Category: English

1 On our wedding night, Hudson literally put a lock on his boxer briefs. A titanium combination lock. Waterproof, fireproof, and apparently, wife-proof. Just as I grabbed a heavy glass bottle, fully prepared to smash it and take what was legally mine, rows of glowing text suddenly drifted across my vision. [LMAO. The CEO would rather wear a padlock than touch his ex-wife. Bro’s commitment to purity is insane.] [Just wait until he meets the actual female lead. The ice king literally catches fire for her. Their office hookups are legendary.] [I kinda feel bad for the ex-wife though. Simping for him for six years, and she gets kicked to the curb without even holding his hand.] [Who cares? Everything the male lead owns belongs to our girl. He hands over his black cards, his shares. The ex-wife is just a walking ATM to fund their romance.] I stared at the floating comments, letting out a cold, bitter laugh. Why the hell should I bleed myself dry, offering up my money and my youth, just to end up with nothing and pave the way for some supposed “female lead”? Without a second thought, I crushed up ten of those highly questionable “Midnight Stallion” herbal energy boosters I bought at the gas station and dumped them straight into Hudson’s hangover smoothie. Guarding your purity, huh? Locking it up, right? Tonight, he was either breaking his vow of chastity, or I was making myself a widow! Either way, I wasn’t leaving him untouched for his next girl. I kicked open the heavy oak door to Hudson’s home office. Before he even had time to process what was happening, I grabbed his jaw and forced the spiked smoothie down his throat. The thick liquid spilled over his jawline, soaking into his charcoal dress shirt, perfectly highlighting the hard, sculpted lines of his chest. I swallowed hard. My craving for a piece of that meat only grew stronger. Hudson shoved me away violently, wiping his wet mouth, his eyes wide with absolute shock. “Faye, what the hell did you just make me drink?” I tossed the empty glass aside, straddled his lap, and looked him dead in the eye. “Ten maximum-strength herbal vitality boosters!” Hudson’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. I grabbed his silk tie and crashed my mouth against his. Six years of a crushing, one-sided secret love. One year of a paper marriage. And this was the very first time I actually tasted my own husband. His lips were softer than I imagined. My hands weren’t idle either. I had just managed to pop open the first two buttons of his shirt when he suddenly snapped out of his shock, grabbing my waist and flipping me backward onto his mahogany desk. “Faye, are you out of your damn mind?! Who gave you the nerve?!” “Don’t forget the terms we agreed on when we signed the papers! This is a corporate merger! No feelings involved!” Right. His company was bleeding cash, and my family provided a three-million-dollar bridge loan to save him, buying this marriage certificate in the process. But the glowing comments floating in the air said I was destined to be thrown out penniless, acting as nothing but a stepping stone for the real female lead. Like hell I would let that happen. I ripped my own collar open a few inches, leaning into the crazy. “We’re already married! Even if the fruit is bitter, I am taking a bite out of it tonight.” Maybe he had never seen me act so unhinged. Hudson froze for a second, then reached out to press the back of his hand against my forehead. “What is wrong with you? Are you sick?” Always like this. Usually, he was as cold as a glacier, but the second I acted slightly off, he pretended to care more than anyone else in the world. My nose stung. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest. “Hudson, just kiss me. Please… If you kiss me, I won’t feel so sick anymore.” The man in my arms went completely rigid. I could feel his body physically reacting to me. Just when I thought I had finally won, he gripped my waist hard, lifted me off the desk, and quickly straightened his ruined shirt. “Faye. We are business partners.” “I don’t have feelings for you. I will never touch you.” “Give it up. Just sit quietly and play the role of Mrs. CEO.” Maybe he realized how brutal those words sounded, because he paused and added, “I’ll have my assistant wire you a million dollars tomorrow. Consider it compensation.” With that, he stormed into the attached bathroom and locked the door behind him. The sound of freezing cold water hitting the tiles mixed with his heavy, ragged breathing. I sat on the edge of the desk, my entire body turning to ice. The glowing comments flooded my vision again. [LMAO. Hudson would rather take an ice bath than touch the ex-wife. His loyalty is unmatched.] [Does she actually think she’s something special? Forcing a kiss on him? The delusion is real.] [Honestly, it’s a little sad. Legally married and he refuses to even look at her.] [Sad? He gave her a million bucks! But knowing this chick, she’ll probably wire it right back to him tomorrow to prove her ‘love’.] [Exactly. His money is destined for our girl Lily. His body too.] [Ugh, if I were the ex-wife, if I couldn’t get the guy, I’d at least keep the damn cash.] I pulled my knees to my chest and cried for the entire night. The comments were right. I was putting on this fake, noble act, playing the ultimate romantic martyr. Hudson literally offered me money, and I usually refused it. If I hadn’t seen those floating words, I really would have walked out of the divorce with absolutely nothing but the clothes on my back. By the time the sun came up, I finally figured it out. If Hudson didn’t want me, fine. I would quietly hoard the cash. As soon as his precious female lead showed up, I would take my money and disappear. Mind made up, I crawled back into the master bedroom to catch up on my sleep. When Hudson woke up that morning and didn’t see me in the kitchen, he actually froze for a second. He pushed open the bedroom door, saw the lump of blankets in the middle of the bed, and the tight line of his jaw finally relaxed. When he arrived at the corporate headquarters, he sat down for his morning briefing, hesitated for a moment, and pressed the intercom for his assistant. “This is my wife’s routing number. Wire three million to her account. Pull it directly from my personal funds.” I slept like the absolute dead. From the day I married Hudson, I spent every waking moment walking on eggshells, desperately trying to please him. Today was the first time I actually slept peacefully. When I woke up, it was already past two in the afternoon. Which meant I hadn’t made him breakfast. I hadn’t delivered his perfectly portioned lunch to the office either. Not that he cared. I unlocked my phone. For the first time in forever, there was an unprompted text from Hudson. [Let’s forget about last night.] [I wired you some money. Go buy something you like.] I checked my banking app. Exactly three million dollars. God bless the CEO. My savings account just hit seven figures. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. If I had just focused on the money from the start, I probably would have achieved financial freedom years ago. I washed my face and decided to go for a walk downtown. Somehow, I ended up outside the coffee shop right beneath his corporate tower. Through the massive glass windows, I saw a girl in a flowing white sundress holding a stack of brochures, handing them out to pedestrians under the blazing Texas sun. The comments exploded instantly. [Ahhhhh it’s our girl Lily! She is so hardworking, doing charity legal outreach in this heat!] [Wait, I remember this! She has terrible cramps today. The male lead is going to bump into her and carry her straight up to his penthouse office!] Is that right? So this was the girl who eventually turned the cold, calculating Hudson into a lovesick fool. She was… undeniably prettier than me. Her skin caught the sunlight like porcelain, flushed a delicate pink from the heat. The oversized white dress did nothing to hide the perfect curves of her figure. But she looked genuinely pale and sick. The cramps were clearly tearing her apart. Right at that moment, the glass doors of the headquarters slid open, and Hudson took a long stride out of the lobby. Lily swayed on her feet and collapsed directly into his chest. My vision was instantly blinded by comments screaming “OMG,” “SO SWEET,” and “I’M DYING.” Hudson reacted exactly the way the comments predicted. He looked down at her face and froze. For the very first time in his life, he didn’t shove a stranger away. Instead, he hesitated for half a second, bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and turned right back into the building. I didn’t watch the rest. I just closed my eyes. I didn’t need to see it to know how it ends. The leads meet, they become magnetically drawn to each other, and they fall into a chaotic, earth-shattering romance. And me? The unloved background character? My screen time was over. Some things in life just can’t be achieved through hard work. My nose stung. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. I walked into the luxury mall next door in a complete daze. Spotting a high-end salon, I walked right in. The stylist smiled at me in the mirror. “What kind of look are we going for today, miss?” I pointed at the top of my head. “Dye the whole thing green.” He blinked. “That color… is a bold choice. Are you sure?” “It’s fine. It fits the mood.” The stylist looked at me with deep, sudden pity. I used to think Hudson liked elegant, preppy women, so I spent hours torturing myself into pastel cardigans and sleek blowouts. In the end, he never even glanced my way. I knew I wasn’t classically beautiful. I had a round face, a little bit of baby fat, and I always felt a little awkward in my own skin. When the bleach was washed out and my hair was a deep, vibrant forest green, the stylist actually smiled. “Hey, I have to admit, you rock this color. You look like a gorgeous forest witch.” My smile probably looked worse than crying. “Really? Maybe… maybe this is who I actually am.” I wasn’t like Lily, who could just stand there and radiate this delicate, heartbreaking fragility. I went to the boutiques next door and bought an armful of ridiculously comfortable, baggy streetwear. When the cashier asked what I wanted to do with the expensive pastel dress I wore in, I didn’t hesitate. “Throw it in the trash.” I had only bought it guessing at Hudson’s preferences anyway. He didn’t like it, and I hated it. No point keeping it. When I got home, I purged my closet. Half my clothes went into donation bags, the rest straight into the dumpster. By six in the evening, Hudson walked through the front door. He looked genuinely surprised when he saw me dragging heavy trash bags toward the door. “What are you doing? It’s late. And I thought you loved that skirt.” I kept my head down. “I don’t like it anymore, so I’m throwing it out.” “And your hair…” “It fits the mood.” “…” He didn’t push it. He walked further inside and noticed the dining table was completely empty. “Did you…” I finally remembered I hadn’t cooked a single thing. “Sorry. I was tired today. I can order some takeout for you?” Hudson’s gaze lingered heavily on me. “Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.” He turned and walked toward the guest bedroom. As he brushed past me, a faint, sweet scent drifted off his suit jacket. Gardenias. It was Lily’s perfume. Hot water beat down from the showerhead. Hudson leaned against the wet tile wall, his mind completely hijacked by the memory of Faye straddling his lap the night before. He admitted it to himself—he definitely reacted. Those ridiculous herbal pills weren’t entirely useless. But what actually frustrated him was the fact that he kept replaying the taste of her kiss in his head. It felt shameful, yet incredibly addicting. He scrubbed his face with body wash, his ears straining to hear any movement outside the door. But thirty minutes passed, and Faye never burst in. He pressed his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek, feeling like he was losing his mind. Why was he hoping she would barge in and kiss him again? He didn’t even like her. He rinsed off the soap, threw on a bathrobe, and walked out. He told himself he was just thirsty. He just needed a glass of water from the kitchen. But when he reached the living room, the lights were entirely off. Faye was already asleep in the master bedroom. A heavy, uncomfortable feeling settled in Hudson’s chest as he turned and walked back to his empty room. That night, he dreamed of his home office. He dreamed of Faye sitting on his lap, only this time, he didn’t push her away… The next morning, I woke up to find breakfast already set on the table. Hudson had actually cooked. He saw me, giving a stiff, unnatural smile. “You’re awake? I noticed you drank a bit the other night, so I made you some soothing ginger chicken broth.” I gave a quiet “Hmm.” I was just starting to feel a little touched, until the glowing text ruined it. [Holy shit, what is happening? The CEO cooking for the ex-wife?!] [Relax. He heard our girl Lily has a weak stomach, so he’s trying to perfect this ginger broth recipe. He’s just using the ex-wife as a taste tester.] [You gotta admit, the ex looks like she’s about to cry. She probably thinks he actually likes her now.] [So shameless. Look at her face. She has zero self-awareness, always throwing herself at him.] The more I read, the colder my blood ran. I finished the broth in absolute silence. Hudson ate his toast, watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Is it good?” I nodded slowly. “It’s good.” When you make it for Lily later, she’ll probably love it. I carried my bowl into the kitchen, completely ignoring the heavy gaze Hudson kept locked on my back. When he was putting on his shoes to leave for work, he suddenly leaned down, aiming to kiss my cheek. I jumped back like I had been burned. “What?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Nothing,” he coughed, trying to hide his awkwardness. “Just… we are married. It’s standard procedure.” I forced a bitter smile and waved him off. “No, you don’t need to do that. You don’t ever have to do that again.” You don’t have to force yourself to accept me. Go do what you actually want to do. I looked at Hudson’s flawless face, silently drawing a hard line through this relationship in my heart. Hudson left for the office with a dark, stormy expression. I figured since the female lead had officially entered the chat, our marriage was probably on a countdown. Once this was over, I would be completely alone. I didn’t know what my next move was. Needing someone to talk to, I took an Uber to my mother’s new house. She was sitting on the porch, rocking her toddler son in the sun. When she saw me, irritation flashed in her eyes. “Why are you here?” I swallowed awkwardly. “Nothing, I just wanted to see you. Mom, there’s something I need to talk to you about…” Right then, my little half-brother tripped and fell. My mom frantically rushed over to scoop him up. “Whatever it is, text it to me. Your stepdad is coming home soon, and you know he doesn’t like having you around. You need to leave.” I slowly backed away and tried calling my dad’s number. He picked up, the sound of crashing ocean waves and a younger woman laughing in the background. “I’m on vacation in Cabo. If no one is dying, don’t call me.” “Dad, I just need to ask you something…” “Ask your mother! Stop coming to me every time you want a handout! You’re not my only kid anymore!” Click. The line went dead. I stood at the corner of a busy intersection, my mind completely blank. Right on cue, the floating text popped up with a new update. [OMG OMG! Lily brought the ginger broth to Hudson’s office! They ate together and had the sweetest lunch date!] [It’s so cute! When is the ex-wife getting written out? I want to see the CEO catch fire for love!] [Soon! According to the timeline, he proposes to Lily in exactly two months. He definitely has to take out the trash before then.] I wanted to cry, but I was just so unbelievably exhausted. Even as a side character, shouldn’t I get at least a tiny bit of happiness? Forget it. Ever since my parents divorced and threw me away like garbage, I was used to the fact that good things just weren’t meant for me. I crouched on the sidewalk, let a few tears fall, and stood up to leave. Just then, a sleek black Mercedes pulled over to the curb beside me. The tinted window rolled down, revealing a handsome, gentle face. “Faye? What are you doing out here?” I blinked, recognizing him instantly. “Sebastian? Sebastian Qu?” Sebastian smiled and nodded. “Just got out of the medical lab. I thought I recognized you. Is everything okay?” He was Hudson’s college roommate and original business partner. They had a falling out over corporate ethics, and Sebastian left to build his own insanely successful med-tech firm. Other than a quick hello at my wedding, we had barely spoken. I didn’t expect him to actually remember me, let alone step out of his car to hand me a pack of tissues. I felt my face heat up. “Thank you…” Sebastian offered a soft, understanding smile. “What happened? Crying on the street like this… did Hudson do something to you?” The Feed immediately started screaming. [Oh snap, it’s Sebastian! The tech billionaire! Good looks, infinite money, and an actual moral compass!] [I heard this dude is chronically single. Only cares about his research. His record is squeaky clean.] [Honestly, the ex-wife just has terrible taste. If she had gone after Sebastian instead, she’d be set for life and never have to worry about him cheating.] [LMAO so true. Sebastian loves his spreadsheets, not women. Marrying a guy like that would be so low-maintenance.] Sebastian… low-maintenance? Would that really work? I genuinely thought about it for a second before laughing at my own stupidity. How many times did I need to get my heart smashed before I stopped dreaming about these ridiculous fairy tales? That night, back at the empty house, I couldn’t stop thinking about the two-month countdown to Hudson’s proposal to Lily. If the timeline was right, we would be filing for divorce very soon. I needed to start packing. I was in the middle of emptying a drawer when I heard the front door click open. I walked out to the living room. Hudson was back. And standing right behind him, wearing a soft pink cardigan, was Lily. This was my first time seeing the supposed “female lead” up close. She really was stunning. Thanks to Hudson taking care of her lately, she had a healthy glow, light makeup, and smelled like expensive floral perfume. She looked at me without an ounce of guilt. “Hello, sister.” Me: … Before I could even process the audacity, she kept going. “I’m just here to help Mr. Hudson pack his luggage for his business trip. Please don’t misunderstand.” Oh, I wasn’t misunderstanding anything. Soon enough, this whole house would be yours. I gave a deeply forced, polite smile and looked at Hudson, who was drinking a glass of water. He met my eyes. “Pack a few suits for me. I’m flying to Austin for a project the day after tomorrow.” I nodded, about to stand up. Then I saw the comments calling me a nosy, meddling bitch, and I sat right back down. I looked at Lily with a warm, welcoming smile. “Hudson’s bedroom is on the second floor, first door on the left. You go ahead and pack for him.” “You’re his assistant, after all. You know exactly what dress code he needs for his meetings.” A flash of genuine shock and excitement crossed Lily’s face. She quickly suppressed it, lowering her voice to sound hesitant. “Are you sure that’s appropriate?” “It’s just clothes. Go ahead.” The second her footsteps disappeared up the stairs, Hudson slammed his glass onto the counter. He crossed the room, his face dark like a thundercloud. “Faye.” “Yeah?” “Why the hell did you just let another woman into my bedroom?” “Why not? It’s not like you ever wanted me in there.” Wanted me in there? Just breathing the same air as him used to look like it physically pained him. Hudson opened his mouth, closed it, and aggressively loosened his tie, looking incredibly frustrated. He was just about to say something when Lily came walking back down the stairs with a packed duffel bag. I smiled gracefully. “All done? Great. Have a safe trip, you two.” With that, I turned and walked back into the guest room, shutting the door. I pride myself on being incredibly dignified. I played the gracious host perfectly. My only hope now was that when the divorce papers came, he would add a few extra zeroes to the alimony check. Just like the comments said—if I couldn’t get the man, I was absolutely getting the bag. Lying in bed, trying to ignore the crushing weight in my chest, I pulled out my phone to scroll through TikTok. A message popped up from Sebastian. He said he just wrapped up a board meeting and asked if I wanted to grab dinner. I texted back that Hudson was out of town, and I was just sitting at home alone. He immediately sent a photo of a table covered in incredible food. [If you don’t mind the company, come over to this restaurant. We can talk about that grad school recommendation letter you mentioned.] Since sitting at home was only going to lead to an anxiety spiral, I threw on a jacket and ordered a car to the restaurant Sebastian booked. Putting all the complex drama aside, Sebastian really was a fantastic friend. He spoke slowly and deliberately, and he actually paid attention to how I felt. When he noticed I was picking the cilantro out of my food, he quietly flagged the waiter and swapped out three dishes for things I actually liked, including an amazing red wine braised short rib. I was having such a surprisingly good time that I snapped a photo of the table. I posted it to my Instagram story: [Huge thanks to Sebastian for the amazing dinner!] I figured Hudson was in Austin, he never looked at my social media anyway, and I didn’t bother hiding it from anyone. I didn’t expect that at eleven o’clock that night, a massive thunderstorm would roll into the city. I had just stepped out of the shower and was about to get into bed when I heard the electronic keypad on the front door beep. Thinking the wind had knocked something over, I turned on my flashlight and walked out to the hallway. Standing in the entryway was a completely soaked, dripping wet figure. His face was lethally dark. The second he saw me, Hudson crossed the room in three massive strides. He slammed me back against the hallway wall, his eyes completely bloodshot. “Just because I wouldn’t let you touch me that night, you ran straight to Sebastian?!”

