Category: English

1 I found an old brass lamp by chance, and it gave me three wishes. My first wish was for my childhood best friend, Oliver, to walk again. A few days later, his legs, which the doctors swore would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, miraculously regained sensation. The very first thing he did when he stood up was confess his love to me. During our junior year of college, Oliver’s family went bankrupt overnight. So, I made my second wish. The day after I saved his family’s empire from ruin, he showed up at my door with an engagement ring. I was bubble-wrapped in joy, preparing for our future just three days before our engagement party. Then, I overheard his friends teasing him. “Hey, Oliver, how does the charity case taste?” Oliver chuckled, his voice dripping with easy amusement. “Not bad. Actually, a lot sweeter than Minnie.” The engagement gift I had lovingly wrapped slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a quiet, devastating thud. His buddy whistled. “Aren’t you afraid your little heiress will throw a tantrum?” Oliver shrugged, his tone utterly indifferent. “A guy like me was never going to settle for just one woman my entire life. Gratitude is one thing. Everything else is a separate transaction.” I ran all the way home, tears blurring my vision. I pulled out the antique lamp and whispered my final wish: “I wish for the first two wishes to be completely undone!” The lamp flickered, its ancient light sputtering a few times before going entirely cold and dark. The wish was sealed. Based on how the previous wishes worked, it would take three days to take effect. It would happen exactly on the night of our engagement party. Tears spilled over, hot and unstoppable. Outside, a sudden burst of fireworks exploded across the sky, painting the harbor as bright as day. I stared blankly at the brilliant lights, my mind drifting back to the night Oliver proposed to me. It had been just as dazzling. Having spent eight agonizing years in a wheelchair, the moment he finally stood up, he spun me around in his arms, laughing like a madman. “Minnie, you’re my good luck charm!” As the words left his lips, a cascade of fireworks bloomed behind him, reflecting in his shining eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?” I had loved him in secret for five long years. When my dream finally came true, the sheer joy nearly blinded me. But I didn’t want him to ask me out just because he felt obligated to pay me back for his legs. Back then, he had sworn to the heavens that his feelings were real. “I only held back because I was paralyzed,” he had whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. “Minnie, if I ever betray you, you can tell your magic lamp to take it all back!” It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. My phone buzzed relentlessly. The class group chat was blowing up. “Which rich boy bought out the sky for Tessa tonight?” “Damn, this is even crazier than the night Oliver confessed to Minnie, isn’t it?” Tessa replied with a blushing emoji. “Stop it, guys. Oliver just wanted to celebrate me landing my internship.” The chat fell dead silent for a few minutes. Finally, someone broke the ice. “If I remember correctly, Minnie is still in this group, right? Won’t she lose her mind if she sees this?” The very next second, Oliver flooded the group chat with digital cash links, drowning the conversation. A barrage of expressions of gratitude quickly pushed the old messages out of sight. I slammed my phone face down on the desk, biting my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Then, the doorbell rang. Oliver stood on the porch, holding a massive bouquet of red roses. When he saw my face, he paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his handsome features. “Who upset my little princess?” he asked, reaching out to pull me into his chest. I stepped aside, dodging his touch. Oliver let out a dry laugh, assuming I was just throwing one of my usual, spoiled tantrums. Without another thought, he tossed the bouquet onto the console table and walked into the living room as if he owned the place. “Minnie, seriously, you need to work on that temper of yours,” he said, loosening his collar. “You’re about to be Mrs. Sinclair. You can’t keep acting like a petulant child forever.” Before I could utter a word, his phone chimed. He answered it, and a girl’s soft, sweet voice drifted through the speaker. “Oliver, thank you so much for helping me get the internship. To show my appreciation, can I buy you dinner? There’s a cheap diner near campus. It’s not fancy, but the food is amazing.” A soft smile tugged at Oliver’s lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Wait for me. I’m on my way.” He hung up and gestured to his phone. “You should learn from her. She’s hardworking, independent, and low-maintenance. Look at you. All you do is shop, spend my money, and throw tantrums.” He sighed, shaking his head with a patronizing grin. “But I guess that’s my fault for spoiling you so much.” As he gestured, his collar shifted, revealing a fresh, dark hickey on his neck. A sharp, suffocating pain flared in my chest. I blinked back the tears stinging my eyes, forcing a cold, mocking smile to my lips. “Oliver, since when did your taste get so trashy?” Getting a job at Sinclair Enterprises through his connections was called being hardworking. Eating cheap diner food was called being low-maintenance. I guess when you eat steak every day, even garbage starts to look like an exotic delicacy. His brow furrowed instantly. “Minnie, she’s just a classmate. I was doing her a favor. Don’t be so disgusting.” “A classmate? What kind of classmate sleeps in your bed?” Oliver froze, a rare flash of panic breaking through his calm facade. “How did you…” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears streamed down my face as I slapped his hand away. “You promised you’d never betray me, Oliver!” Before he could respond, his phone rang frantically. He picked it up, and his friend’s panicked voice filled the room. “Oliver, Tessa just got hit by a car! We don’t have enough cash for the emergency deposit. Can you come down here right now?” Without a single second of hesitation, Oliver spun on his heel. “I’ll explain everything when I get back!” I grabbed the bouquet of roses he had brought and hurled them at his back. “Don’t bother, Oliver! We’re over!” He stopped. His back tensed for a brief second before relaxing. “Minnie, don’t be naive. We can’t break up.” He turned around, his usual playful arrogance replaced by a heavy, foreign exhaustion. “At this point, our family businesses are completely tied together. Do you really think this is your choice to make? Even if you want to call off the engagement, do you think your father would ever agree? On our engagement night, three days from now, do you expect us to just humiliate both our families?” He walked out, leaving nothing but a mess of crushed petals on the floor. I stepped on them numbly, the red rose juice staining my white silk night gown like fresh blood. He was right about one thing. Ever since my second wish saved his family, Sinclair Enterprises had reached unprecedented heights. My father, a ruthless businessman to his core, would never let me call off this merger. But Oliver had no idea that the third wish had already been cast. For an entire day, Oliver didn’t send me a single text. I blocked his number. I spent the afternoon packing away every single thing he had given me over the years: his messy love letters, the clumsy scarf he had knitted for me, and the birthday gift he had flown across the world to buy at an auction, spending a whole year’s allowance. All those sweet memories, once swallowed like candy, now felt like broken glass tearing through my throat, leaving me bleeding inside. The last item was our engagement ring. I had custom-ordered it from a designer, engraving each other’s initials on the band. I traced the letters O.S. with my thumb, then threw it into the trash box with the rest of his things. I hadn’t looked at my phone all afternoon. The quiet group chat had exploded once again. “Did you guys hear? Tessa was hit by a car and lost her vision!” “Oh my god, that’s awful! Her family is broke, how is she going to afford the surgery?” “We don’t need to worry about that. Oliver is covering everything. But the doctors said her corneas are severely damaged. She might be blind for life!” I stared at the screen, my face blank. I shut down the phone, picked up the box of trash, and walked out. As soon as I opened the front door, I ran into Oliver. He looked disheveled, panting as he ran toward the villa. Was it my imagination, or was he limping slightly? Before he could even catch his breath, he grabbed my arm. “Minnie, does your lamp still have one last wish? Let me borrow it, please!” The box of trash slipped from my grip, spilling our memories all over the driveway. Oliver didn’t even glance down. He dragged me toward the house. “Tessa is blind, and we can’t find a matching cornea in time! Take the lamp and come to the hospital with me!” I yanked my hand back with all my strength. “Why? What makes you think I would use my wish to save your mistress?” Oliver gritted his teeth. “She’s only twenty-two! How can you be so heartless?” “What does her life have to do with me?” During our shouting match, Oliver’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and as his eyes scanned the screen, his face darkened into something truly terrifying. He looked up, his expression venomous. “Minnie Reed, how can you be so vicious?” I froze. “What the hell are you talking about?” He shoved the phone in my face. It was a text from his friend. “Oliver, Tessa is awake. She said she saw the driver who hit her. It looked like Minnie’s family driver.” Then, an audio message played. Tessa’s weak, trembling voice filled the air. “It was Minnie’s driver! I’ve seen him before! Why is she doing this to me? I’m blind now… I’d rather be dead!” I stared at Oliver for a long, silent moment. Then, I began to laugh. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, but I couldn’t stop laughing. “Oliver, did you leave your brain in her bed? If I wanted to destroy her, would I really be stupid enough to send my own family driver to run her over?” Oliver bit his lip, searching my face for any sign of a lie. But his desperation won. He pushed past me, heading straight toward the study where I usually kept the lamp. “I don’t care! We have to save her first!” He snatched the brass lamp from the shelf and ran for the door. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm. “Give it back!” Oliver violently shook me off. The force sent me stumbling backward. My temple slammed hard against the sharp corner of the wooden console table, and the world spun. I collapsed onto the floor. Oliver turned, his face draining of all color. He dropped to his knees, panic-stricken. “Minnie! Minnie!” He pressed his hand against my forehead, but hot blood was already pouring through his fingers. Darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally regained consciousness, the first thing I heard was a muffled, angry argument outside my hospital room. It was Oliver’s voice. “Gratitude? I threw my entire life away for her! Isn’t that enough payback? Tessa wants nothing from me. I couldn’t give her a future, and now she’s lost her eyes because of me! If it was going to end like this, I wish Minnie had never saved me in the first place!” My heart seemed to stop. I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. Then, his father’s voice, hushed but furious, replied: “If it weren’t for Minnie, the Sinclair family would have been bankrupt years ago! The engagement party is tomorrow. How am I supposed to explain this to her father?” Oliver let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Explain what? Her father has a dozen mistresses. Didn’t his affairs drive Minnie’s mother to suicide? What right does he have to judge me? And honestly, look at Minnie’s emotional instability. She probably inherited her mother’s mental illness. I’m exhausted from playing her perfect prince all these years!” I bit the inside of my cheek until the copper taste of blood filled my mouth. He knew. He knew my mother’s death was my deepest trauma. He had sworn to protect me from the kind of neglect that killed her, and now, he was weaponizing it. A cold, burning rage consumed me. Just as I reached to grab the water glass on the nightstand to smash it, the door burst open. Oliver’s friend ran in, panting. “Oliver! Tessa is pregnant!” The news of Tessa’s pregnancy was a bomb that shattered the Sinclair family’s hesitation. Even Oliver’s father changed his tune, sending endless expensive supplements to her room. The night before the engagement party, I walked into Tessa’s hospital ward. Her eyes were bandaged, her pale face making her look fragile and pitiable. Hearing my footsteps, she offered a sweet, fragile smile. “Oliver? Is that you?” “It’s me,” I said. Her smile instantly vanished. She went completely rigid, her hand instinctively shielding her stomach. “Minnie? What are you doing here?” I sat down on the chair by her bed, my voice ice-cold. “Why did you frame me?” She didn’t expect me to be so direct. For a second, she faltered. But then, a smug, triumphant smirk crept onto her lips. “Does the reason even matter? Oliver believed me, not you. That’s all that counts, isn’t it?” Before I could respond, her ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway. In a split second, her entire demeanor changed. She lunged forward, grabbing my hand, sobbing hysterically. “Please, Minnie! For the sake of our college days, spare me! Please don’t hurt my baby!” I tried to yank my hand back, startled by her sudden act, but the door was already thrown open. “Minnie! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Oliver stormed in, grabbing my wrist with bruising force and dragging me out of the room. He didn’t even give me a chance to speak. “I warned you to stay away from her and my child!” I wrenched my wrist from his grip, glaring at him. Oliver’s chest heaved. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before his tone softened into a placating whine. “Minnie, what’s done is done. Stop fighting me on this, okay? Once she has the baby, I’ll pay her off and send her away.” I rubbed my swollen wrist, a mocking laugh slipping out. “And what about your bastard child?” He winced at the word, but forced himself to remain patient. “We’ll keep the baby. We can tell the world you gave birth to it.” “Are you insane?” I stared at him, realizing I didn’t know this man at all. He avoided my gaze. “Your mother had severe mental issues, and your temper is unstable. I’m worried it’s genetic. Besides, you’ve always said you’re terrified of the pain of childbirth. Isn’t this perfect? You get a child without any of the suffering.” What a generous offer. I forced down the rising bile in my throat. Knowing what was coming tomorrow, I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Fine,” I said. Oliver blinked, stunned by my quick capitulation. “You agree?” He smiled, assuming I had finally submitted to his will. “Good girl. I knew you’d understand. Save the lamp’s last wish for Tessa’s eyes. It’s the least we can do to compensate her. I’ll drop the hit-and-run investigation.” He leaned against the wall, rubbing his left leg. He looked uncomfortable. I smiled coldly. “Sure. But on one condition.” “Name it.” “I’ll heal her after we exchange our rings tomorrow.” Oliver let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “What, afraid I’ll run away? Don’t worry, I’m marrying you. I know you love me enough to do anything for me. Just look pretty tomorrow.” I smiled back. Oh, I wasn’t worried about him running away, because after tomorrow, he wouldn’t be running anywhere ever again. The next day, the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was packed with the city’s elite. I spent three hours on my makeup, looking flawless. When Oliver saw me, his eyes lit up. He walked toward me, but after a few steps, his left leg visibly spasmed. He shook it off, ignoring it, and offered me his hand. “Shall we, Mrs. Sinclair?” I placed my hand in his, walking up the steps to the stage under the flashing lights. Just as Oliver took the microphone, smiling warmly at the crowd, the double doors of the ballroom slammed open. The Sinclair family’s lead assistant ran in, his face completely bloodless. “Mr. Sinclair! Something went wrong! The federal investigators just seized our main development project!” The room erupted into chaos. At that exact moment, a horrific scream tore from Oliver’s throat. He collapsed onto the stage, clawing at his left leg, his eyes wide with sheer terror. “My legs! I can’t feel my legs!”

