Category: English

I fainted during a meeting from low blood pressure. The moment I woke up, my supervisor, Victoria Vance, accused me of faking it. She slapped a $1,100 disciplinary deduction slip right onto my face. “Faking an illness to disrupt the meeting? That’s a thousand-dollar fine! With a pathetic work ethic like yours, how did you even become our top sales rep?” For five years, I was the undisputed sales queen, bringing in ninety percent of the company’s clients. My reward? Public humiliation and malicious wage deductions. “If you can’t even handle a minor health issue, don’t even think about managing Julian’s account.” I calmly took the penalty slip and signed my name in front of the entire office. A month later, I sent my resignation letter to the CEO. Then, I formatted the encrypted USB drive and tossed it onto Victoria’s desk. “Here’s what your thousand-dollar fine bought you.” Her face drained of all color as she stared at me. I grabbed my bag and walked out of the building. Behind me, she shrieked like a maniac: “Sienna! You’ll regret this!” She had no idea that an offer letter from our biggest rival, Zenith Group, was already sitting in my inbox.

The conference room lights were blindingly bright, and without warning, my vision went black. When I finally opened my eyes, Victoria Vance’s bright red lipstick was the first thing I saw, her mouth moving rapidly. “Sienna, fainting in the middle of a pitch? Why didn’t you just faint all the way to the morgue?” She held a printed sheet of paper and slapped it right onto my face. “Faking an illness to disrupt company order. That’s a thousand-dollar penalty, deducted directly from your paycheck this month.” I propped myself up against the table. The ringing in my ears from the low blood pressure hadn’t completely faded yet. “Victoria, I have chronic low blood pressure. It wasn’t an act.” “If you’re sick, go to a hospital. Don’t throw a fit at work,” Victoria sneered, looking around the room. “You call yourself our top sales rep with that pathetic body? You look more like a useless slacker looking for a free ride! Look at her, everyone. This was the most important review meeting of the year, and she wasted thirty minutes of our time. With a fragile body like yours, a thousand-dollar fine is a cheap lesson. Do it again, and you’re fired!” The entire conference room was dead silent. Nobody dared to speak up for me. Beside me, Chloe Carter immediately stood up and eagerly handed Victoria a bottle of water. “You’re absolutely right, Victoria. This company isn’t a charity. Sienna, you really need to take care of yourself and stop causing trouble for everyone else.” She pretended to care, but the gleeful smirk in her eyes was unmistakable. I ignored her. I just looked at Victoria calmly. “Fine. Do I need to sign the deduction slip?” Victoria didn’t expect me to comply so easily. She blinked, surprised, before letting out a contemptuous snort. “At least you know your place.” She thought I was backing down. I just didn’t want to waste my breath. I had been at Apex Solutions for five years. I went from a clueless intern to the backbone of the sales department. Ninety percent of our clients were secured by me, one grueling negotiation at a time. Victoria was a nepo-baby hired six months ago. She knew absolutely nothing about sales, but she was a master of office politics. She hated me from day one, probably because I was blocking her from placing her own friends in my position. Over the past six months, she took credit for my project reports, sidelined my team members, and held up my expense reimbursements for three months without any reason. I endured all of it. My husband, Ethan, always told me to let it go. He said it was just a job, and keeping the peace was better for our family. He was climbing the corporate ladder himself, and he didn’t want any drama from my end to affect our life. But today’s thousand-dollar fine wasn’t just a minor setback. It was a direct spit to my face, stepping on my dignity and grinding it into the dirt. I picked up the penalty slip. The name “Sienna” printed on it felt like an eyesore. Back at my desk, I opened my laptop. Instead of working, I messaged a recruiter I hadn’t contacted in a long time. “Rachel, is that new opportunity you mentioned still open?” She replied instantly. “Sienna! Of course! Zenith Group has been waiting for you. I’ll send you the job description right away.” Zenith Group—Apex’s biggest competitor. I closed the chat, clicked on an encrypted folder, and started organizing five years’ worth of client profiles, supplier contracts, and final pricing bids. Every single file represented late nights, endless coffee, and ulcers from high-stakes dinners. Victoria, you used a thousand dollars to teach me a lesson. I’ll use these files to teach you an eighty-million-dollar lesson.

For the next month, I lived the dream life of a nine-to-five worker. The second the clock hit five, I clocked out and muted my phone. Victoria tagged me a hundred times in our WhatsApp work group, but I ignored every single notification. She targeted me during our morning team meeting: “Sienna, is your workload too light lately? Have you followed up with our clients?” “Are the supplier renewals signed? Don’t think your seniority gives you the right to slack off!” In front of everyone, I handed her a thick folder. “Victoria, here is my complete daily log submitted yesterday before five. Every single task you mentioned has been completed. If you feel my workload is too light, feel free to assign me more projects. However, any overtime needs to be requested and approved in advance, otherwise it violates company policy.” Her face turned the color of raw liver, completely speechless. Seeing this, Chloe immediately jumped in to smooth things over. “Oh, Sienna, Victoria is just looking out for you. She wants you to reach your full potential. Speaking of which, you’ve been working on Julian Miller’s account for six months. Why don’t I help you lighten the load?” Julian Miller was our biggest potential client. I had poured my heart into getting him to agree to the final pricing phase. Chloe had been drooling over this account for ages. I smiled and pushed a file toward her. “Sure. Since you’re so eager, you can handle this one first.” She took it, and her smile instantly vanished. It was a notoriously difficult supplier we had been arguing with for two months over contract details. “Sienna, this…” “Weren’t you trying to lighten my load?” I looked at her calmly. “If you can’t even handle a minor dispute like this, how do you expect to manage Julian’s account?” Chloe’s face flushed with embarrassment, but she had no choice but to take the file. Victoria watched from the side, silent and cold. She wanted nothing more than for Chloe to snatch my clients so she could kick me out for good. Then, she started sabotaging me. She rejected my client entertainment expenses, claiming it “didn’t align with the company’s frugal budget.” She held up the approval for client gifts, refusing to sign off on them. It didn’t matter. I paid out of my own pocket and bypassed her whenever I could. Every rejected request, every delayed email—I took screenshots of everything and saved them in my encrypted folder. These were my receipts. When I got home that night, Ethan saw my sour mood and started lecturing me again. “Isn’t your manager just trying to assert some authority? Just swallow your pride, buy her a nice gift, and get over it. Why do you have to make things so tense?” I looked at him, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Ethan, I was the one who got fined a thousand dollars. I was the one humiliated in public, and I was the one whose hard work was stolen. All you ever do is tell me to swallow my pride and back down.” “What else do you want to do? Sienna, are you really going to quit? How are we going to pay our $2,500 monthly mortgage? My career is finally taking off. Can’t you just keep things stable for the sake of our home?” Always “for the sake of our home.” I shut my mouth, refusing to argue. He didn’t understand, or rather, he didn’t care about my feelings at all. He only cared about his career, his mortgage, and his comfortable life. I opened my laptop and continued organizing my client database. Ethan leaned over to glance at my screen, frowning. “What are you doing with all that? Planning to jump ship? Let me warn you, don’t do anything stupid. Your company has a non-compete agreement.” I sneered inwardly. He didn’t even remember that I only signed a standard employment contract. There was no non-compete clause. He only knew how to warn and restrict me. I calmly closed my laptop. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” What I was doing was making sure that before I left, I would take every single thing that belonged to me.

Victoria’s patience had clearly run out. During Monday’s meeting, she announced a sudden reorganization of client accounts. “To encourage healthy competition, we are reassigning all major accounts. Sienna, you will hand over Julian Miller’s account and your other major clients to Chloe and the younger reps so they can get some real-world experience. As for you, you will focus on training the new hires and handling basic administrative tasks.” This was basically demoting me from top sales executive to a secretary. Chloe’s face flushed with excitement. She couldn’t wait to stand up and show her loyalty. “Thank you so much, Victoria! I won’t let you down. I promise to close Julian’s deal!” I sat in my chair, completely silent. Victoria was highly satisfied with my “silence.” She tapped her pen on the table, looking like a victorious queen. “Sienna, make sure all client files are organized and handed over to Chloe before you leave today. Remember, leave nothing out.” “Fine.” I said only one word. In the afternoon, Chloe strutted over to my desk in her high heels, looking incredibly smug. “Sienna, you can hand over the files now. I need everything—your chat logs with the clients, their custom pricing limits, even their family members’ birthdays. The more detailed, the better.” She thought I was an idiot. She wanted to steal the entire network of relationships I had built over five years in one go. I nodded, took an encrypted USB drive out of my drawer, and handed it to her. “Everything is in here.” She snatched it eagerly and plugged it into her laptop. She opened it and saw the files, but every single one had a lock icon on it. It was encrypted by the company’s internal system, requiring my personal authorization key to open. The suspicion on her face turned into greedy excitement, then quickly into confusion. “Sienna, why can’t I open these?” “I’ll send you the password later,” I said calmly. She pulled out the USB drive like a trophy, thinking she’d get the password sooner or later. “Great. These clients have nothing to do with you now. Go enjoy your new hires.” After she left, I looked at my empty desktop. I logged into the company’s central file server. Every client profile, project template, and sales strategy guide I had created myself was now locked under my exclusive encrypted permission. Then, I sent Julian Miller a text message on Snapchat. “Hi Julian. Just wanted to let you know that due to some internal restructuring, I will be leaving Apex Solutions soon. My colleague will be taking over your account. Thank you so much for your trust and support over the past six months.” Julian’s phone call came through on FaceTime immediately. “Sienna, what’s going on? You’re leaving? What is your company playing at, changing reps right at the finish line? I don’t even want to meet this new person! If you aren’t managing this project, I’m not signing!” I calmed him down, telling him it was just a regular career transition and that I would handle things properly. After hanging up, I sent similar messages to my other core clients. Without exception, every single one of them said they only trusted me. By the time I finished, the sky was dark. I shut down my computer, packed my bags, and went home. That night, Ethan came home beaming, eager to tell me he had basically secured the director position at his company. “Babe, thanks for staying quiet and not causing any trouble lately. Once I get this promotion and raise, we can upgrade to a bigger house.” As he spoke, he casually tossed his dirty laundry onto the couch as if it were my job to clean it. I looked at him, feeling a strange sense of peace. “Ethan, we need to talk.” “About what? I’m sharing great news with you!” “I want a divorce,” I said softly. The smile on his face instantly froze.

“A divorce? Sienna, have you lost your mind?” Ethan’s voice went up an octave. He stared at me in disbelief, as if looking at a stranger. “Just because you’re having a hard time at work, you’re using divorce to threaten me? Can you grow up for once?” I pulled out the pre-drafted divorce papers from the drawer and pushed them toward him. “I’m not threatening you. I’m serious. We split the assets equally. You keep the house, just buy out my half of the equity. I don’t want any alimony.” Ethan stared at the papers, shaking with anger. “I don’t agree! I’m about to become a director, Sienna! Don’t ruin my life right at this moment! I am not signing this!” “Then I’ll file for a contested divorce,” I looked at him calmly. “For the past five years, did you ever actually treat me like your wife? Or was I just a tool to help pay your mortgage and satisfy your vanity?” He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out. He knew I was speaking the truth. Our argument ended on a bitter note. Ethan slammed the door and didn’t come back all night. Sitting alone in the quiet living room, I felt lighter than I had in years. The next day at the office, the atmosphere was incredibly tense. Chloe spent the entire day trying to call Julian Miller using the files I gave her, but she couldn’t even get past his assistant. She tried pitching a proposal to another major client, only to get yelled at and told she had no idea what she was doing. She crawled back to Victoria’s office with her tail between her legs, and Victoria tore into her. In the afternoon, Victoria called me into her office, a rare, fake smile plastered on her face. “Sienna, look, Chloe is still young and doesn’t know how to handle these big accounts yet. How about this? You take back Julian’s project. Think of it as a chance to redeem yourself. And about that thousand-dollar fine, I’ll talk to accounting and have them refund it to you.” She was trying to play good cop now. Too bad I didn’t care anymore. “Victoria, I’m no longer the lead on that project. We can’t just bend company policy whenever we want, can we?” Victoria’s fake smile vanished instantly, replaced by pure rage. “Sienna, don’t push your luck! I’m giving you a way out, you better take it! Otherwise, I have plenty of ways to make your life here a living hell!” Shocked by my refusal, she began assigning me impossible tasks in front of the entire office. “I need a complete analysis report of this quarter’s sales data before you leave today. Also, follow up on that dead project on the west side. I want a breakthrough by Friday. And copy these three hundred pages of documents for me. Double-sided, full color.” Everyone looked at me with pity, while Chloe didn’t even bother to hide her smug satisfaction. I said nothing and just did the work. On Friday at exactly 5:59 PM, I completed every single task she threw at me and sent them to her email in a neat package. Then, I sent my resignation letter to both HR and the CEO. “Effective immediately, I am resigning due to personal reasons.” The moment the email sent, I permanently wiped every personal file from my work computer. Chloe had spent two days trying to crack the USB drive I gave her, but she eventually had to return it to me, defeated. I took the empty USB drive, walked over to Chloe’s desk. She was currently whining to Victoria about how difficult the clients were. Right in front of them, I plugged the USB drive into my laptop. “Sienna, what are you doing?” Chloe asked warily. I ignored her, right-clicked the drive, and selected “Format.” A confirmation window popped up. Under Victoria and Chloe’s horrified stares, I clicked “Confirm.” The progress bar completed in a second. I pulled out the empty thumb drive, placed it gently on Victoria’s desk, and gave it a soft push. “Victoria, here is what your thousand-dollar fine bought you,” I said, my voice echoing clearly through the quiet office. “My clients are leaving with me. You can keep this empty drive and play with it yourself.” With that, I grabbed my purse and walked out, leaving the office in a stunned, deathly silence. Tomorrow, Zenith Group would announce my hiring. As for Victoria, she was about to receive termination notices from our biggest clients. The real show was about to begin.

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The day I found out I was pregnant, my OB/GYN husband, Julian Vance, cheated on me with his medical assistant, Valerie Moore. The shock and stress caused me to have a miscarriage. Consumed by hatred, I publicly stripped Valerie of her scrubs in the hospital lobby, completely ruining her reputation. Then, I climbed onto the rooftop ledge of the clinic, threatening Julian with my own life. “Either you send Valerie to prison for medical malpractice, or you sign the divorce papers.” Julian fell to his knees in front of me, tears streaming down his face as he begged. “I promise you. I’ll do it. You are the only one I love, Summer.” True to his word, Julian personally submitted the evidence of Valerie’s malpractice to the authorities. He chose to stay and rebuild our marriage. Every year on the anniversary of my baby’s death, I would visit the prison to curse Valerie behind the glass. Until today. I was leaving the restroom at the facility when I overheard two janitors gossiping in the hallway. “Does that poor woman seriously not realize the person locked in there isn’t actually Valerie Moore? It’s just a paid actress.” “I know, right? Dr. Vance was so terrified his wife would lose her mind again and hurt Valerie. He spent a fortune renting this decommissioned private facility and hiring actors just to keep her calm. Dr. Vance and Valerie are the real soulmates.” “I heard their baby turned one today. The whole family is celebrating at his mansion. They look so happy.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. My mind went blank. It turned out that while I was trying so hard to heal and start over, Julian had already built a perfect family with her.

My hands and feet shook uncontrollably. A deafening ringing filled my ears. A fake set. Paid actors. Three years of his guilt, penance, and begging for forgiveness. All of it was a meticulously staged lie. I had been so close to letting go. Just minutes ago, I had looked at the woman in the orange jumpsuit behind the glass and said. “I’m pregnant again. It’s a new beginning.” “I won’t be coming back here. Stay here and rot for what you did.” I stood frozen in the hallway, shaking silently, barely daring to breathe. A guard jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Sorry, ma’am. An inmate caused trouble nearby. I had to step away for a moment.” Hearing his flimsy, rehearsed explanation, a bitter laugh escaped my throat. I had lived the last three years in a traumatized fog. How had I never noticed the cracks in this theater? After signing out, I slowly walked out of the “prison” gates. I got into my car but didn’t drive away. Instead, I parked in a hidden spot down the road. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, a group of people walked out of the building, laughing and chatting. The actress playing Valerie was among them, eagerly counting a thick stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. My heart sank into a frozen abyss. I pulled out my phone, found my private investigator’s contact, and dialed. “Run a check on Valerie Moore. I want to know exactly where she is and what she’s doing.” The investigator sounded taken aback. “Mrs. Vance? Three years ago, you told me she was in prison and ordered me to stop tracking her and your husband. Why the sudden change?” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication was clear. Within an hour, he sent a file to my Snapchat. It contained Valerie’s private Instagram account. For the past three years, she had been documenting her life with Julian. From her getting a nose job and a new identity to work at a different private clinic, celebrated by Julian. To her moving into a luxury penthouse, with Julian taking her on exotic vacations. And finally, to her giving birth, and Julian throwing a lavish first birthday party for their child. I stared at the photo of Valerie holding the baby, with Julian wrapping his arms tightly around them both. The pain in my chest was so sharp I could barely draw breath. Yet, like a masochist, I kept scrolling. When I saw the comments below the post, my fingers froze. My best friend, Chloe, who had spent three days straight cursing Valerie with me three years ago, had left a comment: “My sweet goddaughter is one today! As her godmother, I have to prepare a very special gift!” My brother, Nathan, who had helped me plaster Valerie’s home with photos of her affair, wrote: “Congratulations, Julian! Looks like we’ve got another little doctor in the family.” Even my parents, who had held me tight on the nights I wanted to jump off our balcony, had commented: “You and Valerie are a match made in heaven. Wishing your beautiful family endless happiness.” Dozens of mutual friends and colleagues had liked the posts, leaving warm blessings. Everyone knew. Everyone knew the truth, and everyone chose to keep me in the dark. I stared at those comments for a long, long time. I was still staring when Julian’s call flashed across my screen. “Hey, honey. You’re not home yet. Did something happen at the prison visit?” His voice was as gentle and caring as always, but I could catch a faint, nervous tremor underneath. I forced my voice to remain steady. “Nothing. Everything was normal.” “Julian, I won’t be going back there anymore.” I could hear the massive wave of relief over the line. His tone instantly became cheerful. “I’m so glad to hear that, Summer. The bad guy got what she deserved. It’s finally time for you to let go and move on.” I bit my lip, feeling a wave of self-deprecation. Yes. I was the one getting punished. And it was indeed time to move on.

