wanting nothing more than for them to leave me alone.
I didn’t notice the faint, victorious smirk on Charles’s lips as I handed the empty bowl back.
An hour after they left, my body began to feel incredibly strange.
My limbs felt heavy, yet entirely disconnected from my mind. When I tried to get out of bed to use the restroom, my legs moved on their own, tripping me onto the cold floor.
And then, the horror set in.
I watched, completely powerless, as my body stood up, walked out of the room, and began stripping off my hospital gown in the middle of the crowded hallway.
The submission-worm.
My father had warned me about this. It was a high-level, dark binding spell that took away all physical autonomy. Even my father had never mastered it.
I was naked in the bustling hospital lobby.
Hundreds of eyes locked onto me. I could feel the burning weight of their stares, the whispers, the laughter.
“Look at this freak!” someone laughed.
“Is he off his meds?” another whispered.
People pulled out their phones, recording me. When they realized I wasn’t fighting back, they stepped closer, thrusting their cameras directly into my face.
Because of the submission-worm, I couldn’t even close my eyes or open my mouth to scream. The humiliation washed over me like a freezing tide.
Dad, please help me, I cried out in the silence of my mind.
But no one came.
Instead, through the crowd of flashing screens, I saw them.
Diana. Charles. Christian.
Diana’s face was twisted in disgust. Charles looked utterly smug. Christian was grinning, enjoying the show.
I tried to force my vocal cords to explain, to tell everyone I was cursed, but the parasite in my throat twisted my words.
“I… I am garbage,” my mouth rasped out.
“What did he say?” a spectator laughed, leaning closer with his phone.
“I am garbage!” I screamed, my voice echoing through the lobby. “I am the son of a filthy thief! I am a mistake!”
The flashes multiplied. The laughter grew louder, pounding against my skull like iron hammers. I wanted to die. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
By the time the doctors finally tackled me, pinning me down and wrapping me in a tight restraint blanket, the three of them were gone.
They strapped me to a psychiatric bed. Even then, my limbs thrashed, trying to tear off the sheets the nurses had placed over me. I lay there, tears of absolute despair leaking into my hair.
Five hours later, the curse finally faded, leaving my muscles sore and my spirit entirely broken.
By then, the video of my breakdown was the top trending story in the state.
That evening, Diana walked into my room alone.
“Well, you’re famous now,” she said, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “The Senn family can never associate with someone who has humiliated themselves like this. The three-day deadline is almost up, Wyatt, and your father still hasn’t shown his face.” She tapped her polished nails on the bedside table. “My patience is wearing thin. Tomorrow is the last day. If he doesn’t come to apologize, don’t blame me for what happens next.”
A sudden, fierce spark of anger flared in my chest.
Why did my father have to bear the blame for a crime he didn’t commit, while the real monster lived in luxury, bathed in her love?
Tomorrow was the day Aunt Lorelei was arriving.
As Diana turned to leave, I called out to her.
“Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see him. But you have to come to a place of my choosing first.”
Diana hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Deal.”
It was time she learned the truth. The love-worm inside her had grown too large to ignore anyway.
The next morning, the anniversary of my father’s death, we set out.
To my disgust, Charles and Christian insisted on joining us, claiming they “missed Thomas” and wanted to pay their respects. I kept my mouth shut, letting them play their roles.
When a member of our mountain community left the Hollow to live in the city, they were considered dead to the clan, never allowed to return. Years ago, Diana had wandered into our woods by mistake, and my father had fallen in love with her. He gave up everything – his family, his heritage – to build a life with her in the city. He lived in a cramped, moldy apartment, ate cheap instant ramen, and took care of her every need while she built her empire.
And all the while, Charles had traveled back and forth between the Hollow and the city, pretending he was trying to help my father find a way back home. He was my father’s younger brother; we trusted him blindly.
Aunt Lorelei, who wasn’t allowed to leave the mountains, had begged Charles to bring my father home. Instead, Charles lied to everyone. For wealth and for Diana, he had driven my father to his grave.
But a few days ago, I had managed to get a message to Aunt Lorelei.
When it came to folk magic, Aunt Lorelei was far more powerful than Charles could ever hope to be.
Once she arrived, Diana would finally see the truth.
As the sleek black SUV wound deep into the isolated mountain roads, Charles began to fidget.
“Wyatt, where exactly are you taking us?” his voice trembled slightly, his eyes dangled to the dense pine trees outside.
To hell, Uncle Charles.
“To see Dad,” I said coldly, closing my eyes to end the conversation.
Diana patted Charles’s hand comfortingly. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m right here.”
A bitter smile touched my lips. If only you knew, Diana. Your ‘heroic’ protection is the very thing that killed the man who actually loved you.
When the car stopped, we were surrounded by towering trees and wild briars.
Diana stepped out, her designer heels sinking into the damp earth. She frowned. “Your father lives here?”
I nodded. My father had spent his final years longing for these mountains. Since he couldn’t return to the Hollow, I had buried him as close to the boundary as possible.
I carried a bundle of carnations – his favorite – and walked toward a small, grassy mound in a clearing.
The cheap wooden headstone was weathered, but his carved face was still recognizable.
Diana’s face darkened instantly. She marched over and kicked the carnations out of my hand, scattering the pink petals into the dirt.
“Enough of this theater!” she hissed. “Where is he!”
I pointed to the grave. “Right there.”
Diana lost all control. She let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “I have given you so many chances. If you insist on lying to me, then don’t expect me to show any mercy!”
Charles quickly stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Wyatt, please, stop lying to your mother. Look how upset she is…”
Christian spat on the grave, his eyes filled with juvenile malice. “Good riddance. He was just a filthy leech anyway.”
My heart stopped. The blood drained from my face.
“I’m not lying!” I screamed. “My father is buried here! Why won’t you believe me?!”
Diana’s face twisted into something monstrous, her voice cold as winter frost.
“You really won’t admit it, will you? You’re just like him. A parasite who lives on lies.”
She pulled out her phone and made a call.
“Send the men up with shovels. I want this grave dug up. Let’s see if the bastard is actually inside.”
I shook violently, the horror suffocating me. She had lost her mind.
My father was dead, and she still wouldn’t let him rest.
With a raw scream of fury, I threw myself at her.
“Diana! How could you do this to him?! Do you remember how much you loved him? Do you have any idea how he suffered?!”
Before I could reach her, a heavy boot slammed into my chest.
The force knocked the wind out of me, and I fell backward into the dirt, coughing.
Christian retracted his foot, pretending to look apologetic as he covered his mouth. “Oh, sorry about that. You were getting too aggressive. I didn’t want you hurting my mom.”
Seeing me on the ground, Diana’s hand twitched, a momentary flicker of instinct crossing her face. But before she could move, her hired men arrived.
Ignoring my screams and tears, they drove their shovels into the earth. Within minutes, they unearthed a small, square wooden box.
Diana’s face paled slightly.
Charles quickly whispered in her ear, “They probably prepared a fake urn just to fool you. I bet it’s empty.”
Diana stared at the box for a moment, her voice turning flat. “Bring it up. Open it.”
“No!” I shrieked, scrambling forward on my hands and knees. “Don’t touch him! Don’t you dare touch him!”
I threw my body over the wooden box, locking my arms around it.
“Beat him,” Diana commanded, her voice devoid of any human warmth. “I want to see how long he can keep up this lie.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself as the heavy blows began to rain down on my back.
“Stop this at once!”
A commanding voice echoed through the clearing.
🌟 Continue the story here
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🔍 search for “524594”, and watch the full series ✨!
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