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1 Fred was a Pulitzer-winning documentary photographer. For our anniversary, I had begged him for weeks to take a portrait of me. He had simply toyed with his Leica, coolly stating that his lens only captured raw reality, never staged poses. But then came the afternoon I cleared out his study. I stumbled onto his private cloud drive, the one he guarded like a vault. It wasn’t even password-protected. Inside, there was only a single folder labeled A Distant Her. I clicked it open to find tens of thousands of photos. The subject of every single one was Sienna. Sienna yawning mid-sentence, Sienna with a stray crumb on her lip as she stared blankly ahead, her silhouette fading into the changing seasons. He had documented her life for seven years, from sunrise to twilight. Every frame was meticulously cataloged with precise aperture and shutter settings, a collection far more intimate and guarded than any of his award-winning portfolios. It turned out his lens wasn’t allergic to daily life. It was just that his life had no room for me. I quietly closed the tab, emailed my transfer request to the editor-in-chief, and accepted the field reporter posting in the rugged backwoods of Oregon. Keep your precious lens, Fred. I won’t stand in its way anymore. I slipped the printed transition checklist into a folder. Five neat pages. That was the sum total of the tedious administrative and logistical work I had done at the magazine over the past seven years. I had chained myself to that desk job just to ensure I could clock out on time, rush home, cook dinner, and wash Fred’s clothes. Staring at the paper, I couldn’t help but find it slightly pathetic. Seven years of devotion boiled down to a few flimsy sheets of copy paper. The door swung open, and Fred walked into the study. He was holding a takeout bag from a coffee shop. “Got you an Americano,” he said, placing one of the cups on my desk. “I was over on the south side visiting Arthur, and Sienna insisted on tagging along. We passed by your office on the way back, so I grabbed these.” He leaned against the doorframe, his posture casual, completely indifferent. I glanced at the custom label on the plastic cup. Extra whole milk, extra sweet, two pumps of vanilla syrup. I had been drinking my coffee black for six years. This was Sienna’s exact order. I didn’t even have the energy to call him out. I simply swept the cup directly into the wastebasket beside my desk. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Fred’s brow furrowed. “Evelyn, what is with the attitude lately? Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum because I wouldn’t shoot those anniversary portraits?” His voice carried a sharp edge of irritation. I ignored him, continuing to sort the documents on my desk. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m a documentary photographer. My camera only captures truth,” he argued, attempting to justify himself. “I don’t do staged shoots. It’s a matter of professional integrity. Sienna is different. She is a natural, an incredibly expressive subject.” Round and round he went, but every excuse he made always circled back to Sienna. I closed the folder with a soft thud. “I know,” I said quietly. “You don’t need to explain.” Fred blinked, visibly unnerved by my lack of pushback. Normally, I would have argued, trying to make him see my side, which would end with him slamming the door and driving straight to Sienna’s apartment. He stepped closer, his eyes dropping to the map of Oregon spread across my desk. It was marked with red ink circling various remote field stations. “Going on a trip?” He raised an eyebrow. “Work assignment.” He let out a dry, mocking laugh, his eyes flashing with condescension. “A work assignment? You run the logistics desk. Since when do they send coordinators out to the Oregon wilderness? Evelyn, is this another desperate attempt to pack up and leave just to force an apology out of me?” He didn’t believe a word. Or rather, he had never cared enough to understand what I did. To a high-minded artist like him, my coordination work was nothing more than mindless, trivial labor. Only his work, spending weeks chasing the perfect light to capture a single frame, deserved to be called a career. My phone buzzed. It was a message from my editor: Evelyn, the paperwork for the Oregon transfer is finalized. Can you depart in three days? I typed back: Absolutely. Right then, Fred’s phone rang. It was a custom ringtone, Sienna’s personal melody. The irritation vanished from his face instantly, his voice softening without him even realizing it. “Hey, what’s wrong?” “Fred, my ankle is flaring up again. It hurts so bad,” Sienna’s fragile voice drifted through the receiver, followed by her signature, calculated innocence. “But… will Evelyn be upset? Maybe you shouldn’t come. I can just take an Uber.” Fred glanced at me briefly. “I’m on my way,” he said into the phone. Hanging up, he grabbed his car keys from the counter. “Sienna’s old ankle injury is acting up. I have to take her to the clinic.” He headed toward the front door, throwing a half-hearted promise over his shoulder without looking back. “Stop being so difficult. I’ll bring you those macarons you love when I get back.” I hated macarons. They were Sienna’s favorite dessert, not mine. The front door clicked shut. I pulled my dusty suitcase from the back of the closet and began packing my clothes, my books, and everything that truly belonged to me. I looked up at the center wall of the living room, where Fred’s Pulitzer-winning masterpiece hung in a heavy frame. It was a black-and-white shot of a young girl running through a torrential downpour. Back when he took that, he had absolutely nothing to his name. And back then, I actually believed he loved me. Three days. It was the perfect amount of time. Plenty of time to scrub every trace of my existence from this house, and every trace of him from my heart. The next morning, I went to the office to finish handing off my responsibilities. Word had spread that I was taking the permanent post in Oregon, and colleagues kept dropping by my desk to say goodbye. Lily helped me pack my personal items into a cardboard box. “Evelyn, why the sudden move to the middle of nowhere?” she whispered, unable to hide her curiosity. “How are you and Fred going to handle the distance?” I cleared the remaining local files from my computer. “Just business,” I replied evasively. In the afternoon, my mother called. “Happy birthday, sweetie! Bring Fred over tonight. I made a whole spread of your favorites.” I held the phone to my ear, staring out at the bumper-to-bumper traffic below. I had completely forgotten it was my birthday. For the last five years, my calendar had been entirely consumed by Fred’s exhibition dates, his shoot schedules, and his milestones. My own birthday had simply slipped through the cracks. “I’ll be there, Mom,” I said. When I clocked out, I was shocked to find Fred’s SUV idling by the curb outside the office building. It was incredibly out of character. He almost never picked me up. He usually complained that the downtown high-rises were too suffocating, claiming the commercial chaos offended his artistic sensibilities. I walked up to the passenger side and reached for the door handle. Locked. The tinted window slid down halfway, revealing Sienna sitting in the passenger seat. She offered me a sweet, helpless smile, her eyes wide with a carefully rehearsed look of apology. “Oh, Evelyn, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “My car is in the shop, and since Fred mentioned he was coming to pick you up, I figured I’d hitch a ride.” Without saying a word, I opened the back door and climbed in. Fred caught my eye in the rearview mirror before pulling out into the lane. “My mother wants us over for dinner,” I said. Fred’s hands tensed on the steering wheel. “Tonight?” “Yes.” His brow furrowed. “I can’t tonight. Sienna has a shoot at a private estate upstate. I promised I’d go with her to help set up the angles and lighting.” I stared at the back of his head. “My mother spent the entire afternoon cooking.” “It can’t be helped, Evelyn. This shoot was booked weeks ago,” he dismissed, his tone entirely self-righteous. “Sienna’s been off her game lately. If I’m not there, she’ll mess up the framing.” Sienna chimed in, her voice hushed. “Fred, really, you should go with Evelyn. I’ll manage on my own.” “No,” Fred cut in immediately. “It’s a remote location. It’s not safe for you to go out there alone. I’m driving you.” He didn’t even bother offering me another excuse. The SUV veered into a left turn lane, heading north toward the highway. “Drop me off at the next subway station,” I said. Fred’s glare met mine in the mirror. “Don’t start acting up,” he warned, his voice rising. “It’s just a dinner. You can visit your mother tomorrow.” “Let me out,” I repeated. Fred slammed on the brakes. The heavy vehicle jerked to a violent halt by the curb, throwing me forward against the seatbelt. “Evelyn, can you grow up for once?” he snapped, turning around to face me, his eyes blazing with resentment. “I’m not just your husband, I’m an artist. My work has real value.” “I know.” I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool evening air. The door slammed shut behind me, and he immediately hit the gas, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I stood on the sidewalk and called my mother back. “Hey Mom, Fred got called away for an urgent shoot. I’ll be coming over by myself.” After dinner, I stood by the sink, helping my mother wash the dishes. “Is everything alright between you two?” she asked gently. “Everything is fine,” I said, stacking a clean plate into the cabinet. By the time I got back to our apartment, the night was late and the rooms were pitch black. Fred wasn’t home. I walked into the study, booted up his laptop, and logged into his cloud drive. Sure enough, in the folder named A Distant Her, a dozen fresh uploads appeared. They were all shots of Sienna at the upstate estate. She was draped across a vintage leather sofa, wearing nothing but a thin silk slip. Her laughter was captured with effortless warmth, her eyes staring into the lens with soft, bedroom intimacy. The lighting in every shot was breathtakingly romantic. The day before my departure to Oregon arrived. My packing was complete. A single thirty-inch suitcase held every shred of my life from the past seven years. On the living room couch, I left a neat pile of things belonging to Fred that had gotten mixed in with my belongings. My phone vibrated with a text from him: I won’t be home tonight. Sienna’s shoot ran into some technical issues. The lighting rig broke, and I need to stay to fix it. I didn’t bother replying. At ten that night, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Sienna standing on the welcome mat. She was wearing an oversized beige trench coat, a men’s style. “Evelyn,” she said smoothly, peering past me. “Fred is waiting for me in the car downstairs. He sent me up to grab some spare lenses from the study.” Before I could even step aside, she slipped past me, navigating the hallway toward the study with practiced ease. On her way back out, her eyes caught the heavy suitcase sitting near the door. “Going on a trip?” “None of your business.” She didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow step closer, her expression shifting to one of mock pity. “You know, Evelyn, I actually feel sorry for you,” she said, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “You’ve babied him for seven years. You know his favorite designer brands and his exact measurements. Yet, in all this time, he’s never taken a single portrait of you.” I remained silent, staring at her. “He told me you’re just so incredibly boring,” Sienna whispered, taking another step forward. “He said you only care about grocery lists and whether he eats his vegetables on time. You don’t understand his art. He told me that when he looks at you through the viewfinder, his finger simply refuses to press the shutter.” “Are you finished?” I pointed toward the open front door. “If you are, get out.” “Anger really doesn’t suit you, Evelyn. No wonder he hates coming home,” she sneered, brushing past me and letting herself out. The door clicked shut. I sat down on the sofa, staring at the pile of Fred’s things. So that was what my devotion meant to him. I was simply boring. For seven years, when he couldn’t book a single gig, I was the one coupon-clipping and living on pennies to keep us fed. When he couldn’t afford gear, I maxed out my own credit cards to buy him his first prime lenses. I took a starving, broke art student and supported him until he stood on a stage holding a Pulitzer. Now that he was well-fed and comfortable, he had decided to wander off in search of a soul he deemed more interesting. I unlocked my phone and dialed a local junk-removal service. Early the next morning, the truck arrived. I hauled out all of Fred’s old discarded gear, duplicate prints, and clutter from the living room, handing it over to the scrap collector. He handed me fifteen dollars. The price of two cheap coffees. That was all Fred was worth to me now. I dragged my suitcase down the stairs and walked out of the complex, flagging down a yellow cab. I had just finished loading my luggage into the trunk when my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. I stared at his name flashing across the screen before sliding to answer. The moment I put the phone to my ear, his voice hit me like a physical blow, thick with fury. “Evelyn, where the hell is my khaki trench coat? I can’t find it anywhere. And the test prints from my desk drawer, what did you do with them?” His trench coat? It was probably being used as a rag in some junkyard by now. As for the prints, they were likely already sitting at the bottom of a recycling bin, shredded to pieces. “I sold them,” I said. “You sold them? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he barked, his voice climbing an octave. “Exactly what it sounds like. Got fifteen bucks for the whole lot. Free pickup included.” I slid into the back seat of the cab and pulled the door shut. Over the receiver, I heard the loud clatter of him kicking a chair. “Evelyn, have you completely lost your mind? I’ve kept those prints for years! And that coat was a custom designer piece! Are you doing this because I didn’t come home for your birthday yesterday? You threw away my life’s work behind my back over a petty birthday?” So he did know it was my birthday. He knew, and yet he chose to stay out, inventing cheap excuses about broken equipment just to spend the night playing handyman for another woman. “Is there anything else you want to ask?” I looked out the window as the familiar streets began to slip away. Fred’s voice was relentless, shaking with anger. “Where are you right now? Go back and get my things immediately! Sienna needs that coat for her shoot today, and the prints were supposed to be used for the background set. She’s waiting on them. If you ruin her shoot, do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost us?” “If she’s that desperate for trash, tell her to go dig through the scrap yard on the south side. She might find a real bargain there.” “Evelyn!” he roared. “The divorce papers are on the kitchen island, Fred. Make sure to sign them,” I said calmly. Silence fell over the line, thick and heavy. Then, he let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Divorce? Evelyn, how many times are you going to play this hand? Every single time you threaten to leave, you always come crawling back to cook my meals. Where else could you possibly go without me?” “You’ll be waiting the rest of your life for that meal,” I said, and ended the call. I immediately blocked his number. Then, I opened my social media apps. Every photo of Fred, every post, every message history, I deleted them all, wiped my accounts clean, and blocked him across every platform. The airport intercom crackled to life, announcing the final boarding call for my flight to Portland. I handed my ID and boarding pass to the gate agent. I took one last look at the city skyline, the place where I had wasted seven years of my life, turned around, and walked down the jet bridge without looking back.

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1 The day my twin sister, Giselle, failed her audition for the National Conservatory of Dance, the entire family gathered around to comfort her. I stood quietly in the corner, staring at the acceptance email glowing on my phone screen. I wanted to tell my parents that I made it. But then, my phone buzzed. It was an incoming call from myself, ten years in the future. “You got into the Conservatory before she did. Do you honestly think Mom and Dad will finally love you for it?” A bitter laugh echoed from the speaker. “They won’t.” “In my timeline, you eagerly told them the news.” “Giselle couldn’t handle the rejection. She threw herself off the eighteenth-floor balcony.” “You spent the next eight years trying to atone for her death. In the tenth year, Mom and Dad broke your legs. You never stood on a stage again.” “That was when you finally realized they never loved you.” I stared at the screen, my heart freezing. The camera angled down, revealing two empty pant legs dangling from a wheelchair. “So, make your choice. Tell them, get your legs broken, or run away and live your own life.” The line went dead. Only then did my parents finally remember that I had applied to the Conservatory too. Mom sighed, looking at me with her usual comparing gaze. “Kayla, look at your sister. She worked so hard, while you just tagged along behind her for eight years, barely scraping by.” “No matter how poorly you did, she was always there to keep you grounded.” Dad pointed a finger at me. “Tell us, Kayla. You didn’t make it either, did you?” The warnings from the call echoed in my ears. My chest tightened. I shook my head slowly. “No, I didn’t.” If they truly never loved me, then I would rather choose the open road and leave them behind forever. Hearing my response, Dad let out a relieved laugh. “See, Giselle? You just hold yourself to such high standards.” “Look at your sister. She failed, and she is perfectly fine.” I watched them, my hard-won joy evaporating into nothing. “She is pathetic. How could she ever compare to me?” Giselle spat, her voice dripping with venom. I wanted to scream that I was not inferior. But remembering the future, I forced my mouth shut. Mom rubbed Giselle’s back. “Of course, sweetie. You have been winning local trophies since you were a little girl. You will get in next year.” Mom slipped a gold bracelet onto Giselle’s wrist. Then, she glanced at my bare wrist and sighed. “Kayla, you need to try harder. This bracelet is a reward for Giselle’s hard work. You cannot keep falling behind.” I lowered my head. My whole life, Giselle was the star. I was always the one who was not quite enough. Not quite as pretty, not quite as smart, not quite as talented. Today was the first time I had actually beaten her. But I still could not win our parents’ love. “You don’t think I’m playing favorites, do you, Kayla?” Mom asked. I shook my head. “No.” But my chest felt like it was being crushed. “Good. If worse comes to worst, you can retake the prep year with your sister. It will be easier if you two stick together.” “No,” Dad interrupted before I could speak. “Her situation is different. She is not built for dance. Another year is just a waste of money.” I knew what he meant. He always said I was too thin, too dark, lacking the natural grace Giselle had. I had heard it my whole life. Even our old instructor used to sigh at me. “Your proportions are all wrong, Kayla. You’re too short, your skin is too dull. If only you had half of Giselle’s natural grace.” My parents thought my desire to dance was just jealousy of Giselle. But I did not want to steal her spotlight. I just wanted to be seen. She got the custom costumes, the newest pointe shoes, the applause. I had to beg for a single pair of shoes, only to be told I was throwing their money away. I worked so hard for this. I wore through hundreds of shoes in secret. But to them, I was still the disappointment. Dad tossed a local community college brochure onto the table. “Don’t crowd your sister. Just pick something local. That way, we can still look after you.” I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled. “Okay.” But under the table, my fingers tapped the screen of my phone, officially confirming my enrollment at the National Conservatory. It was three thousand miles away. Once I left, I would not be coming back. I went back to my room to pack. My wardrobe was bare. Out of dozens of outfits, only three or four faded, well-worn shirts belonged to me. Mom always said, “You’re twins, you can share.” But I had sensitive skin. Synthetic fabrics gave me hives. They never believed me. I put the clothes back. I did not need them. I packed light. My phone rang. It was Mom. “Kayla, come down to the bistro. Your sister needs our support to get through this. We’re celebrating her courage to try again.” I opened my door. The apartment was completely empty. They had already left without me. They forgot me, as usual. I wanted to refuse, but this was my last week with them. “Okay,” I quieted my voice. At the restaurant, the table was piled high with Giselle’s favorites. Steamed lobster, garlic butter shrimp, baked oysters. I was allergic to shellfish, but they never believed me. “You’re twins. If she’s not allergic, how could you be?” they would say. “If you don’t want to eat, don’t. More for your sister.” I sat down. Giselle’s plate was piled high with shrimp peeled by Mom. In front of me, there was not even a fork or a glass. Dad poured pomegranate juice for Giselle. “How much allowance did Dad send you?” Giselle asked me with a smug smile. “I got ten thousand dollars. Since you’re going to college, you must have gotten more, right?” I looked at my phone. A single notification for fifty dollars. I did not accept it. Mom placed another lobster tail on Giselle’s plate. “Kayla is an adult now. She needs to start earning her own keep.” Giselle leaned into Mom’s shoulder. “Aw, I don’t ever want to grow up then.” Mom stroked her hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You focus on your prep year. If you need more, just ask.” “I want to go to Bora Bora before classes start! Can I have another thirty thousand?” Mom smiled and transferred fifty thousand right there. On Mom’s phone, Giselle’s chat was pinned to the top. My name was buried somewhere at the bottom, invisible. “Why aren’t you eating?” Dad tapped the table. “I don’t have a plate,” I said. “Then ask the waiter. Are you a princess? Do we have to feed you ourselves?” I looked at Giselle’s plate, piled high with food they had peeled for her. I lowered my eyes. When the waiter finally brought a plate, Mom tossed a shrimp onto it. “There. Now don’t go telling people we play favorites.” I stared at the shrimp. “Your mother gave you food, why the long face?” Dad snapped. “Eat.” I forced myself to swallow it. Instantly, my throat began to burn. Dad laughed. “See? I told you she was faking it.” I stood up, my throat tightening. “I’m full.” “Kayla!” Mom called out. For a second, I hoped she noticed my swelling skin. Instead, she said, “Since you have some free time before your local classes start, go find a summer job. You’re old enough to contribute.” I walked out into the cool night. I had always been the mature one. I gave up my clothes, did the chores, never asked for money. But because they did not care, everything I did was wrong. I took a cab to the clinic alone. “Acute allergic reaction,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “Any later and your airway would have closed up. Doesn’t your family know about this?” “They forgot,” I whispered. If it were Giselle who had not come home, they would have called the police. But my phone remained completely silent. I scrolled through social media. Mom had posted a picture of Giselle holding a candied apple, flanked by both of them. My sweet girl! Always our baby! I stared at the screen, my eyes burning. The next morning, I walked back to the house. Mom and Dad were packing Giselle’s bags in the living room. “Where did you sleep last night, Kayla?” Dad asked casually. “Does it matter? You didn’t notice anyway.” The room went silent. Dad’s face darkened. “Are you throwing a tantrum now? You stay out all night and then talk back to us?” My skin was still covered in fading red welts. They saw them, but chose to look away. “It won’t happen again,” I said, walking to my room. My heart shattered when I opened the door. My things had been tossed into cardboard boxes in the hallway. In the trash can, my clay ballerina figurine lay shattered. I painted that when I was eight, the day I took second place in a competition. Giselle took first. Giselle smirked from the doorway. “Since you’re going to college, you won’t need this room anymore, right? I want to turn it into my walk-in closet.” “Sure,” I said quietly. I was not coming back anyway. Giselle’s smirk faded. “You’re not even mad?” I picked up my suitcase. In the living room, Dad blocked my path. “Kayla, you think you’re tough now? Trying to run away to scare us?” “I’m not,” I said. “You aren’t giving me allowance, so I have to go work.” “Are you blaming us?” Dad roared. “We paid for your dance classes for eight years! Even when your instructor said you had no talent! We bought your clothes, your food, your shoes!” He listed every penny. “Do you have a conscience, Kayla?” “I’ll pay you back,” I said, tears finally spilling over. Dad’s arm swung, and his palm cracked against my cheek. The blow spun my head around. “With what? You couldn’t even pass an audition! Why can’t you be sensible like your sister?” Giselle rushed over, grabbing my arm with fake tears. “Kayla, don’t make Dad angry. They do everything for our own good.” I pushed her away. I barely touched her, but she stumbled back, crying out. Mom immediately shielded her, glaring at me. “We love you both equally! Kayla, you’ve disappointed us for the last time.” I turned toward the door. “If you walk out that door, don’t you dare come back!” Dad screamed. I pulled out my train ticket to the Capital. “I won’t,” I said. Let the mountains and the seas divide us. From this day on, we are strangers.