My investigator sent me another update. When I saw the child’s name in the document, my knuckles turned white clutching the phone. Lily. That was the name I had chosen for the baby girl I lost. Back then, Julian had pressed his ear against my belly, smiling warmly. “It’s a beautiful name, Summer.” I thought that name had been buried forever in the dirt alongside my miscarried child. I never could have imagined it would be stolen and given to Valerie’s baby. Even though it was the middle of July, I felt a bone-chilling cold wash over me. “Send me the address of the birthday party,” I texted the investigator. Julian had spared no expense. He rented a stunning, high-security villa in the countryside. Without an invitation, no one could get in. I paid a hefty fee to get a guest pass from a vendor and slipped into the crowd. I stood amidst the laughter and clinking glasses like a ghost. Valerie, surrounded by a doting crowd, was proudly showing off the nursery. Cream-colored walls, an organic wood crib, custom-built bookshelves… Even the handcrafted crystal mobile hanging by the window was the exact one I had spent weeks customizing for my lost baby. The nursery I had lovingly designed had been recreated block for block for Valerie. The guests gasped in admiration. “I heard Dr. Vance designed this entire room himself! He treats you like a queen, Valerie. Three years, and he’s still this obsessed.” “Well, Valerie deserves it. She’s already a chief resident at her age. Her future is incredibly bright.” Valerie blushed, a sweet smile on her face. “Julian said this is his first child, so he wanted to give her the absolute best of everything.” Julian walked in, wrapping his arm around Valerie’s waist with pure adoration. Then, his eyes casually swept over the crowd and landed on me. The loving smile on his face froze instantly. Sensing the sudden shift in the air, the guests followed his gaze to me. Valerie shrank back slightly, and Julian immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Summer, don’t make a scene today of all days,” Julian whispered sharply, his eyes darting around nervously. “We can talk about this at home.” I dug my fingernails deep into my palms, trying to hold onto my dignity. “You’ve lied to me for three years, Julian. Don’t I even deserve an explanation?” Before Julian could speak, my best friend Chloe rushed over. She frowned, looking down at me with a judgmental sigh. “Summer, Julian only lied to keep you stable. He was worried you’d do something reckless again. He did it for your own good! Why do you have to be so incredibly petty?” “Even if you’re upset, ruining a baby’s first birthday is just low. It’s embarrassing.” My brother, Nathan, stepped up next, his voice cold and detached. “Look, it’s been three years. It’s time to move on. Just because you’re unhappy doesn’t mean you get to drag everyone else down with you.” My parents walked over, their faces filled with deep disappointment. “Summer, you are such a letdown,” my mother scolded softly. “I can’t believe you’re still this vindictive after three years.” “You ruined Valerie’s life back then, making her the laughingstock of the city. Isn’t that enough payback?” “Besides, Valerie didn’t even ask for a marriage certificate. She just wanted to give Julian a child to carry on the Vance family name. What’s so wrong with that? You don’t have to be so heartless.” Julian let out a weary sigh. “Well, now that you know, at least I don’t have to keep paying actors to put on a show for you. It was exhausting.” “My parents were pressuring me for a grandchild. You can’t get pregnant anymore, and I couldn’t spend the rest of my life childless. You have to understand my position.” “From now on, you can keep your title as Mrs. Vance. We’ll just live our separate lives. We won’t cross each other’s paths.” They stood in a protective circle around Valerie. And I, their own flesh and blood, was treated like a toxic monster they needed to guard against. I let out a soft, mocking laugh, hiding the absolute deadness in my eyes. “Julian, what if I told you… I’m pregnant too?”

Julian’s brow furrowed, his face twisting into an irritated scowl. “Summer, are you seriously using this trick again? Aren’t you tired of it?” “You used a pregnancy to threaten me into banishing Valerie three years ago. If you hadn’t been so stubborn and dramatic, none of this would have happened.” A wave of bitter sorrow washed over me, so painful I could barely stand straight. The miscarriage. The resulting infertility. The agonizing post-surgery complications. All those nights I screamed from nightmares were reduced to “my own fault” in Julian’s eyes. I smiled mockingly, deliberately stepping on his sore spot. “I guess I’m just like your mother. I’m too ‘petty’ to share my husband with a mistress.” “What’s next? Are you going to watch me jump off a building right in front of you, just like she did?” When Julian was five, his father brought his pregnant mistress into their home. That very night, Julian’s mother jumped from their penthouse balcony. Julian had witnessed the tragedy. He had sworn he would never become like his father. Yet here he was, calmly asking me to play nice with his mistress. The power of genetics is truly terrifying. Julian’s face darkened instantly, looking like he wanted to kill me. Unable to watch any longer, my brother Nathan grabbed my arm and dragged me into the villa’s storage room. The cramped, dusty space was filled with Julian’s discarded junk. A customized designer pen I had gifted him, his original proposal ring, and the baby bracelet I had bought for our lost child. These were things Julian had once claimed to treasure more than life itself. Now, they were left here to gather dust, completely forgotten. Nathan looked at me with pure disgust. “Open your eyes and look around, Summer! Julian threw your relationship in the trash years ago. He’s moved on. You’re the only idiot still clinging to the past.” Chloe squeezed into the room as well, letting out a dramatic sigh. “To be honest, Valerie isn’t as bad as you think. If she hadn’t donated her kidney to your mother, your mom would still be rotting in the ICU right now.” “We’ve seen how much Valerie has done for this family over the last three years. You really crossed the line back then.” I froze, my hand instinctively drifting to the scar on my lower back. When my mother fell critically ill, I had secretly gone for a donor match despite my weak post-miscarriage body. Luckily, I was a match. To prevent them from worrying about my health, I had begged the surgeon to keep the donor info strictly confidential. I quietly gave my mother one of my kidneys. Even though the scar still throbbed with pain on rainy days, I had never regretted it. Because my mother had always protected me when I was a child. I wanted to save her life. But now, they were saying the donor was Valerie. A thick, suffocating lump formed in my throat. I looked down, my voice trembling with unshed tears. “You all regret taking my side, don’t you?” “Not only do you regret it, but you also helped Julian gaslight me for three whole years.” My father sighed, his face a mask of weary resignation. “Summer, watching you suffer makes us suffer too.” “If you’re going to live in pain for the rest of your life, it’s better for everyone if you just let go now.” I raised my head and slowly looked at the faces in the room. These were the people who had wept tears of joy at my wedding, wishing me a lifetime of happiness. These were the people who had rushed to my side, saving me from the brink of suicide. Now, they were all standing together, begging me to give up. Slowly, I slipped the wedding ring off my right finger. I dropped it onto the pile of dusty, discarded junk. “Fine. I’ll do what you want. I’m letting go.”

After mailing the signed divorce papers to Julian’s office, I drove to the cemetery. Lily’s grave was adorned with fresh flowers, cute toys, and tiny baby clothes. She looked loved. Just like she did every year I came to visit. “Lily, it’s Mommy. I’m here again.” “I regret it every single day. My anger and pride cost you your life.” “I kept hoping you would find your way back to me. But now that the chance is here… I don’t think I have the strength to start over.” Tears finally spilled over, heavy and unstoppable, mimicking the sudden summer downpour that began to crash around me. I leaned down and gently kissed the cold tombstone. Suddenly, the rain stopped hitting me. I looked up and met Julian’s pained eyes. He was holding an umbrella over me, letting his own expensive suit get soaked in the storm. “Your health is fragile, Summer. The ground is too cold. Let’s talk in the car.” He wrapped his dry trench coat around my shoulders, his tone softening. “I’m not signing the divorce papers. Whatever Valerie has, I’ll make sure you have it too.” “We both made mistakes in the past. Let’s just let bygones be bygones. Don’t bring it up again.” Julian reached out, attempting to slide the tarnished ring back onto my finger. I pulled my hand back, my expression dead. “But I can’t let it go. I will never forget it as long as I live.” Julian’s face hardened, his voice turning cold. “Summer, don’t push your luck. I am not going to fake-banish Valerie again just to appease you.” I shook my head calmly. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt Valerie.” “I just want you to give Lily’s name back to her. Just for today.” Julian blinked, then glanced at his luxury watch. “Then make it quick. The demolition crew is about to arrive.” “The show is over. The studio lot where this cemetery is located is being redeveloped. My father wants to turn this entire zone into a private amusement park. It’s a first-birthday gift for my daughter, Lily.” I stood frozen, unable to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. “What about Lily? What about my baby’s grave?” Julian sighed gently. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a better spot for her. It’ll be much nicer than this.” With a loud rumble, heavy excavators and a construction crew entered the gates. They drove straight toward the row of graves. Instinct took over. I threw myself over Lily’s tombstone like a lunatic. “No! Stop! Don’t touch it!” “Julian, I beg you! I swear I’ll sign the papers and stay far away from you and Valerie! Just leave Lily alone! I’ll do anything!” Julian took a step toward me, then stopped. His brows knitted together in annoyance. “Summer, stop acting crazy. It’s just a plot of land. It’s not that serious.” He reached out to drag me away, but in my panic, I swung my arm and slapped him hard across the face. Julian held his reddened cheek, his expression turning pitch black. “Ignore her. Start digging.” Leaving those cold words behind, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the vast, roaring cemetery. The workers looked at each other, but ultimately, the giant metal claw of the excavator began to rise. Shaking violently, I squeezed myself against the cold marble of the tombstone and closed my eyes in absolute despair. On his drive back, Julian’s phone buzzed. It was a call from the studio lot’s management office. “Dr. Vance, the actress playing Valerie’s inmate just forwarded the transcript of Mrs. Vance’s last visit to your email.” Exhausted, Julian opened the file on his tablet, his eyes scanning the lines lazily. But when his eyes hit the final paragraph, every ounce of color drained from his face.

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I gave up my own college dreams just so Ethan Miller could get his PhD. During the day, I delivered food on my scooter. At night, I worked as a mall janitor. I survived on only four hours of sleep a day. Because of the physical exhaustion, I suffered two miscarriages. Eventually, I developed severe reproductive health issues and had to have half of my uterus removed. Finally, Ethan graduated. He landed a high-paying job at a listed company with a six-figure salary. He promised to give me a grand wedding. But while trying on wedding dresses, I got bored and browsed Instagram. A viral post on a local confession page caught my eye. “How do I dump my uneducated, janitor girlfriend who put me through school without looking like the bad guy?” “She can’t even understand basic academic talk. It is embarrassing to take her out.” “I have met a female executive at my company who truly gets me. I don’t want to play savior anymore.” Attached to the post was a photo of a medical report. The name was blurred, but I recognized it instantly. It was my uterine surgery report. Across the fitting room curtain, Ethan’s gentle voice drifted in. “Honey, are you done changing? I can’t wait to see you in that dress.” I looked down and touched the ugly surgical scar on my lower abdomen. Suddenly, my ten years of sacrifice felt like a total joke.

“Babe, is the dress on yet?” I locked my phone and slipped it into the pocket of my old coat. My hand lingered on the scar on my stomach for two seconds before I pulled it away. I pushed the curtain open. Ethan blinked in surprise when he saw me still wearing my old, faded clothes. “Why did you take it off? Weren’t you obsessing over that mermaid gown for days?” He set down his coffee cup, walked over, and wrapped an arm around my shoulder with a doting smile. “Is it too expensive? Don’t worry about the price. Your man makes six figures now. I can easily afford a wedding dress.” I took a subtle step back, slipping out of his embrace. “It doesn’t fit.” “How? Is the size wrong?” He frowned and turned to the sales associate. “Did you guys give her the wrong size?” The sales associate smiled apologetically. “Mr. Miller, the lady said the design is too complicated. She said it’s not practical for doing chores.” Ethan sighed, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Silly girl. You’re going to be a princess on our wedding day. Who’s going to make you do chores?” He took my hand, his thumb gently rubbing my rough, calloused palm. “You’ve worked too hard these past ten years. From now on, you stay home and relax. I’ll take care of you.” His eyes were full of sincerity. He looked exactly like the boy who had hugged me tightly and sworn to love me forever when he got his PhD acceptance letter. If I hadn’t seen that post, I probably would have cried tears of gratitude. I pulled my hand back and shoved it into my pockets. “I’m tired. I want to go home.” “Alright. We’ll go home and rest today. I’ll take you to another boutique tomorrow.” As we walked out of the bridal shop, a cold gust of wind hit us. Ethan took off his cashmere scarf and wrapped it around my neck. “Cold? Wait here. I’ll bring the car around.” He turned and walked toward the parking lot. I watched his retreating figure. He wore a well-tailored wool coat. He looked tall, handsome, and successful. Ethan unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for me. A cup of tea sat in the cup holder. “Your favorite. Half-sweet, no ice. I grabbed it on the way.” I stared at the cup but didn’t touch it. “I don’t drink anymore.” Ethan’s hand on the steering wheel paused. “What’s wrong? Is your stomach acting up again?” He reached into the glove compartment with one hand and took out a bottle of stomach medicine. “Take two tablets when we get back. I’ll take a day off tomorrow to go to the hospital with you for a checkup.” I leaned back against the seat, watching the city lights blur past the window. “Ethan, do you find me embarrassing?” Ethan let out a soft chuckle. “What are you overthinking now? Who would dare call my wife embarrassing?” He stopped at a red light and turned to look at my face. “Did you overhear my mom’s phone call? Just ignore her. She’s old-fashioned.” “I only made it this far because you worked multiple jobs to support me. I will remember your sacrifice for the rest of my life.” Sacrifice. He called it a sacrifice, not love. I looked down at my worn fingers. “You wrote that post, didn’t you?” The light turned green. The car behind us honked. Ethan stepped on the gas, and the car smoothly crossed the intersection. “What post?” His voice was calm, showing no signs of guilt. “You spend too much time on social media. There are millions of people on Instagram. It’s just a coincidence that someone has a similar story.” “What about my medical report?” The smile finally vanished from Ethan’s face. He pulled the car over to the curb and killed the engine. “Did you go through my phone?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at him. Ethan let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “A coworker took my phone and posted that as a joke. We were playing Truth or Dare at lunch.” “You actually believed a stupid prank like that?” He leaned in, trying to hug me. “I’ve already paid the non-refundable deposit for the wedding venue, Ava. How could I possibly want to dump you?” I lay still in his arms, letting him hold me. His coat smelled of expensive woody cologne. I had never owned a bottle of perfume in my life. Right then, his phone on the dashboard lit up. A WhatsApp message popped up on the screen: “Are you coming over tonight? I saved some dessert for you.”

Ethan’s eyes quickly flicked to the screen. “There’s an emergency at the office.” “My manager is a total workaholic. She doesn’t even let us rest on weekends.” I kept my eyes on the congested traffic ahead. “I see.” Ethan seemed to think my reaction was too indifferent. He glanced at me. “Don’t overthink it. My manager is three years older than me. She just mentors me a lot at work.” “The competition for the promotion is fierce. I need to make a good impression.” He patted the back of my hand. “Once I make director, we’ll put a down payment on an apartment downtown. We can even bring your parents over from your hometown.” Reuniting with my parents was indeed my biggest dream. In the past, whenever Ethan said things like this, I would be so moved that I’d take on extra cleaning shifts at the mall just to make more money. But now… I pulled my hand back. “No need.” “My parents are doing fine where they are.” The car stopped in front of our rented apartment building. Ethan didn’t get out. “Babe, go upstairs and get some rest. I have to head back to the office.” He pulled two hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to me. “Buy yourself something nice for dinner. Stop eating leftovers.” I didn’t take the money. I pushed the door open and stepped out. “Don’t drink too much.” I shut the door and walked straight into the dark hallway without looking back. The motion-sensor light was broken again. It was pitch black. I climbed up to the fifth floor by memory and unlocked the door. The apartment smelled of dampness that never quite went away. Ethan’s faded white shirts hung on the balcony. Cardboard boxes I had collected for recycling were piled next to the sofa. I walked to the bedroom and pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand. There was a small metal tin inside. Inside were all the savings I had managed to scrape together over the last ten years. It was less than seven thousand dollars. During Ethan’s PhD years, tuition and living expenses were a bottomless pit. I delivered food in the freezing rain by day and cleaned toilets at night. I even bought the cheapest brand of sanitary pads just to save a few pennies. One night, while scrubbing floors, my back ached so badly I collapsed. I had a miscarriage. That was how I found out I was pregnant. By the time I was rushed to the ER, the doctor said it was too late. Half of my uterus had to be surgically removed to save my life. Ethan had cried until his eyes were swollen at my bedside, swearing he would protect me with his life. And I had believed him. I took out the savings cards and slipped them into my pocket. Then, I pulled out an old duffel bag and began packing. I didn’t have many belongings. A few cheap clothes bought from clearance racks, a pair of worn-out sneakers, and a few old textbooks Ethan had discarded. It took less than thirty minutes to pack my entire life. I sat on the bare mattress, looking at the framed photo of us from ten years ago hanging on the wall. In the photo, Ethan was wearing a simple white t-shirt, smiling shyly. I had my hair in a ponytail, leaning happily on his shoulder. I stood up and ripped the photo off the wall. I pulled too hard, and a chunk of the cheap wallpaper peeled off with it. The sound of keys jingling came from the front door. Ethan walked in, holding a beautifully packaged cake box. He froze when he saw the duffel bag on the floor. “What are you doing?” He set the cake on the table and rushed over to grab my hands. “Why are you putting your winter clothes away? I can toss them in the laundry for you tomorrow.” He always did this. He would find a reasonable-sounding excuse rather than face what was right in front of him. I shook his hands off. “I’m moving out.” The smile on Ethan’s face completely hardened. His brows furrowed deeply. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum and running away over a stupid internet post?” He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. “I already explained it was a joke. What more do you want from me?” He pointed at the cake on the table. “I skipped my overtime and drove across three neighborhoods just to buy you your favorite strawberry shortcake.” “Can you grow up for once?”