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My roommate borrowed a quick five bucks from me to buy instant noodles. An hour later, she was flexing her “wealth” and offering to treat our entire drama club to a luxury dinner. I kept my mouth shut and made a single phone call that completely shattered her little fantasy. When the bill arrived, all the color drained from her face. … 1 “Loren, you still have like a thousand bucks on that prepaid card, right?” Vilma leaned over, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. “Let’s go get a nice dinner this Saturday. My treat.” I didn’t even bother looking up from my laptop. “No.” Her voice spiked an octave. “I am offering to treat you, and you are saying no?” “My tonsils are inflamed.” “So what!” Vilma grabbed my arm. “You can just order something light! Babe, I am finally treating you to a nice meal. Can’t you just give me this one?” I yanked my arm back. “I said no.” “Loren!” Her face darkened instantly. “Are you intentionally disrespecting me?” I finally looked at her. “Are you out of your mind?” Vilma crossed her arms defensively. “I am trying to do something nice for you, and you curse at me?” I stared her down. “Two days ago you were crying about being broke and begged me for five bucks just to buy ramen. Today you are playing sugar daddy? Did you win the lottery?” Vilma let out a cold laugh. “Wow, you are so stuck up. I am taking over a dozen people from the drama club out to dinner. It is going to cost over a thousand bucks.” I narrowed my eyes. “With what money?” As I stared at her, a memory flashed in my head. The last time we were at that high-end restaurant, I caught her pulling a waiter aside. I clearly remembered the greedy glint in her eyes as she whispered, “Can someone use a prepaid account just by giving the phone number?” “Vilma,” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Are you planning on using my card?” Her face went completely rigid. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I am asking you a direct question!” “Do you have any proof, or do you just like screaming at people!” Vilma yelled, her voice echoing in the dorm. “Are you insane, Loren? I offer to buy you dinner, and you accuse me of stealing?” “Offer to buy me dinner?” I scoffed. “You couldn’t afford a cup of noodles, and now you are suddenly taking fifteen people to a luxury restaurant? Tell me, where is this sudden generosity coming from?” Vilma glared at me. “Did I ever say I was using your card? You are just making up lies to slander me!” “Then why did you ask the waiter if you could charge the account with just a phone number?” “Am I not allowed to be curious?” she shrieked. “If I look up a word in a dictionary, are you gonna accuse me of stealing your vocabulary too?” I actually laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity. Vilma snatched her purse and stormed toward the door, turning around at the last second. “Loren, if you are going to be this paranoid, don’t ever ask to borrow anything from me again.” “When have I ever borrowed anything from you?” I fired back, my voice dripping with ice. “Let’s see… the shampoo, the body wash, the laundry detergent. Which of those didn’t I buy?” “Fine!” Her face flushed a dark, angry red. “I will buy brand new bottles tomorrow and throw them at you! Nobody wants your cheap garbage!” “Oh, you will replace them.” I stared dead into her eyes. “You will go buy them right now. Do not wait until tomorrow.” Vilma froze. “You…” “Go.” I picked up my phone. “Or do I need to walk you down to the convenience store myself?” She shot me a venomous glare, slammed the door, and left. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I immediately dialed the restaurant’s manager. “Hi, this is Loren, I have a VIP account with you. I need to update my security settings immediately. From now on, no one can authorize a charge without my physical ID present. No exceptions.” “Yes. I don’t care if it is my own mother. If my ID isn’t there, decline the charge.” 2 “The electricity bill is $33. The power gets cut at 11:00 PM tonight.” A message popped up in our dorm group chat. Vilma replied instantly. “Everyone send me $11.10. I will collect it and pay.” I glanced at the bill attached to the message and typed back in the group. “The bill is $33. There are four of us. That is $8.25 each. Why are you asking for $11.10?” Vilma popped her head out from her top bunk. “You are rich. What is the big deal if you pay a little more?” “Why should I?” “Because you are the one blasting the AC all day! Me and Sarah hate the cold, we never turn it on! You are the one living in luxury, you should pay the difference!” I laughed. “You hate the cold? It was ninety-five degrees last week, and you spent the entire afternoon practically hugging the AC vent. Do you want me to pull up the photos Sarah took?” Vilma’s face turned bright pink. “That… that was a special circumstance!” “Special how? When you were leeching off my AC, you didn’t volunteer to pay extra, did you?” “You…” She gritted her teeth. “Are you seriously doing this, Loren? Over three dollars? You are going to argue with me over three dollars?” “Three dollars is still money,” I stared right back at her. “Why don’t you cover it for me, since you are so generous?” Vilma choked on her words. Our other two roommates, sensing the tension, quietly transferred exactly $8.25 in the group chat and pretended to be dead asleep. My phone pinged twice with the transfers. I looked at Vilma. “They paid. You are the only one left. Send it.” Vilma’s face was practically glowing red. “I… I will send it later.” “Later when? Didn’t you say you were collecting it to pay now? The power cuts at eleven. It is eight-thirty.” “I said I will do it later! God!” she suddenly yelled. “Why are you rushing me!” I didn’t say a word. I just watched her. She aggressively tapped her phone screen a few times, her face turning even redder. “I… I don’t have enough money right now,” her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “You don’t have enough?” I leaned back in my chair. “Aren’t you treating fifteen people from the drama club to a massive luxury dinner this Saturday?” “What, you can’t even afford eight bucks for electricity?” Vilma’s eyes darted around the room. “That… that is totally different.” “Different?” I laughed. “You have money to play big shot at a restaurant, but no money to keep the lights on? That is hilarious.” I stood up and grabbed my shower caddy. “The power cuts at eleven. You have two and a half hours.” When I reached the door, I looked over my shoulder. “Oh, by the way. You don’t have to pay me back that five bucks for the noodles. Consider it a favor.” “What favor?” She looked confused. “I will eat the three-dollar difference on the electric bill.” “But Vilma, that restaurant is going to cost a hell of a lot more than three dollars. You better go secure a bank loan before Saturday.” 3 On Saturday, Vilma had barely been at the restaurant for two hours. Voice calls and text messages started machine-gunning onto my phone screen, blowing it up instantly. “Loren! You did this on purpose, didn’t you!” “Unfreeze the card right now! Or I swear I will make your life a living hell!” I didn’t reply to a single one. A minute later, a call came through. It was the restaurant manager. “Miss Loren, your classmate said you were coming down personally with your ID to unfreeze the account…” “How much did she spend?” “Nine hundred and eighty-six dollars.” I laughed. The audacity of ignorance truly knew no bounds. “Manager, please put her on the phone.” After two seconds of dead silence, Vilma’s sickly-sweet, innocent voice came through the speaker. “Audie, babe, you promised to let me borrow the card…” I cut her off immediately. “Did I promise you in a dream you had?” “Babe, we already ate all the food. What are you gonna do…” Her voice was dripping with manufactured sugar. “You are always so good to me, you wouldn’t make a big deal out of this, right? I will totally buy you dinner next time…” “Next time?” I let out a sharp laugh. “You tried to extort three dollars from me for an electric bill. How exactly are you going to buy me a thousand-dollar dinner?” “With your dazzling personality?” Vilma’s voice started to tremble. “Loren, don’t do this… Everyone is watching me…” “Good.” I said. “Let everyone watch. Let them see exactly what happens when a parasite tries to play host.” Through the phone, I could hear the hushed, panicked whispers of the drama club members. “What is going on? I thought she had a VIP card?” “Vilma, what is the holdup? We finished eating half an hour ago…” “Is it even her card?” Vilma’s voice spiked in sheer panic. “Don’t… don’t worry guys! Loren is my roommate, her family is loaded! She is super sweet, she is fixing it right now!” I burst out laughing. “Vilma, what does my family’s money have to do with you?” “Am I your mother? Or did you mistake me for your personal ATM?” “Loren!” I scoffed coldly. “Let me make this crystal clear. You do not get to use my money to play God. You invited them, you pay the bill. That is how the world works.” “Don’t try to buy popularity with my bank account.” Vilma completely lost it, screaming into the phone. “Can’t you just help me this one time! Are we not friends anymore!” “Friends?” I laughed coldly. “What kind of normal person tries to steal their friend’s credit card to buy a thousand-dollar dinner?” “That is not friendship, Vilma. That is fraud.” The private dining room went completely silent. One of the club members muttered, “Vilma, didn’t you say it was your card?” Vilma was in full meltdown mode. “No! She told me I could use it! She lied to me!” “Right,” I sneered. Vilma exploded. “Loren! You purposely froze the card just to humiliate me! You did this on purpose!” “So what if I did? I am under zero obligation to clean up your mess.” Right on cue, the manager’s calm, professional voice echoed through the dining room, loud enough for everyone—including me—to hear. “Miss, will you be paying with Apple Pay, a physical card… or should I have you wait in my office until the police arrive?” 4 That night, Vilma practically kicked the dorm door off its hinges. She stormed right up to my desk and screamed in my face. “Loren! What the hell is your problem!” My tone was absolute ice. “My problem? I think I should be asking you that.” She immediately launched into a hysterical rant. “In front of twenty people! I lost every shred of dignity I had! I had to beg the manager on my knees and sign a promissory note saying I would bring the cash tomorrow just so he wouldn’t call the cops! You could have easily stopped this! Why didn’t you help me?” I stared at her, completely unfazed. “You attempted to steal my identity to flex on your club, and you think you are the victim?” Vilma resorted to throwing a full-blown tantrum. “It is nearly a thousand dollars! I don’t have that kind of money! What am I supposed to do!” “You can go beg on the street corner for all I care,” I said coldly. “Figure it out yourself.” “We are roommates!” Vilma shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “Aren’t roommates supposed to help each other out? Supposed to be forgiving? Do you really have to be this petty and completely ruin my life?” I actually chuckled, shaking my head at her absolute delusion. “You tried to dodge an eight-dollar electric bill. You begged me for five bucks for ramen, which you never paid back.” “You steal the pennies, but you try to hijack the big bucks. Your greed is just getting out of control, Vilma.” “You… you took screenshots of all that!” Vilma’s eyes instantly welled up with tears, flipping the switch back to playing the victim. “I just made a stupid mistake! Just pay the restaurant for me, please! I literally have zero dollars, they are going to have me arrested!” My voice was glacial. “It was an attempted theft. Let them call the cops. The one getting a criminal record is you, not me.” “I wasn’t stealing! I was just borrowing it!” Vilma screamed hysterically. “Taking without asking is stealing.” I stated with absolute finality. “I am not giving you a single cent. You made the mess, you deal with the consequences.” Vilma completely broke down, dropping to the floor and wailing like a child. She honestly thought I would eventually cave, just like I had in the past. I looked down at her with absolute apathy. “Consider this a hard lesson. Next time you think someone’s generosity makes them a pushover, remember today.” Vilma glared up at me, her eyes filled with pure venom. “You forced my hand. I am going to make you the most hated person on this campus!” She scrambled up, slammed the door, and stormed out. A second later, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. “Loren, I am a freshman in the drama club.” “Vilma just posted a photo of you in the massive club group chat. She is calling you a ‘filthy rich sociopath who bullies poor students.’” “She also said she is going to the Dean to report you for defamation. Watch your back.” I stared at the messages and smiled. Go ahead. Throw your little tantrum. If she wanted a war, I was going to give her a war of absolute annihilation. I opened a new document on my phone. The title: The Vilma Debt Ledger: From Cup Noodles to Identity Theft. This wasn’t the end. This was just the beginning.

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1 Freshman year, my mom lost everything to a scammer and swallowed a lethal dose of painkillers. At the hospital, facing a $50,000 deposit just to pump her stomach, I emptied my pockets and found only $22 in crumpled bills and coins. As I sank to my knees to beg the nurses, Rick grabbed my arm and pulled me upright. He was the golden boy of our class, always sitting in front of me during lectures. Without hesitation, he pressed his heavy, solid gold heirloom bangles into my palm. “Pawn these. Use the cash to save her,” he said firmly. “A girl should never have to trade her dignity for money. Stand up straight.” I told him I would probably never be able to repay such a debt. He simply looked at me and replied, “I didn’t ask for repayment. Just survive this. Make something of yourself.” My mother survived the overdose. I pushed through graduation, clawed my way up the corporate ladder, and weathered the brutal storms of the tech industry. After college, Rick completely vanished, and I lost all contact with him. Seven years passed. On the very day my tech empire went public on the Nasdaq, pushing my net worth into the billions, Rick’s face suddenly appeared on my social feed. The post was from Luv, the same partner who had scammed my mother all those years ago. The photo showed Rick’s side profile. He was holding a glass of cheap liquor, forced into a humiliated, apologetic smile. The caption read, “The high and mighty golden boy, swallowing his pride and pouring my drinks just to beg for a hundred grand in medical bills. How the mighty have fallen.” I slowly locked my phone screen. Walking over to the hidden safe in my office, I unlocked the deepest compartment. Inside lay those two solid gold bangles, which I had tracked down and repurchased at an astronomical price years ago. Seven years ago, he saved my life. Tonight, it was my turn to have his back. A deafening crash echoed through the room as my boot splintered the heavy oak doors of The Apex Club’s VIP lounge. Inside, a dozen scantily clad bottle boys screamed and scrambled into the corners. Sprawled right in the center of the genuine leather sofa was Luv. The architect of my mother’s misery. “What kind of suicidal idiot crashes Luv’s private party?” The voice didn’t belong to Luv. It came from Lexi, our old class president, a girl who had always kissed up to the rich and trampled on the poor. Lexi cursed under her breath and stood up. She squinted through the neon club lighting, her eyes locking onto my face. A second later, she threw her head back and burst into exaggerated, mocking laughter. “Well, look who it is! If it isn’t Freya, the little stray dog from college who couldn’t even afford cafeteria food!” Lexi sneered, crossing her arms. “What’s the matter? Heard your pathetic mother didn’t quite finish the job, so you came here to beg for scraps?” I didn’t even look at her. My eyes swept the dim, alcohol-soaked room. I didn’t see the face I was looking for. “Where is Rick?” I asked, my voice dropping to a freezing whisper. Hearing that name only made Lexi’s smile wider and infinitely more vulgar. “Aw, still pining after our fallen prince? Too bad you’re late.” She pointed a manicured finger at three empty bottles of high-proof whiskey on the table. “He wanted Luv to loan him a hundred grand to save his crippled mother. Luv made him chug three bottles straight. He just stumbled out of here, puking up his own bile.” Lexi tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. “If you want to book him for the night, Freya, get in line. But hey, since you used to have a crush on him, maybe Luv will give you a discount once she’s done breaking him in?” The entire VIP room erupted into cruel, roaring laughter. My heart seized in my chest. A violent, suffocating rage spiked straight to my brain. I remembered the winter of my freshman year. The city was buried under a brutal blizzard. To pay off the debt from my mother’s hospital bills, I was working three minimum-wage jobs. One night, while delivering food in the snow, my bike was robbed. I lost my last dime covering the stolen orders. I was sitting on a frozen curb, my stomach cramping so hard from hunger I couldn’t breathe. That was the night Rick found me. He didn’t hand me cash out of pity. Instead, he shoved two steaming containers of hot food into my freezing hands, his cheeks flushed from the cold as he feigned annoyance. “Ordered too much. It’s going in the trash anyway. Do me a favor and get rid of it.” I kept my head down, swallowing the hot food as fast as I could while tears mixed with the broth. His voice was so gentle that night. “You need a full stomach if you’re going to keep fighting. Stop looking so miserable. If the sky falls, the tall guys will hold it up for you.” That boy. The boy who stood in the freezing snow, carefully protecting the fragile dignity of a dirt-poor girl. The boy who gave me my only shred of warmth when I was at the absolute bottom. And now, these absolute pieces of trash were treating him like a disposable toy. “Who did you say gets a discount?” I asked, taking a slow step toward Lexi. “What? Did I strike a nerve?” Lexi shoved her finger aggressively into my face. “You broke little bitch, who do you think you are…” She never finished her sentence. From behind me, Marcus, my head of security, moved like a shadow. A vicious roundhouse kick connected squarely with Lexi’s ribs. She shrieked as the sheer force launched her backward. She crashed violently into the glass coffee table, shattering the surface into a thousand pieces. Marcus walked over with a face carved from stone. He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked her head back, and delivered a brutal backhand that sent a spray of blood and broken teeth onto the expensive rug. A piercing scream tore through the room. Dead silence fell over the club. The bottle boys were weeping, pressing themselves into the walls. Even Luv, who had been sitting like a queen just moments ago, drained of all color, her alcohol buzz vanishing instantly. I walked over to Lexi, looking down at her writhing body. “I will ask this exactly one more time. Where is Rick?” Blood bubbled from Lexi’s lips. She sobbed in sheer terror, pointing a trembling finger at Luv. “It was Luv… She said his puking ruined the mood. She kicked him out… sent him to the Southside dive bars… forced him to work as a promo boy for cheap beer…” The Southside dive bars. The absolute worst, most dangerous underbelly of the city. Throwing a desperately broke, undeniably handsome man into a place like that to sell drinks was no different than tossing fresh meat into a wolf pack. My nails dug so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. “Marcus,” I said, my voice ragged. “Yes, boss.” “Activate every contact we have in this city. I want his exact coordinates in five minutes.” I didn’t take my eyes off Luv. “If he is missing a single hair on his head, I will have every breathing soul in this room dumped into the river.” Five minutes later, a convoy of three black SUVs screeched to a halt outside a neon-lit strip of Southside dive bars. I rolled down the tinted window. I spotted him immediately. He was wearing a paper-thin, ridiculous promotional t-shirt. His lips were blue from the freezing rain, and he was surrounded by a circle of tattooed thugs. Standing in the center of the mob was Derek. Lexi’s current boyfriend, and the guy who spent all four years of college burning with jealousy over Rick. Derek smirked, kicking a full crate of glass beer bottles off the table. They shattered instantly. Alcohol, rain, mud, and jagged glass flooded the pavement. “Hey, golden boy, didn’t you say you needed to hit your sales quota tonight?” Derek laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Get on your knees. Pick up every single piece of broken glass out of this puddle. Do that, and I’ll buy ten crates from you.” The thugs around him howled with laughter. “Kneel, pretty boy! You used to be so untouchable, right?” one of them jeered. “Remember when my girls tried to ask you out and you didn’t even look at them? Bet you never thought a few hundred bucks could buy you for the whole night now!” Rick bit his lower lip so hard it bled. His face was deathly pale. Derek leaned in close, dropping his voice. “Feel insulted? Don’t want to get your knees dirty? Fine. Walk away. But your crippled mother is getting thrown out of the ICU tonight.” Rick didn’t argue. He didn’t say a word. He simply lowered his head, and slowly bent the knees that used to be so full of pride. He knelt in the freezing mud. He reached his raw, red hands into the filthy water, picking up the jagged shards of glass one by one. Drops of blood instantly bloomed from his fingertips. The blood roaring in my ears was deafening. I wanted to step out of this car and tear every single one of them apart with my bare hands. But not yet. I needed to wait for the exact right moment to end this permanently. One of the thugs stepped forward, tipping a half-empty glass of stale beer directly over Rick’s head. “Wash your brain, pretty boy. Move faster!” Rick violently shivered as the freezing alcohol ran down his hair and into his eyes. He wiped his face blindly with the back of his arm and kept reaching for the glass. A sudden, sharp gasp escaped his lips. Derek had just stomped his heavy combat boot directly onto the back of Rick’s hand, driving the broken glass deep into his flesh. “Oh, my bad. Didn’t see you there,” Derek sneered, twisting his heel into the wound for good measure. Rick shook uncontrollably from the agony. But he didn’t pull his hand away. He slowly looked up, his eyes bloodshot, staring dead into Derek’s face. “It’s clean,” Rick whispered. “Ten crates. Your commission is three hundred bucks. Pay up.” Derek covered his mouth, laughing hysterically. “Three hundred bucks? Do I look like a charity?” He pulled three crumpled hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and threw them violently into Rick’s beer-soaked face. “Take it and get lost. Looking at your pathetic face makes me sick.” Rick stayed silent. He painstakingly picked the muddy bills out of the puddle, clutching them in his