Category: English

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I was out grabbing dinner with my boyfriend when the customer at the booth next to ours started screaming at a waitress. It was painfully obvious they were just picking a fake fight to shake the restaurant down for cash. I couldn’t just sit there and watch. I stood up and actually defended the girl, calling out the obnoxious customer. But the waitress? She just kept her head ducked down, lips zipped tight, acting like she was paralyzed by fear. Sitting across from me, my boyfriend finally had enough of the noise and casually threw in a sentence to back me up. That was the exact millisecond she violently snapped her head up. Her eyes were perfectly rimmed with red. Staring right past me, she locked onto my boyfriend and choked out a teary, “Thank you so much!” Then, dropping her voice into this sickeningly sweet whisper, she asked him, “Could I buy you dinner tomorrow to pay you back?” I didn’t even dignify that with a response. I stayed completely silent until the sweating restaurant manager came jogging over to our table. The manager explained that their security camera was conveniently busted and begged me to give a witness statement to save the girl from paying the damages. I just shook my head, flashing a polite, apologetic smile. “Oh, I am so sorry,” I said lightly. “I was just staring down at my food the whole time. I didn’t notice a single thing.” 1 The weekend started with a simple dinner date with my boyfriend. The waitress serving the table next to ours fumbled her tray. A sticky slice of watermelon slipped and landed squarely on a little boy’s lap. The kid’s mother instantly blew up. “Are you completely brain-dead?!” Realizing her mistake, the waitress froze. She stood there, wringing her hands and muttering endless apologies. I squinted at her. She looked familiar. A second later, it clicked. She was a freshman who had just joined our campus event committee. Naturally, I paid a little more attention to the drama unfolding. The parents weren’t having any of her apologies. The mother opened her mouth and demanded eight hundred dollars for the ruined designer clothes. The freshman’s face drained of color. She stammered, desperately trying to explain that the accident only happened because the kid had been jumping up and down on the booth cushions. That was the wrong move. Instead of calming the parents down, it poured gasoline on the fire. “So you’re blaming my son now?” the father growled. “Is this the kind of trashy service this place offers? You will apologize to my boy right now and pay up!” The freshman’s eyes filled with hot, panicked tears. Her gaze darted around the room and landed on me. It was like she had spotted a life raft. “Miss, you saw the whole thing, right? Could you please tell them what happened?” She stared at me with pure, begging desperation. Since she was a junior from my university and we worked in the same committee, I couldn’t just leave her hanging. I gave a small nod. “I didn’t catch the entire thing. But when she was bringing the food over, I definitely heard her warn your son that jumping around was dangerous.” The moment the words left my mouth, the angry parents locked their sights on me. “Why the hell are you defending this little bitch? Are you a bitch too?!” the mother shrieked. “I know exactly how my kid behaves! You probably saved up for a month just to afford a meal here, you broke loser. Stop trying to play the hero!” A hot spike of anger flared in my chest. I opened my mouth to tell her that if she had a problem, we could just roll the security tapes. But out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something. The moment the parents turned their wrath on me, the freshman let out a visible sigh of relief. She shrank back into the corner, completely silent. It was as if my stepping in to take the bullet for her had absolutely nothing to do with her. My stomach dropped. Any desire I had to help this girl vanished into thin air. Just then, my boyfriend returned from the cash register. 2 Sensing the thick tension in the air, he lowered his voice and asked me what was going on. When I gave him the rundown, his jaw clenched. “My girlfriend was just answering a question politely. Keep your personal attacks to yourself,” he told the parents, his voice deadpan but carrying a sharp edge. “If you insult my girl one more time, I’m calling the cops.” “She already agreed to pay for the dry cleaning and she apologized. There’s no need to cross the line.” Maybe it was just my imagination. But the moment the waitress noticed my boyfriend picking up his tailored jacket from the booth, revealing the heavy luxury watch on his wrist, her whole demeanor shifted. My eyes turned icy. I immediately grabbed his arm. If people didn’t appreciate my help, I wasn’t about to keep throwing my kindness at a brick wall. Tristan picked up my phone from the table and handed it to me. “Bill’s paid. Let’s go.” I nodded and turned toward the door. But a soft, trembling voice called out from behind us. “Tristan. Thank you so much for standing up for me.” The same freshman who had been hiding in the corner, pretending she didn’t exist while I was getting screamed at, suddenly found her courage. She stood there, twisting the hem of her apron. Her eyes were perfectly rimmed with red. She looked at Tristan with pure, unfiltered adoration. I almost laughed out loud. If I hadn’t just witnessed her little disappearing act, I might have actually bought the innocent act. What a joke. I took the heat for her, and she didn’t even utter a single syllable of thanks. My boyfriend merely defended me, throwing a casual warning at the parents in the process, and suddenly he was her knight in shining armor. Tristan turned his head. His expression was polite but completely distant. “You go to Weston Uni too?” The girl nodded eagerly. She didn’t spare a single glance in my direction. “Could I buy you a meal tomorrow? Just to say thanks. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what they would have done to me today!” Tristan flatly rejected her. “No need.” “I wasn’t defending you anyway.” I felt a surge of annoyance at her audacity, but I didn’t bother calling her out. I just chalked it up to a bad judge of character on my part. I had helped the wrong person. 3 But the universe wasn’t done with us. Just as we pushed open the heavy glass doors to the street, we heard her again. “Wait! Tristan!” The girl rushed out onto the sidewalk. She was clutching a small, pristine bakery box. Without waiting for permission, she practically shoved the dessert into Tristan’s hands. Sensing her movement, Tristan frowned deeply and stepped to the side, dodging her touch before she could make contact. His tone carried a heavy trace of irritation. “I said no need.” “I didn’t speak up for you. The person you should be thanking is my girlfriend.” The girl froze. She slowly turned to look at me, her eyes flashing with a strange, unreadable emotion. Finally, she shoved the box toward my chest. “Thanks.” “Since Tristan doesn’t want it, you can have it.” Her gratitude was as fake as a three-dollar bill. I looked at her, a sarcastic smirk playing on my lips. Somewhere between the restaurant and the sidewalk, her apron had magically vanished. Now she was just standing there in her fitted uniform skirt, highlighting her slim figure. Her makeup was flawless. Thinking back to the amount Tristan had just dropped on our dinner, the pieces clicked into place. But the girl wasn’t giving up. She lunged forward and grabbed Tristan’s sleeve. “Hey, the dorm curfews are probably active by now! If you’re heading back to campus, you can walk with me!” “I’m super tight with the security guard. I always finish my shifts around this time, so he lets me sneak in. Just stick close to me!” Again, zero mention of me. Tristan took a firm step back, ripping his arm out of her grasp. “Not necessary. We have a place off-campus. We aren’t going back to the dorms.” Hearing this, her eyes practically sparkled. “Then you should at least add my number! I already gave your girlfriend a gift to say thanks, but I haven’t properly thanked you yet!” Before she could push her phone into his face, the restaurant manager came jogging out the door. “Miss, I am so sorry to interrupt. We were just reviewing the incident in the back, and it turns out the camera in that corner is busted.” “You were the only table nearby. Would you mind staying to give a witness statement?” I let out a short, airy laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Manager. I was too busy looking down at my food. I didn’t see a single thing.” The freshman, who had clearly assumed she was off the hook for the damages, panicked. “What do you mean?! Just a minute ago you said…” “I didn’t say anything. Like I said, I was just eating my dinner.” Seeing the icy smile on my face, the seasoned manager instantly read the room. 4 I wrote the whole thing off as a bizarre little glitch in my day and pushed it out of my mind. I honestly thought I would never have to deal with her again. I was dead wrong. Once we got back to the daily grind at university, things got insanely busy. A whole week blew by before I finally had the time to meet up with Tristan again. Tristan and I were in the same graduating class. We bumped into each other back in our freshman year when we accidentally swapped garment bags backstage at a gala. Honestly, getting together with Tristan was something I never saw coming. Our backgrounds were night and day. We ran in completely different circles. Add to that the fact that we were in entirely different majors and departments. If it hadn’t been for that backstage mix-up, we probably would have gone our whole college lives without crossing paths. My family ran a massive international shipping corporation. We were doing very, very well. Tristan was a local. His parents owned a tiny, rundown hair salon right outside the campus gates. Because their styling skills were stuck in the past, business was brutal. A few months ago, they were on the verge of bankruptcy. Feeling bad for him, I went in and loaded up a VIP membership card with fifteen thousand dollars. That massive injection of cash eased their financial choking hazard, and the salon was saved. I just hated seeing Tristan stressed out over money. Fifteen grand was pocket change to me anyway. I figured I’d just use it up over time for blowouts and treatments. But when I walked into the salon that day, I saw a familiar silhouette sweeping the floor. It was the freshman from the restaurant. She glanced up, made eye contact with me, and then immediately looked away like I was a total stranger. Not a single word of greeting. I wasn’t about to beg for her attention. When Tristan came out from the back room, I casually asked him what was going on. His expression didn’t change a bit when I brought her up. “She probably got fired over what happened the other night.” “My parents put up a hiring sign recently, and she walked in for an interview.” “You know how it is. My parents run the show here. By the time I found out, she was already on the payroll.” I nodded slowly. It was true. Tristan rarely meddled in his parents’ business. He only ever hung around the shop when he knew I was coming over. Normally, he was swamped with his own stuff. We grabbed a quick lunch, and I went back to my apartment. I didn’t stress over the fact that this girl was working at his parents’ place. After all, a man who can be stolen away was never yours to begin with. Plus, Tristan’s new startup studio was entirely funded by my money. 5 I usually drove home to see my parents on the weekends. After my Friday afternoon lecture, I stopped by the salon, planning to get a quick hair wash and blowout before hitting the highway. But right after I finished, I was told my VIP card was empty. A fifteen-thousand-dollar pre-paid card. I had barely been here a handful of times, and now it had a zero balance. I furrowed my brows and stared at the girl behind the cash register. Lily. I had learned her name from the campus committee roster a few days ago. Hearing my confusion, she gave me a look dripping with pure contempt, though she plastered a sickly sweet customer-service smile on her face. “I’m sorry, Miss. Your card has zero balance. How would you like to pay today?” When she saw me reaching for my phone to call Tristan, she let out a loud, mocking scoff and actually reached over the counter to snatch my phone away. “Have you no shame? How thick does your skin have to be to demand Tristan’s parents add fifteen thousand dollars to a fake account when you didn’t spend a single dime of your own money?” I let out a dark laugh. So the rat was finally showing her teeth. She actually believed my VIP balance was just a favor I begged out of Tristan, assuming I hadn’t paid a cent. So she just went into the system and wiped it out. Instead of blowing up, I just smiled. “Are you really that sure I didn’t drop cold, hard cash on this account?” She looked at me like I was delusional. “I am an employee of this establishment now. It is my absolute duty to protect the shop from leeches!” “I’m not going to tolerate people like you who just hold their hands out for freebies! Every dollar Tristan has, he earned with his own blood and sweat! Do you have any idea how exhausting it is for him to run his studio all by himself?!” “If you refuse to pay your bill right now, I have no problem blasting your face all over the campus forums!” She lifted her chin, staring down her nose at me from behind the register, looking like some righteous martyr. Looking at her misplaced arrogance, I didn’t have the energy to argue with stupid. I glanced around. Tristan’s parents weren’t in the shop. I calmly picked up the salon’s landline and dialed Tristan’s number. I don’t know what Tristan told her on that call. I only had one demand. Lily needed to apologize to me. Whatever he said must have hit hard, because a few minutes later, Lily ran out from the back room with tears streaming down her face. Seeing me still standing by the styling chairs, she shot me a look of pure venom before sprinting out the front door. Tristan walked out right behind her. Seeing me, he rubbed his temples, looking utterly exhausted. “Babe, I’m sorry. I know that was messed up.” I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to apologize to me. You didn’t do it.” “Just make the person who did it give me an apology.” I wasn’t about to drop my demand just because the girl squeezed out a few crocodile tears. Tristan shifted uncomfortably. “Come on, just let it go. Do it for me.” “Lily just didn’t understand the situation. At the end of the day, she was just trying to look out for my family’s business.” The warmth vanished from my face. “Is asking for a simple apology crossing a line? You’re my boyfriend. Why are you apologizing on behalf of another woman?” I turned on my heel and walked out, not looking back. Later that night, I finally got the apology. A stiff, three-word text message. I am sorry. I didn’t care. But from that day on, I noticed a subtle, chilling distance whenever Tristan and I texted. 