Grow up. Over the past ten years, I had heard that phrase more than anything else. When I worked two jobs and threw up blood from exhaustion, Ethan’s mother told me: “Ethan has a lot of academic pressure. Grow up, Ava. Don’t bother him with your minor illnesses.” When I lay in the hospital bed after losing half my uterus, Ethan said: “Thank you for being so grown up, babe. I’ll make it up to you when I graduate.” And now, because I wanted to leave, I was being childish. I looked at the elegantly wrapped cake box. It was from an upscale bakery downtown. A single slice cost thirty dollars. It would take me three hours of scrubbing floors to earn that slice. “I’m allergic to strawberries, Ethan. I break out in hives. Did you forget?” Ethan went rigid. His eyes flickered with guilt. He had obviously forgotten. “I’m sorry, babe. Work has been so crazy lately. My mind is all over the place.” He pushed the cake aside. “Forget the cake. Let me take you out for Korean BBQ.” “Haven’t you been wanting to try that new spot down the street?” I didn’t move. “Ethan, you replied to a comment on that Instagram post.” I looked at him, my voice completely flat. “You wrote: ‘Every time I go home and see her rough, calloused hands, I lose my appetite.’” Ethan’s face turned incredibly pale. “Do you have to make things this ugly?” He yanked his tie loose, his voice rising with anger. “Fine! Yes, I wrote it!” “But I was just venting online! I didn’t actually break up with you, did I?” “Look at yourself!” He gestured at me, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “You always wear cheap, thrift-store clothes. You never style your hair. When I brought you to my company mixer, everyone thought you were my maid!” “Every day, I deal with sophisticated executives and elite clients. Then I come home to face your plain, worn-out face.” “Do you think I don’t feel the pressure?” I stood there quietly, listening to him spit out those words. Strangely, I didn’t even feel pain anymore. Just an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. “If you feel so miserable, why didn’t you just ask for a breakup?” I asked quietly. Ethan frustratedly ran a hand through his hair. “Because I knew you couldn’t handle it!” “Your health is ruined, and you don’t even have a college degree. How are you going to survive in this city without me?” He stepped closer, his voice softening again. “Ava, I admit I had a momentary lapse in judgment.” “Victoria, my manager, can really help me with my career.” “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” “The wedding will go on as planned. I will give you the status of being my wife.” “Just stop making a scene, okay? Be a good girl and stay home as a full-time housewife.” He spoke of marriage as if it were a generous charity. I picked up my duffel bag. “I have a night shift at the mall.” Ethan let out a sigh of relief, thinking I had submitted yet again. “Go on then. Don’t stay out too late. I’ll take you to another bridal shop tomorrow.” He leaned in to kiss my forehead. I didn’t dodge it. As I walked out of the apartment building, the cold night wind blew against my skin, and I realized I was drenched in a cold sweat. I didn’t go to the mall. Instead, I took the bus to the city hospital. My latest medical report showed that my uterine fibroids were showing signs of precancerous changes. I needed surgery immediately. But Ethan hadn’t even looked at the report. He had simply taken a photo of it to gain sympathy points from strangers online.

The bus rattled along. I leaned my head against the window, watching the neon lights of the city blur past. The doctor on duty frowned deeply as he reviewed my chart. “Why did you wait so long to come in? We need to schedule the surgery immediately. This could become life-threatening.” The doctor handed me a stack of forms. “Have your husband or a family member come in tomorrow to sign the consent forms and pay the deposit.” I took the papers, my hands trembling slightly. “Can’t I just sign them myself?” The doctor looked at me with pity. “This is a major procedure. Hospital policy requires an emergency contact or a family member’s signature for post-op release.” I walked out of the hospital clutching the papers. The cold wind slipped down my collar, and I wrapped my old coat tighter around myself. I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram. The post had reached the top of the local trending page. The author had updated the thread just thirty minutes ago: “She threw a tantrum today, but I easily managed her with a cheap cake. Women who have never seen the world are so easy to control. Once I get my company shares, I’ll find an excuse to send her back to her small town.” That was posted right after I left the apartment. I closed the app and walked to an ATM on the corner. I inserted my card to check my balance. Seven thousand two hundred dollars. It wasn’t even half of what the surgery would cost. The next morning, I went to Ethan’s company. It was located in a luxurious skyscraper downtown. Wearing my faded jeans and worn sneakers, I stood in the lobby looking completely out of place. The receptionist eyed me suspiciously. “Can I help you? Do you have an appointment?” “I’m here to see Ethan Miller. I’m his…” I paused. “…an old friend. I need to drop something off.” The receptionist made a quick call and then pointed to the elevators. “Mr. Miller is in the conference room on the 16th floor.” I took the elevator up. The door to the conference room at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. As I approached, I heard Ethan’s voice. “Ms. Sterling, you can leave this project entirely to me. I won’t let you down.” “I trust your capability, Ethan,” a woman’s voice replied. “But I heard you’re getting married soon? Your janitor girlfriend isn’t giving you any trouble, is she?” I stopped in my tracks and looked through the gap in the door. Ethan was standing near the desk, leaning forward slightly in a highly submissive posture. Victoria Sterling sat in her executive chair, casually spinning a pen in her hand. “You must be joking, Ms. Sterling.” Ethan let out a self-deprecating laugh, his voice filled with contempt. “That’s not a real marriage. It’s just a ceremony to quiet her down.” “Someone like her can barely read a complex spreadsheet. There’s no way I’d legally register a marriage with her.” “Once the project bonus is cleared, I’ll give her a lump sum of cash and send her back to her hometown.” Victoria chuckled. “You’re quite heartless. She did support you for ten years, after all.” “She did that of her own free will.” “She gave me her best years, but honestly, looking back, she had no self-respect.” Ethan spoke with absolute self-righteousness. “Besides, I give her a monthly allowance now. I’ve done more than enough for her.” I stood outside the door, listening to him dismiss my ten years of sweat and blood as nothing to another woman. Victoria stood up and walked toward Ethan. Her high heel accidentally caught the edge of a coffee cup on the desk. The dark liquid splashed all over her designer leather shoes. “Oh, great. They’re ruined,” Victoria grumbled, frowning. Ethan immediately grabbed some tissues and knelt down to clean them. I pushed the door open and walked in. Ethan’s face drained of color instantly. “Ava? What are you doing here?” Victoria looked me up and down, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “So this is your janitor girlfriend? She does look… obedient.” She pointed to her shoe. “Since you’re a professional cleaner, why don’t you clean my shoes for me?” Ethan rushed over, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Ava, please. Just clean Ms. Sterling’s shoes. My promotion next month depends entirely on her. Be reasonable.”

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“Babe, my boss won’t let you touch me. He’s going to check tomorrow.” When my friend told me his wife wouldn’t let him touch her, it completely shattered my worldview. He also told me that his wife’s boss had created a Snapchat group for his female employees. There were exactly twenty-four women in it. But when I saw the screenshot of that group, my heart stopped. Because the twenty-fourth woman in that group looked exactly like my wife! Two days ago, my childhood friend, Ford, and I were out having drinks when he told me the most bizarre story. He said he had tried to get intimate with his wife, Mandy, but she had ruthlessly rejected him. Her reason? Her boss had ordered her not to let her husband touch her. What’s crazier was that the boss checked them every single day. If any woman was caught being “unfaithful” to him with her own husband, there would be severe consequences. To be honest, this ridiculous story left me completely speechless. My moral compass was spinning out of control. Who in their right mind proudly stays chaste for a side piece in this day and age? Ford cried like a child, looking utterly miserable. “That boss is an absolute monster! She’s my wife! Why the hell can’t I touch her?” “He already has over twenty female employees wrapped around his finger. Why is he still targeting my wife?!” As he spoke, he furiously pulled up his phone and showed me a screenshot of a Snapchat group chat. The content inside blew my mind. Those twenty-three women were chatting happily like a big family. And the moment their boss sent a message, they all replied in unison, calling him “babe” or “honey.” Suddenly, my eyes locked onto one photo in the chat. My pupils contracted in sheer terror—the woman in that photo was my wife, Sophie! How was this possible? The women in this group were clearly the boss’s playthings. Why on earth was my wife in there? The photo had been posted by their boss, announcing a newcomer to the group: “This is Number 24. She’s your new sister. Welcome her.” “Hi everyone, I’m Number 24. So glad to be part of this family.” “I will do my best to serve the boss alongside all of you.” There were no real names in the chat. Everyone was referred to by their numbers. The first woman to join was Number 1, and Sophie, being the latest, was Number 24. The chat log ended there. It was the last screenshot Ford had. I stared at that screenshot over and over, my face turning deathly pale, my heart sinking into a bottomless pit. I couldn’t hear a single word of Ford’s venting anymore. I hastily made an excuse, ran out, and drove straight home. I needed to get some answers from Sophie. But when I got home, the house was empty. I called her phone. It went straight to voicemail! Recalling the photo I had just seen on Ford’s phone, a terrible thought crossed my mind: Was Sophie at her boss’s house right now? Once a man starts doubting his wife’s fidelity, the seed of suspicion grows like wildfire, driving him insane. I tried calling her every few minutes, but her phone remained turned off. It wasn’t until past nine in the evening that she finally walked through the front door. She was holding her lower back, her face exhausted. And on her neck, I could clearly see several dark red marks! At that sight, I clenched my teeth, fully convinced she had spent the entire day in her boss’s bed. “Sophie! You had a pretty wild time with your boss today, huh? Coming home this late!” “Do you even care about this home? Do you even care about me?!” I roared. Sophie froze for a fraction of a second, her eyes instantly filling with panic. “Leo… what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” Seeing her play dumb, I let out a cold laugh and immediately pulled out the screenshot on my phone. “You don’t understand? The evidence is right here. Do you understand now?!” “Take a good look! The woman in this photo is you, right? Number 24!” Seeing the screenshot, Sophie’s face drained of color. She started trembling, completely at a loss for words. “No, Leo! That’s not me! I’ve never joined a group chat like this!” “If… if you don’t believe me, look at my phone!” She quickly unlocked her phone and forced it into my hands. I snatched it and searched through every single app, but indeed, there was no trace of that Snapchat group. What was going on? Sophie asked cautiously, “Leo, where did you get this screenshot?” I frowned, thought for a moment, and told her about Ford’s situation. Sophie immediately sighed in relief. “Leo, Mandy works at Vanguard Group, and I work at Skyline Enterprises. We don’t even have the same boss. How could I possibly be in that group?” “This woman just looks a bit like me. Plus, with the heavy filters girls use on social media, she looks similar, but she’s not me.” I froze. She was right. Mandy worked at Vanguard Group, while Sophie was at Skyline Enterprises. They had completely different bosses. It didn’t make sense. A heavy weight lifted off my chest, but I still kept a cold face and pressed further: “Then why did you come home so late? And why didn’t you pick up my calls?” “And what the hell are those red marks on your neck?!”

Those obvious marks were impossible to ignore! Sophie said quickly: “Cassie invited me over to her place, but something went wrong on the way.” “I got trapped in her apartment building’s elevator. There was no cell service and no Wi-Fi. I was stuck there almost the whole day.” She urged me to search the local news. Sure enough, I found a news report about an elevator malfunction in Cassie’s neighborhood. It wasn’t fixed until past eight in the evening. It matched Sophie’s story perfectly. “And the red marks on my neck are just bug bites.” She tilted her neck toward me, and I did see a few small bumps that looked like insect bites. No matter what loophole I pointed out, she had a perfectly logical explanation ready. She answered so smoothly, almost as if she had rehearsed it. Instead of clearing my doubts, this made me even more suspicious. Something was definitely wrong with Sophie! My gut was proven right that night. After Sophie stripped and fell asleep, I noticed something on her lower back, right above her tailbone. There was a number written in thick, indelible black marker. 24! I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. I was about to explode with rage! This was no coincidence. Maybe a face could look similar, but there was no way in hell the number 24 was a coincidence! Sophie was indeed Number 24! Staring at that number, I gritted my teeth. Writing it on such an intimate part of her body was a blatant insult to me. It was a slap in the face. She was completely fearless, not caring if I found out, treating me like some weak pushover she could easily manipulate. A boss from another company? Why the hell did he think he could do this to me! Looking at the sleeping Sophie, I wanted nothing more than to drag her out of bed and scream at her. But I quickly forced myself to calm down. If I confronted her now, she would just throw another well-rehearsed excuse at me. It would be meaningless. I needed hard, undeniable evidence. Once I had it, I would cut her off completely! A cheating woman does not deserve to be my wife! The next morning, I hired a private investigator to track Sophie’s every move. Furthermore, I wanted to find out why Sophie, an employee of Skyline Enterprises, was in the group chat of the Vanguard Group’s boss. What dirty secrets was she keeping from me? The private investigator kept me waiting for three excruciating days. Those three days were the worst days of my life. Sophie kept leaving early and coming home late. What made me even angrier was that every time she returned, she smelled of expensive cologne that wasn’t mine, and her intimate belongings, like her pantyhose, were completely missing. It was obvious what she was doing out there. Yet, Sophie still lied straight to my face. Her excuses were so perfect that I couldn’t even find a way to argue back. Finally, on the third day, the private investigator called. He had dug up everything. Before telling me the details, he sent me a file and told me to watch the contents first. I connected the USB drive to my phone and opened the files. They were filled with videos. I clicked on a random one, and within seconds, my blood boiled. It was a video of Sophie cheating! And the man she was with was none other than Mandy’s boss, Henderson! Then, the investigator closed that file and opened another video. It was another clip of Sophie being unfaithful. But when I saw the man in this video, my jaw dropped. It was Sophie’s actual boss, Chris. Sophie was sleeping with more than one man!

The private investigator’s explanation finally put all the pieces of the puzzle together. As it turned out, Sophie’s first affair was with her direct supervisor, Chris. Chris and Henderson, the CEO of Vanguard Group, were longtime buddies. During a private party, Henderson laid his eyes on Sophie and wanted her. Chris was incredibly “generous.” He literally packaged Sophie up and gifted her to Henderson like a piece of property. And just like that, Sophie naturally became Henderson’s plaything. Chris was still somewhat normal—he only wanted his female employees to sleep with him occasionally. But Henderson was a controlling freak, a complete psychopath. Once he slept with a woman, he absolutely forbade anyone else from touching her, not even her legal husband. He even hired a private medical team. Every day, he would gather his twenty-four female employees and have the medical team examine them one by one. If any woman was found to have had intercourse the night before, she would face brutal punishments. And these women didn’t dare to fight back. In fact, they tried their best to please him. Not only because Henderson held serious dirt on them, but also because once they made him happy, the financial rewards he gave them were beyond imagination. These secrets were kept tightly under wraps. I only found out because I used every connection and dollar I had to dig up the truth. Knowing all of this made me want to vomit. I couldn’t believe there were people this sick and twisted in the world. To satisfy his own sick desires, Henderson was playing with twenty-four women. That meant twenty-four families were being torn apart by this monster. And I was one of his victims! I’ve always been a decisive man. The moment I got the evidence, I drafted a divorce agreement. Infidelity once means you’re out forever. I refused to let this green hat stay on my head for another second. When I threw the divorce papers in front of Sophie, she panicked for a second, but she quickly regained her composure and said coldly: “Well, Leo. It seems you found out.” I glared at her with pure hatred. “Don’t you dare call my name, Sophie!” “Selling your body and soul for a bit of cash, willing to be a plaything, being traded around like a piece of meat!” “I don’t have a shameless whore for a wife!” “Sign these papers right now. We are done!” Sophie didn’t even look at the papers. She grabbed them, tore them to shreds, and shook her head. “Divorce? Henderson said I’m not allowed to.” Hearing this, I lost my mind. “He said you’re not allowed to? Who the hell is he to decide?!” Sophie said righteously, “Because Henderson likes married women. He hates divorcees.” “To keep him happy, I am absolutely not divorcing you.” I pointed a shaking finger at her, my teeth grinding. “Look at yourself! How are you any different from a dog? You’ve completely thrown away your dignity for money!” Sophie let out a mocking laugh. “Dignity? How much is dignity worth? Can it buy me dinner?” “Leo, I know this is hard for you to swallow.” “But we can make a deal. As long as you don’t divorce me, I’ll give you one-third of all the money I get from Henderson.” “If I remember correctly, you have a thirty-year mortgage on this house, right?” “If you cooperate with me, we can pay off your entire mortgage in less than two years. What do you think?” Her words hit me like a physical blow. To marry Sophie, I had taken out a massive loan to buy this house. After the down payment, I was saddled with a thirty-year mortgage. My monthly salary was barely enough, and sometimes my income was unstable. Every month, after paying the mortgage and bills, I could barely breathe from the financial stress. And now, the crushing thirty-year mortgage could be paid off in just two years… if I just tolerated my wife’s affair? On one hand was my pride as a man; on the other hand was the brutal reality of life. I fell into a deep, painful struggle.