bleeding fist like they were his only lifeline. My chest caved in. Sophomore year, I was working in the campus cafeteria. Lexi lost five thousand dollars of the student council budget and blamed it on me. The entire class called me a thief. The dean was preparing my expulsion papers. It was Rick who kicked open the dean’s office door. He slammed a USB drive with cafeteria security footage and a police report onto the desk. “The footage proves she was in the back kitchen washing dishes! Whoever keeps spreading rumors without evidence, I’ll sue them for defamation and drag them out of this school myself!” That boy. The one who shielded me from the world, who was willing to make enemies of everyone just to clear my name. Now, he was kneeling in the dirt, letting absolute filth step on his bleeding hands for three hundred dollars. In the driver’s seat, Marcus reached for the door handle, a steel baton already gripped in his hand. “I’m going to flatten them.” “Wait,” I commanded, my eyes locked on the window. “Pulling him out of there is easy. But it doesn’t fix the root of this,” my voice dropped to an icy temperature. “Look into it. Find out exactly how he ended up selling drinks in a gutter. Find out how Luv backed him into this corner.” “Tonight, we pull this entire weed up by the roots.” The car was dead silent. A minute later, Marcus passed a tablet to the back seat. “Boss. We have the whole picture.” I took the tablet. Just one glance was enough to make the veins in my temples throb with pure, unadulterated fury. Three years ago, Luv orchestrated a massive corporate trap that bankrupt the Su family’s construction firm. The shock caused Rick’s father to suffer a massive stroke, paralyzing him and leaving the family drowning in ten million dollars of debt. Luv seized their family home. Then, she blacklisted Rick. She put out the word across the entire city: anyone who hired Rick was making an enemy of her. She systematically cut off every single path to survival he had. She wanted to drag this proud, untouchable man through the mud until he was so desperate he had no choice but to crawl into her bed. Right at that moment, the harsh ringing of a cheap, cracked cell phone pierced the cold air outside. Rick pulled the phone from his pocket with a trembling, bloody hand. The speaker was so damaged that the voice on the other end crackled loudly through the alleyway. “Mr. Su, are you paying the hundred thousand for your mother’s bypass surgery or not?” The hospital billing department sounded completely apathetic. “If the funds aren’t in the account by midnight, we have to pull her off the machines and discharge her.” Rick clutched the three bloody hundred-dollar bills, his voice breaking entirely. “Please, doctor, please just give me one more day. I’m getting the money, I swear…” The line went dead. Rick stood alone in the freezing rain. He buried his face in his bleeding hands, his thin shoulders shaking violently as he finally broke down. I stared at the last page of the dossier on my tablet. My eyes froze. It was a bank transfer receipt from seven years ago. Back when my first startup was on the verge of total collapse, when I was completely out of options, I mysteriously received a hundred-thousand-dollar “anonymous alumni grant.” I built my entire empire off that money. “Boss,” Marcus said, his voice unusually heavy. “Seven years ago, Rick dropped out of his Master’s program. He took his grandmother’s historic estate—the only thing she left him—and mortgaged it at a massive loss just to get you that hundred grand.” “He nearly tore his own family apart to do it.” A high-pitched ringing echoed in my skull. It felt like a giant, invisible hand had just crushed my heart. Even breathing tasted like blood. I took his hundred grand, brought my company back from the dead, and built a billion-dollar empire. And he hid in the shadows, paying the ultimate price for my success. Even now, while I sat at the top of the world, the man who put me there was picking up shattered glass from a gutter just to buy his mother one more day of life. Marcus checked his earpiece and turned back to me. “Boss. Our eyes on the ground say Luv left the club ten minutes ago. She’s headed to the City Hospital. She drafted an ‘exclusive companionship agreement’ and is going to force him to sign it outside the ICU.” I slowly lifted my head. The killing intent in my eyes was finally boiling over. Good. Perfect timing, Luv. “Drive. Get to the hospital,” I ordered, my tone dripping with venom. “Contact Vanguard Capital. Liquidate our reserve funds. I want a total, scorched-earth financial assault on every single asset Luv owns. Tell the legal team to meet me in the hospital lobby with the acquisition papers.” Marcus gripped the steering wheel and slammed on the gas. I watched the blurry city lights fly by, my thumb gently tracing the gold bangles in my pocket. “She scammed my mother to the brink of death.” “She forced Rick into the mud.” “Tonight, I’m cashing out every single debt she owes.” Outside the ICU at the City Hospital, Rick stood shivering, his knuckles white as he gripped the final eviction notice. The heavy doors swung open. The head surgeon walked out, holding a clipboard, his expression stern. “Rick, where is the hundred thousand? If that balance isn’t cleared by midnight, we have to pull the plug. We need the bed.” Rick’s eyes were completely bloodshot. Without a word of hesitation, he dropped straight to his knees on the sterile tile floor. “Doctor, please. I’m begging you. I’m getting the money. Tomorrow morning, I swear! Please don’t take her off life support!” The doctor sighed, shook his head, and turned back into the ward. From the end of the hallway, a slow, mocking applause echoed against the walls. Luv strolled down the corridor, puffing on a thin cigar, taking her sweet time. “Bravo! What a devoted, tragic little son.” Behind her trailed Lexi, holding a bloody tissue to her broken mouth, her eyes full of sick vindication. “Tsk, tsk. Look at the untouchable prince now, begging on his knees like a stray dog,” Lexi mumbled through her swollen lips. “If you hadn’t played so hard to get back then and just slept with Luv, you wouldn’t be crying on the floor.” Luv stopped right in front of Rick, staring down at him like he was dirt. Smack. Ten thick, freshly wrapped stacks of hundred-dollar bills hit Rick square in the face. The cash scattered across the floor, soaking up the filthy rainwater dripping from his clothes. Next, Luv tossed a glossy hotel keycard and a legal contract into the pile of money. “I’m out of patience, Rick.” Luv blew a cloud of smoke into his face, using the pointed toe of her designer heel to tap the contract. “Sign the companionship agreement. Take the keycard. Go up to the penthouse, wash that filth off your body, and wait for me in bed.” “Pick up this hundred grand from the floor, one bill at a time, and you can buy your dying mother a few more days.” Rick slowly lifted his head. Tears of absolute humiliation spilled over his eyelashes. “You stole my family’s company. You caused my father’s stroke. Aren’t you afraid of karma, Luv?” “Karma?” Luv threw her head back and laughed frantically. She leaned down, grabbed a handful of Rick’s wet hair, and yanked his face close to hers. “In this city, I am karma!” “You think you’re still some precious golden boy? You’re cheaper than a street escort right now! Me spending a hundred grand to screw you is charity!” Lexi chimed in from the side. “Exactly! Just sign the damn paper! Your mom is about to flatline in there! You really think your precious pride is worth more than her life?” The hallway fell dead silent. Rick turned his head, looking through the ICU window at his mother, hooked up to a dozen breathing tubes. The heart monitor beeped so faintly it sounded like it was already fading. He had no way out. He closed his eyes. Silent tears hit the floor. To save her, he swallowed every last ounce of his pride, completely breaking the spine he had kept straight for so long. Kneeling on the tiles, he reached out a trembling, bloody hand toward the dirty money and the escort contract. Right as his fingertips brushed the paper. A warm, firm hand reached out from the air and clamped down on his wrist like a vise. Rick violently flinched, his head snapping around in sheer disbelief. I stared down at him. I looked at his hollowed-out cheeks, and the endless, crushing despair swimming in his eyes. The fire in my chest burned through the last thread of my sanity. I forcefully pulled him up and shoved him safely behind me. I raised my chin, my eyes locking onto Luv like the barrel of a loaded gun. “The hundred grand.” “I’m paying it.”

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When I saved a suffocating kid on the side of the road, I accidentally cracked one of his ribs. Instead of an ounce of gratitude, his mother dragged me to the police, insisting I committed intentional assault and forcing me to pay twenty thousand dollars in damages. When I initially refused, she launched a massive smear campaign online. She painted me as a sadistic medical worker who deliberately harmed children, leading to my termination and a relentless wave of cyberbullying. But karma only took two months to circle back. When her son choked and turned blue a second time, she fell to her knees, sobbing and begging for my help. I just turned and walked away. I told her I couldn’t afford a second assault charge. … After working overtime for two days straight, I was dragging my exhausted feet through the courtyard of my apartment complex. Suddenly, a loud crowd gathered just up ahead, buzzing with panic. I quickened my pace. In the center of the circle, a well-dressed woman was clutching a little boy, screaming her lungs out. “Somebody help! Please, somebody save my baby!” “I am begging you, he is dying!” The little boy in her arms was turning a horrifying shade of violet. His tiny hands and feet thrashed wildly in the air. Crumbly bits of snack food were smeared around his mouth. He was choking. Total airway obstruction. My heart dropped. I sprinted right through the crowd. “Did anyone call 911?” “I did! They are not here yet!” The mother was a frantic mess, her face completely covered in tears and snot. The kid was already fading. His limbs went limp, dropping dead to his sides. He was seconds away from slipping past the point of no return. I gritted my teeth. There was no time to second-guess. I snatched the boy from her arms, flipped him over my thigh, positioned the heel of my palm right between his shoulder blades, and delivered sharp, forceful upward thrusts. “Be gentle! You are hurting him!” I ignored the mother’s hysterical shrieking and thrust four, five times in rapid succession. Finally, a sticky mass of fruit jelly shot out of the boy’s mouth and splattered onto the pavement. The kid immediately broke into a loud, gasping wail. I let out a massive breath of relief. But as my palm rested against the boy’s chest, I felt a very faint, sickening crack beneath the skin. My stomach plummeted. Before I could even open my mouth, the mother lunged forward and snatched him back. “Baby! Mommy is here! You are safe, you are safe!” She held him tight, laughing and crying all at once, kissing his face over and over. Then she looked up at me. “Thank you! Oh my god, thank you so much!” “I am Brenda. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you come find me. You saved his life!” Brenda grabbed my hands, showering me with endless gratitude. The little boy cried for a bit before his wails turned into whimpers of “It hurts.” He was barely three years old. He couldn’t articulate exactly what was wrong. Brenda’s newly settled nerves spiked right back up. She frantically checked him over. “Sapper, baby, what is wrong? Where does it hurt?” She looked up at me with panicked eyes. “Is something else wrong with him?” I looked right at her. “I had to use the Heimlich maneuver, and if you don’t use enough force, the obstruction won’t dislodge.” “You need to take Sapper to the ER for an X-ray right now. I might have fractured one of his ribs.” Brenda’s face instantly went pale. She scooped Sapper up into her arms. “I am taking him to the hospital right now. I will properly thank you when we get back!” Just as she said that, the ambulance sirens blared as the rig pulled into the complex. Brenda rushed Sapper into the back of the ambulance, and they sped off. When I finally got back to my apartment, I felt a warm sense of comfort. I had saved a life today. All those emergency response drills at the clinic had actually paid off. That evening, Brenda and her husband, Gary, showed up at my door with a premium fruit basket and an expensive bottle of wine. “We owe you everything, Sylvia! It was pure chaos yesterday, and we didn’t get to thank you properly!” Brenda was overwhelmingly warm and affectionate. Gary nodded vigorously beside her. “Absolutely! You ever need a favor, you just say the word. I have got your back!” he said, patting his own chest proudly. I smiled and told them it was no problem at all. I thought they were decent, upstanding people who knew how to be grateful. I had no idea that just three days later, my pure act of kindness would result in a nightmare that nearly ruined my life. 1 On the afternoon of the third day, I was at my desk at the clinic, organizing patient charts. Bang. The office door violently swung open. “Sylvia! This is bad, you need to see this!” Sophie, our new intern, rushed in. Her face was flushed bright red with panic. She shoved her phone right into my face. “Look at what is trending locally!” The headline glared back at me in bold letters. Vicious Medical Worker Intentionally Snaps Toddler’s Rib Out of Spite. It was already the top trending post on the city’s local forum. In the post, Brenda had painted herself as the ultimate victim, a helpless mother abused by a heartless, sadistic healthcare worker. Every word dripped with calculated venom. Hordes of self-righteous internet crusaders had flocked to the comments. They had already doxxed my home address and my workplace. The hate was suffocating. “A psycho like this actually works in medicine? Terrifying!” “What an absolute monster. Doing that to a tiny toddler!” The few comments pointing out that CPR often results in broken ribs were instantly buried under a landslide of toxic rage. I stared at the screen in complete disbelief. Just days ago, Brenda was practically kissing my feet in gratitude. Now she was broadcasting my face to the world, dragging my name through the mud. I felt dizzy. Did I hallucinate saving her son’s life? “Sylvia? Are you okay?” Sophie looked at me with wide, worried eyes. I had been mentoring her since she started. She knew exactly what kind of person I was, and she knew I would never do something so malicious. Before I could even formulate a response, someone knocked on the door frame. Dr. Harrison, the clinic director, walked in with a dark expression. “Sylvia, in my office. Now.” In his office, Dr. Harrison rubbed his temples, refusing to meet my eyes. “Sylvia, this situation is a massive PR disaster for the clinic.” “Until this blows over, I need to put you on unpaid leave.” “Dr. Harrison, I saved that boy’s life…” “I don’t need the details right now. Just pack up your desk and go home for the afternoon.” He turned his back to me, signaling the conversation was over. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. I couldn’t force a single word out. After years of breaking my back for this clinic, I wasn’t even given the basic dignity of an explanation. My chest felt like it was trapped in a vise. When I returned to my apartment complex, the lively chatter in the community garden completely died the second I walked in. Mrs. Higgins, my neighbor, grabbed the woman next to her, leaned in, and whispered something. The woman’s eyes immediately darted toward me, filled with undisguised shock and absolute disgust. The hushed whispers followed me all the way to my building. I felt like I was suffocating. I practically ran to my door and locked myself inside. On the second day of my suspension, Brenda and Gary showed up at my apartment. The pounding on the door was so violent the frame rattled. I threw the door open. Gary stood there, his face engorged with rage, jabbing a thick finger right at my nose. “Sylvia! You vicious bitch, what the hell is wrong with you!” Doors down the hallway cracked open as neighbors poked their heads out to watch the drama. My temper instantly spiked. “Excuse me?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” A woman I didn’t recognize shoved her way to the front, slapping a medical X-ray right against my chest. Her voice was shrill and piercing. “The doctor said my nephew’s third rib is completely fractured! You did this on purpose!” I took a deep, steadying breath. “Brenda, breaking a rib during the Heimlich maneuver is incredibly common…” “Bullshit!” Gary slammed his palm against my doorframe. “Common? You think snapping a kid’s bone in half is common? You made it severe on purpose! You were just getting off on hurting us!” I flinched, my own voice rising in defense. “I literally saved your son from choking to death! Why on earth would I want to hurt him?” “Because you are a bitter, jealous psycho!” Brenda lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my shirt. Her manicured nails dug into my neck, leaving a stinging scratch. “You couldn’t stand seeing my son happy! You wanted him dead! You are a murderer!” A couple of neighbors finally rushed over to pry her hands off me. Looking at Brenda and Gary’s rabid, blood-red faces, I felt a chilling wave of absurdity wash over me. The building manager hurried out of the elevator, trying to play peacemaker. “Let’s take this inside, folks. No need to cause a scene in the hallway.” “Take it inside?” Brenda whipped her head around and screamed at the manager. “I want everyone in this building to know exactly what kind of monster Sylvia is!” “Playing the hero in public while secretly torturing my baby! He is three years old, and she broke his ribs!” I clenched my fists. The scratch on my neck burned fiercely. “I used textbook emergency protocols! Go ask literally any ER doctor in this city if rib fractures aren’t legally protected during life-saving CPR!” Gary whipped out his phone and hit play on an audio file. “I had to use the Heimlich maneuver, and if you don’t use enough force, the obstruction won’t dislodge. I might have fractured one of his ribs.” It was my own voice from that night. “You hear that!” Gary spat, the saliva practically hitting my face. “You admitted it yourself! You knew exactly what you were doing, and you pressed down hard anyway! If that isn’t intentional assault, what is it?” My mind went completely blank. I had warned her out of genuine concern for the boy’s safety, and now she had weaponized it as a confession. Before I could even process the absolute madness of the situation, Brenda’s voice dropped into a lethal sneer. “I already called the cops. You can save your excuses for the precinct.” 2 Ten minutes later, two patrol officers arrived. Brenda shoved her phone right into the cops’ faces, playing the recording on a loop. “Look at this, Officer,” she cried. “She openly admits she knew it would break his bones, and she did it anyway. This is textbook intentional assault!” I was shaking with pure rage. I stood there and explained exactly what happened that night to the officers. “It happened right out by the street. There were a dozen witnesses! Everyone saw me save him!” Gary scoffed loudly. “Seeing you out there proves nothing! Who knows if you used the distraction to purposely crush Sapper’s chest?” Brenda squeezed out two crocodile tears, looking pitifully at the cops. “Officers, you have to get justice for my baby.” The cops were clearly exhausted by her theatrics and told us all to head down to the precinct for formal mediation. Once we were in the mediation room, Brenda threw an absolute fit, screaming and demanding financial compensation. “I don’t care about your excuses! You are paying up! Sapper is our only child, our absolute treasure, and you are going to pay for what you did!” Gary chimed in, practically salivating. “That is right! Medical bills, professional care, emotional distress, and lost wages. It comes out to exactly twenty thousand dollars. We won’t take a penny less!” “My son is going to be a CEO one day, and you traumatized him! How is he supposed to focus on his development now!” I explained the Heimlich maneuver to the two precinct mediators, even pulling up medical journals on my phone to prove my point. The mediators understood completely. They spent the next thirty minutes trying to explain the law to Brenda until they were blue in the face. They repeatedly told her this didn’t qualify as intentional assault. Brenda didn’t care. She actually threw herself onto the precinct floor, wailing so loud the walls vibrated. “I don’t want to live anymore! My baby’s ribs are snapped in half, and this murderer gets to just walk away! Is there no justice in this world!” The building manager had followed us to the precinct. All he cared about was making the noise stop. “Sylvia, look… I know you were trying to help. But the fact is, the boy’s bones are broken, and you are going to have to pay something to make this right.” He put on a sickeningly paternal tone. “Sometimes good intentions cause real damage. Just pay the money. Think of it as buying peace of mind for the parents.” I looked around the room. Gary and Brenda’s faces were twisted with undisguised greed and triumph. The manager just wanted to wash his hands of the drama. Not a single person in that room cared that I had literally saved a child from suffocating to death. Suddenly, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to fight these parasites anymore. I just wanted to get out of that room. Under Brenda’s smug, victorious gaze, I took the pen and signed my name on the “Voluntary Compensation Agreement.” I looked up, my voice dropping to a dead, icy calm. “I looked up the law. Good Samaritan protections mean I don’t owe you a single dime for injuries caused during a life-saving rescue.” “But I am done arguing with trash like you. I can afford to lose the money, but I refuse to let you drag my life through the mud any longer.” When I got home, my phone was blowing up. Over ninety-nine unread messages in the complex’s HOA group chat. I opened it. Brenda had posted a massive voice memo. Her voice was shrill and triumphant. “Hey neighbors, I need you all to see this! Sylvia broke my son’s ribs and tried to deny it!” “I was too nice to press criminal charges. If I wasn’t so forgiving, there is no way she would have gotten off just by paying a fine!” A cascade of replies flooded in beneath it. Mrs. Higgins from the fruit stand wrote, “Oh Brenda, you are way too kind-hearted for your own good!” Mr. Franks from the bakery chimed in, “Sylvia went way over the line! What kind of adult uses that much force on a baby?” I typed out a furious explanation. The second I hit send, a notification popped up. You have been removed from this group by the admin. I threw my phone onto the table, tilting my head back to force the tears back down. Well played, Brenda. I stared blankly at the ceiling, my chest feeling like a hollowed-out icebox. Did I really commit a crime by saving a life? But lying there that night, I had no idea that Brenda’s karma would arrive far sooner than I could have ever imagined.