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1 I had finally managed to score tickets to the World Cup, the one event Sienna loved more than anything. I was practically buzzing with excitement as I went to find her, but my steps faltered when I overheard her friend talking to her in the dressing room. “Gavin practically begged his boss for time off to take you to this game,” her friend was saying, sounding deeply concerned. “He pulled so many strings to get those tickets, Sienna. It’s really not right for you to go with Jasper instead.” Sienna didn’t even look up. She simply admired her freshly painted nails, her tone casual and entirely indifferent. “Going with Gavin is boring. I’m just used to watching the World Cup with Jasper. We’ve done it every single time.” Boring. Used to it. Those six words felt like twelve sharp slaps to my face, stinging with the weight of the twelve years I had spent loving her. Three World Cups had passed in our dozen years together. The first two times, she had used my hard-earned money to fly out and watch the games with Jasper. I had fought with her about it back then. She had held me close, whispering sweet promises to quiet my anger. “Jasper and I grew up together, babe. It’s just a habit. He was the one beside me long before you came into my life. I promise, next time, it’ll just be the two of us.” And like a fool, I believed her. I waited four long years. Yet here we were again, and her habit still had no room for me. I stared down at the pristine tickets in my hands and let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. Slowly, deliberately, I ripped the tickets down the middle and tossed the pieces into the trash can. It turned out that for twelve years, I was never a partner. I was just a placeholder runner in her marathon. She was right. It really was boring. When Sienna finally came home, she was cradling Jasper’s fluffy white cat in her arms. “Hey, babe, do you mind watching Jasper’s cat for a little while?” As the words left her mouth, she finally looked up and noticed me packing my suitcase. Her expression hardened instantly. “Stop packing, Gavin.” “It was Jasper’s birthday last month, and his only wish was for me to watch the World Cup with him this year.” “I already promised him I would.” Her tone was soft, but there was no room for discussion. She wasn’t asking. She was simply delivering a verdict. I ignored her, slipping my passport and social security card into the innermost zipper of my suitcase. My parents had mailed me those documents from upstate two weeks ago so we could register our marriage. We were supposed to walk down to City Hall next month, on the ninth, to sign the papers and make it official. But as I zipped the pocket shut, a wave of relief washed over me. A clean break now was infinitely better than a messy divorce later. I didn’t even look up, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. “Four years ago, you promised me this World Cup would be ours.” “That’s completely different!” her voice sharpened. “Jasper is a friend. If I break a promise to him, it looks terrible. I can’t just back out.” My heart felt like a stagnant pool of ice water. I finally raised my eyes to look at her. “Out of the three of us, I’m the one who feels like the outsider.” Sienna’s jaw tightened. “Are you really going to be this petty and jealous again? Can you please just stop?” “Jasper and I grew up in the same sandbox. I’ve told you a thousand times, we are strictly platonic!” “We are getting married next month, Gavin! Do you seriously have zero trust in me?” “You have no idea how exhausting you are!” She pressed her palm to her forehead, sighing dramatically. Every single time Jasper’s name came up, she played the victim, acting as if my boundaries were a heavy cross she had to bear. “I’m exhausted too,” I said quietly. I closed the lid of my suitcase. “If you’re so used to having Jasper beside you, go with him. I have no interest in begging for a seat anymore.” Sienna blinked, momentarily stunned by my lack of shouting. Assuming I was simply giving in like I always did, she let out a breath of relief. “Don’t overthink things, okay? I’ll bring you back something nice from the trip.” The white cat slid out of her arms, landing gracefully in front of my suitcase. “Jasper’s family is out of town,” Sienna continued, her voice light. “And my parents can’t stand cat dander in their house. He couldn’t find anyone else to watch him at such short notice, so you’ll have to take care of him for a little while. Thanks, babe.” He takes care of my woman, and I take care of his cat. Unbelievable. Her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up. Even without looking, I knew from the sudden softness in her eyes that it was Jasper. Before heading into the study to take the call, she tossed a casual command over her shoulder. “The cat’s been meowing all morning. He’s probably hungry. Jasper says he loves fresh steamed sea bass, so make sure you prep a fish for him.” Twelve years together, and she spoke to me with the casual authority of a master instructing a butler. Without waiting for my reply, she slipped into the study and shut the door. I pushed my packed suitcase to the corner. My company had given me three days to hand over my responsibilities before my transfer upstate took effect. In three days, I wouldn’t just be leaving this city. I would be leaving Sienna, and the twelve years we had shared, far behind. Passing by the study, I heard her laughter drifting through the door. She was on a video call with Jasper, whose cheerful voice echoed through her speakers. Sienna’s tone was smug, dripping with absolute certainty. “I’ve been with Gavin for twelve years. He’s spent every single day catering to my whims. Why do you think every World Cup has been with you? He won’t make a scene. Just pack your bags and get ready for a good time.” I froze in the hallway, the chill in my chest hardening into solid ice. From age eighteen to thirty, I had devoted the best years of my life to her. I had cut off every other woman who showed interest, keeping my eyes solely on her. Among her friends, I was known as the perfect, most understanding boyfriend. Even when we fought bitterly over Jasper, I kept it behind closed doors to protect her dignity. But my discretion had only become her leverage. My silence was her license to walk all over me. A cold sneer crept onto my lips. Enjoy it while it lasts, Sienna. Because after today, I am never catering to you again. As I went through my remaining things, I noticed that one of the custom herbal sleep pillows my grandmother had made for me was missing. I had struggled with chronic insomnia due to high work stress. My grandmother had traveled to a renowned herbalist in the countryside to get me two special lavender-infused sleep pillows to rotate. On her journey back from getting those pillows, she was struck by a car and passed away. Those pillows were the most precious, irreplaceable keepsakes she had left me. When Sienna came out of the study, purse in hand, ready to head out, I stopped her. “Do you know where my other herbal pillow is? The one my grandma made.” Sienna paused, thinking for a moment. “Check the guest room. Jasper was staying there last week. If it’s not there, he probably took it back to his place.” We had lived in this apartment for seven years. Initially, we rented it, but later, I bought it outright from the landlord. At the time, wanting to prove my devotion, I put the deed under Sienna’s name. I had argued that a two-bedroom apartment was plenty for just the two of us. But she had insisted on a three-bedroom place, claiming it was for “guest convenience.” Yet in all these years, she had never allowed any of her girlfriends to stay over. Even when her best friend went through a messy breakup and got blackout drunk, Sienna had insisted on booking her a hotel instead of letting her use the guest room. The only person who ever slept in that room was Jasper. Whenever he got too drunk to drive, I would offer to call him a cab or get him a hotel room nearby. But Sienna would always block me, playing the “we’re practically siblings” card. She knew exactly how much it bothered me, how much it wounded my pride. Yet, she let Jasper claim that bedroom night after night, often presenting it to me as a completed fact before I could even object. Later, to quiet my protests, she installed security cameras in the common areas, claiming that having everything on tape was proof of their pure, platonic innocence. The guest room had essentially become Jasper’s private suite, constantly cluttered with his personal belongings: his brand of cigarettes, his shaver, his watch, and even his spare underwear. In the past, finding those things would have triggered a screaming match. This time, I simply walked into the guest room, saw that the pillow wasn’t there, and quietly walked out. Without a word of protest, I took my keys and drove straight to Jasper’s house. Jasper opened the door, his eyes widening in faux surprise. “Well, look who it is! Gavin, I don’t think you’ve ever set foot in my place before.” He offered a greasy, welcoming smile. “Come on in.” “I’m just here for my grandmother’s pillow,” I said, stepping past him. He chuckled, turning toward the kitchen to pour some water. I noticed his thumbs flying across his phone screen as he walked. He was texting Sienna, undoubtedly playing the victim. “Don’t bother with the water,” I called out. “I’m leaving as soon as I get it.” He walked back, scratching the back of his neck with an innocent shrug. “Honestly, I can’t remember where she put it. Why don’t you check the second room on the right? Sienna slept there the other night.” My chest tightened. I had never known Sienna to stay overnight at his place. Walking down the hall, I glanced at his balcony. Hanging on the drying rack, interspersed with his clothes, were Sienna’s garments, including her silk underwear, clipped right next to his boxers. Jasper followed my gaze and offered a breezy, casual explanation. “Oh, Sienna had a few too many drinks last night. She ended up throwing up all over herself and my shirt. I had to wash everything for her.” It sounded like an explanation, but the smug look in his eyes made it a blatant provocation. Years ago, he wouldn’t have dared to be this obvious. He used to swear up and down that they were just childhood friends with zero feelings involved. Lately, however, he had dropped the act entirely, adopting a silent, mocking attitude of believe what you want. Now, he was actively declaring war, waiting for me to lose my mind and tear down the thin veil of their “friendship.” In the past, a stunt like this would have earned him a fist to the jaw. I had hit him before out of sheer jealousy, which always resulted in screaming matches with Sienna. But this time, I simply gave a quiet nod. “I see.” As I looked away, my eyes brushed against a bottle of Sienna’s favorite dietary supplements sitting on his coffee table, mirroring the bag of Jasper’s favorite coffee beans that always sat on our kitchen counter. I was far calmer than I ever expected to be. Jasper’s smug expression flickered, replaced by a flash of disappointment. He had wanted a fight. He had wanted to play the fragile victim so Sienna would rush to his defense. I stepped into the bedroom. The entire wall above his headboard was covered in a massive, heart-shaped collage of photos featuring him and Sienna. There were goofy polaroids from their childhood, candid shots from high school, and professional studio portraits where they looked like a blissfully happy couple. Right in the center was a large, beautifully framed photo. Sienna was wearing a gorgeous white gown with a delicate tulle veil, laughing as she ran hand-in-hand through a field with Jasper, who wore a tailored suit. It wasn’t a wedding photo, but it might as well have been. In every single picture, Sienna’s smile was radiant, entirely unburdened. “We’ve collected these over the years,” Jasper said, watching my face closely. “Just keeping all our best memories in one place.” I felt a strange, hollow sensation. When your heart truly dies, anger simply evaporates. “They’re lovely memories,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. He smirked, stepping closer. “Want to join us for a picture sometime, Gavin?” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. He was letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that I was the interloper here. Despite twelve years beside Sienna, I was still the stranger knocking at their door. “A game built for two gets crowded when a third tries to play,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Now, where is my grandmother’s pillow?” Flustered by my cold detachment, Jasper’s smile faltered. He turned to his wardrobe, rummaging through the shelves with exaggerated drama. “Sienna is so disorganized sometimes,” he muttered, tossing aside several of her shirts, including some delicate lace lingerie. “I don’t know where she put it. I’ll have to give her a serious talking-to.” I watched his little performance in absolute silence. He looked back at me, a sharp, knowing glint in his eye. “Gavin, don’t get the wrong idea. Sienna only stays here maybe seven nights a month. Every girl needs her own space, right? Especially when you’re traveling for work, she likes to come clear her head here. She’s lazy when she’s here. She expects me to pamper her, so she doesn’t lift a finger.” Every word was a calculated jab wrapped in a faux-friendly explanation. “Your arrangement is none of my business,” I said. “I just want the pillow.” Determined to find my breaking point, Jasper walked over to the neatly made bed and whipped back the duvet. There, lying right at the head of the bed, was my grandmother’s hand-embroidered pillow, looking entirely out of place next to a half-empty box of ultra-thin condoms. Jasper stood back, his eyes darting between me and the box, waiting for the eruption. I didn’t blink. “I have things to do today. Let’s speed this up.” “Maybe she put it in the walk-in closet,” Jasper muttered, clearly annoyed by my lack of reaction. I followed him into the closet. An open suitcase lay on the floor, half-packed with summer clothes. Resting right on top was a brand-new, unopened box of the exact same ultra-thin condoms. “I’m packing for our flight tomorrow,” Jasper said, watching me closely. “The World Cup only happens once every four years, you know. Everyone wants to get in, but the stadium seats are limited.” He leaned against the wardrobe, a smug, metaphorical grin on his face. “If you don’t belong in the stadium, no amount of squeezing will get you a seat. The seats are assigned from the very beginning. Some people are just destined to stay outside.” My patience evaporated. My voice turned ice-cold. “I came for the pillow, Jasper. As for Sienna? She’s all yours. You can keep her.” He froze, his smugness replaced by sudden panic. “Gavin, what are you talking about? Don’t make things weird. I was just talking about the football game.” “I want my grandmother’s pillow,” I repeated, each word heavy and deliberate. His eyes flickered, and he snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! I remember now. Follow me.” He led me to a third room, which had been converted into a luxurious play area for his cat. The moment I stepped through the door, my eyes landed on the rectangular herbal pillow, its delicate green embroidery stained and soaked, lying face-down inside the plastic cat litter box. A sickening stench of cat urine filled the room. My blood boiled, the heat rushing straight to my head. Jasper looked down at the ruined heirloom, putting on a pained, apologetic grimace. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry, Gavin. My cat is a little terror. It’s just a pillow, though. I’ll buy you a much better one to replace it. Sienna really shouldn’t have let the cat play with it.” The sheer, malicious disrespect snapped my final thread of self-control. Without a word, I pivoted and threw a hard, sweeping right hook directly into Jasper’s jaw. He crashed into the floor, his head slamming against a cat scratching post. “Gavin!” A sharp screech echoed from the doorway. Sienna rushed in, throwing herself over Jasper. She cradled his head, panic written all over her face as she looked at the dark red blood trickling from his split lip. Jasper groaned, putting on his best noble victim act. “Sienna, don’t… don’t be mad at Gavin. It was my fault.” Sienna glared up at me, her eyes burning with fury. “It’s just a stupid pillow! Was that really worth assaulting him over?!” My vision blurred with tears of pure rage. I stepped forward, and before she could react, I slapped her across the face. “Yes, it was.” Sienna’s head snapped to the side, a bright red handprint blooming on her cheek. She stared at me in absolute, horrified disbelief. “Gavin… you slapped me? Have you completely lost your mind?!” “I’m finally waking up from the nightmare of loving you,” I spat, my voice shaking with raw hatred. “Twelve years, Sienna. I regret every single second I spent loving you.” I turned on my heel and walked out. Behind me, her furious voice echoed down the corridor. “What is wrong with you?!” The next afternoon, after handing over my final files at the office, I rolled my suitcases through the airport terminal. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Jasper. I ordered ten premium pillows to your apartment. They should arrive in a couple of days. Also, Sienna and I are boarding our flight now. My cat is quite sensitive, so I’ve attached a care schedule and dietary spreadsheet. Make sure you stick to it. A second later, a text from Sienna came through. On the ninth of next month, I’ll be back. I’ll meet you at City Hall right on time to sign the marriage license. I stared at the screen and let out a cold, sharp laugh. On time? Sienna, that is an appointment I will never keep. From now on, you fly to your World Cup, and I fly to my freedom.

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Austin never liked taking photos, and he certainly never wanted to take them with me. For my graduation, he claimed his internship kept him too busy to make it, sending me a poorly photoshopped AI-composite image instead. When we traveled together, he shrugged and said professional photos were always heavily edited anyway, so he generated another batch of AI portraits for us. Now that we were getting married, Austin wanted our wedding photos to be AI-generated, too. “Wedding shoots are a massive rip-off and a waste of time,” he’d said. “Besides, those AI templates look exactly like the stuff your friend shoots. You’re the only sucker willing to pay her rates.” “The shoot conflicts with my business trip anyway, Fi. Why don’t we use that money to buy you a stunning dress instead?” Looking into Austin’s earnest eyes, I quietly closed the portfolio my best friend had sent over. Once Austin left for his trip, the entire burden of wedding planning fell squarely on my shoulders. I’d just pulled an all-nighter finalizing the wedding favors when Paige posted a new gallery on her Instagram grid. Another repeat client! This handsome guy went all out to book a custom birthday shoot for his favorite girl~ Slightly envious, I tapped on the photos. Only to find Austin’s familiar face smiling back at me next to a strange girl. 1 Thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me from sleep deprivation, I closed the app and opened it again. Paige’s geotag was set to the exact coastal town where Austin was supposed to be on his business trip. No matter how much I zoomed in or out, the man in the photo was undeniably Austin. The only difference was his bare left hand. No wedding band. When Austin proposed, he swore that once the ring was on, it would never come off. Once, I took mine off briefly before a shower, terrified of losing it in the drain, and he gave me the silent treatment for half a day. It took hours of coaxing to get back into his good graces. Yet here he was, the first to slip it off. The man who claimed to despise cameras had spent hours posing for beautiful, intimate photos with another girl. I pulled up Austin’s chat, typing out one last question. Can we please do a real wedding shoot when you get back? It was three in the morning, but he replied almost instantly. Fi, I thought we agreed on the AI pictures? You know how much I hate all that fuss and posing. Real shoots are exhausting. Let’s not get into this now, babe. Let your man get some sleep, okay? Always the same excuse. Too exhausting. Too tired. Was it not exhausting to pose for a glittering, fairy-tale birthday shoot with that other girl? Paige had told me about those shoots before. To get that perfect shot of glitter suspended in mid-air, you needed someone throwing handfuls of it over and over again. Those sessions took at least two grueling hours. In the photos, Austin’s hair and clothes were dusted with sparkles. He must have thrown them dozens of times. He didn’t mind the hassle for her, but a wedding shoot for us was too much to ask. My fingers trembled so badly it took me several tries just to close his chat. I screenshotted the gallery and sent it straight to Paige. Why didn’t you tell me? She, too, replied instantly. So you saw. Honestly, whatever. If anyone should feel guilty here, it’s you. My fiancé had slipped away on the eve of our wedding to play boyfriend to another woman. My best friend had actively covered for them and taken the damn photos. Why on earth should I feel guilty? Before I could even type a response, another text popped up from Paige. Fiona, you always claimed Austin hated photos. You never supported my business, and you wouldn’t even book me for your wedding photos. But guess what? Austin loved my work. He praised me and has hired me several times now. You were never a real friend to me. Several times? I followed Paige’s work religiously. If that girl had been in her portfolio before, I would have noticed. The only explanation was that Paige had blocked me from seeing those specific posts. Paige and I had grown up together. We were supposed to be sisters. When she said she wanted a professional camera, I worked two exhausting summer jobs just to buy her one. When she couldn’t find a job after graduation, I was the one who pushed her to turn her hobby into a career. Her first, second, and third clients were all people I begged to hire her. Outside of my parents, she was the person I loved most in this world. Yet, she accused me of being a fake friend just because I didn’t hire her for my own wedding. And for a quick paycheck, she had willingly helped Austin betray me. Paige, how much did Austin pay you for this shoot? Her reply came a second later. Eight hundred bucks. Plus travel and hotel. Eight hundred dollars. Not even the cost of the first camera I bought her. Austin had balked at the five-hundred-dollar wedding package I wanted, calling it a waste. But eight hundred for a birthday shoot was totally fine. Look, Fi, don’t say I never did anything for you. I’ll give you the truth. Austin isn’t on a business trip. He took Mona away for her birthday. It’s a romantic getaway. Whether you still want to marry him is up to you. Attached was a photo. 