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Lately, after my late-night video chats with my online boyfriend, his demands had been escalating, his kinks twisting into something darker and increasingly bizarre. I was just starting to worry about the toll it was taking on him when a strange, translucent text began scrolling across my field of vision like a live-feed comment section. [LMAO, the tragic side-bitch is so ugly and clueless. She has no idea she’s dealing with triplets! All three of them are sharing one account and using her as their personal Pornhub~] [It’s her own fault for stealing the heroine’s photos to date the male lead. Kellan’s a proud guy. When he figured out the truth, he decided to play along and let his two virgin older brothers use her to practice their bedroom skills!] [Hahaha, this is a top-tier reverse-harem dark college romance. All three Carmichael brothers are campus gods. Six-foot-two, eight inches, and can go all night. The heroine is going to feast later on! It’s just a shame this cheap knock-off gets to enjoy them first :(] [Who cares? Once Kellan leaks her explicit videos online, the cyberbullying will push her to jump off a building. So satisfying~] Ah. So that was it. The thing is, I never stole anyone’s photos to date online. But I had no desire to explain myself. If they wanted to play me, they couldn’t blame me when I decided to treat them like dogs and play them right back. I made the first move by tracking down the middle brother, Hudson—the one who fronted as innocent but harbored the darkest, most voracious appetite of them all. Looking into his clean, detached eyes, I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist, tilted my head back, and offered him a blinding smile. “Take me to bed tonight. Okay?” 01 The moment the words left my mouth, Hudson recoiled as if a lunatic had just latched onto him. He grabbed my arms, shoving me back. But then his eyes focused on my face. He froze. The look in his eyes morphed from repulsion into utter, mesmerized shock. The floating text in my vision went wild. [WHAT THE FUCK! Nobody mentioned the side character was this gorgeous!] [If I’m reading this right, it’s not that the side character stole the heroine’s pics. The heroine stole HER pics to catfish the male lead!] [Oh, calm down, what’s the big deal? Kellan loves the heroine for her inner beauty, not just a face.] [Exactly. The side chick is so stupid, she hasn’t even realized this isn’t Kellan, it’s his brother Hudson.] … It was only today, reading these surreal, floating comments, that I finally understood the reality of my existence. I was living inside a steamy BookTok sensation. I was the impoverished, disposable collateral damage. The heroine was my trust-fund roommate, Camille. The male lead was Kellan Carmichael, the scion of a top-tier billionaire dynasty. The supporting male leads were his older brothers: Declan, the eldest, and Hudson, the middle child. Kellan and I met through an online game. He fell hard, spending the last three years absolutely spoiling me, funding my life from afar. That was, until things got spicy, and I refused to show my face on camera. Camille, who had her sights set on Kellan, saw an opportunity. She used an AI deepfake of my face to video-chat him. Kellan, assuming I was the fraud who had stolen Camille’s photos, decided to punish me. He handed over the login to his brothers, letting them take turns using me as a digital plaything. Eventually, when the truth came out, the Carmichael brothers would decide that my poverty made me a gold-digger, inherently cheap and undeserving, while Camille remained pure, elegant, and high-class. To wash their hands of me and appease Camille, they would leak my private videos. The resulting cyberbullying would drive me off the roof of a building. These filthy, entitled men. When they wanted to get off, they’d give their lives for my body. But once they were satisfied, they wanted me dead. So, while they were still inexperienced, arrogant virgins, I was going to sleep with all of them. I was going to make them tear each other apart. And then, I was going to walk away without looking back. I blinked up at Hudson, batting my eyelashes. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do you not recognize me?” Hudson snapped out of his trance. His voice was a magnetic, crisp baritone. “I recognize you.” “You’re Camille.” I shook my head, my smile widening. “Nope.” “I’m Faye.” Confusion and shock warred on his handsome features. Without breaking eye contact, I pulled out my phone and dialed Kellan’s number via FaceTime. A second later, the phone in Hudson’s pocket began to buzz. He looked down, then brought his gaze back to me, disbelief written in every line of his face. “You… you’re really Sweet Cream?” Sweet Cream was my online handle. I grinned at him. “Yeah.” “Didn’t you say you missed me?” “Well, here I am. I came all this way so we can do all those dirty things we talked about.” Hudson swallowed hard. His pale, aristocratic face flushed so deeply it looked like it might bleed. “This… this isn’t right.” “…It’s too fast.” A strange thrill fluttered in my chest. He was even more repressed and bashful than I had observed. Yet, according to the script, he was the one with the most insatiable libido. I kept my tone light, teasing. “We’ve been dating online for three years. I wouldn’t call this fast.” “Besides, I’ve helped you out on video so many times.” I paused, letting my smile slip just a fraction. “Or… are you disappointed with how I look in person?” Hudson opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. The text scrolled by: [Hudson is obsessed with her body, but he knows she belongs to his precious baby brother. Kellan misunderstood her, and Hudson knows he’s just an imposter. He can’t sleep with her.] Oh. Now we care about brotherly love and moral boundaries? Where was that morality when you were conspiring to humiliate me? I reached up, hooked my arms around Hudson’s neck, and pulled his mouth down to mine. 02 The second our lips met, Hudson’s eyes flew wide open. His breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that vibrated against my mouth. But his heartbeat was deafening. And his physical reaction was undeniable. The moment my body pressed flush against his, the hard evidence of his arousal pressed back… making me even more excited. I kissed him with reckless abandon. But after a moment, Hudson awkwardly pushed me away, stumbling two steps backward. His voice was raspy, frantic. “Sweet Cream, don’t do this.” I let my lower lip tremble. I looked at him, forcing tears to well up in my eyes until they were rimmed with red. “Kellan… you don’t actually like me, do you? All those times you said you loved me online, you were just lying.” “No!” Hudson denied instantly. “Then why are you pushing me away?” I choked out, a perfect picture of heartbreak. “I’m offering myself to you.” Hudson just stared at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing silently. I lowered my eyes. I let my voice crack. “I get it.” “You think I’m poor. You think I’m not good enough for you.” “But it’s not like you just found out about my background.” “You’re a liar.” “We’re done. Let’s break up.” “I’m blocking you, and you’ll never hear from me again.” I pulled up his profile on my phone, my thumb hovering over the Delete Contact button. Suddenly, Hudson lunged forward and clamped his hand over my wrist. I looked up. Two perfect, crystalline tears slid slowly down my flushed cheeks. Hudson’s eyelashes fluttered. For a long, suspended moment, we just looked at each other in the heavy silence. Then, as if a dam had burst within him, his hot palm cupped the back of my neck, and he crashed his mouth down on mine with the force of a hurricane. It was like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t breathe enough of me in. He scooped me up into his arms, kissing me blindly as he carried me toward Kellan’s bedroom. My pleated skirt, the crisp white button-down, the black lace… they formed a trail from the doorway to the edge of the bed. The room filled with the heavy, tangled sounds of our breathing. The comment section was losing its mind: [AHHH! Wasn’t Hudson supposed to save himself for the heroine? Why is he giving it to the side chick?] [It’s all this bitch’s fault for threatening to break up! Hudson is just trying to save his brother’s relationship, so he has to commit to the bit!] [NGL, healthy relationships are great, but toxic, forbidden lust is so much hotter!] [LMAO I know right?! The taboo vibes are insane! Hudson’s V-line and that stamina are making me weak in the knees!] I hissed in a sharp breath, a physiological tear leaking from the corner of my eye. Hudson froze instantly. He looked down, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you’re a virgin?” I gave a shy, breathless “Mhm.” The hands gripping my waist tightened possessively. Kellan had sworn that Sweet Cream was a cheap cam-girl who would sleep with anyone for cash, that she was used goods. But her eyes, her reactions, her very body told him the absolute truth: she was untouched. She was clean. She was worthy of being loved. A wave of intense guilt washed over Hudson. But when he remembered that his idiot brother Kellan had gone out to find Camille tonight, that guilt rapidly morphed into a twisted sense of relief. Thank god Kellan had gone to Camille. Thank god this perfect, sweet girl was his now. Hudson tenderly kissed the tear from the corner of my eye. His voice was a dark, gravelly murmur, thick with adoration. “Baby, I’m going to take such good care of you.” I sneered internally. Yeah, right. Once I had my fun with all three of them, they’d be nothing but a bad memory. But on the outside, I played the part of the profoundly moved lover. “I’ll take good care of you, too.” I initiated the next kiss. And the man—who had always been slave to his own repressed desires—kissed me back harder, faster, more desperate than before. I lost track of how many times we went at it. Until, suddenly, the bedroom door swung open. Hudson and I, along with the figure standing in the doorway, all froze. In the dead, suffocating silence, I peeked over Hudson’s shoulder. It was a tall, imposing man. But before I could even make out his features, Hudson snapped back to reality and yanked the heavy duvet completely over my head. Plunged into darkness, I felt him slip out of the bed. He leaned close to the blanket, whispering frantically. “I have to step out.” “Stay in bed. Don’t come out.” “Wait for me to come back for you.” 03 Hudson shut the door tightly behind him. But thanks to the floating comments, I had a front-row seat to the drama unfolding in the living room. Out there, Declan was staring at the red scratch marks raked down Hudson’s arms. His eyes were dark, his voice low and dangerous. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “Bringing some girl back to fool around in Kellan’s bed.” Hudson didn’t flinch. His tone was eerily calm. “That girl is Sweet Cream. She thinks I’m Kellan.” Declan stiffened. Then a harsh, mocking laugh escaped him. “You really are pathetic.” “A girl who’s been around the block with god knows how many guys, and you’re treating her like some delicacy?” Hudson’s expression turned ice-cold. “She was a virgin. She’s completely pure.” “And she never lied to Kellan. She looks exactly like her photos. Camille was the one who stole her face and manipulated him.” Declan was stunned into silence. It took him a long time to find his voice. “Then you definitely shouldn’t have touched her.” “You know how obsessed Kellan is with her.” Meeting his older brother’s disappointed glare, Hudson didn’t back down. “I’m obsessed with her, too.” “Besides, Kellan is basically with Camille now.” “I need you to cover for me. Don’t tell Kellan, and don’t tell Sweet Cream. Let me keep being Kellan to her.” “I don’t want to break her heart. When the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her myself.” Declan’s face was stormy. “I’m not helping you with this sick game.” Hudson stared at him for a long beat. “…Is it because you want her for yourself?” Declan looked as if he’d been slapped. He swore under his breath. “I’m not as depraved as you. I wouldn’t touch my own brother’s girlfriend.” A cruel, knowing smile touched Hudson’s lips. “Really? Because you certainly didn’t mind jerking off to her videos.” Declan choked on his next words. It was true. He had only let me “help” him out once on video. But once was still a fact. Hudson’s voice hardened into steel. “I’m not logging into Kellan’s account for you tomorrow.” “She’s mine. I’m going to marry her.” “Neither of you gets to take her from me.” Declan let out a cold scoff, his gaze sharpening into blades. “Did you forget she is currently Kellan’s girlfriend?” “You’re not even the other man, you’re just a cheap knock-off, and you’re planning a wedding?” “You need to get her out of here right now, and put Kellan’s room back exactly the way you found it.” “Unless you want Kellan coming at you with a knife when he finds out!” Declan was immovable. But Hudson refused to yield. “Kellan went to see Camille. He won’t be back for days.” “As long as you keep your mouth shut, no one has to get hurt.” Declan opened his mouth to argue, but Hudson cut him off. “I took her virginity. Are you telling me I should act like some deadbeat and not take responsibility?” Declan aggressively rubbed his temples, utterly exasperated by his useless brother. He tried to find a compromise. “I can keep quiet for now.” “But if Kellan decides it’s her he really wants, you have to back off.” “Why?” “Because he’s the youngest. As his older brother, it’s your job to step aside for him.” Hudson let out a soft, hollow laugh. “I’m your younger brother, too. Why don’t you ever step aside for me?” “Why do you always trample over my feelings and force me to do things I hate?” Declan’s lips parted, but whatever argument he had died on his tongue, weighed down by guilt. Hudson threw a final, “Remember to call me Kellan in front of her,” over his shoulder before coming back into the room. But the mood was broken. He just climbed into bed and held me silently against his chest. Which was fine by me. My body was aching from the sheer intensity of what we’d just done. I needed the rest. The comments, however, were absolutely seething. 04 [This side character is a literal plague! Declan and Hudson have NEVER fought, and now they’re at each other’s throats over her!] [Hudson was already obsessed with her voice and body on screen. Now that he’s actually held her and tasted her, there’s no way in hell he’s letting go.] [I can’t wait to see who Declan sides with when Hudson and Kellan inevitably try to kill each other over her.] Who would he side with? Hahaha. I was going to make sure Declan was throwing punches right alongside them. With me in the picture, this “brotherly bond” was going to burn to the ground. The next morning. Alerted by the comments that Declan was up and working out, I slipped out of bed to find him. In the faint, hazy morning light, I found Declan on the balcony. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, holding a perfect plank. The lines of his shoulders were sharp and fluid. Veins popped along his forearms. His fiercely defined abs tightened and relaxed with every controlled exhale. It was like a silent, primal invitation. The raw testosterone rolling off him was intoxicating. I swallowed lightly. I finally understood the phrase: He was just breathing; I was seducing. I slid the glass door open. “Kellan?” I murmured. Declan stiffened. He immediately broke his form and stood up, looking down at me. I quietly took him in. Though the triplets shared the same face, their auras couldn’t be more different. Kellan was arrogant and spoiled. Hudson was repressed and elegant. Declan had a rugged, untamed danger to him. His voice was a block of ice. “I’m not Kellan. I’m Declan.” I let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Declan, Kellan, whatever… aren’t you just my boyfriend?” I stepped right into his space and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his warm, sweat-slicked chest. Damn. He felt like a brick wall. Declan frowned deeply and shoved me off. His tone dropped another ten degrees. “We are triplets. I am the oldest. My name is Declan.” I feigned utter embarrassment, letting my cheeks flush red. “Oh! Oh my god, Kellan never mentioned… um, I’ll just… go back to the room.” Glancing one last time at the faint pink smudge I had intentionally left on his chest, I jogged back to the bedroom, immensely satisfied. I hadn’t been under the covers for more than a few minutes before Hudson stirred. Seeing me awake, he hauled me flush against his chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck. He pressed a few groggy kisses to my skin before murmuring, his voice rough with sleep, “Baby, I want you again.” I widened my eyes in mock shock. “Didn’t you just have me out there? You’re still not satisfied?” Hudson froze. His sleepy eyes snapped into sharp, terrified focus.