6 I brushed it off. I stuck to my weekend plans and drove home. But when I woke up in my childhood bedroom, I noticed a new addition to the group chat I shared with Tristan and my best friends. Tristan had added someone. I immediately opened a private chat with him. What’s going on? It took him hours to reply. When he finally did, it was a voice note. The background was noisy, and I could faintly hear a girl’s voice asking him a question. “It’s the new girl from the salon.” “My parents want to run a promotion to get the old VIPs to come back and top up their cards.” “They figure since she goes to our college, she knows how all this social media stuff works. They made me add her.” “Since that group chat has a bunch of our best paying customers, I just added her in.” His voice was terrifyingly calm. Something felt incredibly off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. That group chat was almost entirely made up of my high school friends. They went to different colleges in the city, not Weston Uni. Because they loved me, whenever they visited my campus, they went to Tristan’s parents’ salon and bought VIP cards. Some dropped a thousand, others dropped three thousand. I sent back a generic ‘goodnight’ sticker and went to sleep. The long highway drive had drained me. But the next morning, when I checked my phone, I almost threw it at the wall. In the dead of night, Lily had changed our group chat name. It went from Ride or Die Crew to Lily’s Exclusive Fan Club. She had also changed her own nickname in the chat to Tristan’s Right-Hand Girl, Lily! “Hi everyone! Tristan’s mom told me that you are all our VIPs!” “I’m here to shower you guys with some amazing exclusive perks!” She followed up with a wall of text detailing the salon’s new promotional discounts. Then she systematically tagged every single person in the chat, begging them to come down and load up their cards. The only person she didn’t tag was me. My best friend Stella had blown up my phone at 2 AM with a dozen messages. What the hell, girl?! Who is this freak your man just added? Who wants to be in her fan club? The absolute nerve! I’m gonna vomit. I’m leaving this chat. Wake up! Are you dead?! Say something! Get out of bed and kick this pick-me bitch out of the group! The chat was filled with my closest friends, and Lily’s unhinged late-night stunt had left everyone completely speechless. I dialed Tristan’s number and let it ring until he picked up. He had clearly just woken up and hadn’t checked his phone yet. When I described the bloodbath in the group chat, he was at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make her leave the group.” I don’t know what Tristan said to her. But by the time I finished brushing my teeth, the group name was back to normal. And the girl was gone. 7 After that nightmare, I sat down with Tristan and laid out exactly where my boundaries were. Knowing I was furious, and knowing he had messed up, he promised to make it up to me on Monday. His apology seemed genuine, so I let the issue rest. But when I walked into his parents’ salon on Monday, the atmosphere was completely toxic. Tristan’s mother was lying back, resting her head on Lily’s lap while Lily gently plucked out her gray hairs. Lily’s hands moved delicately while she kept up a constant stream of cheerful chatter. She looked like the picture-perfect daughter-in-law. Tristan’s mom was clearly eating it up. It was obvious, considering every other stylist in the shop was sweating and working, while Lily got to sit and play favorite. But the second Lily saw me walk through the door, her eyes went red again. She instantly dropped her gaze and stopped laughing with the mother. I seriously wondered if the girl had a medical condition. Her eyes watered on command. The other stylists noticed the awkward shift in the air and slowly stopped talking. Tristan’s mother finally noticed me standing there. “Oh, Serena. Here for a wash?” I nodded. “Yeah, I’m grabbing a movie with Tristan later.” The mention of my date with Tristan made Lily tense up. She gently tugged on the mother’s sleeve. The older woman patted Lily’s hand, giving her a reassuring look. Then she walked over and took my arm. “Alright, go lie down over there.” I shot Tristan a quick text saying I had arrived, then leaned back into the washing basin, waiting for a stylist. But I quickly realized something was wrong. Lily was the one standing over me. Before I could say a word, she grabbed the showerhead. Without checking the temperature, she turned it on full blast right over my face. Ice-cold water sprayed everywhere. Then, with a ‘clumsy’ flick of her wrist, she aimed the nozzle directly at my face. Remembering the full face of makeup I had just spent an hour doing, I threw my hands up to block the water. But she was faster. She pinned my shoulder down with her free hand and kept blasting my face with the freezing spray. I ripped myself out of the chair. Seeing the smug, victorious gleam in her eye, I swung my arm and slapped her across the face. The sharp crack of skin against skin echoed through the dead-silent salon. Lily snapped out of her shock. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she lunged at me, claws out. I sidestepped smoothly, letting her stumble past me. 8 I glanced at Tristan’s mother, who was standing a few feet away, completely unfazed. It all made sense now. She had picked Lily out as her new favorite for Tristan. And they wanted to put me in my place. She had always believed the fifteen grand in the VIP system was Tristan’s hard-earned cash. She thought Tristan was just using my name to hide the money, afraid his proud parents wouldn’t accept a direct handout. She had always hated me, convinced I was a gold digger bleeding her precious son dry. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far?” I asked, my voice deadly calm. My hair was soaking wet. Mascara was running down my cheeks. I looked like a wreck. But I didn’t feel an ounce of fear. Tristan’s mother finally snapped into action. She rushed over to Lily, checking her face frantically. Seeing the red handprint blooming on Lily’s cheek, she looked like her heart was breaking. When she turned back to me, her face was twisted in pure hatred. “Get the hell out of my shop! You are not welcome here!” “Break up with my son right now! I’ve been sick of looking at your face for months! All you do is scam him out of his money!” “Lily was just protecting our business! That VIP card was funded by my son’s paycheck!” “How dare you force this sweet girl to apologize to you!” I didn’t say a word. I just locked eyes with Tristan, who had just rushed through the front door. Meeting my cold stare, he immediately looked away. When his eyes landed on Lily’s bruised cheek, his expression darkened. “Serena, did you hit her?” His guilt had morphed into accusation. I almost laughed. He was my boyfriend. Yet the first thing he noticed wasn’t his girlfriend standing there, dripping wet and shivering. It was the red mark on his new employee’s face. Whose boyfriend was he anyway? When I saw him instinctively reach out to touch Lily’s face, a cold realization washed over me. “You two have been getting pretty cozy over this past week, haven’t you?” My voice was dripping with venom. Hearing this, Tristan exploded. He kicked a styling chair hard. “Are you done making a scene?! Stop acting like a paranoid psycho!” “Apologize to her!” Every single person in the salon froze. The low hum of the blow dryers died out. All eyes were on us, yet not a single person stepped up to defend me. Whatever poison Lily had been dripping in their ears, they all looked at me like I finally got what I deserved. The man who used to be my loving boyfriend was now publicly humiliating me. Demanding I apologize to a snake without even asking what happened.

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1 The heavy sound of the shower echoed through the apartment as I pushed the front door open. Nate was in the bathroom. His laptop sat open on the coffee table, the screen still glowing brightly in the dim living room. An open messaging app immediately caught my eye. The text at the top read: Luna the Mystic. The newest message hit me like a physical blow. [Your reading topic for today: Is there still a chance for you and the one who got away?] My heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, my fingers brushed the trackpad, scrolling up to read the rest of the conversation. The psychic had asked Nate to describe the person he wanted a reading on. “She is the woman I have loved and desperately wanted for seven years. Now, right before I get married, she moved back to the States.” Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. Seven years. Nate and I had been together for exactly seven years. And we were supposed to get married next month. The shower stopped. I was so numb I did not even notice the sudden silence. Nate walked out a moment later, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. Drops of water trailed down his bare chest. “Serena? When did you get back?” He smiled warmly, walking toward me. “Why are you just standing there zoning out?” “Just walked in. Saw your laptop was still on.” “Since when did you start believing in this stuff?” I pointed a trembling finger at the screen, my throat incredibly tight. Nate glanced at the laptop. Something flickered in his eyes, barely there, before he casually snapped the laptop shut. “Oh, that.” He let out a soft chuckle and pulled me into his arms. “I was grabbing drinks with some colleagues today. I mentioned someone on my feed started doing tarot readings. One of the guys got super into it and begged me to ask a question for him.” “But you are the biggest skeptic I know.” I stared directly into his eyes, searching for a crack in his perfect facade. Nate smiled, the familiar crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Of course I do not believe in it,” he said, gently pinching my cheek. “I was just doing a favor for a buddy. Look, I even told the psychic it was not for me.” He opened the laptop again and pointed to a line of text. [Asking for a friend. This isn’t about me.] A fraction of the tension left my shoulders, but a dull, nagging unease remained coiled in my stomach. “So who is your colleague hung up on?” I asked, forcing a casual tone. Nate paused for a split second before laughing. “His high school crush. The guy is getting married soon, guess he is just getting cold feet and overly sentimental.” His expression was absolutely flawless. “What is going on? Why are you so on edge today?” Nate looked at me with deep concern. “Work stressing you out?” I nodded slowly. “We hit a roadblock on a huge project. I was at the office until just now.” His brows instantly pulled together in a look of pure heartache. “I told you to stop working yourself to the bone. Are you hungry? Let me make you some pasta.” Looking at his earnest, loving gaze, I silently cursed myself for being paranoid. This was Nate. This was the man who remembered my exact coffee order, who warmed up a glass of milk for me every single night, who let me use his phone whenever I wanted. How could I doubt him over a few random text messages? 