2 When the image loaded, my fingertips went numb, and my heart dropped into a cold, hollow abyss. In the photo, Austin, a man who was usually an absolute neat freak, was sitting on a dirty curb, happily eating street food with Mona. No wonder he had replied instantly at three in the morning. He wasn’t asleep; he was out on the town with her. During his week-long trip, I had tried to text him about the wedding details. Every single time, he brushed me off, saying he was too busy and telling me to stop suffocating him. I had offered to fly out to help him shoulder some of his workload. He’d claimed he didn’t want me to exhaust myself, and that the extra travel expenses would be a waste of money. Too busy? Too expensive? He was just terrified I’d crash his romantic little bubble with Mona. The business trip was a lie. His hatred of photos was a lie. His love for me was a lie. I curled into a ball on the cold floor and wept until my chest ached. I must have cried myself to sleep because I was startled awake by my phone buzzing at ten the next morning. It was the confectioner, asking if I approved of the custom wedding favors. I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, pressed it against my swollen eyes, and texted back: Please cancel the order. The wedding is off. I sent the same short, cold message to the bridal boutique and the wedding planner. Then, I texted Paige to ask about the other shoots Austin had booked with her. She refused to answer, claiming it was “Austin’s private business.” But she did send me a cheeky cash-request meme. A lifetime of friendship, reduced to a cheap transaction. I let out a hollow, bitter laugh and locked my screen. By the time I got home from work, Austin was already there. He looked up, a faint scowl on his face. “Fi, I asked you to pick me up from the airport. Why weren’t you there?” I checked my phone. He had sent over a dozen texts while I was working. He wanted a ride, and he’d demanded I stop by a specific tea shop to get him a highly customized strawberry milk tea with boba, herbal jelly, and vanilla ice cream, no ice. Austin hated sweet drinks. “Austin,” I said quietly, “can you order a boba for me?” He looked confused but opened his phone anyway. After scrolling in frustration for a minute, he shoved the device into my hand. “Just choose what you want and order it yourself.” I shook my head, handing it back. “Never mind. I lost my appetite.” “Fiona, what is your—” Austin started to snap, but he froze when he saw my eyes, swollen like bruised plums. “What happened to your eyes?” He grabbed an ice pack from the fridge and pressed it to my face, sighing. “Did you stay up all night stressing over the wedding again? Fi, a wedding is just a formality. You don’t need to drive yourself crazy over it.” Looking directly into his lying eyes, I couldn’t help but ask, “Then why are birthdays so important? More important than me?” Austin had pursued me for two whole years before we started dating. I truly believed he loved me. So when he said he hated photos and wanted AI portraits, when he brushed me off time and time again, I kept telling myself it was just his personality. That he was just pragmatic. It was all a lie. I couldn’t help but wonder if those two years of chasing me had been about love at all, or just the thrill of the hunt. A soft weight brushed against my hands. Austin was handing me something. His expression turned pleading, trying to placate me. “What birthday? Fi, what are you talking about? Of course you’re my priority. Look, I even brought you a gift.” I had already seen this “gift” on Paige’s Instagram. It was a cheap, scratchy airline blanket given to first-class passengers. Every traveler got one for free. Outside, the afternoon sun was blindingly bright, and the AC hummed in the background, blowing a chilly breeze through the room. I managed a faint, empty smile and tossed the blanket onto the sofa. 3 Austin opened his mouth to complain, but his phone chirped with a custom, high-pitched ringtone. I glanced at the screen. The contact name read: Lil followed by a cute kitten emoji. Austin had always hated clutter on his phone. He had refused to even pin my chat to the top of his messages. Yet for Mona, he had custom nicknames and unique ringtones. I pulled my gaze away and began dragging my suitcase out of the closet. Austin watched me, his brow furrowing. “Fi, what are you doing with the suitcase?” “Just tossing out trash.” He stepped over, grabbing my wrist gently. “Do that later. Didn’t you say we were short on bridesmaids? I found someone to fill in. We’re meeting her for dinner tonight.” He let go of my wrist, immediately tapping a reply on his phone as he walked out of the room. Staring at his retreating back, I let out a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle. I had actually been naive enough to think he might notice something was wrong. Instead, his entire world revolved around Mona. I already had a sickening feeling that the bridesmaid would be Mona. But when I actually saw her sitting at the restaurant table, my chest tightened as if stuffed with heavy, suffocating cotton. “You must be Fiona! You and Austin make such a gorgeous couple,” Mona said, rising with a sweet, bubbly smile. “I’m Mona, his intern.” She stepped closer to shake my hand, but as she reached out, she awkwardly stumbled, tilting her glass and splashing ice-cold soda straight toward my shirt. With quick reflexes, I grabbed her wrist mid-air, twisting it so the sticky liquid splashed right back onto her own white top. “Fiona! What the hell are you doing to Mona?!” Austin’s angry shout echoed at the exact same moment as Paige’s gasp. Only then did I realize Paige was sitting there too. She had kept me in the dark yet again. Both of them rushed forward, flanking Mona and frantically dabbing at her wet clothes with napkins. I used to be the one they treated with such care. Now, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, glaring at me like I was a monster. Looking at these two strangers who used to mean the world to me, I turned to leave. Before I could take a step, a freezing rush of water hit me from behind, soaking my back. “You don’t get to act like a bitch and just walk away, Fiona!” Paige snapped, tossing her empty glass onto the table. “Mona was sweet enough to save your wedding by stepping in as a bridesmaid. And this is how you treat her? Honestly, I’m reconsidering whether I even want to attend your wedding.” I looked at Austin. He remained silent, his cold stare making his agreement painfully clear. In the beginning, I had told him a small wedding party was fine, just one bridesmaid and one groomsman. He didn’t have many close friends, and his groomsman was just a casual coworker anyway. There was no need to force a large party. But he had insisted on adding more people. Now I knew why: he wanted an excuse to include Mona. I wiped the cold water from the back of my neck. My voice was eerily calm. “Then don’t come,” I said. “And Austin, don’t bother showing up either. Everything is AI-generated anyway. The wedding is canceled.” Austin glanced at my bare hand, a look of condescending realization washing over his face. “Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over the photos?” “AI wedding portraits are completely normal nowadays. You’re calling off our marriage over something so trivial?” He pulled out his phone, pulling up the AI photos and video templates he’d generated, boasting about how perfect they looked. They were pretty, sure. But the smiles were empty, the bodies weren’t ours, and the backgrounds were entirely fake. I didn’t care about flawless pictures. I wanted memories. I wanted to look at a photo decades later and remember the joy of that exact moment. I didn’t want to stare at a pixel-perfect stranger’s face and feel absolutely nothing. Austin swiped too quickly, accidentally bringing up the source file for one of the video clips. It was a video of him and Mona, laughing and holding hands. It wasn’t some random AI-generated template. He had taken a real video with her and simply swapped my face onto her body. Before I could process the sheer disgust rising in my throat, my phone rang. It was my sister. “Fi, it’s Mom! The hospital just called. She was in a car accident. Her leg is broken.” Hearing this, Austin instinctively grabbed his car keys, but Mona snatched them from his hand first. 4 “Austin, please… you know how hard it is to get a cab to my neighborhood at this hour…” Mona looked up with big, watery eyes, slowly holding the keys back out to him with a pout. Austin hesitated for a long, agonizing beat before pulling out his phone. “Fi, I’ll order an Uber for you. It’s the same thing. I’ll drive over and pick you up from the hospital later.” I looked at the ride-share notification on my phone, turned around, and walked out without looking back. “Don’t bother. I got my own.” When I rushed into the ER, the receptionist told me they needed my mother’s ID. Because it was an emergency, a photo or photocopy would suffice for now, and we could bring the physical card later. My sister was stuck out of town, and I was alone, unable to leave my mother’s bedside. Out of habit, I dialed Paige’s number. “I can’t right now, Fi. I’m shopping with Mona. She’s buying me a designer dress,” Paige said, hanging up before I could even explain the emergency. Swallowing my pride, I called Austin. He agreed to help and said he’d go to our apartment to grab it. Barely ten minutes later, a photo of my mother’s ID popped up in my texts. Relieved, I quickly showed the screen to the admitting nurse. The nurse took one look at the screen and handed the phone back with a frown. “Ma’am, this is a medical emergency. Please don’t try to pass off a poorly generated AI image to hospital staff.” My brain went entirely numb. An AI image? I looked closely at the photo. Sure enough, the tiny AI-generator watermark was clearly visible in the bottom corner. I dialed his number, screaming through my tears, “Austin! My mother is in the hospital, and you sent me a fake, AI-generated photo of her ID?!” But it wasn’t Austin who answered. It was Mona’s soft, mocking voice. “Oh, Fiona? Are you looking for Austin? He’s in the middle of winning me a giant plushie at the arcade. Can you call back later?” The call went dead. Only Paige and Austin had spare keys to my apartment. Grim-faced, I booked an emergency locksmith service on an app and sent them straight to my place. I finally breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor emerged to tell me my mother’s surgery was a success. But the moment I wheeled her into the recovery room, my phone rang. It was the police. Austin had returned to the apartment, caught the locksmith, and had him arrested for burglary. I rushed to the local precinct, showing the officers my booking history and digital receipt. After apologizing profusely to the traumatized locksmith, I turned to Austin, my energy entirely drained. “He showed you the booking receipt! Why did you call the police on him?!” Austin shrugged, completely unbothered. “With AI these days, anyone can fake a screenshot.” “Besides, if you hadn’t hired a stranger to break in, Mona wouldn’t have been terrified. You owe her an apology.” He unlocked his car. Mona was sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes red and teary. “Austin, it’s okay. Fiona was just panicked about her mom. I don’t blame her,” Mona said softly, tugging at his sleeve. But my eyes locked onto the gold filigree bracelet on her wrist. It was the exact heirloom bracelet my mother had kept in her jewelry box, my wedding gift. “Austin, did you bring her into my apartment?” Austin waved his hand dismissively. “It was late, and our place was closer and safer for her. How was I supposed to know you’d send a criminal to scare her?” Knowing without a doubt that the bracelet belonged to me, I lunged forward, reaching for her wrist. Before my fingers could touch her, Austin shoved me hard, sending me crashing onto the asphalt. He stood over me, shielding her. “Fiona, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I pushed myself up, ignoring the burning scrape on my palm. “What’s wrong with me? My mother was waiting for surgery while you sent an AI scam, and now you’ve given my mother’s heirloom to this girl!” Austin looked at the bracelet on Mona’s wrist, a flash of guilt crossing his face. “Fi, the AI image had all her correct info. The ER nurses shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” “And Mona just thought the bracelet was pretty and wanted to try it on. She was going to give it back.” I didn’t argue. I simply held out my hand, glaring at Mona. “Fiona…” “Give it back. Now.” Perhaps shaken by the ice in my voice, Austin pulled the bracelet off Mona’s wrist and handed it to me. I placed the gold bracelet safely in my pocket. Austin spoke up again. “Tomorrow I have to take Mona to a therapy appointment. I won’t be able to make it to your dress fitting.” Without looking at him, I replied, “Do whatever you want.” He blinked in surprise. “Seriously? You’re fine with that?” Before I could change my mind, he quickly climbed into the car and drove off, leaving me alone in the dark. As the car pulled away, I heard Mona’s faint voice drift through the open window: Aren’t you worried she’ll actually call off the wedding? Austin let out a smug chuckle. “She’s just throwing a fit. She’d never leave me. Look, she’s still wearing my ring.” I looked down at my left hand. I had worn the ring so long it felt like a part of my skin. I had forgotten it was even there. The next morning, while my mother was resting, I went back to the apartment and packed every single thing I owned into suitcases. With one final look at the apartment we had shared for three years, I slipped the diamond ring off my finger and left it on the coffee table. Across town, Austin was sitting in the waiting room of the clinic with Mona when his phone rang. It was his mother. “Austin! Why did Fiona just return the entire dowry and all the wedding gifts?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “523911”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Sloane’s father had Alzheimer’s. Whenever an episode hit, I was the only person he recognized. Every single time he gripped my hand and refused to let go, Sloane would look at me with eyes full of helpless regret. “Declan, I already bought the tickets for the amusement park.” “Looks like Harper is going to get lucky and take my spot again.” I looked down at my hand trapped in her father’s wrinkled grip, letting out a soft sigh. Every time Sloane and I planned a date, Jacob would suffer an episode. Because of this, our mutual friends took turns accompanying her in my place so her plans would not go to waste. My closest friend went with her to watch the sunrise from the mountain peak. Her younger sister took my place to ride the rollercoasters at Disney. Her best friend went with her on a weekend hiking trip out in the countryside. I believed it all. Until today, when I accidentally unlocked Jacob’s iPad and saw a hidden group chat. The chat was named “Protecting Silas.” Silas. Sloane’s ex-boyfriend. I tapped the screen. The most recent message was from Sloane. “Silas is doing so much better today.” “Dad, thank you so much for faking another episode to keep Declan at home.” Jacob replied almost instantly. “Just focus on taking care of Silas. I’ve got things handled here.” Then he tagged everyone in the chat. “Make sure none of you slip up!” I watched as a row of familiar profile pictures, my friends and her family, replied with thumbs-up emojis and promises to keep the secret. My hands began to shake as I slowly set the tablet down on the counter. Tears hit the glass screen, blurring the reflection of my pathetic, bitter smile. Five years. Five years of a relationship, and every single date that was supposed to belong to me had been handed over to another man. The most ridiculous part was that everyone knew. I was the only fool kept entirely in the dark. “Declan, are those blackberry scones ready yet?” Jacob’s voice drifted in from the living room. I slowly lifted my head. Whenever Jacob faked an episode, his only demand was that I spend hours in the kitchen making complex, time-consuming pastries from scratch. Handmade berry tarts in the spring. Chilled lemon curd squares in the summer. None of the recipes were impossibly difficult, but they required hours of meticulous prep work. And he always demanded them right when Sloane and I were about to walk out the door. I used to think it was just a lonely old man craving comfort and company. Now I knew it was nothing but a calculated stalling tactic. I walked out of the kitchen, looking him dead in the eyes as I wiped my hands on a towel. “I’m not baking anymore.” Jacob immediately frowned, his tone shifting into something demanding. “You promised Sloane you would take good care of me.” I held his gaze without blinking. “Did you suddenly remember who Sloane is?” His irritated expression completely froze. A flash of genuine panic darted across his eyes. “It just came to me. My, my memory has been doing a lot better lately.” I stared at him in complete silence. Just then, the front door swung open. Sloane’s younger sister, Harper, walked in. Jacob scrambled to change the subject. “Weren’t you at the amusement park with your sister? Why are you back so early?” Harper instinctively shot a nervous glance in my direction before scratching the back of her neck. “Yeah, well, the park was way too crowded. The lines were a nightmare.” “I got tired, so I just walked around a bit and came home.” I stared at Harper. Just last week, she had been hugging the limited-edition designer bag I bought her, telling me how lucky she was to have me as her future brother-in-law. Yet here she was, looking me right in the eye and lying through her teeth to cover for her sister and another man. It was a clumsy, pathetic performance. And I had been stupid enough to buy front-row tickets for years. “Right,” I muttered quietly. Both of them exhaled a synchronized breath of relief. “I’m heading back to my place.” Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my keys and walked out the door. The moment I stepped into the house Sloane and I had bought for our marriage, I pulled my suitcase from the closet. Then I opened my laptop and submitted a formal request for a transfer to our company’s West Coast office in Portland. It was pitch black outside by the time Sloane finally came home. She walked through the door with a bright, effortless smile. “Declan, the amusement park was absolutely packed today.” “Harper is such a coward. She literally clung to my arm the entire time we were on the rollercoaster. You should have seen her.” She was complaining, but her eyes were soft and filled with lingering affection. I could perfectly picture the scene she was describing. The only difference was that the person clinging to her arm was Silas. She walked over and handed me a small velvet box. “Here. I picked these cufflinks up at the gift shop. They’re for you.” I looked down at the silver metal. Stuck to the velvet lining was a single, short strand of light brown hair. I didn’t reach for it. A memory clicked into place. Last month, she brought back a plush toy from Disney. It carried a faint, unfamiliar scent of expensive cologne. When I asked her about it, she claimed it was a limited-edition park fragrance. Now I realized the truth. Every single “souvenir” she brought home was something Silas had already used. When I didn’t take the box, Sloane’s smile faded into annoyance. “What is wrong with you today?” “Are you pouting because I didn’t take you out? You know how my dad gets. He needs constant supervision, and you’re the only one he trusts.” She leaned closer, forcing the box into my hand. The moment she did, a heavy wave of men’s cologne hit my face. “Sloane.” I cut her off. “Harper doesn’t wear men’s cologne. And she definitely doesn’t have short brown hair.” Sloane physically stiffened. Her face darkened instantly. “What are you implying?” “Are you actually accusing me of something?” I stood up, tossing the velvet box onto the glass coffee table. The sound echoed sharply in the quiet room. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I saw the group chat.” “The one I’m not invited to. The one where your dad fakes his illness to keep me locked in the kitchen so you can go on dates with Silas.” “Protecting Silas. That was the name, wasn’t it?” For a fraction of a second, true panic fractured Sloane’s composure. But it vanished instantly. She looked at me with total confidence, her tone dripping with defensive indignation. “Could you try not making it sound so disgusting?” “We weren’t on a date. I am trying to help him heal.” “He suffers from severe clinical depression. It got worse recently, so I took him out to get some fresh air.” “The only reason we didn’t tell you is because we knew you would overreact and ruin the mood.” I let out a breathless, humorless laugh. She had been dating her ex-boyfriend behind my back for months, and somehow, I was the one making things sound disgusting. Sloane let out an exhausted sigh. She reached out, falling back on her old habit of trying to stroke my cheek. “Come on, Declan. You’ve always been the mature one. We’re getting married soon. Once he recovers, you and I can go on dates every single day. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I tilted my head, letting her hand grasp empty air. Every single day? I turned my back to her and walked toward the bathroom. “There isn’t going to be an every single day.” Sloane’s irritated voice chased after me, treating me like a child throwing a tantrum. “Look at the attitude you’re giving me, Declan. Can you not muster an ounce of basic human empathy?” My footsteps paused. I didn’t bother turning around. When I stepped out of the shower, Sloane was pacing the bedroom with her phone pressed to her ear. I could hear the muffled sound of someone crying through the receiver. “Sloane, my apartment is so dark. I can’t sleep. My chest hurts so much.” Sloane grabbed her purse, her face pale with worry. “Don’t cry, Silas. I’m leaving right now. Just hold on, okay?” She ended the call and looked at me. “Silas had a panic attack today. I need to go check on him.” I stared at her, the corners of my mouth pulling into a bitter smirk. “Our wedding is exactly one month away. Do you really think it’s appropriate for you to run to another man’s apartment in the middle of the night?” She snatched her car keys from the dresser and marched toward the door. “This right here, Declan. This is exactly why we kept things from you.” “Your mind is always in the gutter.” Sloane left and didn’t come back that night. The next morning, as I was drinking my coffee, my phone lit up with a text from her. “Don’t forget your suit fitting today. I’m already at the boutique waiting for you.” When I walked into the high-end tailoring shop, my custom-made wedding suit was carelessly draped over a chair. I noticed a faint, greasy smudge of hair wax near the collar. My best friend, Mason, was standing there with Sloane. They were both huddled around a velvet armchair. Sitting in the chair was Silas. The three of them were looking at photos on Silas’s phone, laughing softly. It was a perfectly harmonious, sickeningly domestic scene. Mason was grinning, his voice full of genuine praise. “Man, you pull that look off flawlessly. You look way better than half the grooms I’ve seen.” Sloane’s voice was so tender it practically dripped with honey. “It really does suit you. The cut is perfect.” The shop assistant walked up to me, her face burning with nervous embarrassment. “I am so sorry, Mr. Declan. We tried to stop her, but Ms. Sloane absolutely insisted on letting the other gentleman try on your custom suit. We couldn’t do anything.” I gave the girl a small nod. I didn’t say a word. My throat felt tight, like I had swallowed broken glass. Mason finally turned his head and noticed me standing near the entrance. The smile instantly evaporated from his face. He hurried over, gripping my arm to pull me off to the side. “Declan, listen. Sloane told me that you know everything now.” “Silas is in a really fragile state. He can’t handle any emotional triggers. We just brought him along today to cheer him up.” “You’ve got a perfect life, man. You have a good career, you have Sloane. You don’t understand the kind of absolute despair he’s dealing with.” “Just drop it, okay? Be the bigger man.” I didn’t respond. I just lowered my eyes, staring at the faded white scar running across the back of my hand. Years ago, Mason’s gambling-addicted father had tried to smash a beer bottle over his head. I threw myself in front of him, taking the hit. It took three stitches to close the wound. Since that day, Mason swore he would always have my back. Yet here he was, standing across from me, telling me that because I had everything, I needed to tolerate the blatant disrespect of another man. A few feet away, Sloane called out to me. “Declan, come here and try your suit on.” I slowly pulled my arm out of Mason’s grip. “I’m not trying it on.” Sloane’s brows snapped together. “It is literally just a piece of clothing. Why do you have to throw a mood over everything?” “I feel dirty just looking at it.” Sloane completely froze. Tears immediately welled up in Silas’s eyes. He looked down, his voice trembling. “Declan, it’s my fault. I just really wanted to know what it felt like to wear a wedding suit. I just wanted to take one picture.” “I didn’t realize my presence disgusted you this much. I am so sorry.” Mason immediately stepped in front of Silas like a bodyguard, glaring at me. “Enough, Declan. He already apologized. What more do you want from him?” Sloane looked at me, her eyes filled with nothing but cold disappointment. “Could you try being a decent human being for once? He is sick. Do you really have to back him into a corner like this?” I looked at the three of them, standing together like a united front, protecting a grown man from my words. A soft, hollow laugh slipped from my lips. “Sloane, the wedding is off.” The moment the words left my mouth, Sloane let out a sharp, mocking scoff. “You’re a grown man, Declan. Are we really playing these childish games right now?” “What, do you suddenly not care if your dad gets to see you get married?” It felt like punching a wall of cotton. My anger felt entirely useless against her arrogance. It was true that I was the one who pushed for the wedding. My father’s health was declining, and his only wish was to see me settled. Sloane had claimed she wasn’t ready to be tied down, so I practically begged her to just have the ceremony first, even if we delayed signing the actual marriage papers. Because of that, she was absolutely convinced I would never walk away. I didn’t bother defending myself. When someone’s heart is already pointing in another direction, nothing you say will ever be right. Seeing my silence, Sloane assumed she had called my bluff. “Just let it go. If you can’t stand looking at Silas, then finish your fitting by yourself.” She turned around and wrapped her hands gently around Silas’s arm, supporting his weight. “Ignore him. Let’s go pick out a puppy. Once you have a dog to keep you company, you won’t have time to overthink things.” I stared at her, completely stunned. Sloane was terrified of dogs. I had a golden retriever named Lucky. He had been with me for six years. But when I moved into our shared house, I had to put him in a long-term boarding facility because she claimed the mere sight of a dog gave her anxiety. Yet right now, she was perfectly willing to walk into a pet store just to make Silas smile. I suddenly realized I was nothing but a prop in their little tragedy. Silas nodded weakly, tears still clinging to his eyelashes. Mason took his other side, and the three of them walked out of the boutique in perfect, rhythmic lockstep. The shop fell completely silent. The assistant looked at me with sympathetic anger. “Mr. Declan, your fiancée crossed a major line. Custom suits shouldn’t be worn by random strangers.” She was right. Even a stranger working retail understood basic respect. Sloane just didn’t care. “Cancel the order. Send me the invoice for the penalty fee.” I walked out of the shop, pulled out my phone, and called the hotel to cancel the banquet hall and the catering. Once the deposits were forfeited, I went straight back to the empty house. Later that evening, I received an email from corporate. My transfer to Portland had been approved. It was the only piece of good news I had received all week. I let out a long breath and fell into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, a call from Sloane woke me up. “My family is having a small get-together today. Dad asked you to come over so we can finalize the seating charts for the reception.” “I slept at my place last night, so just drive yourself over.” Before I could say a single word, the line went dead. I swallowed the words “the wedding is cancelled.” Fine. I would go. It was time to sever this rotting tie in front of all of them. When I arrived at Jacob’s house, the front door was left slightly ajar. Bright, echoing laughter spilled out into the hallway. It was Harper’s voice. “Honestly, Silas, if you hadn’t moved abroad back then, you’d be the one standing at the altar with my sister right now.” Silas was sitting in the exact center of the living room sofa, a thick wool blanket draped over his legs. He just offered a soft, melancholic smile. Sloane was sitting right next to him. She nudged his shoulder and laughed. “Stop talking nonsense.” Mason and the rest of our mutual friends were scattered around the room, nodding in agreement, treating Silas and Sloane like star-crossed lovers. Not a single person in that room thought it was profoundly messed up that the bride’s ex-boyfriend was being mourned as the lost groom a month before the wedding. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “It’s not too late.” The warm, cheerful atmosphere died the absolute second my voice hit the air. Silas practically jumped off the sofa. “Declan, please don’t misunderstand. Harper is still young, she was just making a stupid joke.” “Harper, apologize to Declan right now.” Harper crossed her arms and muttered under her breath. “It’s the truth anyway.” Sloane marched over to me, her voice dropping into a harsh, threatening whisper. “Why do you have to ruin the mood the second you walk through the door? Do you enjoy making everyone miserable?” I lifted my eyes to meet hers. “I mean every word. Since you’re all so devastated by the tragedy of your separation, you should just get back together.” “Consider it a favor. I’m letting everyone live happily ever after.” “Shut your mouth.” Sloane cut me off aggressively, grabbing my arm to drag me toward the hallway. “Are you really trying to humiliate him in front of everyone?” It was almost funny. Even as her life was falling apart, her only priority was protecting Silas’s ego. I was completely exhausted by this theater. “Sloane, we are done. From this second forward, you can take him on as many dates as your heart desires.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. Sloane let out a cold, mocking laugh behind me. “Declan, if you walk out that door today, do not expect me to come crawling after you.” I could hear Silas playing the victim in the background. “Sloane, maybe I should leave. I don’t want you two fighting over me.” Sloane raised her voice, making absolutely sure I could hear her. “Let him walk. He’s trying to manipulate me before we’re even married. He’s dreaming!” I didn’t stop walking. I just kept moving toward my car. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a call from the veterinary boarding clinic. I had messaged them earlier that morning, arranging to pick up Lucky before I left the city. The worker on the other end sounded highly confused. “Mr. Declan, your fiancée already came and picked Lucky up yesterday afternoon.” My boots stopped dead on the concrete. I turned around and walked straight back into the house. When Sloane saw me walk back into the living room, a smug, victorious gleam lit up her eyes. “Look who decided to come back. Are you done throwing a tantrum? If you just acted like an adult in the first place…” “Did you take Lucky from the clinic?” I cut through her arrogant speech like a knife. She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. You mean the dog.” Her tone was completely casual. Dismissive. “Silas saw a picture of him and thought he was cute. So I picked him up and gave him to Silas as a gift.” My hands clenched into tight fists. My nails dug into my palms. That dog had been by my side for six years. I raised him from a puppy. She knew exactly what he meant to me. I forced down the violent rage bubbling in the back of my throat. “Sloane. That is my dog.” She straightened her posture, looking at me like I was making a scene over spilled milk. “Declan, we are getting married. Everything that belongs to you belongs to me. Lucky is going to be great company for Silas.” “He lives alone. He needs emotional support. Can you stop being so incredibly selfish?” Silas wiped at his eyes again. “Forget it, Sloane. Please don’t make things hard for Declan.” “I’m used to being alone anyway.” Sloane glared at me, her eyes filled with disgust. “He finally found an animal he connects with, and you’re really going to start a war over a dog?” My entire body was trembling with rage. I locked my jaw, forcing the words out. “Sloane. I am going to say this one last time. Give me my dog back.” She had never seen me look so furious before. She hesitated, glancing back at Silas. “Silas, just give the stupid mutt back to him. I’ll take you to a breeder tomorrow and buy you a better one.” Silas lowered his head, exposing the fragile curve of his neck. His voice was thick with guilt. “Declan, I am so sorry. I really wanted to return him to you.” “But he was just so disobedient. Yesterday afternoon, he bolted out the front door. He ran into the street… and got hit by a truck. He’s gone.” The words hit me like a physical blow to the skull. My mind went completely blank. White noise rushed through my ears. Silas slowly pulled out his phone, pulled up his photo gallery, and held the screen right in front of my face. On the screen, my sweet, loyal Lucky was lying on the asphalt. His golden fur was stained violently red. His small body was completely still. “I made sure to take a picture so you could see him one last time.” Silas leaned in closer. And right then, the absolute faintest, sickest smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. He did it on purpose. A tidal wave of absolute, catastrophic rage obliterated whatever sanity I had left. I raised my hand, put the entire weight of my body into my shoulder, and slapped Silas across the face with devastating force. The crack echoed like a gunshot. Before I could even lower my hand, a massive force slammed into my chest. Sloane shoved me violently backward. My feet tangled, and I crashed hard onto the hardwood floor. The back of my head slammed against the edge of a coffee table. Blinding pain exploded behind my eyes. The room spun wildly out of focus. “Declan, he’s just an animal! Have you lost your damn mind?!” The next second, the entire room erupted. Everyone jumped to their feet, staring at me with pure hostility. Mason, Harper, Jacob. They all rushed forward, forming a human barricade in front of Silas, looking at me like I was a rabid monster. I pressed my palms against the cold floor and slowly pushed myself up. Warm blood was dripping down the back of my neck, staining the collar of my shirt. Sloane’s eyes widened in horror when she saw the blood. She instinctively took a step toward me. “Declan, I…” But Silas suddenly bolted toward the large glass window, his voice hysterical. “It’s all my fault! I should just jump! I’ll pay for the dog’s life with my own!” Sloane froze in her tracks. The entire room scrambled to pull Silas away from the glass. Not a single person looked back at me. Not a single person asked if my head was bleeding. I turned around and walked out the front door. I drove back to my house, grabbed my packed suitcase, and ordered a car straight to the airport. On the highway, Sloane called me five times in a row. Dozens of text messages flooded my screen. I didn’t read a single one. I typed out a single, final reply. “Rot in hell, you monsters.” Then I powered down my phone, completely erasing that city from my life.

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1 In our seventh year together, a relationship where I was the older partner, Jason suddenly gifted me ten luxury skincare sets. “Why did you buy so much?” I asked, unwrapping the boxes. He reached out, his fingertips pressing against the corner of my eye. “Lacey said you’ve started looking a bit old. I’ve been watching you for days. You have four wrinkles under your left eye, and five under your right.” My hand froze mid-air, a dollop of cream on my fingers. My fingertips slowly turned ice-cold. Jason fell silent for a few seconds. “Don’t overthink it. It’s only normal to have wrinkles at your age. But maybe you should learn a thing or two about style from Lacey. At least you’d look a bit younger.” He unlocked his phone, tapping on his only pinned contact. Lacey’s sweet, giggling voice drifted out of the speaker. “Jason, older women are always sensitive about their age. Be careful how you bring it up to Sylvie.” A suffocating silence filled the room. It took a long time before he spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, then added, “It might be hard to hear, but it’s the truth.” I looked in the mirror. The woman staring back was well-preserved, only carrying a few more traces of mature grace than she had seven years ago. Seven years ago, he loved my maturity because it gave him a sense of security. Now, he craved a younger girl because she brought him excitement. It was just as well. I had reached an age where I no longer wanted to waste my life on him. I screwed the lid back onto the jar and set it on the vanity. Jason was busy smiling at his phone, catching my movement out of the corner of his eye. “Why aren’t you using them? Lacey recommended these anti-aging products specifically for you.” The word aging pierced my ears. Taking a deep breath, I tried to keep my voice steady. “Jason, how much older than you am I?” His fingers paused over the screen, and he slowly frowned. “You’re older than me anyway. What difference does a few years make?” When we first started dating, he always tried to ignore our age gap to make us feel closer. Now, it was a source of blatant contempt. In the dead silence, his phone chimed. Lacey had sent a video. Without any attempt to hide it, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to his side. “Look at how Lacey dresses.” The girl in the video wore a pastel pink pleated skirt, spinning around gracefully. As the hem flared, Jason smiled, holding down the voice-note button to reply. “A skirt like that suits a twenty-year-old girl like you best. Sylvie is too old for it. She’d look ridiculous.” My hands clenched so hard my fingernails dug white crescents into my palms. Jason didn’t notice, replaying the video over and over. “Jason, are you done watching? Is she that beautiful?” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “She looks great,” he replied casually, eyes still glued to the screen. “The pleated skirt really flatters her, though she’s missing some jewelry. Sylvie, I remember you have a pastel pink necklace you never wear. Why don’t you give it to Lacey?” My breath caught, and a loud ringing filled my ears. That necklace was the very first gift he bought me with his first paycheck after graduation. It had drained his entire bank account, carrying all the raw, fierce love of his youth. I had been too afraid of ruining it, so I kept it safely tucked away in a velvet box. And now, he wanted me to hand it over, along with the love it represented. “Jason,” I choked out, “that was the first gift you ever gave me. It’s important to me.” “Yeah,” he muttered, completely indifferent. “But you’re thirty-one now. You’re too old for that kind of pastel pink.” His words stung like a physical slap. As I sat there frozen, Jason stood up and began rummaging through my drawers. He tossed jewelry boxes aside until a small velvet ring box tumbled out, clattering onto the floor. The soft thud made him freeze. He bent down, picked it up, and popped it open. “You bought these?” The matching wedding bands caught the light, reflecting a sharp, painful glare. Before I could speak, he snapped the box shut. “Sylvie, I’m still young. Let’s talk about marriage later.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Do you want to talk about it later, or do you just want to marry someone younger?” Two weeks ago, while dry-cleaning his suit, I found a receipt for a custom wedding dress. I thought he was finally ready for a future with me, so I had gone out and ordered these custom rings. Now I realized the wedding dress was never meant for me. His future had no room for me at all. I threw the receipt right at his face. The indifferent mask on his face finally cracked. Just as he opened his mouth to explain, his phone lit up again. We both looked at the screen. The girl who had been wearing the pleated skirt was now wearing a mermaid-style wedding gown, posing in front of a mirror. I snatched his phone and tapped the voice note before he could stop me. “Jason, you lied to me! You said the wedding dress was for Sylvie, but these measurements and style clearly fit me perfectly.” An invisible hand squeezed my heart, suffocating me with sheer pain. Jason grabbed my wrist, frantically trying to explain. “It was just to fulfill a young girl’s fantasy. Sylvie, you’ve always been so understanding…” I stared at the man before me and slowly pulled my hand back. “Jason, you are not the clueless eighteen-year-old boy you were seven years ago. And I don’t think I can be understanding anymore.” He tightened his grip, whispering in a pleading voice, “Sylvie, please don’t be like this.” My heart trembled, washed over by a wave of pure absurdity. Jason used to hate calling me “sister” or using any title that highlighted our age gap. Back then, when I teased him about it, he would pull me into his arms, lock his fingers with mine, and whine, “We’re a couple. I want to be the man you rely on, not some little kid trailing behind you.” Now, he was begging me with that very title, all for the sake of another girl. I bit the inside of my cheek, using the sharp sting of pain to keep my head clear. “Jason, you…” Before I could finish, a sharp, upbeat ringtone cut me off. It was unfamiliar, a custom ringtone he had set specifically for Lacey. He glanced at me and declined the call. But the phone rang again instantly. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he looked utterly panicked. Suddenly, I found the whole thing incredibly exhausting. “Just answer it.” He pursed his lips, turned his back to me, and answered. Lacey’s frantic sobbing echoed through the quiet room. “Jason, I’ve never worn high heels before and I just sprained my ankle. What do I do?” Jason’s back went rigid, his tone turning instantly protective. “I’m coming to get you. Don’t move. Ask the store clerk for some ice first.” He gave her instructions with practiced ease. My fingers shook. For seven years, I had poured my heart and soul into managing our lives, handling every major and minor detail. Whenever I fell ill, I dragged myself to the hospital alone. He had always been the boy who refused to grow up around me. Yet, around someone else, he had become a reliable pillar of strength. He grabbed his coat, stepping toward the door in a rush. “Jason,” I called out. He paused, but didn’t turn around. “Sylvie, she’s young. I can’t leave her like that.” My chest heaved. I closed my eyes. “Okay.” Seven years ago, when his mother passed away and his stepfather kicked him out, I had run through a torrential downpour searching every corner of the city. I finally found him shivering under a bridge. The teenage boy’s eyes were bloodshot as he clutched my coat like a lifeline. “Sylvie, why are you here?” I had taken his freezing hands in mine and sighed. “You’re young, Jason. I couldn’t leave you. Come home with me.” From that day on, our lives were intertwined. Today, his path was finally pulling away from mine, tangling with someone else’s. I sat in the dark for a long time until my phone rang. It was my mother. “Sylvie, have you and Jason talked about getting married yet? You’re thirty-one. How many more years are you going to waste on him? If you ask me, you should come back home. I can set you up on a blind date…” “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ll do it. Set up the date.” My mother gasped, her tone turning cautious. “Did you two have a fight?” I opened my mouth to reply, but the front door swung open. Jason walked in, looking tense as he carried Lacey in his arms. He walked right past me, carefully placing her on the sofa across from me. Lacey looked at me, a sweet smile plastering her face. “Sylvie. I told Jason to just send me home, but he was so worried he insisted on bringing me here.” My mother’s voice was still crackling through the phone, but I could no longer hear what she was saying. I hung up and stood up. Jason was already rummaging around for the first-aid kit. “Sylvie, where’s the medical kit? Lacey’s ankle needs ice right away.” “We don’t have one,” I said. “Jason, you can take her to the hospital.” He frowned, looking at me with pure annoyance. “She sprained her ankle. How is she supposed to navigate a hospital alone? She’s staying here until she heals. It’s perfect anyway, you’ll have time to look after her.” He demanded it so casually, as if I were nothing but a live-in housekeeper. My knuckles turned white as I clutched my phone. He didn’t notice. He gave me a gentle push. “Come on, Sylvie, find the kit and help Lacey with her ankle.” Then, he scooped Lacey up again and carried her straight into our bedroom. Lying on my bed, Lacey shot me a triumphant smirk. Jason bent over her, gently massaging her ankle. It was a sight that burned my eyes. I couldn’t look at them for another second. Grabbing my phone, I walked out and slammed the door behind me. The sound echoed loudly in the hallway. I stood by the door for a few seconds, waiting. There was no sound of footsteps following me. I looked down, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. I was no longer in his heart, so why would he run after me like he used to? I had walked a long way before my phone finally buzzed. “Sylvie, where did you go?” Before I could type a reply, another notification popped up. It was an audio recording from Lacey. I tapped play. “Jason, did Sylvie leave? It’s really late. Isn’t it dangerous for a woman to be out alone?” Jason’s voice sounded cold, dripping with irritation. “Sure, it’s dangerous for some. But she’s thirty-one. What kind of man would even look at her? She’s a grown woman throwing a tantrum. Does she really think she’s still some runaway kid who’ll have people chasing after her?” My fingers trembled, and my chest seized. A wave of sharp, bitter pain washed over me. The cold rain hit my face, mixing with my tears. I clenched my teeth and played it again. The voice belonged to the man I had loved for seven years, yet he felt like a complete stranger. Lacey’s messages kept coming. “Sylvie, do you feel insecure being with Jason?” “Honestly, when I first saw you two together, I thought you were his stepmom.” “I heard he was only eighteen when you two got together. How shameless do you have to be to seduce an eighteen-year-old kid?” Paragraphs of venomous insults filled the screen. I read every single word, but my mind grew strangely quiet. Seduce him? Seven years ago, I had tried to push him away. Jason, experiencing his first crush, would wait outside my office building every single day after school. Everyone joked that I had a sweet, loyal little brother. He would stay quiet, but once we got home, he would sulk on the couch. Recognizing the shift in his feelings, I had intentionally distanced myself. It was on a rainy night just like this one that he had pushed open my bedroom door, his eyes red. “Sylvie, I don’t want to be your brother.” That night, I laid out all my fears. But he had only one answer: “I don’t want to be your brother.” I couldn’t bear to see him cry. In the end, I relented. But the age gap was always a mountain between us. From the moment I said yes, I had prepared myself for the day we might part. I just never expected it to end like this, right when we were supposed to build a lifetime together. I shut off my phone, hailed a cab, and went to my parents’ house. Seeing the worry in my mother’s eyes, I simply waved her off, saying I was fine, and locked myself in my old room. My phone was dead silent. I didn’t expect Jason to look for me anyway. I took screenshots of all Lacey’s insults and sent them to him. He replied instantly. “She’s just young and foolish. I already talked to her. Sylvie, you’re eleven years older than her. There’s no need to pick a fight with a kid.” I texted back a simple “Okay.” Then, I opened the home security app. On the screen, Lacey was sitting on the sofa I had bought, swinging her legs. Jason sat right beside her, scrolling through TV shows. When a funny scene came on, they laughed together, leaning into each other. I watched them for a long time. But my focus had shifted. How long had it been since Jason sat with me to watch a show? Three years? Four? Whenever I begged him to watch something with me, he would frown and snap, “I don’t like the things you like. Sylvie, there’s a generation gap between us.” I let out a quiet laugh. A generation gap with me, who was six years older, but none with Lacey, who was five years younger? Whether it was a generation gap or a preference for younger skin, I knew the truth all too well. Over the next few days, Jason and I had no contact. The only updates came from Lacey’s social media. The two of them were inseparable. They went dress shopping, took bridal photos, and even toured wedding venues. I would pause at the photos, feel a dull ache, and then calmly swipe past. I thought our silence meant a mutual, unspoken agreement to end things. Until Jason showed up at my parents’ door, with Lacey in tow. “Sylvie, I’ve come to take you home,” he said, his expression as warm and gentle as it had always been. My fingers twitched. I looked at the two of them. “Jason, we’re over.” He frowned, instinctively arguing, “How is that possible? I would never leave you.” Lacey’s face contorted for a fraction of a second, but she quickly forced another sweet smile. “Sylvie, you must have misunderstood. Jason has been with you for so many years. He took all your best years. He’d never just abandon his responsibility to you.” A twenty-year-old girl’s words were always laced with poison, her intentions clear as day. I unlocked my phone and pulled up her social media page. “Aren’t you two getting married? I should be wishing you a happy wedding.” Jason glanced at the screen, completely unfazed. “Lacey was just testing everything out for you. We’ve gone through the whole process, so all you have to do is follow the plan we put together.” Lacey slipped her arm through mine, squeezing hard enough to hurt. The pain flared up my arm, but I didn’t let my expression waver. “So, Jason, you’re saying you two already had the wedding ceremony?” His brow furrowed, and he gave a hesitant nod. “I just thought your taste was a bit dated, so I asked Lacey to help. Sylvie, don’t overthink this.” He stepped closer, reaching for my hand. “You stayed away from home because I said I didn’t want to get married, right? But Lacey took me through the whole experience, and I think marriage might actually be nice. So…” Before he could finish, a sharp slap echoed through the hallway. My hand shook violently, the emotions I had bottled up for days finally exploding. “You make me sick.” “Do you really think I don’t know what you two have been doing?” I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the security camera screenshots one by one. The two of them kissing, touching, and crossing every line in the home we used to share. And now, he had the nerve to stand in front of me with a straight face. It was disgusting. My stomach turned. Clutching my abdomen, I spoke in a voice as cold as ice. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see either of you again.” Jason pressed his tongue against his cheek, the gentle, boyish charm instantly vanishing from his face. “Sylvie, you’re thirty-one. Don’t you know when to just let things go? I’m offering you a marriage. As long as you keep one eye shut after we’re married, we can go back to how things were. What good does it do to blow everything up? Do you honestly think anyone else is going to want you at your age?” The sudden shift in his attitude left me stunned. Looking at him now, he felt entirely like a stranger. He was rotten, decayed to the very core. I stood tall, meeting his gaze. “Jason, I don’t want you anymore.” He stared at me, then let out a scoff. Reaching out, he pulled Lacey close against his chest. “If I leave you, I can easily find a girl like Lacey. But you’ll never find another man like me. Sylvie, I suggest you think about this carefully.” A wave of nausea hit me so hard that I bent over, dry-heaving. Jason’s face darkened instantly. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm roughly. “Sylvie, you…” Before he could yank me, a figure stepped in, tearing his hand away and shielding me. A calm, steady voice cut through the air. “Hello, Jason. I am Sylvie’s blind date. And, I believe, a much better option.”