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On senior portrait day, my boyfriend, Tayler, took over two hundred photos of Flora, the campus it-girl. He was the president of the university’s photography club, a master of finding the perfect angles, capturing the way the light fell. Flora stood beneath the golden oak trees, smiling softly. “Am I being too much of a pain?” Tayler didn’t look up from his viewfinder, his voice dripping with gentleness. “Never. You look beautiful in every frame.” When it was my turn, I nervously smoothed down my dress and stepped into the frame. But Tayler only clicked the shutter twice, barely looking. “Alright, we’re done.” I froze. “That’s it?” He frowned, a familiar flash of irritation crossing his face. “You’re just not photogenic, Iris. Let’s not waste everyone’s time.” I looked at the screen of his camera. There were exactly two shots of me. In one, my eyes were half-closed. In the other, a harsh shadow from the branches cut my face completely in half. I asked him to take a few more. Instead, he pulled out his phone and posted on the student forum: [$20 bounty for anyone willing to take a few quick graduation shots of my girlfriend.] Within thirty minutes, a user with a blank profile picture slid into my DMs. I sent over my location, typing out a quiet warning: “Just so you know, I don’t photograph well.” The reply came almost instantly: “That’s just because whoever took your photos didn’t know how to guide you.” When the shoot was over, he sent me the raw files. I stared at my phone, completely speechless. For the first time in my life, I realized I could actually look beautiful. What was even wilder? This twenty-dollar photographer seemed infinitely more professional than the president of the photography club. … The photographer sent over a few more raw files. No heavy edits, no filters. Just different angles of me. I was standing there, my eyes bright with a spark I didn’t even recognize. “Your features are great,” he texted. “You just tense up the second you see a lens.” Whenever Tayler used to shoot me, his go-to line was always: “Can you just smile naturally for once?” After three or four clicks, he would lower the camera with a heavy sigh. “Forget it.” Then he’d roll his eyes, blaming me. “You have zero camera presence.” He said it so often that I started believing it. Eventually, whenever a camera was pointed at me, my instinct was to look down, to hide, convinced I would look terrible. My phone buzzed. My roommate, Katie, had forwarded Flora’s latest post. A perfect nine-grid layout of graduation portraits, all taken by Tayler. Flora stood beneath the old oak trees, her hair caught in a flawless, cinematic breeze. “So incredibly lucky to have the photography club president as my personal shooter! ” The comments were already flooded: “These could literally be the university’s official catalog!” “Flora is the ultimate college sweetheart.” Flora had replied with a blushing emoji: “He’s seriously so good at directing! I was so nervous, but he kept making me laugh.” I zoomed in on her photos, a quiet, familiar ache settling in my chest. It wasn’t that Tayler didn’t know how to guide someone. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to make a girl feel comfortable. He just never cared to try with me. Just then, a notification popped up from the official university app: [Admissions Campaign: Search for the New Face of the University.] [Submit a headshot and a one-minute video introduction. The winner will be featured in next year’s national admissions campaign.] I instinctively swiped it away. That kind of spotlight was never meant for someone like me. Tayler had made sure I knew that. But then, a message from the twenty-dollar photographer lit up my screen: “Did you see the admissions post?” I blinked, surprised. “Yeah, I did.” “You should apply.” My fingers hovered over the keyboard. “I don’t think I’m the type.” He replied immediately: “Trust me. No one is more suited for this than you.” A few seconds later, another message came through: “They aren’t looking for a plastic pageant queen.” “They’re looking for someone real. Someone who makes people want to step onto that campus.” I stared at his words for a long time, unable to move. Then, he sent over a structured shoot schedule: Three days of practice with camera presence, three days of shooting on-campus locations, and three days of editing the final one-minute video. A sudden wave of emotion hit me, making my throat tight. The truth was, I used to love photos. But over the four years I’d spent with Tayler, I had slowly learned to fear the camera. The next morning, the moment I walked into the photography club room, Tayler spotted my printout of the application form. He frowned. “Iris, are you seriously entering this?” I nodded. “Yes.” He let out a scoff, as if I’d just told a hilarious joke. “The face of the university? Come on. Don’t do this just because you’re throwing a tantrum over the graduation photos.” Flora was sitting beside him, offering a sweet, pitying smile. “Iris, honestly, working behind the scenes is wonderful too. Being the public face of the school comes with so much pressure. If the photos don’t turn out perfect, people online can be brutal.” In the past, those words would have made me shrink instantly. But this time, I simply folded the form and tucked it into my bag. “Whether I’m good enough is for the committee to decide,” I said quietly. “You don’t need to disqualify me in advance.” Tayler’s face darkened. “Why are you being so stubborn?” My phone buzzed. It was the photographer: “4:00 PM. West entrance of the library.” “We’ll do our first shoot.” “No need to overthink it. Just show up as you are.” I looked down at the screen, took a soft breath, and looked up at Tayler. “I have a photographer.” Tayler’s jaw tightened. “Without me, you won’t even have a single photo worth showing.” I ignored him and walked out. At four o’clock, I stood at the west entrance of the library. For years, when Tayler took photos, I was the helper in the shadows. When he shot Flora, I was the one carrying his heavy lenses, holding the reflector, passing him water bottles, and watching their bags. If Flora’s dress was slightly out of place, I was the one who rushed over to smooth it down. Afterward, Tayler would have me import and organize the files. But when it came to me, he wouldn’t even bother adjusting his camera settings. Today, for the first time, I didn’t have to stand outside the frame. The photographer didn’t rush to lift his camera. He just had me stand near the stone steps. “Relax your shoulders,” he said. “Forget about the lens.” “Pretend it isn’t there. Look at the wind, look at the trees, look at whatever catches your eye.” I looked up, my body still stiff. He met my eyes. “Iris. The camera isn’t Tayler. It’s not going to criticize you.” A sudden sting hit the back of my throat. My eyes welled up, and I quickly looked up to blink away the tears. He didn’t rush me. He just waited, letting me find my footing in the quiet space. We shot for half an hour. He didn’t talk much, but his directions were clear and reassuring. “Don’t clench your dress.” “Look at that maple tree on the left.” “Now, look back at me.” “Perfect. Keep that expression.” For the first time, I realized that taking photos could actually feel effortless. The next morning, Tayler messaged me in the club group chat. “Need you to hold the reflector this afternoon. Flora is shooting her admissions portfolio.” Normally, I would have agreed without a second thought. But this time, I replied: “I’m shooting my own photos this afternoon.” The group chat went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, Tayler private-messaged me. “Are you seriously taking that twenty-dollar Craigslist guy seriously?” “Flora’s portfolio is the club’s priority right now. Don’t hold back actual work.” I stared at the words “actual work.” I wanted to laugh. To him, “actual work” meant Flora. My graduation portraits, my dreams, my attempt at finding my courage—none of it was real work. That afternoon, I went to the science building for my video shoot. Passing the track field, I saw Tayler shooting Flora. She stood in the center of the grassy field, bathed in gorgeous afternoon light. Tayler was kneeling, constantly shifting his angles. “Take your time. Turn your head when the breeze hits.” “If you can’t smile, just look at me.” “Beautiful. Let’s do one more.” Flora laughed. “Am I being super high-maintenance?” Tayler’s voice was incredibly gentle. “Not at all. You have amazing camera presence.” I stood by the edge of the track, my hands slowly tightening into fists. So he did know how to soothe someone. He did know how to make a girl feel safe in front of a lens. It was just that the girl was never me. My photographer noticed my expression, but he didn’t pry. Instead, he held the camera out toward me. “Today, we’re doing motion,” he said. “Just walk, look at the camera, and tell me why you love this university.” I looked down. “I don’t know what to say.” “Then just pretend you’re talking to me.” I thought about it for a long moment before looking up at the lens. “Because the people here always seem to be running forward,” I said softly. “It makes me feel like, as long as you don’t give up, even the most ordinary person can find their own strength.” He didn’t interrupt. When we finished, he showed me the playback. In the video, I wasn’t as sweet or practiced as Flora. But I was real. That evening, students in the admissions group chat started sharing their raw materials for feedback. My photographer had helped me pick a candid shot of me near the library’s side entrance. Almost immediately after I posted it, a comment popped up: “Is that Iris?” “Wow, there’s so much emotion in this shot.” I held my phone, a tiny, warm spark blooming in my chest. But Tayler was quick to dampen it. “It’s just an atmospheric shot,” he texted. “Tricking the eye with lighting and composition.” “Admissions needs a well-rounded representative, not a glamor shoot.” Flora chimed in right after: “Exactly. Video is so much harder than photos. Motion easily exposes your angles and expressions.” I stared at their messages. My chest tightened slightly, but I didn’t feel the usual panic. I didn’t feel the desperate urge to explain or prove myself to them. I only typed: “I’ll keep practicing.” That night, my photographer sent over a new plan. “Tomorrow, we shoot by the graduation wall.” “Don’t be afraid.” “Just be yourself.” By the deadline, I submitted my video. I had watched the one-minute clip at least fifty times. It opened at the west entrance of the library. I was walking up the steps holding a stack of books, turning back to catch the lens. The middle featured the track field, the labs, and the graduation wall. The final shot was me standing by the main gate, saying: “I hope that when you come here, you’ll slowly find yourself too.” My fingers were shaking when I clicked submit. My photographer texted me: “You did amazing.” “Now, get some sleep.” But sleep wouldn’t come. I had spent years hiding behind others. For the first time, I had put myself on display. Three days later, the preliminary list was released on the Admissions Office’s social media page. First Place: Iris Wen. Second Place: Flora Lin. I stared at the screen, paralyzed. My roommate Katie screamed, throwing her arms around me. “Iris! You’re first!” “You actually got first!” Before I could even process the joy, the photography club group chat erupted. “Iris is first?” “Flora is second?” “Tayler’s shoot actually lost?” Tayler remained silent. Until someone tagged him: “President, what do you think?” He finally replied: “I’m sure the administration will verify the authenticity of the materials.” In that instant, my heart sank. He didn’t congratulate me. He didn’t ask how I had managed to pull it off. His immediate reaction was that it had to be fake. Flora private-messaged me soon after. “Iris, you’re so amazing! But is your photographer a professional?” “To get quality like that for twenty dollars… it doesn’t really feel like a regular student did it.” Naturally, someone screenshotted her message and leaked it to the group chat. The tide turned instantly. “Yeah, that quality is definitely not twenty dollars.” “Did she hire a professional agency to boost her?” “Is it heavily photoshopped?” “Aren’t admissions ambassadors supposed to represent real students?” “Does her photographer have connections in the admissions office?” Before long, a thread appeared on the student forum: [Admissions preliminary results controversy: Did a certain female student hire an agency to fake her portfolio?] [Is it realistic for a twenty-dollar photographer to produce a campaign-level video?] The comments grew vicious. “Wasn’t she famous for being completely unphotogenic?” “Suddenly she looks like an indie film star? Who’s buying that?” “She must be desperate for attention.” I stared at the screen, my fingers turning cold. Tayler’s text popped up: “Who is this photographer, really?” “Did he bring in a professional team for you?” “Iris, the admissions campaign isn’t a private photoshoot. Don’t use the university’s image to feed your vanity.” I stared at his words for a long time before replying: “You think I cheated too?” He shot back instantly: “You know better than anyone how unphotogenic you used to be.” The words stung like a needle to the chest. Even when I succeeded, even when I looked beautiful, he refused to believe it was really me. To him, I was a lie. That afternoon, I got a call from the admissions office. “Iris Wen? Please come down to the administration building.” “A student filed a formal complaint alleging your submission was produced by a commercial team, heavily edited, and benefited from unfair resources.” “We need to verify the authenticity of your files.” I stood in the hallway of my dorm, my mind going blank. My phone buzzed. My photographer had sent a message: “Deep breath.” “Don’t be scared.” “You didn’t suddenly become beautiful.” “You were just finally photographed the way you deserved.” Staring at his words, the warmth slowly returned to my fingers. But then Tayler sent another text: “I’ll go with you.” “I can testify to how you usually perform in front of a camera.” I held my phone tightly as I walked toward the administration building. The forum was still blowing up. “She actually went in for questioning?” “So it’s true?” “An admissions ambassador represents the school’s integrity. Cheating is a joke.” “I bet she has a thing going on with that photographer.” My steps faltered. Those words were worse than being called ugly. They weren’t just questioning my photos; they were dragging my character through the mud. Inside the office, the admissions director, a marketing coordinator, and the dean of student affairs were waiting. On the desk lay printed screenshots of the forum posts and stills from my video. The director looked at me with a grave expression. “Iris, a student has filed a formal report claiming your submission was the work of a commercial agency.” “There are also allegations of improper relationship and resource trading with your photographer.” “This campaign represents the integrity of our university. We must take this seriously.” The word “integrity” felt like a physical blow. I handed my phone over. “I didn’t hire an agency.” “It isn’t heavily edited.” “The photographer is someone Tayler hired off the student forum.” “For twenty dollars.” The director reviewed the chat logs and the transaction receipt, but his brow remained furrowed. “But looking at your past student records and club photos, the difference in camera presence is indeed stark. We need an explanation.” Just then, Tayler knocked and entered. The director looked at him. “Tayler, you’re the head of the photography club. Are you familiar with Iris’s past camera performance?” I looked at him. In that split second, a tiny, foolish shred of hope flickered in my chest. He knew he was the one who posted the forum ad. He knew my terrible graduation photos were the result of his own careless clicks. Tayler hesitated. “She’s… not unattractive.” My chest loosened slightly. Then he continued: “But she was always incredibly stiff in front of a camera.” “I’m not saying she cheated.” “But the level of this portfolio… it doesn’t look like the work of a twenty-dollar amateur.” The office fell silent. He hadn’t outright accused me of lying, but he had neatly validated every doubt. I stared at him. “Tayler. You know exactly who posted that ad.” “You’re the one who told me I was unphotogenic and threw twenty dollars at a stranger to get rid of me.” “And now that someone else took the time to do it right, you think it’s fake.” “You don’t doubt the photographer.” “You just can’t stand the fact that I look beautiful in a photo that you didn’t take.” Tayler’s face froze. The door creaked open. Flora was standing there, her eyes rimmed with red. “Director, may I say something?” she whispered. “I don’t doubt Iris at all. I just… I know how much she used to hate the camera.” “I’m just worried that someone took advantage of her desire to prove herself and over-packaged her…” She trailed off, leaving the unspoken accusation hanging in the air. My hands and feet went cold. The director sighed. “Iris, until we clarify this, your preliminary ranking will be suspended.” “Please provide the raw files, behind-the-scenes footage, and the photographer’s contact details.” I walked out of the office. A crowd of students had gathered in the hallway. “Suspended? That basically means she’s guilty, right?” “It’s just a school campaign, why go to such lengths?” As I reached the stairs, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Iris, why did the university just call us?” “It’s just a picture, don’t let this ruin your graduation.” “Mom, I didn’t lie,” I whispered. A beat of silence on the other end. Then my father’s voice cut in: “If you didn’t lie, why is the school investigating you?” My fingers were completely numb as I hung up. Tayler caught up to me. “The best thing you can do right now is blame the photographer,” he said quickly. “Say you didn’t know he brought in an outside team. The school will go easy on you.” I looked at him, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. “Now you’re worried about me?” “But Tayler, wasn’t he the twenty-dollar photographer “you” found?” Tayler went rigid. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from the photographer: “I’m downstairs at the admin building.” “Iris, don’t worry.” “I’ll clear this up.”