2 Later that night, Nate fell asleep quickly. His breathing was deep and even, as if everything was perfectly normal. I lay wide awake staring at the ceiling. Driven by some dark intuition, I picked up my phone and searched for “Luna the Mystic” on Instagram. A profile with hundreds of thousands of followers popped up. The bio read: “Expert Tarot Reader. Ten years of experience. Unlocking your soul and interpreting your destiny.” Ten years. Not exactly someone who “just started doing tarot” like Nate had claimed. My heart did a painful stutter step. The sickening feeling of being played crept slowly up my spine. I clicked on the psychic’s newest post. “If you need a private, detailed reading to clear your confusion, drop a heart in the comments and I will DM you!” There were already hundreds of comments. I scrolled past endless strangers until a horribly familiar profile picture locked my vision. It was Nate. He always bragged about hating social media. Did he make an account just for this? My fingers trembled as I tapped his profile. It was a completely fresh account. He only followed ten people. Nine of them were boring financial news outlets. The tenth was a silhouette of a girl standing under the golden arches of the Eiffel Tower. Username: Abby Travels. I clicked. Her name was Abby. Her pinned posts were a timeline of her life studying, traveling, and working in Europe. And under every single major milestone, there was a comment from that familiar profile picture. Five years ago, she posted from a massive New Year party in London: “Counting down with strangers. So romantic yet so lonely.” Nate commented: “Next time, I will be there with you.” Three years ago, she posted her Master degree from a top tier university: “Stressed to the max, but I finally did it!” Nate commented: “I told you. You have always been a star.” A year ago, she posted a picture of an IV drip in her hand from a hospital bed: “Feeling so weak today.” Nate commented: “Please take care of yourself. Do not make me worry about you.” Seven years ago, she posted a picture at the airport departure gate: “A new beginning. Let’s both work hard!” Nate commented: “I will wait for you.” For seven entire years, he had been waiting for someone else. I kept scrolling. A week ago: “First day at the new job! Huge thanks to a certain someone for the referral!” The photo was a view from an office window. A view I knew intimately well. It was the exact view from the high rise building where Nate worked. The newest post was from three days ago. “If the cards say yes, we will finally be together.” The location tagged was the most famous romantic restaurant in the city. My chest caved in. A tsunami of pure agony and deep humiliation swallowed me whole. I put my phone down and lay frozen in the dark, letting the tears slide silently into my pillow. Seven years. That youthful obsession, that unforgettable girl in his heart, had never faded. So what was I? Just a warm body to kill time with? A convenient distraction until his real love came back? 3 The next afternoon, I took a half day off work and went straight to the financial district. The glass skyscrapers towered above me. I used to stand on this exact corner waiting for Nate to get off work, listening to him complain about his corporate drama. Back then, happiness felt so solid I could hold it in my hands. Right now, even the air smelled like a lie. I did not ask to meet Nate. I bypassed him entirely and messaged Abby. Those few minutes of waiting felt like a lifetime. Soon, a figure walked into the upscale cafe. She wore a perfectly tailored designer suit. She was tall, radiant, and her makeup was flawless. When she saw me, confusion flashed across her eyes, but she confidently walked over anyway. “Hi, I am Abby. And you are?” She extended a manicured hand. I ignored it. “I am Serena.” I skipped the pleasantries. “Serena?” She repeated the name, and a few seconds later, a spark of realization lit up her eyes. “Oh. Nate’s fiancee?” “Ex fiancee.” I looked at her with a deadpan expression. “I came here today to ask you one question.” “What could you possibly need to ask me?” She leaned back in her chair, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “Is this about Nate?” I held her gaze. “I want to know the result of that tarot reading. Is there still a chance for you two?” Abby blinked, then let out a sharp, amused laugh like I had just told a hilarious joke. “Serena, honey, I think you have the wrong person. Whatever is going on between you and Nate is your business. Coming to me for answers? Do you not realize how pathetic that makes you look?” “It is not pathetic.” I shook my head, keeping my voice utterly flat. “Because he will never tell me the truth.” “After all, he just finalized the deposit for our wedding venue yesterday.” The smirk instantly vanished from Abby’s face. Her eyes turned ice cold. She stared at me for a long moment, then smiled again. This time, it was a petty, vindictive smile. “Alright. You want to see it?” She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and shoved it in my face. It was a screenshot of Nate’s private Instagram story. The image was his chat with Luna the Mystic. [Based on the cards, you are definitely trapped in a love triangle. But you hold all the power. The Knight of Swords indicates a need for quick action. Ultimately, you must follow your heart.] Nate’s caption over the photo read: Follow my heart? I think I might just try that. An invisible fist crushed my lungs. Breathing felt like swallowing glass. I slowly lifted my head and looked at Abby’s triumphant, provocative eyes. I forced the corners of my mouth to curl upward. “Oh. I see he put that on his Close Friends list.” I kept my tone incredibly light. “No wonder it never showed up on my feed.” Abby’s face morphed into something ugly. Embarrassed and angry, she snatched her phone back. “Listen here. This is between me and Nate. What he posts is his choice. It has nothing to do with me!” “You coming here to confront me is completely pointless!” “It better have nothing to do with you.” I stood up, looking down at her. “Trying something new requires an opportunity. If you knowingly insert yourself into someone else’s relationship, then it is no longer just his problem.” I did not bother looking at her reaction. I turned around and pushed through the cafe doors. It was time to end this, Nate. 4 Nate was not home yet when I walked in. I went straight into his home office and booted up his desktop. The password was my birthday. It was so bitterly ironic I almost laughed out loud. I just wanted to find the contracts for the wedding planners and cancel this massive joke of an event as quickly as possible. His desktop was perfectly organized. As my eyes scanned the screen, a folder labeled “Referral” suddenly caught my attention. Abby’s post instantly echoed in my mind. Huge thanks to a certain someone for the referral! A heavy, suffocating dread wrapped around my throat. I double clicked the folder. Inside was a massive list of subfolders, and the naming convention made my blood run entirely cold. [Nova Corp Vanguard Market Analysis] [Nova Corp Vanguard Strategy Deck] [Nova Corp Vanguard Final Proposal] Nova Corp. My company. And Apex Innovations, Nate’s company, was our biggest, most vicious rival bidding for the Vanguard account. It was a multi million dollar international contract. My hand shook violently as I opened one of the files. It was my exact layout. The exact data charts I had built from scratch. It even had my personal shorthand notes in the margins. This was the highly classified project stored in a triple password protected vault on my work computer. How the hell did it end up here? A memory struck me like lightning. A few weeks ago, my laptop system completely crashed. When Nate found out, he used his special external drive to help me run a data recovery. I remembered him kissing the top of my head, gently scolding me for working too hard and not resting enough. So his little data rescue mission was just a cover to install malware and clone my entire hard drive? I was so furious I could not feel my fingers. I forced myself to breathe. In and out. I grabbed my phone and took clear photos of every single file, timestamp, and directory path. Then, I dialed Harper, the head of HR at Apex Innovations. Harper was my sorority sister from college. We were incredibly close. “Did your company just hire a girl named Abby through an internal referral?” My voice trembled. “Yeah, how did you know?” Harper sounded surprised. “Nate pushed her resume through. Said she was a brilliant junior from his old college who just moved back from Europe. Honestly, we usually do not hire like this, but…” “But what?” My chest tightened. “But she absolutely blew us away during her interview.” Harper sounded genuinely impressed. “You know Apex and Nova are fighting over the Vanguard account, right? Vanguard was leaning toward your company. But during Abby’s final interview, she pitched this mind blowing concept. The details were flawless, the data was bulletproof. Our CEO hired her on the spot!” “Why are you asking? Did Nate not tell you?” I did not hear a single word Harper said after that. Just a loud, high pitched ringing in my ears. That was my concept. Those were the details I stayed up until 3 AM perfecting. That was the data I spent months gathering. Just to get Abby a job, Nate was willing to let her step on my neck. He was willing to destroy my entire career and steal my life’s work. My body shook with a rage so pure it felt like ice. I dug my nails into my palms until they bled. “Harper,” my voice dropped an octave, turning deadly calm. “Thank you for telling me. I will explain everything later. I have to go.” I hung up and stared at the “Referral” folder on the screen. Seven years together. Engaged to be married. And yet, when it came to his perfect first love, he happily threw me under the bus. When anger reaches its absolute peak, it turns into a terrifying kind of clarity. If they wanted to play dirty, I was going to bury them both.

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When Payne’s true love passed away, he completely fell apart. His older brother practically “manufactured” me to be her perfect carbon copy. He dropped me right into Payne’s life with one simple directive: Keep him happy, and I’ll wire you ten million a month. No matter how many times Payne screamed at me to get the hell out of his sight, I just sat there, watching him with quiet, unwavering devotion. Eventually, his walls crumbled, and he finally pulled me into his arms. From that moment on, he treated me like absolute royalty. He spoiled me rotten, holding me like I was the most precious thing in his world. But then came the ultimate plot twist. His unforgettable true love—the girl who was supposed to be six feet under—suddenly posted a live location tag from a beach in Hawaii. That night, Payne completely lost his mind. He was so intensely aggressive with me it felt like he was going to tear my bones apart. Every single wealthy elite in the city grabbed their popcorn, waiting to see how the pathetic little stand-in would have a massive, humiliating mental breakdown. Instead, the very next morning, I walked straight into his brother’s office, my face flushed, and asked, “Boss, does this count as a workplace injury? Do I get workers’ comp?” 1 “Workers’ compensation?” Timmy’s voice was frigid. I scratched my cheek, keeping my voice small. “Matthew was so aggressive last night. I don’t have a single patch of good skin left, and it hurts to walk… Mr. Hayes, I can show you if you don’t believe me—” Timmy cut me off, his tone completely flat. “The money will be transferred to your account shortly.” My eyes immediately lit up. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes!” I paused for a second before adding, “And about the severance package…” “Severance package?” Timmy frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his face right before his phone started ringing. He answered it. After a long, heavy silence, his eyes narrowed sharply. “She’s still alive?” He hung up the phone. Timmy tapped his long fingers against the mahogany desk. He finally understood what I was asking for. He looked at me and said, “Stay by his side for now. If it turns out he truly doesn’t need you anymore, I will ensure you receive a very generous severance.” I secretly rolled my eyes. Of course he wasn’t going to need me anymore. His one true love wasn’t actually dead. Why on earth would he need a cheap knockoff? But I kept my expression docile, nodded sweetly, and said, “Understood.” I turned to leave. Timmy’s flat voice echoed behind me. “Do not get attached to things that don’t belong to you.” My footsteps faltered. He was warning me. Just like everyone else in this city, he assumed I was going to have a massive mental breakdown. He probably thought I would go insane, maybe even try to hurt someone, fully embracing the role of the toxic, gold-digging substitute. I let out a soft sigh. I really couldn’t blame him for thinking that. For the past three years, Matthew had been absolutely obsessed with me. Recently, he had even started contacting wedding planners. If everything went according to plan, we would be signing the marriage papers very soon. Unfortunately for me, the plan just crashed and burned. Matthew’s unforgettable, irreplaceable true love was alive. My guaranteed spot as the wife of the second Hayes heir had just evaporated. Logically speaking, I should be absolutely losing my mind right now. But over the last few years, I never once forgot my place. The condescending affection I earned by mimicking another woman was never going to last. The only thing that was real, the only thing that actually belonged to me, was the paycheck Timmy deposited into my bank account. I turned back and gave Timmy a bright smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hayes. For the salary you’re paying me, I promise I won’t disappoint you.” I pushed open the office doors and stepped out. Only to run into someone I completely did not expect to see in the hallway. Locking eyes with him, I froze entirely. “…Matthew?” The breathtakingly handsome man stopped in his tracks. His dark eyes locked onto me like radar. “What are you doing here?” I violently suppressed my panic, my brain working in absolute overdrive. Matthew had absolutely no idea that I knew his brother. He also had no idea that my entire relationship with him was a