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At six months old, I cried nonstop. No doctor could explain it. Desperate, my wealthy parents hired a baby whisperer who claimed she could translate infant thoughts. The moment she entered, she diagnosed me: a splinter in my toe. My parents checked—she was right. They trusted her blindly after that. Months later, I refused my mother’s milk. The whisperer told them, “She says you’re not her real mother. She’ll steal your fortune for her real parents and wishes you’d die soon.” Believing her, my parents cast me out and brought home their real daughter. I was sent to a run-down trailer park, where neglect and hunger defined my childhood. At ten, I died from abuse. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day the whisperer first arrived. This time, after they removed the splinter, I screamed even louder. 1 “Ma’am, the baby is crying because of a tiny wooden splinter lodged in her right big toe,” Martha said politely, standing by the nursery doorway. Brian skeptically removed my sock and indeed found the tiny, almost invisible speck of wood. “Amazing. You just stood by the door and glanced from afar,” Eleanor remarked, her voice filled with relief. “And you knew Jenny had a splinter thinner than a strand of hair?” “No wonder she is the most sought-after nanny in elite circles,” Brian said with a small smile. “She actually has real talent.” The ambient noise pulled my consciousness back to reality. I tried to speak, but only a baby’s high-pitched wail came out. I looked at my tiny, chubby hands and feet. I had been reborn. In my past life, my memories began in a desolate backwater town. I had no mother, only a father named Silas, who was a hopeless gambler. Whenever he lost a bet, he beat me. I lived hand-to-mouth, never knowing when my next meal would come. By the age of ten, I was smaller than a healthy six-year-old. When I turned twelve, Silas’s debts piled up so high he sold me to a local loan shark. I fought back when the man tried to touch me, cracked my skull against a table corner, and died in the dark. Only after my death did my infant memories return. I realized I was born into a life of luxury. Because of a clever con artist, I was labeled an ungrateful, fake daughter and discarded. Seeing Martha’s face now filled me with a mixture of terror and rage. But I was too small to fight back or tell my parents the truth. All I could do was cry harder. Brian’s brow furrowed again. He stared sharply at Martha. “I thought you said she was crying because of the splinter? We took it out. Why is she crying even louder now?” I glared at Martha with all the intensity my tiny eyes could muster. If only you could actually hear me, you miserable fraud. I would curse you to hell. In my past life, my spirit had hovered over my biological home after my death. I saw the real daughter grown up. She looked exactly like Martha. My parents eventually grew suspicious, conducted a DNA test, and uncovered the truth. But they were too soft-hearted. Even in their rage, they could not bring themselves to punish the girl they had raised for eighteen years. In the end, that ungrateful girl stole Brian’s company secrets and handed them to his biggest rival. Brian’s empire collapsed, and my parents’ lives became a living hell. Martha’s face flashed with a brief moment of panic. But she recovered instantly. “How strange,” she murmured, looking down at me with mock sympathy. “The young miss is saying she is crying because she despises your touch.” 2 I was so angry I flailed my tiny fists, wanting to strike her. She was already setting up the narrative of the ungrateful child. Eleanor’s face fell, her voice turning cold. “They say you are the best nanny in the city, and I paid a fortune to borrow you from the Vanderbilt family. But this is just nonsense. If you are going to keep driving a wedge between me and my daughter, get out.” Martha did not flinch. She stepped forward and gently picked me up. “I only report what the baby’s soul is whispering, ma’am.” I cried with everything I had to prove her wrong. But as Martha held me, she slyly brought a small cloth near my nose. A sweet, chemical scent filled my lungs, and a heavy drowsiness hit me instantly. Before I blacked out, I saw her lay me back down in the crib. “See? Now that you are not holding her, she has quieted down. If you do not believe me, there is nothing more I can do. I should return to the Vanderbilts; their young master is waiting.” She took three steps toward the door. Brian cleared his throat, stopping her. “Wait. Stay. We will double your salary. Just find out why Jenny is rejecting us.” Eleanor sighed, rubbing her temples. “You are right, Brian. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Maybe she just dislikes our perfume or the scent of our clothes.” No, Dad! Don’t listen to her! Let her leave! I screamed in my head, but darkness consumed me. When I woke up, Martha was officially installed as my full-time nanny. Furious, I spat at her face when she leaned over my crib. Get away from me, you monster! Martha wiped her cheek, a cruel smirk appearing on her face. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Enjoy your comfortable days while they last. I won’t hold a grudge against a baby.” She leaned closer, whispering in my ear. “Do you know how hard I worked to secure a golden life for my daughter? Out of all the wealthy families, yours was the only one with a baby born on the exact same day, in the same hospital. It is a bit of a downgrade for my girl to wait, but she will get what is hers eventually.” I wailed, trying to alert my parents. It was my only weapon, but my infant body was too weak. Eleanor walked into the nursery. “What is going on?” Martha secretly pinched my thigh hard, her fingers twisting the skin. “I think the baby sensed you coming, ma’am. She was perfectly calm just a second ago.” I tried to stop crying, but the physical pain was too much. The harder she pinched, the louder I screamed. Eleanor looked at me with a complicated, hurt expression before turning away. As soon as she left, Martha drugged me again. The next day, Martha offered me a bottle of Eleanor’s pumped breast milk. The moment it touched my lips, she pinched me again. “The young miss says she finds your scent disgusting, ma’am,” Martha lied, looking regretful. Because I had always struggled with feeding, Eleanor believed her. Then Martha offered a formula she had bought. I clamped my jaws shut, but Martha used the drug again. In my semi-conscious state, she forced the bottle down my throat. “See, ma’am? She has no problem with formula.” This happened repeatedly until my parents trusted her completely. Eleanor grew more anxious by the day. One evening, she asked Brian, “Why does our baby hate us so much?” Brian looked at Martha. “Has she said anything else? Is it our clothes? Our scent?” Martha knew her moment had come. She dropped to her knees, looking terrified. “Actually, the young miss has said some things. I didn’t dare repeat them because they were so shocking. But she has repeated them so many times, I am certain of what she is saying.” At Brian’s nod, she continued. “She says she hates your touch because you are not her real parents. She says when she grows up, she will take your wealth to honor her real family. And she wishes you would both die soon so she can inherit everything.” 3 In my past life, those words became a thorn in my parents’ hearts. Even after finding their real daughter, they initially wanted to keep me. But Martha’s relentless psychological dripping wore them down. Later, she framed me for hurting the real daughter, and they finally sent me away. Now, I watched my parents anxiously. Brian’s expression was unreadable. Eleanor was furious. “This is ridiculous! She is six months old! Even if she weren’t ours, how could an infant say such things?” Martha remained calm and solemn. “Every soul has a script they read before reincarnating. God makes babies mute for the first year because it takes that long for the veil of forgetfulness to fully set in.” My parents did not fully believe it, but the seed of doubt was planted. Over the next few weeks, Martha kept reporting my thoughts. Most were trivial things, like which toys I liked or which clothes I preferred. But she masterfully slipped in poison. “The young miss says your real daughter is starving in a filthy backwater town.” “She says her real father is a man named Silas, a proud, strong man.” “She seems happy today. She says your real daughter is about to be beaten to death by her gambling father, and then no one will compete with her.” My parents looked at me with growing distress. Martha kept me isolated. Whenever they tried to get close, she found a way to make me cry. Slowly, Eleanor broke. “Brian, what if it is true? Let’s just run an investigation. We have nothing to lose. But if our real daughter is out there…” Brian agreed and sent his assistant to investigate. Very quickly, they tracked down a baby girl of my exact age living with a gambler named Silas in a rural trailer park. The moment they brought the real daughter back, they ran a DNA test. The results came back that afternoon; she was a perfect match. 4 The moment the results were revealed, Eleanor wept, clutching the baby girl, whom they named Daisy. “My poor baby, you have suffered so much.” I lay in my crib nearby. Eleanor did not even look at me. Brian, being cautious, ordered an investigation into how the swap happened. The assistant quickly reported back that a negligent nurse at the hospital had mixed up the bassinet tags. With that, Brian’s doubts vanished. He held Eleanor and Daisy close. “We are whole now.” Martha stood behind them, barely concealing her triumphant smirk. She had successfully secured a life of infinite wealth for her daughter. I cried, terrified. Was history repeating itself? My crying drew my parents’ attention. “Jenny has been with us for months,” Eleanor said softly, looking conflicted. “We aren’t strapped for cash. We can afford to raise her too. Let’s keep her.” Martha chimed in immediately. “Have you forgotten what she said? She is a danger to this house!” Brian sighed. “If what you say is true, the forgetfulness will kick in soon. She is just a baby. We will raise her right.” Martha paled. She knew that as long as I stayed, my physical resemblance to my parents would eventually expose the truth. Over the next few days, I did everything I could to crawl away whenever Daisy was near, depriving Martha of any opportunity to frame me. Frustrated, Martha finally lost her patience. One afternoon, while Eleanor was in her room and Brian was in his study, Martha grabbed my hand and tried to force my fingernails into Daisy’s skin. I clenched my fists tight, refusing to scratch her. Seeing that Daisy wasn’t crying, Martha grew desperate. She grabbed my hand, squeezed my fingers, and used her own sharp nail to slice a deep gash into Daisy’s arm. Daisy screamed in pain. Martha wailed at the top of her lungs. “Brian! Eleanor! Help!” My parents rushed into the nursery. Martha was kneeling, cradling a crying Daisy. “I walked in and saw Jenny clawing at Daisy! She looked so vicious, not like a baby at all! She was screaming in her mind that she wanted to kill Daisy so she could keep her place as the sole heiress!” Eleanor whispered, “Is she truly born evil?” I flailed desperately. No! That is not what happened! This was my last chance. If I was sent away now, I would die. Brian closed his eyes and sighed. “Send her away.” Martha beamed, reaching down to grab me. And then, I summoned every ounce of infant strength I had, and threw myself over the edge of the crib. The corner of the wooden rail snagged my romper, tearing it wide open. Revealing a torso covered in dark, purple bruises.

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I am a simple, hardworking corporate drone. After a long, agonizing, and entirely unrequited crush on my boss, I had a mild, petty meltdown. So, I stole his beloved pet snake. Surprisingly, the little thing was incredibly affectionate. It wasn’t shy at all. I kept it for a few days. Then, strange glowing text suddenly floated right in front of my eyes, like live-stream chat comments: [Where did this random background character come from? That little snake he’s holding is actually the Snake King, capable of taking human form.] [Once the Snake King gets through his mating cycle, he’s probably going to eat this nobody alive, leaving nothing but bones.] A cold sweat broke out across my back. I immediately tied the little snake into a neat, firm knot. That very night, I drove three hours into the countryside and dumped it in the middle of nowhere. The next morning. My boss, who was always impeccably dressed and intensely serious, walked into the office looking like a total wreck. His hair was a bird’s nest, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. When someone asked him what happened, he gritted his teeth and growled: “I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I realized someone had dumped me in the woods.” 01 When Gary said those words, the entire conference room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. No one dared to breathe. “Ha, haha, Mr. Ford, you sure have a wild sense of humor,” someone finally piped up, desperately trying to break the ice. “Luke, did you sleep well last night?” Gary turned his gaze toward me, his voice cutting through the room like a sudden chill. My heart leaped into my throat, and my mouth hung open. “Huh?” Gary let out a cold snort and looked away, completely ignoring me from that moment on. I blinked, utterly baffled. Beside me, a coworker nudged my arm with his elbow. “Did you piss off Mr. Ford?” I gave him my most innocent look. “No way.” Could he have found out that I was the one who swiped his snake? But according to those floating comments, that gorgeous little serpent was dangerous. Gary should honestly be thanking me for saving his life. “And here I thought you finally grew some balls and snuck into Mr. Ford’s bed,” my coworker whispered, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. I stomped on his foot with all my might. “Shut up. If I ever decide I’m tired of living, maybe I’ll consider it.” Suddenly, a freezing glare locked onto the two of us. I looked up, meeting a pair of breathtakingly beautiful, icy eyes. Gary spoke, his voice dropping to a low, commanding register: “Everyone else is dismissed. Luke, stay behind.” 02 Dozens of suggestive, knowing looks shot toward me, making me feel like I was sitting on a bed of nails. I squirmed as the room slowly emptied. Once the last person left, I stood up on trembling legs. Hoping a smile might soften whatever blow was coming, I forced my lips into a polite curve: “Mr. Ford, is there something you need?” Gary walked slowly to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, turning his back to me as he stared out at the sprawling city skyline. My chest thundered with anxiety. I didn’t dare utter a single sound. After what felt like an eternity, Gary spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you hate me?” “Um, what?” I choked on my own spit, coughing slightly. What kind of bizarre, loaded question was that? Gary’s shoulders trembled slightly, but he composed himself almost instantly. I took a cautious step forward. “Mr. Ford, are you alright?” He still didn’t turn around, keeping his aloof, aristocratic back to me. When he spoke, there was a faint, fragile crack in his stubborn tone: “It is nothing. You may leave.” I scratched my head, completely lost. “Oh, alright. Let me know if you need anything else, sir.” “Mhm.” I turned and walked toward the heavy mahogany door. Just as I turned, I caught his reflection in the glass of the window. For a split second, it looked like a single, quiet tear was sliding down Gary’s cheek. But he wiped it away so quickly, his face returning to its usual stoic mask, that I doubted my own eyes. What on earth? Jesus. I must be getting old. Pulling all-nighters was starting to make me hallucinate. I walked out of the office. Before I could take more than a few steps down the hallway, a sharp, high-pitched whistling sound echoed from inside, sounding exactly like an old-fashioned kettle coming to a boil. I rubbed my nose and mumbled to myself. What year was it anyway? Who still used an ancient, whistling kettle in a luxury high-rise office? Did my billionaire boss have some incredibly bizarre retro fetish? 03 It was another grueling day of being a corporate slave. Work was already exhausting enough, but Gary kept watching me with the most unsettling, eerie looks. I had to admit, a pet really did take after its owner. When Gary stared at me, he had that exact same damp, chilly, and hypnotic intensity that the beautiful little snake had. Suddenly, a heavy wave of guilt washed over me. The moment the clock struck five, I bolted out of the office, eager to drive back and retrieve the poor thing. But before I could reach the elevator, a firm, warm hand pressed down on my shoulder. “Where are you going?” A low, heated breath brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I forced a dry laugh and stepped back, subtly breaking his grip. “Mr. Ford, this is personal business.” With that, I took advantage of his brief moment of hesitation and hurried away. I had no idea what was wrong with him lately. He was acting completely out of character. … After a few hours of navigating traffic, I finally made it back to the wooded outskirts where I had abandoned the snake the previous night. Because I had been worried about it getting hurt, I had actually put it in a small wire cage and hidden it safely under some bushes. But now, the wire door was wide open, and the cage was completely empty. I spent hours searching, digging through the dirt with my bare hands. By the time I stopped, I was covered in dust, and my shirt was soaked through with sweat. It wasn’t until the sky turned pitch black that I finally gave up. Smelling like a swamp, I checked into a cheap, sketchy motel nearby just to take a quick shower before heading home. By the time I finally unlocked my apartment door, it was almost midnight. The moment the door swung open, I froze. Two glowing, glassy spheres stared back at me from the darkness. My heart nearly stopped. I fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on. There, coiled proudly right in the middle of my living room, was the very snake I had thrown away. It was a gorgeous Beauty Snake, its scales a striking pattern of brownish-gray with delicate black bands running down its spine. It sat there, coiled tightly like a tiny king, holding its head high and staring at me with undeniable authority. I rubbed my eyes, convinced I was dreaming. “Nox!” Nox didn’t move. He just stared at me with those massive, round eyes, looking incredibly pathetic. I took a tentative step forward. Only then did Nox begin to slither toward me. He still looked visibly annoyed, his little body tense, but he slowly began to climb up my leg, wrapping himself around me. Since I had just showered, I smelled faintly of cheap drugstore body wash, and damp droplets of water still clung to my hair, occasionally dripping down onto his scales. The moment a droplet hit him, his entire body went rigid. He even stopped flicking his tongue. I didn’t know if I was imagining things, but he looked like he was about to burst into tears. I scooped him up, completely disregarding my fears, and showered his little scaly head with kisses. “I’m so sorry, Nox! You went through so much because of me. I don’t know what possessed me to dump you. Can you ever forgive me?” 04 Nox looked utterly dizzy from my sudden onslaught of affection. His vertical pupils locked onto mine, and his cool body coiled tightly around my arm, clinging to me as if his life depended on it. In an instant, all the tension left my body. I finally understood the sheer, intoxicating relief a toxic partner feels when they successfully win back their ex. I seriously wanted to slap myself for being so heartless. After a quick rinse, I took Nox into the bedroom to sleep, just like I used to. I always ran hot at night, so having his cool, smooth body draped over me felt like heaven. The moment my head hit the pillow, I drifted into a deep sleep. During the night, I had a vivid, strange dream. I dreamed a man had broken into my room. He stood right beside my bed, watching me. The moonlight filtering through the blinds was too faint for me to make out his face. “Luke, I don’t care if you have someone else out there,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t even care that you threw me away. Just, as long as you still let me come home, it is fine.” With that, he leaned down, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his entire frame shaking. Warm, wet tears soaked into my t-shirt, leaving a damp, heavy sensation against my skin. I felt a bit annoyed by the clinginess. In my half-asleep state, I tried to push him away. The figure stiffened instantly. He didn’t make a sound, nor did he pull away. He just stayed there, his tears flowing even faster, weeping with the tragic intensity of a melodrama hero. … The next morning, when I opened my eyes, the dream was still vivid. I rubbed my aching neck, my mind filled with the absurdity of the nightmare. While brushing my teeth, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and froze. There were several dark, purplish-red marks scattered across my collarbone. I pulled my collar down. The marks traced a path down my chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of my underwear. I stared at them, completely numb. Suddenly, the floating chat comments began to scroll frantically across my vision again: [Those marks were left by the