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My buddy knew how hopelessly in love I was with Serena Cross. He spent an entire week cornering her around campus, badgering her until she finally gave him her number so he could pass it to me. To show my gratitude for helping me make that first terrifying leap, I emptied my entire savings account to buy him a designer watch. Immediately after, I began agonizing over what to text Serena. During the day, I’d send her little snapshots of my life; at night, we’d stay up late, whispering our deepest secrets through blue text bubbles. Within a year, we had become inseparable, sharing a connection that felt deeper than anything I’d ever known. Finally, I gathered every ounce of courage I had and sent her a text: [The weather’s supposed to be nice tomorrow. Want to get coffee?] Serena replied almost instantly: [Babe, we literally just said goodbye?] While I sat there staring at my phone, completely baffled, my buddy pushed open our dorm room door. He was holding a gift box, looking sheepish and red-faced. “Hey, Jude,” he said, sounding terribly apologetic. “So, when I got her number last year… I think I forgot to mention it was for you. She’s been under the impression that the person texting her this whole time was… well, me.” 1 The entire dorm room went dead silent. The only sound was the sharp, repeated chime of my phone vibrating against the desk. Serena’s messages were flooding in, one after another: [Did I scare you by confessing so suddenly?] [Actually, I’ve been building up to this for a long time.] [This past year of texting you… I could feel how sweet and genuine you are.] [At first, I thought I just saw you as a close friend. But then, whenever I didn’t hear from you, my chest would ache. That’s when I knew. I’ve fallen for you.] [I’m sorry to spring this on you out of nowhere and just confess like this—] But before the next sentence could load, every single one of those messages vanished. [Message unsent.] [Message unsent.] “I’m so sorry, Jude,” Zachary said, offering a soft, sympathetic smile. He set the gift box on his desk and pulled out a sleek velvet case. He opened it, admired the designer tie clip inside, and kept it. Then, he tossed the matching cufflinks over to me. “I actually just said yes to Serena. She asked me out. So, obviously, I can’t let her keep texting you anymore.” He knelt beside my chair, resting his chin on his hands as he looked up at me with bright, innocent eyes. “I gave her my actual number and told her my old account got hacked. So…” A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. A sickening, impossible realization began to take shape in my mind. With trembling fingers, I opened our chat, typed a single question mark, and hit send. A second later, a harsh red error circle flared onto the screen. [Message failed to deliver.] My heart dropped into a bottomless, icy pit. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Just like that, Serena had erased me. We had literally stayed up talking until four in the morning. Seeing me frozen, Zachary shoved the silver cufflinks into my palm and chuckled. “Oh, come on. Honestly, if she hadn’t thought she was talking to me from the start, she probably wouldn’t have even given you the time of day. You know how cold and untouchable Serena is. Half the guys on campus have tried and failed. Just think of these cufflinks as a little—” “Zachary,” I interrupted, my voice flat and hollow. I turned my head away, unable to bear the sight of him. “We’re not friends anymore. Don’t call me your brother.” Before he could say anything, I pushed past him, climbed up to my bunk bed, and drew the curtains shut, clinging to the last shred of my dignity. Huddled in the dark, I scrolled back through a year’s worth of messages with Serena. At the beginning, the screen had been a wall of my blue bubbles, with her replying in polite, brief sentences. But slowly, her tone had shifted. If I went silent for a few hours, she’d send a tentative [Hey, you there?] For the past three months, our roles had completely reversed. She was the one who was constantly reaching out, eager to share every mundane detail of her day. I had been so full of hope. My heart had felt light, buoyed by the belief that all my quiet courage hadn’t been in vain. But now, it was all shattered. I buried my face in my pillow and cried until sleep finally claimed me. The next morning, someone yelled from the doorway. “Jude! There’s a really gorgeous girl downstairs looking for you. She said her name is Serena.” 2 My eyes snapped open, every trace of sleep instantly vanishing. I glanced over at Zachary’s empty mattress, threw off my blankets, and scrambled out of bed. Part of me wanted to run to the mirror and make myself presentable, but the panic of keeping her waiting won out. I grabbed a black face mask, threw on a heavy winter coat to hide my rumpled clothes, and hurried down the stairs. During that brief descent, a dozen desperate hopes raced through my mind. Maybe she had realized that Zachary’s personality didn’t match the texts at all. Maybe she had figured out the truth, and she was here to apologize… “Jude.” A cool, beautiful voice called out. I tried to steady my breathing, keeping my eyes downcast. I looked at the silver bracelet on her wrist—the one we had spent three hours choosing together over text. I gave a quiet, muffled, “Yeah?” “What is it that you want?” Serena asked. I jerked my head up, staring at her through my glasses. Serena was completely expressionless, her gaze distant and cold. “Zachary was crying last night. Because of you. I don’t know when you first noticed me, or when you decided you had a crush on me—” She took a slow, deep breath, her brow furrowed in a tight line of irritation. She looked at me with a cold, impatient disdain she’d never once shown in her messages. “But let me make one thing entirely clear: Zachary is my boyfriend. That is my choice, and it isn’t going to change. Not now, not ever. So I don’t want you taking your frustrations out on him. Do you understand?” Tears stung the backs of my eyes, blurring her cold silhouette. I dug my fingernails into my palms and forced the words past the lump in my throat. “The person you talked to every night… that was me, Serena. It was always me.” A harsh, mocking laugh cut through the cold morning air. “Zachary warned me about you. He said you were desperate enough to try this. He said you’d lie and claim his words as your own just to get to me.” Serena’s gaze turned to pure disgust, sharp and unyielding. “So let me tell you this, Jude: even if it [had[ been you behind those messages, I still wouldn’t want you. I want Zachary.” The words felt like a physical blow. I stood there, feeling incredibly small, and let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. I reached down, unclasped the matching silver bracelet from my own wrist, and let it slip through my fingers. It hit the pavement with a dull, hollow clink. As I turned my back on her, I heard her voice soften with a sudden, tense hesitation. “Jude—” 3 Like a fool, I stopped. I couldn’t help it. I had spent two years secretly admiring her from afar, and an entire year pouring my heart out to her through a screen. You don’t just switch that off. I told myself that if she asked, if she showed even a shred of doubt, I would pull out my phone and show her every single message. “Jude?” Serena’s tone turned gentle, almost coaxing. She stepped closer behind me and whispered, “Zachary’s ulcer is flaring up again. I bought him some medicine, but I forgot to give it to the guy who came down earlier. Could you take it up to him?” “Sure,” I said. I grabbed the white paper bag from her hand and walked back toward the dorm entrance without looking back. The very last ember of warmth in my chest went cold. Maybe Zachary had been right all along. If it hadn’t been for his face, Serena never would have spared me a single glance. 4 I tossed the medicine onto Zachary’s unmade bed. A few minutes later, the door swung open, and Zachary walked in, flanked by a couple of guys from down the hall. “Hey, Jude,” Zachary said, his voice bright. “My girl is treating us all to dinner tomorrow night. You should come with.” I kept my back to him, staring blankly at my desk. “I’m good.” Behind me, one of the guys let out a quiet, mocking snicker. “Told you so, Zachary. He’s still crying over Serena. As if she’d ever look at him. If you hadn’t cornered her to get her number, a guy like him would be completely invisible to her.” “Hey, cut it out,” Zachary scolded gently, though there was a smug undercurrent to his voice. He walked over to my desk, leaning in. “Jude’s not like that. He just needs a little time to process everything. Right, buddy?” He blinked his wide, watery eyes, adopting that familiar, wounded-puppy look he always used when he wanted something. “Look, after my ex broke my heart, Serena just fell into my life. It feels like fate, Jude. You’re my best friend. I just really want your blessing.” As he gestured, his sleeve slipped back, exposing the jagged, pale scar on his forearm. The scar he’d gotten three years ago when he pulled me out of the way of a falling metal rack at a university exhibition. My chest tightened. The guilt, heavy and familiar, washed over me. I looked away, swallowing the bitterness. “Fine,” I muttered. 5 I spent the next twenty-four hours forcing myself to swallow the bitter pill of reality. By the time evening rolled around, I splashed some cold water on my face, didn’t bother styling my hair, and headed out to the restaurant. When I walked into the private dining room, Zachary and the other guys were still in the restroom. Serena was sitting alone at the large round table. She looked up, her gaze scanning my plain t-shirt and tired face. She gave a curt nod, then defensively pulled her hands off the table, leaning back into her chair as if to establish a boundary. My heart gave a painful twitch. Sitting across from her cold, guarded form, my mind flashed back to the warmth of her texts: [I think I found that stray cat you were feeding yesterday. Is this him?] [Thank you for listening to me vent tonight. Are you ever going to tell me your name?] [Don’t cry over people who don’t deserve you. They only target you because you’re too kind.] The door opened, and Zachary returned, surrounded by his laughing entourage. The moment his eyes landed on me, his smile stiffened, a flicker of panic crossing his features. “Jude! Hey, man… I didn’t know you were already here. You should’ve texted, I would’ve met you at the lobby…” Serena reached over, wrapping her fingers gently around his. “He’s a grown man, Zachary,” she said, her voice softening into an affectionate coo. “He doesn’t need an escort. You need to focus on your own health.” She reached into her bag and placed a sage-green thermos in front of him. “Here. Warm water, just like you like.” Amid the appreciative teasing of the other guys, Zachary took the thermos. A brief flash of confusion crossed his face before he smiled. “Is this green one yours?” Then, he picked up a slice of fresh pineapple from the fruit platter with his fork and held it up to her lips. “Serena, you’re seriously the best.” Serena didn’t open her mouth. She just stared at the yellow fruit. Zachary’s smile faltered, looking slightly embarrassed as he nudged the fork closer to her lips. “Come on, take a bite.” She’s deathly allergic to pineapple.[ The warning practically leaped to the tip of my tongue, but I forced myself to choke it down. I watched as Serena’s eyes went dark for a fraction of a second. But then, she smoothed her expression, leaned forward, and ate the pineapple. She smiled warmly at him. “Thanks, babe.” 6 Serena watched Zachary as he went back to laughing and talking with his friends. She leaned back against her chair, her index finger tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the dark wood of the table. Her eyes were clouded and intense. I knew exactly what she was thinking. She was wondering why the boy who had allegedly spent three days texting her about the “perfect sage-green thermos” he’d bought for her would look at it and ask if it was hers. “Excuse me, I’m going to run to the restroom,” Serena said, standing up with a tight, polite smile. As she pulled her hand away, I caught a glimpse of what she was clutching in her palm: a blister pack of allergy medicine. Zachary paid her departure no mind. He turned to me, his voice dripping with magnanimity. “Jude, did you order anything yet? Seriously, don’t be shy. Serena wanted to treat everyone to thank you guys for looking out for me in the dorm.” I looked at the menu, feeling a dull ache in my stomach. “Whatever is fine.” “Alright,” Zachary said, turning to the waiter. “We’ll go with these. Oh, and make sure there’s absolutely no cilantro in any of the dishes. My buddy here gets physically sick if he eats it.” He looked around the table, wearing a proud, self-satisfied grin that practically screamed, [See what a thoughtful friend I am? 7 With Serena out of the room, Zachary leaned in and whispered to the guys, his chest puffed out. “We went out last night, and she kissed me. We were lying on the grass looking at the stars, and she just stared at me for the longest time before leaning in. She told me I’m perfect just the way I am, and that I need to be more confident…” Amid the low, excited jeers of the guys, Zachary reached into his pocket and pulled out the designer watch I had gifted him a year ago. He slid it across the table toward me. “I wanted to tell her the truth, Jude. I really did. But you saw how she looks at me… she’s in love with me. I can’t just hand her over. This is the watch you gave me to say thanks. I’m returning it. We’re even now.” The screech of my chair legs scraping against the hardwood floor cut through the room’s chatter. I couldn’t do this for another second. “I have to go,” I said, my voice thick. I practically bolted for the exit. In my haste, I didn’t see the door opening and collided straight into someone, burying my face into a soft, fragrant shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, a tear finally slipping down my cheek as I pushed past her and ran. 8 After that night, Zachary and Serena’s relationship became the talk of the campus. It seemed everyone knew that the untouchable Serena Cross had finally been tamed. Around Zachary, she was softer, sweeter than anyone had ever seen her. Zachary, entirely swept up in the thrill of his sudden romance, completely stopped trying to mend things with me. I threw myself into every extracurricular activity I could find, filling my schedule to the brim just to keep my mind from wandering back to those blue text bubbles. It worked, for the most part, until a warm evening a few weeks later. I was walking back to the dorm late when I noticed two figures arguing quietly in the shadow of the oak trees near the courtyard. “Babe, please stop being like this. How could you think I have feelings for Jude?” Serena sounded utterly exasperated. “I keep my distance from everyone. I don’t even have other guy friends. You—” “I just can’t stand the way he looks at you,” Zachary grumbled, pulling his arm away from her. “We share a room, Serena. Every time you come over to see me, he’s right there. Maybe… maybe I should just move out. We could get an apartment together.” “That’s not a good idea,” Serena said, her voice tightening with a subtle note of scrutiny. “For an entire year, you were too shy to even tell me your name over text. Why are you suddenly in such a rush to move in together?” She let out a slow, measured breath, her tone shifting to something more clinical. “I want us to do this right. We have our whole lives after graduation. We don’t need to rush this, do we?” The leaves rustled in the dry breeze. Then, Serena spoke again, her voice cool and calculated. “Actually, I have a friend who’s single. She’s gorgeous, though her temper is… a bit much. I wonder if we could set them up. I doubt a guy like Jude could ever catch her attention, but it would keep him occupied.” Zachary let out an awkward, nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a great idea. I’ll pitch it to him when I get back. He’ll probably be thrilled.” 9 With graduation looming, I had already signed a lease on a small apartment off-campus. To keep the peace and avoid any more awkward confrontations, I didn’t object when Zachary brought up the blind date. I just nodded and agreed. A couple of days later, Zachary was on a FaceTime call with Serena in our room. He grabbed my shoulder and yanked me in front of the screen. “See, Serena? I told him. Jude, seriously, her friend is a total knockout. She’s got a bit of a wild side—she actually got arrested once—but she’s harmless. Mostly.” On Serena’s end of the screen, a girl’s voice was ranting in the background, sharp and dripping with annoyance. “Are you kidding me, Serena? Why are you trying to set me up? Who said you could give out my number? I’ve said it a thousand times, I am not looking for a boyfriend! I would literally rather jump off a bridge than go on a—” The girl leaned into the frame to grab her phone, and our eyes met through the screen. She froze mid-sentence.

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Chapter 1 Clutching the late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis, I sat on the cold hospital bench. I dialed my husband, Julian Vance. “The doctor says I need surgery. It’s going to cost a hundred thousand dollars out of pocket… can you lend me some money?” “Lily, our prenup is very clear. We keep our finances separate.” “Your illness is a personal liability. I shouldn’t be expected to take on that risk.” “Just set up a GoFundMe and post it on your socials.” Over the phone, I could faintly hear our son’s childish, excited cheer: “Aunt Chloe, Daddy bought this gift for you! I wish you were my mommy!” “Well, you can call me Mommy if you want to.” A young woman’s smiling voice echoed through the receiver: “Julian, thank you for the investment. The five hundred thousand just hit my account…” I numbly hung up the phone and walked back to our cold, empty house. Late that night, Julian brought our son home and saw me sitting quietly on the sofa. He walked over, his thumb gently brushing the corner of my eye. “Lily, I’m doing this for your own good.” “In the adult world, no one is a safe harbor for anyone else.” “You have to learn to provide your own safety net, otherwise, how will you survive in this society?” I nodded calmly, turned to go back to the bedroom, and called my lawyer. “Help me draft the divorce papers.” … After hanging up, I shoved the diagnosis report to the very bottom of my medical folder. From the living room came Leo’s laughter. “Daddy, Aunt Chloe says she’s taking me to the indoor water park this weekend!” Julian replied softly, “Finish your homework first.” Julian and I had been married for seven years. Leo was six years old. The night he was born, I suffered massive hemorrhaging. Julian had gripped my hand outside the operating room, his eyes red. “Lily, you and the baby both have to make it.” The first time Leo called me “Mommy,” he was only ten months old. He threw his arms around my neck, drooling all over my face. I was so happy that day I took dozens of videos. But now, my own flesh and blood had just said on the phone: I wish Aunt Chloe was my mommy. The door pushed open. Julian stood in the doorway, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding a scarf. “Leo picked this out for you.” He walked over and draped the scarf over my shoulders. His movements were incredibly light. So light, it was as if there were no GoFundMe, no cancer diagnosis between us. And no other woman that he favored. He remembered I hated the cold. He remembered I didn’t drink cold water before bed. But he conveniently forgot that I would be terrified when I was dying. “You don’t look well today.” I looked at him. “I have late-stage stomach cancer.” His fingers paused. A second later, he looked down and adjusted the edge of the scarf. “Lily, don’t try to scare me with things like that.” “Where’s the report?” I gave a small smile. “Didn’t you say my illness is a personal liability?” Julian looked up at me. “I was talking about principles.” “Principles aren’t cold-blooded.” I asked: “So telling me to start a GoFundMe is also a principle?” He frowned. “Lily, I don’t like it when you twist my words.” “Telling you to crowdfund gives you another option.” “Adults can’t dump all their risks onto their partners.” I unlocked my phone and pushed a credit card transaction screenshot in front of him. Fifty thousand dollars. A luxury jewelry boutique. Recipient: Chloe Bennett. Julian barely glanced at it, his expression completely unfazed. “Chloe just got back from overseas and is heading up a new project. She needs to meet investors.” “Looking the part is a business expense.” I nodded. “And the five hundred thousand?” Julian’s face finally darkened. “Lily, do you really have to put yourself in a position to compete with her?” Footsteps padded toward the door. Leo ran in clutching his Legos. “Daddy, Aunt Chloe said she’ll help me build this tomorrow!” He stopped when he finally noticed me. The smile on his face faded instantly. “Oh. You’re here, Mommy.” I asked him, “What did you say on the phone earlier?” Leo’s eyes darted away. “I didn’t say anything.” Julian spoke up, his voice low. “It was just a kid talking nonsense. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” I looked at my son. “Leo, do you want Aunt Chloe to be your mommy?” He clutched his Legos tighter, his voice very small. “Aunt Chloe says even though she’s not my mommy, she understands me better.” “She doesn’t force me to do homework, and she doesn’t get sick all the time.” The room went dead silent. My fingertips curled slowly into my palms. Julian looked at me. “He’s just a child. Don’t take it to heart.” I asked calmly, “Are you?” He stiffened. I took the scarf off and placed it back into his hands. “Julian, tomorrow morning, ten o’clock. My lawyer’s office.” He looked as if he’d just heard something absurd. “Because of a title?” “No.” I looked at him. “Because today, I finally realized there is no place for me in this house.” Julian stared at me, dropping his tone. “Lily, stop throwing a tantrum.” “You’re in a bad mood right now. I can tolerate this.” He reached out to touch my head. In the past, whenever he did this, my heart would soften. But this time, I tilted my head away. His hand froze in midair. I said: “I don’t need your tolerance.” “I just need your signature.” The next day, Julian didn’t show up at the lawyer’s office. I waited until eleven-thirty. He sent a text. 【Chloe has a big project pitch today. I can’t get away.】 Another text popped up right after. 【If you really want a divorce, have your lawyer contact me.】 I stood on the street corner, clutching my purse. I didn’t reply. I turned around and went to the hospital. The doctor looked over my scans, his expression heavy. “Ms. Morgan, I strongly advise you to be admitted immediately.” “If we want to fight for a chance at surgery, you cannot delay the preliminary treatments.” I asked: “How much will it cost?” The doctor gave me a number. One hundred thousand dollars. I nodded. “I understand.” At the billing window, I swiped three different cards. Insufficient funds. The clerk looked up at me. “Is your family not here with you?” I said, “No.” When the word slipped out, even I froze for a second. I had a husband. I had a biological son. But standing in front of the hospital billing window, I was completely alone. That afternoon, I went home to get my passport and social security card. The moment I pushed the door open, I heard a woman’s laughter in the living room. Chloe was sitting on the sofa. She was wearing a beige dress suit, and on her wrist was the fifty-thousand-dollar Cartier bracelet. Leo was draped over her lap, playing on his iPad. Julian stood next to her, pouring her a glass of warm water. Before handing it over, he tested the temperature against the back of his hand. He used to test my water like that. Back then, I thought it was love. Now I knew: it wasn’t that he was incapable of being gentle. He was just selective. Seeing me, Chloe immediately stood up. “Lily, you’re back.” She sounded perfectly sweet. But the bracelet on her wrist caught the light. The glare made my eyes hurt. I had lingered by the display case for that exact bracelet on my birthday. Julian had said to me: “Things like this aren’t practical.” “You’ve never been a vain person.” Now, it was shining on Chloe’s wrist. Julian glanced at me. “Why are you back?” I looked at him. “This is my house.” Chloe’s face paled slightly. Julian set the water glass down. “Chloe’s pitch was a success. I brought her back to grab a file.” “And let Leo hang out with her for a bit.” And. I was standing in line at the hospital trying to pay for cancer treatment. He was in my house throwing a celebration for another woman. Leo looked up from his iPad. “Mommy, can you be a little quieter?” “Aunt Chloe is really tired today.” I looked at my son. Suddenly, I remembered when he was three and had a terrible fever in the middle of the night. He was convulsing, clinging to my neck, crying. “Mommy, don’t go.” I didn’t close my eyes for a single second that night. Julian called his name in a low warning: “Leo.” But it was just a name. No reprimand. No correction. Chloe hurriedly patted the child’s head. “Kids just say things, don’t mind him, Lily.” She paused, her tone growing even softer. “Though… Julian did mention your health hasn’t been great.” “I’ve been working on my EmpowerHer Wellness Initiative lately, and I’ve seen a lot of cases like yours.” “Women need to have their own financial independence.” “You can’t just get sick and turn your pain into a bargaining chip to extort others.” I looked at her. “Did he teach you that line?” She flushed. Julian frowned. “Lily, stop being so passive-aggressive.” I didn’t say another word. I walked into the bedroom to pack my documents. Julian followed me in and shut the door. “Did you go to the hospital today?” I put my passport in my bag. “Yes.” “What were the results?” “Late stage.” His eyes shifted. But quickly, he pushed whatever emotion that was back down. “Show me the report.” I looked up. “What are you looking for?” “Trying to figure out if I’m still worth the investment?” Julian’s face darkened. “Lily, do you have to be this bitter?” “I just want to verify the situation.” I zipped my bag. “There’s no need.” He blocked the doorway. “Don’t leave today.” I gave a dry laugh. “Why?” “Afraid I’ll drop dead outside and there’ll be no one to pick up the kid from school?” He fell silent for a second. And in that second, the answer was crystal clear. From the living room, Leo yelled: “Daddy, Aunt Chloe says we’re going to get truffle pizza!” Julian turned his head and answered: “Wait for me.” I stared at his profile. He used to answer me like that too. I’d tell him Leo had a fever. He’d say, Wait for me. I’d tell him I was breaking down. He’d say, Wait for me. Later, I finally understood. His “wait for me” was never a promise. It was a delay tactic. I walked past him. He suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Lily.” His voice dropped, the way he used to coax me. “Don’t make this difficult for me.” I turned to look at him. “Julian.” “You make staying alive difficult for me.” “Do you really think I care about making things difficult for you?” I listed the small condo I owned before we got married for an emergency quick sale. Hearing my asking price, the realtor fell silent for a few seconds. “Ms. Morgan, this price is incredibly low.” “Are you absolutely sure?” I said, “I’m sure.” After hanging up, I sat in the hospital stairwell. My phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Chloe had posted a new update. In the photo, she was standing on a presentation stage. The screen behind her read: 【EmpowerHer Wellness Initiative】 The next slide read: 【Healing isn’t about pills; it’s about spiritual rescue.】 Julian was sitting in the front row, looking up at her. I hadn’t seen that kind of patience from him in years. The caption read: 【Only when you are firmly supported do you dare to move forward.】 Someone commented: 【The way Mr. Vance is looking at you! So sweet.】 Chloe replied: 【He said I deserve to be seen.】 I stared at it for a long time. Then I locked my screen. The husband of a stomach cancer patient tells his wife to crowdfund her treatment. Then he turns around and invests in a wellness course for another woman. I guess you can put life’s most absurd tragedies into a PowerPoint after all. The doctor notified me it was time to check-in for admission. I took the deposit slip to the window. The clerk told me I was short forty thousand dollars. I called Julian. This time, he picked up. “What is it?” The background was quiet. Sounded like a conference room. I said: “I’m forty thousand short for my hospital deposit.” “Consider it a loan.” The other end of the line paused. “Lily, it’s not that I won’t give it to you.” “But your treatment plan hasn’t even been finalized yet.” “Blindly throwing money at it isn’t rational.” I closed my eyes. “The doctor says it can’t wait.” “Of course the doctor would say that.” His tone was perfectly steady. “Start with the basic treatments. We can talk when there’s a definitive plan.” I asked: “Is Chloe’s project plan definitive?” His voice went cold. “Don’t drag her into everything.” “Her project has societal value.” “What you’re doing right now is an emotional expense.” An emotional expense. I looked down at the medical bill. I let out a sudden laugh. “Julian, I’m dying of cancer, and you call it an emotional expense?” He stayed quiet for two seconds. “You know that’s not what I meant.” I opened my mouth to speak. Then I heard Chloe’s voice over his phone. “Julian, the investors are here.” Julian immediately said: “I have to go.” Right before he hung up, he added: “I had my assistant compile a list of medical relief grants and crowdfunding platforms for you.” “Stop rejecting the solutions people offer you.” The call ended. Less than a minute later, his assistant emailed me a document. The subject line was: 【Guide to Setting up Personal Crowdfunding for Critical Illnesses】 I stood in front of the billing window, my fingers stiff and freezing. The contract for my condo was signed that same night. The buyer negotiated ruthlessly. I didn’t counteroffer. As I signed the papers, the realtor asked quietly: “Ms. Morgan, do you have any family to help you?” I stared at my signature. “Yes.” “But they’re very busy.” Busy applauding another woman. Busy treating my cancer like an emotional expense. Busy teaching me to be independent. That night, I went back to the house to pack my hospital bag. There was a pair of unfamiliar heels by the door. The smell of soup drifted from the kitchen. Chloe was wearing my apron, ladling soup into bowls. Leo was sitting at the dining table. “Mommy Chloe, that smells so good.” Leo turned, saw me, and froze instantly. “I… I said it wrong.” Julian walked out of his home office. Seeing me, his brows knitted together. “Why are you coming back without letting anyone know again?” I looked at him. “Do I need to make an appointment to enter my own house?” Julian lowered his voice. “The kid didn’t mean anything by it.” I walked over to the table. There were three sets of bowls and silverware. None for me. Suddenly, I realized asking questions was pointless. They weren’t having a spontaneous celebration. They were already practicing being a family of three. Chloe’s eyes reddened. “Lily, I really didn’t mean to take your place.” “Leo is just lacking companionship.” “He said you always look so sick lately, and it scares him.” I looked at her. “So you taught him to call you Mommy Chloe?” Chloe bit her lip. “No, I didn’t.” Julian’s face went dark. “Lily, leave the child out of adult conflicts.” I laughed. “Adults?” “I gave birth to him.” “You two hand him a knife to stab me with, and now you say ‘leave the child out of it’?” Leo burst into tears. “Daddy, I don’t like Mommy when she’s like this!” “She’s so mean!” Julian immediately hugged him, soothing him softly. “It’s okay, Daddy’s here.” Then he looked up at me, his eyes icy. “You’re sick, I can understand that.” “But don’t take your pain out on our child.” I looked at Leo crying in his arms. I looked at Chloe standing beside them with red eyes. I finally understood that in this house, I didn’t even have the right to lose my mind. I turned and walked into the bedroom. I grabbed my hospital bag and dug out our marriage certificate. In the nightstand, there was a set of matching light-blue family outfits. I had bought them a month ago. Back then, I didn’t know I had cancer. I thought we could wear them as a family of three for Leo’s parent-teacher day at school. I didn’t need them anymore. When I went to leave, Julian was standing by the front door. His voice was heavy. “Lily, if you walk out this door tonight, don’t expect me to come to the hospital and beg you to come back.” I stopped in my tracks. I looked back at him. “Julian, have you ever begged me for anything?” He froze. I didn’t wait for an answer. Because the answer had been there all along.

