Category: English

1 I clutched the ultrasound, my heart racing as I rushed to tell Paul the news. He did not look at me, only threw his phone onto the table. The screen lit up with a photo of him and a young woman, their faces close, lips almost touching. The sight was a dizzying blow. “I do not belong to this world,” Paul said coldly. His words struck me like lightning, choking back every question. He leaned back and explained that in another timeline, I had chosen a man named Kieran. Driven by jealousy, he crossed time to reach me first. “I made sure to enter your life before Kieran could. I recreated everything meant for the two of you, including you.” His tone held pride and contempt. “But after all these years with you,” he added with a mocking laugh, “I realized you are nothing special.” A decade of love, from passionate dates to quiet mornings, now meant nothing. My heart felt torn. I could barely breathe. “So you betrayed me?” I forced out, my voice trembling. “Yes,” he replied without pause. “She is young, gorgeous, thrilling. You are just boring, pathetic.” He lit a cigarette and blew smoke into my face. It stung my eyes, and tears finally fell. “Tessa, we are getting a divorce.” He finally said the words I was most terrified to hear. Refuse the divorce? What good would that do? Should I completely abandon my dignity and beg him not to throw me away? My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Every syllable tasted like blood. “No.” Before I could say anything else, Paul burst into loud, cruel laughter. “See? I told you. Even if she caught me cheating, she would never have the guts to leave me!” “So it is not that I do not want to make things official with you, baby. She is just obsessed with me. My hands are tied!” I stared at him in absolute shock. The passenger window of his parked car outside the living room window slowly rolled down. That same beautiful, youthful face from the photo leaned out. Lexi pouted her lips, looking annoyed. “Old lady, the professor does not love you anymore. Why are you still clinging to him like a parasite?” “Have you got absolutely no shame? Even a stray dog knows when to walk away.” The mistress. She was calling me shameless. My entire body shook with pure, unadulterated rage. I marched toward the door, walked up to the car, and raised my hand to slap her across the face. Before my hand could connect, Paul grabbed my wrist. He violently shoved me back. His voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “We are in public. Watch yourself.” Those words stabbed directly into the softest part of my heart. I remembered the day he confessed his love to me. Those three words cut through the deafening sound of fireworks, crashing right into my soul. When I nodded and said yes, he jumped around like a little kid. He picked me up and spun me around. I blushed red and whispered that we were in public. He just laughed and yelled even louder. “I want the whole damn world to know that Tessa is finally mine!” How did that boy, the one who loved me with such a burning, chaotic passion, turn into this cold stranger? I sniffled, forcing the burning tears back down. “When did it start?” Paul answered like we were discussing the weather. “About half a month before the wedding.” All the blood in my veins turned to ice. Lexi smirked, her eyes gleaming with toxic provocation. “Did you sleep well on your wedding night, Tessa?” “I was wearing your custom wedding dress. I was lying right next to your spot on the bed. The professor and I went at it all night long while you were asleep in the guest room. It was incredibly thrilling.” Her vicious laughter shattered whatever was left of my soul. So the stain on my dress. It was not soy milk that he accidentally spilled. On my very first morning as a married woman, I stood in the sink and scrubbed the physical evidence of his infidelity out of my own wedding dress. My fingernails dug so deep into my palms that they bled. I bit my lip until I tasted copper. “Why are you only telling me this now?” He could have told me before he cheated. He could have told me before we signed the papers. Why wait until I was pregnant? If he was already sleeping with her, why did he marry me? Why did he get me pregnant? The tears completely broke through the dam. Seeing me sob uncontrollably, Paul froze for a split second. Then, he leaned casually against the car door and flicked his cigarette onto the driveway. “In the other reality, you and Kieran got married. So.” “By getting you pregnant, I officially won the game.” He reached out and wiped a tear from my cheek. The heavy smell of tobacco on his fingers made me choke. More tears spilled out. It all made sense now. Every single romantic gesture. Every heartbeat. Every ounce of love he ever gave me was completely poisoned by his sick desire to win. When the fake love evaporated, all that was left was a scoreboard. Paul grew visibly annoyed by my crying. He muttered the word “pathetic” under his breath, got into the driver’s seat, and sped off, leaving me standing alone in the driveway. When the shock finally began to fade, I realized there was warm liquid running down my thighs. Blood. A brutal, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. By the time the ambulance rushed me to the emergency room, the pain was blinding. The ER nurse grabbed my emergency contact and dialed Paul’s number. The phone connected. Heavy, explicit panting echoed through the speaker. The nurse looked at me with deep pity and immense awkwardness. She cleared her throat. “Sir, your wife is currently experiencing a threatened miscarriage. She is bleeding heavily.” “What?” Paul’s voice suddenly went tight. “She was perfectly fine twenty minutes ago.” Lexi’s breathless, sweet voice cut through the background. “A miscarriage is perfect. If the baby dies, maybe she will finally stop stalking you, Professor.” The line went dead silent for a long moment. Then, Paul’s clear, remorseless voice came through the speaker. “Then let her lose it.” The call abruptly disconnected. I closed my eyes. The absolute depths of sorrow swallowed me whole. Right at that moment, frantic footsteps rushed toward my bed. “Tessa!” 2 The doctors could not save the baby. I stayed in the hospital for three agonizing days. Paul never showed his face once. During those endless hours in the hospital bed, Lexi sent me a friend request on social media. I accepted it. Like a masochist, I scrolled through the posts she had specifically made public just for me. Lexi and I shared the exact same birthday. This year, for the first time since we started dating, Paul did not spend my birthday with me. He told me he had a mandatory academic conference in Cabo. He did go to Cabo. But he went to celebrate Lexi’s birthday. There were photos of them kissing underwater while scuba diving. Photos of them on a private helicopter watching the sunset. A video of him presenting her with ninety nine red roses. Hidden inside was a stunning ruby ring. I recognized the jeweler. I had looked up that exact ring months ago. It came with a complimentary gift. A cheap, hand braided leather bracelet. Paul had given me that exact leather bracelet for my birthday. He told me he had hiked up a mountain to a monastery to weave it himself. He said it would protect me. I cherished it like it was made of solid gold. Looking at it now, it burned my wrist like acid. With bloodshot eyes, I violently ripped the leather cord off my wrist and threw it into the hospital trash can. Along with every last drop of love I ever had for Paul. After completing the discharge paperwork, I took a cab back to the house. The second I pushed the front door open, my mind went totally blank. The house was so foreign I thought I had walked into the wrong address. My comfortable sneakers were kicked carelessly into a corner. The shoe rack was lined with expensive, flashy stilettos. The vases were stuffed with loud, arrogant red roses. My favorite irises were tossed into the garbage bin. Even the massive, hand painted portrait I had spent weeks creating for our living room was gone. It had been replaced by a framed, professional studio photo of Paul and Lexi. Right in the center of the room, on the hanging swing chair we bought together, Paul was holding Lexi in his lap. They were passionately making out. They kept kissing for five solid minutes before they finally noticed me standing there. Paul did not ask about the hospital. He did not ask about the dead baby. He just casually stood up and tossed an apron at my chest. “Perfect timing. Lexi is hungry. Go make us some lunch.” I stared at him in pure disbelief. He had never let me touch a stove in my entire life. He used to hold my hands and say, “I will handle the bills and the cooking. You just focus on painting the beautiful things in this world.” All that tender protectiveness was completely thrown out the window the second another woman walked in. Seeing me frozen in place, Paul frowned in deep annoyance. “I literally crossed through time and space for you. I cooked every meal for you for years. You should be down on your knees thanking me. You are just a broke artist, stop acting like you are above this.” I slowly tied the apron around my waist. A hollow smile crept onto my face. “Fine.” I would cook this one meal. Consider it repaying my debt to him. After this, the bridge was burned. We were done. Paul smirked, looking incredibly satisfied. “Good girl.” “Lexi is moving in with us permanently. You refuse to leave me, and I refuse to leave her. We all live under one roof, everyone wins.” “As long as you stay quiet and behave, you get to keep your title as my wife.” I did not say a single word. I just turned around and walked into the kitchen. Whether she lived here or not had absolutely nothing to do with me. Because I was leaving. Very soon. That night, Paul wrapped his arm around Lexi’s waist and walked toward the master bedroom. As we passed each other in the hallway, I was typing a message on my phone. He caught a glimpse of the screen. His eyes practically bulged out of his skull. He lunged forward and snatched the phone out of my hand. He tried to unlock it, only to realize the passcode was no longer our anniversary date. “You changed your password?” He grabbed my wrist. His grip was so violent I thought the bones would snap. “Tell me the truth. Were you texting Kieran just now?” “When did you two start talking again? Have you been sleeping with him behind my back this whole time?” His eyes were burning with the furious, self righteous anger of a betrayed husband. As if I was the one who had destroyed our vows. Fueled by pure disgust, I raised my free hand and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. “Paul, not everyone in this world is a filthy, cheating hypocrite like you!” Paul froze for a few seconds. Then, he let out a terrifying roar. “You dare hit me?” “You think I am filthy? Fine. I will show you exactly how filthy I can be.” 3 He dragged me by my hair down the hallway and shoved me into the master bedroom. He ripped open the doors of my massive walk in closet and violently threw me inside. Panic flooded my chest. I fought back with everything I had, kicking and screaming, but he slammed the heavy wooden doors shut. The light completely vanished. I heard the sound of a heavy wooden chair being jammed beneath the door handles, locking me in from the outside. “Let me out, Paul!” The only response was a cold, cruel scoff. A few moments later, the heavy, unmistakable sounds of sex began echoing through the bedroom walls. I clamped my hands over my ears. I desperately tried to block out the nauseating sounds of them together. But it was useless. The closet doors rattled violently against their frames as they crashed against them. Through the tiny sliver of light coming through the crack in the doors, I saw the clothes hanging right in front of my face. It was a set of matching baby clothes. Paul had bought them when we first started trying to get pregnant. Now, the baby was dead in a medical waste bin, and his heart belonged to a college student. Those tiny clothes mocked me in the dark. I lost my mind. I ripped the baby clothes off the hangers and shredded them with my bare hands. The tears poured down my face like a broken dam. In that suffocating, pitch black box, every single breath felt like inhaling broken glass. I do not know how many hours passed. Eventually, the sounds outside stopped. The chair was dragged away, and the doors slowly creaked open. The bedroom lights blinded me. My eyes were so swollen and dry I could not produce another tear. Paul stood above me, looking down like a god looking at an insect. “Did you enjoy the show?” I ignored his twisted question. “Give me my phone back.” His face darkened instantly. He was about to explode again, but when he saw how terrifyingly pale and hollow my face was, he held back. He threw the phone onto my lap. He stood there, demanding I unlock it right in front of him. He genuinely thought he caught me cheating. The second the screen unlocked, a flood of notifications popped up. Dozens of missed calls. Every single one of them was from my dad. A cold, creeping dread wrapped its fingers around my throat. I immediately dialed his number back. It rang forever. Finally, the call connected. The sound of my mother’s agonizing, world ending scream shattered my eardrums. “Tessa… your dad… he is in the resuscitation room…” All the sound vanished from the world. It took me several seconds to process her words. My entire body went numb. I tried to scramble up from the floor to run to the door. But I had been cramped in the dark for so long that my legs were completely dead. I pitched forward and smashed my chin hard against the hardwood floor. Blood pooled under my jaw. Paul instinctively reached down to help me. I shoved him away with the force of a hurricane. I clawed my way up using the wall and stumbled out of the room like a wounded animal. He took a step to follow me, but Lexi reached out from the bed and grabbed his wrist. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Professor, my legs are completely useless right now. Carry me to the shower, please?” Paul looked at the hallway, looked back at her, and stayed in the room. I ran to the hospital like a madwoman. When I finally reached the ICU doors, I saw the doctors slowly pulling a white sheet over my father’s face. “Dad.” I collapsed onto the floor, screaming until my vocal cords tore. “Dad, I am here! Please wake up and look at me!” “I just bought that aged whiskey you wanted! You haven’t even opened it yet!” My mother slowly turned her head. Her eyes were completely swollen, red, and devoid of any life. Slap. A sharp, ringing sound echoed in the hallway, cutting my cries short. My mother’s hand trembled in the air. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. “Why didn’t you answer the phone? When your father collapsed, he kept dialing your number over and over again. Why didn’t you pick up?!” “If you had just answered the phone… the ambulance would have gotten here in time…” Her words were a sledgehammer directly to my skull. I slumped against the cold tiles. I opened my mouth over and over again, but the pain in my chest was so immense I could not make a single sound. Only silent tears fell to the floor. Suddenly, a terrified scream echoed from the hospital courtyard outside the window. “Someone just jumped off the roof!” I whipped my head around. My heart completely stopped. “Mom! No!” But I was too late. Her eyes were completely empty as she stepped backward over the ledge. I threw myself against the reinforced glass. I could not catch her. I could not even touch the fabric of her coat. A horrifying blossom of red exploded on the concrete far below. The impact shattered every single organ inside my own body. Regret and despair crashed down on me like a tidal wave, dragging me into the pitch black depths. I suffocated in the agony, letting out a raw, inhuman wail. My home. It was gone. My family was dead. Right at that exact second, my phone screen lit up on the floor. A text from Paul. [Lexi is getting cold. Where did you put that heavy quilt?] That was the wedding quilt my mother had spent six entire months sewing by hand. Every single stitch was a prayer for my happiness. And he wanted to give it to Lexi. Because she was a little cold. What about my father, lying under a thin white sheet? What about my mother, lying in a pool of blood on the concrete? Their bodies were losing heat by the second. Weren’t they cold? My fingers shook violently. It took me three full minutes to type two words. [Let’s divorce.] He replied instantly. [Fine.] 4 During the days I spent planning my parents’ funerals, Paul’s texts flooded my phone. [Where the hell did you go?] [I thought you wanted a divorce? Getting cold feet?] [I am willing to give you one last chance. Come back home, behave yourself, and warm the bed for me and Lexi. If you do that, I will consider keeping you around.] [Think about this carefully, Tessa!] I did not reply to a single one. When the last message came in, I blocked his number permanently. I stood in absolute silence as I watched the caskets roll into the crematorium fire. I had no tears left to shed. From this moment on, there was not a single person left on this earth who shared my blood. A week later, I returned to the house for the final time. When I walked through the door, Paul was laughing on the couch with Lexi. The second he saw me, his face hardened into a furious scowl. “You finally remembered where you live? Figured it out? Decided against the divorce?” I felt nothing but a bone deep, crushing exhaustion. I reached into my bag, pulled out the signed divorce papers, and placed them on the coffee table. When Paul saw my signature already on the dotted line, his pupils contracted. A terrifying, violent rage erupted in his eyes. “Tessa, are you absolutely sure about this?” I cut him off, my voice dead. “I am sure.” Paul let out a dark, psychotic laugh. “You want to leave? Fine.” “But I am getting one last ride out of you.” He lunged forward and violently threw me onto the floor. My head slammed against the hardwood, making the room spin with nausea. I fought back with everything I had, but my resistance only fueled his rage. He raised his hand and slapped me across the face with brutal force. My head snapped to the side. A high pitched ringing filled my ears. Paul’s voice was like poisoned ice. “When we first met, you were begging me to take you to bed within two months. Now you want to play the pure, untouchable saint?” “I traveled across space and time just to worship you. You want a divorce? Then you are going to pay back every single thing you owe me right now.” So that was it. Every act of love, every gentle moment he ever gave me. In his mind, it was just a transaction. I was just a cheap whore. The burning, romantic promises he used to whisper in my ear were just daggers waiting to carve me apart. If his love was destined to turn into this vile, rotting poison, I wished to God he had never crossed time to find me. My dead heart ripped open one final time. I stopped fighting. A pale, empty laugh escaped my lips. “Hurry up. Get it over with quickly, and sign the damn papers.” Paul stared at me in shock. Then, he let go of my wrists and stood up, looking at me with pure, unfiltered disgust. “When you are used to eating at five star restaurants, looking at cheap fast food just makes you sick.” He grabbed a pen, violently signed his name on the divorce papers, and threw the thick stack of documents directly at my face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced a thin cut across my cheek. But deep down, I felt an overwhelming, incredible sense of freedom. I bent down and picked up the papers. Without giving him a single glance, I turned around and walked toward the front door. Paul’s threat echoed behind me. “Tessa, the second you step through that door, do not even think about crawling back to me!” I did not stop. I walked out of the house that had become my personal hell, and I never looked back. “Oh my god, finally! Congratulations, Professor! You finally got rid of that miserable old hag!” Lexi kissed Paul’s jawline affectionately. “So, when are you going to marry me?” Paul did not answer. He stared blankly at the door Tessa had just walked through. His heart suddenly felt incredibly heavy. He did not believe she would actually leave him. Years ago, a speeding motorcycle had almost hit him on the street. She threw herself in front of him without a second thought. She loved him enough to die for him. How could she possibly abandon him? He was absolutely certain. Tessa would come crawling back, crying and begging for his forgiveness. He just had to wait for it. That was what he told himself. But that night, Paul could not sleep a single wink. His mind kept replaying the image of Tessa’s back as she walked out the door. When morning finally broke, his phone rang aggressively on the nightstand. He snatched it up, hoping to hear her voice. It was not Tessa. “Paul, all hell just broke loose! You need to get to the university campus right now!”

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1 I held the family shirts I’d embroidered all night, our little cartoon faces stitched with care. My heart was light as we drove to Noah’s kindergarten sports day. Then Phill spoke, shattering my world without warning. “Noah isn’t your son.” His tone was flat, casual, as if commenting on the weather. I froze, blood running cold. He kept his eyes on the road. “Sierra was afraid of pain. I paid to have her embryo implanted in you. That’s why you had such severe rejection—he was never biologically yours.” Sierra. The girl I sponsored through college, now a teacher at Noah’s school. Bile rose in my throat. “Why tell me now?” My voice was a broken whisper. He shrugged, a cold smirk on his lips. “I grew tired of watching you play the perfect, devoted wife. It started to look pathetic. Time for a reality check.” I looked down at the smiling faces on the shirts. My whole life felt like a cruel joke. Later, I sat at home, tightly gripping a DNA test report. The thin sheet of paper felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, completely crushing my lungs. The names listed under biological parents were painfully clear. Noah and Sierra. The ninety nine percent match burned my retinas. I forced back my tears and looked at the man sitting next to me. He looked perfectly relaxed, even in a good mood. “When did it happen? Between you and Sierra.” The deep, gentle voice I used to be so desperately addicted to now spit out the coldest poison imaginable. “Ironically, I have you to thank for it. If you had not insisted on making Sierra your maid of honor, I never would have met someone who suited me so perfectly.” “It happened on our wedding night. Remember when I told you there was an emergency at the company and I had to leave? Sierra and I confessed our feelings that night. We just could not control ourselves.” I stared at him in absolute disbelief. My heart crumpled into a bleeding mess. I would never forget that night. I thought it was the happiest moment of my life. I had walked down the aisle with the absolute love of my life, believing we would belong to each other until our dying breath. I was so blinded by joy that I did not suspect a single thing when Phill said he had to go to the office. I even felt a deep, aching gratitude toward him. I thought he was leaving because he wanted to be gentle with my psychological trauma. I thought he was giving me time to adjust to the physical intimacy of marriage. I had absolutely no idea he was consummating our marriage in another woman’s bed. My voice trembled like dead leaves in the wind. “Then why tell me now? You could have kept this a secret until the day I died.” Phill’s face softened instantly. A look of deep, spoiling affection washed over his features, but it was not for me. “Sierra is pregnant again. It is a little girl. I promised her this baby would be the undisputed princess of my empire, and I always keep my promises.” “I originally thought about using the same trick. But you refuse to even let me touch you anymore. Getting you pregnant again is impossible. So I had to put my cards on the table.” “Whether you decide to accept this new child is your problem.” I could not hold it in anymore. Hot, agonizing tears flooded down my face. My deepest, most agonizing scar had just become the knife he used to stab me in the back. He conveniently forgot that he once promised me the world. He promised we would be a single soul in two bodies. But in the end, he gave me the ultimate betrayal on the happiest day of my life. “So all those years you told me you loved me, when you said you would never force me… when you purposely ordered a custom, highly realistic mannequin with my exact face so you could cope… it was all an act?!” “You didn’t touch me because you were already getting your fill somewhere else?” Phill scoffed, looking at me with pure amusement. “Not entirely.” “Sierra is delicate. If I am too rough with her, she gets hurt. So yes, I do use that doll.” “The face belongs to you. But the physical mold for the rest of the body…” He gave me a long, meaningful look. The humiliating implication was crystal clear. That single glance plunged me into a lake of freezing ice. So everything I believed in was a lie. All his restraint, all his deep affection. It was all just a beautiful illusion he built to cover up his nest with another woman. Those vows of eternal love were a script. And I was the only idiot who took them seriously. When we got out of the car at the kindergarten, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. Phill acted like absolutely nothing was wrong. He smiled brightly and helped our son change into his sports day outfit. I followed them like a walking corpse, completely tuning out Noah’s excited screaming. A second later, a heavy leather ball slammed brutally into my stomach. I crashed hard onto the dirt floor. Even after five years, the surgical scar from the C section burned with an agonizing, piercing pain. Phill did not know this, but the phantom pain had never stopped. Every single night, my body would drag me back to the horrors of that pregnancy. The severe immune rejection pain would torture me until I almost passed out. The scar tissue would burn like acid. It felt like my abdomen was being sliced open while I was wide awake. When the pain reached its absolute peak, I would dig my nails into my own arms, hoping the new bleeding would distract my brain from the old agony. It was not that I did not want him to touch me. I was just terrified that if he saw me writhing in absolute psychotic agony, it would scare him away. But I never imagined my attempt to shield him would just give him the perfect cover to cheat on me. Noah watched me struggling to get up from the dirt. He grew impatient and kicked me hard in the shin twice. He turned around and whined to Phill. “Daddy, Mom is too clumsy! If she plays with us, I am definitely going to lose!” “Can Miss Sierra be my mom today and race with us? Everyone loves Miss Sierra. All the other kids will be so jealous of me!” Even though I already knew Noah did not share my blood, my heart still gave a violent, tearing ache. I carried him for ten months. I nearly died on the operating table for him. The immune rejection alone put me in the intensive care unit five different times. I