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1 Thirty thousand emergency meal kits bound for the disaster zone were incinerated as hazardous waste. The signatory was Nathan, my husband and Deputy Director of Public Health. The tipster was his childhood friend Rachel, a self-styled ex-undercover journalist. This was her third strike against my company. First, she reported my trucks for illegal parking; Nathan forced a public apology. Second, she claimed our labels violated safety codes; he fined us heavily and shut us down for a month. Each time, he sided with her, using me as his impartiality showcase. Now, with the zone without power or water, I drove all night, only to be blocked by them at the perimeter. I waved safety certificates, begging, “The frontline can’t wait! Hold me liable if anything’s wrong!” Nathan dismissed me coldly: “Rachel’s a pro. Confiscate and destroy it all.” Two days later, lab reports cleared my ingredients—but the food was ash, and online rumors of my “poisoned meals” exploded. Contracts vanished overnight. Nathan glanced at the report, guilt flickering but pride intact: “Rachel erred, but meant well.” I laughed, sliding off my ring: “Three chances. Divorce.” … I tossed the silver band onto the coffee table. Nathan frowned. He stared at it for several seconds before putting on a look of deep annoyance. “Valerie, grow up, will you?” “I cooperated with the media to run a routine food safety check. There was nothing wrong with my procedure.” “You know exactly how bad the situation is in the disaster zone. With tens of thousands of lives on the line, I had to minimize the risk.” When he used to say things like that in the past, it made me feel safe. Now, his words just felt like ice scraping against my bones. Right before the meals were thrown into the incinerator, I had shoved the preliminary quality report right into his chest. He did not even glance at it. He just looked down at his phone, pressed the button on his radio, and gave a single command. “Execute.” Rachel stood there with a fake, conflicted look on her face, acting like she was just trying to keep the peace. “Valerie, this is my fault.” She carefully controlled her tone, making herself sound incredibly guilty and heartbroken. “I used to investigate so many illegal sweatshops. When I saw the color of the meat in those containers, I was so terrified that the refugees would get sick. That is why I reported it to Nathan and exposed it on my livestream.” “My professional paranoia just took over. Please do not be mad at Nathan.” On her livestream, she had looked directly into the camera and viciously accused me of profiting off a national tragedy. Now, standing right in front of me, she was playing the innocent victim. She could switch faces faster than I could blink. “If you only suspected something by total coincidence, why did your broadcast team have four camera angles set up in advance?” “Your press release about the poisoned meals was published exactly one minute before the confiscation order. Tell me, Rachel, does your professional paranoia come with psychic abilities?” Rachel’s mouth twitched. Nathan immediately stepped forward and shielded her behind his back. “Valerie, watch your mouth! The media was following the relief efforts and just happened to catch it on film.” “Rachel is a journalist for the people. Do you really have to view everyone through such a dark, twisted lens?” He stood there with his arms wide open, protecting her from me. I looked down at the ring resting on the table. It was a simple silver band. Three years ago, he slipped it onto my finger with a gentle, determined look in his eyes. He told me that from that day on, I was under his protection. “I hope your blinding light can illuminate all the darkness in the world.” I turned around and walked toward the door. “Valerie!” he shouted behind me. I did not look back. When I returned to the office, the air was thick and suffocating, reeking of burnt coffee and hot printer paper. Dozens of employees sat at their desks in total silence. Cancellation letters were piled up on my desk. Starlight Cinemas, Evergreen Supermarkets, and seven regional distributors had completely cut all ties with us. The reason for termination was identical on every single page. To avoid severe public relations risks regarding food safety. Those thirty thousand emergency meals were a charity project officially sponsored by our board of directors. I had personally monitored the assembly line. I handpicked the highest quality suppliers for every single ounce of meat and vegetables. And now, everything was sitting at the bottom of an incinerator. Not even ash was left. My company was branded as a greedy corporation profiting off a disaster. Half of our net worth evaporated overnight. Sarah from administration was slumped over her desk, her shoulders shaking violently. She had been with me for three years and was always my sharpest worker. I walked over and gently tapped the edge of her desk. She looked up, her eyes completely bloodshot. “Boss, my parents called me today. They asked if I was working for a corrupt syndicate. I told them no, but they did not believe me.” Someone at a desk further back pushed their keyboard away. The heavy metal base hit the wood desk with a dull thud. Nobody spoke, but that heavy sound carried more weight than any words could. Marcus, our operations manager, walked over clutching a stack of documents. His voice was trembling. “Boss, the only way we can flip this narrative is if we publish the clean lab results right now to clear our name.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Nathan. Three lines of text that felt like a bucket of freezing water poured over my head. [The bureau decided it is not appropriate to publish the clean lab results right now. It would cause the public to question the credibility of our law enforcement.] [Rachel is about to be nominated for the Top Ten Voices of Justice award. She cannot have any negative press right now.] [Just cooperate with us. Issue a public statement saying the appearance of the meat was altered due to temperature control negligence in your warehouse. Once this blows over, I will find a way to compensate you.] I stared at the words ‘cooperate with us’. My stomach violently twisted. The year he first passed his civil service exams, a small local restaurant was maliciously reported by a jealous competitor. Nathan stayed awake for three days straight, combing through security footage and supply invoices. He fought back against the pressure from his superiors, slammed his hand on the desk, and declared that the government had no right to destroy someone’s livelihood without hard proof. Back then, I was absolutely deeply in love with his stubborn righteousness. Because of those words, I quit my high paying corporate job and founded this company. I wanted to make the cleanest food in the industry. I wanted to be the strongest shield backing him up. Now, he sat in his comfortable Deputy Director chair. When faced with his own wife’s inventory, thirty thousand meals meant to save starving refugees, he burned it all just because Rachel whispered a single suspicion. And after burning it all, he demanded that I swallow the dirty water to pave the way for Rachel’s career. I placed my phone face down on the desk. “Keep the lab results buried. Nobody is allowed to leak them,” I told Marcus. Marcus froze. “But if we don’t put it out there and explain ourselves…” “If we publish it now, the Public Health Board has a hundred different bureaucratic ways to spin it against us. All we can do is wait for the storm to die down.” I thought for a moment, then looked back at Marcus. “Our inventory was destroyed, and tens of thousands of people in the disaster zone are starving. The emergency response team definitely had to place a massive rush order for replacements.” “Go dig into it. Find out exactly who secured that contract.” The look in Marcus’s eyes shifted instantly. He had been in this industry for over a decade. He understood exactly what I was implying. The very next morning, a major news outlet published an exclusive interview. The Lone Hero of the Disaster Zone. Refusing to Let Refugees Eat Spoiled Meat. Rachel was standing in front of my confiscated delivery trucks wearing a rugged tactical jacket. Her eyes were red, her voice choking with emotion. “Some people say I am a busybody who ruins local businesses. But I am a journalist. My pen is my weapon.” “I would rather make a thousand mistakes than let a single refugee take a bite of rotten meat!” The comment section treated her like the second coming of Christ. Meanwhile, the comments under my company’s page were filled with death threats and curses. I scrolled through my social media feed and saw that Nathan had shared her interview. He added a simple caption. [Hold the line. Defend the truth.] I stared at those words for a very long time. The pain in my chest was a dull, heavy ache. His truth involved crushing the bones of my company to build a pedestal for another woman. At three in the afternoon, my private cell phone rang. It was Derek, an old friend who ran a search and rescue squad. His voice exploded through the speaker, raspy and frantic. “Valerie, what the hell is going on with your shipment?!” Derek was leading a team on the absolute front lines. I could hear him gasping for air over the phone. “The emergency board swapped your food for a batch of instant heating meals. The meat smells like literal garbage. We already have refugees vomiting everywhere!” I shot up from my chair, my fingernails digging deeply into the edge of the desk. “I ripped open four boxes myself! All four of them smelled like rotting acid! Is this supposed to be fit for human consumption?” “My squad has thirty guys. We have been surviving on two dry energy bars since yesterday noon. We saved our stomachs hoping for a hot meal from your trucks, and this is the garbage we get?” His voice cracked. He took two ragged breaths before continuing. “Do you know how hot it is out here? It is nearly a hundred degrees. We are wading through mud up to our knees. My guy got a cut on his leg and it is already infected and leaking pus, and we still have to wade through the water to drop off supplies!” “I confronted the logistics guy and he did not do a damn thing. He just said it was an emergency purchase and told me to take it up with higher management.” “Take it up with who? I called a dozen numbers and nobody picked up!” “Nathan used to feel so bad for you when you stayed up late doing quality control. Why the hell did he personally lead the team to confiscate your trucks this time?” Those words drove into my chest like a rusty nail. I took a deep breath, forcing down the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. “Derek, listen to me very carefully. Take photos and videos of the spoiled food. Record the symptoms of the refugees and get written statements from the medics.” “Secure the evidence. Do not hand it over to anyone. Just wait for my call.” I went back to the apartment that night. When I pushed the door open, the smell of potted plants hit me. Nathan used to say a house needed life. I joked that everything I touched died, and he chased me around the living room with a slipper. Now, the leaves were bright and green, making the empty living room feel incredibly hollow. I walked into the bedroom and pulled my suitcase out from the closet. Our framed photo was still sitting on the nightstand. We took it on a hiking trip last autumn. We were leaning against each other, and he had a huge, carefree smile on his face. I left the photo right where it was. I was halfway through packing when the electronic lock on the front door beeped. Nathan was home. He took off his shoes, saw the suitcase on the floor, and his face instantly darkened. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now? Don’t you think you are taking this a little too far?” I kept my mouth shut and continued folding my clothes. “Rachel has been so stressed by the internet drama that she hasn’t eaten a single thing all day. She has been constantly apologizing to me.” “And now you are trying to blackmail me by running away from home?” People in the disaster zone were vomiting from rotting food. My company was facing bankruptcy and a massive public witch hunt. And his heart was breaking because Rachel skipped a meal. I pulled the zipper of my suitcase shut and stood up. I walked to the entryway, unhooked my house key from the keychain, and placed it on the shoe cabinet. The metal clinked against the wood. A sharp, final sound. I finally looked at him. “I am not blackmailing you. I am making room for her.” I opened the door and walked out. There were no footsteps chasing after me. Only the bright lights of the living room burning behind me. The second day after I moved into the hotel, Nathan tracked me down. He was still in his official uniform. The metal badges on his shoulders caught the light. He immediately surveyed the room. The laptop bag thrown on the bed. The empty instant noodle cup on the desk. The curtains were drawn shut, making the room look dark and depressing. He frowned. It was a very subtle twitch, but I caught it. He stepped inside, dropped a manila folder on the table, and pulled out a chair to sit down. Before sitting, he lightly smacked the seat cushion with his hand to make sure it was clean. He pointed at the manila folder. His tone was slightly softer, but it still carried that arrogant ‘I am here to fix your mess’ attitude. “Why are you living out here? Do you want people to laugh at us?” He tapped the folder again. “The board made their final decision.” “Since there was no actual harm done to public health, and I personally vouched for your company’s flawless track record…” “A ten thousand dollar fine, and a two month business suspension. This is the absolute lightest penalty I could get you. I had to fight my superiors for this.” “Just sign the confession. Rachel will make a post defending you, and this whole thing will blow over. Then we can go home and live our lives.” I sat on the sofa, staring at the administrative penalty notice. Ten thousand dollars. Two months. A forced confession. My heart felt completely barren. “Go home? You mean go back to a home where my husband is ready to throw me under the bus at any given second just to protect his childhood crush?” I asked the question very quietly. Nathan stiffened. His voice immediately raised an octave. “Are you starting this again? I told you, she was just being professionally cautious! Why are you so obsessed with tearing her down?” I looked directly into his eyes. I decided to test him one final time. “Nathan, what if I told you the replacement supplies purchased by the emergency board were completely rotten? The meat is rancid, the rice is raw, and the refugees are violently ill.” He froze for a second. “That is impossible. The emergency board has a very strict procurement protocol.” “What if I also told you that the company providing those supplies is owned by Rachel’s uncle?” “What if her entire righteous crusade was nothing but a calculated scheme to destroy my inventory so she could profit off a national disaster?” The room went dead silent. Then, Nathan slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Valerie, you are completely out of your mind! I grew up with Rachel, I know exactly what kind of person she is!” “She was an undercover journalist who risked her life for the truth! You think she cares about dirty money?” “You are actually inventing these disgusting lies to shift the blame off yourself? When did you become so narrow minded and vicious?” I watched his furious reaction, and the heavy pain in my chest suddenly vanished. The string that had been pulled tight for so long finally snapped cleanly in two. I pushed the divorce papers I had signed last night across the table. The cover faced up. The bold letters were impossible to miss. Nathan’s voice caught in his throat. He stared at the papers. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but no words came out. I looked down and placed the lid back on my instant noodles. The noodles were soggy and the broth was completely cold. He stood on the other side of the coffee table. His breathing was a little heavy, but he did not speak. I waited for about five seconds. He did not move. He did not reach out to touch the agreement. I reached out and pushed the papers a little further. The edge of the paper bumped right against the corner of his penalty notice. “I already signed it. Take the divorce papers and go back to your righteous journalist.” Nathan’s eyes were glued to the divorce agreement. His face went stiff, followed quickly by a look of offended rage. “Valerie, do you really think you can use a divorce to threaten me into cancelling your penalty ticket?” “You are completely disappointing. You are actually using our marriage as a bargaining chip just to dodge responsibility.” I looked at his face, twisted with righteous anger, and suddenly found the entire situation incredibly comical. Thirty thousand life saving meals were reduced to ash because of a single word from him. Tens of thousands of refugees were currently eating rotting food. And he honestly believed I was throwing a fit over a ten thousand dollar fine. “I already signed it,” I repeated calmly. “You do not need to cancel the penalty ticket. And you do not need to lower yourself to stay married to a vicious woman like me.” “Take the papers. I will see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning.” The corner of Nathan’s eye twitched violently. “Fine. Perfect!” “Since you are completely out of your mind, you can stay here alone and reflect on your behavior!” “Whenever you finally calm down and realize what you did wrong, we will talk!” He let out a cold laugh, grabbed his jacket, and turned toward the door. When he grabbed the door handle, he paused for a second. He was waiting for me to beg him to stay. A full three seconds of absolute silence passed before he slammed the door shut behind him. I pulled my gaze away and picked up the plastic fork from the table. I scooped up the noodles from the cup. The broth was ice cold. The noodles were bloated and mushy. Chewing them felt like eating tasteless mud. With perfect calm, I ate the entire bowl of cold noodles until there was nothing left. I swallowed the noodles right alongside three years of an absurd marriage. I swallowed all the trust I once thought was unbreakable, letting it digest into freezing, useless waste. Right as I swallowed the last bite, Derek called. “Valerie, I got the goods!” “I raided the distribution point with my guys and locked down two crates of those heating meals that haven’t been handed out yet.” “I went to the medics too. They wrote up over a hundred diagnosis reports for food poisoning. I took photos of every single one!” “Good job, brother. I owe you,” I said, my voice completely steady. “Owe me my ass! My guy got a severe infection and spiked a massive fever. They had to airlift him out last night.” “These people have already lost their homes, and now they are being fed literal pig slop! Valerie, we cannot let this slide!” “We won’t.” I looked out the window at the darkening sky. My cold, hardened expression was reflected in the glass. “Derek, find a secure channel. Take those two physical crates, all the video footage, and the original medical reports. Ship them overnight via express courier directly to Marcus’s private address in the city.” “Understood! I will do it myself right now!” I hung up and immediately dialed Marcus. He answered quickly, his voice heavy with exhaustion from pulling an all nighter. “Boss.” “Derek secured the evidence. It will be in your hands first thing tomorrow morning.” “Get our lawyers on the line. Take all of that evidence, along with the absolute flawless safety reports for our original thirty thousand meals. Add the documentation for Rachel’s previous three malicious reports.” I paused, my voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “Bypass the city board entirely. Submit a real name report directly to the Provincial Disciplinary Committee and the State Market Regulation Bureau.” Marcus took a sharp breath, his voice suddenly surging with energy. “Understood, boss! I will get on it right now. But…” He hesitated for a second. “Boss, the PR department just got a tip.” “Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, the Civic Center Auditorium is hosting the Voices of Justice award ceremony and disaster relief press conference.” “Rachel is the headline winner. And… Nathan is scheduled to give a speech as a special guest representing the Public Health Board. The whole thing will be broadcast live across all major networks.” My fingers tightened around my phone, my knuckles turning white. I slowly relaxed my grip, my voice totally flat. “Marcus, get us two front row tickets to that ceremony.” … The Civic Center Auditorium. The massive LED screens played a continuous loop of glowing words: Hold the Line. Defend Food Safety. I was wearing an inconspicuous black jacket and a baseball cap, sitting with Marcus in the sixth row of the audience. At exactly ten o’clock, the award ceremony began. Live broadcast cameras were mounted in every single corner of the room. Rachel stepped onto the stage in a sleek, tailored blazer, a red corsage pinned to her chest. The crowd erupted into applause. The face that had looked so devastated and heartbroken on her livestream was now glowing with absolute triumph. She could not hide the smug smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “As a former undercover journalist, I have always believed that wherever my pen points, justice will follow.” “When I found out that a certain corporation was trying to exploit a natural disaster by sending rotten, mutated food to the refugees, I was absolutely furious.” She paused perfectly on cue, letting her eyes turn red. “People threatened me. People tried to buy me off. But I never backed down!” “Because I knew that thousands of refugees were depending on me. I could not let them take a single bite of spoiled meat!” Thunderous applause echoed through the auditorium. On the broadcast screens above the stage, the live chat was moving at lightning speed. [Rachel is amazing! The literal light of justice!] [Why isn’t Valerie rotting in a jail cell yet?] [Boycott all corrupt businesses!] Rachel gave a slight bow, her eyes locking onto the VIP seats in the very front row. “Today, I want to give a special thanks to one specific person. Deputy Director Nathan.” “He faced immense pressure, but he upheld the law flawlessly. He ordered the destruction of those poisoned meals and killed the threat before it could hurt anyone.” “He is the true guardian of our city!” A spotlight immediately hit Nathan. He was wearing a perfectly ironed uniform, his hair styled without a single strand out of place. He stood up for the cameras and gave a slight, modest nod. He looked at Rachel on the stage, his eyes filled with absolute admiration and unwavering trust. That specific look used to belong to me. Now, it was the sharpest knife twisting in my back. The event moved into the media Q&A segment. A few pre-selected reporters in the front row stood up one by one, asking soft, highly scripted questions meant to praise her. “Rachel, do you have any further advice for maintaining food safety in the disaster zones?” “Do you believe there are any hidden dangers left?” a female reporter asked, holding up a microphone. Rachel looked directly into the camera with a warm, comforting smile. “With the city board strictly monitoring everything, I am highly confident that the food supply is absolutely safe and transparent.” “All threats have been entirely eliminated.” “Is that so?” A sharp, sudden voice cut through the room without a microphone. It echoed perfectly through the brief silence in the auditorium.