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When the layoff list went up on the intranet, my name was sitting on the third line. Devin Shaw. Finance Department. Senior Analyst, Level 4. The HR director handed over the severance agreement with a smile so bright you’d think she’d just closed a multi-million-dollar escrow. “Just sign here, Devin. Three months’ severance plus transition. Honestly, the company is being incredibly generous.” I glanced at the total payout. It was less than the pocket money my wife had wired me the previous month. I signed. I packed. I walked out. The entire process took exactly seven minutes. My colleagues watched me leave with the kind of blank, pitying stares you reserve for a dead goldfish being flushed down the drain. No one tried to stop me. No one thought there was any reason to. A month later, the books for our three most critical projects completely imploded. The phones at reception were ringing off the hook with furious vendors demanding payment, eventually driving the receptionist to quit in tears. My wife walked down from her office on the twenty-eight floor, flipped open the personnel directory, and stared at the pages. Her expression was darker than her custom black Maybach. “Who approved this layoff list?” she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. “Who—the hell—fired my husband?” Meanwhile, I was stretched out on our living room sofa, a bag of chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. My phone screen lit up, buzzed, went dark, and lit up again. Thirty-ninth missed call. I took a slow sip of my soda. Freedom tasted incredibly good. 1 It was a rainy Wednesday. I remember it clearly because Wednesdays were always gourmet smash burger days at the office cafeteria. I had planned to head down early to grab a window seat, but just past nine-thirty, Rhonda Kelly, the HR director, drifted over to my cubicle. “Devin, do you have a quick minute?” She wore her signature corporate smile—exactly thirty degrees of upward lip curve, exposing exactly eight teeth. The HR special. I had seen it too many times before. She had given that exact same smile to our old colleague when she escorted him out last month. I set down my spreadsheet and followed her into the small, glass-walled conference room. On the mahogany table sat two copies of a document and a glass of lukewarm water. The classic execution setup. Rhonda sat down and cleared her throat. “So, Devin, as you know, the company has been looking at ways to optimize our organizational structure…” Optimize. They really were getting creative with the vocabulary. Last year it was “strategic rightsizing,” and the year before that it was “talent realignment.” At the end of the day, it all meant the same thing: you’re fired. “…and after a thorough evaluation, your position has been identified for optimization.” She slid a sheet of paper across the table. Separation and Release Agreement. The severance package: twelve weeks of pay. I scanned the numbers. It was enough to cover my takeout and craft beer habit for a few months, though it wouldn’t even cover the cost of a single bottle of wine my wife, Victoria Mercer, ordered at her corporate dinners. “Do you have any questions, Devin?” Rhonda asked, tilting her head with a subtle, condescending pity. I knew that look. It was the look you gave to someone you assumed had no leverage, no safety net, and no way to fight back. And to be fair, she wasn’t entirely wrong to assume that. During my three years at Mercer Enterprises, I had been a ghost. I came in at nine, left at five. I didn’t steal credit, I didn’t play politics, and I never sat at the main table during corporate events. I was the guy who drank punch in the corner and kept his head down. My employee badge photo was taken with my eyes half-shut because I’d been nursing a hangover that morning. I was the perfect, invisible candidate to help HR hit their layoff quota. I picked up the pen. “Wait,” Rhonda said, startled by my lack of hesitation. “Don’t you want to think about it?” “Think about what?” “Well… don’t you want to talk to your manager? Or perhaps…” I looked at her. Rhonda was wearing a crisp new silk blouse with silver cufflinks. They bore the initials R.C.—a gift from Regina Cross. Regina Cross, our Executive VP. She was also the person who had personally put my name on the chopping block. Three months ago, Regina had too much to drink at the annual charity gala. She cornered me in a dim hallway near the restrooms. “Devin, a guy with your looks and brain is wasted in Finance,” she’d whispered, stepping close enough for me to smell the expensive gin on her breath. “Come work directly under me. I’ll fast-track you to Director of Operations.” She reached out, her fingers brushing toward my shoulder. I took a deliberate step back. “Ms. Cross, I think you’ve had too much to drink.” “I’m perfectly sober,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Do you have any idea how many people in this building would kill for an opportunity like this?” “Ms. Cross,” I said, my back pressing against the cold glass of a fire extinguisher cabinet. “I’m married.” She stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Married? To whom? Your emergency contact in the system is your father, and your HR file lists you as single.” I had been too lazy to update my forms when we got married. Who knew people actually dug through personnel files for leverage? “Married or not,” I said, looking her straight in the eyes, “I’m not interested.” The hallway went dead silent for three long seconds. Regina eventually stepped back, her expression souring as if she’d just swallowed a wasp. And now, here I was on the layoff list. The narrative arc was perfectly logical. I signed the agreement. My handwriting was steady, the lines clean and straight. Rhonda quickly pulled the documents back, letting out a visible sigh of relief. She had probably prepared herself for tears, anger, or a threatened lawsuit. Sorry to disappoint. I stood up, my chair legs scraping softly against the hardwood floor. “Oh, Rhonda?” She looked up. “Yes?” “They’re serving those shaved prime rib sandwiches in the cafeteria today. Do me a favor and grab one? My badge is still active, and I’ve got eighty bucks left on my dining account.” “What?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. I walked back to my desk to pack up. I didn’t have much. A ceramic mug that read World’s Laziest Husband—a five-dollar flea market find Victoria had bought me as a joke—a small potted cactus that had survived three years of neglect, and a stack of colorful sticky notes covered in complex project reconciliation formulas and vendor payment cycles. I swept the mug and the cactus into a canvas tote bag. Then I looked at the sticky notes. After a second of thought, I tossed them into the bag too. They wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway. As I walked past the breakroom, I caught snatches of whispered gossip. “Devin got laid off? The analyst in Finance?” “Which one? Oh, the guy who’s always the first to arrive and the last to leave?” “Yeah, him. Honestly, it was bound to happen. He never really made a name for himself.” “I heard VP Cross personally requested his name be on the list.” “Yikes. Pissing off Regina Cross is a career death sentence…” I kept walking, my pace steady. Near the elevator bank, I ran into Toby. He was an associate in Admin, a few years younger than me, and my only real friend at the office. When he saw the canvas bag in my hand, his eyes turned instantly red. “Devin! Tell me it’s not true. They didn’t—” “Yeah,” I said softly. “Why didn’t you fight it? The amount of work you do for this department, they don’t even—” “Toby,” I interrupted, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine. Really.” “But—” “I’ll see you around.” The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside and turned around. Toby stood in the hallway, his face twisted in a mix of anger and grief. I gave him a quick “call me” gesture. Just as the doors began to close, I heard him yell, “Don’t worry, man! If things get bad, I’ll cover your rent!” The elevator glided downward. In the lobby, the security guard, Bill, looked up from his desk, surprised to see me carrying a bag. “Leaving early today, Devin?” “Yeah, Bill. Got let go.” “What? You?” “Take care, Bill.” The heavy glass doors closed behind me. Outside, a light mist was falling. I took a deep breath. The air smelled of wet asphalt and the sweet, buttery scent of the bakery down the block. It was beautiful. I wouldn’t have to wake up at six-thirty tomorrow to squeeze onto a crowded subway train. I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number. It rang twice before she picked up. “Devin? Why are you calling at this hour? Is everything okay?” Victoria’s voice carried a hint of tension. She was on a business trip in Tokyo. With the thirteen-hour time difference, it was in the middle of the night for her. “Nothing major,” I said, walking toward the subway station. “My company just laid me off.” The line went completely dead for five seconds. “What did you say?” “I was optimized. Got my severance, signed the papers, and I’m walking to the train.” Another long silence. Then, I heard the rustle of sheets and the sound of a chair being pushed back. She was throwing off the covers. “Who approved the list? Which department made the decision? Who put your name on it?” Her voice was low, vibrating with a quiet, lethal anger. I had known Victoria for seven years, from our college days to our marriage. When she was truly furious, she didn’t scream. Her voice simply dropped an octave, delivering each word like a slow, deliberate strike. “Victoria,” I said gently. “Yes?” “Don’t do anything.” “Devin—” “I mean it,” I said, my tone flat. “I spent three years at this company without using a single bit of your influence. Nobody knows who I am. Now that I’m gone, I don’t want a massive scene just because of your title.” There was a quiet pause on the line. Then, she let out a long, heavy sigh. “Fine,” she murmured, clearly fighting to keep her temper in check. “I won’t interfere. Not yet. But I’m flying back next week, and when I get there—” “We’ll talk then.” “Get some rest.” “I can’t sleep now.” “Go hit the gym, then.” She let out a soft, dry laugh. “Fine. You win.” After we hung up, my phone buzzed with a text message from her. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make you braised short ribs when I get home. I replied with two words: Make them spicy. 2 Day one of unemployment. I slept in until my body decided it was done sleeping. Ten-thirty. A thin sliver of golden sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, warming my face. I rolled over and drifted off for another half hour. By eleven, my stomach grumbled, finally forcing me out of bed. I padded into the kitchen in my sweatpants, boiled some gourmet ramen, added two soft-boiled eggs, and threw in some leftover bacon. I took the steaming bowl to the sofa, turned on the TV, and found a cheesy reality show. I took a bite. It was absolute heaven. My phone was filled with notifications. Toby had sent seventeen frantic voice memos. I didn’t need to listen to know what they were about: Are you okay? This is so unfair. I’m going to lose my mind. I sent him a meme of a cat face-planted on a pillow with the caption: The world is exhausting, but ramen is reliable. He replied instantly: How can you be sending memes right now?! Because I have time, I typed back. Are you seriously not angry? You practically ran that department! For three years! All those reports, the month-end reconciliations, the— Toby, relax. The water is deeper than you think. What does that mean? Just sit back and watch. Day two. I drove over to the local market and bought three bags of gourmet snacks, two cases of soda, and a ridiculously comfortable cashmere lounge set. Once I got home, I opened a job board, scrolling through the listings without any real urgency. I was mostly just curious to see what my market value was. By the third page, my phone rang. An unrecognized local number. “Hello, is this Devin Shaw? My name is Elena with Madison Executive Search…” A headhunter. “We noticed your status recently updated on LinkedIn. We have an opening for a Vice President of Finance that we think would be a perfect fit. The base salary is…” She named a figure. I almost dropped my chip. The salary she quoted was exactly eight times what I had been making at Victoria’s subsidiary. “Devin? Are you still there?” “Yes. Please go on.” “The position is with Vertex Group…” Vertex. Mercer Enterprises’ fiercest competitor in the market. I chewed my chip slowly, enjoying the satisfying crunch. “Send the job description to my email. I’ll review it.” “Of course! We look forward to—” I hung up and opened my notes app, creating a new entry. Devin’s Fun Unemployment Journal. Line 1: Day 2. Competitor headhunter called. Offered 8x my old salary. Officially winning at life. Line 2: Expenses: Chips $6.50, soda $4.00. Total $10.50. Line 3: Mental state: Exceptionally stable. Day three. I spent the afternoon cooking a massive four-course meal: slow-roasted garlic herb ribs, roasted asparagus, creamy potatoes, and a rich corn chowder. As I ate, I scrolled through social media. My former colleagues were posting their usual content. Some posted photos of late-night office views with captions about “the hustle.” Others shared company PR articles with generic motivational quotes. Everything seemed peaceful. Business as usual. It was almost funny how quickly a corporate machine could make you feel like you never existed. I scrolled further and found Rhonda’s latest post. It was a photo of her and Regina Cross standing on a sunny golf course, captioned: So grateful for incredible mentors who inspire us to reach higher. I set my phone down and sipped my tea. My heart rate didn’t spike. My anger didn’t flare. Because I knew the real show hadn’t even started yet. They genuinely believed that firing a mid-level analyst would have zero consequences. But what they didn’t realize was that the financial models for our three core projects—the algorithms, the formulas, the hidden dependencies, and the manual reconciliation logic—existed solely inside my head. Handover? I had left a beautifully formatted three-page document on the shared drive. But content-wise, it was the equivalent of handing a non-swimmer a pamphlet on fluid dynamics and throwing them into the Mariana Trench. You can’t blame me. They didn’t give me the time to transition my work, nor did they bother to assign anyone to shadow me. 3 Day five of unemployment. The cracks were beginning to show. Toby’s updates went from three texts a day to thirty. “Devin! The Finance department is in absolute chaos!” “Ashley was assigned to take over your accounts. She tried to reconcile the accounts payable for the A3 project. She’s been at it for two days and she’s off by three point seven million dollars!” “Exactly 3.7 million! She’s literally crying at her desk!” I listened to his frantic voice notes while relaxing with a charcoal sheet mask on my face. Ashley was the kind of colleague who excelled at shifting blame and leaving the office at precisely five-to-five every evening. The 3.7-million-dollar variance. I knew exactly where it was. It was a prepayment to Valero Corp processed through a non-standard clearing channel, parked under a tertiary ledger in “Other Receivables.” It required manual reconciliation based on a side-letter milestone schedule. That logic wasn’t programmed into our automated ERP system. It was in my brain. “Did she ask Linda, the Finance Director?” I texted back. “Yes! Linda said she had no idea how you structured it and told Ashley to figure it out herself!” I smiled under my mask. Linda. My direct supervisor. A twenty-year corporate climber whose primary skills involved scheduling meetings, drinking tea, and signing off on expense reports. For three years, ninety percent of the complex reports she signed had been built entirely by me. Did she ever actually review them? Sure. Did she understand them? Not even close. “Devin, tell me you aren’t secretly laughing at this,” Toby messaged. “I would never,” I replied, though the grin on my face almost peeled the mask off my skin. Day seven. The B7 project went sideways. It was Mercer Enterprises’ largest initiative of the fiscal year—a two-hundred-million-dollar contract. With month-end approaching, they needed to deliver a comprehensive cash flow utilization report to our partner, Summit Holdings. The report required consolidating twelve sub-accounts, calculating exchange rate conversions for three cross-border payments, and amortizing milestone costs. Normally, I compiled this report with my eyes closed. But for anyone else… “Devin!!!” Toby’s voice memo was practically vibrating with panic. “Summit is threatening to pull out! They said if the financial report isn’t on their desk in forty-eight hours, they’re triggering the material breach clause!” “What’s the penalty?” I asked. “Five percent of the total contract value!” Five percent of two hundred million. Ten million dollars. I picked up my mug, gently blowing on my hot tea. The rich aroma of Earl Grey filled the room. “Let’s wait and see what happens next,” I murmured. Day nine. The suppliers for the C12 project halted deliveries. I had personally structured the payment schedule for that project, mapping out six installment phases to perfectly align with our monthly cash flow. The issue was that the priority rankings, supplier account updates, and the joint-authorization memos with Procurement were all saved in my encrypted local work folder. When I left, IT had performed a standard factory reset on my laptop. It was company protocol to wipe all departing employees’ hard drives immediately. You can’t blame me for that. As for the physical copies of those memos? They had been tucked away in the very bottom drawer of my desk. Since they looked like my personal working notes, I had simply packed them into my canvas bag when I cleared out my cubicle. An honest mistake, really. Without those payment releases, the suppliers’ payment systems began flagging the accounts as delinquent. Furious vendors called the front desk from eight in the morning until eight at night. Tyler, the young guy working reception, handled over a hundred screaming calls a day. By day two, he was thoroughly traumatized. By day three, he handed in his resignation.