gave up half my life to bring him into this world. How could I just cut him out of my heart? But at the same time, I suddenly realized something painfully clear. All the suffering I endured meant absolutely nothing against the magnetic pull of real blood. He was not mine. I was never going to keep him. The same went for Phill. I lay frozen on the dirt, completely unaware of when Sierra had walked over. The next thing I heard was her voice. She was wearing the matching family shirt I had made. “Oh my gosh, this fits perfectly!” she exclaimed with a sweet, surprised laugh. “I had waist reduction surgery a while ago, so normal clothes never fit me right. I thought this would look so bulky on me, but it is like it was custom tailored just for my body.” My dead, hollow eyes twitched. I looked up at Phill in absolute disbelief. Phill was the one who suggested altering the waistline. It was on our fifth anniversary. He had pulled me into his arms and picked me up, spinning me around. He joked that I had gained a little weight. Then he gave me his anniversary present. It was a stunning, incredibly form fitting designer dress. He sighed and said it was a shame it was too tight. I felt so incredibly guilty. I thought my body had ruined his romantic surprise. I went completely crazy after that. I took every single piece of clothing I owned and paid a tailor to shrink the waists to match the exact dimensions of that dress. I forced myself to starve, pushing myself to the point of a bleeding stomach ulcer just to hit that target weight. I just wanted to make sure that on our next anniversary, I would be perfect for him. Looking back at it now, it was a pathetic joke. I had tortured my own body to fit another woman’s mold. That anniversary dress was never meant for me in the first place. With Sierra taking my place, Noah easily won first prize. They basked in the envy and adoration of the crowd. The other kindergarten mothers surrounded them, praising what a beautiful, happy family they were. Sierra could not hide the smug triumph on her face, but she played the humble sweetheart perfectly. “Oh, you guys have it all wrong. I am just a teacher helping out. Noah’s real mother is right over there.” Dozens of eyes instantly shifted to me. Some looked at me with deep disgust, others with pathetic pity. After all, looking at the pale, shaking woman sitting in the dirt with ruined clothes, nobody would believe I was the wealthy wife of a corporate CEO. When Noah saw me looking at him, he burst into fake tears and buried his face in Sierra’s chest. “She is not my mom! I want Miss Sierra to be my mom!” Phill exchanged a helpless, incredibly fond look with Sierra. He could not tear his eyes away from her. He did not even notice the dozens of malicious, judging stares stabbing into me. In a fraction of a second, the pain in my chest reached its absolute limit and then completely went numb. Pure survival instinct made me open my mouth. “Noah is right. Miss Sierra is his mother.” The moment the words left my mouth, all three of them froze. Noah stopped his fake crying and stared at me in shock. They looked at me as if I was a cold blooded monster abandoning her poor family. Ignoring the shocked gasps of the crowd, Phill marched over, grabbed my arm, and violently dragged me toward the parking lot. He shoved me into the backseat of his luxury SUV. His eyes were filled with absolute disgust. “You really know how to play the obedient victim, don’t you? I tell you to accept a second child, and your response is to happily give up your position as a mother?” “Did you announce that in public just to brand Noah as an illegitimate bastard?” “I just asked you to carry a baby for Sierra, and you hate me this much?” The bitter acid in my throat burned hotter. How could I possibly hate him? He was the one who pulled me out of the gutter. When I was a kid, my family was so desperately poor I did not even have the right to say no to anyone. So I learned to be quiet. I learned to be a good girl. Even when the school bullies targeted me, I never made a sound. The street thugs loved preying on quiet, broken girls like me. They threw basketballs at my head until I was covered in bruises. They burned my skin with curling irons. They choked me until my vision went black, just to see how long I could last before dying. Seeing that I would bite my own tongue until it bled rather than scream, the leader finally got bored with violence and shoved his dirty hands up my shirt. That was the exact moment Phill appeared. He was a wealthy, arrogant kid who solved problems with his fists. One brick to the head was not enough, so he used two. His handsome, wild face was splattered with blood, but he looked like the sun itself. When he looked down at me, there was no pity. There was no disgust. He just clicked his tongue. “Why are you so obedient? Do you not know how to fight back?” “Whatever. Being a good girl suits you. I will protect you from now on.” Because of those two sentences, I followed him for twenty years. And he truly did protect me for twenty years. He never left my side, from the dark corners of high school all the way to the altar. I did not hate him. I just hated myself for being too greedy. I hated the fact that the bright, beautiful moon hung in the sky for everyone, but I foolishly believed it shined only for me. When Phill saw that I was not going to argue back, his patience evaporated. “Since you want to throw a tantrum and push things this far, you better keep playing the good girl.” “I am moving Sierra into the house. She is going to be Noah’s official mother.” “You pack your things and move to the guest room. Sierra and I are taking the master suite.” I thought I had gone completely numb, but watching my personal belongings being tossed aside to make room for another woman’s clothes still made my vision blur. Sierra stood in the doorway, pretending to look shy and apologetic. “I am so sorry about this, Hazel. Phill just absolutely insisted he wants to see me in this lingerie tonight.” I ignored the smug gloating in her voice. I just looked at her and asked the one question burning in my mind. “Why? I paid for your tuition and living expenses for ten years. Why would you do this to me?” There was not a single ounce of guilt in her eyes. “Sponsored me? The money you gave me over ten years is what I can make in a single night with him. Why would I throw away a golden ticket for your pathetic little charity?” “You were the one who taught me to fight for my own survival. I am just following your advice, big sister.” “Besides, how are we any different? Phill sponsored you too. He paid for your life. If you can sleep your way into his mansion, why can’t I?” My mind went completely blank. She was right. Phill was the one who sponsored me. He paid for my university, and eventually, I became his wealthy wife. Now, he was just transferring his “sponsorship” to someone new. His taste in broken girls never changed. I was just arrogant enough to think I was the exception. I did not say another word. I quietly carried my boxes out of the room that used to be my sanctuary. Night fell like a suffocating blanket. Through the thin walls of the guest room, the sound of their laughter and heavy breathing pierced right through my eardrums. The vile noises instantly violently triggered the darkest, most humiliating memories buried in my brain. It also woke up the monster living in my abdomen. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. The phantom pain hit me like a burning iron rod twisting violently inside my stomach, threatening to rip its way out. A massive wave of nausea hit me. I leaned over the trash can and dry heaved violently, coughing up nothing but bitter stomach acid. I had been on a liquid diet for two days trying to maintain my waistline. There was nothing left inside me to throw up. After the nausea faded, the tearing, ripping agony of the C section took over. This was the brutal aftermath of the birth. I never had the courage to tell Phill. When I was suffering from the intense PTSD of almost being sexually assaulted, he was already exhausted trying to keep me sane. To calm me down, he used to hold me in his arms all night, reading me stories until the sun came up. I would eventually pass out from exhaustion, but he had to go straight to the office to run a massive corporation. He never got a moment of rest. If he knew that giving him a child had cursed me with chronic, agonizing pain, the guilt would have destroyed him. But now, it did not matter. Even if I told him, he had a new toy to play with. He would not care. I fumbled around in the dark, my brain fuzzy from the pain. I realized my prescription painkillers were empty. I kept a backup bottle in the kitchen medical kit. I used the wall to pull myself up and stumbled blindly out of the room. In the past, I would have locked my door and suffered in absolute silence until dawn. I was always terrified that making a sound would wake him up and expose my secret. But the disgusting noises coming from the master bedroom were a brutal reminder. He was at the peak of his pleasure right now. He was not going to notice a ghost haunting the kitchen. I poured a glass of water from the pitcher. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely open the pill bottle. A sharp spike of agony shot through my spine, making me lose my grip. White pills scattered all over the marble counter. Two of them bounced and fell directly into the open water pitcher. I was too blind with pain to notice. Just as I raised the glass to my lips to swallow my dose, a tiny voice echoed from the hallway. “Mom? What are you eating?” My heart stopped. I frantically swept the loose pills off the counter, swallowed my dose dry, and fought through the blinding pain to go coax Noah back to sleep. It took forever to get him to close his eyes. But just as I stood up to leave his room, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence of the mansion. Phill was screaming for the private family doctor. Inside the master bedroom, the sheets beneath Sierra were stained with a terrifying, blinding red. Phill was completely losing his mind, babbling to the medical staff. “She is pregnant! We didn’t even do anything rough! How is this happening?!” “She just went to the kitchen for a glass of water! She came back and said her stomach was cramping!” A heavy, suffocating dread clamped down on my chest. Before I could even open my mouth, Noah ran into the room and pointed a furious finger at me. “I saw her! Mom put medicine in the water pitcher! Mom poisoned Miss Sierra!” “Mom is a monster! She should go die instead of Miss Sierra’s baby!” Phill’s head snapped toward me. His eyes turned completely feral. He did not give me a single second to explain. He lunged forward, grabbed my hair, and violently threw me onto the floor of the hallway. “It was you! You hate Sierra so much you poisoned her to kill my baby! You are an absolute psychopath!” “If anything happens to her child, I swear to God I will make you pay with your life!” I collapsed against the cold hardwood floor, my face drained of all color. A loud ringing noise deafened my ears. I wanted to explain. I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry I could not produce a single syllable. And what was the point of explaining? I was taking pills for a phantom pain I had hidden for five years. The pills accidentally fell into the water. Sierra accidentally drank it. Would he believe a single word of that? No. He would never believe me. When the doctor quietly announced that the pregnancy was lost, Phill’s eyes went dead and terrifyingly dark. He dragged me into the bedroom, grabbed a silk tie, and brutally bound my wrists to the heavy wooden bedpost. The sound of my shirt tearing echoed like a gunshot in my brain. “You love killing babies so much? Then you are going to give Sierra a new one to replace it!” I shook my head frantically, staring at him in absolute, mind breaking horror. “No! Phill, you can’t do this to me! You know I have…” He laughed. It was the cruelest sound I had ever heard. “Have what? Trauma? PTSD? Do you honestly think I still believe a single word that comes out of your lying mouth?” “You played the innocent, broken girl for decades, but your true, venomous nature finally slipped out!” “Your trauma is a pathetic lie! I bet you absolutely loved it when those street trash put their hands all over you!” “Let me tell you a little secret, Hazel. Those thugs? They worked for me. Everything they did to you… I gave them the green light!” The blood in my veins completely froze. I stared at the man standing above me. The man I had wanted to spend eternity with. A bottomless wave of absurdity and pitch black despair swallowed my soul. Every single moment of warmth, every gentle touch from the past twenty years, dissolved into ash. It was all a lie. Every single ounce of suffering I had endured in my life was orchestrated by him. I was so incredibly pathetic. I thought I had reached up into the dark sky and caught the moon. I did not realize I was just holding onto a handful of toxic, burning rot. For twenty years, I had never actually escaped that dark alleyway. In that split second, the final thread holding my sanity together violently snapped. Ignoring the sickening crack of my wrist bone dislocating, I twisted my hand free and grabbed the small, sharp metal letter opener I kept under the bedside table. The blade that would usually bring me pain was now my only ticket to salvation. Looking straight into Phill’s suddenly terrified, widening eyes. I did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. I plunged the cold steel deep into the artery of my wrist, slicing violently upward. “Hazel, no!”

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After wrapping up my third back to back surgery, I was just about to peel off my scrubs and catch my breath. Right then, the ER doors burst open with a car crash victim. The weirdest part was that he looked perfectly fine on the outside, but he was frantically chugging water like he had been stranded in a desert. Years of clinical experience screamed a warning in my head. I made the call instantly. “Massive internal bleeding. Prep the OR for emergency surgery right now!” The nurses were just about to transfer him to a gurney when his wife, Brenda, rushed forward with a piercing shriek. “Do not touch him! I just checked ChatCure!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the tile walls. “The app said drinking a five dollar electrolyte beverage will perfectly balance his osmotic pressure! He does not need your knives!” I swallowed the spike of frustration rising in my throat and tried to explain calmly. “Ma’am, your husband took a massive blunt force impact. His internal organs are severely ruptured. Drinking water will not fix this. He is bleeding out internally and needs immediate surgical intervention.” Brenda’s pitch somehow got even higher. “ChatCure warned me about people like you! It said money grubbing quacks at these fancy hospitals love to exaggerate symptoms just to drain our bank accounts. It was totally right!” A wave of absolute exhaustion washed over me. For context, we were the top trauma center in the state, and I was a nationally recognized chief of surgery. … “If your stupid app is so brilliant, why did you even bring him to a hospital?! If we wait any longer, your husband is going to lose consciousness from blood loss!” Brenda rolled her eyes completely. She wound up her hand and delivered a massive, echoing smack right onto her husband’s back. She giggled like a maniac. “See? He is perfectly fine! You greedy hacks just want to line your pockets. I hope you rot in hell!” I clearly saw her husband flinch, his brows knotting in sheer agony. All the color drained from his face, and his breathing grew dangerously shallow. I immediately snapped at the nurses. “Get her away from him! Get him to the OR now! That second impact just accelerated the bleeding. We are out of time!” Brenda leaped forward, spreading her arms like a mother hen protecting her chick, completely blocking the gurney. “Stay the hell away from him, you butchers! You are not getting a single red cent out of me today!” A man’s life was on the line. I had to swallow my pride and try again. “Your husband was literally hit by a speeding vehicle! Do you honestly think a sports drink is going to cure him?” “The only reason he looks awake right now is because his body is pumping adrenaline to cope with the massive internal trauma!” Brenda sneered, entirely unconvinced. She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and the cheerful, robotic voice of ChatCure chimed through the crowded lobby. “If you are still energetic after being hit by a car, I have the best news for you! Wow, your husband must be incredibly lucky. He is completely unharmed from the impact!” My entire medical team stared at her in utter disbelief. Holding her phone up like a trophy, Brenda looked at us with a smug, victorious grin. “Do not try to feed me your medical garbage. ChatCure said he is lucky!” She even patted her chest in relief. “Thank God I checked the app. Otherwise, all my hard earned money would have been flushed down the toilet at this scam of a clinic.” Her eyes narrowed into a nasty glare. “If you rotten scammers try to force him into surgery, I will literally chain myself to the front doors and sue you into the ground!” The nurses and I exchanged helpless glances. But a split second later, the patient slumped completely out of his wheelchair, sliding into a lifeless heap on the linoleum floor. His eyelids fluttered, barely able to stay open. My medical oath compelled me to keep trying. “Ma’am, I understand you are worried about the cost. But emergency surgeries are covered by your insurance. It will barely cost you anything out of pocket!” “If we delay this any further, he is going to die right here on the floor!” Behind me, half the nurses rushed to lift the man onto the stretcher, while another handed Brenda a consent form. “Please sign this right now. Insurance covers it. You will not go bankrupt over this!” Brenda completely ignored the clipboard. Instead, she lunged forward, violently swatting the nurse’s hand away, and threw her entire body weight onto her dying husband to pin him down. Her face twisted into something purely demonic. “ChatCure told me insurance does not cover traffic accidents! This surgery is going to cost a fortune! You are all in such a rush to cut him open because you want to steal his kidneys and sell them on the black market!” She gathered spit in her mouth and spat directly at my shoes. “You soulless vultures! Harvesting organs from innocent people! May God strike you down where you stand!” Terrified that forcefully removing her might injure the patient further, the nurses froze, looking at me with desperate eyes. I summoned every last ounce of patience in my soul. “Ma’am, please step aside. Just let me do a proper physical exam. That is all.” Brenda eyed me up and down with deep suspicion. “Does a physical exam mean he has to take his clothes off?” Before I could even process the bizarre question, a stinging slap landed squarely across my cheek. “You shameless tramp! You do not just want my money, you want to seduce my husband!” 2 “No wonder you are so desperate to drag my perfectly healthy man into a private room. You just want to feel him up!” The hospital lobby was packed. I could feel the burning gaze of a hundred bystanders drilling into me. My cheek throbbed with white hot pain. My professional instincts kicked in. I opened my mouth to deescalate the situation, but a nurse suddenly shrieked. “Dr. Carter! His pupils are dilating! He is completely unresponsive! If we do not operate this exact second, we are going to lose him!” Brenda glanced back at her husband. He was sprawled on the floor, his skin the color of wet cement. She turned back to us and loudly boasted. “ChatCure is never wrong! He just needs to sleep off the water he drank and he will be right as rain.” My patience completely snapped. I roared at the top of my lungs. “He is in a coma! Do you honestly think he is taking a nap?!” “If you want your husband dead, you never should have brought him here! But since he is in my hospital, it is my job to keep him breathing!” I violently shoved Brenda out of the way and barked orders at my team. “Get him into OR three! Prep for immediate incision!” I shot Brenda a gaze so cold it could freeze boiling water. “If you do not want to be a widow by dinner, sign the damn papers!” The patient was entirely gone by now. Due to the massive hemorrhage, a faint, terrifying shadow of death had already settled over his pale features. Instead of listening, Brenda whipped out her phone, started a live broadcast, and began screaming to her followers. “Hey guys, help me! This black market hospital is trying to steal my husband’s organs! Someone call the cops!” “My husband is not even sick! ChatCure said his osmotic pressure is just unbalanced and he needs a sports drink. But this crazy doctor is forcing him under the knife!” The medical staff stood frozen in the absolute chaos. My temple throbbed violently. I repeated myself for what felt like the hundredth time. “Ma’am, he was struck by a vehicle. His internal organs are shattered. The only reason he was thirsty was because his body was desperately trying to replace the blood he was bleeding into his own abdomen!” Brenda’s voice was shrill enough to shatter glass. “If his organs are broken, how could he be sleeping so peacefully? Who are you trying to fool? You just want to rip his kidneys out for a quick payday!” She escalated her madness, physically blocking another patient who was being wheeled toward the surgical wing. “Do not go in there! This hospital is a slaughterhouse! That female doctor is a shameless butcher! Turn around before they carve you up!” The patient on the gurney was a kidney transplant recipient who had waited over a year for a donor match. His daughter fiercely shoved Brenda aside. “Get out of the way, you crazy hag! Go to a psych ward! If you delay my mother’s transplant, I will end you!” Brenda stood up, dusted herself off, and spat on the floor. “I am trying to save her life! When she wakes up completely hollowed out, do not come crying to me!” My face darkened, my tone dropping to a dangerous register. “Disrupting a hospital and spreading malicious slander is a felony. Keep this up and you will be spending the night in a jail cell.” Brenda shoved her phone camera right into my face. “Look at this, guys! This place wants to harvest his organs and now they are threatening to lock me up!” My brain was buzzing with pure rage. The nurses were too terrified of a lawsuit to move. The live chat on her screen was flooded with horrible comments. [It is the twenty first century and hospitals are still harvesting organs? This is insane!] [Forcing healthy people into surgery? The economy must be so bad that doctors are scamming patients. Name and shame this place!] [Wait, am I the only one who notices the guy on the floor is vomiting blood?] It was not just the internet. A nurse saw it too, pointing at the patient with a trembling finger. “Dr. Carter… he is bleeding from his eyes and ears!” 3 My entire demeanor shifted instantly. I rushed forward and hoisted the dying man onto a stretcher myself. “Call the OR! Tell them to scrub in immediately! We are cutting in three minutes!” Brenda tried her usual trick to grab my hair. My eyes were bloodshot as I roared right in her face. “If you want him to live, shut your mouth and sit down!” Brenda’s face contorted with pure, murderous hatred. “You filthy tramp! Let go of my husband! If he is missing a single hair on his head, I will destroy your life.” I radiated absolute ice. “Call security. Pin her to the wall if you have to. Do not let her take a single step into the surgical wing.” Standing under the bright surgical lights, my palms were slick with sweat. As a medical professional who lived and breathed the Hippocratic Oath, I could not stand by and watch a life extinguish just because of sheer human stupidity. But before the scalpel could even touch skin, a massive, violent crash echoed from the hallway outside. The upbeat, robotic voice of ChatCure pierced through the heavy metal doors. [If you suspect illegal organ harvesting, you have the right to force your way into the operating room! You can also use heavy objects around you. For example, smash their CT scanner! A human kidney is worth way more than a single medical machine!] My hand violently jerked. I almost dropped the scalpel. “Get security to guard the radiology wing! Do not let that lunatic near the expensive equipment!” But before the call could even go through, Brenda had already charged down the hall, grabbed a heavy metal chair, and smashed our brand new CT scanner into a pile of sparking glass and plastic. “You black hearted scammers! I will show you! If you do not let my Gary out right now, I will smash this entire hospital to the ground! Let us see you scam people then!” The entire hospital erupted into chaos. Nurses frantically dialed the police. Brenda used the distraction to sprint back to the OR, pounding her fists against the heavy doors like a battering ram. “We are refusing surgery! Release my husband immediately or I am calling the FBI!” Working three straight days on zero sleep, combined with the deafening banging on the door, made it impossible to focus on a delicate procedure. I let out a defeated breath. “Just let her in.” The second Brenda burst through the doors and saw her husband’s bare chest prepped for surgery, she raised her hand to slap me again, absolutely fuming. “You absolute slut! I knew you just wanted to get him naked!” “If I do not report you to the medical board today, my name is not Brenda!” I caught her wrist mid air, my grip like an iron vice. My voice was deadly calm. “You maliciously destroyed millions of dollars in hospital property. You physically prevented doctors from saving your comatose, bleeding husband. You are going to regret this for the rest of your life.” 4 Brenda ripped her hand away and unleashed a flurry of violent slaps directly onto her husband’s face, slapping him so hard that the sheer shock actually jolted him into a brief, agonizing state of consciousness. “What coma?! He was just taking a nap! Look, he is wide awake now!” “And stop lying about blood loss! Do you think smearing some cheap ketchup on him gives you the legal right to harvest his liver?!” Director Davis came sprinting down the hallway, his face purple with stress. He glared at me. “What is going on here?! Is this a hospital or a circus? The family might be stressed, but you are a senior attending! You should know better!” Having reprimanded me, he turned to Brenda, his eyes narrowing into a sharp glare. “I understand emotions are running high. But assaulting my staff and destroying a three million dollar diagnostic machine crosses the line. The hospital will be pressing full criminal charges.” The Director’s voice was literally shaking. That scanner was imported straight from Germany just last week. It was brand new! Hearing the words “three million,” Brenda immediately screeched at the top of her lungs. “Three million dollars?! You are openly robbing people! ChatCure clearly told me that stupid machine is only worth a hundred grand!” She glared at me, her chest puffed out with absolute self righteousness. “If your corrupt doctor had not tried to kidnap my husband to steal his organs, I never would have had to break anything!” “Blame yourselves! You greedy capitalist pigs are making dirty money off innocent people!” I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw my scalpel across the room. “Brenda, I have told you five separate times. Your husband’s internal organs are severely lacerated. If he wants to see tomorrow, he needs to be on this table right now!” Brenda’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “ChatCure said he does not need surgery! You are the only one demanding it! Are you claiming you are smarter than the most advanced AI on the planet?” She looked me up and down, her eyes swimming with pure disgust. “Tramps like you probably slept your way to a medical license! Who in their right mind would trust you?” Director Davis’s face turned completely black. At that exact moment, Gary, who had just been violently slapped awake, let out a wet gasp. His head rolled back, and he crashed onto the hard tile floor, his body curling into a tight, agonizing ball. Brenda kicked him hard in the ribs, her face twisted in utter annoyance. “You lazy bum! Watch where you sleep! Get up, we are going home!” Without another word, she hauled his limp, heavy body onto her back. My eyelids twitched violently at the horrific sight, but I bit my tongue. She looked back at us like a queen granting clemency. “My husband is tired. I will generously let your scam of a hospital off the hook today. But this disgusting doctor was incredibly rude, tried to extort us, and sexually harassed my husband! You better fire her immediately!” The Director was about to absolutely explode, but I held up a hand to stop him. I looked straight at Brenda. “As of this moment, I am voluntarily stepping down from all duties pending an internal investigation.” “But as a medical professional, I am giving you one final warning. Your husband is not tired. He is actively dying.” Brenda flashed a smug, victorious smile. “You ignorant hack. ChatCure already diagnosed him. His fatigue is just shock from the accident. A little sugar water and he will be perfectly fine!” She paraded out of the ER like she had just won the lottery. Director Davis wanted to chase her down for the damages, but I stopped him. “If we demand the money now, she will twist the narrative. She will claim we tried to harvest his organs, deliberately provoked her, and scammed her.” “We have to wait until she admits it herself. We wait until she admits his organs were ruptured by the crash, that our diagnosis was flawless, and that she was the one who caused this.” Sure enough, first thing the very next morning, Brenda burst through the clinic doors, cutting the entire line. She loudly demanded that I, and only I, perform surgery on her husband, whose body was already stiff with rigor mortis. I let out a dark, mocking chuckle. “Did ChatCure not tell you to just give him an electrolyte drink? I am a surgeon. I do not do beverage therapy.” Brenda’s voice cracked with desperate sobs. “After we got home last night, he stopped breathing! I dragged him to three different emergency rooms. They all said his internal organs ruptured from the crash!” All of her arrogant, untouchable attitude from yesterday had completely evaporated. She dropped to her knees, begging. “They all told me you are the only one skilled enough to fix this! Please, I am begging you! Save my Gary!” I glanced down at the patient, who had been completely devoid of life for hours, and offered a freezing smile. “I am so sorry. But ChatCure specifically stated that suspended doctors are strictly forbidden from performing operations.”