meticulously calculated setup orchestrated by Timmy himself. Years ago, when Matthew’s true love ‘died’, he completely lost his mind. He spent his days drinking himself into oblivion and street racing, causing a string of massive scandals. He was constantly on the front page of the tabloids, tanking the Hayes Corporation’s stock prices. As the CEO and head of the family, Timmy was irritated and running out of patience. That was until someone mentioned to him that there was a girl working at a high-end club who looked slightly like the dead girl. That girl was me. Stacks of files and photos were dropped in front of me, and I learned quickly. Since I was docile and incredibly easy to control, I was swiftly delivered to Matthew to act as an emotional pacifier. Matthew honestly believed I was just a girl who coincidentally looked like his ex, and happened to be desperately, hopelessly in love with him. Thanks to my relentless ‘devotion’, he eventually started to care about me. If this secret got out— Forget the workers’ comp and the severance package. I wouldn’t even get my salary for this month! I immediately clung to Matthew’s arm, my voice soft and whiny. “When I woke up, you were already gone, and your phone went straight to voicemail. I was so worried, so I came to ask your brother if he knew where you went. You aren’t mad at me, are you, Matthew?” Matthew paused, his tone indifferent. “He’s busy running the corporation. Don’t bother him with trivial things.” Seeing that he bought the lie, I discreetly let out a breath of relief and nodded obediently. “Okay. I won’t do it again.” He gave a careless nod and pulled his arm out of my grip. “Go home.” “What about tonight? You promised we’d have a candlelight dinner.” I pressed on. “I actually managed to get a reservation at that incredibly exclusive restaurant.” Matthew stopped. His long, elegant fingers reached out to stroke my cheek. Exactly the way someone would pet a dog. “Next time.” He said. Unsurprisingly, there probably wasn’t going to be a next time. But I still nodded like a perfect, obedient doll. “Okay.” 2 If Matthew wasn’t going, I was going by myself. I had been dying to eat at this restaurant for ages, but getting a table was notoriously impossible. Just last week, while I was giving Timmy his weekly report on Matthew’s mental state… I casually mentioned, “Mr. Hayes, getting a table at the restaurant on the top floor of the Apex Tower is literally impossible. Do you happen to have any connections?” Timmy put down his pen, looked up at me, and asked abruptly, “Have you mentioned this to Matthew?” I nodded. “He said if it’s too much trouble to book, we should just drop it. He said all fine dining tastes the same anyway. But the interior design there is gorgeous, and I really wanted to see it.” Timmy took a slow sip of his black coffee, his face completely expressionless. Then he made a single phone call. A second later, a reservation confirmation popped up on my phone. … “Miss Winters?” A male voice broke through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. I lowered my wine glass and looked up. It was the manager from the wedding planning agency I had been in contact with. I offered a polite smile. “You’re dining here tonight as well?” He looked at me for a few seconds, cleared his throat awkwardly, and lowered his voice to probe. “Are things… alright between you and Mr. Hayes?” “Excuse me?” I feigned perfect confusion. “Mr. Hayes’s assistant contacted me. All wedding preparations and venue designs are being put on hold indefinitely.” The man hesitated. “Specifically, everything regarding the bride.” I fully understood why he was panicking. I gave him a comforting smile. “Don’t worry. The wedding isn’t being canceled.” It was a multi-million dollar contract. Nobody wanted to lose that commission. The manager blinked, swallowing the reassurance, and instantly broke into a massive grin. “Well then, congratulations in advance to you and Mr. Hayes!” The wedding wasn’t going to be canceled. The bride was just being swapped out. I didn’t bother explaining the details. After the manager walked away, I started playing with my silverware out of pure boredom. Suddenly, I caught sight of two figures sitting by the floor-to-ceiling windows. I looked over, and my entire body froze in the chair. It was Matthew. He was sitting facing me, but his eyes were completely glued to the woman sitting across from him. Her delicate, slender back. It only took one glance for me to know exactly who she was. After all, I had spent countless hours staring at photos of her, perfectly mimicking her every posture and expression. A waiter arrived to drop off an appetizer. I pointed discreetly across the room. “I tried booking that specific table for months and couldn’t get it. Did they just pay a massive premium?” I only complained casually, not actually expecting an answer. High-end staff were trained to guard their clients’ privacy with their lives. To my surprise, the waiter chuckled softly. “Well, this restaurant operates under the Hayes Corporation. That gentleman over there is the young master of the family. He sits wherever he pleases with a single word.” I sat there, completely stunned. No wonder… When I told Timmy about this place, he gave me this incredibly unreadable look. Then, with one phone call, the table was mine. And Matthew? He couldn’t even be bothered to make that one single phone call for me. I had complained to him so many times about failing to get a reservation here. He would just pull me into his lap, casually playing with my earring, lazily admiring the disappointment on my face. “Oh, you poor thing. Can’t even get the dinner you want.” But then again, that was exactly how he always treated me. No respect, no equality. I was just a pet he could mold and tease whenever he felt like it. For example… I sat quietly, watching the two of them across the room. Matthew would never sit across the table from me. He always demanded I sit right next to him, just so he could easily pull me into his arms and mess with me. He would never politely pour me a glass of wine and engage in a serious, mature conversation. He would just press his own wine glass against my lips and lazily threaten, “Not going to drink it? Do you want me to feed it to you from my mouth?” Honestly, I never really wanted his respect anyway. I always knew exactly where I stood. But seeing him act like a perfect gentleman with her right in front of my eyes still left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth. 3 “Well, well. If it isn’t Miss Winters.” A man aggressively dropped into the empty chair across from me, forcing me to rip my eyes away from Matthew’s table. …It was one of Matthew’s obnoxious rich friends. “We were literally taking bets yesterday on how fast Matthew was going to dump you. And look at you, already eating all by yourself.” He smiled with pure malice, his eyes raking over me like I was an object on display. Then he pulled out his phone, blatantly snapped a picture of me, and sent it to a group chat. He held down the voice memo button. “Guess who I just ran into, boys? Matthew really tossed her to the curb.” Sitting there, an absolutely insane thought crossed my mind. If Matthew’s garbage friends were harassing me, could I invoice Timmy for emotional damage? “Without him paying the bills, how are you going to keep up this luxury lifestyle?” He sneered, leaning closer with a sleazy look. “Why don’t you spend a few nights with me? Twenty grand a night. Sound good?” As much as I genuinely wanted to throw my wine directly into his face and tell him my actual boss paid me ten times that… I couldn’t. I still had a deeply devoted, heartbroken persona to maintain. I kept my voice soft and gentle. “That’s not true. Matthew just said he had something important to handle tonight. We’re coming here together next time.” The man actually laughed out loud. He jerked his chin toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Do you see who is sitting over there?” I only glanced over for a second before saying firmly, “That’s just his friend. I would never interfere with his social life.” The man stood up and started walking straight toward their table. He was determined to rip away my last shred of dignity and force me to see exactly how ruthless Matthew really was. Are you kidding me?! I violently suppressed the thrill rising in my chest and quickly hurried after him. This was absolutely perfect. I was desperately looking for a flawless, dramatic exit that wouldn’t make anyone suspicious. Matthew would definitely draw a hard line with me in front of his true love. And I would act completely devastated, but maintain my dignity and leave with a broken heart. That way, I could secure my massive severance check at lightning speed. And if I was lucky, Matthew might even throw a fat breakup check at my face out of guilt. Then we would officially go our separate ways, never to cross paths again. After all, Timmy had explicitly told me that any jewelry, gifts, or allowances Matthew had given me were mine to keep with zero strings attached. While my mind was calculating my net worth, I followed the obnoxious rich kid right up to Matthew’s table. Two pairs of eyes instantly snapped toward me. As expected, the moment Matthew saw me, the color drained from his face. He stared dead at me. The atmosphere instantly turned incredibly bizarre. The woman looked at me and asked, “Your girlfriend?”

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When I got pregnant, my incredibly devoted boyfriend quit his job to pamper me. He managed everything I ate, wore, and used with strict precision. My best friend secretly got a high-end, pregnancy-safe skincare set customized for me. When he found it, he blew his top. “These are all chemicals! They are going to hurt the baby!” I tried to explain that keeping my spirits up was just as important for our child. The moment those words left my mouth, he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud. “I am so sorry! I made you upset! But what if there is something toxic in there and we lose the baby? I would never forgive myself!” His sheer panic threw me off guard. Feeling a bit guilty, I handed the expensive set over for him to “dispose of” properly. That very night, I was scrolling through social media and saw a lifestyle influencer posting a teaser for her next unboxing video. The luxury skincare box in her preview photo was the exact same custom set my best friend had just given me. Curiosity piqued, I clicked into her profile. As I scrolled through her past videos, my blood ran cold. Every single designer item my boyfriend had “disposed of” for the sake of the baby magically appeared on her feed. When a masked man walked into the frame of her latest video, I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. I slowly turned my head to look at the skincare set sitting near the entryway, the one he had not yet taken out to “throw away.” Without missing a beat, I opened my phone and placed a rush order for five bottles of industrial-grade superglue, five bottles of heavy-duty purple skin dye, and a whole lot of pepper extract. 1 My friends always warned me that Oliver was only after my bank account. I never cared. I had more than enough money to go around. Plus, Oliver always knew exactly what to say. “I know I am not in your league,” he used to whisper, holding my hands. “But I want to be the man supporting you behind the scenes. If you ever feel like you do not need me anymore, just say the word and I will walk away. But for now, please let me take care of you.” He quit his corporate job for me. He learned gourmet cooking, got certified as an infant care specialist, and even took doula classes. What reason did I have to reject a gorgeous, multi-talented guy who wanted nothing more than to wait on me hand and foot? I tossed him a black card without a second thought. He never spent a dime recklessly. He would even text me a receipt when he filled up the gas tank. He was so incredibly well-behaved it almost made my heart ache. But there was one specific habit of his that really got under my skin. Like right now. “Oliver! Where did that skincare set Harper sent me go?” Oliver poked his head out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a linen apron. He pursed his lips into a worried pout. “Sienna, honey, you are pregnant. Those commercial products are loaded with harsh chemicals. It is just not safe for the baby.” On the other end of the phone, my best friend Harper absolutely lost her mind. “Sienna! I paid a private dermatological team thousands to formulate that! It is food-grade! Completely safe for expecting mothers! Tell your warden of a boyfriend to hand it back. Pregnant women deserve to feel beautiful too!” I intentionally put her on speakerphone and raised my voice toward the kitchen. “Did you hear her? Hand it over. Do not tell me you donated it behind my back again!” Whenever Oliver “disposed” of my things, he claimed he was dropping them off at charity centers. We had a whole drawer full of donation receipts. He called it “building good karma for the baby.” He ignored my demand. Instead, he walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl. “You mentioned you were craving carbs yesterday but were worried about the baby weight. So, I minced fresh shrimp and made zero-carb noodles from scratch. I counted every calorie. It will not make you gain a pound, and it is packed with nutrients for you both.” Looking at the perfectly plated dish, all the fight drained right out of me. Oliver sighed, his voice dripping with gentle concern. “I am not