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Chapter 1 Arthur Sterling was the CEO of Sterling Enterprises, and our company’s biggest client. Yet, every time he finished a meeting at our office, he would walk past my desk and ask a very strange question. “Ms. Hayes, are you desperate for money lately?” I thought he was insulting me. Until today, when he stood in front of me again and lowered his voice: “If you are truly in a difficult situation, you can tell me directly.” I was just about to ask him what he meant when a line of glowing, floating text suddenly drifted across my vision. 【He’s asking you this because he is your online boyfriend.】 Online boyfriend? But I’ve never dated anyone online. 【Your real boyfriend is using your identity to catfish him.】 【He has already scammed him out of $150,000.】 【If you don’t do something right now, you are going to take the fall and go to prison.】 【And your boyfriend will take the money and fly far away with his mistress.】 The file folder in my hands smacked onto the floor. Everyone in the office turned to look at me. I crouched down to pick up the papers, my fingertips trembling violently. Arthur bent down as well, picking up the top sheet of paper for me. He handed it back, his voice low: “Why do you look so pale?” I looked up at him. In his eyes, there was scrutiny, restraint, and a kind of exhaustion I couldn’t quite read. I replied, “I’m fine.” The floating text was still scrolling. 【Do not speak recklessly.】 【Right now, all surface-level evidence points to you.】 【The profile picture is yours, the lifestyle photos are yours, and the Instagram captions are yours.】 【The bank account receiving the money is legally registered under the name Clara Hayes.】 My back was instantly drenched in cold sweat. Arthur looked at me for a few seconds, as if he wanted to keep asking. Finally, he just said, “Do you have time after work?” The looks in my co-workers’ eyes immediately shifted. My supervisor peeked out from the conference room door, smiling cautiously: “Mr. Sterling, is there an issue with the project? I can have the project manager walk you through it.” “No need.” Arthur didn’t look at anyone else, keeping his eyes entirely on me. “I want to speak with Ms. Hayes privately.” My palms were slick with sweat. He already suspected me. Or rather, he fully believed I was the woman who had taken his $150,000. I forced myself to stand steady. “Mr. Sterling, I apologize, but I have plans tonight.” His gaze darkened. “Tomorrow, then.” It wasn’t a negotiation. It wasn’t a threat, either. But he clearly had no intention of letting this go. I nodded. “Okay.” After Arthur left, the office exploded. “Clara, do you know Mr. Sterling?” “Why did he ask for you specifically?” “Are you secretly dating the client behind our backs?” I didn’t answer a single question. I sat back at my desk and stared at my phone screen. Derek had texted me half an hour ago. “Babe, come home early tonight. I’m making your favorite sweet and sour chicken.” It was followed by a kissing emoji. In the past, seeing that would have made me feel sweet. Now, it just felt terrifying. Derek and I had been together for three years. He didn’t have a stable job. But he always claimed he was day-trading and investing—sometimes making a quick buck, sometimes taking a loss. Whenever I pushed him to get a real job, he would hug me and say: “Clara, just give me a little more time. I promise I’ll give you a good life.” I believed him. Because he was always generous with me. After work, I didn’t go straight home. I sat in the convenience store downstairs from my office and bought a bottle of water. As I twisted the cap off, my hands were still shaking. The floating text intermittently appeared again. 【Don’t confront him directly.】 【Derek is a great actor. His first reaction will be to deny it, and then he’ll accuse you of trying to climb into Arthur Sterling’s bed.】 【First, ask him if he knows Arthur.】 【The burner phone is hidden inside the bottom lining of the living room sofa.】 【The passcode is your birthday, backward.】 I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to believe the floating text. But Arthur’s reaction today, combined with Derek’s spending habits over the past six months, made everything line up perfectly. When I got home, Derek was transferring takeout into proper bowls. Seeing me, he smiled gently. “You’re back? Why are you so late today?” I stood in the entryway, not even taking my shoes off. “Derek, do you know Arthur Sterling?” The chopsticks in his hand paused for a fraction of a second. “Who?” He quickly smiled. “The CEO of Sterling Enterprises? How would I know him?” I stared at him. “Oh. It’s just that he’s been paying a lot of attention to me lately at work. I thought maybe you guys knew each other.” The smile on Derek’s face faded. “Clara, what is that supposed to mean?” He put the chopsticks down, his tone instantly shifting to defensive and victimized. “Don’t tell me you’ve caught feelings for the guy.” I didn’t speak. He grew more agitated: “You look down on me because I don’t have a corporate job, don’t you? Do you think I’m not good enough for you? Have you been wanting to find a rich guy this whole time?” In the past, I would have panicked. I would have explained myself. I would have comforted him first. But today, I only felt a freezing chill. I said quietly, “I was just asking.” Derek stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly softened and walked over to hug me. “I’m sorry, I’m just too sensitive. I’m so scared of losing you.” I didn’t push him away. I didn’t hug him back, either. The glowing text drifted over his shoulder. 【See that?】 【He’s not feeling guilty.】 【He’s just testing you to see how much you know.】 Late that night, after Derek had fallen into a deep sleep, I slowly slid his arm off my waist. I walked barefoot into the living room, not daring to turn on the lights. There was a narrow tear in the fabric under the left side of the sofa. I reached my hand inside and felt something hard. An old smartphone. Black casing, matte screen protector. I held the power button. The screen lit up, asking for a passcode. I typed in my birthday, backward. It unlocked. In that moment, the blood in my veins ran ice cold. The phone was logged into an alternate WhatsApp account. The profile picture was me. The display name was “Ellie.” The status updates were filled with fragments of my daily life. The cake I burnt last weekend. The view from my office lobby on a rainy day. A picture of my back taken when my best friend and I went to the beach. There was even a selfie I had posted on Instagram two years ago and subsequently deleted. Except, all the captions had been altered. They had been rewritten to sound like a gentle, fragile, lonely woman who was incredibly good at playing the victim. Pinned to the top of the chat list was the name: Mr. Sterling. I tapped into it. The chat logs were dense. “Ellie” talked about how exhausted she was, and how her family was forcing her to go on blind dates. “Ellie” said she didn’t want to bow to reality, but she truly had no money. “Ellie” said if someone could just pull her out of this hole, she would remember it for the rest of her life. Arthur didn’t reply often. But every response was earnest. “Don’t make decisions against your heart just for money.” “If you just need cash to bridge the gap, I can help you.” “Worry about paying it back when you’re financially stable.” Then came the transfer receipts. $3,000. $5,000. $10,000. $20,000. $50,000. Up until the very last transaction, three days ago: $60,000. The excuse was that my mother was hospitalized and needed the money for surgery deposits. Meanwhile, my mother was back in Ohio playing pickleball every single day, healthy enough to scream at my dad for half an hour straight over a missed shot. I kept scrolling down the chat list. There was another conversation. The contact name was Vanessa. The profile picture was a woman wearing heavy makeup. Vanessa: Did Arthur go to Clara’s office again today? Derek: Yeah. Vanessa: Is he suspicious? Derek: Probably. The real Clara isn’t as soft and submissive as the character I play. He’ll realize something is off sooner or later. Vanessa: Then let’s wrap this up. Don’t drag it out. Derek: I’m going to scam him for one last $100,000 “wedding ring” fund. Once the money clears, I’m taking you and we’re leaving. Vanessa: What about Clara? Derek: The bank account is in her name, the photos are hers, the persona is her. If shit hits the fan, she can explain it to the cops herself. Vanessa: True, she’s the perfect scapegoat. Perfect scapegoat. Those words twisted like a knife in my chest. Derek and I had been together for three years. I had paid his rent, transferred him money for groceries, and eaten instant ramen with him during his lowest points. He told me I was the best girl he had ever met in his life. It turned out that by “best,” he meant I was the best human shield to take a felony charge for him. I took out my own phone and hit record. I started by filming the burner phone’s exterior. Then the device serial number. The login details. The account information. The chat logs with Arthur. The transfer details. And finally, Derek and Vanessa’s conversation planning the split. I recorded it page by page, until my arms ached and my eyes stung. Right as I was finishing, a new message popped up from Vanessa. Vanessa: Have Clara go meet Arthur in person tomorrow. Vanessa: If she physically sits in front of him, he’ll definitely believe it. Vanessa: When it goes down, just say the account is hers and she asked you to handle the communication for her. You’re just a messenger. Derek: Will do. She’s easy to manipulate. I stared at those words and suddenly smiled. I smiled until my eyes burned. I heard him shifting on the mattress in the bedroom. I immediately locked the screen and shoved the burner phone back into the base of the sofa. When I climbed back into bed, Derek groggily pulled me into his arms. “Babe, where did you go?” I closed my eyes. “Just getting some water.” He kissed my hair. “Good girl.” My body was entirely rigid. I didn’t move an inch. The floating text slowly appeared above us. 【First piece of evidence acquired.】 【But it’s not enough.】 【Tomorrow, he’s going to propose to you. He’ll use marriage to bait you into his trap.】 【Do not go soft on him.】 The next day, Derek acted as if nothing was wrong. He warmed up milk for me, squeezed my toothpaste, and held me tightly before I left for work. “Clara, come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you.” I looked at his face. “What kind of surprise?” He smiled adoringly. “You’ll find out tonight.” I smiled back. “Okay.” When I got to the office, the very first thing I did was back up the evidence. One copy uploaded to a secure cloud drive. One copy emailed to a brand new email address. And another copy saved to a flash drive, tucked securely into the innermost zipper of my purse. I couldn’t take any chances. If Derek could open a bank account in my name, it meant he had my social security number and ID information. Maybe he stole it last year when he suggested we open a joint savings account. Or maybe even earlier. At the time, he had said: “We’re going to save up for a house together, we need a joint account.” He held my driver’s license and had me blink at the banking app’s facial recognition screen. I didn’t even suspect a thing. Looking back, every time he said “Let me help you,” it was a trap. In the afternoon, Arthur’s assistant walked into our department. His name was Mr. Bennett. He wore a dark suit and spoke very politely. “Ms. Hayes, Mr. Sterling wanted me to confirm: is 7:00 PM at The Grand Court Restaurant still convenient for you?” All my colleagues perked their ears up. I nodded. “Yes, it is.” Assistant Bennett visibly sighed in relief. “I can pick you up downstairs.” “No need, I’ll get there myself.” He hesitated for a moment but didn’t insist. After work, I went to The Grand Court. Arthur had booked a private dining room. It wasn’t a romantic setting; it felt more like a boardroom. When I walked in, he was already there. He wore a dark grey dress shirt, cuffs neatly buttoned, and there were only two glasses of warm water on the table. He stood up and pulled a chair out for me. “Sit.” I sat down, my palms sweating. Arthur noticed. But he didn’t immediately slam the bank transfers on the table to interrogate me. And he didn’t use his status as my client to pressure me. He simply asked, “Have you truly not run into any financial difficulties recently?” He had asked this same question many times. But this time, I knew why. I asked back, “Mr. Sterling, why do you constantly assume I’m desperate for money?” Arthur fell silent for a moment. “Because you told me you were.” My heart sank. “When did I ever say that?” He looked at me, his eyes complex. “Many times.” I gripped my water glass. “I don’t remember.” He asked again: “Then do you remember what the reason was the very first time you asked to borrow money from me?” I shook my head. “I have never asked to borrow money from you.” The private room went dead quiet. The light in Arthur’s eyes slowly dimmed—not into anger, but as if the last shred of hope he was clinging to had just been crushed. He pulled out his phone and pushed it across the table toward me. On the screen was his chat log with “Ellie”. “Ellie” had sent a photo of me at a bookstore. That photo was taken by Derek. I was standing in front of a bookshelf, turning back to smile at the camera. I used to love that picture. But now, beneath the photo was a caption that I had never written. “Mr. Sterling, sometimes I feel like I just can’t hold on anymore.” Arthur had replied: “Don’t carry it all by yourself.” I stared at those words, my chest tight with a mix of fury and sorrow. My face, used to feign weakness. My life, used to stage a play. I looked up. “Mr. Sterling, if someone scammed you out of a lot of money, what would you do?” Arthur looked at me. “It depends on whether it was intentional.” I froze. His voice was very low. “I’m not afraid of losing money. I’m afraid that I’ve become so blind I can’t even tell if the person I like is real or fake.” My breath hitched. He wasn’t just trying to catch a scammer. He was scammed out of his money, and his feelings. Yet, even after meeting the real me in person, he hadn’t exposed me in public, and hadn’t cornered me in front of my colleagues. He booked a private room, closed the door, and left me my dignity. The glowing text drifted past. 【You can show your hand now.】 【He suspected you, but he never wanted to destroy you.】 【The person who truly wants to destroy you is waiting for you at home.】 I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I pulled the flash drive and my phone out of my purse. “Mr. Sterling, I have evidence.” His gaze sharpened. I slid the USB drive across the table. “The person you’ve been texting… wasn’t me.” “It was my boyfriend. Derek Cole.” Arthur didn’t speak right away. His face was cold, like jade trapped under frost. I knew how absurd that sentence sounded to him. He had waited for six months, tested the waters for six months, suspected me for six months. And now I was telling him that the person on the other side of the screen wasn’t me. It wasn’t even a woman. He stared at the chat logs on my phone for a very long time. The private room was deathly silent.

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