Snake King! How can you still keep that thing in your house?] [This snake literally crawled all the way back from the outskirts of the city. Doesn’t that terrify you?] My body went rigid, and my hands began to tremble. From the hallway, I heard a faint, soft rustling sound. Nox poked his little head through the crack of the bathroom door, looking up at me with the most adorable, innocent expression. I stared back at him. The next second, I let out a squeal, scooped Nox into my arms, and began kissing him all over again. Stupid comments. How dare they call my precious, sweet Nox a terrifying monster? I couldn’t even begin to fathom the sheer struggle and pain my poor baby must have gone through just to find his way back to me. After cuddling him for what felt like hours, I finally set him down reluctantly. “Baby, I have to go to work to buy your food. Wait for me at home, okay?” Nox coiled into a neat circle, tilting his head as if he understood perfectly. The chat comments flashed violently: [Oh my god, this idiot has been completely hypnotized by the Snake King. He’s totally lost his mind.] [We warned you. When the Snake King gets bored of him and swallows him whole, he’s going to regret everything.] I completely ignored them. Humming a cheerful tune, I walked out the door and headed to work. 05 As I sat at my desk, my mind was entirely consumed by thoughts of Nox. To be honest, I used to be terrified of snakes. I always thought of them as cold-blooded, creepy monsters. The mere thought of their slick, cold bodies sliding against my skin used to give me goosebumps. But then, after several failed attempts to flirt with Gary, I had to accept the brutal reality. He was a straight-laced, utterly unreachable heterosexual man. That realization had triggered a brief, petty wave of madness in me. During a visit to his penthouse to retrieve a document he had left behind, I happened to spot Nox. He was resting elegantly in a custom-built terrarium, flicking his dark tongue as he stared at me. In that moment, a sudden rush of sheer audacity took over. I reached in, grabbed the snake, and stuffed him straight into my jacket pocket. The little guy had looked at me in shock, trying to squirm free, but he couldn’t break my grip. Ultimately, he just poked his tiny nose out of my pocket, looking at me with utter helplessness. Well, if I couldn’t have Gary, then I would take his, snake! But after keeping Nox for a few days, I quickly realized that snakes were actually incredibly sweet. He had an unbelievably gentle temperament. Even when I annoyed him, the worst he would do was sulk in the corner. Within an hour, he’d be slithering back, wrapping himself comfortably around my wrist. Thinking about it made my lips curl into a smile, and I started humming softly. My coworker turned to me, curious. “Luke, you’re in a great mood today.” Before I could answer, he scratched his head and muttered to himself, “Weird. Mr. Ford seems to be in a fantastic mood too. I could’ve sworn he looked ready to murder someone last night.” I shrugged. “Who knows.” Suddenly, my coworker went dead silent and sat up straight, instantly looking incredibly busy. Puzzled, I felt a familiar, rich scent wash over me, a deep, luxurious note of sandalwood and cedar. Gary’s smooth, velvety voice echoed from behind me: “Luke, come with me to my office.” 06 My entire body froze. I slowly turned around to face Gary. He was immaculately put together today, wearing his usual polite, slightly detached smile. I followed him up to the top floor, my mind racing. This was highly unusual. Why did he need to see me? And why didn’t he just have his assistant call me? Why did the CEO personally come down to fetch a low-level designer? Are billionaires really this free? Gary sat behind his massive mahogany desk, clasping his hands together in a formal gesture. “There is an industry dinner tonight. You are coming with me.” A massive question mark popped up in my head. Putting aside the fact that this was a secretary’s job, even if they needed a designer, it shouldn’t fall on a low-level draft technician like me. Seeing my silence, Gary’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why? Do you have other plans tonight?” “Well, actually,” I dragged out my words, clearly reluctant. Gary blinked. “Good. If it is nothing urgent, cancel it.” I looked at him with a miserable expression. “Mr. Ford, I don’t have any experience with these high-profile dinners. What if I mess up?” Gary completely ignored my protest, continuing smoothly, “Excellent. I will have someone send over a suit for you shortly. It’s a formal event, so you need to look the part.” … I lost track of how long I sat in front of the vanity mirror. My ass was practically numb by the time the stylist, who was working with extremely dramatic hand gestures, finally stepped back with a satisfied nod. “There. Now you actually look like you belong by Mr. Ford’s side.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m just accompanying him as an assistant, not his date. What do you mean by belonging?” The stylist gave me a thoroughly confused look. “An assistant?” “Yeah. He’s probably just bringing me along to drink on his behalf. I get how these things work.” “You don’t know shit about,” Before the stylist could finish his sentence, the door swung open. Gary stepped into the room, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto me. “Is he ready?” The stylist offered a quick, nervous smile. “All done, Mr. Ford. Are you pleased?” Gary stared at me, his gaze intense, raw, and incredibly hot. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. After a long, breathless pause, he spoke softly: “I am, highly pleased.” 07 By evening, I was standing beside Gary, stepping into a grand ballroom filled with clinking crystal glasses and murmuring elites. Every other guest seemed to be paired up. If I were straight, I could easily lie to myself and pretend I was just there to be his shield against free drinks. But the problem was, I was very gay, and I actually harbored highly inappropriate feelings for my boss. Standing next to him under the warm, glittering chandeliers made me feel incredibly self-conscious. Gary gently patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry. Just stay close to me. Don’t wander off, and let me handle the rest.” “You got it, boss.” As it turned out, I had vastly overestimated my duties. Given Gary’s terrifyingly high status in the business world, absolutely no one dared to pressure him into drinking. My sole purpose seemed to be standing next to him like a piece of handsome arm candy, listening to people flatter him endlessly. I felt more like a bodyguard than an assistant. I let out a quiet yawn, thoroughly bored. Suddenly, Gary leaned in. “Luke, could you fetch me a glass of juice?” I snapped out of my daze, looking into his pale, striking eyes. “Right away, sir.” I wandered over to the drinks table and picked up a vibrant, beautifully colored cocktail that smelled sweet and fruity. When I brought it back, Gary didn’t take the glass. Instead, he leaned forward and took a sip directly from my hand. His cold fingertips brushed against my wrist, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. I flinched, nearly dropping the glass. Gary suddenly choked, coughing as his brow knit in immediate disgust. “That is alcohol.” My eyes went wide. “What?” Within three seconds, a deep crimson flush crept up his neck to his ears. His gaze grew glassy and unfocused, and he slumped forward, resting his heavy forehead against my shoulder. “I, I don’t feel well.” Oh, great. I had heard rumors that Gary never touched a drop of alcohol, but I had no idea his tolerance was practically non-existent. Using every ounce of strength I possessed, I managed to drag his dead weight out to the parking lot and heave him into the back of his car. I patted his cheek gently. “Mr. Ford, where do you live?” Gary blinked lazily, murmuring a string of street names and numbers. The address sounded incredibly familiar. Wait, that was my apartment address. “Mr. Ford, that’s my place. Where is your actual home? Or can you give me your phone so I can call someone to pick you up?” Gary looked deeply offended, correcting me with absolute, drunken gravity: “That is my home.” “…” 08 There was absolutely no reasoning with a drunk. Left with no other option, I had to bring him back to my tiny apartment. I dragged him into the guest room and tossed him onto the bed, then immediately rushed out to find Nox. But no matter where I looked, under the sofa, behind the curtains, inside the cabinets, there was no sign of him. Panic seized me, and cold sweat broke out across my forehead. What if someone had broken in and stolen him? Suddenly, a heavy, dull thud echoed from the guest bedroom. I rushed back toward the sound. Gary was no longer on the bed. Instead, slithering awkwardly across the hardwood floor, was Nox. … Nox wobbled unsteadily as he made his way toward me. His massive eyes looked completely dazed. He climbed up my side, winding his way up to my shoulders, and began rubbing his little head affectionately against my neck. I stood frozen, completely paralyzed. A cold sweat drenched my shirt. Yes, Nox was still adorable. But could someone please explain to me where my six-foot-two boss had gone? As if to answer my silent question, the weight around my neck began to shift. Within seconds, the cool, scaly coils transformed, expanding until they became the solid, warm form of Gary once again. He mumbled incoherent complaints about feeling hot, his hands sliding down to wrap tightly around my waist, his fingers tugging at the belt of my trousers. I grabbed my pants with one hand and held him back by his chest with the other, my mind completely fracturing under the sheer absurdity of the situation. This couldn’t be real. “Luke, it hurts, I feel so hot.” Gary looked up at me with tear-filled, misty eyes, looking entirely defenseless. “I think, I think I’m in heat.” Right then and there, I officially confirmed that my boss was not human. Because no normal human being would ever say something like that. I tried to push him away. “Mr. Ford, I can’t help you with this. Why don’t I go find you a nice female snake?” Gary’s hand slid lower, his voice entirely too certain. “You can help me. Only you.” I blocked his wandering hands with one arm while wrapping my other arm around his waist to keep him from collapsing. But wait, if he was a snake, did that mean he had, two of, I couldn’t control my eyes. My gaze flicked downward. Before my rational mind could stop me, I swallowed hard, trying to convince myself that I was just curious. Just a little peek. It was a once-in-a-lifetime scientific inquiry. But the moment my fingers brushed against him, Gary shuddered violently. The last shred of his sanity seemed to snap, his eyes flashing a dangerous crimson as he pinned me flat against the mattress.

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1 Woke at night with severe cramps, I messaged our group chat for help before passing out. When pings woke me, my boyfriend Julian and best friend Clara had swapped over a hundred messages. My plea for ibuprofen lay ignored at the bottom. They chatted wildly, debating the World Cup, griping about work, planning a Northern Lights trip. Curled under my duvet, I scrolled up. Last month, I’d cried here about my boss throwing coffee on me. No reply. But when Clara posted a puppy video, Julian blew up the chat. Last weekend, I asked about lunch. They debated games until 3 AM, ignoring me. Suddenly, I recalled Julian’s words creating this chat: “Great, right? Those who love you most sharing your joy and pain.” Notifications kept popping. I tapped “Leave Group.” They never cared. I was done with a life where my voice only echoed in emptiness. … When the sky began to turn a bruised gray, the pain woke me up again. My phone was completely dead silent. Not a single private message from either of them. I leaned heavily against the wall, dragging myself to the bathroom. The face looking back at me in the mirror was terrifyingly pale. Right after I splashed freezing water on my face, Julian called. “Wake up, lazybones. Come downstairs, we’re going to be late for work.” I grabbed a random sweater, threw it on, and stumbled down the stairs, my legs feeling like jelly. Julian rolled down the window of his sedan. Clara was already sitting in the passenger seat, aggressively typing on her laptop balanced on the dashboard. I pulled open the back door and shivered violently as the blasting AC hit my cold sweat. “What took you so long? The newsroom is swamped today.” Julian put the car in drive while Clara turned around, handing me an iced Americano. “Thanks for suffering through this early commute with us every day, Chloe!” I hesitated for a second, then quietly set the iced coffee down in the cupholder. Ever since the incident where my boss humiliated me by throwing coffee on my shirt, I hadn’t been able to drink it. But they weren’t there to see it happen, and they clearly didn’t care to remember. During the drive, Clara continued typing furiously while bantering back and forth with Julian. I sat alone in the backseat, pressing my burning forehead against the freezing glass window just to keep the agonizing cramps at bay. Their voices began to blur into white noise, as if a thick, invisible glass wall had slammed down between the front seats and the back. Clara bounced rapidly from topic to topic, and no matter what she brought up, Julian effortlessly volleyed it back. More and more of their conversation became an inside joke I couldn’t understand. “That Italian place was incredible.” “God, the new editor is such a nightmare.” A sudden thought hit me like a physical blow. When was the last time Julian and I talked like that? I honestly couldn’t remember. Only when we pulled up to the media building did Clara suddenly let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh no! I didn’t finish writing the closing segment!” Julian smoothly backed into a parking space and said casually, “That’s what happens when you stay up all night watching soccer. Just have Chloe finish it for you. She’s just doing desk work today anyway.” Clara’s face lit up. She shoved her laptop directly into my chest and pressed her hands together in a pleading gesture. “You’re the absolute best, Chloe! Please, please, please? I’ll buy you boba later!” “I don’t think I can—” Before I could even finish my sentence, she gave me a lightning-fast hug, spun around, and sprinted toward the glass doors of the building. Julian was right behind her. He pressed a completely absentminded kiss to my forehead and jogged after her. I had watched them walk away like this a hundred times. At first, I was the one who asked Julian to keep an eye on Clara because she was new to the field team. Then, I was the one standing on the sidewalk, watching them drive off together for breaking news coverage. And now, somehow, I had become the ghost they left behind. At noon, right after I emailed Clara the finished segment, a warm boba tea slid across my desk. A coworker sitting nearby let out a sharp whistle. “Well, well. If it isn’t the golden couple of the newsroom, back from the trenches.” Julian shot him a freezing glare. “Watch your mouth.” He leaned against the edge of my cubicle, his long fingers naturally reaching out to massage my temples. “Is it that time of the month? You looked like you were going to pass out this morning.” I gave a weak nod and wrapped my cold fingers around the plastic cup. The tea was already ice cold. A memory from our first year together suddenly flashed through my mind. Back then, Julian was constantly traveling for field reports. I texted him one night: My cramps are killing me. Going to sleep early. Less than two hours later, he was pounding on my apartment door, completely drenched in sweat. His arms were overflowing with heating pads, three different kinds of painkillers, and a steaming thermos of ginger tea he had somehow managed to brew on the way. That winter was brutally cold, but the heat radiating from his palms made me feel entirely safe. Before I could fully process the memory, Julian pulled his hands away. He was staring at his phone, typing a rapid response to someone. He finished his text, glanced down at me, and frowned. “Why are you wearing a giant hoodie today?” “Didn’t I mention in the group chat yesterday that we’re having dinner with the station director tonight? You can’t wear sweatpants to that.” I blinked at him. So he genuinely hadn’t noticed that I had left the group chat. “I left the group chat. If it’s about work, just message me on Slack.” The casual smile instantly vanished from Julian’s face. He let out a heavy, patronizing sigh. “Seriously? Why? Because you’re on your period and the notifications are annoying you?” “If you’re in a bad mood, take it out on me. Block my number if you have to. Don’t throw a tantrum and leave the group chat. Clara is your best friend. Do you know how hurt she’s going to be when she sees that?” His phone pinged loudly. He glanced at the screen, immediately turned on his heel, and started walking away, tossing a frustrated sentence over his shoulder. “Whatever. If you’re sick, just stay at your desk. Clara and I are going to lunch. I’m adding you back to the chat later, and you are not allowed to leave again. Understood?” I sat silently in my rolling chair, the agonizing cramps twisting my stomach into tight knots. I dry-swallowed the ibuprofen I had Postmated for myself and dropped the freezing boba tea straight into the trash can. Then, I clicked open a half-finished Word document on my desktop. Application for Overseas Correspondent. My phone started buzzing relentlessly. When I finally packed up to leave, the group chat had over 99 unread messages. The very last one was from Julian, specifically tagging me. [Clara told me about those psychotic business owners targeting female reporters lately. I don’t feel safe letting you live alone right now. I’m packing a bag and moving into your apartment tonight.] I had literally sent them a news alert about that exact same stalker situation three days ago in this very chat. But they had been too busy debating the plot of a Marvel movie to acknowledge it. I typed a quick, [No need,] locked my screen, and climbed into the back of my Uber. After staring at the passing traffic for a minute, I unlocked my phone and added one last sentence. [I applied for the overseas correspondent position today. I might be leaving the country soon.] I hit send. Not a single new message popped up. Watching the blurry city lights streak past the window, I suddenly thought about my first year at the station. We were all rookies back then. Julian and Clara were assigned to the chaotic field team, and I was the quiet copy editor working behind the scenes. Every time Julian came back from a grueling shoot, he brought me a hot chocolate. Every time Clara struggled with an opening hook, she would roll her chair over to my desk and ask me how to inject more emotion into the script. When the three of us won our very first industry journalism award, Julian picked me up and spun me around while laughing hysterically. Clara shoved the heavy glass trophy directly into my hands. She promised we were going to conquer the entire media world together. We did conquer it. Only, they were the ones standing in the spotlight, and I was just the shadow. When the Uber dropped me off, I looked up and saw the lights in my apartment were on. I assumed I had been in such a rush this morning that I forgot to hit the switch. But when I unlocked the front door, I froze. A massive suitcase was splayed open in the middle of my living room, with men’s clothes thrown haphazardly all over my clean sofa. There was the sound of chopping coming from the kitchen. Julian poked his head out, holding a spatula. “You’re back? The soup is almost done.” Clara walked out right behind him, carrying a plate of appetizers, a bright, excited smile plastered across her face. “Chloe, you’re finally home! Julian said you guys were officially moving in together, so I bought a bunch of groceries to celebrate. Surprise!” I stood paralyzed in the entryway, feeling like I had walked into an absurd sitcom. But Clara had already spun back into the kitchen, leaning over the stove next to Julian. “Don’t add the green onions to the soup. Chloe hates them.” “It’s fine, she can just pick them out. I love green onions.” “Let’s simmer it for another ten minutes, the meat isn’t tender enough yet.” “Alright, whatever you say, chef.” The two of them bounced off each other with effortless chemistry, looking exactly like a pair of ridiculously in-love newlyweds. It made me feel like an absolute stranger intruding in my own home. That familiar, suffocating wave of exhaustion crashed over me. I didn’t even bother taking my shoes off. I walked straight to the kitchen doorway. “I never agreed to let you move in.” Julian turned around, his eyes wide with genuine confusion. “What is your problem now?” “My problem is that this is my apartment. Who gave you permission to come inside?” The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Clara rushed over, reaching out to grab my arm, but I smoothly stepped back to avoid her touch. She nervously glanced at Julian’s dark expression before frantically trying to explain. “Chloe, please don’t be mad. Julian was just terrified that you were living alone with that stalker on the loose. If I knew you were going to be this upset, I never would have let him come over.” CLANG. Julian slammed the heavy metal spatula into the cast-iron skillet. “Chloe, are you done throwing your little tantrum?” “I am bending over backwards out of pure concern for your safety, moving all my stuff here just to protect you, and this is the attitude I get?” Julian’s face twisted into a mask of pure, ugly frustration. “What the hell has been wrong with you lately? You’re constantly snapping at everyone, you act like a child and leave the group chat, and now you’re kicking us out of your house? Clara is your best friend. I am your boyfriend. Do you really think we’re trying to ruin your life?” “Julian, please stop yelling. Chloe is just having a bad week because of her period, you know how it gets.” I stood there, watching them play their perfectly choreographed good-cop-bad-cop routine, and I felt so unbelievably tired. Tired beyond the 14-hour editing shifts. Tired beyond the agonizing cramps. I didn’t scream at him like I would have a year ago. I just calmly pointed my finger toward the front door. “We are breaking up. Get out of my house right now.” Clara took a step forward, trying to grab my hand, but Julian viciously yanked her back by her wrist. “Don’t even bother with her, Clara. She’s acting like a rabid dog right now.” By the time I finished throwing his clothes into his suitcase and scrubbing their mess out of my kitchen, it was 2 AM. The next morning, I walked into the main conference room for the overseas correspondent selection. The first thing I saw was Julian leaning over the table, aggressively pointing at something on Clara’s script. When they noticed me, they both froze. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” I pulled out a chair in the very back row and sat down, keeping my eyes locked on the whiteboard. “I sent a message in the group chat yesterday.” The silence that followed was incredibly uncomfortable. Julian cleared his throat awkwardly, then immediately turned his back to me and went back to whispering with Clara. Clara mumbled something in response and refused to look in my direction. The selection process began. When it was Clara’s turn to present, Julian actually gave her a thumbs-up from the front row. She hadn’t even read two sentences before I narrowed my eyes. The script she was holding was the rough draft I had ghostwritten for her yesterday. And it was painfully obvious she hadn’t bothered to read it beforehand. When she reached the emotional climax of the story, she literally read the director’s notes I had written in parentheses out loud. A wave of hushed, mocking whispers rippled through the audience of seasoned journalists. Before she could awkwardly stumble to the end, Director Vance, the head of the department, slammed his hand on the table, picked up his half-full coffee cup, and hurled the liquid directly at her. “You dare bring this garbage onto my stage? You are a complete embarrassment to this network!” Seeing the dark coffee stains splattered across Clara’s pristine white blouse, my instinct kicked in. I reached for the zipper of my jacket, preparing to run up there and cover her. But Julian was much faster. He vaulted onto the stage, throwing his body in front of Clara like a human shield. “Director, even if her script was flawed, you have absolutely no right to throw coffee at your staff.” My fingers locked in a death grip around the fabric of my jacket. The last time the Director publicly humiliated someone by throwing coffee, it was me. I had cried in our group chat about it for hours. Neither of them even asked if I was okay. Julian’s eyes pierced through the crowd and locked directly onto mine. His look was an aggressive, unmistakable command. The message was crystal clear: Stand up. Take the blame for her. This wasn’t the first time he demanded this. Whenever Clara mispronounced a foreign dignitary’s name on live television, I was the one who marched into the control room and claimed I had printed the phonetic spelling wrong on the teleprompter. Julian always justified it by saying, You work behind a desk, Chloe. It doesn’t affect your career. Clara is the face of the network. But this time, staring straight into his demanding eyes, I slowly shook my head. Julian opened his mouth to bark an order, but Clara suddenly buried her face in her hands and sprinted out of the conference room sobbing. He shot me a look of pure, venomous disgust and chased after her without a second thought. The rest of the room turned to stare at me. Some eyes were curious, some were judging, and some were hiding malicious smirks. The moderator quickly restored order, and the presentations continued. The second I stepped out of the conference room after my presentation, Julian aggressively grabbed my arm and dragged me into the stairwell. Clara was standing against the concrete wall, shivering, wearing his oversized blazer. Her eyes were swollen red. Julian’s voice trembled with barely contained fury. “Are you happy now, Chloe?” “It’s just an overseas assignment! Was it really necessary to sit there and watch her get publicly humiliated? We have been friends for years, and you just threw her to the wolves without blinking.” I let out a sharp, cold laugh and looked him dead in the eyes. “She used a script I wrote. She didn’t bother to read the notes. Why the hell should I take the bullet for her incompetence?” “Because she doesn’t know how to write that kind of copy!” Julian’s voice echoed violently off the concrete walls. “You know scriptwriting is her weak spot! Why didn’t you sit down and review it with her before she went up there?” He stepped directly into my personal space, grabbing my wrist again, trying to physically pull me toward the director’s office. “You are going to walk in there right now, tell Vance you are withdrawing your application, and give the spot to Clara.” I almost laughed out loud. “On what grounds?” “Because she needs it ten times more than you do!” Julian glared down at me, speaking as if he were explaining basic math to a toddler. “Do you have any idea how psychotic that stalker is right now? Clara is a female reporter out on the streets every single day. She is terrified for her life. You get to sit in a secure office behind a desk. Why are you trying to steal her only ticket out of the city?” “Julian, please stop.” Clara weakly tugged on his sleeve, then turned to me, forcing a pathetic, trembling smile. “Chloe, please don’t be mad at him. He’s just stressed.” She reached out and tried to loop her arm through mine, exactly like she used to do when we were college freshmen. “It’s fine, it’s totally fine. It was my fault for not prepping enough. I don’t blame you.” “Let’s just go. We can ride in Julian’s car, I’ll drop you off at your place, and you guys can talk this out. No more fighting, okay?” I ripped my arm out of her grip, feeling incredibly disgusted by the stranger standing in front of me. This was the same Clara who used to passionately defend me, screaming at Julian for prioritizing his job over my feelings. I didn’t even acknowledge them. I turned my back and walked straight toward the elevators. A heavy hand slammed against the elevator doors just as they were closing. Julian shoved his way inside. Clara practically dragged me by my coat into the parking garage. “Chloe, stop making a scene. We can talk about this when we get to the car.” But the moment we reached Julian’s sedan, Clara smoothly opened the back door for me, then confidently slid into the passenger seat. Julian glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his brow deeply furrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. Seconds later, both of their phone screens lit up. I watched their thumbs fly across the keyboards, followed by a secretive, knowing glance shared between the front seats. I leaned my head against the cold glass and completely shut them out. The car was speeding down a narrow alleyway toward Clara’s apartment building when a black SUV suddenly aggressively swerved, blocking the entire road. Julian slammed on the brakes. My head violently slammed into the back of Clara’s seat. My vision exploded into a dizzying blur of white stars. A split second later, a massive brick shattered the windshield. “Get out of the car, you parasitic scumbags!” Three large men wielding steel pipes started marching toward the sedan. Julian didn’t hesitate for a microsecond. He kicked his door open, grabbed Clara by the waist, and bolted out of the car. I stumbled out of the backseat, my vision swimming, my legs completely numb. But Julian already had his arm wrapped tightly around Clara, sprinting toward the main street with terrifying speed. He frantically flagged down a passing taxi and shoved Clara into the back seat. “Chloe! Clara is the one on television, they recognize her face! I have to get her out of here!” The taxi door slammed shut. One of the men with a pipe lunged forward and grabbed me violently by the collar of my jacket. “You’re rolling with them, right? Perfect. You’ll do.” I thrashed wildly, kicking and screaming, but my body felt completely hollow. With the absolute last ounce of strength I had, I smashed the emergency SOS button on my phone before the darkness swallowed me whole. My final thought, before I lost consciousness, was sickeningly clear. Of course. No matter what the situation is, I am always the one left behind to die. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room blinded me. Julian was standing at the foot of my bed, looking exhausted and carrying a heavy expression of guilt. Clara was standing next to him, her eyes puffy and red from crying. The second I blinked, Clara rushed to my bedside, her voice choking on dramatic sobs. “Chloe! Thank God you’re awake! We were so terrified!” Julian took a hesitant step forward, his voice completely devoid of its usual arrogance. “I am so sorry, Chloe. Everything happened so fast. That guy recognized Clara from the broadcasts, and I was terrified he was going to kill her, so my instinct was just to…” I turned my head away, staring blankly at the sterile white wall as a single tear slipped into my hairline. “We are done…” Before I could finish my sentence, Julian’s eyes darted to Clara’s forearm. The edge of a white bandage was slightly peeling off. “What happened to your arm? I told you not to move it.” “It’s fine, it just snagged on my coat. Honestly, I’m just terrified that psycho is going to leak our location to the network.” Julian reached out, instinctively and gently pressing the adhesive tape back onto her skin. His tone was casual and intimately protective. “I already called security. You’re completely off field duty for the next week. I’ll write all your scripts…” Lying in that hospital bed, watching their flawless, sickeningly sweet dynamic play out in real time, I suddenly felt incredibly bored. My phone vibrated sharply on the bedside table. It was an automated email from HR. Overseas Correspondent Application: APPROVED. I pushed my weight onto my elbows, sat up, and reached over to rip the IV needle out of my own hand. Julian finally snapped out of his trance, lunging forward to grab my wrist. “What the hell are you doing?” I looked him dead in the eyes and said it loud and clear. “Julian, I am breaking up with you. I refuse to spend another second of my life in the same room as the two of you.” They both froze in shock. Clara’s eyes instantly welled up with fresh tears. “Chloe, please don’t do this. Last night was a horrible, freak accident. Julian didn’t mean to leave you…” The guilt instantly evaporated from Julian’s face, immediately replaced by that familiar, suffocating irritation. “Chloe, can you stop using breaking up as a weapon every time something doesn’t go your way?” Clara frantically grabbed his bicep. “Julian, stop yelling at her. She just woke up, she has a concussion…” Julian violently shook her hand off, staring down at me with profound disappointment. “I know you took a hit yesterday, but I already apologized! How long are you going to drag this childish tantrum out?” He let out a sharp, mocking scoff, grabbed Clara by the shoulder, and stormed out of the hospital room without looking back. Julian never came back to visit me. After I was discharged, I went straight to the network headquarters to pack my belongings for the overseas deployment. As I was walking through the main lobby holding a cardboard box, I nearly collided with Julian. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the box. “What is this? You’re actually quitting over an argument?” “I’m taking a leave of absence. I need a break.” He let out a massive sigh of relief and casually reached out to touch my forehead. “A break is a good idea. You need to reset your mental state. Clara and I are buried in a massive investigative piece right now, but once we wrap it up, I’ll come stay with you for a few days.” He was already speed-walking toward Clara, who had just walked through the revolving doors, and he didn’t even hear my final words. “Don’t bother.” Because I will never need you again, Julian.

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Ever since I was a kid, I could hear the whispers of pests. Fresh into my internship with the investigative task force, I tagged along with my mentor to the Lancaster estate. We were looking into the disappearance of the sole heir to the wealthiest family in Harbor Bay. The head consultant sounded dead certain. “The kid was definitely smuggled out of the city. We need to expand the mountain search grid immediately.” The little Lancaster boy was the only male heir in eight generations. Old man Arthur, the family patriarch, had even put a ten million dollar bounty on the table for whoever found him first. Everyone was rushing out of the city limits. I was the only one standing dead in my tracks. Because I heard the rats. I turned my head toward the corner and spoke up. “No need to leave the city.” “The boy is right here.” 1 The moment those words left my mouth, Arthur slammed his walking cane against the marble floor. He stepped forward. “What do you know?” The octogenarian’s voice trembled. “You know where Oliver is?” Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to me, sharp as daggers. “He is in this mansion,” I replied. A split second of dead silence followed, and then the room exploded like water hitting boiling grease. Preston, the head consultant, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and let out a scoff. “You are just an intern. What proof do you have?” His tone dripped with unconcealed contempt. “We pulled all the security footage and cross-checked every toll booth record. The conclusion is unanimous. The boy has been moved.” “This little girl must be out of her mind for that bounty,” Dexter, the private eye, chimed in. He crossed his arms, intentionally raising his voice. “The whole world is searching outside the city, and you insist he is in the house? Just to play the contrarian and snatch that ten million?” The flicker of hope that had lit up Arthur’s face vanished entirely. “Young lady, the Lancaster bounty is not a game.” Richard, the boy’s father, turned livid. He leaned in to whisper something to his assistant. From the looks of it, I was seconds away from being thrown out by security. Only my mentor, Alistair, hurried over to my side. He leaned down, dropping his voice so only I could hear. “Harper, did you find something again?” His question yanked the room’s attention back to us. Dexter narrowed his eyes. “Alistair, you should know better than to indulge your student. Don’t let her think one lucky guess with that cold case means she is psychic now.” Alistair ignored him. He kept his eyes locked on me. I knew exactly why he believed me. Two years ago, a dismembered body case on the outskirts of Harbor Bay had gone cold for months. I was the one who followed the squeaks of rats all the way into an abandoned bunker, unearthing a skeleton buried for five years. After that, Alistair made an exception and took me on as an intern, even though I hadn’t officially graduated college. Right at this moment, two rats were chattering in the corner behind the baseboards. “The little kid’s blood still smells fresh. Hasn’t faded yet.” “It has been three days. I am starving. Let’s go feast.” I spoke up immediately, terrified of losing precious time. “The boy is injured. He is still in this building. We need to search right now, he might still be saved.” Marcus stood three paces away. He was the tactical captain sent by the police department. He raised a hand. “Hold your positions. Prepare for a full tactical sweep of the estate.” “Absolutely not!” Richard shoved past his bodyguards and marched right up to Marcus. “It has been three days! Every camera, every tire track, every witness statement points out of the city! And you want to tear my house apart?” He whipped around to glare at me. “Do you have any idea what you are delaying? If Oliver really was taken out of the city, and we waste half a day here…” Panic burned in my chest. Just as Richard was about to order the search teams to roll out, a black-shelled roach squeezed through a crack in the molding. “Basement. The little brat with the mole on his butt got shoved down there.” I jerked my head up, ignoring Richard’s roaring entirely, and spoke over him. “The boy has a mole on his right buttock. About the size of a quarter.” “The last person who saw him before he vanished was his mother. Am I right?” 2 Eleanor, the boy’s mother, stood at the top of the second-floor staircase. One hand covered her mouth, and the other gripped the mahogany railing like a lifeline. Arthur stared at me for a long time. His cane slowly lowered back to the floor. “Search the house,” the old man rasped. Marcus personally led the team, tearing through the first-floor living room inch by inch. “Not even a stray hair.” Dexter strolled out of a second-floor guest room, dusting off his slacks. “All this chaos just to entertain an intern’s wild delusion of him being injured?” Preston stood in the center of the living room, frowning at the thermal imaging on his tablet. “The wall structures are completely normal. No irregular heat signatures detected. Captain Marcus, with all due respect…” “Keep looking,” Marcus muttered, not even looking up. Richard paced the foyer, checking his watch at least twenty times. With every passing minute, his face grew darker. He finally snapped at Marcus. “Captain, I already have three private teams sweeping the southern mountains. If you don’t produce results here soon…” I was crouching on the floor tiles at the end of the ground-floor hallway. While the Lancasters were busy arguing, a cluster of rats had gathered by the wall, muttering among themselves. “Crawl east. There is a sweet, sticky smell coming from the bottom of that wall.” “Idiot, you have to squeeze into the hollow parts! The sweet smell is leaking from the brick joints.” They kept repeating the same direction. The basement. I stood up, stumbling slightly because my legs had gone numb. Alistair quickly caught my arm. “Are you sure?” he whispered. I looked down the narrow door leading to the basement and nodded. “Head down to the basement,” Marcus said, putting his tablet away and following my gaze. “Harper says search the east wall. Follow the roaches and rats.” The basement was larger than I imagined. Nothing looked out of place. But when I crouched down, I heard a faint rustling coming from the seams where the wall met the floor. Marcus ordered a tech to tap the drywall. The echo was muffled and hollow, completely different from a solid structure. Benson, the family butler, was summoned. He unrolled the vintage architectural blueprints of the estate. The diagrams showed there should only be a three-foot plumbing cavity behind this wall. Richard stood at the top of the stairs, looking down. His expression was a stormy mix of rage and anxiety. Finally, he gritted his teeth. “Smash it.” When the worker swung the sledgehammer, my heart pounded louder than the impact. The first brick gave way, revealing a pitch-black void. A damp, chilling breeze wafted out. I held my breath. Then the second and third bricks shattered. The hole widened. Marcus shined his tactical flashlight inside. Nothing. Just a few rusted old pipes and a thick layer of dust. Dexter stood less than two feet behind me. His mocking laughter practically pierced my eardrums. “Absolutely nothing. You made the Lancasters demolish their own house just to look at some garbage plumbing?” Preston had wandered downstairs at some point. He took one look, turned on his heel, and spat out a single word. “Absurd.” Richard stood on the steps, his knuckles popping as he clenched his fists. Just then, the butler’s voice echoed from the floor above. “Sir, the housekeeping staff is asking for a word.” 3 The four maids stood in a line in the parlor, their expressions ranging from annoyed to nervous. Martha, a woman in her fifties, took the lead. She had worked for the Lancasters for over a decade and held the most authority. She anxiously twisted the hem of her apron, glancing between Richard and me. Her voice was steady. “Sir, the girls and I talked it over. We need to clear our names.” Martha swallowed hard. “This estate gets a comprehensive pest control sweep twice a day, at six in the morning and nine at night. We use top-tier bait and traps constantly.” “I have worked here for twelve years. Forget rats, I haven’t even seen a stray ant. And this young lady comes in talking about rats leading the way and roaches giving clues.” A younger maid chimed in from behind. “Sir, saying stuff like that makes it sound like we are just getting paid to do absolutely nothing.” Dexter let out a sharp whistle. “Hear that? Professional cleaners are on it every single day. Where exactly are you getting these clues? Straight from your own imagination?” I stood frozen. Cold sweat drenched my back. The combined glare of everyone in the parlor weighed on me like a mountain. Richard turned to look at me, his eyes clouded with pure