trying to stop you from doing your skincare routine. I just genuinely do not trust those lab-made chemicals. I have been taking online courses on making pure, organic cosmetics. Let me make some for you, okay?” Handmade creams, soaps, daily essentials. All my top-tier luxury brands had slowly been replaced by his homemade concoctions. They were not exactly La Mer, but how could I fault a man pouring his entire heart into keeping me safe? I let out a soft sigh. “I am not trying to pick a fight. Just think about it. If I am happy and relaxed, that is good for the baby too, right?” The moment the words left my mouth, his knees hit the hardwood floor. “Did I do something wrong? Did I make you miserable?” “I am so sorry, Sienna! The box is right by the door. I will go grab it for you right now. But… what if there is a hidden ingredient in there? What if we lose the baby? I would live in agony for the rest of my life!” His dramatic reaction completely stunned me. Suddenly, I felt like the villain of the story for being too demanding. “Alright, alright, get up. Just promise me you will ask before you donate anything from now on. And leave the skincare alone, it is a gift from Harper.” “I promise! I swear!” He bounced up instantly, a bright, sunny smile taking over his face. “Oh, by the way, honey. A lot of the clothes in your walk-in closet do not fit your bump anymore. They are just taking up space. How about I bag them up and drop them off at the shelter?” I thought about it. I had not cleaned out my closet in ages. I nodded and gave him the green light. I sat at the island counter, enjoying the shrimp noodles, watching him hustle in and out of the master bedroom. One garbage bag. Two bags. Five massive black bags. I stared in absolute shock. “Are you cleaning out a closet or robbing the place?” I marched into the walk-in wardrobe. The entire right wing was practically stripped bare! 2 I eyed the five bulging bags, unable to bite my tongue. “Oliver, does the charity center have a monthly quota you are trying to hit?” “No, Sienna, I swear! I only packed up the old seasonal pieces. You cannot fit into them right now anyway, and some are just a bit too young for a mother-to-be. I did not touch any of your new maternity wear.” For some reason, a bitter taste settled in the back of my throat. Tossing out lotions and serums was one thing. They expired. But designer clothes? Even if I could not zip them up right now, I could wear them after the baby was born. I pointed a manicured finger at the smallest bag. “Take that one to the shelter. Put everything else back.” “But Sienna, unpacking them is such a hassle. Plus, the fabrics are restrictive. You really should not wear them right now. Letting them collect dust is such a waste…” A waste? Every single piece in those bags cost at least four figures. My money. He wanted to give them all away for a couple of printed tax receipts? Did he think I was born yesterday? I gave him one sharp, icy glare. Oliver instantly shut his mouth, grabbed the bags, and silently started hanging everything back up. I went back to my noodles, but my appetite was completely gone. Later, Oliver hovered around me, offering a foot massage, asking if I wanted him to draw a bath. If I ignored the wardrobe incident, the man was practically flawless. “By the way, baby, I need to visit my mom at the hospital tonight. There is a little bit of the shrimp pasta left in the pan. Do you mind if I pack it up for her?” “Go ahead.” Oliver’s mother was chronically ill. He spent multiple nights a week at the hospital keeping her company. When he quit his job, he told me it was to care for me, but I knew a big part of it was to manage his mother’s care. When I found out, I started quietly transferring two thousand dollars into his account every single week. He refused it at first, but eventually accepted it with tears in his eyes. After Oliver left the penthouse, I curled up in bed and started scrolling through my feed. The algorithm loved feeding me pregnancy content. A thumbnail caught my eye. The title read: Unboxing the Custom Luxury Pregnancy Skincare Hubby Got Me! The velvet box in the picture was identical to the one Harper had just given me. Harper told me the formulation was a one-of-a-kind exclusive. Was it possible someone else had the exact same order? I clicked the video. A pretty, heavily pregnant woman was live streaming, showing off her favorite maternity items. A cold chill crawled up my spine. Every single supplement, every brand of organic soap, aligned perfectly with my exact preferences. Some of the prenatal vitamins she showcased were imported and virtually impossible to get locally. The live chat was buzzing. Omg! Everything you use is so high-end! What do you do for a living? The streamer, who went by the name Daisy, giggled. “I am just a stay-at-home mom! My hubby works hard in the city. He spoils me with all these goodies.” I narrowed my eyes. Daisy’s supposed husband clearly had expensive taste and knew exactly what to buy. You did not just stumble across these specific luxury items without serious research. Right at that moment, a familiar voice drifted from the background of the live stream. “Honey, I am home!” Even though the camera only caught the edge of his shoulder, I recognized him instantly. He was wearing the limited-edition designer jacket I bought for his birthday. Oliver. What the hell was he doing there? The chat started begging for the husband to show his face. Daisy smiled coyly. “I cannot, guys! My hubby is a high-level corporate executive. Showing his face online might cause issues at his firm.” I let out a dark chuckle and typed a comment into the chat. Why would showing his face affect his work? Does he have a whole other family hidden somewhere? Instantly, Daisy’s loyal fans dogpiled on me. Who is this bitter troll? Daisy and her man are couple goals! Stop spreading toxic rumors! Exactly! Her husband treats her like a queen! Look, he even brought her dinner! On the screen, Daisy opened a sleek glass Tupperware container. As she lifted the lid to reveal the food inside, the final piece of the puzzle snapped into place. It was my zero-carb shrimp noodles. “Hubby? Did you make this?” “Yeah, minced the shrimp myself. Totally carb-free. I made a bigger batch, but some bloated old cow snatched the rest of it up.” A bloated… old cow? I stared at the glowing screen, my entire body turning to stone. My fingers moved on autopilot, clicking into her profile. Every single video was a showcase of the treasures Oliver had “disposed of” from my apartment. So this was how he built “karma” for our child. What an absolute master of philanthropy. No wonder Oliver never brought up getting married. He already had a wife playing house across town. 3 Taking my money under the guise of visiting his dying mother, only to feed his pregnant mistress. When you hit the absolute peak of disgust, all you can really do is laugh. I reached for my phone, fully prepared to dial his number and scorch the earth. But then Daisy’s whining voice drifted from the speaker. “Hubby, where is that custom skincare set you promised me? I have been waiting to do the unboxing for my fans!” “Sorry, baby, it is going to take a little longer. The bloated old cow at the office threw a fit over it. You know how it is, I have to play nice and let her have her way for now…” A bloated old cow, huh? I closed the app and made a completely different phone call. “Trace Oliver’s phone. I need his exact location right now.” Half an hour later, Harper stormed into my penthouse, practically breathing fire. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! Where is that gold-digging piece of trash!” She dragged me out to the car, fully intent on catching them in the act. During the drive, she cursed his name to high heaven. I leaned against the window, my voice eerily calm. “Oliver is scum, but maybe this Daisy girl is in the dark. She plays the innocent housewife act pretty well online.” The moment we pulled up to the gated community, my generous assumption was shattered. Oliver and Daisy were strolling down the sidewalk, fingers intertwined. The look of pure adoration on his face was even more convincing than the act he put on for me. They were completely oblivious to our car idling in the shadows. “Babe, you keep bringing me that old cow’s hand-me-downs,” Daisy whined, swinging his arm. “When are we going to buy new stuff?” “Most of those clothes still have the designer tags attached. If you do not want to wear them, just flip them online for cash.” “No! I want fresh clothes! Unopened makeup! A new house! I want everything brand new!” Oliver wrapped a comforting arm around her waist. “Just hold on a little longer. Once she gives birth…” “It is always ‘hold on’! You promised you would marry me as soon as you secured the bag. Do you know how many years I have been waiting? Look at how big I am getting! I cannot wait anymore! The luxury recovery clinic, the nurses, it all costs money. We are still short forty grand!” “I mean it this time,” Oliver lowered his voice, the sound carrying perfectly through the crisp night air. “Once she delivers, staging an accident will be child’s play. She has no family left. As the father of her child, I will naturally inherit the entire estate. When that happens, you can have all the new clothes in the world.” Daisy finally giggled, resting her head on his shoulder. “That is more like it. But… what if the cops look into it?” “Relax, I have every angle covered.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “A lonely woman suffering from severe postpartum depression? Who knows what she might do to herself?” Standing in the dark, my phone silently recording every word, the blood froze in my veins. Harper grabbed my hand, her grip bruising. “Sienna, we are going to the police. Right now!” I shook my head slowly, my eyes locked on the happy couple. “Jail is too good for him right now.” We drove straight home. I ordered five bottles of industrial superglue, five bottles of heavy-duty gentian violet dye, and several vials of concentrated pepper extract. I pulled out the gorgeous velvet skincare box and began our little arts and crafts project. The next morning, the smell of breakfast woke me. Oliver was back in his apron. “Morning, Sienna. Oh, Harper, you are here too? Want some breakfast?” Harper did not even look at him, aggressively stirring her black coffee. I sat at the dining table, staring at the lavish spread. I picked up my mug and took a slow sip. “What is wrong? Not hungry?” he asked, looking like a kicked puppy. I forced a tight smile. Harper chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “We went out for midnight cravings last night. Stuffed our faces. She is still full.” “Harper, how could you take her out for junk food late at night? She is pregnant!” Oliver furrowed his brow, playing the deeply concerned father to perfection. Harper rolled her eyes and ignored him. Oliver suddenly turned to me, his face shifting into a mask of pure tragedy. “Sienna, my mom took a turn for the worse last night. Could I… could I borrow forty grand to cover the new treatments? Even thirty-five would help!” “How much? Forty grand?!” Harper slammed her mug down. “Oliver, you live in her house, eat her food, and she gives you eight thousand a month for doing nothing! Where exactly is all that money going?” Yes, Oliver. Where exactly is the money going? 4 Oliver stammered, unable to formulate an excuse under Harper’s glare. I stepped in, playing the saint. “Your mom’s health comes first. I will lend it to you. Just use the black card.” “Sienna! You let him walk all over you!” Harper threw her hands up in theatrical disgust. Oliver’s eyes lit up with greedy triumph, but his smug expression crashed when I dropped the next sentence. “Though, given the amount this time, do you think we should write up a quick promissory note? Just for the records.” Oliver froze for a split second before nodding vigorously. “Of course! Absolutely!” He scurried into the home office and drafted a perfectly formatted IOU. While he was busy, I quietly sent a text to my wealth manager, freezing the black card immediately. He handed me the signed paper, even adding his thumbprint for good measure. I laughed softly. “You really wrote it out. Honestly, Oliver, you hold the card anyway. Writing an IOU… I really could not find a more honest man if I tried.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking bashful. “Every penny I spend on that card, I want you to know about. I want everyone to know I love you for you, not your bank account.” He directed that last part at Harper. Harper and I locked eyes, both fighting the urge to burst into hysterical laughter. Before he rushed out the door, I shoved the velvet skincare box into his hands. “Actually, just throw this out for me. You were right. I need to be careful with chemicals. Keeping myself healthy is the priority.” Harper immediately played her part, shouting from the kitchen. “Hey! Sienna! I spent fifteen grand on that set!” Hearing the price tag, Oliver’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs. He clutched the box to his chest and leaned in to hug me. I smoothly pivoted, dodging his touch. “Hurry up and go. You do not want to delay your mom’s treatment.” Two hours later, Daisy’s livestream went live right on schedule. The title was nauseatingly sweet. [Late Night Pampering! Hubby Unboxes 5-Figure Custom Skincare Set!] Harper and I curled up on my plush sofa, armed with a giant bowl of popcorn. We had already texted my marketing team to quietly flood her stream with paid traffic.