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1 Henry claimed it was treatment for my avoidant personality. His rule was simple. Whenever he asked a question, I had three seconds to answer. Silence after two seconds meant rejection. If I could not speak up, he said, my grievances deserved to rot inside me. Once, I lost my keys in a downpour. Anxiety froze me when he picked up. Henry hung up instantly. Three seconds are up, he said. Do not bother calling if you cannot talk. When I was framed for plagiarism, panic left me mute before the accusers. Henry let go of my hand and walked away. Three seconds are up, he said. Your silence proves your guilt. But when Wendy ruined his month-long project, she wept incoherently for ten minutes. Henry never counted down. He knelt beside her, eyes red. It is fine, he whispered. Take your time. I will wait forever. Watching him shield her as they left, my throat tightened. So he did have patience. After seven years of his brutal therapy, I was broken. From now on, I would never need his two seconds again. Wendy said she wanted to cook a meal herself to make it up to Henry. She asked if she could borrow him for just one evening. I watched as he took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped into the kitchen. He showed her the difference between light and dark soy sauce with a level of patience he had never shown me. I didn’t walk away. Because he had always told me: avoidance is a disease, and it must be cured. “The food is too salty tonight,” he said, putting down his chopsticks. His calm voice cut through the quiet room. Wendy’s eyes instantly welled with tears, her fingers twisting nervously. He turned to her, his tone softening into a gentle, coaxing murmur. “I wasn’t blaming you. The heat was just a bit off.” Then he looked back at me, his gaze turning distant and cold. “Mrs. Gu, do you know how to salvage a dish when there’s too much salt?” Another test. He knew that whenever he caught me off guard, my throat would physically lock up. I wanted to speak, desperate to force the words out, but nothing came out but a faint wheeze. One second. Two seconds. “Three seconds are up.” He reached over, picked up my untouched bowl of rice, and dumped it into the trash can. “You don’t even know basic kitchen common sense. You clearly haven’t been paying attention to your daily life exercises.” Wendy tugged gently on his sleeve, her voice soft and timid. “Henry, don’t be so harsh on Isla.” He let out a cold scoff. “Harsh? She’s twenty-eight years old, Wendy. She’s not a little girl whose feelings I need to coddle every second.” His words felt like a dull blade sawing back and forth over an old wound. Not long ago, the rough draft of my latest design had vanished. Three days later, I saw a nearly identical finished piece posted on Wendy’s social media, proudly tagged as her original work. The company launched an investigation. The security footage showed that I was the last person to leave the studio that night. Worse, I couldn’t explain why my computer’s search history was filled with queries referencing her unique style. I was cornered in the conference room, surrounded by colleagues demanding to know why I had stolen my friend’s inspiration. I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms, but not a single word would come out. I knew it was a setup, but every time I tried to speak, the memory of those counted-down seconds pierced me like thorns. The more panicked I became, the tighter my throat clenched. “Mrs. Gu.” Henry pushed the door open, holding a printed copy of a chat log. It showed a conversation between me and an anonymous account, discussing paying a high price to purchase Wendy’s drafts. It was fake. Every single word of it was a lie. But my world shattered. Wendy sat opposite him, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, handing him a cracked flash drive. “Henry… it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have recorded the evidence of her trying to buy my work. I didn’t want to hurt Isla…” He stared down at the transcripts of the carefully edited audio files, his throat tightening. Then, he did something I never expected. He walked over to me. There was no countdown. Leaning in, he whispered in a voice meant only for us, “You don’t have to explain yourself. But this time, your silence has hurt her.” I watched as he drew Wendy into his arms, gently patting her back. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. No one is going to bully you.” For seven years, my avoidant nature had been treated as a disease that needed to be violently beaten out of me. The fluorescent lights of the conference room made my eyes sting. “I didn’t plagiarize anything,” I said. The words were quiet, raspy, squeezed out only after being crushed repeatedly. Everyone froze, including him. He turned to look at me, as if seeing me for the very first time. But my gaze swept past him, locking onto Wendy’s eyes, which widened in sudden terror. “The rough draft of that design was saved in my private email. The timestamp shows it was sent a full week before her post went live.” “As for those chat logs,” I let out a soft, painful laugh, “the IP address was forged. During that exact period, my laptop was at the repair shop. I have the service receipt right here.” I looked Henry dead in the eye, delivering every word with absolute clarity. “You taught me that if I don’t speak up in three seconds, I deserve whatever comes my way. Well, I just spent three whole minutes explaining the truth. Does that mean the person who deserves what’s coming is finally her?” The conference room fell into a deathly silence. His brow furrowed tightly, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, his throat bobbed and he remained silent. Wendy’s crying cut off mid-sob, hanging awkwardly in the air. I picked up my bag. As I passed him, I paused. “Don’t worry, I’m not running away. You were right: avoidance is a disease, and it needs to be cured. But once you’re cured, the very first thing you do is see clearly: what kind of man you actually married.” I pushed the door open. I didn’t look back. Because this time, the person holding the countdown was me. Wendy remained dead silent for three days in the face of my evidence. On the fourth day, she posted a photo on her private social media, visible only to close friends. It was a close-up of her pale wrist draped over a hospital bed, captioned: I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t exist. Henry saw the post first. He was sitting across from me at the breakfast table when his fork suddenly froze. “Why did you have to push her so hard?” He slid the phone across the table, his voice tight with suppressed anger. I looked down at the image. The wrist was perfectly clean, without a single mark or scratch on it. “This is photoshopped.” “Isla.” He used my full name, his gaze hitting me like a bucket of ice water. “She’s already on the verge of a breakdown. When you exposed her in front of everyone, did you stop to think about how humiliated she would feel?” My fingers clenched the piece of toast in my hand, turning white at the joints. Humiliation. For seven years, he had been blind to every ounce of humiliation he had forced me to swallow. “She forged evidence to frame me for plagiarism,” I said. “She was just scared,” he interrupted, his brows knitting into a tight knot. “She’s always been like that. When she gets scared, she makes stupid mistakes. You know what she’s like. Why did you have to embarrass her like that in front of everyone?” I looked up at him, suddenly finding the face in front of me terrifyingly unfamiliar. “So, because she was scared, she was allowed to destroy my career. And because I defended myself, I’m the one being heartless.” He fell silent for a long moment, his throat moving slightly. “You used to be different.” He averted his gaze, staring out the window. “You used to just stay quiet. You were never this… sharp.” Sharp. That was the word he chose for me. And yet, it had taken me seven years just to learn how to speak a full sentence in front of him. The doorbell rang. Wendy stood on the porch, wrapped in an oversized knit cardigan, her eyes red and puffy as if she had been crying all night. Her gaze flicked past me, her lower lip trembling before tears spilled over. “Henry… I really didn’t mean to…” Henry got up almost on instinct, crossing the room in three strides. I stepped aside, watching as he pulled Wendy inside. “Don’t cry,” he said gently, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Sit down first.” Wendy grabbed onto his sleeve, sobbing. I stood by the dining table, still holding the half-eaten piece of toast. “Isla…” Wendy finally turned to face me, her voice trembling. “Can you ever forgive me? I was just so scared. You’re so talented, and I was terrified that everyone would only ever look at you…” As she spoke, she slid off the sofa, her knees hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud. “I’m begging you on my knees, okay? Please don’t blame Henry. He had no idea…” “Stand up,” Henry said, pulling at her arm. But his eyes remained locked on her tear-stained face. He looked up at me. “She’s begging you on her knees, and you’re just going to stand there?” I finally set the toast down and brushed the crumbs from my hands. “I didn’t ask her to kneel.” “But you didn’t stop her, either.” I watched as he carefully guided Wendy back onto the sofa, pulling out tissues to wipe her tears, whispering softly, “It’s okay, it’s okay now.” He gently patted her back, a steady, rhythmic motion. I knew that rhythm all too well. For seven years, every time panic locked my throat and stole my voice, I had desperately waited for him to comfort me like that. But all I ever got was a cold countdown, followed by an icy, “Time’s up.” So, he did know how to comfort someone. He had always known how. It was just that the person he wanted to comfort was never me. Dr. Finch scheduled my final follow-up appointment. He mentioned that after seven years of exposure therapy, it was time to officially close my case. “Bring Henry along,” the doctor added. “There are some things we need to discuss with family present.” I didn’t tell him that I was no longer sure if Henry counted as family. The clock in the office struck ten, and the door opened. Henry had come straight from his office. “Have you noticed any changes in your wife recently, Henry?” Dr. Finch asked. Henry paused, his gaze sweeping over my profile. “She speaks more,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But sometimes… she’s far too sharp.” Dr. Finch made a few notes, then turned to me. “And you, Isla? What are your thoughts?” I opened my mouth, but before a sound could escape, his phone screen lit up on the desk between them. He looked down, his brow furrowing slightly as his thumb slid across the glass. It was a voice note from Wendy. He played it on speaker, likely assuming it was urgent business. “Henry… I just accidentally spilled hot coffee on my hand… It hurts so bad…” her trembling voice echoed in the room. “Can you come take me to the hospital? I’m so scared by myself…” Dr. Finch looked up, glancing at his watch. “Henry, we still have twenty minutes left of our session…” Henry stood up. “I’ll be right back.” “She can get checked in at the urgent care clinic herself,” I said, my voice completely flat and devoid of emotion. “We booked this appointment three months ago.” He looked at me, a familiar flash of disappointment in his eyes. “You’re supposed to run cold water over a burn immediately. She’s in too much pain to think straight. Don’t you have even a shred of empathy?” “First aid is common sense,” I replied. “But she isn’t listening to common sense.” His expression flickered. He clearly hadn’t expected me to talk back so calmly. But he merely draped his suit jacket over his arm and turned to apologize to the doctor. “I’m sorry, Dr. Finch. My wife is… a bit unstable right now. We’ll have to reschedule.” The door clicked shut quietly behind him, leaving the air in the room heavy and suffocating. Dr. Finch took off his glasses and watched me for a long moment. “You’re shaking.” I looked down and realized my hands clutching my purse straps were trembling. My nails had dug deep into the leather, leaving faint white marks. I began to count in my head, one, two, three, forcing myself to speak. “Dr. Finch.” “Yes?” I fell silent for three seconds. In those three seconds, seven years of memories rolled through my mind like a reel of old film. Dr. Finch turned the file to the final page and pushed it over for my signature. As the tip of the pen touched the paper, I heard myself ask, “Once this therapy ends, will I really be cured?” He looked at me. “The therapy was meant to help you speak. But if the person you’re speaking to never planned on listening…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Isla, being cured isn’t the final destination. Choosing who you speak to is.” I went home and began to pack my things. After seven years of marriage, our only real point of connection was sharing the same bed. I tucked a draft of a divorce agreement into an old book and scheduled a meeting with a lawyer for the next morning. It took me only an afternoon to pack everything. Seven years of marriage, and what I was taking with me couldn’t even fill a single suitcase. I took one last look at the bedroom. On the nightstand sat our only photo together, taken the night he proposed. I had been standing in the rain, my wet hair plastered to my face, smiling with a mix of anxiety and quiet hope. I turned the photo frame face down. He came home in time for dinner, carrying the faint scent of hospital disinfectant. “Isla,” he called out, his voice softer than usual. I waited for the two seconds to pass. Then three. He didn’t start a countdown. “Lately… have I been ignoring you?” It wasn’t really a question. He spoke very slowly. My hand holding the chopsticks paused, but I didn’t say anything. After a brief silence, he spoke again, his voice dropping slightly. “Dr. Finch said you’ve changed a lot. I realized… I don’t think I’ve ever truly listened to you.” He paused, his throat bobbing. “I handled the appointment poorly today. As for Wendy… I’ll keep my distance in the future. Don’t take it to heart.” There was a clumsy, awkward stiffness in his voice when he mentioned “the future.” I looked down and sipped my soup. It was already cold. “The things you never wanted to tell me before,” his gaze drifted down to my eyelashes, “you can try telling me now. I’ll listen.” I looked up at him. Under the warm dining lights, his silhouette looked exactly like the man who had stood in the pouring rain seven years ago, asking me to marry him. But it had taken me seven long years to understand what he meant by “listening.” “I cleared my schedule for this weekend. Let’s get out of the city. Would you prefer the beach or the mountains?” He watched me, waiting for an answer. I opened my mouth. “The mountains,” I heard myself say. He seemed to let out a quiet breath, a faint trace of a smile touching his lips. “Okay. I’ll make the arrangements.” He lowered his head to finish his soup, completely missing the way my hands were clenched beneath the table, my nails digging into my palms. That weekend would never happen. He had forgotten to lock his phone when he got home, and it lay glowing on the nightstand. I had glanced over and seen the message from Wendy: Henry, the medicine is so bitter today. Can you come talk to me? It was marked as read. There was no reply text. But while he was in the shower, I had glanced at his call log. There was a forty-seven-minute call to her number. The call had taken place at the exact moment I was packing my suitcase in the study. Forty-seven minutes. He had told me he was going out to get some medicine from the pharmacy. I gently slid his phone a fraction of an inch further away. At three in the morning, I stood in the foyer with my suitcase. I suddenly realized that during all those years of his “waiting,” he had never once been waiting for the real me. He was only ever waiting for a correct, prompt answer. Meanwhile, Wendy never had to say a single word. The cab had been waiting downstairs for five minutes. I climbed into the back seat, pulling my suitcase close to my knees. The driver asked for my destination. “The airport,” I said. As the car glided past the gates of our neighborhood, I looked down at my phone. I went into my contacts, found the name I had saved seven years ago, and deleted it. I locked the screen and flipped the phone face down. “Actually, driver,” I spoke up, my throat tightening, “could we make a quick stop first? The post office in the old district.” Of course, the post office was closed at this hour. But I knew where the twenty-four-hour drop box was. I wanted to mail something. It was the very first letter I had written to him on the night he proposed, seven years ago, but had never dared to send. The letter contained only one line: If one day I lose my voice, would you be willing to wait for me, too? He had never received that letter. Tonight, it was finally time for it to arrive.