venom. He closed the distance in three massive strides, his finger nearly poking through my shoulder. “You are a total fraud. You just wasted three hours of our critical search and rescue window. Three hours! Do you have any idea what that means?” “Mr. Lancaster, Harper isn’t…” Alistair tried to step between us, but Richard shoved him aside violently. “Shut your mouth!” Richard’s eyes were bloodshot. “You told the cops to follow the rats to the basement. Because of that one stupid sentence, we wasted three hours in this house. Three hours is enough to sweep half a damn mountain!” He whipped around to face Arthur. “Dad, I told you these people are just grifters after the reward money! But you insisted on bringing in some fringe consultant.” Arthur sat in his antique wingback chair. He closed his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. It was a clear gesture. Throw her out. A young man from the family’s legal team stepped out from the crowd. He wore a sharp suit and held a leather folder. “Miss Harper, we have documented your repeated attempts to intentionally mislead the rescue operation.” “Under civil law, we will be pursuing charges for obstructing an emergency response and malicious misdirection. The financial damages will be…” “That is enough.” Alistair cut him off, a rare edge of fury in his voice. “She is an intern. Every action taken was authorized by the experts on site. You cannot pin the entire blame on a single girl.” “Authorized?” Richard sneered. “Who authorized her? From the very beginning, she has been pointing fingers like a lunatic!” He waved a hand dismissively. Two massive security guards marched toward me. “Drag her out. I never want to see her face again.” When the guards clamped down on my arms, I had zero strength to fight back. Alistair trailed behind us all the way to the door, arguing heatedly, but Richard tuned him out entirely. Dexter followed me with his phone out, recording the whole thing. He shoved the camera right into my face. “Here we go, folks. Let the internet see what people will do for a ten million dollar bounty.” I was dragged through the hallway, across the marble living room. Every step pulled me further away from the basement. Marcus hadn’t moved an inch, but I saw his brow knit together. His gaze kept shifting between the smashed wall and my retreating back. His lips parted, but he didn’t say a word. Richard followed us all the way to the foyer. His voice chased me from behind, cold and absolute. “If anything happens to Oliver, I will make you pay with your life.” The heavy bronze front doors were swinging open, letting in a blinding strip of daylight. Right before the doors parted completely, something caught my peripheral vision. Down by the base of the basement stairs. A gray rat squeezed through the crack in the door. 4 The guards were hauling me outside. One of my feet was already past the threshold, but my entire body locked up as if nailed to the floor. The rat was moving too slowly. Normally, a rat darting from a gap would vanish in a blur. But this one took two steps and froze. Its four tiny legs trembled, struggling to hold up a belly so swollen it practically scraped the tiles. It crawled a few inches, then rested. Another rat popped out from the corner and nudged its head. The gray rat let out two weak, raspy squeaks. “Swallowed it. Swallowed it. Too heavy, can’t crawl.” “Spit it out!” “Can’t. My stomach is totally jammed.” I threw my entire weight backward with a violent jerk. The guard holding me hadn’t expected a young girl to pack that much explosive force, and his grip slipped. My knees slammed into the marble floor. The pain was so sharp my vision went black for a second, but I ignored it, scrambling forward on all fours. Dexter’s camera feed shook as he yelled. “Hey. She is making a run for it!” By the time I lunged, the gray rat was desperately trying to squeeze into a corner seam. I slid across the floor, slamming both hands over its back, pinning it flat against the freezing tiles. The rat twitched twice and gave up. Its belly was bloated like a stuffed walnut, the skin stretched so thin I could see dark, heavy outlines underneath. The entire room went dead silent. Richard charged back from the foyer. He saw me kneeling on the floor, cupping a filthy gray rat in my hands. My face was flushed red, and my voice shook uncontrollably. “You are still pulling this stunt!” Richard screamed. Marcus and Alistair rushed over from the living room. I clutched the rat, spun around, and stayed on my knees. The security guard reached out to grab me, but I fiercely shielded the dusty little creature in my palms. I threw my head back, looking straight at Arthur. The old man had quietly walked to the end of the hall, watching me from a dozen feet away. “Examine it.” My voice tore from my throat, so ragged I barely recognized it. “There is something inside this rat’s stomach. I swear on my life, if I am wrong after you cut it open, I will gladly go to prison!” Dexter burst into laughter from the back of the room. “Are you insane? You want us to perform an endoscopy on a rodent?” He shoved his phone closer. “Look at this, guys. The final meltdown of a scammer. That bounty really drove her crazy.” “Shut up.” Marcus finally spoke. He pushed through the crowd, knelt in front of me, and stared at the rat’s unnaturally bulging stomach. He stayed silent for two seconds before looking up and calling out. “Dr. Simon.” The forensic examiner stepped forward quickly. He took a knee, observed the rat for a few moments, and pulled a pair of forceps and a specimen tray from his kit. Dexter opened his mouth to complain, but a lethal glare from Marcus shut him up instantly. When Dr. Simon took the rat from my hands, I felt it give one last, feeble twitch against my skin. The gray rat squeaked two final times. “I ate so much. So full.” The scalpel sliced through the rat’s belly with practiced speed. The hallway was so quiet you could hear the faint, wet sound of skin parting. Ten seconds later, the forceps reached into the incision and pulled something out. It was a piece of reddish-brown flesh. 5 Everyone instinctively crowded closer, yet simultaneously took a half-step back, as if getting too close might infect them with something vile. Dexter was the first to break the tension. “Are you guys serious?” He pocketed his phone and scoffed. “The kitchen in this mansion is massive. A rat snagging a piece of leftover meat is supposed to be a clue?” He gestured toward the metal tray. “It is just a chunk of pork. Probably dropped on the floor during dinner prep.” Preston adjusted his glasses. He stayed quiet, but didn’t argue. Richard stood two paces away. His eyes darted between me and the dead rat. His mouth was a tight, hard line. Marcus didn’t entertain them. He stared intently at Dr. Simon. The forensic examiner held the tray up to the light, inspecting it for a few heavy seconds. When he looked up, his brow was locked in a deep knot. “The edges are cleanly severed. This wasn’t torn naturally. And look here.” He gently nudged the tissue with his forceps. “The surface shows signs of dehydration, likely from formalin immersion. The rat’s stomach acid couldn’t break this down, which is why it swallowed it whole.” “Formalin?” Preston finally frowned. The temperature in the room plummeted. Arthur stepped forward from the back of the crowd. He ground the tip of his cane into the floor and spoke in a gravelly whisper. “Find every single rat left in this house. Bring them all to me. Dead or alive.” The Lancaster bodyguards and Marcus’s officers immediately scattered like hounds. They tore through the living room, the kitchen, the pantry, the staff quarters. No corner was spared. Fifteen minutes later, a shout rang out from the kitchen. “Got one!” A tidal wave of people rushed in. An officer was kneeling behind the kitchen cabinets, holding up a snap trap. A small, gray rat was caught in the metal jaws. Its belly was slightly distended. The rat was still twitching. It wasn’t completely dead. “Cut it open,” Marcus ordered. Dr. Simon went to work immediately. The hallway descended into an unnatural silence, leaving only the wet slice of the scalpel. Seconds later, the forceps reached inside and extracted something. Half a human fingernail. Eleanor shoved her way to the front. She took one look, and it was as if someone had ripped the spine right out of her back. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed. Richard lunged to catch her. As he looked down at the nail, the blood drained from his face, turning his skin a ghastly, ash-grey. “Oliver’s.” Eleanor gripped Richard’s sleeve, her voice sounding like she was drowning. Nobody in the crowd made a sound. Arthur slowly walked forward. Every step was heavy, dragged out. He stared down at that tiny fragment of a nail for a long time. His lips trembled, but no sound came out. A profound, unbearable grief shattered his eyes. All the strength left his aged body, and he fell rigidly backward. The crowd erupted in panicked shouts, rushing to catch the patriarch and carry him to a recliner in the parlor. Total chaos took over the living room. Richard handed Eleanor over to the maids and stood frozen in the parlor doorway, staring at his collapsed father. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips pressed so tight they were bone-white. I stood on the outskirts of the crowd. The bruises on my knees were throbbing with heat. Alistair walked over and stood beside me. He didn’t say a word, but he placed a warm, reassuring hand on my back. Then, a sound caught my attention. Over by the baseboard radiator, a fly buzzed against the metal casing. “Smells so good behind the fridge. But I can’t find it.” “Can’t find it.” I slowly turned my head toward the kitchen. Arthur regained consciousness ten minutes later. Lying on the recliner, the very first words out of the old man’s mouth were absolute. “Oliver is gone. But I want him found. Alive or dead, bring my boy back!” That single sentence shifted the atmosphere in the estate from a rescue op to a murder investigation. Marcus instantly locked down the property. He called in a full crime scene unit to tear the place apart, room by room. I was the only one standing perfectly still, straining my ears to catch the whispers of the pests. But there was nothing. The rats and roaches had gone completely silent, as if acting on some collective instinct. Even the fly was gone. The mansion was as quiet as a tomb. Alistair crouched next to me, speaking softly. “Think back. When you heard the first rats, which part of the wall were they talking about exactly?” I closed my eyes. The conversation of the gray rat replayed in my mind like a tape recorder. The brick joints. Not behind the wall. Inside the wall. My eyes snapped open. “We shouldn’t just be looking behind the walls. We need to look for gaps small enough for a rat to crawl into.” Marcus glanced back at me. He didn’t ask for an explanation. He just pivoted his orders. “Everyone. Look for hidden compartments.” An hour later, an officer shouted from the bottom corner of the first-floor hallway. “Found a hidden panel behind the wainscoting.” 6 The officer knelt by the corner baseboard, using a screwdriver to pry off a loose piece of wooden paneling. Behind the wood was a square cavity, barely the size of a hand. Marcus shined his flashlight inside, sweeping the beam across the darkness. Curled in the corner was a dead rat. Its stomach was completely flat, entirely desiccated. But right next to the carcass, wedged deep in the crevice, was a piece of rubber. When Marcus pulled it out with his tweezers, everyone stopped breathing. It was the front half of a shoe sole. The edges were gnawed and torn, but the tread pattern was unmistakably clear. A row of jagged teeth grips, and in the center, the faint logo of a cartoon crocodile. Eleanor didn’t come over to look. She sat on the living room sofa, hands clasped over her knees, as rigid as a marble statue. But Benson, the butler, leaned in for a closer look. When he turned his head, his lips were quivering violently. “The young master loved those shoes. The crocodile ones. The Madam bought them for him at the city center last year.” Arthur sat motionless in his wingback chair, but his knuckles gripped the armrests until they turned white. Marcus sealed the evidence bag, handed it to Dr. Simon, and stared at the location of the hidden panel. It was in the hallway corner, less than twelve feet away from the smashed east wall in the basement. Only a load-bearing staircase wall separated them. The secret compartment perfectly aligned with the hollow wall’s trajectory. If the sledgehammer had hit just three feet to the left, it would have cracked this exact compartment open. “Too many coincidences,” Marcus muttered, sounding like he was talking to himself, or maybe to me. He stood up and surveyed the room. “Tear apart every single wainscot panel, baseboard, and ventilation duct in this house. There is more than one compartment.” For the next two hours, the house was methodically gutted. Panels were ripped off, baseboards pried loose, and vent covers completely dismantled. They lined up a table full of random debris, but only one item mattered. Behind the furthest wall of the walk-in closet in the second-floor nursery, they found another hidden cubby. It was empty, but stuck to the inner lining were a few strands of short, dark hair. Eleanor held those strands in the palm of her hand for a long, agonizing moment. Her eyelashes fluttered, but she refused to shed a single tear. Richard stood by the window, his back to the room, shoulders locked as tight as a coiled spring. Arthur walked out of the parlor, glanced at the hair, and returned to his chair. He looked as if he had aged ten years in ten minutes. I crouched by the tiles in the living room corner. Everyone was busy moving. I was the only one listening. Still, I heard nothing. The only sound left in the entire estate was a low buzzing drifting from the back kitchen door. Flies. A small swarm of greenbottle flies circling a specific spot. I got up and walked toward the kitchen. Just past the back door was a small utility room stacked with unopened water cases and cleaning supplies. Tucked all the way in the back, flush against the wall, was a massive stainless-steel double-door refrigerator. The gap between the bottom panel and the floor was barely an inch high. The flies were doing lazy laps right around that gap. “It opens. The panel opens.” I crouched down. The fluorescent light in the utility room was old, casting a sickly yellow glow that reflected blurry shadows on the fridge’s steel surface. I pressed my face near the floor and slipped a finger into the gap. My fingertip brushed against a hard, cold edge. Metal. “Captain Marcus,” I called out over my shoulder. Marcus was there in seconds. He eyed the gap, dropped to a crouch, and shined his light underneath. After two seconds of dead silence, he looked up and yelled for backup. “Pull this fridge out of the wall.” It took four men nearly twenty minutes to haul the heavy built-in unit out of its alcove. When the space behind it was finally exposed, every eye locked onto the floor. The fridge had been resting over a large, iron-gray maintenance hatch. The edges were scratched, bearing fresh marks from being pried open recently. Marcus grabbed a pry bar and wedged it under the lip. With a loud metallic pop, the hatch sprang open. A foul, freezing draft rushed up from the dark. The living room was immediately cleared of civilians. Dr. Simon put on a fresh pair of gloves and a heavy mask. He laid on his stomach and lowered half his body into the hatch. About ten minutes later, he pulled himself out. When he peeled off his gloves, his fingers were shaking. He leaned in and whispered something into Marcus’s ear. Marcus’s face drained of color for a split second before snapping back to a cold, hard mask. “We have recovered the entire right arm.” Marcus turned around. His voice wasn’t loud, but every syllable cut through the room like shattered glass. “Confirmed to be the remains of a young child. Preliminary forensic analysis indicates professional dismemberment. The tool used was likely a bone saw or surgical scalpel. Time of mutilation is estimated at no less than forty-eight hours.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “515798”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I accidentally cast the spicy photo I sent my online boyfriend onto the conference room screen. Even worse, I realized my clingy online boyfriend—the one who calls me “Mistress,” begs for cuddles, and worships the ground I walk on, is actually my ice-cold CEO, Ethan Vance. By day, he humiliates me in front of the entire office. By night, he Venmos me five thousand dollars and begs me to marry him. Then our Snapchat chat popped up on the big screen. In front of the entire company. 0 “Oh…” Someone in the room gasped loudly. Ethan slowly turned around, his gaze shifting toward the screen. Panicking, I frantically disconnected the screencast with trembling fingers, forcing a deeply awkward smile. “Sorry… my bad. Wrong button.” My face was burning hot. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect that my cold-blooded, heartless boss was the very same online boyfriend who cried and begged me to call him a good boy on Snapchat! Just ten minutes ago, he had humiliated me in front of the entire department, calling the fourth draft of my proposal a piece of trash. But now that I knew I was his “Mistress”… he definitely wouldn’t reject my pitch next time! I was saved! Oh my god, yes! My career actually had hope! I sat up straight, trying to look professional. A second later. He sent a flurry of messages: [Babe, I’m in a meeting right now.] [I’ll whine for you as soon as I get home~] [PayPal Transfer: $5,000] My heart stopped. Before I could even hide the stupid grin on my face, Ethan’s sharp, cold voice cut through the air. “Chloe! What on earth are you smiling at?” I jumped, startled. I quickly looked up and met Ethan’s icy, razor-sharp gaze. He looked absolutely furious, glaring at me with zero intention of saving my pride. “When you joined this company, you had no impressive portfolio, nor any outstanding achievements. I finally gave you a chance.” “And what do I get?” “Your proposal is a total mess, you stay completely silent during meetings, and now you’re playing on your phone!” “Do you even want to keep your job?” Oh, no. I was in deep, deep trouble. My heart was pounding in my chest. Everyone else in the room held their breath, all eyes locked on me. Some looked at me with pity, some with confusion, and others were just glad they weren’t the ones getting scolded. I had always been a straight-A student, growing up with praise from teachers and admiration from classmates. But ever since I became Ethan’s assistant, getting chewed out by him had become my weekly routine. My face burned with humiliation. Tears welled up in my eyes. But online… Ethan was always so sweet to me. He would call me his queen, begging for hugs and kisses… I tried to explain myself, my voice trembling with emotion. “I… I was just texting my boyfriend… My boyfriend is actually—” “Nobody cares who you’re texting,” Ethan cut me off coldly. “If there’s a next time, you don’t need to stay on my team.” Ethan was the CEO, and my direct boss. I knew that in this company, no one would dare hire someone he threw out. If he kicked me out, I would be packing my bags and leaving the industry for good. The blood ran cold in my veins. It took me a long time to squeeze out a raspy reply. “Understood… It won’t happen again.” 0

The moment we walked out of the conference room, my colleague Mia grabbed my arm, her face full of worry. “Chloe, are you insane? Texting during his meeting is one thing, but casting it to the big screen?! Thank god the Ice King didn’t see the text, or you’d be a goner!” I let out a weak, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah… slip of the finger.” When I first realized Ethan was my online boyfriend, I was ecstatic. But thinking about it now… it was incredibly creepy. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, then lowered my voice. “Hey, Mia… do you think someone like Mr. Reed would ever do online dating?” Mia blinked, then burst out laughing. “Mr. Reed? The legendary office tyrant? The man is basically celibate.” She leaned in closer to my ear. “Rumor has it he has some… issues down there. How could he do online dating?” Her expression suddenly changed, and she looked at me suspiciously. “Wait, you’re not thinking of seducing him to save your job, are you?” “Girl, it’s just a proposal. Don’t sacrifice your soul for it.” “The Ice King already dislikes you. If you push his buttons, he will fire you on the spot.” My heart did a violent flip. I had thought I hit the jackpot with Ethan. But from Ethan’s perspective, if he found out, it would look like I was blackmailing him. After all, I made him call me “Mistress” and forced him to send me abs pics. Just imagine if I had cast his abs to the screen during the meeting! Oh my god, the sheer embarrassment. It would be my social death. I could never let Ethan know that I was his online Mistress! I forced myself to sound calm. “I was just curious. I’d never do that.” Only then did Mia let out a sigh of relief. Shortly after I got back to my apartment, my phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat message from Ethan. [Babe, I’m free now. Want me to make those sweet sounds for you?] Ah! The thought of Ethan—who was always so stiff, formal, and buttoned-up to his neck at the office—lying on his bed and begging for my attention made my brain short-circuit. The contrast was too wild. And he was my boss! I didn’t dare to play along anymore. Me: [No need.] [Ethan got anxious immediately: [Why?] [Am I not attractive to you anymore?] [Or are you mad because I didn’t reply to your thigh pic right away?] [No wonder you didn’t accept my PayPal transfer.] [Babe, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, just give me a chance to show you how much I want you.] Then, a FaceTime call popped up. My heart raced to the rhythm of the ringtone. Maybe it was because Ethan had been so brutal to me today, but seeing him beg so desperately online gave me a sudden rush of satisfaction. In fact, I wanted to mess with him a little. I wanted to humble him, and then dump him. But then I looked at the pending $5,000 transfer… …Fine. Let’s keep this going. But I was definitely going to tease him. I accepted the FaceTime call. As usual, we both kept our cameras angled down, keeping our faces out of the frame. “Babe, are you still mad at me?” His deep, husky voice echoed through my speakers. I had never made the connection before, but listening closely now, it was undeniably Ethan’s voice. Terrified he would recognize mine, I quickly typed: [I’m not mad, baby. Go ahead, I’m watching. Ethan let out a relieved sigh. His tone turned playful and eager. “Okay. Here I go.” 0

I stared at the screen, unable to look away. On the screen, Ethan unbuckled his belt, slowly putting on a silver waist chain… Oh my god! I let out a gasp and threw my phone onto the bed. Even though I talked a big game online and loved watching hot videos to decompress, this was my first time seeing a man’s… well, *that*. And it belonged to Ethan Reed! It was too much to handle. Ethan’s voice sounded frantic. “Babe? What’s wrong?” “Did I… did I scare you?” I patted my burning cheeks. I hung up the FaceTime call and texted him: [Are you mutated or something?] Ethan: [?] Me: [Even the romance novel male leads aren’t that… huge.] Ethan: [What?] Me: [It’s a compliment.] Ethan: [I’m just worried you won’t be able to handle me.] This pervert… My face flushed even hotter. [I definitely can’t.] [Besides, I like pink. Freshness.] [Maybe I should find a younger guy.] Ethan was thirty. This was the ultimate low blow for him. As expected, Ethan immediately sent a video to prove himself. The video showed a perfect, toned body. His abs were deeply defined from years of working out. What caught my eye was a silver body chain wrapped around his chest and waist. The chest chain rested perfectly on his firm pecs, and the waist chain hugged his hips as he breathed. It was incredibly hot. Then came a voice note. His voice was dangerously low. “Babe… don’t find someone else.” “What do young guys even know?” “Look, I put on the chest and waist chains you wanted to see last time.” “And the size… I promise you’ll love it.” “Mistress, please don’t leave me.” My breath hitched. I quickly made an excuse about my work. [I have to go. Need to fix my project pitch.] Ethan panicked: [Mistress, is there anything I can do to help?] Oh, he could definitely help. [My boss called my proposal absolute garbage. I have to rewrite the whole thing.] Ethan got angry: [He has zero taste. Sounds like a total idiot leader.] He was literally insulting himself. I burst out laughing. [Tell me who he is, babe. I’ll ruin his career for you.] Oh, please do. Go ruin yourself. 0

Ethan and I met on a chat app. At the time, I had moved out of my parents’ house to escape their constant nagging about marriage. But finding a job was tough. My bank account was draining fast, and I was about to miss rent. I was desperate for cash. When I realized Ethan was incredibly needy and filthy rich, I started playing hard to get. I’d ignore his texts for days, telling him I was too busy looking for jobs. To buy my time, Ethan started sending me money. I’d play cool: [There are plenty of guys offering me more. Why should I choose you?] Ethan sounded pitiful: [What do you want from me?] Me: [I want a loyal, obedient puppy. One that whines and calls me Mistress.] It took Ethan a long time to reply. He asked: [Do I need to show some skin?] I smirked. The next second, he sent a video. A shirtless man with a black collar buckled around his neck. “Mistress,” his voice was incredibly low and seductive. “I only show this to my girl. Be mine, and I’ll show you much more.” And just like that, we became online partners. But to me, it was just a side hustle. To protect myself, we agreed to never share faces or real names. But who would have thought he was Ethan Reed? 0

I texted back, pretending to complain: [I’m just worried you’ll show me something ugly.] [Don’t bother me today, or I’ll block you.] Ethan immediately went quiet. I accepted his transfer and put my phone away. But the moment midnight struck, Ethan, like a clockwork puppy, sent a voice note. “Babe, are you asleep?” “What else do you want to see? I can show you right now.” “Please don’t ignore me.” “Can I marry you? Please?” “Mistress, I beg you, just reply to me…” Working late to fix the proposal, I was initially filled with annoyance. But hearing Ethan practically crying, begging to marry me… My heart melted. My frustration evaporated. I texted: [Do you really want to marry me?] Ethan’s voice was raspy but incredibly firm: “I do.” “Even though we’ve never met.” “These past two years with you have been the happiest times of my life.” “Let’s meet up, babe.” “Let’s get married. Let me take care of you for the rest of my life.” My ears burned. My heart softened completely. Even though Ethan was a toxic jerk at work, considering his face, his wealth… and how incredibly clingy he was… This was actually a fantastic deal. I smiled and replied: [Okay, I got it.] But I needed to get this stupid proposal approved first before our big reveal. Ethan was overjoyed. The next morning, I walked into Ethan’s office with my fifth draft. Ethan frowned at his screen. “Are you sure this isn’t the exact same draft from yesterday’s meeting?” My heart stopped. I leaned in to look. No way. I stayed up until 3 AM for this! Ethan’s face was cold, and the air in the room felt heavy. I nervously played with the hem of my shirt. “…I can… go back and adjust the details?” But honestly, I was out of ideas. Ethan glanced at me. “No need.” I blinked, surprised. Was he really letting me off the hook so easily? Did my sweet texts last night put him in a good mood? But before I could celebrate, Ethan poured a bucket of ice water over my head. “Rewrite it from scratch.” He sneered, his voice freezing cold. “If you bring me this kind of garbage again, you can walk out of my team yourself.” My brain went numb. He was literally firing me. What about my rent?! He had promised to protect me last night, and now he was the one driving me insane! I couldn’t take it anymore. I slammed my hands on his desk and yelled, “Ethan Reed! Are you seriously going to fire your own wife?!” Ethan froze, snapping his head up to glare at me.

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1 I was the pampered only daughter of the Wright family, guarded by three overprotective brothers until a mysterious notepad app appeared on my phone. It predicted their ruin. Dominic would lose eighty billion dollars on a bad deal. Gideon would be stripped of his shares. Jude would abandon his inheritance. My lifetime security was vanishing. I launched my Save the Wallet plan. I swiped Dominic’s black card and spent thirty million dollars in a single day. He spent all night processing returns and handling complaints. I took Gideon’s private jet to Paris and gutted the custom leather interior under the pretext of a remodel. He was forced into an eight-hour transoceanic video call just to supervise me. I converted Jude’s climate-controlled wine cellar into a karaoke lounge and used eight million dollars worth of vintage Cabernet Sauvignon as bathwater. My brothers were so exhausted they had no time to check their phones. That ended when Seraphina, the new executive secretary, was appointed to Dominic’s office. She cast a cold glance at me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Little girl, the executive suite is not a playground. You can run along now. A dead silence fell over the hallway. Everyone knew the fiercely protective CEO of Wright Group was about to walk through those doors. I was only halfway through my gourmet lobster roll, the rich filling still in my mouth. There were five assistants in the lounge, and even the newest among them had been with my brother for six years. Right now, their expressions were identical, a perfect mix of wanting to speak up but fearing they would say the wrong thing, wanting to pull her back but not knowing how. Martha was the first to break the silence, letting out a dry laugh. “Ms. Seraphina, this is Mr. Wright’s…” “I know, his sister,” Seraphina interrupted, not even sparing Martha a glance. When she said the word “sister,” her voice tilted upward with a subtle, dismissive edge. “But even a sister shouldn’t be eating and playing in the executive suite. The scent of lobster is far too strong. What if a client arrives later?” She glanced at the gourmet box in front of me, her brow knitting together. “Besides, today is my first day, and the executive suite needs structure. When Mr. Wright is away, I coordinate the daily operations.” She smiled, tilting her head to look at me as if coaxing a difficult child. “Be a good girl, pack up your things, and I’ll have the receptionist call a car to take you home, alright?” Martha panicked, her voice rising. “Ms. Seraphina, you really don’t understand the situation. This lounge was specifically built by Mr. Wright for—” “It doesn’t matter who it was built for.” Seraphina turned, her tone still soft and gentle, but every word carried a hard, unyielding weight. “Martha, you’ve worked with Mr. Wright for so many years. You should know better than anyone that the executive suite represents the face of the entire conglomerate. A young girl sitting here eating messy lobster rolls, what would the outside world think of Wright Group if word got out?” Philip, the director of operations, set down his coffee cup, finally unable to keep quiet. “Ms. Seraphina, I suggest you wait until Mr. Wright returns before making any—” “Mr. Philip,” Seraphina turned her face, her smile unchanging. “Mr. Wright authorized me to manage the daily administration of this suite. This falls directly under my purview. Or are you suggesting his authorization is flawed?” Philip opened his mouth, then closed it. I grabbed a napkin and wiped my fingers, my movements slow and deliberate. “What did you say just now? Tell me to get lost?” Seraphina’s smile stiffened slightly. “I didn’t use that word,” she said. “I said ‘go play outside’.” “Oh,” I nodded. “So you’re saying you get to decide where I stand?” “Ms. Mariette, everyone in the company knows Mr. Wright spoils you, but work is work—” “By the way,” I interrupted her. “The keypad on the door, the passcode is my birthday, August 16. You can ask anyone in this room. On paper, this lounge belongs to me.” Martha nodded frantically beside me, like a chicken pecking at seeds. Seraphina remained quiet for two seconds. She took a deep breath, smoothing her expression. This time, she didn’t bother to smile. “Ms. Mariette, everything I’ve said today is for the sake of the Wright Group. It is nothing personal.” She turned to Martha, her tone shifting into that of an administrative manager delivering a cold directive. “Martha, inform the reception desk. From today onward, any non-staff entering the executive suite must register and seek pre-approval. Everyone, without exception.” Martha’s face turned pale. “Ms. Seraphina, a rule like this… I’m afraid it requires Mr. Wright’s personal—” “Mr. Wright authorized me,” Seraphina cut her off coldly. “I don’t need to consult him on every minor administrative detail.” Then she turned back to me, her eyes devoid of any gentle pretense. “Ms. Mariette, your behavior today has disrupted our professional working order. As the administrator of the executive suite, I have the authority to handle this.” She walked to the door, opened it, and nodded to the two security guards standing in the hallway. “Please lock this lounge temporarily.” She looked back at me, her voice quiet but clear. “Ms. Mariette can stay here for a bit to clear her head. I’ll let you out once I’ve debriefed Mr. Wright on today’s events. Consider it a lesson.” Martha stood up abruptly. “Seraphina! You!” Seraphina raised her hand, silencing her with a chillingly sweet smile. “Martha, don’t be dramatic. I am doing this for her own good. A spoiled girl needs someone to teach her boundaries, don’t you agree?” The security guards closed the door. The light in the lounge didn’t change, but the atmosphere felt as though it had been plunged underwater. Seraphina stood at the door, clapping her hands lightly as if she had just disposed of some minor nuisance. “Alright,” she turned back to Martha, her voice returning to its soft cadence. “Martha, please organize the meeting minutes from this afternoon and send them to me. Mr. Wright will want to review them later.” Martha didn’t move. “Ms. Seraphina,” she said, her voice dropping low. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” “I do,” Seraphina replied. “I am maintaining order in this office. Martha, I wasn’t asking for your opinion.” Martha bit her lip, her eyes rimmed with red. She had been with Dominic for eleven years, starting back when Wright was just a mid-sized firm. She had never dealt with such arrogance. Before Martha could speak again, Seraphina turned away, pulling out her phone and dialing a number. The call was answered almost immediately. A deep, commanding voice came through the speaker. “Seraphina, what is it?” Seraphina’s tone instantly softened. “Uncle Arthur, I just arrived at the executive suite, and I’ve run into a bit of a situation. I wanted to report it to you.” The name “Uncle Arthur” made the room fall completely silent again. Philip’s eyes shifted, and even Martha looked visibly tense. The “Uncle Arthur” she was speaking to was none other than Arthur Ward, a founding board member of the Wright Group, a close associate of my late father, and the current head of the supervisory board. Seraphina explained the situation, her voice laced with delicate distress, framing herself as the responsible manager and me as the spoiled, disruptive sister. “…I had no choice. Mr. Wright is away, and the suite was in complete disarray. I had to enforce the rules. Uncle Arthur, did I do the right thing?” There was a brief pause on the other line. “You did the right thing, Seraphina. The executive suite must have rules.” Arthur Ward’s voice was clear enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll call Dominic later and tell him to keep his sister in line. A young girl running wild in the office is completely inappropriate.” Seraphina looked at the room, her lips curling into a triumphant smile. “Thank you, Uncle Arthur. I knew you would understand.” She slipped her phone back into her pocket, standing tall. Her entire posture had changed; she no longer needed the gentle facade. She looked at me. “Ms. Mariette, you’re smart, so I won’t beat around the bush. I didn’t come to Wright to make an enemy of you. But rules are rules. If you cooperate with me today, I’ll speak highly of you to your brother, and I’ll turn a blind eye when you visit in the future. Isn’t that a fair deal?” I looked down at the cold lobster roll on my plate. I raised my head, about to speak, when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. “Who authorized locking this door?” It was Miles, my brother’s chief secretary and personal shadow. Miles stood at the entrance, holding a spare key in his hand. He was in his early forties, having been with Dominic for thirteen years. Everyone in the company knew that when Dominic was away, Miles spoke with his authority. His gaze swept from the locked door to the people in the room, finally resting on Seraphina. “I’ll ask one more time,” he said, his voice flat and calm. “Who authorized locking this door?” Seraphina didn’t answer immediately. She studied Miles for a moment, her eyes lingering on his badge: Chief Secretary, Miles. “I did,” she said, her chin lifting slightly. “There was an administrative issue, and I acted within the authorization Mr. Wright gave me.” Miles said nothing. He walked past her, coming straight to my side. He glanced at the cold lobster roll, then looked at me. “Mariette, are you alright?” I shook my head. Miles nodded, then turned to Martha. “Have the kitchen prepare a fresh plate, and bring some mango boba tea. Mr. Wright mentioned she was coming today and left specific instructions.” Martha looked incredibly relieved. “Of course, right away.” “Wait a moment,” Seraphina’s voice cut in. Martha stopped in her tracks. “Mr. Miles,” Seraphina stepped forward, placing herself between Miles and Martha. “As I stated, non-staff are not permitted to dine in the executive suite. This rule is effective immediately. By ordering food now, are you trying to undermine my authority?” Miles looked at her. “Ms. Seraphina, I processed your onboarding paperwork myself. I know the exact boundaries of your authority better than you do. Mr. Wright authorized you to coordinate daily administrative tasks.” He paused. “That does not include personnel, security clearance, or… locking doors.” Seraphina’s expression stiffened, but she quickly recovered, letting out a soft laugh. “Mr. Miles, those are just technicalities on paper. Do you really believe Mr. Wright brought me here just to do basic paperwork? You’ve been with him for thirteen years; you should know better than anyone that he doesn’t hire people just to fit a standard job description.” She tilted her head, her tone carrying an intimate, knowing edge. “My relationship with Mr. Wright cannot be defined by a simple contract. You are a smart man, Mr. Miles. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.” At those words, Philip almost spilled his coffee, and Martha stood frozen, her mouth slightly open. Miles simply pushed his glasses up, his expression entirely unchanged. “Ms. Seraphina, regardless of your personal relationship with Mr. Wright, within the Wright Group office, we operate strictly by the rules. That is a boundary Mr. Wright established himself.” He turned back to Martha. “Go on, get the food.” Martha didn’t hesitate this time, quickly disappearing down the hallway. Seraphina watched her leave, the smile fading from her face. She turned to face Miles directly. “Mr. Miles, I respect your seniority, which is why I’ve been polite. But undermining me in front of the entire office makes things very difficult.” Miles remained silent. “I locked the room because Ms. Mariette’s behavior was disrupting the office. Even the head of the supervisory board, Mr. Ward, supported my decision. Are you suggesting a secretary has more authority than a board member?” Miles kept his tablet tucked under his arm, his voice cool. “Ms. Seraphina, Mr. Ward oversees corporate compliance. The personnel and daily administration of the executive suite have never fallen under the supervisory board’s jurisdiction. That is written in our bylaws. It is not my decision, nor is it Mr. Ward’s.” Seraphina’s eyes turned icy. “Miles, do you have any idea who you are talking to?” “I do,” Miles replied smoothly. “Ms. Seraphina, the newly appointed secretary of the executive suite, on her very first day of employment.” The words weren’t loud, but they cut deep. She turned her attention back to me, trying to apply pressure from another angle. “Ms. Mariette, I am giving you one last chance. Cooperate with me regarding today’s incident, and we can pretend nothing happened. You can come to the office, and we won’t interfere with each other. But if you persist…” She paused, her eyes scanning my face. “I won’t hesitate to have Mr. Ward handle this personally. If this escalates, it won’t end well for anyone.” I pushed the cold lobster roll aside, looking up at her. “Ms. Seraphina, how long have you been in this room today?” Seraphina frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Just curious,” I said. “You walked in, locked the door, threatened me with your board connection, argued with the chief secretary, and now you want to make a deal.” I tilted my head. “Do you really think you have any cards left to play?” Seraphina’s expression shifted, a flash of panic crossing her features before she quickly suppressed it. She took a deep breath, her cold smile returning. “You have a sharp tongue, Ms. Mariette.” “I’ve always been like this. My brothers are used to it.” “Your brothers?” Seraphina let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Your brothers aren’t here right now. Even if they adore you, they can’t save you from this.” She took a step closer, pointing toward the door. “So, Ms. Mariette, you had better think carefully. Are you going to leave on your own, or do I need to have security escort you out?” Miles stepped forward. “Ms. Seraphina—” “Miles, if you interfere again,” Seraphina snapped, her voice turning completely cold, “I will call Mr. Ward right now and have him ask you why a secretary is repeatedly obstructing executive administration.” Miles stopped. Seraphina looked back at me, her hand still pointing toward the exit. “After you, Ms. Mariette.” I stared at her outstretched hand for three long seconds. Then, I raised my eyes, looking past her shoulder toward the doorway. Sensing my gaze, Seraphina’s brow furrowed, and she slowly turned around. The sound of heavy, measured footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door opened. My eldest brother, Dominic, stood in the doorway. “What,” he spoke, his voice entirely flat, “is going on here?”

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