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The apocalypse struck suddenly, plunging the world into chaos. My best friend was infected while saving me, and our group immediately threw her out of the safehouse. On night watch, guilt drove me to sneak her some canned food. But as I touched the lock, glowing text appeared in my vision. It looked like live stream comments. One warned that opening the door would let the Mother of the Infected in, getting the Male Lead bitten. Another defended me, saying I owed my friend. A third said this was a setup for romance. Without the bite, the MC would not nurse him and they would never fall in love. Someone added that after being bitten, the Male Lead lost his edge and got a prosthetic arm just to please the MC, while she lived a pampered life. I pulled my hand back. My friend was destined to become the Mother of the Infected. That sounded fierce. As for the Male Lead, maybe he would make a good midnight snack for her. 1 The comments were still rolling in. [LMAO look at the MC hesitating. What a useless damsel. She doesn’t even have the guts to open the door.] [Don’t open it! Opening it means dooming the Male Lead. Keeping it shut means they survive.] [Honestly, the best friend got done dirty. She saved the MC just to get tossed out to die. But whatever, she’s just a plot device.] I stared at the glowing lines floating past my eyes. My fingertips were still resting on the deadbolt. The lock was freezing. It made my skin look ridiculously soft and pale, completely out of place in this hellscape. It had been a month since the outbreak. These hands hadn’t lifted a single heavy supply crate. They hadn’t killed a single walker. I had barely even wrapped a bandage for anyone else. Why? Because I never had to. My best friend, Sloane, took on every single dirty, brutal job. When she was clearing out biters, I was hiding in the evacuation zone. When she was scavenging for food, I was resting in the safehouse. Even her getting thrown out to die was because she shoved me through the safehouse doors during a massive horde attack, missing her own window to get inside by a fraction of a second. She was so strong. She was so capable that everyone just assumed it was her job to protect the rest of us. And I was so weak. I was so fragile that everyone assumed I was born to be protected. My hand trembled against the cold metal. The lock clicked softly. It sounded like the door was about to swing open. “What the hell are you doing?” 2 Chris’s voice echoed behind me. I turned around. Chris had already sat up from his sleeping bag. In the dim glow of the corner emergency light, I could clearly see the impatience written all over his face. He was undeniably gorgeous. Sharp jawline, piercing eyes. He looked like an action movie star. But right now, that handsome face was full of pure disgust for me, the so-called useless MC. The chat was right. In the original plot, I was just a pretty vase. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t carry my own weight. My only purpose in this story was to play nurse when the Male Lead got hurt, fall in love with him, and fulfill every single romantic trope in the book. My delicate, fragile nature only existed to add some spice to his post-apocalyptic power fantasy. It was sickening. I looked at Chris and answered with a completely flat voice. “I want to give Sloane some food.” Sloane was my best friend. Three hours ago, she took a zombie scratch to the arm while covering my blind spot. Chris was the one who personally gave the order to kick her out of the safehouse. When Sloane was forced out, she looked back at me one last time. There was zero resentment in her eyes. It was just a calm, quiet look that told me to stay alive. She even smiled at me. And then the heavy iron doors slammed shut in her face. 3 Chris furrowed his brows. “Are you out of your mind?” [Here we go! Classic bleeding-heart Mary Sue moment!] [MC, please use your brain! She’s a zombie now! Opening that door is going to get everyone killed!] [I swear, how did someone this dumb survive a whole month?] [To be fair, I don’t think the MC is wrong. The bestie literally saved her life. Giving her a snack isn’t a crime. It’s not like she’s letting her inside.] [Get out of the chat, you bleeding-heart sympathizer.] The floating text turned into a massive argument. I ignored it. I turned my head and looked at the other people in the safehouse. Seven people. All of them were awake. Not a single one of them stood up to back me. Garrison sneered, looking like he was holding back a string of curses. Toby curled up in the corner. He didn’t dare look me in the eye, let alone speak up for me. Then there was the middle-aged couple. Martha clutched her husband’s arm, while Marcus just shook his head at me like I was a clueless toddler. “Sloane isn’t a zombie,” I said. “She was just infected. She hasn’t fully turned yet. She still has her consciousness, and she saved every single one of your lives.” It was the absolute truth. Three days ago, the first horde hit our perimeter. A crawler pinned Garrison to the concrete. Sloane was the one who caved its skull in with a steel pipe, dragging Garrison back from the brink of death. Two days ago, Toby caught a severe fever from a minor infection. Sloane risked her life, looting three infested apartment blocks just to find him antibiotics. As for Martha and Marcus, the only reason they made it to this safehouse was because Sloane acted as their human shield on the highway. She still had a half-healed gash on her shoulder from protecting them. Every single person breathing in this room had survived because of Sloane. I just couldn’t understand it. When Sloane was the one in danger, why was their very first instinct to throw her to the wolves and watch her die without a shred of guilt? “That’s completely different.” Garrison spat, sounding incredibly annoyed. “She’s infected now. She could turn at any second. The rules are the rules. You pity her, but who is going to pity us?” “Exactly.” Martha chimed in from the corner. “Monica, we know you have a good heart. But this is the apocalypse. Having a good heart gets you killed. Sloane was a great kid, but she’s not human anymore.” I dug my heels in. “She is still human right now. It’s only been three hours since the scratch. A full mutation takes at least eight.” But they were completely deaf to reason. “We can’t take that gamble!” Marcus snapped coldly. “We have too many lives in this room. Your friend is just one person. If she dies, she dies! Do not drag us down with your suicidal empathy!” Chris finally stepped in, delivering the final verdict with a voice made of ice. “Bottom line. I am not letting you open that door. “Think about it. If you open it, even just a crack, the smell of fresh meat will draw the biters straight inside. All eight of us, including you, will be ripped apart.” I looked at him like he had grown a second head. “Hold on. Who exactly told you I was going to open the door?” “I never said I was opening the door.” 4 Chris froze. The chat froze too. [Huh? She’s not opening the door? Then what was she doing at the lock?] [Did the MC actually grow a brain cell? No way, she’s supposed to be a total simp for the ML in the novel.] [Wait, is she going to…] I dug through my survival pack and pulled out a coil of heavy-duty climbing rope. It was about fifty feet long. More than enough to reach the ground from our second-story window. I went over to our supply stash and grabbed two cans of Spam, a bottle of purified water, and a pack of high-calorie survival biscuits. I wrapped them tightly in a plastic bag and tied them securely to the end of the rope. The main door to the safehouse was solid welded iron. It was completely airtight. But the windows were a different story. The second-floor windows were boarded up with thick planks, but there were gaps between the wood. Definitely enough space to slip a rope through. Everyone in the room instantly realized what I was doing. Toby was the first to speak, his voice practically a whisper. “That… that actually works. We keep the door shut, just lower the food down…” “Shut up.” Chris shot him a lethal glare, and Toby instantly shrank back against the wall. Chris marched over to me and grabbed the rope out of my hands. “Are you seriously doing this?” I frowned, keeping my voice dangerously low. “Let go.” “You want to waste our rations at a time like this?” Chris’s voice dropped to a freezing register. “You’re giving food to a dead woman. What is the point? She takes two bites, turns into a monster, and all those calories go straight to hell. Our supplies are already running low. Do you have any idea how—” “I know.” I cut him off sharply. “I know supplies are low. I know she’s dying. I know that once she turns, this food is completely wasted. But I do not care.” I glared right back into his eyes. “She saved my life. She saved your lives. Even the food I’m giving away right now? She scavenged most of it. I refuse to sit here and watch her starve to death outside our walls just because you all lost your humanity.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every single word hit the room like a sledgehammer. Garrison looked away. Martha’s eyes darted nervously to the floor. She kept her mouth shut. Chris’s face turned incredibly ugly. The floating text started flooding my vision again. [Holy crap, the MC is actually standing her ground?] [Honestly, valid point. The bestie kept them all alive. Sparing a couple of cans of Spam is the least they could do.] [Logic doesn’t exist in the apocalypse! You don’t mix feelings with survival. The MC is just a bleeding heart.] [Bro, she isn’t even opening the door. She’s literally just lowering a snack on a rope. How is that being a bleeding heart?] The chat went back to screaming at each other. I tuned them out. Chris stared at me for a few long seconds before abruptly dropping the rope. “Fine.” He looked at me, a mocking sneer twisting his lips. “Do whatever you want. But let me remind you. The second you crack that window, noise and scent are going to leak out. Are you absolutely sure a couple of cans of Spam are worth the risk?” I nodded without a shred of hesitation. “Worth it.” 5 I walked over to the window and carefully pried two of the wooden planks just a fraction of an inch further apart. The night wind immediately rushed in, carrying the foul, metallic stench of rotting blood. I squinted, peering down into the darkness. A small, familiar figure was crammed into the narrow space between a dumpster and the brick wall. It was Sloane. She was terrified that she would turn and attack someone, so she had forced her body into the tightest, smallest ball possible. My chest tightened so painfully I almost choked on a sob. Once the virus took hold, human senses became incredibly sharp. Sloane heard the faint scrape of the wood. Her head snapped up. Across a fifty-foot drop in the dead of night, our eyes locked. I saw her pupils. They hadn’t turned into that milky, dead gray yet. They were still her beautiful, deep brown. There was still light in them. There was still consciousness. Her human soul was still fighting. I carefully fed the rope through the gap, lowering the plastic bag of food into the alley. Sloane saw it. She struggled to her feet, stumbling forward a few clumsy steps, and grabbed the plastic bag. She looked up at me. She didn’t make a sound, but I could read her lips perfectly in the moonlight. “Dumbass.” Then she clutched the bag to her chest, slowly slid back down against the brick wall, and buried her face in her knees. 6 I turned away from the window and faced a room full of absolute silence. Chris was sneering. Garrison was sighing dramatically. Martha was shaking her head. Toby was secretly wiping tears from his eyes. The chat was still arguing. But I truly didn’t care anymore. I pulled the rope back up, sealed the wooden planks tight, and walked back to my sleeping bag to sit down. And then, I waited. The chat explicitly said my best friend was supposed to storm the room the second I opened the door and bite Chris. But I never opened the door. I was incredibly curious to see how this plot was going to fix itself. The minutes ticked by. At exactly three in the morning, the chat absolutely exploded. [WTF WTF WTF!!! LOOK AT THE HORIZON!!!] [WHAT IS THAT?? WHAT IS THAT THING??] [IT’S A HORDE!!! A MASSIVE FREAKING HORDE!!!] I shot to my feet and sprinted to the window. Something was moving across the distant skyline. At first, it just looked like a blur, like a thick, rolling wave of black fog swallowing the horizon. But the shadows quickly took shape. It was the infected. Hundreds, thousands of them. A dense, suffocating swarm pouring in from every single direction. They looked like a black tide washing over the ruined streets and shattered buildings, heading straight for our safehouse. They weren’t moving fast, but the sheer volume of them was paralyzing. It was true despair. “A horde!” Garrison was the first to break the silence. All the blood drained from his face. “How is this possible?! We scouted this entire grid! There were no major clusters for ten miles!” “Something dragged them here.” Chris’s face turned completely pale. “A sound? A scent? Or…” He whipped his head around and glared at me. Every single pair of eyes in the room locked onto me. “It was the food.” Chris’s voice was absolute poison. “You threw that food out the window. The smell drifted. You pulled the horde right to our doorstep!” “That is impossible.” I shot back immediately. “I sent down two sealed cans of Spam. The smell wouldn’t carry far enough to—” “Are you seriously still denying it?!” Marcus suddenly roared. “Look at what is happening! You are still making excuses! I told everyone we couldn’t let her open that window, but she wouldn’t listen! Now look! We are all going to die in this concrete box!” “Exactly!” Martha shrieked hysterically. “Monica, you selfish brat! You just had to play the saint, and now you’ve doomed us all!” “I…” “Enough.” Chris held up a hand, silencing the room. His expression turned completely ruthless. “This isn’t the time to point fingers. We need a way out.” He shot me one final look. It was the kind of look you give a dead body. The text floating in my vision went completely insane. [Oh hell yes, Chris actually yelled at his future wife! You’re gonna be groveling so hard later, bro!] [This plot is making my blood boil! The Male Lead did nothing wrong! It’s all the MC’s fault for being a stupid bleeding heart!] [Hold up. This wasn’t in the original novel… The horde was triggered by something completely different in the book… Wait, is the timeline broken?] [Bro, you just noticed? The plot derailed the exact second she refused to open the door!]

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The day of the concert arrived. The massive stadium was packed to the rafters with eighty thousand screaming fans, and millions more were tuned into the live stream. She stood at the dead center of the stage. The moment she raised the microphone to her lips, the backing track abruptly cut out. A suffocating silence swallowed the arena. The root of this spectacular disaster started a few days ago. My wife, the untouchable pop queen of the current music scene, built her entire empire on songs I wrote. But just days prior, she demanded I sign away the rights to every single one of those tracks. She wanted to gift them to her college sweetheart, the one that got away. When she slid that piece of paper across the kitchen island, I looked at the stranger wearing my wife’s face. A hollow laugh escaped my throat, and I gave her a two-word answer. “Sure thing.” 1 I was actually cooking for Phoebe when she pushed that Copyright Transfer Agreement into my line of sight. A rich, garlic herb chicken was slow-roasting in the oven. The warm, savory aroma filled every corner of our penthouse. It was her favorite pre-concert meal. I made it for her every single time she prepared for a big tour. “Ted, turn the oven off for a second and come sign this.” Her voice was as melodic as ever, but underneath that sweet tone lay a cold, undeniable command. I wiped my hands on a towel, walked over, and took a seat across from her. “What is this?” “A copyright transfer,” Phoebe said. Her tone was terrifyingly casual, like she was asking me to pass the salt. “I need you to transfer the publishing rights of my older tracks to Oliver.” A deafening ring echoed in my ears. All the blood rushed to my head before turning to absolute ice, leaving my fingertips numb. Oliver. That name felt like a rusted blade twisting into my ribs. He was her senior in college, the golden boy she kept buried deep in her heart and never mentioned to the press. According to her, he was the most brilliant musical mind of their generation. Three years ago, when Phoebe and I tied the knot, she was a nobody singing to empty rooms in dive bars. I loved her. I poured every ounce of my soul into writing for her, becoming her exclusive ghost producer. Echoes, Midsummer, Lone Wolf. Track after track, I dragged her out of obscurity and crowned her the reigning queen of pop. My producer alias was Cipher. I never showed my face. Everyone in the industry knew there was a mythical, gold-tier songwriter backing Phoebe, but nobody knew Cipher was actually me. To the media, I was just the freeloader husband who stayed home and lived off his superstar wife. I cooked for her. I managed the tedious background noise of her life. I made sure she had absolutely nothing to worry about so she could shine flawlessly under the spotlights. I thought that was what marriage meant. But now, she wanted me to take the children I had bled over and hand them to another man. “Why?” My throat felt like sandpaper. Phoebe looked up. Those beautiful eyes that used to pull me under were now completely devoid of warmth. “Oliver just moved back stateside. He needs a solid catalog to break into the market, and the style of your songs fits his aesthetic perfectly.” She paused, clearly sensing my silence, and tried to justify it further. “Besides, when I first met Oliver, you weren’t even in the picture. A lot of my musical inspiration came from him anyway. Technically, he deserves a piece of these tracks.” I was so furious I actually smiled. Technically deserves a piece. I stared at her perfectly contoured, ice-cold face. The last fragile thread of affection I held for this woman snapped, crumbling into dust. “So what you’re saying is, I’m just your ghostwriter?” Phoebe frowned. My reaction was clearly annoying her. “Ted, don’t twist my words. We’re married. What’s yours is mine, right? I’m just returning these songs to their rightful owner.” “Plus, giving the rights to Oliver is a win for everyone. Once his career takes off, we can all collaborate. We’ll dominate the industry together.” She dressed her betrayal up in corporate buzzwords. Every single syllable was a slap in the face, mocking the three years I spent worshipping the ground she walked on. I saw it. I saw the undeniable, glowing spark in her eyes when she said his name. It was a look she had never, ever given me. I was just a tool. A stepping stone to get her to the top. And now that her golden boy was back, the tool and everything it produced were being wrapped up with a bow and handed over as a welcome-home gift. It was hilarious. It was sickening. I stared at the paperwork. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t pull air into my lungs. I dug my fingernails into my palms until the sharp sting forced my spiraling mind to focus. Don’t lose it. If I blow up now, she’ll just call me petty and insecure. I took a deep, jagged breath, swallowing down the bitter taste in my mouth. When I finally looked up at her, I forced a smile that felt completely alien on my face. “Sure thing,” I said. 2 Phoebe clearly didn’t expect me to cave so easily. She blinked, a flash of pure shock crossing her face before it was entirely swallowed by a raw, unfiltered greed. It was a genuine thrill she couldn’t even bother to hide. “You… you’re really signing it?” “Yeah.” I nodded, picking up the pen resting on the marble counter. “We’re a team, right? What matters to you matters to me. If this helps your career, I’m on board.” I flipped the document open as I spoke. The legal jargon was crystal clear. Party A: Ted (Cipher). Party B: Oliver. I, Ted, willingly and permanently transfer all copyrights of my published musical works to Oliver, completely free of charge. Free of charge. Permanent. She really wanted to sever my lifeline without leaving a single loophole. My heart was actively bleeding out, but I kept the gentle smile glued to my face. “Where do I sign?” I asked. A radiant, dazzling smile broke out on Phoebe’s face, one I hadn’t seen directed at me in months. She practically vibrated with excitement as she pointed to the dotted lines at the bottom. “Here, here, and initial right here.” Her voice trembled with a greedy kind of hunger. I hovered the ballpoint over the thick paper. Phoebe’s eyes were locked onto my hand. She was literally holding her breath. A freezing calm washed over my mind. Of course I wasn’t going to sign it. But I was absolutely going to let her believe I did. I faked a moment of hesitation, letting out a heavy sigh. “Phoebe, I built these tracks from the ground up. They’re like my kids. Giving them all away just feels…” She cut me off instantly. Her tone shifted, dripping with that sickly sweet, manipulative affection she only ever used when she wanted me to pull an all-nighter in the studio for her. “Babe, I know it’s hard. But think about it. Oliver is different. He’s such an important piece of my journey. Helping him is basically helping me.” She reached out, resting her manicured hand over mine, patting it softly. “Don’t worry. You can just write new hits for me, okay? We’ll go right back to how things were.” Go right back? I sneered internally. I was blind before, treating you like a goddess. That ends today. I flipped my hand over and squeezed her fingers, locking eyes with her. “You know I’d do anything for you, Phoebe.” I looked down and aggressively scribbled a signature onto the paper. It was a messy, stylized autograph that belonged to an imaginary person. It had absolutely zero legal connection to my actual name. I pushed the papers back across the island. “All done.” Phoebe snatched the documents up like they were made of solid gold. She stared at the ink, her face flushed with absolute ecstasy. She was so high on the thrill of delivering this prize to her lover that she didn’t even notice the signature was complete gibberish. “You’re the best, Ted!” She jumped up and leaned over the counter, pressing a cold, obligatory kiss to my cheek. It felt like a transaction. She grabbed her purse and the fake contract, already turning her back to me. “Eat the dinner yourself! I’m meeting up with Oliver, he’s waiting for me!” The front door slammed shut. The penthouse was dead silent again. The only sound was the oven humming, baking a meal for a ghost. The fake smile peeled off my face. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down at the street. I watched Phoebe peel out of the driveway in the Porsche 911 I bought for her birthday. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Ford? It’s Ted.” “I need you to draft a cease and desist. I also need a complete audit of every single copyright registered under the name Cipher. Yes, the entire catalog.” “And Ford? Draw up divorce papers.” “Yeah. I want her taken to the cleaners. Leave her with nothing.” I ended the call and stared at the smoggy city skyline, letting out a long, heavy exhale. So, Phoebe. You want to throw a massive third-anniversary concert? You want to use that stage to announce Oliver as the genius behind your success? I built that glittering stage for you. I hope you enjoy the spectacular gift I’m about to drop on it. 3 Over the next few days, Phoebe played the role of the perfect, doting wife. She texted me constantly, asking what I was doing or if I had eaten. When she got home, she’d rub my shoulders for exactly ten seconds and coo about how hard I worked. She honestly believed I was entirely wrapped around her finger. She thought I was still the same pathetic Ted who lived to serve her. She had no idea that every time I looked at her fake, plastic smile, I wanted to throw up. I played along flawlessly while moving my chess pieces in the dark. Ford was a shark. He moved fast and got the paperwork finalized in record time. Under the alias Cipher, I legally owned thirty-seven tracks. Those thirty-seven tracks were the sole foundation of Phoebe’s entire net worth, brand deals, and A-list status. And ninety percent of the setlist for her upcoming stadium show consisted of my music. According to our original licensing agreement, as the sole copyright holder, I retained the absolute right to revoke her performance privileges at any time, especially if the licensee engaged in fraudulent behavior regarding my intellectual property. The trap was set. I just needed the right moment to spring it. And that moment was her grand anniversary concert. The hype was unreal. Her label and PR team were burning cash to keep her trending. “Pop Queen Phoebe’s 3rd Anniversary! A Night of Legends at the Grand Arena!” “Will the mythical producer Cipher finally show his face? Massive surprises await at Phoebe’s live show!” The internet was flooded with sponsored articles. Her team even leaked a rumor that a completely unexpected, legendary guest would step onto the stage. Naturally, the world assumed it was Cipher. Her fanbase was losing their minds. They were dying to know what kind of musical god could drop back-to-back platinum records without ever stepping into the light. Phoebe’s social media feeds were overflowing with fans begging for a reveal. [OMG Phoebe! Please bring Cipher out! I would literally die for him!] [Who is he?! The mystery is killing me. You have to put a face to the name this time!] [Manifesting a Cipher face reveal! I will trade my firstborn just to see what this man looks like!] I scrolled through the comments, feeling a twisted sense of irony. Phoebe saw them too. She brought her phone over to the couch, laughing brightly as she shoved the screen in my face. “Look at this, babe. Your fans are crazier than mine.” She leaned against my shoulder, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to go up there? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment.” I set my book down and gave her a flat look. “Didn’t you already arrange for Cipher to make an appearance?” Phoebe’s smile froze. She recovered a second later, letting out a nervous, breathy laugh. “Oh, stop. I didn’t mean Oliver, I meant you. He’s just… he’s just going to stand in for you.” “Since you hate the spotlight so much, right?” I nodded slowly. “Right. I hate the spotlight. Let him stand in for me.” Stand in for me. Soak up the deafening cheers of my fans. Steal the legacy I bled for. You’re playing a dangerous game, Phoebe. Seeing that I wasn’t going to put up a fight, she completely dropped her guard. She started parading Oliver around town without a shred of shame. Under the guise of “coordinating concert details,” the two of them were practically glued together. Paparazzi caught them having intimate dinners, shopping in luxury boutiques, and eventually, walking into the same boutique hotel. The rumors exploded. I was officially the biggest cuckold in the city, wearing a neon green hat for the world to see. My boys were blowing up my phone, furious on my behalf. “Ted, are you legally blind, man? Your girl is practically moving her side dude in, and you’re just sitting there?” “Serve her the papers! Why are you still with this toxic trash?” I just gave them the same calm answer. “Relax. The show is about to start.” The day before the concert, Phoebe and Oliver sat down for an exclusive media interview. On camera, they looked like the perfect, glamorous power couple. The interviewer leaned in. “Oliver, the streets are saying you are the mastermind behind the Cipher alias. Can you confirm the rumors?” Oliver pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, offering the camera a smug, pretentious smile. “Phoebe and I have been close for years. We understand each other’s artistic souls. You could definitely say my fingerprints are all over her discography.” He didn’t outright say he was Cipher, but the implication was heavy and deliberate. The interviewer turned to Phoebe. “And will Oliver be taking the stage tomorrow night as Cipher?” Phoebe looked at Oliver with absolute adoration. “I guess everyone will just have to buy a ticket and find out. All I can say is, tomorrow night belongs to the fans, to me, and to… Cipher.” She put a heavy, dramatic emphasis on the name. The moment the interview dropped, the internet broke. The hashtag #OliverIsCipher rocketed to the number one trending spot. Oliver’s socials gained millions of followers in a matter of hours. Thirsty fans flooded his comments, calling him a genius and a god. Phoebe’s fanbase began aggressively shipping them. [OMFG I KNEW IT! Anyone who writes songs with that much passion has to be madly in love with her!] [They look so good together. Pure soulmates!] [See? I told you that freeloader husband of hers was a bum! No way a stay-at-home loser wrote those hits. The truth is finally out!] [Wait, isn’t Phoebe still legally married to Ted?] [Who cares about a piece of paper? A loveless marriage is a prison! Go get your true love, queen!] I stared at the toxic wasteland of comments, my face completely blank. I locked my phone and tossed it onto the coffee table. Phoebe. Oliver. Enjoy your final night on top of the world. Because tomorrow, I’m dragging you both straight down to hell. 4 Concert night. The Grand Arena was packed with eighty thousand screaming bodies. A massive ocean of blue glow sticks lit up the dark venue. Fans were holding up LED signs, chanting Phoebe’s name until their throats gave out. The energy was electric. I wasn’t in the crowd. I was sitting on my leather couch at home, watching the flawless 4K live stream on my TV. The broadcast cut to a backstage cam. Phoebe was doing last-minute touch-ups. She wore a custom, diamond-encrusted bodysuit. With her flawless makeup, she looked like absolute royalty. Oliver hovered right behind her, playing the attentive partner, adjusting the sheer train of her outfit. “Deep breaths, Phoebe. You own this city tonight.” “I know.” She nodded, a blissfully arrogant smile on her lips. Brenda, her aggressive talent manager, tapped her watch. “Alright, team! Time to move. Let’s get to the lift.” She turned to Oliver. “Oliver, get to your mark. You’re up right after track three.” Oliver flashed a cocky grin. “Got it, Brenda.” He looked back at Phoebe, his eyes dark with possessiveness. “After tonight, the whole damn world is gonna know you belong to me.” Phoebe looked down, blushing like a schoolgirl. The backstage camera caught the entire exchange and beamed it live to millions of viewers. The live chat scrolling across my screen went absolutely nuclear. [HOLY SHIT! THEY JUST CONFIRMED IT!] [I’m screaming!! My ship is sailing!] [Someone get them a ring right now!!] [Can Ted just file for divorce already? He’s embarrassing himself at this point.] I watched the perfect couple on my screen, picked up my mug of hot tea, and took a slow sip. It was a great brew. Shame it was about to get cold. At exactly eight o’clock, the show began. The arena went pitch black. A single, blinding white spotlight snapped on, hitting the mechanical lift in the center of the stage. The heavy, dramatic synth intro kicked in. It was her breakout hit. Echoes. The very first track I ever produced for her. The lift slowly ascended, bringing Phoebe into the glaring light. The stadium literally shook with the deafening roar of eighty thousand fans. “Phoebe! Phoebe! Phoebe!” She gripped her custom microphone, a perfect, triumphant smile painted on her face. She took a deep breath, parting her lips to sing the opening verse. But a split second before she made a sound. With a harsh screech of static, the heavy backing track cut out completely. The entire stadium crashed into a suffocating, deeply uncomfortable silence. Everyone froze. On stage, Phoebe stood paralyzed, her microphone hovering awkwardly near her mouth, her eyes wide with panic. Backstage, the live director and audio engineers were losing their minds. “What the hell is going on?! Why did the feed cut?” “I don’t know! The rig is fine!” “Switch to the backup tracks! Move, move, move!” A few agonizing seconds later, the beat dropped again. But it only lasted two seconds before violently cutting out a second time. And this time, it wasn’t just the audio. The massive, sixty-foot LED screen wrapping the back of the stage completely blacked out. The crowd erupted into confused murmurs. “What’s happening? Did the power blow?” “No way. A show this big doesn’t just crash like this.” “Yo, look! The screen is back!” Eighty thousand pairs of eyes snapped back to the colossal digital display. The screen was stark black. Slowly, line by line, bold white text began to type itself across the monitors. [CEASE AND DESIST / NOTICE OF REVOCATION] [To: Event Organizers and Ms. Phoebe] [I, Ted (Operating professionally under the alias ‘Cipher’), acting as the sole and exclusive copyright holder of ‘Echoes’, ‘Midsummer’, ‘Lone Wolf’, and 34 other registered musical compositions, hereby issue formal notice:] [Due to severe contractual violations and blatant commercial fraud committed by Ms. Phoebe, I am officially revoking all licenses, performance rights, and distribution permissions previously granted to her, effective immediately.] [Any unauthorized public performance of my intellectual property from this second forward constitutes gross copyright infringement. I will aggressively pursue all available legal action against any offending parties.] [Signed: Ted (Cipher)] Right beneath the ruthless legal text, high-resolution scans of the official copyright certificates populated the screen. On every single document, under the ‘Legal Owner’ section, the same name was printed in bold black ink: Ted. And right next to it, under ‘Registered Alias’: Cipher.

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Three years after my release, Sebastian Wheeler returned, more obsessed than ever. He used threats, bribes, and finally, locked me inside. The most absurd moment came when he brought Isabelle, the woman he’d left me for, to kneel before me. “Nora,” Sebastian said, his voice thick with false grief, “Ollie is gone. Will you keep holding a grudge against us forever?” Isabelle chimed in, “We want to make it up to you!” Their words twisted the truth like needles. I snapped, my hand striking his face. “Make it up to me? How dare you? If you hadn’t stolen Ollie’s life-saving medicine for her daughter, Sophie, he would still be alive. Is this your idea of making amends? Framing me and letting me rot in prison for three years?” Sebastian’s eyes flickered. “But I love you,” he stammered. “You were so emotional back then—I was afraid you’d hurt them.” I laughed bitterly. Love? The same love that killed my son and sent me to prison? If that’s how he defined love, I could play by the same rules. I met his eyes, full of hope and guilt, and replied calmly, “Fine. I’ll remarry you.” 1 “No!” The word shot out the moment I finished speaking. Isabelle, still kneeling, jerked her head up, her voice a sharp cry. Sebastian’s gaze shifted to her. She quickly backpedaled. “I just… I’m afraid Sophie won’t be able to handle it.” “If you and Nora remarry, what does that make Sophie? An illegitimate child? She’s so young… I don’t care about my own reputation, but Sophie…” Isabelle’s voice trailed off as tears began to stream down her face, a perfectly calculated performance. It worked. Sebastian’s expression softened with pity. Just as he was about to reconsider, I spoke again. “That’s an easy fix.” “From now on, Sophie can call me ‘Mom’.” “That way, you and I will have a child again, won’t we, Sebastian?” He stared at me, stunned for a moment. Then, his eyes lit up with a manic glee. “Yes! Of course!” “Nora, Ollie’s gone, but we still have Sophie. And besides, you’re her aunt, after all!” Isabelle was dumbfounded. She had assumed my pride would never let me agree to remarry him, which is why she’d put on this show of kneeling beside him. She never imagined I would accept Sophie, too. Her tears fell harder. “No, you can’t!” she sobbed. “Sebastian, Sophie is my child. How can you let her call someone else ‘Mother’?” I smiled. I reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “Because,” I whispered, “you killed my child. As compensation, your daughter calling me ‘Mother’ seems more than fair.” I turned and extended my hand to the still-kneeling Sebastian. “Do you agree, Sebastian? If you do, we’ll get remarried. I’ll even forgive you and Isabelle. We can be a happy family again.” The ecstatic relief in his eyes was sickening. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing my hand. “Yes! Of course, I agree!” “Let’s go. Let’s do it now!” He spoke quickly, terrified I might change my mind. He practically shoved me into his car and sped toward the courthouse. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Isabelle in the back seat, her face a thundercloud of fury. I could almost taste her bitterness. After everything she’d done to drive me away, to use my son’s death to finally break up my marriage, I had agreed to come back so easily. Her venomous gaze shifted. She pulled out her phone and tapped out two quick messages. A moment later, she cried out from the back seat. “Sebastian, something’s wrong!” “The doctor just called! Sophie’s condition has gotten worse! We have to get to the hospital, now!” “What?!” Sebastian slammed on the brakes. Without even a glance in my direction, he spun the car around and raced towards the hospital. A private doctor was waiting anxiously by the entrance. He jogged over as we pulled up. “Mr. Wheeler, her condition is very unstable. The research on this disease is limited in this country, we don’t have many options… Dr. Shaw?” The doctor looked at me as if he knew me. His face lit up. “Wait, Dr. Shaw, you specialize in this field, don’t you?” He turned back to Sebastian. “Mr. Wheeler, now that Dr. Shaw is out of prison, why not have her take over Sophie’s case? Your son… he passed from the same illness. Dr. Shaw must have done extensive research.” I almost laughed. The same old trick. Isabelle was using her child again to play the victim, to paint me as the villain. As I was thinking, Isabelle dropped to her knees in front of me again, her cries tearing through the quiet hospital entrance. “Nora, I’m begging you. Please, save Sophie. I know I was wrong before. I’ll be your servant for the rest of my life, you can torture me, do whatever you want to get your revenge! But the child is innocent! If not for my sake, then for Sebastian’s. She’s his child, too! Please!” Her performance was flawless. Sebastian, of course, fell for it. “Nora, the doctor has a point. Let’s just put the past behind us. You can be in charge of Sophie’s treatment…” Crack! My hand flew out, and the sound of the slap stunned everyone into silence. But I hadn’t hit Isabelle. I hadn’t hit Sebastian. I had slapped the doctor, hard, across the face. “Who gave you permission to say Ollie’s name?” I roared, my voice raw with fury. “You’re another useless quack! You couldn’t save Ollie then, and you can’t save Sophie now?” I slapped him again, a backhand blow that sent him sprawling to the ground. He looked up, bewildered, his eyes darting to Isabelle. This wasn’t what she had told him in the text. He was just supposed to shift the responsibility to me, to push Sebastian’s buttons until I caved. Why was I attacking him? I didn’t stop. I kicked, I punched, and then I went for his throat. “Quack! Fraud! You’re all in on it!” I screamed. “You killed my Ollie, and now you’re trying to kill me!” The doctor’s face turned purple, and he began to choke, gasping for air. “Ma’am, I’m sorry!” he wheezed. “It was Isabelle! She told me to say Sophie’s condition was worse, to make you the primary physician! I had no choice, I just work here, I can’t afford to get on her bad side! I have the text messages on my phone! Please, let me go!” Slowly, I released my grip. I reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and used his terrified face to unlock it. There it was. Tell Sebastian that Sophie’s condition is worse. Get him to make that bitch her primary physician. We’ll figure out the rest later. I held the glowing screen up for Sebastian to see. Isabelle’s face went white. She grabbed his pant leg, wailing, “Sebastian, no! Let me explain! I was just so worried about Sophie! Think about it, Nora developed a targeted drug for Ollie when he was so sick. If she treated Sophie, it would be so much more effective! I swear, I was only thinking of what was best for Sophie!” Sebastian’s expression was a twisted knot of confusion and anger, his eyes fixed on the word bitch. He was silent for a long time. Just as he was about to help the sniveling Isabelle to her feet, another pair of hands beat him to it. Mine. I leaned down and gently helped Isabelle up, a sweet smile on my face. “Of course I believe you, little sister. After all, you must trust me so much. You conspired with Sebastian to steal Ollie’s life-saving medicine for Sophie, leading to my son’s death. And yet, here you are, willing to entrust your own daughter to me, the mother who has every reason to want revenge.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You must trust that I won’t take this opportunity to torture her, to maim her… to kill her, do you?” Isabelle was so terrified she forgot to cry. She just stared at me as if I were a monster. I even reached out and stroked her hair. “Just kidding,” I said, my voice eerily cheerful. “With me around, Sophie won’t die so easily.” I turned back to Sebastian, my smile radiant. “Sebastian, let me be Sophie’s doctor. Don’t worry. I will do everything in my power to keep her alive.” Seeing that I was not only willing to forgive him but also to save Sophie, Sebastian was overjoyed. He agreed instantly. Isabelle, however, finally found her voice. “No! You can’t go near her!” she shrieked, grabbing my arm. “You’re insane, you’ll kill her! You’re trying to get revenge on me!” She tugged at me so hard I stumbled. Sebastian caught me, shoving Isabelle away. “What are you doing? I haven’t even dealt with you about that text message. Now Nora has agreed, and you’re the one backing out?” Isabelle could only point at me, speechless. I leaned against Sebastian, my eyes welling with tears, a perfect picture of fragile vulnerability. It was a mirror image of the act she had pulled on me so many times over the years. The sight seemed to drive her mad. She dug her nails into her palms, drawing blood, before she managed to compose herself. “I’m sorry, Nora,” she said through gritted teeth. “I was just so emotional. I didn’t mean it.” I was still smiling, but my eyes were ice. “It’s okay, little sister. I just got out of prison. It’s natural for you to be excited to see me. I’m excited, too. We have… a long time to catch up.” With that, I stepped away from Sebastian and pushed open the door to Sophie’s room. The girl looked at me with the same terror as her mother, but with Sebastian in the room, she had no choice but to let me examine her. I glanced at her latest chart. “Sophie’s condition is critical. She needs surgery immediately. Any delay will only make things worse. Let’s schedule it for the day after tomorrow. I’ll perform it myself. After the surgery, she should be completely cured.” Sebastian was ecstatic. He wrapped his arms around me, his lips brushing against my cheek. “Nora, this is wonderful! Thank you! I knew you’d still be willing to save her!” Only Isabelle glared at me, her face a mask of pure hatred, forced to smile through her rage. It was only then that I realized it. Being the villain… felt so damn good. Later that evening, after I had settled in at the villa, Isabelle cornered me on the staircase. She gripped my wrist, her voice a low hiss. “What are you planning to do to Sophie? You bitch. Weren’t the people I paid to take care of you in prison enough to teach you a lesson? You get out and you’re right back to seducing Sebastian. You go to him right now and tell him the surgery is off, or I swear… I will make you pay.” I looked down at the red marks forming on my wrist and chuckled. “What are you so afraid of? There’s always a risk of death with a surgery like this. Sophie’s just unlucky to have a mother like you. So… she’ll die on the operating table. But don’t worry. Sebastian won’t be sad for long. He’s waiting for me in the master bedroom. Soon, we’ll have another child.” My blatant provocation sent her into a frenzy. “You’ll regret this!” she spat. “I’m kicking you out of this house, right now!” She dragged me to the edge of the stairs, then let go, throwing her body backward. “Aah—!” she screamed.

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