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Right after high school graduation, my dad had a sudden midlife crisis and bleached his hair platinum blonde. On college move-in day, he showed up dripping in streetwear, riding a custom Harley to drop me off. He was way too hot for his own good, turning heads the entire way across campus. Everyone staring assumed he was my sugar daddy. And of course, out of all the people in the world, the guy I’d been secretly crushing on was there to witness it. David. He just gave us one cold, sweeping look and walked away. Later that night, I ended up screaming “Daddy” until my throat went hoarse. David showed absolutely no mercy. 01 The midlife crisis hit my dad hard the second I got my high school diploma. The platinum blonde hair was just the beginning. By the time college move-in day rolled around, he rolled up to the dorms on a roaring motorcycle, decked out in designer streetwear. He pulled off his helmet and casually shook out his hair. I buried my face in my hands. “Dad, you’re thirty-six. Not sixteen.” The second I stepped into my dorm room, my three new roommates practically broke their necks peering out the window. “Holy shit, who is that blonde god who just dropped you off?” “Broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs for days. The older man aesthetic is literally aiming right for my heart.” “Is that your boyfriend?” I dropped my suitcase on the floor. “That’s my dad.” The room went dead silent for three seconds. Then, one of them looked at me with absolute deadly seriousness. “Is your dad currently accepting applications for step-daughters? Because I can call him Daddy right now.” I just stared at her. Right on cue, my dad knocked lazily on the open door frame. “You all unpacked, sweetie? Let’s go grab some food.” My roommates’ eyes instantly shifted from shock to pure, unadulterated envy. I grabbed his arm and dragged him out into the hallway as fast as I could. “Let’s go, let’s go. Stop embarrassing me.” My dad raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassing? Do you know how many girls asked for my Snapchat on the way across the quad?” He smoothly took my tote bag from my shoulder and looked down at me. “What are you craving, sweetie?” I was just about to tell him to stop being so cheesy when my eyes locked onto David. He had just finished playing basketball. His dark hair was damp with sweat, his white t-shirt clinging to the sharp lines of his shoulders and back. His pale skin was flushed from the workout. My heart kicked into overdrive, heat rushing straight to my cheeks. For three years of high school, I had quietly passed him notebook paper, lent him pens, and stared at the back of his head more times than I could count. He was standing just a few feet away, holding a bottle of water. His dark eyes dropped to where my dad’s hand was resting casually on my shoulder. My chest tightened. I opened my mouth to call out to him. “David.” Before the word fully left my lips, his knuckles turned white, and the plastic water bottle in his hand gave a loud, violent crack. The guy standing next to him jumped. “David, what the hell man? Aren’t we grabbing food?” David dragged his gaze away, his voice freezing cold. “I lost my appetite.” He turned on his heel and walked away. The greeting died on my tongue. His friend stood there looking totally lost. “What is his problem? He was literally fine two seconds ago.” Another guy rubbed the back of his neck. “No idea. He’s been acting like someone keyed his car ever since he got back from registration.” He paused, lowering his voice. “You don’t think it’s about Brenda, do you?” Brenda. Just hearing that name felt like a bucket of ice water down my back. On the day of his eighteenth birthday party, Brenda was the only girl David had actually accepted a gift from. So he was in a bad mood because of her. My dad watched David walk away, then looked down at me and patted my shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Men are basically garbage anyway.” I shot him a flat look. “Right. Coming from the guy who had a kid at eighteen. Real solid track record.” Late that night in the freshman boys’ dorm, the silence in David’s room was suffocating. His roommate, Brody, was scrolling through the campus gossip page when he suddenly burst out laughing. “Bro, you gotta see this. Some blonde dude on a Harley dropped a freshman girl off today. First day of college and her sugar daddy is already marking his territory.” David lifted his eyes. “Who.” Brody tossed him his phone. In the grainy photo, the blonde guy was holding Sally’s bag in one hand, his other arm draped protectively over her shoulder. Sally was looking up at him, a bright, effortless smile on her face. The comment section was completely out of control. “Freshmen are built different this year. Boyfriend already pulling up to assert dominance?” “The older guy blonde aesthetic is actually doing things to me.” “Who wouldn’t want a 6-foot-2 older Daddy who actually pays for things?” David stared at the screen for a long, agonizing minute, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “Do girls really… like calling their boyfriends Daddy now?” 02 The next day was uniform pickup for the mandatory Freshman Phys-Ed Boot Camp. I dragged a heavy stack of registration forms around the campus quad for twenty minutes before finally accepting that I had zero sense of direction. The late summer sun was brutal, making my head spin. To make matters worse, my heavy duffel bag got snagged on the corner of a concrete step. I yanked it twice, but it wouldn’t budge. Suddenly, a large hand reached past me. David lifted the bag with zero effort, his face completely unreadable. “Where are you going.” I blinked up at him. “What are you doing here?” “Just walking by.” His tone was detached, but he smoothly slung my heavy bag over his own shoulder and took half the forms right out of my arms. I had to jog slightly to keep up with his long strides, my heart doing stupid little flips in my chest. “Yesterday… why did you just leave like that?” David’s footsteps faltered. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t want to interrupt you two.” “Interrupt what?” We kept walking side by side. There happened to be a local farmer’s market pop-up near the edge of campus, and a guy selling produce was shouting over the crowd. “Fresh watermelons! Sweetest on campus!” David’s comment about not wanting to interrupt had left an empty, hollow feeling in my chest. Needing a distraction, I crouched down by the fruit stand. I tapped the rind of a dark, deeply lined watermelon at the edge of the pile. “I’ll take this one.” The vendor grinned widely. “You’ve got a good eye, little lady. You picked out the oldest one in the bunch.” I was just about to nod when a cool, sharp voice drifted down from above me. “So you really do like them old.” I looked up, hugging the watermelon to my chest in total confusion. “Yeah. I guess?” He stared at the melon in my arms, a bitter little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Makes perfect sense.” I frowned. “What?” David didn’t say another word. He just adjusted his grip on my bag and kept walking. I instinctively called out after him. “David.” He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. I gathered my courage. “Are you just having a really bad week or something?” Suddenly, a guy jogged up and clapped him on the shoulder. “David, bro. Brenda’s been looking everywhere for you. She said to meet her by the South Gate.” Brenda. Those three syllables killed whatever courage I had left. I walked up and pulled my bag off his shoulder, forcing a polite smile. “You should go. I can find my dorm from here.” David turned to look at me, his dark eyes colder than they had been all day. “Am I that embarrassing to be seen with?” I recoiled, shocked. “No. I just don’t want to keep you from her.” David stared at me for a long, heavy moment. I dropped my gaze to the pavement, refusing to say anything else. He had barely taken two steps when my phone started ringing. My dad’s booming voice blasted through the speaker. “Sweetie, you get your gear yet? I’m pulling the truck around to take you out to dinner.” I scrambled to turn the volume down. “Got it, got it. Please don’t come to campus, you’re causing a scene.” “Nonsense. It’s my baby girl’s first week—” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw David standing perfectly still, watching me. My hand jerked, and I accidentally hung up on my dad. David’s gaze was glued to my phone screen. I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. “Sorry about him. He’s just like that.” David stayed quiet for a few seconds before letting out a dry, mocking laugh. “It’s really none of my business, is it.” Annoyance finally flared in my chest. I glared right back at him. “You’re right. Brenda is your business. Go.” I reached out to grab my stack of forms. My fingertips brushed against his skin, and I pulled back immediately like I’d been burned. David’s eyes flicked down to the text conversation between me and my dad on my screen. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “You better go too.” “Don’t want to keep your Daddy waiting.” He turned and walked away into the crowd. I stood there hugging my bag, a lump forming in my throat. What the hell was his problem. If Brenda was waiting for him, why was he taking it out on me. I looked down to text my dad, ready to tell him to stop calling me ‘sweetie’ in public. But when my eyes landed on his profile picture, I completely froze. When did this old man change his profile picture to this. I tapped on the image. It was an edgy, black-and-white anime guy, and right underneath it was a brand new bio: [Sole love of my life, Vivian.] Vivian. My mom’s name. 03 The first social mixer of the semester was at a Korean BBQ joint just off campus. I really didn’t want to go, but my roommates practically dragged me by the ankles. “If you don’t go to these things, you’re gonna be a ghost for the next four years.” By the time they shoved me into the private dining room, it was already packed. David was there. He was sitting by the window, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, the sleeves of his dark shirt rolled up to his forearms. He was swirling a glass of liquor in his hand. Brenda walked over with a glass of lemon water and set it gently in front of him. “Pace yourself. You’re going to feel awful tomorrow.” David glanced up at her, then reached out and took the glass. I couldn’t stomach watching it anymore. I turned and walked right back out the door. If I had stayed one second longer, I would have seen David slide that exact same glass of water over to Brody. Brody looked at it like it was a holy relic. “For me?” “Drink it.” I stood on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, taking deep breaths. The cool night air helped clear the suffocating feeling in my chest. When I looked up, I accidentally locked eyes with David through the restaurant window. I immediately looked away. My phone buzzed. A text from my dad. [Sweetie, call me when you’re done. I’m parked by the campus gate.] Before I could even type a reply, my phone started ringing. “Dad, didn’t I say I’d text you when I was done?” He chuckled softly on the other end. “Just making sure no one sweeps you off your feet.” “Who is going to sweep me off my feet.” “You look exactly like your mother. I took my eyes off her for one second and managed to steal her right out from under your grandfather’s nose.” “…” Before hanging up, I threw one last glance over my shoulder. The dining room door was cracked open. David tipped his glass back and downed the rest of his drink in one smooth motion. His throat worked as he swallowed, his dark brows pulled low in frustration. Brenda was sitting right next to him, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. I ended the call, texted my roommates that I had a headache, and started walking. The wind picked up, making my eyes sting. I was walking down a quiet side street leading back to the dorms when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. “Sally.” I stopped. David caught up to me. He had left his jacket inside. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, his collarbone exposed, and the sharp scent of alcohol clung to him. I took a step back instinctively. “Why did you follow me?” He closed the distance between us, his voice rough and ragged. “Is he picking you up again?” “Who?” “Your Daddy.” I blinked, and the spark of anger from earlier erupted into a full blaze. The image of Brenda handing him water, of her hand on his arm, flashed behind my eyes. Who gave him the right to interrogate me. I lifted my chin and glared at him. “How is that any of your business?” The edges of David’s eyes turned a deep, bruised red. “So it’s true.” I furrowed my brows. “What is true?” He took another step, trapping me against the brick wall of the alley. His voice was dSallystatingly hoarse. “Is that the kind of guy you want?” He was so close I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. My stupid heart started hammering against my ribs. “David, you’re drunk.” He looked down at my lips, a bitter, self-deprecating smile twisting his features. “If he gets to be your Daddy.” “Let me be your dog. Deal?” I just stared at him. “What.” “David.” A soft, desperate voice echoed from the mouth of the alley. My entire body went rigid. Brenda was standing there, clutching his dark jacket against her chest. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. She saw how close he was standing to me and hesitated. But then she hurried over, reaching out to grip David’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Sally.” Her voice was thick with apology. “He’s completely wasted. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, please don’t take it personally.” David scowled, trying to shake her off. “Don’t touch me.” That was when I saw it. The silver band on the pinky finger of his right hand. The gift she had given him for his eighteenth birthday. It had her initials engraved on the inside. So they really had exchanged gifts. The last bit of warmth in my chest died. Brenda just tightened her grip on his arm. “You can barely stand up straight. Stop fighting me.” Brody and two other guys from the mixer came jogging down the street. “Bro, what are you doing out here?” Seeing Brenda holding him up, the guys immediately started feeding into the drama. “Brenda to the rescue again.” “Looks like his lady is the only one who can handle him when he’s like this.” “You two look too good together. Just make it official already.” David shot them a lethal glare. “Shut your mouth.” The guy choked on his words and looked away. Brenda stared at the ground, looking embarrassed. “Don’t say things like that.” A low, rumbling engine echoed down the street. Headlights swept over the brick walls. My dad walked into the pool of the streetlight, swinging his motorcycle helmet in one hand. His bleached hair caught the wind, looking absolutely unhinged and effortlessly cool. “Sweetie.” David’s head snapped up. My dad took one look at David stumbling in the alley, and the casual smile dropped from his face. Without missing a beat, he grabbed my arm and pulled me smoothly behind his broad back. “Listen here, kid.” “Stay the hell away from my girl.” David stared at me, hiding behind my dad’s leather jacket. For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the motorcycle. Then, David slowly pulled his arm out of Brenda’s grip, snatched his jacket from her hands, and let out a broken, quiet laugh. “Right.” “Message received.” Brenda tried to reach for him again. “David, let’s just go.” He looked down, swatting her hand away completely. He let Brody throw an arm around his shoulder to keep him steady, and they walked away into the dark. Brenda trailed closely behind them. It wasn’t until his broad shoulders completely disappeared around the corner that I realized the cold wind had made my eyes start watering. My dad shoved the helmet against my chest. For once, his voice was completely serious. “You got feelings for that kid?” I looked down, gripping the helmet tightly. It took me a long time, but I finally shook my head. “Not anymore.” 04 I started actively avoiding him. And David went into a complete tailspin. When Brody pushed open the door to their dorm room that night, he found David sitting motionless in his desk chair. His phone was sitting on the desk, and he looked like he was attending a funeral. Brody jumped back. “Jesus, bro. Do we need to call a paramedic?” David looked up, his dark eyes swirling with pure frustration. “She hates me.” Brody threw his backpack on the floor and dropped onto his bed. “Sally?” David didn’t answer. Brody started laughing. “Oh, so now you’re panicking? Back in high school I told you to stop acting so untouchable. You liked her for three whole years and couldn’t even string a sentence together around her.” David gave him a death glare. Brody immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop being right.” David gripped his phone, his knuckles turning white. “What do I do.” Brody rubbed his chin, pretending to think deeply. “What can you do?” “Just keep acting like a simp, obviously.” Brody dragged his chair over to look at David’s phone. “First of all, stop brooding in the dark like a serial killer. Let’s do some market research. What is her exact type?” Brody swiped open Sally’s social media and started scrolling through her likes and comments. He scrolled down. First video: A guy with bright red hair smirking at the camera. Sally’s comment: [Red hair!] [It’s the red hair!] [I am looking respectfully.] David stared at the words, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. Brody kept scrolling. Second video: A college guy in a black button-down, leaning against a railing and drinking water, his throat moving as he swallowed. Sally’s comment: [Good boy, drink up. Do you need me to hold it for you?] David: “…” Brody: “…” Brody let out a nervous laugh. “Gotta hand it to her, she’s got a way with words.” David’s voice was borderline demonic. “Keep scrolling.” Brody swallowed hard. Third video: A fitness influencer with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, lifting his shirt to wipe his sweat and flashing his abs. Sally’s comment: [I want to use Daddy’s abs as a slip and slide.] Brody couldn’t hold it in. He burst out laughing. David shot him a look that could kill. Brody immediately covered his mouth. David’s eyes were glued to the screen, tracking every single word. Fourth video: A guy wearing thin, gold wire-rimmed glasses reading a book in a library. Sally’s comment: [God I love a morally grey academic. Absolutely feral for this aesthetic.] David slowly looked at the massive pile of textbooks on his desk. Then he looked at the wire-rimmed glasses sitting on his nightstand—the ones he hadn’t worn in six months because they got in the way when he played basketball. Silence fell over the room. Brody opened his mouth to read the next one, but David cut him off. “Stop.” Brody was fighting for his life trying not to laugh. He cleared his throat. “Look, man. Girls just say this stuff on the internet. It’s a meme. It doesn’t mean anything.” David suddenly looked up, a terrifying light in his eyes. “So she likes guys with red hair and gold glasses.” Brody nodded slowly, sensing danger. “I mean… I guess?” David lowered his eyes, internalizing the information like a battle plan. A deep, unshakable sense of dread washed over Brody. The next morning during the Phys-Ed Boot Camp roll call. I had just adjusted the brim of my cap when a massive wave of whispers rolled through the freshman formation. “Holy shit, who is that?” “Is that a new instructor?” “No, that’s David.” I snapped my head up. David was walking across the turf in his tactical uniform. The bright morning sun hit him, illuminating the fact that his normally dark, untouchable hair had been dyed a vibrant, reckless shade of red. And sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose was a pair of thin, gold wire-rimmed glasses. It made his pale skin look flawless, making his dark eyes look infinitely sharper and more intense. My heart completely betrayed me and skipped a beat. David walked straight up to me and nervously ran a hand through his red hair. Fifty people were openly staring at us. He seemed totally oblivious to the absolute spectacle he was causing. He leaned down and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you like it?” I just blinked. The girl standing next to me inhaled sharply and started pinching my arm behind my back. I winced, fighting to keep my face neutral. “It’s fine.” A spark of genuine hope lit up David’s eyes. “You like it?” Before I could even think of a response, a massive collective gasp echoed from the other side of the field. “Oh my god!” “They’re matching!” “Brenda dyed her hair red too!” My blood ran cold. Brenda was walking over from the second platoon. Her normally soft, brown hair was now a fiery, unmistakable red. In the sunlight, the coordination was impossible to miss. She saw David’s hair and stopped in her tracks, looking surprised. “Wow, what a coincidence, David.” The entire field erupted into chaos. “Are you kidding me? Just date already!” “Matching hair dye is insane.” “Brenda knows exactly what she’s doing!” “Bro, you can’t hide it anymore!” David’s face instantly hardened into stone. “Shut up.” But the damage was done. The more he denied it, the louder the cheering got. Brenda stood next to him, the tips of her ears burning pink. She spoke softly, meant only for him. “I was just thinking about changing my look yesterday, I didn’t expect…” I stood there mentally cursing myself for being such an idiot. Five seconds ago, I had actually let a pretty face trick me. I had almost become a pawn in their little romantic drama. David turned back to me, real panic flashing in his eyes behind the gold frames. “Sally, it’s not what you think.” I looked up at him. “What do you think I’m thinking?” He froze. I pulled the brim of my cap down low over my eyes, making my voice as dead and hollow as possible. “David, what color you dye your hair has absolutely nothing to do with me.” The instructor blew the whistle, and I immediately spun around and fell into formation. “Line up! Anyone caught talking is running laps!” I stood perfectly still under the blazing sun, my spine rigid. Thank god the heat was so brutal. It dried the moisture in my eyes before anyone could see. For one split second, I actually thought he had changed his hair for me. Looking back, it was the dumbest thought I’ve ever had. 05 That night, the tension in the boys’ dorm was lethal. When Brody pushed the door open, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Did someone turn the AC down to freezing?” David was slumped in his desk chair, radiating despair. He was staring blankly at his phone screen. Right above the text box was a bright red exclamation mark. “Damn, bro. You got blocked? It’s really over for you.” Brody winced. David aggressively ran a hand through his red hair, his voice completely wrecked. “Why does she hate me even more now?” Brody rolled his eyes and dragged his chair over. “Are you insane? You show up with the exact same hair color as Brenda. It’s basically a neon sign screaming ‘Couples Goal.’ Sally isn’t blind. Why would she be nice to you after that?” David looked genuinely crushed. “How was I supposed to know Brenda dyed her hair? I literally took the idea from Sally’s internet comments!” “And this is why you’re single.” Brody leaned back, slipping perfectly into his role as the master strategist. “But the reality is, you stepped on a landmine. You said you were gonna be her dog. What is the number one rule of being a dog?” David looked lost. “What.” “You gotta wag your tail!” Brody slapped his own thigh. “You have to grovel! Buy her things, apologize, be pathetic! Girls love a guy who is obsessed. You gotta lower your pride, man. Do you understand?” David stared thoughtfully at a post Sally had made three days ago. [90 degrees at Boot Camp. An iced watermelon juice would literally save my life right now.] After a long pause, he gave a slow, serious nod. The next day during training, my body decided to betray me. Aunt Flo arrived early, and she was furious. Standing in formation under the brutal sun, I was clutching my stomach, cold sweat dripping down my spine. When the break whistle finally blew, I dragged myself into the shade of a large oak tree. I was just about to curl up into a ball on the grass when a freezing cold cup of iced watermelon juice appeared in my line of sight. I followed the long, tanned arm up and saw David. He was breathing hard, a thin layer of sweat shining on his forehead like he had just sprinted across campus. He pushed the cup closer to me. The ice rattled against the plastic. “I got this for you.” I stared at the frost forming on the outside of the cup, and I swear to god, my uterine lining retaliated with a violent cramp. I weakly pushed his hand away. “I don’t want it.” David looked confused. “Is this about Brenda?” Hearing her name when I was already in blinding pain was the final straw. “I said I don’t want it!” I practically yelled it, clutching my stomach and turning my back to him. I couldn’t even look at his face. David stood there holding the freezing juice, completely spiraling into a pit of self-doubt. He immediately pulled out his phone and texted Brody. [She refused the juice. She wouldn’t even let me explain. She looked at me like she wanted me dead. What do I do.] Brody replied instantly. [You’re an amateur! Maybe she just wasn’t craving watermelon today? Listen to me. Go to the cafe and buy one of EVERYTHING on the menu. Let her choose!] David thought this was a brilliant tactical move. He turned and sprinted toward the campus strip mall. When afternoon training finally ended, I was practically a walking corpse. I finally had a second to breathe. Suddenly, four delivery guys on electric scooters slammed on their brakes right in front of me. “Which one of you is Sally Sinclair? Your drinks are here!” While dozens of my classmates watched in absolute shock, the delivery guys started hauling massive insulated coolers onto the grass. I walked over, completely bewildered. “Miss, here are the 43 iced beverages you ordered. Please sign here.” I looked down. Iced lemon slushies, frozen green tea, mango madness with extra ice, cold-brewed oolong… Forty-three massive cups. Every single one packed with ice, gleaming in every color of the rainbow, spread out across the lawn. And right in the middle was a massive, handwritten receipt note: [For Sally. — David.] My classmates started whispering and making “ooooh” noises. Meanwhile, I stood in front of an absolute mountain of freezing, icy drinks, feeling the knives twisting in my lower abdomen, and thought I might actually pass out from rage. The hormones took over. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely unlock my phone. I pulled his number out of my blocked list, typed furiously, and hit send. [David, if you want to murder me, just stab me and get it over with!] Then, I blocked him again. Leaving David sitting in his dorm, staring at a red exclamation mark, questioning his entire existence. After failing twice, David was completely dSallystated. Brody watched him sulk, slamming his hand on the desk in frustration. “Drinks aren’t working. It’s time for the nuclear option. Bro, trust me on this. There is not a single woman on this earth who can reject flowers!” “Flowers?” “Yes! Red roses! 999 of them! Have them delivered straight to the lobby of her dorm. Bury her in romance and cash!” And so, early the next morning. I had just finished brushing my teeth when the dorm RA yelled up the stairwell. “Sally Sinclair! Room 302! You have a massive delivery!” I walked downstairs, totally confused. The second I hit the bottom step, I was confronted by a nightmare. A monstrous, six-foot-tall heart made entirely of crimson roses was blocking the main entrance to the building. The flowers were violently red, bleeding a thick, suffocating perfume into the enclosed lobby. A crowd of girls had already formed a circle around it, taking photos and whispering with absolute jealousy. My vision immediately went dark. Because I have chronic allergic rhinitis. And I am violently allergic to pollen. “Ah—Achoo!” My nose instantly flared with unbearable itching. Water started pouring out of my eyes like a broken faucet. “Sally, this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen!” my roommate squealed, shoving my shoulder. “Roman—achoo! God help—achoo!” I covered my nose with both hands, tears streaming down my face in endless rivers. I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. Meanwhile, hiding in the bushes outside the dorm, Brody was acting like a sniper doing recon. He excitedly held down the voice memo button to David. “Bro! It worked! It worked flawlessly! Sally took one look at the flowers, dropped to the floor, and started bawling her eyes out! She was so overwhelmed with emotion she couldn’t even speak! The tears are literally flooding the lobby!” Sitting up in his bed, David heard the memo and shot up like a rocket. He immediately opened a fake Instagram account he had made the night before (after realizing he was blocked again), pretending to be a student council rep. [Do you like the flowers, Sally? It’s David.] Half an hour later. Campus Clinic. IV Therapy Room. I was slumped back in a sterile chair, questioning why I was born. My left arm was hooked up to an IV dripping antihistamines, and my right hand was crushing a wad of tissues as I violently blew my nose. My phone buzzed. I stared at the direct message, my vision going red with absolute fury.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “523914”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel