Category: English

1 I am the only lawyer in New York with a flawless winning streak. Online, they call me the Ten-Dollar Grim Reaper. The rules are simple. My radio hotline opens for exactly five minutes every night. If you get through, no matter how rich or untouchable your opponent is, you pay me ten bucks, and I guarantee a victory. For the past three years, domestic abusers, deadbeat billionaires, and corporate tyrants have been stripped down to their last penny by my hands. Tonight, at two in the morning, the lines opened. Over a hundred thousand callers jammed the switchboard instantly. But the very first voice that came through the static was one I would never forget even if I were dead. “Mom… I finally scraped together ten dollars.” “My boss didn’t just steal six months of my wages… he had his goons shatter my legs. They took every last cent I had.” “Will you… will you please help me?” The live chat on the station’s broadcast instantly caught fire. [Holy shit! Did I hear that right? That’s Evelyn’s actual daughter?!] [My god, what kind of monster is that boss? Crippling a girl and robbing her? My heart is breaking!] [Is this even a question? Evelyn goes to war for absolute strangers. For her own flesh and blood, she’s going to make that bastard rot in a cell forever!] I sat in the dimly lit studio, silently listening to my daughter’s ragged sobs echoing through my headset. I reached out and cut the line. “I won’t help you.” … The chat exploded into absolute chaos. [What the hell?! She just hung up! That’s her own kid! How cold-blooded can you be?] [Is this a scripted PR stunt? Are they just farming views?] Ignoring the wall of insults scrolling across my screen, I tapped the edge of my microphone. “Producer. Next caller.” Three seconds later, the line clicked. “Ms. Evelyn…” a timid, trembling girl’s voice whispered. “I took a summer job, and the sketchy temp agency confiscated my ID.” The girl was crying so hard she could barely breathe. “I worked overtime for a whole month straight, and they only paid me eight hundred bucks…” “They threatened me. They said going to the cops is useless because they have people on the inside…” “I’ll take the case.” My voice was crisp, slicing through the heavy studio air. “Have your ten dollars ready. Be at my firm at eight tomorrow morning to sign the retainer.” “Thank you! Oh my god, thank you so much!” The girl sobbed gratefully before the line disconnected. The viewers completely lost their minds. [You’ll take a stranger’s case over your own kid who just got her legs broken?!] [Did she press the wrong button? What kind of sick joke is this?] I didn’t even blink. “Producer. Next.” The third caller was a middle-aged woman, her words rushing out in a breathless panic, dripping with pure hatred. “Evelyn! A bunch of rich trust-fund brats have been tormenting my daughter at school! They filmed her and threatened to ruin her life if she snitched!” The woman’s voice cracked. “The school won’t do a damn thing. The cops claim there’s not enough proof. The main bully’s family is pure old money, and they swore they’d run us out of New York!” “Who is the family?” I asked softly. “The Vanguard Syndicate! The youngest son!” Vanguard. The most notorious corporate mafia in the city, deeply tied to the criminal underworld. “I’ll take it.” I didn’t hesitate for a split second. “Bring your daughter to my office tomorrow morning.” “For ten dollars, I will personally ensure the golden boy of Vanguard spends the best years of his life making license plates.” “Bless you, Evelyn! I’d get on my knees and kiss the ground you walk on!” The woman’s hysterical weeping faded as the call ended. By the time I finished logging the two cases, the chat wasn’t just angry anymore. It was a vicious crusade of moral outrage. [Are you even human? You play the savior for the rest of the world, but leave your own kid to die?] [Is your whole ‘defender of the weak’ persona just a massive scam? Are you even her real mother?!] [Someone call 911! Send the cops to rescue that poor girl!] Right at that second, another call forced its way through the jammed switchboard. “Mom…” My daughter’s voice drifted out, so weak it was barely a whisper. “They’re coming back. This was my only chance. If they catch me on this phone, they’re going to kill me…” “Please, Mom. Save me…” Every single syllable was a rusted blade twisting deep into my chest. The volume of messages crashing the server was so intense the system started to lag. [Evelyn, say something! Are you seriously going to let your daughter die?!] [Cold-blooded psycho! You don’t deserve to be a mother!] I kept my jaw locked tight. I didn’t make a sound. “Evelyn!” My producer’s voice roared through my earpiece, thick with suppressed fury. “I’ve always respected you. You’ve always fought for the little guy! But what the hell is wrong with you tonight?!” His angry shouts echoed from the control room behind the glass. “That is your daughter!” “I broke the rules and overrode the system to patch her back into the main line! The least you could do is say something to her!” “Five minutes is up.” I stared at the digital timer glowing red on the wall. I pulled off my headset and tossed it onto the console. “Are you out of your damn mind?!” The producer slammed his fists against the soundproof glass, his eyes bloodshot. “That is your own flesh and blood! Are you being blackmailed? Do they have a gun to your head? Say something!” The screen was a blur of frantic text. [Why?! You help stray dogs on the street, but you toss your own kid to the wolves?] [There has to be a catch! Blink twice if you’re being held hostage!] [Just give us a reason! Give us one single reason! She came from your own womb!] I slowly lifted my head and stared dead into the studio camera. “You want to know the reason?” “You’ll all find out soon enough.” Early the next morning, my phone started buzzing violently with a summons from the NYPD. The moment I parked my car in front of the central precinct, a tsunami of reporters and cameramen swarmed me, blocking every possible exit. “Evelyn! Your daughter escaped a torture dungeon in the middle of the night and ran barefoot to the cops!” “We heard her legs were snapped in half! Why did you leave her to die on live radio?” “Is this some twisted PR stunt cooked up by the two of you?” Camera flashes blinded me. I shoved past the microphones being thrust into my face and fought my way into the main lobby. Nora was huddled on a plastic bench in the corner. Her clothes were shredded into filthy rags. Her bare feet were covered in burst blood blisters and dried mud. Thick, purple lash marks and blistered cigarette burns crisscrossed over her exposed arms and calves. The second she saw me, she lunged forward, throwing her arms around my legs in a desperate embrace. “Mom! I finally got away!” She wept with a primal, gut-wrenching agony. “The boss locked me in a basement… he whipped me with a belt, and then he had his guys stomp on my shins until the bones cracked…” “I dragged myself for six miles until I saw a cruiser. Mom, please, you have to help me!” The mechanical clicking of a hundred cameras echoed through the lobby. A female officer standing nearby wiped her reddened eyes and tried to gently support Nora’s weight. “Ma’am, your daughter’s injuries are severe. The forensic examiner already classified this as felony aggravated assault.” The cop glared at me. “When are you taking the case? We will fully cooperate with your evidence gathering.” I stared down at Nora from above. Taking a deliberate step back, I pulled my leg free from her grip. “I have no intention of taking this case.” The lobby plunged into an absolute, suffocating silence. The female officer’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you insane? She is your daughter!” “That is her own problem.” I let out a cold chuckle. “She is a legal adult. Since she filed a police report, the police will handle it.” “If that place is really the hellhole she claims it is, she can just provide the evidence and let the DA press charges.” The cop was shaking with rage. “She barely made it out of that basement alive! Look at what they did to her! Even a complete stranger would have a heart!” “How can a mother say something so incredibly vile?” “I am a lawyer.” My voice was a flat, emotionless drone. “Lawyers care about evidence. Not bloodlines.” Nora stared up at me, her eyes filled with absolute despair, shaking her head frantically. “They took my phone! I don’t have audio tapes, I don’t have video!” “But these wounds are proof! There has to be blood left at the scene!” With trembling fingers, she reached into the torn pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a crumpled, blood-stained ten-dollar bill. “Mom. This is my last ten dollars in the world.” “Please. I am begging you. Take my case…” She raised the bloody bill above her head and violently slammed her forehead against the precinct’s tile floor. Thud. A sickening, hollow sound echoed. A web of red instantly bloomed across her forehead. I stared at that bloody ten-dollar bill on the floor. I didn’t even twitch a muscle to bend down. “Not enough.” The words slipped from my lips. “Witness testimony isn’t ironclad. Without a silver bullet to kill the defense, I do not play games I am destined to lose.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. The crowd went feral. “You aren’t even human!” A reporter screamed, shoving a heavy camera lens right into my cheek. “Do you even deserve to be a mother? Do you deserve to practice law?!” Someone in the mob yanked the aggressive reporter back, shouting over the noise. “Hold on! Evelyn has a spotless reputation for charity! She wouldn’t abandon her own kid without a damn good reason!” “Yeah! She helps homeless people for free! She must be under some kind of gag order!” Just then, the heavy thud of running footsteps echoed from outside the lobby. The crowd was violently shoved apart. “A damn good reason? Don’t let this snake fool you!” “She is no saint!” The voice belonged to my husband. Robert. Smack! A thick stack of printed papers was viciously slapped right across my face. “Look at this! All of you, look at it!” Robert pointed wildly at the papers fluttering to the floor, the veins in his neck bulging. “These are the wire transfers for her offshore accounts!” “At midnight yesterday, three million dollars was suddenly deposited into her name!” The journalists swarmed like sharks smelling blood, diving for the scattered papers. The cameras zoomed in tight on the highlighted transaction. “The sender…” A reporter gasped out loud. “Vanguard Corporation?!” A collective intake of breath sucked the oxygen out of the room. Vanguard Corporation. The exact company owned by the monster who broke my daughter’s legs. Robert glared at me with pure venom. “You didn’t reject her because of a lack of evidence!” “You’re just a greedy, soulless parasite!” “For three million bucks, you sold your own kid’s life to the slaughterhouse!” The few people in the crowd who had just been defending me instantly went dead silent. Hundreds of eyes, sharp with disgust and pure hatred, pinned me to the spot. Nora slumped onto the cold tiles, staring at me with hollow, vacant eyes. “Mom…” Her voice was broken, shaking uncontrollably. “Is it true?” “You have a plan, right? Tell me you have a plan.” “That three million… it’s a private settlement they offered me, right?” “You just took the money to string them along so I can pay for my leg surgery… right?!” I looked down to meet her gaze. “You are mistaken.” My tone was absolute ice. “There is no secret plan. There is no settlement.” “That three million is not your medical fund. It is my retainer fee.” The precinct lobby felt like a graveyard. Nora froze, completely paralyzed. I stepped right past her, facing the flashing cameras with a perfectly blank expression. “I have officially accepted Vanguard Corporation as my client.” “As their lead defense counsel, I will be filing a countersuit against you for malicious defamation and character assassination, seeking ten million dollars in damages.” “The law is blind. I will not bend the rules just because you happened to be born from me.” “Evelyn! Are you even a person anymore?!” Robert lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my blazer, his fist raised high in the air. “I want a divorce!” “I refuse to be married to a cold-blooded snake, and my daughter doesn’t need a mother who worships money over her own flesh!” The livestream chats on the reporters’ phones were moving at lightspeed. [I am sick to my stomach. She took dirty money to sue her own crippled kid!] [Last night she acted all mysterious saying we’d find out the reason. The reason was a massive payday!] The female officer wrapped her arms around the hyperventilating Nora, screaming at the crowd. “Somebody help her! You reporters, put out a call on your networks! Are there any lawyers out there willing to take this girl’s case?!” A few legal correspondents in the crowd awkwardly glanced at each other, immediately lowering their heads. Who would dare? Every attorney in New York knew that Evelyn had a hundred percent win rate. Going to war against me was a guaranteed career suicide. Nobody was going to throw away their future for a broken girl they didn’t even know. Nora buried her face in Robert’s chest, the shock morphing into a hollow, inescapable despair. Just as the entire room accepted that Nora had already lost… Bang! The heavy glass doors of the precinct were kicked wide open. “I’ll take the damn case!” A young man in a flawlessly tailored suit strode into the lobby. Arthur. The only dark horse in the New York legal scene who came close to matching my win rate. Everyone called him my natural successor. Five years ago, he was a broke law student backed into a corner. Loan sharks had driven his parents to suicide. The mob was hunting him down, snapping three of his ribs in an alleyway. He begged every law firm in the city, but they were too terrified of the mob to help him. At two in the morning, he called my radio hotline with nothing but ten dollars to his name. I took the job. I dragged him out from under the mob’s butcher knife and sent every single one of those thugs to a maximum-security prison. Ever since that day, he treated me like a god. He spent his entire career trying to walk in my footsteps. “You’ve changed, Evelyn.” Arthur stared me down. “You bowed down to corporate money. You left your own daughter in the dirt. You don’t deserve to wear the title of an attorney.” “Starting today, I am taking full control of Nora’s case.” “And I am going to destroy you in that courtroom myself!” The lobby erupted into deafening cheers and applause. I looked at the righteous fury burning in Arthur’s eyes and let out a faint smirk. “Are you sure about that?” My voice dripped with arrogant pity. “Going against me is a death sentence for your career.” “I’ll bet my entire life on this if it means ripping that mask off your face!” Arthur ground his teeth. “Why are you doing this? Just for three million bucks?” I smoothed out my collar where Robert had crumpled it and walked out the door. “You want to know the reason?” I dropped the words over my shoulder. “You’ll all find out soon enough.” Half a month later. New York Federal Courthouse. Trial day. Arthur stood at the plaintiff’s desk, radiating aggressive energy. “Your Honor, I present the forensic medical evaluation for my client, Nora!” He slammed a thick file onto the oak table. “Severe blunt force trauma to multiple soft tissue areas. Comminuted fracture of the tibia. Classified as felony-level grievous bodily harm!” “This is the architectural blueprint of Vanguard’s basement showing deliberate camera blind spots, paired with the DNA analysis of the blood found at the scene!” Stack after stack of files rained down on the desk. “The evidence is absolute!” Arthur pointed a lethal finger at the defense table. “Vanguard CEO Richard Croft and his son, Tristan Croft, are guilty of unlawful imprisonment and aggravated assault!” The gallery buzzed with aggressive whispers. The trial was being broadcast live, and the chat was a warzone. [Arthur is a beast! This evidence chain is bulletproof. Let’s see the wicked witch spin her way out of this!] [The hundred percent win rate dies today! A mother selling out her kid for dirty money is about to be humiliated on national television!] At the defense table, Richard and Tristan were sweating bullets. Tristan frantically wiped his forehead, his hands visibly shaking. Richard leaned into my space, lowering his voice into a venomous hiss. “Are you actually capable of doing your job, Evelyn?” “I paid you three million for a guaranteed win, and this kid just shoved hard evidence down our throats! Are you just gonna sit there?!” I picked up my steel thermos, took a slow sip of hot water, and completely ignored him. Arthur’s gaze cut through the courtroom to pierce right through me. “Evelyn! Faced with irrefutable proof, are you still going to protect these animals?!” “You’d sell your own daughter’s blood for a paycheck!” He slammed his fist against the wood. “Is this your so-called flawless streak? You are a disgrace to the bar!” The tension in the courtroom was a stretched wire about to snap. Every single person was watching me, practically salivating for the moment the legend finally fell from grace. The judge banged his gavel. “Does the defense have evidence to rebut the plaintiff’s claims?” I set my thermos down and slowly got to my feet. I picked up a remarkably thin manila envelope and handed it to the bailiff. “I do.” Arthur scoffed out loud. “The wounds on her body are real. The blood at the scene is real.” “What are you going to do, Evelyn? Magically invent evidence out of thin air?” The bailiff passed the envelope to the clerk. I tapped my knuckles on the table. “I suggest everyone take a look at the screens first.” The courtroom fell into an eerie hush. Every pair of eyes locked onto the giant monitors mounted on the walls. The feed clicked on. When they saw the evidence displayed on the screen, everyone was absolutely dumbfounded.

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1. After the car crash, Arthur woke up with amnesia, completely forgetting everything we had shared. As the heir to Crown Holdings and a golden boy of Manhattan’s elite, he couldn’t wrap his head around why he had married a simple community college graduate. During his hospital stay, he refused to let me visit him. Once he was fully recovered, he finally came to find me. The very first words out of his mouth were: “Jenny, I think we should get a divorce.” I clenched my fists, letting tears well up in my eyes as I nodded. Six years. I had finally waited out the clock for this exact day. Living day in and day out with a ridiculously gorgeous, ice-cold, stoic man was absolute torture for an ordinary girl like me. The second my best friend heard the news, she texted me a picture of a guy with a rock-solid eight-pack. “Interested?” … In the quiet corner of the coffee shop, Arthur looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. “Please, sit, Jenny.” I sat across from him, cooperating without a word. This was the first time I had seen him since the accident. He looked slightly thinner than I remembered, which only made his sharp jawline look even more imposing. He slid the divorce agreement across the table, a sleek black card resting on top of the papers. “The townhouse and the SUV are yours, plus five million dollars in this account as compensation. You’ve had a tough few years with me.” I squeezed my hands together, tears immediately filling my eyes. Arthur frowned slightly, assuming I was devastated. Fearing I might make a scene, he hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking again. “I’ll add another three million. Just stop crying.” I froze. Eight million dollars? I had worked like a dog at Crown Group for six years, dragging myself up from an administrative assistant to the deputy director of HR, pinching every penny just to save thirty thousand. This was an absolute jackpot. I signed the papers with tears still shimmering in my eyes. Arthur, convinced I was utterly heartbroken, gently pushed a tissue toward me. “There is a thirty-day cooling-off period. I’ll have my driver pick you up when it’s time to finalize the paperwork.” “I’ll have a team pack up my things from the townhouse.” I nodded tearfully. “Of course, Mr. Crown.” He flinched slightly. “You don’t have to call me that.” “Very well, Arthur.” His lips parted as if to say something else, but he stopped, stood up, and walked away. I sat in my seat, watching his tall, lean figure push open the glass door. The morning sun caught his sharp silhouette, making him look like a model stepped straight out of a high-fashion magazine. He was such a fine specimen of a man. He was just entirely too cold. In our six years of marriage, we could count our intimate moments on both hands. Once, fueled by liquid courage, I had thrown myself at him in a silk slip. He had simply caught me in his steady arms, tucked me back into bed, and whispered, “Sleep it off if you’re drunk.” That frigid restraint was baked into his very bones. To him, I was probably just a fragile vase to be safely stored, not a living, breathing woman. The day his things were completely cleared out of the townhouse, I treated myself to a rose-petal bath and a glass of fine red wine. Leaning against the tub, I snapped a photo showing a bare shoulder and posted it on my socials. The caption: “Single, thriving, and ready for my next chapter.” I raised the glass to my lips, but suddenly my stomach turned. A wave of nausea hit me, and I dry-heaved over the tub. I checked the expiration date on the bottle. It was perfectly fine. My phone buzzed. The caller ID showed Austin, Arthur’s younger brother and a total brother-worshipper. The moment I answered, his panicked voice blasted through the speaker. “Jenny! Are you and my brother actually getting a divorce? Has he lost his mind, or have you?!” Swirling the wine in my glass, I let out a dry laugh. “Austin, you were the one who threw a check in my face years ago, telling me to get lost so your brother could marry his precious college sweetheart. Now you’re asking me if I’ve lost my mind? Are you having a personality split?” He sputtered, his voice suddenly thick with tears. “My brother literally cut ties with the family to marry you! He gave up his inheritance and sent our grandfather to the hospital for two weeks! He’s not going to divorce you. You can’t sign those papers. If he gets his memory back and realizes what he did, it will kill him. Please, Jenny, just hold on. I’ll find a way to get his memory back, I swear.” I gave him a half-hearted reply and hung up. Why would I want to go back to a passionless marriage when I could easily get myself a handsome young partner? Just then, a text popped up from my best friend, Gigi. Are you seriously getting divorced? Yep. Gigi spammed exclamation points before sending another photo. It was a guy standing on a beach, shirtless. Tan skin, defined obliques, water droplets glistening on his chest. And a fiercely attractive face. My eyes practically glued to the screen. That’s Beckett, my husband’s cousin. Just got back from studying abroad. Six-foot-two. And most importantly— She sent a voice note: “He’ll actually keep you satisfied.” I sent a voice note back: “Stop it, you’re making me blush.” “But Arthur and I are still in the cooling-off period. Isn’t transitioning to someone else a bit too fast?” Gigi immediately sent a link to a trending tabloid page. Cooling-off period my foot! Your husband was just spotted at the airport picking up his golden girl! My fingers froze. I clicked the link. There was a photo of Arthur in a tailored black overcoat, waiting at the arrivals terminal. He was reaching out to take a suitcase from Megan, a soft look in his eyes. The headline stung: Crown Holdings CEO Welcomes Back First Love: Six-Year Marriage Exposed as a Sham. A ridiculous thought crossed my mind. Did he actually know Megan was returning, and simply used the car accident and amnesia as an easy excuse to get rid of me? 2. I stared at the photo, a heavy weight settling in my chest. Megan. She was Arthur’s college classmate, and they had been the golden couple on campus. After graduation, she went abroad, and for some reason, they broke up. After that, her name became a forbidden topic. Nobody dared mention her around him. When I first applied for the administrative role at Crown Group with only my associate degree, I thought I stood no chance. To my shock, I was hired. Later, when our relationship went public, the elite social circle labeled me as nothing but a cheap substitute for Megan. I zoomed in on the photo. Megan wore oversized sunglasses, revealing a pale, flawless complexion and a slender, elegant frame. I walked over to the full-length mirror. A round face, still carrying a bit of baby fat. We looked absolutely nothing alike. The tightness in my chest dissolved slightly, replaced by a strange sense of relief. At least I wasn’t some tragic stand-in. Gigi texted again: My wedding is next week. You guys can meet there. Nobody will say a word if it’s at my wedding. I replied: You always have the best ideas. Excited, I threw open my closet to pick an outfit. I tried on a few form-fitting dresses, but they all seemed strangely tight around my waist. I touched my stomach. Why did I look so bloated lately? I hadn’t even been eating that much. Needing a distraction, I went to the mall. I picked out a beautiful powder-blue mermaid gown and headed to the fitting room. When I stepped out to look in the mirror, my heart stopped. Arthur was standing right there, adjusting the zipper on a woman’s dress. And that woman was wearing the exact same powder-blue gown. We all froze. Arthur’s gaze swept over my midsection. He frowned slightly. “That dress shows off your tummy. Try something else.” I instinctively pulled in my stomach. Was it really that obvious? I’d had no appetite lately and barely touched any sweets. The woman turned around, playfully swatting Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, don’t be so insensitive. You’re going to embarrass her.” Then she offered me a polite, flawless smile. “Hi, I’m Megan.” I forced a smile. “Nice to meet you.” Megan turned back to the rack and pulled out a loose, drab gray dress. “This one is much looser and the fabric is very comfortable. It looks perfect for your current… state. Why don’t you try it on?” I didn’t reach for it. It was incredibly dowdy, something my mother wouldn’t even wear. Before I could decline, Arthur pushed the gray dress aside, his frown deepening. “That’s too old-fashioned for her.” He looked at me. “I assume you’re shopping for Gigi’s wedding. Since our divorce isn’t finalized yet, if you show up looking like a mess, it reflects poorly on my family.” Megan’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she pouted beautifully. “Arthur, maybe I shouldn’t go to the wedding with you after all. If she’s going to be there, people will start whispering.” Arthur hesitated. Gigi was my best friend, but her groom was Arthur’s close friend. After a moment, he turned to me. “Are you sure you want to go? Without the status of my wife, people might try to make things difficult for you.” Looking at the way he protected her, I suddenly felt completely drained. I let out a dry chuckle. “I can skip a casual acquaintance’s wedding, but Gigi is my best friend. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” “Don’t worry, Gigi will look out for me. You don’t need to stress.” In my heart, Gigi was infinitely more dependable than he was. When our relationship first went public, the socialites did everything they could to humiliate me, calling me a social climber who couldn’t even tell the vintage of a wine. It was Gigi who held my hand, taught me the luxury brands, showed me how to deal with passive-aggressive remarks, and took me to flower arranging and horseback riding lessons. She molded me from a timid clerk into a confident director. I took a breath. “If you think having Megan there with me around is too awkward, you can always choose not to go.” With that, I turned and walked back into the fitting room. Arthur stood there, looking slightly hurt, as if his genuine concern had been thrown back in my face. 3. To avoid any awkward run-ins at the office, I went to Crown Group the next day to hand in my resignation. Standing in front of the towering skyscraper, I felt a wave of nostalgia. Six years ago, I didn’t think my associate degree would even get me through the front door. Yet, I had climbed the ladder from an assistant, to team lead, to manager, and finally to deputy director. The best six years of my life, both my career and my love, had bloomed here. Now, it was all ending. Ever since the airport rumors broke, the office gossip mill had been running wild. Everyone assumed I was the discarded wife being pushed out by the returning first love. My resignation only confirmed their suspicions. The moment I stepped into the department, a mocking voice echoed from behind. It was Ashley, the colleague who had lost the promotion to me. “Well, if it isn’t our deputy director. Swept out with the trash, are we? Let me know if you need a recommendation for your next job. Given your history with the CEO, I might be able to get you a spot on the janitorial staff.” Several colleagues clutched their coffee cups and chuckled. I turned around, calmly flashing the digital enrollment certificate on my phone. “Actually, I got into Columbia’s executive master’s program last year, and I’m planning to apply for a PhD next year.” “So don’t worry about my career, Ashley. You might want to focus on cleaning up the absolute disaster you made of last month’s annual gala before you’re the one getting fired.” Ashley’s face turned a violent shade of red. I didn’t waste another second on her. I grabbed my things and walked out. Back at my apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa, debating whether to look for a new job or open my own business. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open with a loud bang. Arthur stormed in, radiating cold anger. He marched right up to me, his eyes freezing. “Jenny, how can you be so vicious? Did you really hire someone to run Megan off the road?!” I was stunned. “What are you talking about? Run her off the road? I’ve been at the office all day filling out my exit paperwork!” “Who else has a grudge against her?” He refused to believe me, his grip tightening painfully around my wrist. “You better pray she’s okay, or I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison.” Without giving me a chance to explain, he dragged me out, shoved me into the passenger seat, and sped off, demanding I apologize to Megan. I was completely speechless. We flew down the road to the hospital. Outside the VIP suite, Arthur pushed the door open. I saw Austin huddled in the corner, his hair looking like a bird’s nest. The moment he saw us, he jumped up, bowed ninety degrees to me, and then did the same to Arthur. His face was a mask of sheer panic, his voice trembling. “Arthur! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know Megan was in that car! I just wanted to stage a minor fender bender to shock your memory back!” I froze in shock. Arthur went completely still. “What did you say?” his voice cracked. Austin practically stamped his feet in frustration. “Arthur, you cannot divorce Jenny! You almost broke off all ties with the family to marry her! You practically threw away your inheritance! Your wedding was all over the news, you can still find the videos online! If you actually go through with this, you’ll hate yourself forever once your memory returns!” I knew why Austin was always so protective of me. Years ago, he had been in a terrible street racing accident and urgently needed a rare Rh-negative blood transfusion. I had donated nearly a liter of blood to save his life. That was also how I found out my initial hiring at Crown Group had been entirely due to my blood type matching the family’s needs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Megan, whose head was heavily bandaged, clenching her sheets. Arthur swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice. “I… I’m sorry. I should have investigated before blaming you.” I let out a dry laugh. “Is she going to be okay?” Arthur looked at Megan but didn’t say a word. On the drive back, Austin kept glancing at me from the driver’s seat. “Jenny, there’s something I’ve kept secret for years. The real reason Arthur broke up with Megan back in college was because she cheated on him.” “It was her birthday. Arthur wanted to surprise her, so he flew out without telling her. When he walked into her apartment, he caught her in bed with some guy. He booked the next flight back and never mentioned her name again. Please don’t let her ruin your marriage.” My jaw dropped. After a long pause, I sighed and patted his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Austin.” “But my decision to leave your brother has nothing to do with Megan.” “Then why?” Austin stared at me, wide-eyed. My face flushed bright red, and I looked away. I couldn’t exactly tell him that his brother’s stoic, passionless approach to our intimate life had left me feeling like an ornament. 4. Before I knew it, the day of Gigi’s wedding arrived. At the entrance of the venue, Gigi and her groom were welcoming guests. When she saw me, she reached out and poked my belly. “Jenny, are you pregnant? You’re definitely showing a bit.” I blinked. Pregnant? “No way.” “When was your last period?” “I don’t even know. My cycle has always been irregular. It’s normal for me to miss a couple of months.” “Don’t ignore it,” Gigi scolded, tapping my forehead. “Go get a blood test as soon as you can. Don’t be clueless if you actually have a little one on the way.” Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she waved at someone behind me. “Hey! Beckett! Over here!” I turned around. A tall guy in a crisp white shirt walked over, holding a professional camera. It was the guy from the photo, Beckett. He was incredibly tall. As he stood next to me, his shadow completely enveloped mine. “Beckett just started a creative agency,” Gigi explained with a wink. “He’s looking for a content director who understands photography. Didn’t you love shooting film back in college? You two should talk.” With that, she excused herself to greet other guests. Beckett and I found a quiet table in the corner. He looked younger in person, his white shirt sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. “You look even more beautiful in person, Jenny,” he said, his voice carrying a warm, smoky depth. “Gigi showed me your social media, and I could tell immediately that your shots have real soul.” He leaned in slightly as he spoke, creating an easy, comfortable intimacy. When the topic shifted to photography, his eyes lit up, his fingers tracing compositions on the tabletop. There was a vibrant, burning energy to him, a stark contrast to Arthur’s cool reserve. We talked about vintage cameras, new lenses, and creative ideas, the conversation flowing effortlessly. I hadn’t laughed like this in a very long time. Right as we were laughing at a joke, a sudden hush fell over the entrance. I looked up. Arthur had arrived, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored black tuxedo. Megan was clinging tightly to his arm, wearing a shimmering white gown. As they walked in, the pink diamond necklace around Megan’s neck caught the light, and a sharp pain pierced my chest. I knew that necklace all too well. At a charity gala last year, another socialite had worn the exact same necklace as me. The woman had ripped hers off on the spot, throwing it into the trash, calling it a curse to wear the same thing as a community college grad. I had hidden in the restroom, crying for hours. Arthur had held me close that night, promising he would personally design a unique, one-of-a-kind piece just for me. He spent over six months tweaking the sketches. Now, that very necklace was draped around another woman’s neck. A suffocating tightness squeezed my lungs. The music and laughter in the room began to fade into a dull hum. The world turned black. As my knees gave out, the very last thing I heard was Arthur’s voice, cracking with a panic I’d never heard before. “Jenny!”

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1 On this parenting show, I was cast as the villainous foil to beloved actress Cherry. She was the doting ideal mom while I played the hated stepmother. After slow-cooking porridge all night, my five-year-old stepson Matthew slapped it away, scalding my hand. He accused me of poisoning him, then gleefully took Cherry’s fast food. As viewers praised her, he smiled sweetly and called her Mama Cherry. Online, I was told to leave. I looked at my blistered hand and laughed coldly. I would pay the penalty, divorce, and walk away. But as I turned to quit, a panicked voice screamed in my head. The old witch is mad. Her food is the best. Who will cover my ears in storms or carry me? Do not go. I froze. Matthew still puffed his chest, silently demanding attention. While the chat raged and Cherry smirked, I marched back, pinched his cheek, and said coldly, Want me to stay. Kiss me on the cheek live for the whole country. The entire set fell into a dead silence. Matthew’s eyes widened, and a deep flush crept up his neck, turning his face bright red. He clutched the hem of his shirt with his tiny fists, his lips trembling. Cherry, holding her daughter Lily’s hand, stepped right into the center of the camera’s frame, letting out a soft, maternal sigh. “Barbara, I know being a stepmother is hard, and I understand your frustration,” she said, leaning down to stroke Matthew’s hair. “But you shouldn’t take it out on the child. Forcing him to do things he hates will only scar him. Please, don’t pressure him like this.” Lily shrunk behind Cherry’s skirt, whispering in a trembling voice, “Mommy, Auntie Barbara is scary. I’m afraid.” Cherry immediately pulled Lily into a protective hug, giving me a look of helpless disappointment. The chat went wild. [Can Barbara please get kicked out of show business? This evil stepmother act is sickening!] [My heart breaks for poor baby Matthew. Imagine having such a psycho for a stepmom.] [Cherry is the perfect mother! She’s the only one who deserves to be Nathan’s wife and Matthew’s mom!] [I’m signing a petition for Nathan to divorce her! Kick Barbara out of the family and let Cherry marry in!] I ignored Cherry’s little performance. My fingers remained gently but firmly pinching Matthew’s soft cheek. He craned his neck and yelled, “Who wants to kiss you! You ugly woman! I would never!” Yet, his frantic, embarrassed inner voice rang out right on cue: Ah! Why isn’t the old witch playing by the rules? She used to beg and plead to coax me! This is so humiliating! But she smells so nice, like the vanilla body wash she used to bathe me last night. Fine! A kiss is nothing! I’m not scared of you! Matthew suddenly hoisted himself up on his tiptoes, squeezed his eyes shut, and planted a massive, loud kiss right on my cheek. The smack of the kiss echoed in the quiet courtyard. The smile on Cherry’s face froze. The live chat froze. Her army of fans collectively lost their minds. I let go of his cheek, pulled out a wet wipe, and slowly cleaned the dried porridge off the back of my hand. “Fine. Since you’re being so sincere, I suppose I’ll stay.” Matthew stumbled back two steps, his face burning. He looked away, but his ears were bright red. The director cleared his throat, hurriedly raising his megaphone to keep the show moving. “Welcome, mothers and children, to the first stop of Super Moms, right here in the beautiful village of Willow Creek! Your task today is to search the village for fresh ingredients. Whichever family places last by noon will be stuck eating plain boiled cabbage for lunch!” Cherry took a paper bag from her assistant. Inside was a greasy batch of fast-food fried chicken and fries. “You must be starving, Matthew,” she said sweetly. “I had my assistant drive to town just to get you some fresh fried chicken.” She held out the bag, letting the rich, salty aroma drift through the air. But my eyes were sharp. I saw Cherry reach behind Lily and viciously pinch her back. Lily trembled with pain, her eyes welling with tears, but she bit her lip, too terrified to cry out. Forcing a tight, pleasing smile, she whimpered toward Matthew, “Big brother, have some chicken…” Cherry sighed, looking at me with feigned innocence. “I just have such a soft heart. I can’t bear to see a child go hungry. Barbara, you don’t mind if I give him a little treat, do you? Nathan was complaining to me on set just the other day about how Matthew is such a picky eater. He was so worried about him.” The chat exploded again. [Oh my god, Cherry remembers even the little things Nathan vented to her about on set. This is true love!] [Did you hear that, Barbara? Nathan would rather confide in his co-star than talk to you. You’re a total failure of a wife!] [Cherry is an angel. She’s starving her own daughter just to make sure another kid gets fed first.] I glanced at the greasy paper bag and took a step back. “Your call, Matthew. You can eat that junk, or you can come with me to find some real food.” Cherry smirked, entirely confident that a five-year-old could never resist the allure of fried chicken. Matthew stared at the bag for a split second. Inside his head, his thoughts were dripping with disgust: That chicken is cold! The skin is all soggy! The sweet-and-sour pork ribs the old witch made yesterday are ten thousand times better than this garbage! Who wants greasy fast food? I want the old witch’s cooking! Suddenly, Matthew lunged forward and wrapped his arms around my leg, burying his face in my denim jeans. “I don’t want it! I want to go find food with my mom!” Cherry’s hand froze mid-air. Her face flushed a sickly mix of pale white and angry red. I offered her a cool, indifferent look, completely ignoring her cheap attempts to stir drama. “You heard the boy. He’s not interested. You should probably keep it for yourself, Cherry.” With that, I took Matthew’s small hand in mine and walked out of the courtyard. August in Willow Creek was brutal. The sun beat down mercilessly, heating the dirt roads. I led Matthew to the massive banyan tree at the entrance of the village. A cool breeze swept under its dense canopy, offering a perfect shield from the heat. I spent a couple of dollars on two ice-cold bottles of orange soda and handed one to Matthew. He held the frosty glass bottle in his small hands, taking tiny sips while peering out toward the fields. Not far away, in the muddy cornfields, Cherry was dragging Lily through the dirt to pull weeds. Sweat poured down Cherry’s face, yet she kept a bright, forced smile plastered on for the cameras. “Good girl, Lily. If we work hard, we’ll get a delicious lunch. Mommy’s not tired at all, as long as you get to eat well.” Lily was so exhausted her eyes were sliding shut, her tiny frame swaying precariously on the muddy ridge. Every time she tried to sit down for a break, Cherry would yank her back into the dirt to keep working. The chat went into overdrive. [Cherry is so hardworking! She’s a real, down-to-earth woman!] [And then there’s Barbara, lounging under a tree drinking soda! Did she think she was signing up for a luxury vacation?] [Nathan, open your eyes! Divorce Barbara and marry Cherry! Cherry actually knows how to run a proper household!] Matthew took a long sip of his soda and let out a small burp. Leaning against my knee, he gave a tiny scoff. “You’re so lazy. Everyone else is working, and you’re just sitting here slacking off.” But his inner voice was hilariously honest: Oh, man! This cold soda is heaven! It’s boiling hot out there. That mean woman is actually making Lily pull weeds in the direct sun. The poor girl’s face is practically peeling. The old witch is way better. No hard labor, just shade and cold soda. I guess I won’t complain about her today. Ignoring his little attitude, I looked over at the stone table under the tree. The village chief and an elderly local were locked in a tense game of chess, both staring at the board with deep frowns, completely stuck. I strolled over, glanced at the layout, and murmured a classic winning sequence. “Move your bishop to block, then bring the knight up.” The chief blinked, hesitated, and then moved his piece exactly as I suggested. The old man slapped his thigh in excitement. “Incredible! That broke the entire deadlock!” Within five minutes, the chief secured a swift victory. Laughing heartily, he stood up and brushed the dust off his trousers. “Smart girl! You’re with that TV show, aren’t you? Here, my family just harvested some fresh eggs and vegetables this morning. Take them!” He handed me a woven bamboo basket filled with a dozen farm-fresh eggs, crisp green cabbage, and plump red tomatoes. Just like that, our lunch ingredients were sorted. Matthew hugged the bamboo basket tight, a look of pure pride washed over his face. By eleven-thirty, the families gathered back at the meeting point. Cherry and Lily arrived caked in mud. After a grueling morning of labor, all they had to show for it were two shriveled, dusty potatoes. Lily was sobbing from hunger, clinging to Cherry’s legs. “Mommy, I’m so hungry… I want real food…” With her back to the camera, Cherry’s eyes flashed with pure annoyance. But the instant she spun around to face the lens, her face softened into a picture of tearful, heartbreaking worry. She walked over to me, casting a glance at my basket of fresh ingredients, and bit her lip, looking thoroughly pitiable. “Barbara, Lily worked all morning and her stomach hurts from hunger. Could you spare just two eggs? Think of it as a loan. I’ll pay you back.” The chat immediately took the bait. [Barbara, she’s practically begging you. Just give her the eggs!] [Exactly, you have over a dozen! What’s two eggs to you?] [No wonder her husband ignores her. She doesn’t have a single caring bone in her body!] I looked at Cherry with a cold, unyielding stare. “You chose this martyr role. Don’t complain now that you actually have to play it. If you cared so much about your daughter’s hunger, maybe you shouldn’t have spent the whole morning posing for the cameras.” I leaned back slightly. “And don’t teach kids to expect hand-outs. If you want eggs, go win a game of chess yourself.” Tears welled in Cherry’s eyes. “Barbara, you can target me all you want, but the child is innocent…” Before she could finish her sob story, Matthew suddenly lunged forward, spreading his small arms to block me. “No! These are our eggs! My mom won them! If you’re so amazing, go win your own!” Cherry choked on her words, her jaw tightening as she glared at the boy. “Fine. If you won’t share, you won’t. I don’t blame you, Matthew. It’s just a shame your mother never taught you how to share.” She took Lily’s hand and turned away, the very picture of a wronged victim. But as she walked away, I caught the calculated, venomous glint in her eyes. That afternoon, I fired up the rustic wood stove and whipped up a fragrant plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes and a light, stir-fried cabbage. The second the plates hit the table, Matthew grabbed his spoon and started shoveling food into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out. His inner voice was practically screaming with joy: This is delicious! How are these eggs so good?! This is a hundred times better than what our private chef makes at home! That’s it. I’m going to make the old witch cook for me every single day! I scooped some rice for myself, sat down beside him, and gently wiped a stray grain of rice from his chin with a napkin. His little body stiffened for a brief second, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned slightly closer to me. Meanwhile, things were going downhill fast in Cherry’s courtyard. Lily was crying louder and louder from sheer exhaustion and hunger. Flustered, Cherry glanced toward the camera crew stationed outside. Seeing that she was out of their immediate line of sight, she dragged Lily into a blind spot inside the house. “Stop crying!” she hissed, her voice dripping with rage. “Haven’t you embarrassed me enough today?” She pulled a cheap, greasy packet of spicy gluten strips from her bag and shoved them into the girl’s hands. “Eat this and shut up!” The snack was heavily processed, oily, and intensely spicy. Starving, Lily tore the packaging open and devoured it. Within half an hour, the toll hit her. She fell to the floor, clutching her stomach and rolling in pain. Her face turned pale as cold sweat beaded on her forehead. “Mommy… it hurts… my tummy hurts so bad…” Cherry ran out of the house, screaming at the cameras, “Medic! Lily’s having a severe reaction to the local food! She has acute gastroenteritis!” The show’s medical team rushed over. Suddenly, Cherry ran over to my courtyard, throwing herself onto her knees right at my gate, sobbing hysterically. “Barbara, I beg of you! Lily’s stomach is cramping from the local food, and the doctor says she needs warm broth to settle it. All I have are cold potatoes. Can you spare just one bowl of hot soup? I’ll get down on my knees and beg!” The second she dropped to her knees, the live chat exploded with venom targeted entirely at me. [Barbara, are you even human? Cherry is literally on her knees begging you!] [Barbara is a monster! Nathan must have been blind to marry her!] [Ban Barbara! Get this toxic woman off our screens!] I walked to the gate holding my bowl, looking down at Cherry. “A reaction to the local food?” I walked right past her to check on Lily. As soon as I got close, a pungent smell of artificial flavorings and heavy chili oil hit my nose. I turned back to Cherry. “A five-year-old child got severe stomach spasms from eating cheap, greasy, spicy junk food on an empty stomach, and you’re blaming the local weather?” Cherry’s face went pale, her eyes darting around. “What are you talking about? I would never feed her trash like that!” Just then, the camera panned down. Peeking right out of Cherry’s pocket was a crumpled plastic wrapper stained with bright red chili oil. The chat froze for a long second. [Wait… what’s that in Cherry’s pocket?] [Is that actually a spicy snack wrapper?!] [Feeding a five-year-old spicy junk food on an empty stomach? No wonder the poor kid is having spasms!] The show rules strictly forbade bringing outside snacks into the village. The production crew’s expressions turned grim. The director immediately barked into his walkie-talkie, “Cherry, please empty your pockets. You are in direct violation of the rules.” Cherry clutched her pocket, her face completely drained of color, unable to utter a single word. The director announced on the spot, “Cherry’s team has violated the rules, resulting in a child falling ill. Her food privileges for tonight are officially revoked!” That evening, while the other families enjoyed piping hot meals, Cherry was stuck chewing on cold, dry bread. Night fell over Willow Creek, thick and silent. Cherry stood in her yard, glaring at the warm glow coming from my cabin windows, her face twisted with resentment. She clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms. Barbara, since you want to humiliate me, I’ll use that little brat to utterly ruin you. The next morning, the mountain mist was still heavy in the air. I stepped out of the cabin with a basin of fresh water and immediately sensed that something was off. Matthew, who had finally started warming up to me, was acting incredibly strange. He was huddled in the corner by the door. When I reached out to lead him to the washbasin, he suddenly shivered violently and recoiled, pushing himself against the wall. “Don’t touch me!” he shrieked, his voice cracking with tears. I frowned, slowly retracting my hand. Following his terrified gaze, I spotted Cherry standing under a nearby tree. It turned out that while I was fetching water, she had slipped over to whisper poison into his ear. Your dad is planning to divorce her and marry me. I’m going to be your real mom soon. Barbara is about to get kicked out of the family. Matthew had grown up without a mother, and his deepest, darkest fear was abandonment. Those words shattered his fragile defenses completely. “Get away from me!” he sobbed, screaming at me. “I hate you! Just leave!” Seeing this, Cherry rushed forward, pulling him into her arms and looking at me with a face full of sorrow. “Barbara, a forced relationship never brings happiness. The boy is terrified of you. What on earth did you do to him?” She raised her voice, making absolutely sure the cameras captured every word. “Even if you’re frustrated, you can’t go abusing a child!” The word “abuse” instantly escalated the situation. The assistant director marched over, holding a megaphone. “Barbara, given Matthew’s current state, we must ask you to make a public apology. Otherwise, we cannot continue filming.” His statement put a target on my back. The live chat erupted in absolute fury. [It’s confirmed! Nathan really is divorcing her! Even the kid knows!] [The little heir really told her to scram! Get Barbara out of the industry!] [This is child abuse! Call the police!] I stood my ground, watching the crew and onlookers crowd around, pointing and whispering. But right then, a faint, trembling sob echoed inside my head. I didn’t mean to yell so loud… It’s all my fault! If I hadn’t lost my temper, the director wouldn’t be forcing the old witch to apologize. Everyone is yelling at her. She must be so sad right now… I didn’t want them to yell at her… Sensing an opportunity to crush me once and for all, Cherry decided to push her luck. Under the cover of her sleeve, she gave Lily’s thigh a vicious pinch. Lily let out a sharp cry and broke into loud wails. Cherry seized the moment, pointing a finger directly at my face. “Barbara! Your behavior has terrified even Lily to tears! You don’t deserve to be a mother!” Then, Cherry spun around and squatted in front of Matthew. She stared into the eyes of the trembling five-year-old, delivering her final, devastating blow right in front of the live cameras. “Matthew, you’re a smart boy. Your dad doesn’t want her anymore. She’s getting kicked out of your house very soon.” “Now, you have to make a choice in front of everyone.” “Do you want this bad woman who abuses you, or do you want Mama Cherry?” “If you walk over to me, you’ll be my real son, and your dad will love you forever.” “But if you choose her, your dad will kick you out along with her, and you’ll end up an unwanted street kid!” The chat went wild. [Beautiful play, Cherry! Let the kid decide!] [Is that even a choice? He’s obviously going to pick Cherry. Only an idiot would stay with a toxic woman like Barbara!] Matthew stood frozen, shaking, tears streaming down his face like broken pearls. He bit his trembling, pale lower lip, his tiny hands desperately twisting his shirt. His inner thoughts, a chaotic storm of fear and pain, rushed into my head like a tidal wave. Is Dad really going to throw her out? If I choose the old witch, will I drag her down with me? Will we both get thrown onto the streets? The old witch is so high-maintenance. She doesn’t know how to do chores, and she loves pretty things. If she goes broke, she won’t even be able to afford her designer bags! What if… what if I pretend to choose the mean woman, so the old witch doesn’t get dragged down because of me? But… but she’s standing there all by herself. Even the director is bullying her! If I abandon her too and walk over to this bad woman, she’ll really become the laughingstock of the whole country! Yesterday, just to get me some eggs, she stood under the blazing sun watching those old men play chess… How can I just leave her? Old witch, you’re usually so good at yelling at people! Why aren’t you yelling at me now? Just come over and grab my hand! If you do… if you do, I won’t even eat meat anymore. I’ll go beg on the streets with you, okay?! He sobbed, his face bright red, his small body torn apart by the weight of the decision. On one side was his absolute terror of the future; on the other was his fierce, clumsy instinct to protect me and keep me from facing the world’s malice alone. Hearing his frantic, desperate thoughts, my chest tightened, and a sudden wave of warmth rushed through me. Cherry looked at the hesitating boy, a trace of impatience flickering in her eyes. But she quickly masked it, her lips curving into a smug, victorious smile. “Come on, Matthew. Tell everyone. Who do you choose?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “523900”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The System sent me to push the villain over the edge and unleash his dark side. The problem? The villain was a total pushover, a painfully honest saint of a man. I got him drunk and took advantage of him, only for him to wake up and gently tell me he would take full responsibility. His parents abused him as a child, yet he still dutifully paid for their comfortable retirement. Even when his own brother repeatedly tried to kill him, he simply let out a heavy sigh and quietly sent him into exile abroad. I was absolutely furious. I spent hours screaming and throwing tantrums, but he just knelt before me, holding my warm foot bath, and softly asked if I had cooled down yet. Eventually, I completely broke. Realizing he was a hopeless case, I decided to abandon the mission. But on the very day I was preparing to fake my death and escape, the brother he had so mercifully spared sneaked back and kidnapped me. Seizing the perfect opportunity, I played along and threw myself straight off a cliff. Back in the real world, fully accepting my failure, I dragged myself back to the mundane, everyday corporate grind. Yet, seven days later, a sharp chime echoed in my mind, announcing my mission was a resounding success. The System appeared, sobbing hysterically. “Host, that final move of yours was too brutal! The villain has completely snapped and is about to destroy the entire world. Could you please go back in and calm him down?” 01 I stormed into the penthouse, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. Damien was still in the kitchen, carefully preparing dinner. I marched over and threw my designer bag straight at him, venting my frustration. “You sent your brother away?” Damien caught the bag gently, placed it aside with practiced patience, and nodded. “Yes.” “He tried to ruin you!” I snapped, my voice rising. “He literally tried to kill you, Damien! Now that you finally wrestled the company back from him, your grand revenge is just sending him to some remote country?” He looked at me with his usual mild-mannered patience, his voice soft. “Then what should I have done?” “An eye for an eye!” I yelled, stepping closer. “Run him over with a car! Pour boiling water on him! He wanted you dead, so he deserves to rot!” Damien frowned slightly, looking genuinely troubled. “That’s illegal, Naomi. Besides, he is still my brother. Now that he’s exiled, he won’t be able to bother us anymore.” I felt a massive headache coming on. Even the System in my head was screaming in pure disbelief. System: Is this guy serious? He’s supposed to be a ruthless villain! Abused as a child, backstabbed by his brother, he has the perfect tragic backstory! Why won’t he just snap? I took a deep breath, massaging my temples. What’s his corruption level right now? System: Twelve percent… Twelve percent. I had been stuck in this world for five whole years, trying my absolute best to bully him, humiliate him, and push him over the edge. I had even forced him into marriage by drugging him on our first night together. When I woke up the next morning, I had insulted him, telling him he was pathetic in bed. But he had only looked at the bruises on my wrists from the night before, let out a soft sigh, and whispered, “I’m sorry I hurt you last night, Naomi. I’ll take responsibility.” I had been completely stunned. The System, however, had cheered in my head. System: Perfect! Marry him, act like a total nightmare, torment him, and force those dark urges to the surface! But after the wedding, no matter how much I ordered him around like a servant, he just took it. He was like a still lake; no matter how many stones I threw, there wasn’t a single ripple. When I stole his company’s trade secrets and handed them to his competitors, he actually blamed himself: “Naomi, have I done something to upset you lately?” And he wasn’t just soft on me. He sent regular allowances to his abusive parents, and he sent his backstabbing brother abroad with nothing but a gentle slap on the wrist. Five years. I was the one about to go crazy. And his corruption level was a pathetic twelve percent. After dinner, I was still fuming. Damien brought in the foot spa basin, just like he did every night. Usually, if I was in a good mood, I’d wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. But tonight, I ignored him, scrolling through my phone. Damien waited, but when no kiss came, he didn’t complain. He just knelt in front of me, taking a towel to dry my feet. System: Keep pushing his buttons. Pick a fight! Without waiting for him to dry my feet, I stepped right onto his shoulder, digging my heel in. Damien caught my ankle, his grip firm but gentle. He looked up, his deep voice quiet. “Still mad at me?” I scoffed and turned my head away. He reached for the towel again, murmuring, “Let me dry you…” I looked down at him from my high perch and deliberately wiped the wet soles of my feet all over his clean home clothes. I tilted my chin up, mocking him. “No need. I already have a perfect towel right here.” Even I felt that was a bit too cruel. I eagerly asked the System: Well? Did that do it? What’s his level now? A long silence followed. System: It dropped. We’re at eleven percent now. Me: “…” 02 That night, Damien tried to kiss me, but I turned away. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, listening to his steady breathing next to me. I took a deep breath. System, I’m quitting. I want to abandon the mission. System: Are you sure? If you quit now, you won’t get the cash prize, and you will have wasted five years of your life here. I nodded. There was no way I could make this golden retriever of a man turn into a dark lord. The System thought for a moment. Fine. Let’s do one last task. If his corruption level still doesn’t budge, I’ll send you back to your own world. I agreed. The task was simple. The male and female leads of this story were starting a business and had a crucial bidding war tomorrow. According to the original plot, Damien was supposed to use underhanded means to win it. Since he was too honest to do it, I had to do the dirty work. The next day, after Damien left, I intercepted the leads’ car. The male lead swerved sharply, crashing his door and dislocating his arm in the panic. I rolled down my window and smiled sweetly at them. “Oops. Looks like you guys need a trip to the ER.” By the time they got checked out, they would miss the bidding window, and Damien would win by default. The male lead recognized me as Damien’s wife. He gritted his teeth. “Is this how you two play the game? With dirty, low-class tricks?” I put on my best villain sneer. “Exactly.” The female lead stared at me. “Does Damien know you’re doing this?” I felt a flicker of guilt but forced myself to say, “He’s the one who ordered it.” That line cemented the rivalry. The leads went to the hospital, missing the bid. I went home, satisfied. Soon, Damien came back. He was rubbing his temples, looking unusually exhausted. His first words were: “Naomi, what did you do today?” I blinked innocently. “I helped you win the bid. You should be thanking me.” He let out a heavy sigh, his tone unusually stern. “Who taught you to behave like this? Tomorrow, you’re going to apologize to them with me. I’ll handle the rest.” I was stunned. “But this is business! And it was so easy. Damien, if you just harden your heart a little, you could have endless wealth and power…” He looked at me with deep disappointment. “But it’s dishonest, Naomi. How can anyone live like that?” I wanted to scream. You are the villain! Why do you care about playing fair?! Seeing my silence, his tone softened. “Be good, sweetheart. Just show up and apologize. I’ll take care of the rest.” I muttered, “No.” He knelt before me, looking into my eyes. “If you do it, I’ll buy you that designer bag you wanted?” I kicked him lightly. “Don’t care about the bag.” “How about I let your friend Nora stay over for a few days?” I shook my head. “No.” Damien’s face hardened. His tone turned sharp. “Naomi.” In five years of marriage, we had argued countless times, but it was always me screaming while he patiently coaxed me. This was the first time he had ever used that cold, warning tone with me. I looked away, asking the System in my head: His level? System: Still eleven percent. I felt nothing but resignation. Of course. Damien seemed about to lecture me further, but I looked up and said, “Fine. I’ll apologize tomorrow.” He froze, caught off guard by my sudden compliance. “Really?” I nodded meekly. “Really.” At that moment, the System chimed: Warning: Mission failed. Initiating protocol to return host to the real world. 03 Over the next few days, I behaved myself. I apologized to the leads, and I didn’t ask how Damien cleaned up the mess. The System told me it would arrange a car accident in a few days so I could “die” and leave this world naturally. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. No more trying to bully a saint. Even when I saw him wire another huge sum of money to his abusive parents, I didn’t lose my temper. Damien bit his lip, trying to explain. “My father had a sudden heart attack. He needs surgery.” I just nodded calmly. “Oh. I hope his surgery goes well.” Damien froze. “Are you… upset?” I smiled gently. “No. If keeping them healthy makes you happy, then I hope they stay healthy forever. I just want you to be happy.” I had realized that everyone has their own way of living. Since I was leaving, none of this mattered anymore. Damien stared at me, his eyes filled with a sudden, aching tenderness. He thought I was being mature, and it broke his heart. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let’s go on a trip in a few days, just the two of us. Okay?” “Sure,” I agreed, wanting to enjoy my final days. But on the day of our trip, something entirely unexpected happened. Damien’s brother, Jared, who was supposed to be exiled in Africa, had secretly sneaked back into the country. He intercepted my car and kidnapped me. 04 Jared dragged me to an abandoned cabin on a desolate mountain. He called Damien immediately. “If you want her back, I want twenty percent of the company’s shares.” Twenty percent! What a greedy bastard. I knew Damien’s weak-willed nature; he would agree without hesitation. The thought of Damien losing that much money made my heart ache. That was money that could have bought so many nice things! I opened my mouth to curse Jared out, but the System chimed in: System: Don’t worry, Host. I will protect your physical safety. Then it hit me. I was leaving anyway. Why did I care about the shares? If I needed to fake my death, wasn’t this the perfect opportunity? My eyes lit up. This was a gift from heaven. Besides, Damien had been tortured by my temper for five years. Once I was gone, he’d probably feel a massive weight lift off his shoulders. Don’t protect me, I told the System. Let’s do the fake death now. Prepare the transfer. The System agreed it was a cleaner exit. Jared, paranoid about being tracked, dragged me to the edge of a cliff. He held a knife to my neck, sneering. “We’ll wait here. If Damien tries anything funny, I’m throwing you off.” He shoved a phone in my face. “Beg him. Tell him to sign the papers quickly if he wants you alive.” He hit record on a voice message. I took a deep breath, unable to hold back my true feelings any longer. I yelled into the phone, “Damien, I absolutely hate you!” Jared flinched and accidentally sent the message. He glared at me. “I told you to beg, not throw a tantrum! Do it again, or else… wait, what are you doing?!” In his moment of panic, I spun around. And I plunged backward, straight into the abyss. The sensation of weightlessness rushed over me, accompanied by the roaring wind. The last thing I heard was the System’s mechanical voice: System: Initiating transfer to the real world… System: Transfer successful.

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1 After we got married, William told me he didn’t like the idea of his woman being in the public eye. So I deleted my podcast account, the one with millions of loyal listeners, and contentedly settled into being his quiet harbor. Then he brought home a girl named Serena. He said her voice sounded exactly like Echo, the late-night radio host who had vanished from the airwaves years ago, and praised her immense talent. He began spending entire nights with her in the recording studio, even personally making sure she took her medicine. When I ran a fever of a hundred and two, he brushed it off. “Serena has a crucial mic test tonight, Vivian. I need to be there to supervise.” When I tried to reason with him, he snapped at me. “She is not like you. She has dreams, real ambition. She isn’t like you, content with just playing the housewife.” Looking into his eyes that day, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. I demanded a divorce. The next time I saw William was at my official comeback press conference. He still had no idea that Echo, the woman he had spent three long years searching for, was me. … The heavy heat of June drifted through the VIP corridor of the Grand Convention Center. I walked steadily down the long hallway, the quiet click of my high heels keeping a steady rhythm on the polished floor. As I turned the corner, I saw him. It had been three years since I walked out of his luxury penthouse overlooking the river. I could barely remember how I survived those dark days. I only remembered how he used the gentlest tones to utter the most cutting words, trapping me in that house and then blaming me for losing my sense of self. He pushed me away, yet resented me for not understanding him. During those sleepless nights, I would stare at the ceiling waiting for dawn, my hair falling out in clumps, feeling as though I might shatter at any moment. Yet, I had to keep up the facade of a dutiful wife, swallowing the bitter pill of his entanglement with Serena without making a sound. Looking back now, those miseries felt wrapped in a thick fog, blurry and distant. William stood in the center of the crowd, looking as brilliant and untouchable as ever. I offered a faint, bitter smile. This scene felt remarkably like our very first meeting. He noticed me, too. His gaze locked onto me from across the long hallway. For a fraction of a second, shock registered in his eyes, quickly replaced by something dark and unreadable. I quietly averted my eyes, acting as if I hadn’t seen him, and kept walking with the staff. “Vivian.” His voice drifted from behind me. I stopped but didn’t turn around. The sound of his footsteps drew near, measured and steady, stopping just half a step behind me. The familiar scent of sandalwood mixed with a faint hint of cigarette smoke enveloped me. “Where have you been, these past few years?” I slowly turned to face him, keeping my eyes low, and gave him a polite, formal nod. “Mr. Kingsley, it has been a long time.” William fell silent for a few seconds. “You…” He spoke again, his voice carrying a tangle of unspoken emotions. “You’ve lost a lot of weight. Are you taking care of yourself?” A sudden tightness gripped my chest as memories of curling up alone on the sofa during those endless nights flashed through my mind. I raised my eyes to look at him directly. Three years was long enough to see this man for who he truly was, and long enough to completely smooth over the remaining resentment in my heart. “I’m doing well. Eating well, sleeping well. There is no need for you to worry.” He blinked, his gaze dropping to the staff pass hanging around my neck. His lips parted, but no words came out. He looked up at the air conditioning vent overhead, a look of concern softening his features. “The AC is blasting in here. Why don’t I buy you a warm drink when this is over?” “Are you looking for a job here? If you need any help, you can always ask me.” William was, after all, the main sponsor of this summit. I smiled and shook my head. “No, thank you.” The winter in my life had already passed. Just as I was about to walk away, Serena’s voice cut through the air. “Well, if it isn’t Vivian! It’s been so long, why didn’t you say hello?” Serena walked over, holding a cup of hot coffee. As she reached my side, her hand tilted with deliberate clumsiness, splashing the hot liquid directly onto my shoes. She smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Vivian. William just said he wanted to buy you a hot coffee, so I figured I’d save him the trouble.” The moment the words left her mouth, William grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him. “Apologize!” He let his hand drop awkwardly, but even with his quick reflexes, I caught sight of the watch on his wrist. It was the one I had gifted him years ago. I had absolutely no interest in watching this little drama. “The hosts are waiting for me. Excuse me.” His face twisted into a complex mask of emotions, but I didn’t care to analyze it. I turned and let the young assistant guide me forward. As I walked, the base of my right ring finger tingled. I had taken off my wedding ring three years ago, but sometimes it still felt like it was there. The cold draft from the vents reminded me of the day I moved out, a humid summer afternoon just like this one. Except back then, William was too busy supervising Serena’s very first recording session to even see me off. He was a completely different man today. I used to think that when I met William again, I would demand answers, cry, scream, and dump all three years of my accumulated misery onto him. But I was wrong. faced with our reunion, I was remarkably calm. So calm that my heart didn’t even flutter, and I couldn’t even summon the energy to hate him. I followed the staff to the dressing room. When I pushed the door open, Serena was already there, touch-ups underway. Seeing me in the mirror, her makeup puff paused. She slowly turned around, scanning me from head to toe with a sneer playing on her lips. “Well, look who it is. Vivian. What’s the matter? Got tired of being a housewife and decided to apply for a janitor job here?” I ignored her and kept walking. She stood up and blocked my path. “I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” “This is a VIP dressing room. What right does a discarded housewife have to be in here? Has the venue’s hiring standard dropped this low?” The young assistant tried to intervene, but Serena shoved her aside. “Who do you think you are to show up at an event like this?” She poked my shoulder, shoving me back hard. I lost my footing, my back colliding with the door frame with a dull thud. “I’m warning you, stay out of my sight. William might tolerate you, but I won’t. If I see your face again, I will make sure you never find work in this industry again.” She reached out to shove me again, but I grabbed her wrist. “Are you finished?” She froze, trying to pull away, but my grip was ironclad. “You’ve had your say, Serena. You’ve spent three years mimicking my voice, copying my inflections, and now you have the nerve to tell me to get out? Where do you get your confidence?” Her face flushed a deep red. “What rubbish are you talking about!” “Rubbish? Then tell everyone why your breakout episodes sounded identical to my recordings from three years ago. You didn’t even change the timing of the pauses by a single second.” Her face turned pale. “You! You’re making things up!” Furious, she raised her hand to slap me. The door swung open, and William stood at the threshold. He wore a dark gray shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding a stack of papers as if he had just stepped out of a meeting. His gaze swept over us, lingering on my hand clutching my bruised shoulder, and his eyes darkened. Serena’s face transformed instantly. Her eyes welled with tears as she rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around his. “William, thank goodness you’re here. Vivian just burst in and started accusing me of copying her. She even shoved me…” She rested her cheek against his shoulder, her voice dripping with calculated vulnerability. “I was so scared.” William looked down at her. His gaze was cold and empty. He didn’t push her away, nor did he offer comfort. He simply let her cling to him as his eyes drifted back to me. He stared at the red mark on my shoulder, his throat tight. “Did you hit her?” The question was directed at Serena. Serena gasped, shaking her head. “No! She attacked me first! I was just defending myself…” “I asked you if you hit her.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it instantly sucked the air out of the room. Serena shrank back under the pressure, her lips trembling, not daring to utter another word. William didn’t look at her again. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a slow, deliberate drag, letting the smoke curl into the air. He was taking his time, as if waiting for something. When the smoke cleared, he looked at me. “Does it hurt?” His voice was soft, laced with a faint rasp. I didn’t answer. He let out a mirthless chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes, making him look even more distant. Keeping the cigarette between his fingers, he turned to Serena. “Get out.” “William…” “Out.” Biting her lip, her eyes brimming with tears, Serena grabbed her purse and bolted. The door slammed shut behind her. Only the two of us remained in the quiet room. He stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table, turning to face me. His gaze drifted from my face down to the red mark on my shoulder, then away. “She’s still as impatient as ever,” he remarked, a hint of weary indulgence in his tone, as if speaking of a spoiled child. Looking at him, I felt a sudden urge to laugh. “Mr. Kingsley, keep your woman on a tighter leash.” I turned to leave. “Vivian.” I stopped but didn’t look back. A heavy silence filled the space between us. “She is the new Mrs. Kingsley now.” “I apologize on her behalf. Please try to understand.” “I know you need a job right now. Once my schedule clears up today, I’ll find something suitable for you to make up for this.” Hearing those words sent a phantom ache through my chest. Once upon a time, I was the only Mrs. Kingsley in his life. Taking a deep breath, I finally turned to leave. “Excuse me. I have a stage to get to.” I walked toward the wings. Just as I rounded the corner, the frantic clicking of heels echoed behind me. “Stop right there!” I paused as Serena caught up, her immaculate makeup marred by sheer venom. Two assistants flanked her, looking ready for a fight. “What are you trying to pull, Vivian?” she hissed, her chest heaving with barely suppressed rage. “You disappeared for three years. Why show up today of all days? Are you doing this on purpose? You knew what kind of event this was, you knew William would be here, and you came just to ruin my day, didn’t you?” I didn’t say a word. In the dim light of the backstage area, the host’s voice boomed through the speakers. “As we draw to the close of today’s summit, we have a very special surprise for you. The organizers kept this guest’s identity so well-guarded that even I don’t know who it is.” “Rumor has it, she is a mysterious figure who vanished from the spotlight three years ago.” The crowd began to buzz. I peeked through the slit in the curtains. In the center of the VIP front row, William sat relaxed, chatting casually with a business partner. He clearly had no interest in this little surprise. Serena, infuriated by my silence, stepped closer, her teeth clenched. “Do you honestly think your return changes anything? He is my husband now. We’re married. You’re just a discarded ex-wife. Who do you think you are, playing the victim?” Her assistant chimed in, “Exactly. Learn your place.” “Miss Serena is the true Mrs. Kingsley now. Why even waste your breath on her?” “How did security even let her back here? Don’t they know a major guest is about to go on?” “Mr. Kingsley only let Serena come back here because he wanted her to enjoy the guest’s performance. Since when do we let stray dogs wander around?” Serena sneered, looking me up and down with open contempt. “It makes sense, I suppose. It’s hard to accept being cast aside. But let me make one thing clear: he chose me. No matter who you are, or what you used to be to him, I am the one standing by his side now.” I remained silent, keeping my eyes on the host. Just then, the host raised his hands. “Please join me in welcoming our final guest of the evening, a legend who has been gone for three long years!” The lights plunged the venue into sudden darkness, followed by a collective gasp from the audience. A single spotlight pierced the dark, focusing squarely on the center of the stage. I stepped into the light, microphone in hand. I didn’t speak immediately. As the crowd quieted down in anticipation, I slowly raised the microphone and spoke my very first words in that familiar, resonant voice. “Hi everyone. It’s been a long time.” The silence lasted for a heartbeat, then someone stood up. Then another, and another. In the front row, journalists stared in disbelief, their cameras nearly slipping from their hands. “I am Echo.” The room erupted. Screams, applause, and gasps fused into a wave of noise that shook the auditorium. People shouted her name, reporters scrambled to make calls, and flashlights flared like lightning, turning the stage as bright as day. Standing in the center of the brilliance, my heart raced. I looked down at the front row. William had stood up. He looked as if he had been nailed to the floor, his face devoid of color, his mouth slightly open, his eyes locked onto me in pure disbelief. His associate tugged at his sleeve, saying something, but William didn’t hear a word. He tried to move forward, but the crowd of reporters, staff, and guests blocked his path, keeping him trapped. He parted his lips to speak, but his voice was swallowed by the roaring cheers. In the shadows of the wings, Serena stood frozen. Her face was paler than William’s, her lips trembling as she muttered a single phrase over and over: “Impossible… It can’t be… This is impossible…” No one paid her any attention. Every eye in the house was fixed on the stage. I withdrew my gaze, offered a soft smile to the audience, and walked off the stage. The thunderous applause followed me, but I didn’t look back. Entering the quiet backstage corridor, I slowed my pace. My high heels clicked against the concrete floor. Soon, frantic, disorganized footsteps echoed behind me. “Echo!” William’s voice called out. I didn’t stop. Whatever William wanted to say, I no longer had any desire to hear.

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On our fifth anniversary, Asher suddenly told me he was moving to Denver to set up a new branch. I had waited up for him all night. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I dragged myself off the sofa and wrapped my arms around his waist. “So, we’re really doing the long-distance thing, huh?” I murmured, clinging to him, unable to let go. Asher didn’t hug me back. He only muttered a low, cold “Yeah.” Back then, I had no idea he was putting distance between us on purpose. I was foolish enough to keep calling him, bombarding his phone with messages. It was only when I threatened to buy a ticket and show up at his doorstep that Asher finally said, “Jesse, let’s break up.” I stayed quiet for only a brief second. Then, I slipped my lung cancer diagnosis back into the drawer. “Okay,” I said, as sweet and compliant as I had always been. “Sure.” 01 I hung up quickly after that. After all, crying in front of an ex is just embarrassing. To be honest, I had a feeling this was coming. Asher had completely forgotten our anniversary. He had worked at the office until past midnight that night. When he finally walked through the door and saw the cake I had spent hours baking, he froze for a second. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice flat. “Work has been crazy lately.” I should have known then. Who apologizes on an anniversary? Shouldn’t he have pulled me into a suffocating embrace and whispered “I love you” over and over, the way he used to? I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring into space. That was when it hit me: Asher hadn’t said he loved me in months. My phone dug painfully into my palm, but it didn’t ring. I unlocked the screen and opened his pinned chat. The last two messages were the ones I sent last night. “I miss you so much… [crying cat meme]” “I bought my ticket! I’m going to hug you so tight tomorrow!” Asher was always busy. I never got angry when he didn’t reply right away. I was just terrified. Because earlier that afternoon, the doctor told me I had lung cancer. It was just a mild cough. How could it be cancer? “We need a needle biopsy to determine if it’s benign or malignant,” the doctor had said. “You should talk to your family and get admitted for treatment as soon as possible.” But I hadn’t had any “family” since I was a kid. I only had Asher. And how was I supposed to tell him? His company had just gone public, and the new branch was in its critical launch phase. If I fell sick now, what would he do? Well, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. I wiped my nose and forced a silly smile. This was actually for the best. By breaking up, I wouldn’t be a burden to him. A sharp pain flared in my chest. The cancer, probably. Before the checkup, I hadn’t felt all that bad. But the moment you find out you are sick, your body seems to capitulate to the reality. Once the tears cleared from my eyes, I packed a bag and walked out the door. Instead of looking for Asher, I went to check myself into the hospital. Maybe if I left our apartment, I would stop crying. 02 After the biopsy, the nurse’s aide placed my phone on the pillow. “Did anyone call?” I asked, my voice raw. “It rang once,” she replied. I struggled to turn my head and asked her to hand it to me. There were no missed calls. Just a single text message from Asher. “I’m coming back this weekend to pack up my things.” I knew he wouldn’t change his mind. I wasn’t holding out hope for a reconciliation. But my heart still gave a pathetic, violent flutter before sinking like a stone. The monitor beside my bed began to beep frantically. The aide silenced it with a practiced click. “You bought the apartment.” My head was spinning, and with IV lines taped to both arms, I hit send before I could finish the thought. I forced myself to keep typing: “So you don’t need to move. I will. But can I leave my stuff there for just a little while?” I wouldn’t need to go back while I was hospitalized, but finding a new place to rent would take time. Minutes ticked by, but no reply came. Asher was probably busy again. He had stopped replying to my messages a while ago, honestly. Probably because I always sent him trivial, pointless things. “I have zero inspiration today. I can’t draw my webtoon. I’m going to have to take a sick week!” “Just saw this new dessert place online! Let’s go together after you finish work, okay?” Or even: “If I turned into a cockroach, would you still love me?” Even after he moved to Denver, I still sent him updates every day. “It’s freezing in the city today! Don’t forget an extra layer before you head out!” “Make sure you eat well and sleep on time, even without me there to nag you.” Asher was a CEO running multimillion-dollar deals. It made sense that he didn’t have time for my silly texts. I used to think that even if he just glanced at them, it might give him a moment of peace. Now that I thought about it, he must have found me incredibly annoying. Was that why he wanted to break up? Because I talked too much? I fell asleep trying to guess all the reasons he might have fallen out of love with me. Asher never texted back. On the weekend, he called me directly. “Jesse, you’re not at the apartment?” It hadn’t actually been that long since the breakup, but hearing his voice felt like a lifetime ago. I froze for a second before answering, “Are you there?” “Yeah, just picking up some things,” Asher said, his tone detached and clinical. “And we need to settle the deed transfer.” I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to give me the apartment. But then I remembered the diagnosis sheet tucked inside my nightstand drawer. The fear of him finding it sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. I scrambled to sit up. “Wait, don’t touch anything yet!” In my panic, I forgot about the central line newly inserted in my upper arm. As I pushed myself up, a sharp pain shot through my chest, and a quiet gasp escaped my lips. “Jesse?” Asher’s voice sharpened over the line. “What’s wrong with you?” I winced, forcing myself out of the hospital bed. “Nothing. I’m fine.” “Just don’t pack anything yet, okay? I’m on my way back.” “Fine,” Asher said after a brief pause. “But make it quick. I have an important meeting in two hours.” To hide the bandages and the IV port on my arm, I pulled on a heavy coat over my long-sleeved shirt. When I washed my face in the hospital restroom, I realized I looked like a ghost. I looked terrible. I imagined Asher seeing me, frowning, and thinking how lucky he was to have broken up with me. I stopped by the convenience store near the hospital entrance, bought a cheap lipstick, swiped it on, and hailed a cab home. When I opened the door, Asher turned to face me. He hadn’t changed at all. Still tall, handsome, looking every bit the successful, sharp executive. I think I tried to smile. But it must have looked forced, because his expression only grew colder. He was holding a sheet of paper. Walking toward me with a grim expression, he asked, “What is this?” 03 For a terrifying second, I thought he had found the diagnosis sheet. But as he drew closer, I realized he was holding the transfer deed. Before I could let out a sigh of relief, Asher pointed a finger at my collar. “Jesse, what is that?” I looked down, confused, and saw a faint smudge of pink on my lapel. Lipstick. I must have smudged it while applying it in the cab. “Oh, nothing,” I said, trying to cover it with my hand, rubbing at the spot. I didn’t want him to know I had put on makeup just to see him. It would make me look desperate, like I was trying to win him back. But Asher’s eyes narrowed. “And on your lips? Is that lipstick?” His expression turned to one of pure disgust. “You waste no time, do you?” he sneered. “Next time you kiss someone, at least have the decency to wipe your mouth.” No matter how slow I was, I understood what he meant. He thought I had a new boyfriend, and that we had just been kissing. How could he think that? I could never find anyone better than him. Back in college, Asher was the golden boy of the computer science department. He was brilliant, wealthy, and striking. But he was also aloof, quiet, and arrogant to everyone else. Yet, when we were together, he was a completely different person. When a webtoon publisher tried to scam me, he hired a lawyer to fight them. When I was broke, he paid for two years of my tuition. He never cared what anyone else thought. He always held my hand in public. Even when his parents found out about us, cut off his trust fund, and threatened him, he didn’t waver. He built his startup from scratch just to support me through grad school. Sometimes, when I got upset by his controlling nature and hid under the blankets to pout, he would play along. He would walk around the room, loudly asking, “Where’s my Jesse? I can’t find him anywhere!” Then he would scoop up the giant lump on the bed, pretending to be thrilled. “Aha! Found him!” But as his company grew, he no longer had the time or patience for those silly games. Over those five years, Asher kept moving forward. He became mature, calculated, and wildly successful. Meanwhile, I remained frozen in the cozy little bubble he had built for me. If Asher turned around, he could always find me exactly where he left me. But if he abandoned me, I would have no idea how to find him. Looking at his angry face now, I forgot for a brief second that we were over. I wanted to reach out, grab his hand, and tell him the truth. I wanted to tell him there was no one else. But before I could even lift my hand, Asher stepped away. He didn’t let me touch him. He threw the paperwork onto the dining table. “Whatever. Just sign the damn papers.” I just wanted to get my diagnosis sheet and leave. I walked toward the bedroom, mumbling, “The apartment is yours. I don’t want…” “What are you throwing a tantrum for now?” Asher strode over and grabbed my arm roughly. “Stand still and talk to me!” A sharp gasp escaped my throat as the central line shifted under my skin, tearing at the tissue. Asher immediately let go, his face darkening. “What’s wrong with your arm?” “You just grabbed too hard,” I lied quickly. “It’s fine.” “You used to hate the heat. Why are you wearing a coat today?” He didn’t believe me. “Take it off.” 04 I couldn’t let him find out I was sick. Because if he did, no matter what he chose to do, it would destroy me. If he came back out of guilt, I would feel like I had chained him to me. It would be a slow torture for both of us. And even if I got better, he might just break up with me all over again. So, for the first time in five years, I didn’t obey him. I didn’t hide under the covers to cry, either. I just stood there and said softly, “I have a cold. That’s why.” Then I looked him in the eye. “Asher, we broke up.” We broke up. I didn’t have to listen to him anymore. Asher stared at me, his jaw clenching. “Is that why you won’t take the apartment?” his voice shook with rising anger. “You want to cut ties completely?” That wasn’t it. I just didn’t want the place where we lived and loved for years to become some sort of consolation prize. And I didn’t need consolation. He had loved me truly for five years, and those memories were enough. But I couldn’t say that. It would make me look weak. So I lowered my gaze. “Isn’t that what people do when they break up?” Asher looked at me as if I had slapped him. He seemed utterly speechless. Then, in a fit of rage, he snapped, “Fine!” “Where is the ring I gave you? Give it back!” I froze. After a long silence, I whispered, “I lost it.” “Lost it?” Asher let out a dry, angry laugh. “Unbelievable.” He marched to the window, slipped his own matching ring off his finger, and threw it out. The silver band caught the sunlight for a split second before vanishing into the thick grass below. He turned back to face me. “I suppose that’s how easily you ‘lost’ yours, too?” No. The nurse’s aide had lost it after my biopsy. But I didn’t correct him. I just shook my head. After a tense silence, Asher checked his watch. “I’ll give you one last chance on the apartment. If you change your mind, call my lawyer.” “Since we’re cutting ties, there’s no reason for us to ever meet again.” He turned and walked out, never once looking back. He was right. We shouldn’t meet again. Every meeting felt like dying a little more. I stared at the empty hallway, my mind involuntarily drifting back to the way he used to leave. He would always kiss my forehead in bed and whisper, “I’m off to work.” And I would run down to the entryway just to get one last hug. “Jesse, I’m going to be late,” he would say, but he never let go. He would tilt my chin up and kiss me thoroughly before finally opening the door. But somewhere along the way, those kisses had quietly stopped. My phone buzzed, cutting through the silence. I wiped my face quickly and answered. “Is this Jesse?” a stranger’s voice asked. 05 “Yes,” I replied, cautious. “Who is this?” “Hi, Jesse. This is the host at The Black Pearl. We are so sorry, but the window table you reserved for tomorrow night was accidentally double-booked. We’ve had to move your reservation to the center island. Is that alright?” Tomorrow was Asher’s birthday. I had booked that table weeks in advance, imagining us sipping champagne while looking out over the city skyline. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “Any table is fine.” Asher wouldn’t be there anyway. It didn’t matter where I sat. Since the custom cake couldn’t be refunded, I went to the restaurant anyway. After I was seated, the cake was delivered to my table. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunset bled into the sky. I looked up and noticed that the window table I had originally booked was still empty. The chemo had ruined my appetite, so I just picked at my food. As the night grew darker, the city lights outside began to sparkle. Suddenly, the chime at the entrance rang. I looked up and saw a tall man walking in. Even in the dim light, I recognized him instantly. Asher. What was he doing here? I had planned to surprise him for his birthday, but I hadn’t even told him about the reservation yet. How did he know? My heart hammered. What do I do? The food is cold, and the cake is already cut. Should I order another one? Then, I saw the woman walking in behind him. They didn’t look toward the island tables. They walked straight to the window table, the one that was supposed to be mine. Asher pulled out her chair, smiling gently. Once they ordered, her excited voice carried over to me. “I heard this place is almost impossible to book! How did you get this table on such short notice?” Asher muttered a low response, but the words drowned in the rushing sound in my ears. It wasn’t a double-booking mistake. Someone had pulled strings to steal my table just to impress a girl. And Asher had no idea I was sitting just yards away, holding a cake to celebrate his birthday alone. I felt like a fool. I needed to get out of there. I paid the bill in a rush, grabbed my cake box, and headed for the exit. The dark wooden floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. My eyes were dry, yet everything was a blur. Right near the door, I collided with a waiter carrying a tray. With a loud crash, glasses and silverware shattered on the floor. Every eye in the restaurant turned toward me. Including Asher’s. “Jesse,” his voice cut through the murmurs as he approached. “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t focus on his face. I tried to take a step back. Asher grabbed my arm, his grip cold. “Yesterday you wanted to cut ties, and today you’re stalking me?” “Jesse, I don’t have time for your mind games.” I tried to pull away, my voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t stalking you…” My nose began to itch. Before I could wipe it, a warm, thick liquid spilled over my upper lip. I stared at him blankly as someone nearby gasped, “Oh my god, your nose is bleeding!” 06 I touched my face and saw my hand covered in bright red. Why now? Of all the times to have a nosebleed, it had to be right in front of Asher and his date. It was so humiliating. Asher pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, reaching out to help. I flinched away, wiping my face with my sleeve. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, keeping my head down as I rushed to the restroom. Under the bright lights of the bathroom mirror, I saw my blood-smeared face, my red eyes, and my swollen nose. I looked like a clown. I stuffed a wad of paper towel into my nose. Maybe I can just hide in here until they leave, I thought miserably. The bleeding slowly stopped. But then, a tickle started in my throat. I began to cough, trying to muffle the sound as footsteps approached the door. Just as the door swung open, a violent cough ripped through me, and a spray of blood splattered across the white porcelain sink. With my lips stained red, I turned to see Asher standing in the doorway. “Jesse?” Asher stared, a look of profound confusion on his face. He stepped closer as I quickly turned on the faucet to wash the blood away. “What’s wrong with you?” I rinsed my mouth with cold water, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Nothing. The nosebleed just ran down my throat and choked me.” He kept staring, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly. “Is it still bleeding?” “No,” I muttered, looking down. “Why did your nose start bleeding out of nowhere?” I looked up at him for a few seconds. “Happy birthday.” It was completely inappropriate, but I knew it might be the last time I ever got to say it to him. The vanity lights caught his eyes, reflecting my pathetic image back at me. I had a giant wad of paper stuffed up my nose, and my eyes were puffy and wet. I must have looked so ridiculous that he couldn’t even bring himself to be angry. He just looked at me, with an intensity he hadn’t shown in a very long time. It reminded me of our first kiss, right here in front of a bathroom mirror. He had been so passionate that he accidentally cut my lip. Back then, he had held my chin, looking at the tiny cut with such tenderness and care. I knew he had loved me once. But love doesn’t come with a lifetime guarantee. He didn’t love me anymore, and someone else would be celebrating his birthdays from now on. That was okay. “So,” Asher said quietly, “you came here just to say that?” “No,” I lied, looking at the floor. “I booked this table a long time ago. Then I realized I’d never actually eaten here, so I figured I’d try it out by myself.” “Goodbye, Asher.” I slipped past him and walked out. At the door, the manager stopped me, handing me my cake box. “I am so sorry, sir. Our waiter ruined your cake.” “We can order a replacement for you if you’d like.” Through the clear plastic window of the box, I could see the collapsed layers and smeared frosting. “Do you want us to throw this out and make a new one?” the manager asked. “No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll keep this one.” I walked out of the restaurant just as a cab pulled up. The driver rolled down his window. “Where to, buddy?” “St. Jude’s Hospital,” I said, opening the door. Suddenly, a hand gripped the car door, stopping me. I turned and saw Asher standing behind me. “Jesse,” he demanded, his brow furrowed. “Why are you going to the hospital?”

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1 On the day we moved into our new house, I made sure to reserve the ground-floor master bedroom with the wheelchair ramp for my father, whose legs were failing him. But the movers only told me after they arrived that the ground floor had already been taken by Lauren’s former father-in-law, Mr. Gable. My father was relegated to the fourth-floor guest room in a building with no elevator. Clutching his cane, he had to climb the stairs step by painful step, stopping to gasp for air at every landing. I called Lauren immediately. Her only response was, “The top floor gets better sunlight. Stop being so dramatic.” Yet just moments earlier, I had watched her bend down to install a motion-sensor nightlight by Mr. Gable’s bedroom door, because she was terrified the old man might trip in the dark. When my father finally reached the fourth floor, he leaned heavily against the doorframe and forced a smile. “Son, it’s nice and bright up here. I like it.” His pant leg was still rolled up, revealing a nasty purple bruise swelling on his calf. I looked down at the empty ramp downstairs and felt a sudden, sickening realization: I didn’t want to spend another day in this house. I quietly closed the bedroom door on the fourth floor, the cold sweat from my father’s forehead still lingering on my palm. He had taken his painkillers and lay on his side, his cane resting against the bed, barely hiding the dark bruise on his leg. When I went downstairs, the pristine wheelchair ramp looked painfully bright under the hallway lights, its handrails newly wrapped in non-slip tape. The kitchen door was slightly open. Lauren had rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse and was carefully skimming the fat off a simmering pot of broth. She was making her famous wild herb and chicken stew, while soft pastries sat on the dining table, all of Mr. Gable’s favorites. I leaned against the doorframe, my voice barely a whisper. “Lauren, why didn’t you tell me you gave the ground-floor bedroom to Mr. Gable?” She didn’t even turn around, pouring the skimmed fat into a small bowl. “Is a minor moving detail really worth starting a fight over right now?” “My father has three steel plates in his leg. He had to climb four flights of stairs today, and he’s in too much pain to even touch his dinner.” Lauren turned down the burner, her voice infuriatingly calm. “Mr. Gable’s doctor warned him about early signs of a stroke last week. He shouldn’t exert himself. He’s all alone now that his son is gone. What’s wrong with me looking after him?” “And what about my father? He can barely walk. You saw that yourself.” She finally faced me, her brow furrowing. “Your father has you to look after him every single day. Who does Mr. Gable have? His son passed away, and as his former daughter-in-law, I have a moral obligation to care for him.” “A moral obligation?” I pulled up the original blueprints on my phone and shoved them in front of her. “This ground-floor room was custom-designed for my dad from day one. The ramp, the handrails, the shower bench… everything was built to his measurements.” Lauren barely glanced at it. “The fourth floor gets great sunlight, which is actually good for arthritis. Stop being so petty.” My fingers went numb with anger. “We are swapping the rooms back tomorrow.” She clattered the ladle against the marble countertop. Wiping her hands, she walked slowly toward me, stopping just inches away. “Mr. Gable cannot handle stress. If you make a scene in front of him and trigger his heart condition, don’t expect me to spare your feelings.” “Are you threatening me?” She grabbed my wrist, not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to keep me from pulling away. “John, we can handle a little discomfort within the family. But outsiders are watching how we treat those in need. Don’t humiliate me.” “So my father is just supposed to suffer?” “If that’s how you want to see it, I can’t stop you.” She let go of me, picked up the bowl of hot broth, and her voice softened. “I’m going to take this to Mr. Gable. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately.” She brushed past me, carrying the faint scent of lavender incense, the kind Mr. Gable always burned in his room to calm his nerves. Standing alone in the kitchen, a sudden wave of nausea hit me. I gripped the refrigerator door, my hand pressing hard against my stomach. My phone buzzed in my pocket, displaying a follow-up reminder from the hospital. Mr. John, your severe gastric ulcer has worsened to a critical perforation risk. Please schedule your follow-up immediately to prepare for surgery. I stared at the text, remembering how I had planned to tell her tonight about my deteriorating health. From the ground floor, Mr. Gable’s fragile voice drifted up. “Lauren, dear, you’re spoiling me. John won’t be upset, will he?” Lauren replied in a soothing tone, “He’s just acting like a child. He’ll get over it.” I locked my phone, but the sharp, stabbing pain in my stomach refused to fade. Outside, Mr. Gable chuckled, saying, “An old skeleton like me doesn’t deserve such a beautiful room.” Lauren’s response was tender. “You deserve the best. Don’t worry about a thing.” I leaned heavily against the fridge, my fists clenching until my knuckles turned white. The next morning, a torrential downpour slammed against the windows. Lauren, who had promised to drive us to the hospital, was nowhere to be found, and her car was gone. My father stood in the foyer, leaning on his cane and trying to hide his pain as he defended her. “Lauren is a busy woman. A cab will do just fine.” I stared at my phone, where a text from her had just popped up. Mr. Gable was craving those sourdough pastries from the West End bakery, so I’m in line to get some. Grab an Uber. I dialed her number. It rang for a long time before she picked up, the background filled with the chatter of a crowded bakery. “Lauren, you promised to take my dad to his orthopedic appointment today. His leg was throbbing all night, and in this storm, we can’t find a ride.” She sounded annoyed. “I’ve been in this line for an hour. If I leave now, it’s a waste of time. Just call a premium ride. I’ll cover the cost, okay?” “There are over a hundred people in the queue for premium rides. No one is picking up in this weather!” “John, stop being so dramatic over nothing. You’re an adult. You don’t need your hand held for a doctor’s visit.” My father gently tugged at my sleeve, his face pale. “Don’t argue, son. I can walk slowly.” I hung up and borrowed a large umbrella from the front desk. Rain lashed against the canopy, and with every step my father took, the rubber tip of his cane slipped on the wet pavement. I held the umbrella in one hand and gripped his arm with the other. “Dad, lean on me. Don’t try to carry your own weight.” He gasped for breath, still forcing a smile. “I’m fine, son. Back in the day, I worked the fields with this leg. I can make it.” The bus stop was only three hundred yards outside the residential gate, but today, it felt like miles. As we approached a deep puddle, my father suddenly pulled his arm away from mine. “You’re sick… don’t push yourself. I can cross this on my own.” My heart stopped. “Dad, you know?” He looked down at my bag. “Your medical report was sticking out yesterday. I didn’t ask because I wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me.” My eyes welled up, but before I could speak, the tip of his cane slid on the slick asphalt. My father crashed heavily onto the concrete curb, his cane clattering into the street. “Dad!” I threw myself down to pull him up, but the sudden strain sent a white-hot agony ripping through my stomach. My father gasped in pain, cold sweat pouring down his face, yet he used his weak grip to push my hands away. “Don’t lift me. Don’t move. Call an ambulance. Hurry.” I knelt in the muddy water, desperately waving at passing cars, but they only splashed us as they sped by. With trembling fingers, I dialed 911. Just as I finished giving our location, a notification popped up at the top of my screen. It was an update from Mr. Gable’s social media. The photo showed a plate of steaming, golden-brown pastries. Next to the teacup, Lauren’s manicured, spotless hand was visible. The caption read: My own son might be gone, but this wonderful girl is sweeter than any daughter I could have asked for. Truly blessed. I stared at the screen, digging my fingernails into my palms. By the time the ambulance arrived, my father was too weak to speak. The paramedics loaded him onto the stretcher, the medic frowning at me. “Why was he out walking in this weather? A fall like this is catastrophic for a leg in his condition.” I choked on my words, only able to whisper, “Please, just hurry.” At the hospital, the orthopedic surgeon’s face darkened as he reviewed the X-rays. “The steel plates have shifted, and there’s severe inflammation. Has he been climbing stairs recently?” My father looked down, his voice barely audible. “We just moved into a new place. The stairs are a bit steep.” The doctor looked at me. “He needs absolute bed rest. He must use a wheelchair from now on. No more stairs.” I nodded numbly. I went to the billing office and emptied my personal savings account to pay the deposit, then rented a cheap, second-hand wheelchair. As we wheeled out of the clinic, Lauren’s call finally came through. Her voice was flat. “Did you guys make it to the hospital? Mr. Gable felt a bit dizzy after breakfast, so I’ll be home late.” I looked down at my father’s damp, ruined pants. “Lauren, my dad fell.” There was a brief silence. “Is it bad?” Before I could answer, Mr. Gable’s coughing echoed from her end. Lauren immediately lowered her voice. “I have to go. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill. We’ll talk when I get home.” The line went dead. My father cradled his bent cane in his arms, looking up at me quietly. “John, is that ramp at home really out of the question for me now?” My hands froze on the wheelchair handles. The cold rain seeped down my collar, freezing me to the bone. It was evening by the time we returned. The doctor had made it clear that my father could not climb stairs, so I was determined to demand the ground-floor bedroom, even if it meant a screaming match. But when I pushed the door open, a burst of laughter hit us. Balloons, flower baskets, and a massive seafood spread covered the dining table. Mr. Gable sat at the head of the table in a custom velvet suit, a gold boutonniere pinned to his chest, grinning broadly. A three-tier cake stood nearby with the words: Happy 60th Birthday to my beloved Godfather. Lauren emerged from the crowd. Seeing my father in the wheelchair, she merely frowned. “What happened to you? Why can’t you be more careful?” I gripped the wheelchair handles, my voice freezing over. “He fell in the pouring rain trying to get to his doctor’s appointment, the one you were supposed to drive him to.” Lauren glanced at the guests and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Today is Mr. Gable’s sixtieth birthday. We’re hosting a celebration to mark our godfather-godson bond. Everyone is here to celebrate. Don’t ruin the mood with your attitude.” Mr. Gable quickly stood up, leaning against the table. “John, please don’t blame Lauren. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have allowed them to throw such a big party for an old man like me.” Despite his feigned humility, the massive emerald signet ring on his thumb flashed ostentatiously under the chandelier. My father gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, took in the room full of strangers, and forced a raspy whisper through his pain. “John, I’m tired. Ask the building staff to help carry me back to the fourth floor. Let’s not ruin their celebration.” The building staff sighed and carefully carried the wheelchair up the stairs, my father’s face slick with sweat from the sheer agony of the movement. I stared at his bloodless lips, a suffocating ache tightening in my chest. Once the staff left, I walked over to the ground-floor bedroom. A new nameplate hung on the door: Mr. Gable’s Suite. Inside sat a brand-new massage chair, a heated therapeutic mattress, an emergency call button by the headboard, and the bathroom threshold had been shaved down completely. This was the exact room I had meticulously planned for my own father. I walked over to the birthday cake, my fingers grabbing the edge of the tablecloth. Lauren noticed my expression and hissed, “John, don’t you dare. We have guests.” I stared at the word “Godfather” written in frosting and pulled the cloth with all my might. Plates, wine glasses, and the three-tier cake crashed to the floor, splattering frosting all over Mr. Gable’s trousers. The room fell into a dead silence. Mr. Gable clutched his chest, sinking backward into his chair. “Lauren, I can’t breathe.” His relatives swarmed him. “What kind of monster are you? Ruining an old man’s birthday like this!” Lauren’s face turned white with rage. She marched over, grabbed my shoulder, and shoved me away from the table. My back slammed against the doorframe, and a violent spasm seized my stomach. “John, have you lost your mind?” she spat. “Your father’s fall was his own fault for being clumsy. Why are you taking it out on Mr. Gable?” I stared at her. “Say that again.” Lauren’s lips thinned. “It’s his birthday, and he can’t handle this kind of shock. Apologize to him.” I let out a dry laugh. “Apologize?” Before the word could fully leave my mouth, a sharp, tearing pain tore through my gut. A thick, metallic taste surged up my throat, and I spat a mouthful of dark red blood onto the light-colored rug. Lauren froze, staring at the stain. But Mr. Gable started sobbing. “Lauren, maybe I shouldn’t be here. I’m the reason you two are fighting.” Lauren instinctively turned to comfort him. I clung to the doorframe, my fingertips ice cold. “Lauren, I’m throwing up blood.” She looked back at me, swallowing hard, but before she could speak, our caregiver ran down the stairs, panic written all over her face. “Mr. John, something is wrong! Your father heard the noise and tried to come down to stop the fight. He passed out on the fourth floor!” A loud buzzing filled my ears. I bolted past Lauren toward the stairs. She gasped and tried to follow, but Mr. Gable went limp, grabbing her sleeve. “Lauren, my chest… I think I’m having a heart attack.” Lauren paused, reflexively catching him as he slipped from his chair. That single second of hesitation was all it took. I didn’t look back at her again. By the time the paramedics carried my father down the stairs, she was still in the living room, frantically feeding Mr. Gable his emergency nitroglycerin pills. When the ambulance doors slammed shut, my father’s limp hand had already fallen off the side of the gurney. The medic administered oxygen while a nurse checked his blood pressure, turning to me urgently. “You need to secure funds. He might need an ICU bed, and the standard ward is completely full.” I nodded, my palms slick with cold sweat. At the emergency room, the doctor emerged, speaking rapidly. “It’s a massive hemorrhagic stroke. Our standard ward doesn’t have the equipment. He needs to go to the private ICU immediately, but we need a twenty-thousand-dollar deposit to clear the emergency path.” I clutched the payment slip. “My investment funds clear tomorrow. Can we please start the procedure now?” The doctor looked at me grimly. “We will do everything we can, but the system won’t open the pathway without the deposit. Every minute we lose increases the risk.” I crouched at the end of the hallway and dialed Lauren’s number. The first call went unanswered. On the second try, she picked up. The background was quiet, like she was in her car. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Lauren, my dad had a stroke. He needs to go to the ICU right now. Transfer the twenty thousand dollars from our emergency savings.” A two-second silence followed before her voice returned, dripping with irritation. “John, I know your dad passed out. Old people get overwhelmed easily. Stop exaggerating a stroke to scare me.” I froze, a cold dread washing over me. “What did you say?” “I said stop blowing things out of proportion just because you’re throwing a tantrum,” she snapped. “Mr. Gable had severe chest pain because of your stunt. I already used that twenty thousand for his luxury care home deposit. Your dad has chronic issues. Stop using him as a pawn to get my attention.” I leaned against the wall, the taste of blood thick in my mouth. “He is dying! The doctors are waiting for the deposit to save his life!” Lauren’s voice grew cold. “The money is paid. It’s non-refundable.” She paused, adopting a patronizing tone. “John, adults have to face the consequences of their emotional outbursts. You ruined the party tonight. You can’t keep throwing fits to get your way.” The line went dead. I stared at the dark screen, slowly dragged myself up, and stumbled to the billing window, handing over every credit card I owned. The clerk shook her head. “Insufficient funds.” I desperately called relatives, friends, and real estate agents, offering to sell my pre-marriage apartment at half price, but the fastest transaction would still take until tomorrow. Suddenly, a flat, continuous beep echoed from the trauma bay. The doctor walked out, pulling off his mask, his eyes downcast. “Mr. John, I am so sorry. We did everything we can, but we missed the critical window. You should prepare to say goodbye.” I watched his lips move, but I couldn’t hear the words. The nurses wheeled my father out, a white sheet pulled over his chest. His hand, still marked with fresh bruises from the IV needles, hung limp. I reached out to hold it, but my own fingers felt entirely lifeless. My stomach violently convulsed, and when I looked down, I saw dark blood dripping from my chin onto the polished hospital floor, drop by drop. A nurse gasped. “Are you hemorrhaging from a gastric ulcer?” I tried to tell her my condition had ruptured, but the moment I opened my mouth, the world went black. When I woke up, I was in the surgical ward with a consent form placed in front of me. “You have severe internal bleeding from a ruptured ulcer. We need to perform emergency gastric resection surgery immediately. Where is your family?” I stared at the signature line and let out a weak laugh. “I don’t have any family. I’ll sign it myself.” My hand shook so violently I could barely write my name. As the nurse took the paper back, she softened her voice. “What is your wife’s phone number? You’ll need someone to care for you after the anesthesia wears off.” I turned my phone face down. “There is no need to call her.” The operating lights flickered on, cast in a blinding, sterile white. Lying there, I remembered the night we moved in, and the motion-sensor light Lauren had installed for Mr. Gable. She was so afraid he might fall in the dark, yet she let my father drag his broken body up four flights of stairs. After settling Mr. Gable, Lauren remembered the pool of blood on the rug and felt an unsettling knot of anxiety in her chest. She eventually drove to the hospital. Walking toward the nurse’s station, she caught the end of a shift change. The nurses spoke in hushed voices, but their words made her freeze mid-step. “That poor man, John. His father died of a massive stroke because they couldn’t afford the deposit, and then he nearly bled to death from a ruptured ulcer. He had to sign his own surgical consent form.” “What kind of monster is his wife?” The car keys slipped from Lauren’s hand, clattering loudly against the tiled floor.

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The year I went under, I called seven of my closest buddies. They either sent me straight to voicemail or ghosted me completely. In the end, I had to liquidate my shop and sell my family home just to clear the debt. Two years later, Joey suddenly called me out of the blue. “Brother, my business is tight right now. I need eighty grand to float me for a bit. Wire it over, will you?” I let out a dry laugh. “Two years ago, when I needed ten grand to keep the lights on, what did you tell me?” Dead silence on his end. I hung up the phone and blocked his number. 01 The phone rang three times before Joey picked up. “Hey man, I hit a massive wall. Supply chain cut me off. I’m short about ten grand. Can you spot me?” Silence stretched over the line for two seconds. “Brother, it’s not that I don’t want to help. I just drove a brand new truck off the lot. I am completely tapped out.” I swallowed my pride. “Joey, even five grand would save me. The moment my receivables clear next month, I’ll pay you back with interest.” “Try asking some of the other guys. Lou should have some loose cash. I’m seriously strapped right now.” I said okay. I ended the call and stared at the final notice sitting on my desk. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If I didn’t pay it off by the end of the month, my suppliers were taking me to court. And I couldn’t even scrounge up ten grand. I lit a cigarette, scrolling through my contacts until I found Lou’s number. Ring. Ring. Ring. Straight to voicemail. I dialed again. Voicemail again. I shot him a text. “Lou, it’s an absolute emergency. Call me back.” The message sat there. It never turned to read. I sat alone in my office. Out on the floor, the heavy CNC machines were already dead silent. Half of my crew’s wages from last month were still unpaid, and the raw material vendors had completely cut off my steel supply. That hundred and fifty thousand dollar black hole? My business partner dug it. We ran that custom metal fabrication shop together for three years. Last month, he took the company ledger, drained the operating accounts, and vanished. I filed a police report, and the cops said they were looking into it, but the money wasn’t coming back anytime soon. My suppliers didn’t give a damn about my sob story. My signature was on the contracts, which meant the debt belonged to me. I kept scrolling down my contact list. Tommy. Fifteen years of history. We shared a dorm room back in trade school. He owned a hardware and lumber yard over in the next county and was doing pretty well for himself. The call connected. “Tommy, I caught a bad break over here. Can you float me ten grand? Just need it to keep my head above water.” The TV was blaring in the background on his end. He was clearly lounging at home. “Look, Dave, it’s not that I don’t want to bail you out. But loaning cash ruins friendships. Think about it. What if you go under and can’t pay me back? It’d make things weird between us.” I gripped the phone. “One month. I swear on my life, I’ll have it back to you in thirty days.” “I’ve got my own headaches right now. The wife monitors the bank accounts like a hawk. You gotta figure something else out, man.” I said okay. Hung up. I crushed my cigarette into the glass ashtray. My fingers were trembling slightly. It wasn’t the cold. It was this heavy, suffocating weight rising from the bottom of my chest that I couldn’t push back down. Thirty-seven years old. I had been grinding in this local industry for eight years and knew half the town. But guys I could genuinely call brothers? I counted exactly seven. We drank together on holidays. I never missed an envelope of cash for their weddings or baby showers. The year Joey was short five grand for his down payment, I wired him the cash without asking a single question. When Lou’s dad was in the ICU, I handed him a thick envelope of cash at the hospital. When Tommy opened his lumber yard, I catered the opening day out of my own pocket. I thought that meant something. I dialed Bobby’s number next. “Bobby, look, I…” “Hold that thought, Dave. Let me run it by the missus and I’ll call you right back.” He didn’t even ask how much I needed. I said alright, I’ll wait for your call. I sat by my phone until midnight. Bobby never called. The next morning, I called him again. He didn’t pick up. That afternoon, he finally sent a text. “Sorry brother, things are just too tight at home right now.” Four guys. Not a single dime. I sat in the empty shop, looking at the silent machinery. There was a batch of half-finished metal brackets sitting in the warehouse. They were basically worthless in that state. I had three calls left. I gripped my phone, staring at the cracked screen for a very long time. 02 The fifth call went to Greg. Greg was my neighbor. We practically grew up in the same dirt lot. He ran a massive produce wholesale operation in the city and had been raking it in over the last few years. The phone rang seven times before he picked up. “Yeah, who is this?” “Greg, it’s me. David.” “Oh, Dave. What’s going on?” I laid out the situation. He paused. “How much do you need?” “Ten grand.” “Ten grand…” He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Dave, it’s not that I don’t have your back. I just secured a massive shipment of imported fruit, and every liquid asset I have is tied up in the warehouse. You know how the produce game works. It’s all cash flow.” I swallowed hard. “Even five grand would help.” “I seriously don’t have it. You gotta believe me. Let’s grab a beer next time you’re in the city. My treat.” I said sure. Hung up. Sixth call. Marcus. Marcus ran a popular sports bar in town. The business was average, but he knew everyone. In our circle of friends, he was the social glue. He organized every single poker night and barbecue. I dialed. He picked up immediately. “Davey! What’s the word?” “Marcus, my cash flow just hit a brick wall. Can you spot me a loan?” “How much?” “Ten grand.” He let out a sharp laugh. “Ten grand? Brother, what the hell did you get yourself into?” I gave him the short version about my partner skipping town. He stayed quiet for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Dave, let me give it to you straight. With the mess you’re in, I’m telling you right now, stop begging for loans. You’re a hundred and fifty grand in the hole. What the hell is ten grand gonna do? You need to find an exit strategy.” I rubbed my eyes. “I just need to make payroll first. Then I’ll figure the rest out.” “Well, I definitely can’t pull that kind of cash out of the register right now. Don’t hold it against me, man. If I had it, I’d give it to you.” I told him I didn’t hold it against him. I hung up. I only found out later that very same night, Marcus was standing behind his bar, telling everyone who would listen. “David is completely toast. He owes over a hundred grand, the shop is dead in the water. Anyone who loans him a dime is a certified idiot.” Word traveled fast. It reached the ears of my main supplier. Originally, they were going to give me a two-week grace period. The very next morning, they hit me with a formal lawsuit warning. The final call. Ray. Ray bought and sold heavy industrial equipment. We had done plenty of business together. Two of my best CNC machines came from his lot, and he gave me a solid discount back then. “Ray, listen, I…” “Dave, I already heard.” His voice was completely flat. “Your partner took the money and ran, right?” “Yeah. I’m incredibly short on cash right now.” “How much?” “Ten grand gets me through the week.” He paused. “Dave, I don’t have ten grand to hand out. But let me tell you something. If you’re looking to liquidate those machines on your floor, I can find a buyer for you.” My stomach dropped. “Ray, I’m not at that stage yet.” “I’m just giving you a heads up. When it gets to that point, don’t go to anyone else. Come to me. I’ll give you a fair market price.” I said okay. Seven calls. Done. I needed ten grand. I didn’t get a single penny. When I got home that night, my wife, Sarah, was cooking dinner in the kitchen. She took one look at my face and turned the burner off. “Nobody came through?” I nodded. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, walked into our bedroom, and came back holding a faded checkbook. “My mom’s retirement savings. Four thousand. We were supposed to save it for the kid’s college fund.” I didn’t reach for it. She shoved it directly into my palm. “Use it for now. You can’t let your crew go hungry.” I sat heavily on the couch, gripping that checkbook for a very long time. Four thousand wasn’t even enough to cover the back pay. 03 The lawyer’s letter from the supplier arrived the next day. I looked at the deadline. They had moved it up by a full two weeks. When I called to ask why, they told me outright that rumors were flying around town that I was planning to skip the state. I knew it was Marcus. But I didn’t have the luxury of picking a fight. If I didn’t produce the cash by the end of the month, the supplier was going to file for an asset freeze. My shop, my machines, and my personal bank accounts would all be locked down. I scrambled everywhere trying to find a lifeline. The bank rejected my loan application. I didn’t own the land my shop was built on, I just leased it, so the bank considered me a massive liability. I visited three predatory payday loan offices. The interest rates were downright criminal, bordering on forty percent annually. I didn’t dare sign those papers. Sarah looked at me across the kitchen table. “Let’s list the house.” It was our only property. A decent three-bedroom in the suburbs. We paid two hundred and fifty thousand for it. I told her I needed more time to think. She stared right at me. “If we lose the house, we can buy another one eventually. If the stress kills you, we lose everything.” I looked at her. The rims of her eyes were red, but she refused to cry. On the third day, Ray called me. “Dave, you made a decision on that equipment yet? I got a buyer lined up. The price is solid.” “What’s the offer?” “For the two CNC mills and the hydraulic press brake… I can get you forty-five grand.” I had paid over a hundred and twenty grand for that setup just three years ago. “Ray, that is a garbage price.” “Dave, look at the mess you’re in. Who the hell else is gonna touch your assets right now? What happens if the court locks down your shop tomorrow? The buyer loses his money. I’m taking a massive risk here just because we’re buddies.” I stayed silent for a long time. “Let me think about it.” “Don’t think too long. My guy isn’t gonna wait around.” After I hung up, I took a slow walk through the shop floor. Dust was already settling on the steel. The air felt empty and cold. I stood in front of the two CNC machines. I saved up for three brutal years to buy these. The day they were delivered, I bought dinner and drinks for all seven of those guys. Joey had slapped the metal casing and called them my personal printing presses. Now, they were going to be auctioned off for pennies. I didn’t call Ray back. I started hunting for buyers myself. But thanks to Marcus and his big mouth, my financial ruin was public knowledge across the entire county. Everyone knew I was bleeding out. Every single person who came to look at the machines lowballed me to death. Eventually, I listed the equipment on an industrial forum. A buyer from two states away liked the specs and wired me eighty-five thousand dollars. When Ray found out, he called me up, furious. “Dave, that’s a real scumbag move. I line up a buyer for you to do you a favor, and you flip it to some outsider?” I gripped the phone. “Ray, you offered me forty-five. This guy offered me eighty-five. If you were in my shoes, who would you sell to?” He scoffed. “Fine. You’re a real genius. Don’t ever call me again.” The machines brought in eighty-five. I put the house on the market, and the realtor told me it would take at least a month to close. I drove down to the supplier’s corporate office three separate times to beg for an extension. They finally agreed to give me until the fifteenth of the following month, but only if I dropped an immediate forty-thousand-dollar good-faith deposit. Sarah’s four grand, plus a chunk of the machine money, barely covered it. I paid the deposit. The remaining hundred and ten grand depended entirely on selling the house. We listed the house for two hundred and forty thousand, slightly below market value. Four different families toured it in the first week, but nobody made an offer. On the tenth day, a middle-aged guy walked through the property. He looked around and offered two hundred thousand flat. I told him absolutely not. The floor was two hundred and thirty. He looked me dead in the eye. “Dave, I’m not gonna play games. I know you’re drowning in debt. Two hundred and ten thousand. All cash. We close in three days.” I stood in the middle of our living room, looking over at Sarah. She was standing in the hallway holding our three-year-old daughter, who had fallen asleep against her shoulder. “Two hundred and ten,” I said. Three days later, the title transferred. The cash hit my account. Adding it to the remaining equipment money, I had about a hundred grand. I was still short ten thousand dollars. I went back to the empty shop and sold the remaining raw steel, the scrap metal, the half-finished brackets, and the office furniture. Desperation scrounged up another six grand. The final four thousand dollars came from Sarah. She went back to her mother, and her mom completely emptied out her retirement account. One day before the final deadline, I wired the full one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to the supplier’s account. That night, I sat in our new rental, a cramped, damp two-bedroom apartment on the edge of town that cost eight hundred bucks a month. Sarah set a bowl of cheap noodles in front of me. I took two bites and set my fork down. “It’s all gone,” I said quietly. She sat across from me. “Gone is gone. We’re still breathing. As long as we’re alive, we still have a chance.” I lit a cigarette and didn’t say a word. The shop was gone. The house was gone. Our life savings were vaporized. Thirty-seven years old, starting completely over from absolute zero. Seven brothers. Not a single one lifted a finger. 04 Starting over from zero was infinitely harder than I imagined. Without a shop and without machines, my options were limited. I had spent eight years in custom fabrication, but my client list was entirely wiped out. Even though I paid the supplier back in full, nobody in the industry wanted to risk doing business with a guy who just collapsed. I found a job in the city working as a warehouse manager at a massive building materials lot. I made three thousand dollars a month. Sarah got a job as a cashier at a local grocery store, bringing in two grand. Between the two of us, we pulled in five thousand a month. After rent, groceries, formula, and daycare, we barely had a few hundred bucks left over. I wrote down the four thousand dollars I owed my mother-in-law in a ratty notebook. I paid her back five hundred bucks every single month without fail. That was our life for a while. During that time, I stopped checking my phone. I deleted my social media. But rumors still drifted my way. One night, Sarah came home from her shift. “Joey got a new car. An Audi A6.” I didn’t say anything. She kept going. “Marcus posted a video of a massive dinner party online. Half the town liked it.” I looked at my plate. “Has nothing to do with us.” She gave me a long look and dropped the subject. Another time, I was moving pallets of drywall at the supply yard. I saw Tommy. He was pushing a heavy flatbed cart right past me, picking up inventory for his lumber yard. He saw me. I saw him. He froze for a second, then gave an awkward nod. “Dave? You working here now?” “Yeah. Managing the warehouse.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Look… about what happened back then, it’s not that I didn’t want to bail you out, it’s just that the wife…” I waved him off. “It’s in the past. Don’t worry about it.” He stood there awkwardly, searching for something else to say. Finally, he patted my shoulder. “Right. Well, keep grinding. We should grab a beer sometime.” He walked away. Grab a beer sometime. I had heard that line for eight years. That “sometime” never actually arrived. I worked at that supply yard for three solid months. Every single day, I woke up at six in the morning and clocked out at ten at night. But I wasn’t just managing inventory. I was watching exactly how the local construction supply chain operated. There was a vendor in the yard who specialized in high-end aluminum doors and windows. The owner was an old guy named Frank. He was a master craftsman, but his body was giving out. He wanted to sell the business and retire. I talked to him a few times on my lunch breaks. He asked me, “What did you do before pushing pallets?” “Custom metal fabrication and CNC.” “You know how to build commercial window frames?” “I built them for eight years.” He looked me up and down. “So why the hell are you working in a warehouse?” I gave him the short version of my bankruptcy. Frank took a slow drag of his cigarette. “Son, taking a hard fall doesn’t make you a failure. If you want to take over my shop, I’ll cut you a deal on the buyout.” “How much?” “Fifteen grand. The cutting rigs, the client list, and the supplier discounts. It’s all yours.” Fifteen grand. I literally had zero dollars to my name. I went home and talked to Sarah. She sat at the kitchen table, running the math on a piece of scratch paper. “I can ask my mom for another loan. With what we’ve managed to save, we can scrape together five grand. You go talk to Frank. See if he’ll let you finance the rest.” I told her I absolutely refused to take another dime from her mother. She slammed the pen down. “This is our ticket out. If you let this go, we’re stuck. Go talk to Frank.” The next morning, I went straight to Frank’s office. “Frank, I don’t have fifteen grand. I can give you five grand cash today. I’ll pay the remaining ten out of my monthly profits over the next six months.” Frank stared at me for a very long time. “Deal.” He tapped his cigarette ash into a coffee can. “You look like a guy who knows how to work. But here’s the catch. If you miss a single payment in those six months, I take the shop back.” I told him we had a deal. Just like that, with five thousand dollars, I became the owner of Frank’s window and door shop. Sarah quit the grocery store and came to work with me. I ran the saws and built the frames; she handled the books and the customers. The first two months were brutal. There were seven other window vendors in the yard, and I was the new guy. Nobody trusted me. So I hit the pavement. I drove my beat-up truck to every single housing development, every general contractor office, and every active construction site in a fifty-mile radius. I worked until my hands bled, eating gas station sandwiches in the cab of my truck. By the third month, the repeat customers started rolling in. My frames were perfectly square, my materials were honest, and I never cut corners on installations. Word of mouth spread like wildfire. By the fourth month, our gross revenue hit forty grand. By the fifth month, I walked into Frank’s house and handed him a cashier’s check for the final ten thousand dollars. Frank slapped me on the back. “Dave, you’re a real one.” I just smiled. A year later, I bought out the vacant lot next to my shop and expanded into premium thermal-break windows. Business exploded. I started landing massive commercial contracts. Sarah looked at the ledger one night. “Should we pay off the rest of the money we owe my mom?” I told her I’d wire it on Friday. She smiled. “And then what?” “And then we go buy a house.” She laughed. Two years. Going from completely ruined to standing on my own two feet took two brutal, exhausting years. 05 When I finally dug myself out of the grave, I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t post flashy photos online. I didn’t host a massive dinner party. I didn’t tell a single soul what I was doing. I changed my phone number and set up a new social media profile. The only people in my contacts were Sarah, my mother-in-law, a few key clients, and my suppliers. I still had the numbers of those seven guys memorized, but I never reached out. Life was beautifully quiet. Until one day, a random friend request popped up on my phone. I looked at the message attached to the request. “Dave, it’s Bobby. Long time no see, brother. Add me back.” I thought about it for a second, then hit accept. He immediately fired off a message. “Brother! Where are you at these days? Haven’t heard from you in forever.” I replied, “Working in the city. Running a small shop.” “What kind of shop?” “Doors and windows.” He sent a thumbs-up emoji. “I knew it! Always said you were built different, man.” I didn’t reply. Two days later, another message. “Dave, you free this weekend? Let’s grab a beer, catch up. It’s been way too long.” I told him I was swamped. He replied, “No worries, we’ll do it another time. Drinks are on me.” Another time. I brushed it off. But exactly a week later, he actually showed up at the supply yard. I was in the back operating the miter saw when I heard someone yelling my name over the noise. I killed the power and walked out. Bobby was standing at the front desk, holding two expensive bottles of whiskey. “Davey!” He grinned, walking toward me with his arms wide open. “Man, I had to ask half the county just to figure out where you set up shop.” I wiped the aluminum dust off my hands with a rag. “Bobby. What brings you out here?” He handed me the heavy bottles. “Just passing through, figured I’d drop by and check on you. Business looks booming, man. Two separate shop floors now?” I set the whiskey down on the front counter. “Take a seat. You want some water?” He sat on a stool, his eyes darting around the showroom. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he calculated my profit margins. “Dave, you are incredible. Two years, and you’re back on top.” I poured him a paper cup of water. “So, you just came all this way to say hi?” He took a sip, set the cup down, and rubbed his palms together nervously. “Well, Dave, there is actually something I wanted to run by you.” I just looked at him. “So… my wife’s younger brother, you remember him, right? He opened up a coffee shop last year, but the overhead is killing him. He wants to pivot into the trades. He saw how well you’re doing with the windows, and he wanted to know if you’d be willing to take him under your wing.” I listened, my face completely blank. He quickly added, “He’s not asking for a free ride! He’ll pay an apprenticeship fee, and you can take a cut of whatever jobs he pulls in later. He just wants to learn from the best.” I took a slow sip from my own cup. “Bobby, the night I called you two years ago, you told me you were going to run it by your wife. What happened after that?” The forced smile on his face instantly froze. “You didn’t even send me a text.” He opened his mouth, stammering. “Dave, things were just an absolute mess at home back then, my wife was…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s in the past. I’m not holding a grudge. But you walking into my shop today? That’s only because my name is on a successful business. If I was still pushing a broom in the warehouse out back, would you be sitting on that stool?” He didn’t answer. I stood up. “Bobby, finish your water and head home. I can’t help your brother-in-law.” He sat there for a long, uncomfortable moment, then slowly stood up. “Dave, you know, you’re being really…” “I’m being really what?” He stared at me for two seconds, then aggressively snatched the two bottles of whiskey off the counter. “Fine. I’ll take these back.” “Take them.” He walked out. I sat back down and turned the saw back on. Sarah walked out from the back office. “Who was that?” “Bobby.” “What did he want?” “To ride my coattails.” She scoffed and went back to her paperwork without another word. I just didn’t expect that less than a month after Bobby’s visit, my phone would ring again. This time, it was Lou.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “523918”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It was a stormy night in New York when I saved my boss, a man known for his icy, untouchable exterior, after he’d been drugged. I had harbored a silent, desperate love for him for seven years, which meant I knew better than anyone what would happen. After tonight, I would become the very thing he loathed most: a scheming woman who climbed into his bed. But in his feverish delirium, he called out my name over and over again, gripping me so tightly that I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. When dawn broke, I dragged my exhausted, aching body back to the office, only to overhear his freezing command to his security team: “Find the woman from last night. Whoever dared to set me up, I will make her pay dearly.” I clutched my files and swallowed the bitter truth. Six weeks later, a positive pregnancy test forced me to make a quiet escape from the city. But he intercepted me at the airport gate, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded in a ragged whisper, “Whose baby is it?” … After slipping out of the hotel room that morning, I only had time for a rushed shower before heading straight to work. The atmosphere on the executive floor of McDonald Enterprises was stiflingly tense. Everyone was whispering about the night before. “I heard Mr. McDonald was drugged.” “Some woman actually had the nerve to sneak into his bed.” “You know how much Gabriel hates opportunists. If he finds her, she’s finished.” I stood outside the boardroom holding a stack of folders, my fingertips turning ice-cold. The double doors weren’t fully closed. Gabriel sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his crisp white shirt buttoned all the way to the top, perfectly hiding the marks I had left on his skin the night before. Victoria sat beside him, gently sliding a cup of black coffee toward his hand. “Gabriel, don’t let it ruin your day,” she murmured softly. “There are too many women in New York looking for a shortcut to the top. It was just a slip-up on the hotel’s end.” Gabriel let out a harsh, dry laugh. “A slip-up? That’s exactly how my father was set up years ago, leaving the family with a child they had to sweep under the rug. Women like that? I’ll ruin every single one of them I find.” Standing outside, I felt a physical squeeze in my chest. Last night, his skin had been burning with fever. I only wanted to help him back to his suite, but he had gripped my wrists with terrifying strength, begging me in a raw whisper, “Jane, don’t leave me.” Seven years of loving him in silence made it impossible to push him away. But in giving in, I had sealed my own doom. The executive assistant opened the door and signaled for me to enter. I kept my head down, quietly placing the prepared reports in front of Gabriel. He looked up, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Where were you last night, Jane?” I forced my voice to remain steady. “After assisting you to your suite, sir, I returned to the office to compile the financial statements.” “Someone entered my room afterward. You didn’t notice?” Through the cracked door, the whispered rumors still floated in: climbing into his bed, cheap tricks, social climber. Every whispered word felt like a physical blow. I tightened my grip on the leather folder. “Should I pull the hotel’s security footage, sir?” “Do it,” he muttered, irritably loosening his collar. “I want to see exactly who had the nerve.” Looking at the dark shadows under his eyes, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. He had been in so much pain last night. If I had truly abandoned him in that state, what would have happened to him? The truth hovered right at the tip of my tongue. “Mr. McDonald, actually, last night…” Gabriel raised his eyes to meet mine. “Jane, I was set up last night. Don’t worry yourself with the details.” His tone was completely devoid of warmth. “Women who use their bodies as bargaining chips are disgusting. I find them repulsive.” The confession died in my throat. I lowered my gaze. “Understood, sir. I’ll investigate immediately.” Gabriel stared at me for a few silent seconds, his brow furrowing. “Why do you look so pale?” I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” He pulled a box of stomach medication from his drawer and tossed it onto the desk in front of me. “Take it.” The box landed with a soft thud. He was always like this. Cold and demanding one moment, yet tossing out these tiny fragments of tenderness the next. For seven years, I had fed on these breadcrumbs, foolishly convincing myself that if I just waited a little longer, he might notice me. I picked up the medication. “Thank you, Mr. McDonald.” His expression instantly turned icy. “What did you just call me?” In private, he had forbidden me from using his formal title. He used to say, Jane, you’re different from the others. But now, I didn’t dare test his limits. I was in the breakroom dissolving the medication in warm water when Victoria found me. She wore a tailored white dress, her makeup flawless, her smile sweet but deadly. “Jane,” she said softly. “How much do you know about last night’s power outage at the hotel?” My hand trembled, hot water splashing onto my fingertips. She didn’t miss my flinch; in fact, she seemed to have anticipated it. “That hotel is owned by my family, Jane. I’ve already secured the backup security footage from before and after the blackout.” She slid her phone across the counter. The video was grainy, but I recognized myself instantly. On that stormy night, in the pitch-black hallway, I was supporting a barely conscious Gabriel, pushing open his suite door. The next frame showed me stepping out hours later, my clothes disheveled, my steps unsteady. “Jane,” Victoria whispered, “if this video gets leaked, what do you think the tabloids will say about you? More importantly, how do you think Gabriel will react?” A deep chill settled into my bones. “He was drugged last night. I was only helping him.” “I know,” she smiled, “but the public won’t care. All they’ll see is you taking advantage of an incapacitated man to climb into his bed.” I clenched my cup. “I can explain it to him myself.” Victoria laughed as if I’d said something hilarious. “Explain what? That you’ve been secretly pining after him for seven years? That you finally found the perfect opportunity to pounce when he couldn’t fight back?” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh hiss. “Jane, you know him better than anyone. He despises women who use these cheap tricks. If you confess, you’ll only make him sick to his stomach.” She had me pinned, and she knew it. “Resign,” she demanded. “Leave New York. Otherwise, I will send this video to every member of the McDonald family.” I stood frozen in the breakroom long after she left. The water had gone cold. The burn on my finger began to throb, but the ache in my chest was far worse. In the days that followed, my focus shattered. When I made my fourth data entry error in a single week, Gabriel slammed the folder onto his desk. “Jane! I pay you three times the market rate for an assistant. Am I paying you to daydream?” I swallowed the exhaustion that was making my head spin. “I’m sorry, Mr. McDonald. It won’t happen again.” He stared at me for a long moment, his tone softening slightly. “If you’re sick, go home and rest. Don’t wander around in front of me looking like a ghost. It’s annoying.” But I didn’t dare leave. I was terrified that Victoria would hand him the video the moment I stepped out of the building. I couldn’t bear the thought of his rare affection turning into pure disgust. During an evening meeting, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hit my nose, and my stomach turned violently. I barely managed to excuse myself before sprinting to the restroom. When I walked out, Gabriel was standing at the end of the corridor, his face etched with worry as he held the unread meeting materials. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” I looked away, avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine.” “Fine? Then why were you throwing up?” His voice was sharp, but he held out a cup of warm water. “Drink this.” I didn’t take it. His expression darkened. “Jane, are you defying me now?” In the past, I would have cherished these moments. He sounded angry, but he always remembered my weak stomach. His tone was harsh, but he was the one handing me the water. But now, his tenderness felt like a trap, making it even harder for me to let go. I took the cup. “Thank you, Mr. McDonald.” Gabriel stared at me, his gaze intense and unreadable. “What is going on with you lately? You’re avoiding me, you’re calling me Mr. McDonald, and you’re skipping meals.” He paused, his voice dropping. “Jane, are you hiding something from me?” For a split second, my eyes stung, and the urge to tell him everything almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to beg him to believe that I hadn’t planned any of it, that it was just a moment of weakness because I loved him too much. But Victoria didn’t give me the chance. She stepped out of the conference room, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she called out with a sweet smile, “Gabriel, the event planner is waiting for you to finalize my birthday banquet.” Gabriel turned his head to look at her. That single look was enough to snap me back to reality. Victoria was his childhood friend. She could stand by his side, call him by his first name, and pull him away from me with a single sentence. I was just his assistant, the assistant who had snuck into his bed and whose explanations would sound like cheap lies. I handed the cup back to him. “It’s nothing. Just tired.” Over the next few weeks, Gabriel’s frustration grew because the mystery woman remained unidentified. The tension on the executive floor was suffocating. I couldn’t sleep. My stomach constantly felt like a heavy block of ice. One afternoon, when he snapped at me during a briefing, my vision blurred, and my knees buckled. “Jane, you really haven’t been yourself lately,” Victoria said, stepping closer to Gabriel with a look of mock concern. “Gabriel, don’t be so hard on her. She’s probably just overwhelmed. Then again, with my birthday party coming up, there are so many details to coordinate. If Jane can’t handle it, maybe she should take some time off.” I knew exactly what she meant. She wasn’t offering me a break; she was pushing me out. Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your performance has been slipping. Hand over your current projects to Sarah. Go home and rest. Don’t push yourself.” I snapped my head up. I could endure Victoria’s threats, but hearing Gabriel dismiss me so easily cut me to the quick. I had worked beside him for seven years. I knew his schedule, his preferences, his dislikes, even the exact temperature he liked his tea. Yet Victoria had managed to dismantle all of my hard work with a single sentence. I forced a tight smile. “Understood.” Gabriel’s expression grew even colder. “What is that tone supposed to mean?” I didn’t reply. If I said another word, the tears I was fighting back would spill over. That night, I stayed late in my empty office. I drafted my resignation letter, deleted it, and wrote it again. Several times, I hovered over Gabriel’s contact info, wanting to text him one simple question: Did I ever stand a chance with you? But his last text on my screen remained professional: Ensure Miss Victoria’s birthday gift list is finalized by tomorrow morning. I stared at those words until they blurred, then quietly deleted all my unsent messages. The day I handed in my physical resignation letter, Gabriel’s fury shook the entire executive floor. He slammed the paper onto his desk. “Who gave you permission to leave? I told you to take a few days off, and you throw a tantrum and quit?” I kept my eyes on the floor. “It is no longer appropriate for me to remain your assistant, sir.” “Who decided that?” his voice boomed. “Miss Victoria,” I replied quietly. “And you do whatever she tells you?” I looked up. “She is your childhood friend, and soon to be your fiancée.” Gabriel stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, then let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “What? Did you find a better offer somewhere else?” His words stung like a whip. “No, sir.” “Then stay put,” he snapped, tossing a revised contract onto the desk. “I’m giving you a raise. Stop using your resignation to test my patience. I don’t have time for your games.” I stared at the paper, finding the situation utterly tragic. He thought I was playing hardball for a higher salary, trying to force his hand by threatening to leave. He had no idea how terrified I was, terrified of the disgust that would fill his eyes if he ever found out about that night, terrified of the question he would inevitably ask: Jane, were you trying to use me to climb the ladder, too? I pushed the contract back toward him. “I am not playing games.” Gabriel’s expression turned murderous. “Then what is this? Are you defending that woman from the hotel? Jane, you’ve been with me for seven years. You know my boundaries. Even if you try to cover for her, I will find her, and I will make her pay.” My eyes burned. Years of loyalty and carefully guarded trust crumbled to dust in a single second. The next time my dizziness forced me to visit the clinic, the doctor handed me a laboratory report. Pregnant. Six weeks. It lined up perfectly with that stormy night. Sitting on the cold plastic chair in the clinic hallway, my hands and feet went numb. But after the initial wave of panic subsided, I found myself gently resting my palm against my stomach. It was still completely flat, but I knew a tiny life was growing inside. This was the only tangible thing left to me from the man I had loved in silence for seven long years. Gabriel might hate me, but I couldn’t bring myself to give up this child. I agonized over whether to tell him. But when I returned to the office to gather my belongings, I overheard Victoria’s voice coming from the executive lounge. “Gabriel, your mother said it’s time we make our arrangement official. The families are waiting for an announcement.” Gabriel’s response was flat. “I told you, there’s no rush.” Victoria hesitated, her voice carrying a delicate whine. “But everyone is talking about your assistant, Jane. They say there’s something going on between you two. Your mother even asked if she would interfere with the family’s plans.” The lounge went completely silent for several seconds. Outside the door, I clutched the folded ultrasound report, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then, Gabriel’s cold, indifferent voice shattered my hopes. “She is my assistant. She does not influence my decisions.” That was when Tristan appeared. He was Gabriel’s biggest business rival, and the only person who had ever seen through my carefully guarded secret. Seeing the laboratory report in my trembling hands, he didn’t ask who the father was. He simply took off his heavy wool coat and draped it over my shaking shoulders. “Jane,” he said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.” I clutched the paper tightly. “I want to leave New York.” Tristan was quiet for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’ll help you.” He arranged a private physician for me, found me a secure place to stay, and eventually placed a one-way ticket to Sydney on the table before me. “You don’t have to run,” he noted. “Do you want me to tell him?” I shook my head. I knew Gabriel too well. He despised the woman from that night with a passion. He would never accept a child conceived under those circumstances. This baby was my choice alone. On the day of my flight, I rolled my suitcase into the terminal. But just as I reached the security line, a group of suited security guards blocked my path. Gabriel stepped out from behind them, his face dark with suppressed fury. “Jane,” he growled, stepping into my space. “Resigning, moving out of your apartment, trying to fly out of the country… You’ve grown quite bold.” I gripped the handle of my suitcase, backed into a corner by his imposing frame. “This is my personal life, Mr. McDonald.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Your personal life? Does your personal life involve running away with Tristan?” My face drained of color. “This has nothing to do with him.” “Nothing to do with him? Then why did he book your ticket?” Gabriel’s eyes were bloodshot, a dangerous fire burning in their depths. “Jane, have I spoiled you too much? So much that you think you can just run off with another man?” My throat felt dry and tight. “You have plenty of people to replace me, sir.” “Whether I have replacements is not for you to decide.” Gabriel suddenly lunged and snatched my handbag. I reached out frantically to grab it back, but during the struggle, the bag slipped, spilling its contents across the polished floor. Medication, my passport, the plane ticket… and the folded pregnancy report. The air in the terminal seemed to freeze. Gabriel bent down and picked up the paper before I could reach it. He unfolded it. His eyes scanned the bold lettering: Pregnant. Six Weeks. The paper crumpled in his tightening fist. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with a wild, chaotic storm, his voice trembling with ice. “Jane,” he whispered. “Is it Tristan’s?”

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1 The day before we were supposed to sign our marriage license, my fiancé took me to a bridal boutique, only to thrust a bridesmaid’s gown into my hands. I assumed someone had dropped out of the wedding party at the last minute and they needed a quick replacement. But then the fitting room curtain slid open, and my best friend, Vivian, stepped out wearing my wedding dress. Brent was leaning down, gently adjusting her veil. Seeing me freeze, he rushed to explain. “Vivian’s father has surgery tomorrow. He desperately wanted to see her in a wedding gown tonight.” “It is just a small family dinner to put his mind at ease.” “No registry, no public announcement. It won’t affect our wedding at all.” “Carol, you are still the one I love most.” “So please, just be understanding this once. Help us play along.” I looked at him and said nothing. Vivian clutched the lace hem of the gown, her voice trembling. “Carol, please don’t misunderstand. I am only borrowing Brent for one night.” “The moment my father goes into the operating room, I will give him back to you.” Brent frowned slightly, but his tone softened when he addressed me. “I know this is unfair to you.” “But a man’s life is on the line. Please don’t be petty right now.” A sudden laugh escaped my throat. I looked down and sent a message to the clerk at the city registry office. Please cancel tomorrow’s appointment. Brent. If you want to give her a night of dignity, then I will grant you a lifetime of freedom. After sending the message, I gripped my phone tightly in my palm. I looked up at him. “Should I still try on the bridesmaid’s dress?” Brent’s brow furrowed. “Carol.” He always used that warning tone whenever he felt I was being difficult. Vivian’s eyes welled with tears. “Carol, please don’t be upset. I know this is incredibly unfair to you. But my father goes into surgery tomorrow, and the doctors say the risks are high. His greatest regret in life is not seeing me walk down the aisle.” She slowly took a step toward me. The boutique assistant stood nearby, her polite smile entirely frozen on her face. “I have no intention of stealing your place. You and Brent are getting married tomorrow anyway. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t take him from you.” Her words were beautifully spun. I was the one getting married tomorrow, so I was expected to be magnanimous tonight. I held the official title, so she was allowed to borrow the man. I was about to win, so being stepped on shouldn’t matter. Brent finished adjusting the veil and walked over to us. “Vivian’s father mortgaged his own house years ago to help my family secure a loan. That is the only reason our business survived.” “He is so ill now. I cannot let him think his daughter has been abandoned, leaving him to pass away with a heavy heart.” I nodded slowly. “So you are throwing her a wedding.” “It is a family dinner.” “Wearing my wedding dress, standing by your side, and you call that a family dinner?” Brent’s throat cleared. “There is no minister, no marriage certificate, and no public announcement.” Vivian chimed in quickly. “It is true, Carol. I can hand my phone over to you right now. I promise I won’t post a single photo.” My gaze drifted to the diamond ring on her finger. I recognized that ring. Last month, when Brent took me to choose our wedding bands, I had mentioned that the diamond was too large, making it difficult to write on the blackboard during class. At the time, he had laughed. “My dear teacher, you won’t need to wear your wedding ring while grading papers.” But now, that exact ring was sitting on Vivian’s finger. The fit was perfect. I asked quietly, “Is the ring borrowed too?” Vivian instinctively pulled her hand back, hiding it behind her back. Brent stepped in front of her. “It is just a prop.” “My wedding ring is supposed to be a prop for her?” The entire boutique fell into a heavy silence. Vivian’s tears finally spilled over. “I will take it off. I am taking it off right now.” She tugged at the band with force, turning her knuckle a bright red. Brent grabbed her wrist to stop her. “That is enough, do not hurt yourself.” I had heard versions of that phrase so many times recently. Do not upset Vivian. Do not bicker with Vivian. Do not make her father worry. Each sentence seemed light, but accumulated over time, they were suffocating. I handed the bridesmaid’s dress back to the assistant. “There is no need to alter the size. I won’t be wearing it.” Brent’s face darkened. “Carol, do you really have to throw a tantrum right now?” Without another word, I grabbed my bag and walked straight out of the boutique. Brent chased after me, with Vivian running right behind him. The long train of the gown caught on her heel, and she nearly tripped on the pavement. Brent immediately spun around to steady her. I stood outside the glass doors, watching them. Vivian clung to his arm, tears streaming down her face like a tragic heroine. “Brent, don’t worry about me! Go after Carol! She must have misunderstood.” Brent didn’t budge. He only looked at me, a low simmer of anger in his voice. “Go home first. I will explain everything to you later.” “And tonight?” I asked. “I have to take Vivian back to the hospital.” “In a wedding dress?” Vivian sobbed. “My father just texted. He wants to see the photos first. I’m so afraid that before he goes into the operating room tomorrow…” Brent cut her off. “I know.” He turned back to me. “Carol, I will be at the registry office on time tomorrow.” I curled my lips in a mirthless smile. “With that ring on her finger?” His eyes fell on Vivian’s hand. Vivian flinched as if burned, frantically tugging at the diamond. This time, it slipped off. She held it out to me in her trembling palms. “Carol, I am so sorry. Truly. I only wanted to put my father’s mind at ease.” I didn’t reach for it. The ring slipped from her hands and clattered onto the pavement, rolling into the dark. Brent knelt to pick it up. I watched as he carefully wiped the dust from the band and slid it into his pocket. That moment brought back a memory from last Wednesday. My mother had a critical follow-up appointment at the clinic. Brent had promised to accompany us. I took half a day off work, waiting at the estate gates from six in the morning. At seven-twenty, a text arrived. Something came up with Vivian. Take your mother first, and I will meet you there as soon as I am done. My mother watched me put away my phone and offered a gentle smile to defend him. “Brent is a busy man. It is not easy building a career.” He never showed up that night. Instead, Vivian posted a picture on her social media. Under the warm glow of her garden lights, Brent was bent over, helping her prune her roses. Her caption read: When the right person appears, even the storms fade away. When I confronted him, he rubbed his temples in exhaustion. “Her father’s results came back terrible. She was having a breakdown. You were there to support your mother, but Vivian has no one but me.” Back then, I actually made excuses for him. The Sinclair family had fallen on hard times years ago, and Vivian’s father had saved them. It made sense for Brent to look after her. It was so normal that he forgot my birthday. It was so normal that he left me to handle my mother’s hospital visits alone. And tonight, it was normal enough that he expected me to wear a bridesmaid’s dress and watch him give Vivian a wedding. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a message from Brent’s mother. Carol, I know you feel slighted. But do not make things difficult for Brent tonight. The Song family was incredibly generous to us. Followed immediately by another. You are a teacher, so you are sensible. Once tonight is over, I will personally make it up to you. The word “sensible” stung. I remembered a young girl in my class who had come to me crying this morning. She said her desk mate kept borrowing her pens and never returned them. When I asked why she didn’t just say no, she lowered her head. “Miss, everyone says I have such a good temper.” I had told her, “Even people with good tempers are allowed to say no.” Yet when it came to my own life, I seemed to have forgotten my own lesson. Brent helped Vivian into the back of his car. Before the door closed, she cast a glance in my direction. Tears still hung on her lashes, but the corner of her mouth pulled into a faint, triumphant smile. I stood there in the cold wind, my hands freezing to the bone. A message came from Brent. Do not be stubborn. Go home and wait for me. I deleted the message and hailed a cab. It was nearly eleven when I unlocked the door to our apartment. The foyer light was on. On the dining table sat the document folder for our marriage registration. I opened it. My birth certificate was there, along with my ID. But Brent’s ID was gone. In its place was a sticky note. Had to grab this quickly. Will bring it tomorrow morning. I sat at the table and called him. It rang for a long time before he answered. It was loud in the background. “What is it?” his voice sounded hurried. “Where is your ID?” “I will bring it straight to the registry office in the morning.” “So you will finish your family dinner tonight, and meet me there?” Silence for a moment. “Yes.” “Where are you right now?” “The hotel.” “Decorating your wedding venue?” “Marcus wanted something a bit more formal. I am just having them set up a backdrop.” “Brent, you are registering your marriage with me tomorrow.” “I know.” “Do you really?” Another silence. Then, Vivian’s soft voice echoed through the line. “Brent, should we take down the welcome sign? Carol might be upset if she sees it.” Brent whispered back, “Leave it for now. We cannot let my uncle notice.” My grip on the phone tightened. “What does the welcome sign say?” He didn’t answer. I hung up. A few minutes later, he sent a photo showing only a corner of the floral backdrop. Do not overthink this. I will give you a proper explanation tomorrow. I set the phone down and went to the bedroom to pack. On the hanger, the white silk shirt I had prepared for tomorrow was still pressed perfectly flat. Beside it lay a stack of small cards from my students. Happy wedding, Miss Carol! Mr. Sinclair, you must treat our favorite teacher well! Miss, even if you are getting married, do not forget to grade our essays! I took them down one by one and tucked them into a drawer. Inside the drawer, the jewelry box was open. The jade bracelet Brent’s late grandmother had given me was missing. Before she passed, the old lady had held my hand. “Carol, do not be afraid when you join our family. Brent has a stubborn mouth, but he truly loves you.” I had believed those words for seven years. The phone buzzed. Vivian had sent a photo. She was sitting in the hotel bridal suite, wearing the wedding gown, and on her wrist was the heirloom green jade bracelet. Carol, Mrs. Sinclair said I could borrow the bracelet for tonight. It will put my father’s mind at ease. You do not mind, do you? I looked at my empty jewelry box. Brent must have taken it when he swiped his ID. I called his mother. “Carol, dear, I was just about to call you about the bracelet,” she answered. “Who took it?” “Brent did. Vivian looked a bit plain without any jewelry, and her father asked about it. Brent did not want the old man to worry.” “That was a gift from his grandmother. It belongs to me.” “I know, dear, and we will return it tomorrow. Do not be so petty. Tonight is a special circumstance.” I let out a sudden laugh. On the other end, his mother went quiet. “Mrs. Sinclair,” I asked, “am I still getting married tomorrow?” Silence stretched. “Of course you are! You and Brent have been together for so long; no one can come between you. Vivian is just a young girl, and her family is going through a tragedy. Just let her have this.” I hung up. Half an hour later, I carried the empty jewelry box to the hotel. The banquet hall was on the third floor. The moment the elevator doors parted, a massive, crimson welcome sign greeted me. The Wedding Feast of Brent Sinclair and Vivian Song. Below it, a smaller line of elegant script: May they walk together through the years, hand in hand, morning and night. I froze. A waiter approached. “Excuse me, ma’am, are you a guest of the bride?” Before I could speak, a familiar voice called out behind me. “Miss Carol?” I turned. It was Mrs. Higgins, the head of my department, standing with several of our colleagues. They were having a staff dinner at the same hotel. Mrs. Higgins looked at the empty jewelry box in my hand, then at the welcome sign. Her face fell. “This… aren’t you supposed to get married tomorrow?” My mouth parted, but not a single sound came out. Someone whispered behind her, “Brent Sinclair? Isn’t that Carol’s fiancé?” I clenched my fingers around the box. Just then, the double doors of the banquet hall swung open. Vivian, draped in white, stepped out with her arm linked through Brent’s. Her father sat in a wheelchair, pushed into the center of the foyer. The old man’s hair was mostly white, and though he looked frail, he smiled warmly as he reached for Brent’s hand. “Brent, my boy. I know this was a difficult request.” “Vivian has loved you since she was a little girl. I used to tease her for being foolish, but seeing her stand by your side in a wedding gown… I can rest easy now.” Brent knelt beside the wheelchair. “Uncle, do not worry. The surgery tomorrow will be a success.” The old man looked at Vivian. “Be good from now on. Do not be stubborn, and do not always trouble Brent.” Vivian sniffled, tears welling in her eyes. “Father…” The old man sighed. “Tonight is like a beautiful dream for me. When I wake up, I will not burden either of you any longer.” Several onlookers wiped their eyes. Brent’s mother was sobbing softly into her handkerchief. Standing beside the welcome sign, I felt like the punchline of a cruel joke. Vivian suddenly spotted me. Her face turned pale. “Carol… you came.” Every head in the lobby turned toward me. My colleagues stood frozen by the elevators. I walked over and placed the empty jewelry box on the reception desk. “My bracelet. Give it back.” Vivian clutched her wrist. “Carol, right now? My father is right here…” Brent lowered his voice, anger flashing in his eyes. “Carol, do not make a scene!” I looked him dead in the eye. “You took my document folder. You took the heirloom his grandmother gave me. You dragged me to a shop to try on a bridesmaid’s dress, and then you made me stand in front of this sign. Brent, tell me, how exactly am I making a scene?” His expression hardened. “I will explain everything later.” “You have explained things plenty of times.” I held out my hand. “The bracelet.” Vivian’s tears began to flow. As she struggled to slide the bracelet off her wrist, she looked at her father. “Father, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have worn it. I only wanted you to be happy. It does not matter if no one wants me.” The old man frowned. “What do you mean, no one wants you?” Vivian sobbed harder. Brent immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Uncle, do not worry. You have me tonight.” With those words, the lobby fell silent. I looked at Brent. He seemed to realize the weight of his words under my gaze, his lips parting slightly. “Carol, I only meant…” “No need to explain.” I took the emerald bracelet, placed it securely inside the box, and snapped it shut. Mrs. Higgins tried to step forward to comfort me, but I shook my head. As I turned to leave, Vivian suddenly grabbed my hand. “Carol, please do not go. If you leave, my father will think I ruined your relationship.” I pulled my hand back sharply. Losing her balance on her high heels, she slipped. Brent caught her in his arms, looking up at me with pure accusation in his eyes. “Carol, she cannot handle any stress tonight!” I nodded slowly. “Then I wish you both a wonderful wedding feast.” When I got back to our apartment, I packed a single suitcase. My textbooks, my lesson plans, a few changes of clothes, and a framed photograph of my mother. I left everything else behind. Before walking out the door, I placed the keys on the dining table. Beside them, I left a simple note: Brent, you owe me nothing. And I owe you nothing.

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