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1 I fished the key out of my coat pocket, the one with the tacky pink charm dangling from it. I remembered seeing it sitting quietly on the center console yesterday when Tristan picked me up from work. While he was showering, I walked to the front door and slid the key into the deadbolt. It turned perfectly. The door clicked open. When he walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, he casually mentioned that I should put the spare key away. He did not even bother to look up. Suddenly, a notification popped up in the condo building’s WhatsApp group. “Tristan, babe, be careful today. You left your key in my car. Hide it well, or the missus might get the wrong idea.” The message was deleted before I could even click on the sender’s profile. The next morning, after Tristan left for the office, I stuck that pink key straight into our front door’s lock and snapped a clear photo. I opened the building chat and typed: “Did one of my neighbors leave their key in my front door? I took a picture for proof. If nobody claims it in thirty minutes, I am calling the police.” I hit send, staring at the screen with a cold sneer. Turning around, I headed straight to the grocery store like nothing had happened. I stopped my shopping cart in front of the freezer aisle. The icy air blasted against my face, drying out my eyes. I paid for my groceries, went home, put everything away, and sat on the sofa to wait for him. I knew he would come back. I never deleted that message in the group chat. The chat remained completely dead silent. Nobody claimed the key. The only person panicking was Tristan. He left work two hours early. He did not even bother taking off his suit jacket when he barged through the door. His leather shoes slammed against the hardwood floor. His face was livid. “Audrey.” He only ever used my full name in two scenarios. Either I had done something completely out of line, or he had done something he was incredibly guilty about. “Are you suffering from paranoid delusions?” He slammed his phone onto the coffee table. The screen was still lit up, showing the building’s group chat. “What exactly is the meaning of this? Do you know the property manager just called me asking what the hell was going on?” I sat perfectly still on the sofa, looking up at him. “Then tell me. Whose key is this?” “Didn’t I already tell you? I had a spare made for you.” “Tristan.” I stood up, closing the distance between us. “Look me in the eyes and say that again.” He looked at me. But his focus was fixed on the blank wall behind my head, completely avoiding my gaze. “You always have to blow everything out of proportion.” He shifted his eyes away, unbuttoning his collar. His tone shifted from aggressive questioning to sheer annoyance. “I got the key made for the cleaning service. She forgot to put it back and dropped it in my car. It is that simple.” “A cleaning service?” “Yes, the maid.” “When did you hire a maid?” “Last week.” “Why didn’t I know about this?” “You work so hard. I wanted to take some of the burden off your shoulders, but I was afraid you would yell at me for wasting money.” His lies were flowing smoother now, even painting himself as the victim. “I was just trying to be nice, and what do you do? You post crazy things in the building chat, trying to start a war over nothing.” I stared at his face. It had been five years. Whenever he lied, his right eyebrow twitched upward just a fraction of an inch. He had no idea he even did it. Right now, that eyebrow was sitting high. “Alright then,” I said calmly. “Give me the maid’s phone number. I will call her and ask if she left her key in your car.” His expression froze for a split second. “Are you seriously doing this?” “I am.” “Audrey, how far are you going to take this?” He raised his voice. “It is just a damn key. I told you it belongs to the maid, and if you do not believe me, that is your problem. But posting it in the group chat was completely out of line. Do you know how people look at me now? They think we are having some domestic meltdown.” “I do not care how people look at you,” I cut him off. “What I care about is why you are lying to me.” The air went dead silent. His eyes darted nervously. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Right at that moment, the doorbell rang. I walked over and pulled the door open. A young woman stood in the hallway. She had her hair pulled back into a low ponytail and wore a fitted white t-shirt. She was holding a blue canvas tote bag commonly used by cleaning agencies. “Hi there, I am the cleaner Mr. Tristan hired. I am here to tidy up.” Her voice was sickly sweet. When she smiled, her eyes curved into little crescents. The moment she saw Tristan standing in the living room, her eyes lit up, but she quickly suppressed it, putting on a strictly professional mask. “Mr. Tristan, where would you like me to start today?” Tristan’s face visibly paled with panic. He looked at me, then looked at the girl, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. I stepped aside, leaving the doorway open. “Come on in,” I said. “Perfect timing. You can be a witness for him.” The girl hesitated for a second before stepping inside, not even bothering to take off her shoes. I picked up the pink key from the coffee table and held it up to her face. “Did you have this key made?” She looked at the key, then shot a glance at Tristan. That brief exchange of looks was entirely too obvious. It was not the look of an employer and a maid. It was a look that screamed, “What the hell are you doing?” She quickly pulled her gaze away and smiled at me. Her voice was still sweet, but there was a sharp, mocking edge hidden beneath it. “Ma’am, Mr. Tristan did ask me to get this key made. He said you work so hard, so he wanted me to come twice a week to help out. Please do not be mad at him, he is only doing this because he cares about you.” Twice a week. Ma’am. I looked at her youthful face, her perfectly styled ponytail, and that white t-shirt that was very clearly not a cleaning uniform. I suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. Standing nearby, Tristan seemed to find his footing. His tone immediately hardened. “See? I told you she was the maid. You refused to believe me, you insisted on making a scene, and now she is standing right here. What else do you have to say?” I did not look at him. I kept my eyes entirely on the girl. “What is your name?” “Gemma.” “Gemma, are you absolutely certain you had this key made?” She blinked innocently, her smile unwavering. “I am positive, ma’am.” I gave a slow nod. “Alright.” I picked up my phone and dialed 911 right in front of them. “Hello, I need police assistance. Someone made an unauthorized copy of my house key and trespassed into my home.” Tristan’s face drained of all color. Gemma’s confident smile completely vanished. “Audrey!” Tristan lunged forward to snatch my phone. “Are you insane?” I took a step back, dodging his grasp, and continued speaking to the dispatcher. “The address is Oakwood Residences, Building 9, Unit 302. The suspects are Tristan and Gemma. The evidence is the key. I handled it with gloves, so only their fingerprints should be on it.” I hung up the phone and stared at Tristan. His face flushed a violent red, his lips trembling, but he could not force a single word out. Gemma stood frozen in the entryway, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her blue tote bag. “Audrey,” Tristan finally spoke, lowering his voice into a coaxing whisper. “Please, do not do this. Let us just sit down and talk.” “Didn’t you just say I was having paranoid delusions?” I stared dead into his eyes. “Didn’t you say she was the maid? Didn’t you say you were just trying to help me?” He fell silent. “When the cops get here, you can explain it to them.” I walked over to the balcony and slid the glass door open, letting the cold wind rush in. I could already hear the faint wail of police sirens approaching the building. Behind me, I heard Gemma’s quiet, panicked sobbing. “Tristan, you promised me she would never find out.” The police arrived quickly. They scanned the tense living room, their eyes landing on Tristan. “Who made the call?” Surprisingly, Tristan took a step forward. “I did.” I froze. “What is the situation?” The officer pulled out his notepad. Tristan pointed a finger directly at me, letting out an exhausted sigh. “This woman’s name is Audrey. She is my cleaning lady. Today, while I was out, she took my spare key and entered my home without permission. When I caught her, she tried to flip the script and claimed I gave her the key. I did not know what else to do, so I called you.” He called me the cleaning lady. I opened my mouth, but the sheer audacity left me completely speechless. The officer glanced at me, then looked over at Gemma. “And who is this?” She was standing slightly behind Tristan, her head bowed, her hands instinctively resting over her lower stomach. “This is my wife, Gemma,” Tristan said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. Gemma looked up at the officers, appearing entirely docile and harmless. “And what about this key?” The officer gestured toward the pink keychain resting on the coffee table. “That is the key I had made for my wife,” Tristan lied flawlessly. “This maid somehow got her hands on it and called the cops, accusing me of illegal duplication. It is completely absurd.” He spoke with such terrifying calm, even lacing his voice with the perfect amount of offended irritation. I stared at his face, my entire body going numb with cold. When he kissed me in bed, it was with this face. When he held my hand and told me he would always protect me, it was with this face. And now, standing in front of armed police officers, he looked me in the eye and called me a maid, claiming another woman was his wife. My voice shook violently. “Tristan, I am your wife.” Tristan spread his hands toward the officers, offering a helpless, bitter smile. “See? This is exactly how she acts. The second she gets caught, she starts making crazy accusations. I have fired her twice before, but she keeps finding excuses to break in.” The officer looked at me, his expression shifting from neutral to suspicious. “Sir, I am going to need you to provide proof of your marriage to Gemma.” Tristan nodded immediately. He pulled his phone from his pocket, opened a photo gallery, and handed it to the officer. “Officer, here is a photo from our courthouse wedding, along with a picture of our marriage certificate.” I caught a single glimpse of the screen, and my heart plummeted into an endless abyss. It was a picture of him and Gemma. They were wearing matching white button-downs, smiling brightly against a formal backdrop. The official seal of the marriage certificate was clearly visible on the screen. Perfectly legal. The officer inspected the photo, then looked back at me, his demeanor turning icy cold. “Ma’am, these two are legally married. What you are doing here is harassment, and it is highly inappropriate.” “I didn’t.” Tristan pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket and handed it over. “This is Gemma’s ultrasound report. She is twelve weeks pregnant. If she wasn’t my wife, why would we be starting a family?” The officer took the report, reviewed it quickly, and handed it back with a respectful nod. “Alright, the situation is clear.” He looked at Tristan, his tone much more polite. “Sir, how would you like to handle this? If you want to press charges for trespassing, we can take her down to the station for booking.” Tristan cast a long, calculated look at me. “Forget it. She has had a hard life, and she always did a good job cleaning the place before she went crazy. She is probably just going through a financial crisis. I will not press charges. You officers have a good day.” The officer gave me a final, warning glare, likely assuming I was just a mentally unstable nuisance. He snapped his notepad shut and walked out. The front door clicked shut. The living room descended into a suffocating silence. “When exactly did you sign a marriage license with her?” My voice came out as a dry, jagged whisper. “Last October.” Last October. He took me to Japan last October. He told me it was our four year anniversary and he wanted to make it incredibly special. We stayed in Kyoto for five days. Every single night, he held me in his arms and whispered how much he loved me. And he had already married Gemma by then. “We never got a divorce. Bigamy is a felony.” Tristan finally looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Audrey, our marriage does not exist in the legal system anymore.” My blood froze instantly. “What are you talking about?” “Last September, I hired a lawyer and pushed through an ex parte divorce,” he stated with chilling calmness. “Don’t worry, the paperwork was processed legally. You were served by publication in a local paper you never read. Legally speaking, your current status is completely single.” A sudden memory hit me. During that anniversary trip, while we were at the airport, he took my phone, claiming he was checking us in and selecting our seats. He messed with my phone for a long time. I thought he was just picking a window seat for me. He was actually intercepting legal notifications. I blinked hard, forcing back the burning tears. “So for the last six months, you have just been playing a sick game with me.” Tristan did not answer. Gemma took a step forward, playing the pathetic, innocent victim. “I never meant to keep it a secret from you, Audrey. I didn’t want things to end up like this, but my baby needs a father, and Tristan desperately needed a child of his own.” Hearing those words, my mind violently snapped back to a tragic accident on our honeymoon five years ago. It had been pouring rain. We were driving down a mountain road when a mudslide triggered a rockfall. Knowing I was newly pregnant, I threw myself over Tristan to protect him, completely exposing my own body. A massive rock smashed directly into my abdomen. I bled so much. The island we were on only had a tiny, run-down clinic. The elderly doctor’s hands shook as he told us the baby was gone, and the damage meant I would likely never conceive again. I laid on that bloody stretcher while Tristan held my hand, sobbing like a broken child. “Audrey, I am so sorry. I failed to protect you.” “It does not matter if we never have kids. As long as you stay by my side, that is all I need.” I had clung to those words for five agonizing years. And now, they felt like a brutal, sickening slap across the face. I spoke, my entire body trembling. “Tristan. Our marriage is over. Pack your things and get out of my house.” He looked at me and suddenly let out a dark laugh. “Audrey, are you really this selfish? Just because your body is broken, you expect me to end my bloodline?” Gemma stepped closer, her eyes red, her voice pitifully small. “Audrey, I am so sorry. If you want, once the baby is born, I can give it to you to raise. I don’t even need a title.” She reached out, trying to grab my arm. Disgust surged through me. Without thinking about my own strength, I violently slapped her hand away. She stumbled backward, losing her footing, and crashed hard onto the floor. A second later, I saw the blood. A dark red stain began to spread across the light-colored hardwood floor, seeping from between her legs. “Tristan. My stomach hurts.” Tristan’s face morphed into pure horror. He shot forward, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip, his voice dripping with venom. “Apologize to her!” I let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Why would I apologize for getting rid of a bastard that never should have been conceived?” The fury in Tristan’s eyes darkened into something terrifying. “Fine. Do not say I didn’t warn you.” Without another word, he dragged me down the hallway by my wrist and kicked open a door that was always kept firmly locked. It was the nursery. Light blue wallpaper, a pristine white crib, floral bedsheets. In the corner sat piles of unopened, dust-covered baby toys. And on the highest shelf against the back wall sat a small, pure white ceramic urn. Engraved on the front were the words: The beloved child of Audrey and Tristan, born into heaven. It was the ashes of our miscarried baby. Tristan threw my wrist aside, walked over to the shelf, and grabbed the urn. He turned to look at me, his eyes dead. “Audrey, you hurt Gemma’s baby. So this child is going to pay your debt.” He raised the urn high into the air. “No!” Raw panic ripped through my throat. He let go. His face was completely devoid of emotion. The ceramic shattered violently against the hardwood. Grey powder exploded outward, scattering across the floorboards. I dropped to my knees in absolute terror, crawling through the sharp ceramic shards, desperately trying to scoop the ashes into my hands. The grey powder slipped through the gaps in my fingers. I could not hold onto anything. I opened my mouth to scream, but not a single sound came out. Tristan stood towering over me, looking down with cold disgust. “You better pray to God that Gemma’s baby survives this.” He turned and walked out of the room. I stayed on my knees in front of that pile of ashes. I knelt there for hours. Until I felt the last drop of warmth leave my body, replaced by a freezing, lethal calm. “Tristan. I am going to make you pay for this.”

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For the few days I was giving my older brother the silent treatment, a petty kind of rage simmered in my chest. To get back at him, I secretly made a burner account to mess with him online. Riding on my deep understanding of how guys operate, I easily finessed a ridiculous amount of money out of him. The second the funds cleared, I blocked him across all platforms and deleted the account without a single ounce of guilt. The very next morning, my brother was grinning in the living room like an absolute idiot. He proudly announced that his sworn enemy, Sebastian, had just been played by a gold digger. The girl took the money and vanished, and Sebastian was currently turning the internet upside down trying to hunt her down. My brother practically choked on his own laughter, gleefully adding that Sebastian was a notoriously vindictive guy who held massive grudges, meaning this poor girl was completely screwed. I had originally planned to confess my prank to my brother right then and there. Hearing those words, my entire body went ice cold, freezing me to the floor. 1 Seeing my face turn the color of printer paper, Connor assumed I was still holding onto our previous argument. He immediately softened his tone to coax me. “Still mad at your big bro, kiddo? Look, I swear on my life I will never use your expensive face wipes to clean my sneakers ever again, okay?” My lips literally trembled. I could barely form a cohesive sentence. “That girl who took the money, do you know what her username was?” “No clue about her real name. Her handle was something weird though, like Hot Sprite or Warm Fanta.” It was Hot Cocoa. I mentally filled in the blank, completely dead inside. Connor finally caught onto my weird vibe. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Riley, since when do you care so much about Sebastian’s love life?” I bit my lower lip, guilt eating me alive as I forced out a smile that definitely looked more like a grimace. “I am just so happy for you.” Connor beamed, aggressively ruffling my hair. “Glad to see you still have a heart and finally forgave me. Oh right, didn’t you text me earlier saying you had a huge announcement? What’s up?” “Nothing major. Just that Mrs. Higgins’ toy poodle downstairs finally hooked up with the golden retriever next door.” Connor looked utterly blank. “That is your huge announcement?” “Yep. That is it.” “Something is off.” Connor squinted, giving me a full ocular pat down. “You are definitely hiding something. Spit it out. Did you break one of my limited edition gaming figures?” “You are literally so annoying, Connor!” I yelled to cover up my massive guilt and bolted back to my bedroom like my life depended on it. Locking the door behind me, my hands shook as I opened my messages and pulled up the chat log I had already dumped into the blocked folder. Back when I was plotting my revenge against Connor, I knew adding him directly would be way too obvious. I went through hell to track down his gaming ID instead. I started by playing dumb in the lobbies, letting him carry me in matches until we got close enough to exchange numbers. When I saw the profile did not match Connor’s usual aesthetic, my smooth brain thought he was just using a secret account to hide his online dating habits from our parents. Who could have predicted that I had the wrong gaming ID from the very beginning. Honestly, looking back now, Sebastian dropped plenty of clues. Those pictures he posted that were meant only for my eyes. The unbuttoned dress shirts, the razor sharp abs playing peekaboo, and those notorious grey sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. That heavily sculpted chest belonged to an entirely different species than my brother’s string bean physique. But I was blinded by my own petty revenge. I convinced myself my brother was stealing pictures of internet models to catfish girls online. So I happily fed into his ego with the most pathetic hype messages. [Oh my god, your body is insane! Send more, I am obsessed!] But that was not even the worst part. The worst part was how greedy I got. I really should have realized it sooner. Connor was the cheapest guy on the planet. He would not even buy me a dollar soda at the gas station. How could he suddenly have endless cash to throw at me? [Babe, this dress is so pretty.] [Send the link.] [Out getting a fancy dinner with the girls today!] The guy did not even blink before sending a massive transfer. [Put the dinner on me. Buy yourselves some iced coffees with the change.] [Do you think this gold necklace looks good on me?] That text was accompanied by a dozen carefully angled pictures of my collarbones, making absolutely sure my face was entirely out of frame. [It looks perfect. You look perfect in everything.] Another giant deposit hit my bank app, the string of zeros literally making me dizzy. By the end of it, the guy on the other end of the screen had turned into a soulless ATM machine. [Today is our fifteen day anniversary. That is exactly 21,900 minutes together.] [Transfer received: 21,900] As the amounts grew more and more unhinged, I started having nightmares that Connor was secretly selling his organs on the black market to fund this. I panicked and decided to pull the plug on the whole prank. Who could have possibly known that the guy I was treating like an absolute sugar daddy was not even related to me! This was supposed to be a petty sibling rivalry. A little pouting, a little begging, and it would be water under the bridge. Now it had escalated into a full blown federal felony. That night, I tossed and turned in my dorm bed until the sheets were twisted into ropes. When I finally managed to close my eyes, the nightmares hit. A damp, dimly lit basement. Sebastian had me tied to a metal chair, a terrifying smirk playing on his lips as he stepped closer. The suffocating pressure radiating off him was unbearable. I shrunk back like a terrified little quail, sobbing uncontrollably. “I confess! I did it all! I killed the dinosaurs, I punched the hole in the ozone layer, I sank the Titanic! Please just let me get a burger!” 2 I dragged myself to my 8 AM lecture the next day with massive dark circles under my eyes. The second class ended, my best friend Hailey dragged me kicking and screaming to the campus basketball courts. Just as we reached the sidelines, a perfect three pointer swished through the net. Game over. Hailey flushed red, practically sprinting over to hand Connor a bottle of water. “It is okay, you played amazing! Your footwork was so good today.” Connor glared viciously at the opposing team. “Sebastian is a piece of trash! He gets his heart broken by some online scammer and decides to take it out on me! They were already up by twenty points, but he just had to sink that last buzzer beater to show off. Arrogant jerk.” Hearing the name Sebastian made my actual scalp go numb. Following Connor’s furious gaze, I shakily looked toward the other side of the court. It was a literal wall of tall, athletic guys with broad shoulders and narrow waists. The sheer amount of testosterone over there made my head spin. “Which one is Sebastian?” I asked in a whisper. Connor let out a bitter scoff. “The ugliest one over there. Stop looking, you will burn your eyes out.” He suddenly turned to Hailey. “Hey, you have something stuck to your eyelid.” Before Hailey could even process what was happening, Connor’s completely dense brain commanded his hand to reach out and violently rip off her fake eyelash. Hailey stood there in absolute stunned silence. Right at that horrible moment, the winning team started strolling over toward us. “Wow, still crying over that internet girl, Seb?” “I am telling you, people who catfish for money should be tossed in a cell and forgotten about.” Connor, incapable of keeping his mouth shut, immediately fired back with maximum sarcasm. “Well if it isn’t our resident Romeo. Word on the street is you got played so hard you don’t even have a shirt left on your back.” Sebastian cast a lazy, indifferent glance our way. His eyes were as cold and deep as a frozen lake. He had a strong brow bone, deep set eyes, and lashes so impossibly long they cast shadows on his cheekbones. His skin was pale, his nose straight, and his thin lips were pressed into a tight line. He radiated this untouchable, icy perfection. “Ugly as sin, right?” Connor leaned in and whispered loudly in my ear. This time, even Hailey could not bring herself to agree with him. When Sebastian’s gaze briefly swept over me, my heart stopped. I scrambled to hide behind Connor’s broad back, praying the concrete would open up and swallow me whole. “Sore loser,” one of Sebastian’s teammates fired back. “Who are you calling a loser? Step up right now, one on one!” Connor’s temper ignited instantly. “Let’s go! Whoever loses is buying the whole court drinks!” The two of them shoved each other all the way back onto the court. Hailey, terrified Connor was going to get into a fistfight, hurried after them. By the time I realized what was happening, the sidelines were completely empty. It was just me. And Sebastian. “You are Connor’s sister?” His voice was cold, drifting down from above me. “Um. Yeah.” I did not dare lift my head. “What is your name?” The guy was relentless. His gaze slowly dropped, finally locking onto the shiny gold necklace resting against my collarbone. His eyes darkened with something completely unreadable. But my chin was practically glued to my chest. All I could think about was mapping out an escape route. I missed the shift in his expression entirely. “Um. My brother told me not to talk to bad boys.” That was an actual quote from Connor. Even though Sebastian’s hair was just a shade lighter than pure black, maybe a dark chestnut in the sun, it was enough for Connor to label him a delinquent. The second the words left my mouth, I spun around and bolted. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it might shatter them. I ran until my lungs burned. Leaning against a brick wall, gasping for air, the sheer panic finally set in. With shaking fingers, I pulled Sebastian out of my blocked contacts and typed a desperate message. [Please do not call the cops. I am begging you. I will pay you back every single cent.] The reply came through in a millisecond. [Where are you? Let’s meet.] I almost dropped my phone in a puddle. [We broke up. There is no need to see each other in person. I told you I am going to pay you back. Give me ten days. I will sell everything I own if I have to.] Sebastian: [Do you honestly think I care about the money?] [What was the reason for the breakup?] I held my phone, staring blankly at the screen. I racked my brain trying to come up with a single flaw a wealthy, gorgeous guy like Sebastian might have. I came up completely empty and had to pull the craziest excuse out of thin air. [Look, I am just a little messed up in the head. I only like toxic guys who treat me like garbage. You were way too nice to me. You were too clingy. I hate it. It lacks a challenge.] The moment I hit send, I wanted to slap myself across the face. While I was waiting in agonizing suspense, a totally random message popped up on my screen. [Are you close with Connor?] Seeing that name, my hand violently twitched. The phone slipped through my fingers and smacked hard against the pavement. 3 The moment I picked my phone back up, my hands were shaking like leaves in a hurricane. Those words flashed on the cracked screen like a death sentence. [Are you close with Connor?] A thousand different ways to die flashed through my mind. Confess that I am his sister? Absolutely not. That was basically a suicide mission. Sebastian would multiply his hatred for Connor and dump it all directly onto me. If that happened, paying him back would be the least of my worries. I would be lucky to keep all my limbs attached. Tell him we barely know each other? Then why was I standing right next to him at the basketball court? In a moment of pure, desperate genius, my fingers flew across the keyboard. [Close? Oh we are close all right! Connor is an absolute scumbag! He played me, broke my heart, and borrowed a ton of money he never paid back. I want to ruin his life!] As long as I stood on the same side of the battlefield as Sebastian, we were basically brothers in arms! After sending the text, I held my breath, staring unblinkingly at the screen. After what felt like a literal century, the phone buzzed. Sebastian: [Oh? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.] I let out a massive breath. I was just about to send a cute meme to seal the deal when another text popped up. [Since you hate him so much, meet me at the campus track tomorrow at 8 AM. We can discuss how to destroy him together.] [If you do not show up, I am going to the police.] I stared at the little red notification bubble, my vision going dark. This was not a strategy meeting. This was a trap. Early the next morning, I arrived fully geared up. Sunglasses, a medical face mask, a baseball cap pulled low, and a massive black hoodie that Connor would never catch dead on me. I looked exactly like a bank robber preparing for a heist. I crept toward the edge of the track and spotted Sebastian instantly. It was impossible to miss him. Even wearing a basic white T shirt and dark sweatpants, he stood in the morning mist looking like a glowing deity. Every single girl jogging past him physically slowed down, their eyes practically glued to his face. I took a deep breath, hyped myself up, and dragged my feet over to him. “Hey. Morning.” I lowered my voice, trying to fake a raspy, smoker tone. Sebastian turned around. His eyes slowly scanned my ridiculous outfit, an eyebrow ticking up. “Are you planning a burglary?” I forced a dry laugh. “Just avoiding the sun. Skincare is a priority, you know.” He ignored my awful excuse. Long, elegant fingers casually spun a plastic water bottle as he spoke with a lazy drawl. “When are you paying me back?” I knew it! I immediately slapped on an expression of pure agony. “Look man, you know my situation. That jerk Connor ruined my life and drained my bank account. Things are really tight right now. But I swear, the second I get a paycheck, it goes straight to you! Can you just give me a few days of grace?” Sebastian looked at me with a half smile that sent a shiver straight down my spine. He suddenly took a step forward. I panicked and stepped back, my spine hitting the freezing metal of the chain link fence. He planted one hand on the fence right next to my head, leaning in close. The crisp, clean scent of mint and pine instantly wrapped around me. “I can give you a grace period.” His voice was low, carrying a dangerous, careless edge. “But I do not take bad deals. Until your debt is cleared, you work for me to cover the interest.” I swallowed hard. “Work doing what?” “You are on call. You fetch my coffee, you hold my bags, and…” He paused, his gaze dropping to the tiny sliver of my eyes visible above the mask. “You help me put on a show.” “A show?” I was completely lost. “Connor played you, right? Well, he has been a thorn in my side for a long time.” Sebastian’s lips curved into a smirk that screamed pure villainy. “Be my girlfriend. We are going to make him lose his mind.” I stared at him. Dude, what is wrong with your brain? If I actually started dating him, Connor might lose his mind, but I would literally lose my life! “Look, I do not think that is a good idea.” I weakly tried to fight back. “I mean, I hate Connor, but I am still healing from my last traumatic relationship…” “Three thousand.” Sebastian dropped the number casually. “What?” “Three thousand dollars knocked off your debt for every day you play the part.” My spine instantly snapped perfectly straight. I spoke with absolute righteous conviction. “Deal! When do I clock in? Does my current uniform meet the company standards, boss?” Are you kidding me? In the face of that kind of money, my dignity meant nothing. Connor meant nothing. If Sebastian paid enough, I would personally wrap Connor in bubble wrap and ship him overseas. A flash of amusement danced in Sebastian’s eyes. He reached out and smoothly pulled my sunglasses off my face. The sudden morning glare made me squint. “No hiding when you are with me.” He hooked the glasses onto the collar of his own shirt. “And change that embarrassing screen name.” I nodded like an obedient puppy. “Yes boss. Whatever you say boss.” Just like that, I became Sebastian’s contract girlfriend and full time maid.

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In the alumni lounge, Ashly’s ex Carter stood and revealed that for three years, someone had been anonymously sending him money, worried he was in need. The room erupted in cheers, all eyes turning to Ashly. Carter went on, describing how when his father was critically ill, someone flew across the country to stay at his bedside, even booking him a luxury hotel to rest while she slept exhausted under hospital lights. I quietly withdrew my hand from the table’s edge. No one knew Ashly and I had lived together for five years, or that her distant stares on our couch were moments spent longing for him. So that’s where her salary went, every dollar quietly supporting Carter’s life. I remembered the day my father died; she stayed ten minutes at the funeral before hurrying off. Now Carter took her hand in front of everyone and asked softly if they could start over. She did not pull away, only sat in silence. As the crowd chanted for them to kiss, a cold clarity washed over me: my five years with her had just ended, for good. 1 Ashly opened her mouth, but she simply could not bring herself to reject him outright. Instead, she used the most ambiguous tone possible to string everyone along. “Let us talk about it when we get back.” That word “we” carried a heavy, intimate weight that completely shifted the vibe of the room. The loudest guy in our graduating class took the lead, slamming his beer on the table. “Oh come on! That is basically a yes right there!” “Be honest, Ashly, you have been waiting for this day forever, right?” “You did not even want to come tonight! But the second I mentioned Carter was flying in, you practically begged me for the location!” Laughter filled the room. Three years had passed. Yet the mere mention of Carter still made her lose all her composure. My grip on my drink tightened, the color draining from my face. Before coming here tonight, I actually thought I had the upper hand. I foolishly believed that my five years of devotion could overshadow their three years of college romance. After all, during our time together, Carter never stopped texting her. But every single time, she would ruthlessly reject him right in front of my face. “Carter, I have my own life now. Stop bothering me.” It was only at this exact moment I realized that all those harsh rejections were just a theatrical performance put on for my benefit. In the hidden corners of her heart that I could never reach, Carter still owned the absolute largest piece of real estate. That was why she compromised her own boundaries for him, time and time again. Snapping out of her daze, Ashly did not give the crowd a straight answer. Instead, she gently nudged Carter’s shoulder, laughing softly to smooth things over. “Are we still playing the game or what?” “Stop teasing him, guys. He has thin skin, you are going to make him blush.” Her tone was sickeningly sweet and entirely too fond. The girls in the room exchanged knowing, giddy smiles. “Alright, alright, we will stop bullying your precious boy!” “Let us keep playing!” A new round of the drinking game started. ‘Never Have I Ever’. Unsurprisingly, when the prompts got specific, almost everyone put a finger down, except Carter. People shook their heads, sighing dramatically. “Carter, you are a seriously lucky guy.” “Is there anyone on this planet more devoted than Ashly?” Following the collective agreement, everyone naturally started bringing up the old college days. Like when Carter hosted the campus talent show, Ashly would always sneak a bouquet of roses backstage after the curtain fell. Or when Carter twisted his ankle playing varsity basketball, she immediately took off her own jacket, draped it over his shivering shoulders, and half carried him to the campus clinic. Even when Carter’s family went bankrupt and he could not pay his tuition, she was the one who quietly settled the massive bill. Out of her four years of college, she spent three of them desperately chasing Carter. Carter’s ears turned bright red. He subtly shifted closer to her on the sofa. Ashly’s hand froze for a second. She instinctively shot a glance in my direction. But just as quickly, she averted her gaze, acting like we were total strangers to avoid suspicion. Suddenly, someone noticed I still had one finger raised. Just a moment ago, Carter had bragged with total confidence. “I had someone propose to me, saying they would buy me a luxury waterfront condo as a wedding gift. Have any of you experienced that?” Everyone had silently put a finger down, admitting defeat. Everyone except me. But there was absolutely no pride on my face. Because Ashly had said those exact same words to me. She told me that once our careers stabilized and we were a bit older, she would buy that exact waterfront condo and gift it to me as our forever home. The promise that once filled my heart with overwhelming sweetness now felt like an endless, suffocating joke. The classmates finally registered my raised hand, their eyes widening, ready for the gossip. “Holy crap, Noah! When did you secretly get a girlfriend?” “I thought you were perpetually single!” “Wait a minute. Is that girl someone from our graduating class?” Before I could even open my mouth, I felt a sharp kick against my shin under the table. It was only when the entire room focused their attention on me that Ashly finally looked at me directly. She acted like I was just an old acquaintance she barely knew, joining in on the teasing. “I am curious too. Who is the lucky girl?” 2 When she said those words, her eyes were dead and cold, carrying a silent, sharp warning. I knew she would never let me go public with our relationship. After all, this was exactly how I had survived the last five years. At home, she played the role of the perfect, caring girlfriend perfectly. She would cook me breakfast, kneel to help me take off my shoes after a long shift, and even draw me a hot bath and bring me a mug of tea before bed. But the second Carter entered the equation, all her supposed loyalty became utterly worthless. Everything she had ever done for me, she had already done for him, and with far more passion. Ashly was not worried that making us public would cause people to gossip. She was terrified that if people knew about me, she would no longer be able to comfortably enjoy Carter’s attention and affection. It was the middle of summer, but the breeze blowing through the open lounge window froze my blood solid. “Come on Noah, spill the tea!” “I really want to know what kind of girl managed to lock down a handsome guy like you. Is she some rich heiress? Or the super gentle, domestic type?” Under the barrage of curious questions, I gave a very simple physical description. “Tall, pale skin. The kind of eyes that make me feel like I am standing in a warm spring breeze the second they look my way.” Sitting directly across from me, Ashly let out an involuntary, conceited little smile. Perhaps she was secretly thrilled that every single trait I listed matched her to absolute perfection. “Oh my god, that sounds exactly like our Ashly!” Someone immediately caught the similarities, laughing loudly. “Noah, you and Carter were college roommates, and you even have the exact same taste in women! That is hilarious!” Hearing this, Carter stiffened slightly. I raised my glass, downed my drink in one gulp, and swallowed the bitter lump forming in my throat. Carter quickly recovered, throwing out a casual joke. “Really? Well now I definitely want to meet her.” “Noah, when you get married, you better invite us all so we can finally see her face!” Saying this, he playfully bumped his shoulder against Ashly’s, winking at her. “You have to come too! I want to see just how much you two look alike!” Ashly completely froze, her face flushing awkwardly as she desperately changed the subject. “Stop worrying about other people’s love lives and worry about yourself.” “Drinking straight whiskey with your stomach ulcer? You will be groaning in pain in an hour.” She naturally reached out, taking his whiskey glass and drinking the rest of the liquor herself. Then she flagged down a waiter and ordered him a warm chamomile tea. She even instinctively opened her mouth, about to list out his dietary restrictions so he would not order anything spicy. It was only when the fruit fork slipped from my fingers and clattered loudly onto the glass table that she abruptly stopped talking. Her hands retreated under the table, twisting the fabric of her dress. She awkwardly pulled her gaze away, rubbing the tip of her nose in guilt. We had been together for five years. She could never remember my food allergies, nor could she remember what flared up my acid reflux. Whenever I quietly pointed out her mistakes, she would just brush it off lightly, claiming work made her too exhausted to remember the small details. But now I finally understood. True love meant remembering absolutely everything. Even after three full years apart, she could still rattle off his medical history without a second thought. Snapping back to reality, I realized I had pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger so hard it was bruised red. The crowd, oblivious to the tension, just assumed Ashly was acting shy and kept teasing her. “Oh give it a rest, stop playing the innocent caretaker!” “Did you forget how many times you rubbed Carter’s cramped legs after track practice?” “When he got heatstroke during gym class, you literally carried him halfway across campus to the nurse!” Carter did not say a word, but his ears burned an even deeper shade of red. Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the table. It was an email from the Paris Institute of Architecture. A formal acceptance and invitation. The guy sitting next to me glanced at my glowing screen and gasped loudly. “Noah! You are going to Paris?!” His voice was loud enough to cut through the chatter. Instantly, every eye in the room zeroed in on me. Ashly furrowed her brows, her expression unreadable. “Oh yeah! You were always obsessed with architectural design back in college. Did not you want to switch majors at one point?” Someone remembered the old days and eagerly chimed in. “I remember! Noah entered that national design competition and took first place!” “Wait, did not a design firm invite you right after graduation? Why did you never go?” I sat there in dead silence. A rare flicker of genuine guilt surfaced in Ashly’s eyes. 3 Back then, we had only been dating for three months. She had gripped my hands so tightly, terrified that I was going to leave the country. “Noah, trust me. I will give you a beautiful life.” “Please do not leave me. I cannot survive a long distance relationship where we only see each other twice a year.” To prove her absolute devotion, she drained her savings account and gave me every scholarship award she had ever earned. When I got my driver’s license, she even bought me a car. Thinking about all my friends whose international long distance relationships ended in messy breakups, my heart softened. I agreed to stay in the country. I took a mediocre job at a tiny, uninspired local design firm, doing the most basic, soul crushing drafting work. “Something came up back then, so I could not go.” My voice was incredibly soft, preserving my own dignity and saving Ashly from public embarrassment. “Well what about now? Are you going to take it?” “This is an incredible opportunity man! Some people would kill for an offer like that and never get it their entire lives!” My classmate was absolutely right. This was my final chance. The Paris Institute had broken their own protocol to send me a delayed invitation. Before walking into this reunion tonight, I was genuinely torn. I did not want to throw away a five year relationship. And I did not want to lose Ashly. But sitting here right now, I had absolutely zero reservations left. “Yeah. I am going.” Seeing me nod, the guys around me broke into massive, genuinely happy smiles. “That is amazing! Let us all raise a glass to Noah!” “Our graduating class officially has a Parisian architect!” Everyone eagerly raised their drinks in the air. Only Ashly remained frozen in her seat. Carter patted her shoulder, urging her. “Come on, what are you spacing out for?” Her face looked slightly pale. As she clinked her glass against the others, the glass slipped right through her trembling fingers. It shattered violently on the hardwood floor, splashing liquor all over my shoes and pants. “Sorry.” Ashly handed me a napkin, her face instantly returning to its usual cold composure. Those two simple, distant words made me want to laugh out loud. I muttered an acknowledgment and walked out alone to the restroom to clean myself up. A few minutes later, she followed me out. She stood quietly behind me as I wiped down my pants. “Are you seriously going to Paris?” Ashly glared at me through the mirror, her tone sounding more like an interrogation than a question. After all, for the past five years, I had loved her so deeply I completely lost my own identity. I had thrown away my career for her once. In her mind, it was only natural that I would do it again. That I would throw away my dreams just to curl up in the pathetic scraps of her undivided attention. I took a deep breath, cementing my decision. “Yes. I am certain.” Ashly did not take me seriously at all. Instead, she let out a scoffing laugh. “Stop throwing a tantrum.” “I was literally just playing along with their jokes to be polite. Are you really going to be this petty?” I did not say a word, my eyes dropping to her bare hands. Petty? Before she even walked into this venue tonight, she purposely took off our matching promise ring. That alone proved she never truly let him go. It proved she came here holding onto a tiny sliver of fantasy. A fantasy that they could rekindle their romance. Just as I was about to speak, Carter’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Ashly, where are you? They are cutting the cake!” She did not hesitate for a single second. She turned on her heel and walked right out. Through the crack in the door, I watched her sit down right next to Carter, intimately wiping a smudge of frosting off the corner of his mouth with her thumb. Without looking away, I pulled out my phone, opened the airline app, and booked a one way ticket to Paris. By the time the party wrapped up, everyone had drank way too much to drive home. The group collectively decided to book rooms at the luxury hotel right next door. When it came time to distribute the room keys, everyone shared a collective, mischievous look and assigned Ashly and Carter to the same room. “This is perfect! You two can stay up all night catching up. Say whatever you need to say, do whatever you need to do!” “We better be getting wedding invitations by the end of the year, and maybe a baby announcement!” Carter bit his lower lip, his face flushed deep red. “You guys are terrible, stop making things up.” He said the words, but his hand intentionally brushed against Ashly’s arm. He was clearly soaking up every second of the teasing. I stood there like a statue until everyone grabbed their room keycards and scattered into the elevators. I never looked at Ashly, and I never let a single trace of anger show on my face. 4 Late that night, just as I was getting ready to sleep, a sharp knock hit my door. Ashly was leaning against the doorframe, looking extremely irritated. “Do not overthink things. He is taking the bed, and I am sleeping on the couch.” “Absolutely nothing is going to happen between us.” I gave her a flat nod and started to push the door shut. “Noah!” Her voice suddenly spiked, lacing with genuine anger and impatience. “When exactly are you going to stop throwing this little fit?” I froze in place, genuinely confused about what ‘fit’ I was supposedly throwing. From the start of the reunion to the very end, I played the role of the distant, polite classmate perfectly. Even when I watched them getting overly intimate, even when I listened to the crowd demanding they get married, I did not flinch. Even right now, with her sharing a hotel room with the man she loved, I had not shown a single ounce of jealousy. “I am not throwing a fit.” Ashly refused to listen, opting to just aggressively warn me instead. “Do not think that lying about moving to Paris is going to scare me into line.” “Carter finally came back after all these years. Can you please not ruin his mood tonight?” “I promise you, when we wake up tomorrow morning, I will clear the air with everyone and tell them I already have a boyfriend.” Perhaps I just knew her too perfectly. The words slipped out of my mouth automatically. “Yeah. You will tell them you have a boyfriend, but you will deliberately leave out my name.” “That way, they can keep assuming your boyfriend is Carter and keep cheering you on right in front of me, right?” Having her exact manipulative thought process dragged out into the open, Ashly’s face went ghost white. But that brief flash of guilt instantly morphed into defensive fury. “Noah, when did you become so toxic and insecure?” “Since you want to act like this, you can drive home alone tomorrow and spend the whole ride reflecting on your attitude!” She bit her lip, spun around, and stormed off, the wind from her movement sweeping past my door. That cold gust of air felt like a physical slap across the face. I laughed. I actually laughed out loud. My jaw clenched so tight it ached, but I did not utter another word. My phone buzzed. The alumni group chat was blowing up. “Holy crap, can anyone else feel the walls shaking from Ashly and Carter’s room?” “I swear I just heard him call her a wild thing!” “It is official! We are definitely getting good news tomorrow morning!” Notification after notification popped onto my screen. My thumb hovered over the glowing glass until the screen finally timed out and went black. I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, leaned back against the leather headrest, and closed my eyes. The only sound was the quiet hum of my car engine. The second the sun rose, I checked out of the hotel. I drove straight to our apartment and packed my suitcases. Sitting at the terminal, just as my flight was called for boarding, I sent one final message to the group chat. “Sorry everyone. Had to catch an early flight, so I took off first.” Hitting send, I powered my phone down completely. I looked out the massive glass windows, taking one final look at the city skyline. Ashly, our five years ends right here.

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1 When I drew my last breath on that icy street corner, the infected sores on my body were still oozing. People crossed the road to avoid me, whispering that I was cursed, that anyone who came near would suffer. After a contaminated needle pricked me in the ER, not a single colleague stepped in to help. I was left to rot. It all traced back to Dylan. Because of him, the Chief took away my surgical scrubs and handed me a mop, demoting me to biohazard waste duty. “Carter can no longer practice medicine,” Dylan announced to the entire floor the next day. “If he stays, he’ll bring down the hospital with malpractice lawsuits.” Everyone accepted his words as truth—everyone but me. Right after we arrived for a team retreat, news broke that a charter bus had lost its brakes and plunged off a bridge. We had switched vehicles at the last minute because Dylan had screamed a warning that boarding that bus would mean certain death. Soon, more of his “prophecies” came true. A senior doctor was stabbed by a grieving relative. An elderly patient died overnight, exactly as Dylan had foretold. The Chief had ignored Dylan’s warning that night, fighting to save the old man. Dylan simply pointed at the bleeding patient in trauma and stated calmly that he would be dead within twenty-four hours. Back then, the staff just laughed. No one took the new intern seriously when he claimed he could see people’s death countdowns. Then I opened my eyes. I was back in the trauma bay, on the very day Dylan first said he could see the reaper’s clock. The bitter resentment of my miserable death burned hot in my chest. “Hurry! Patient’s vitals are bottoming out!” A chorus of frantic voices snapped me out of my daze. An elderly mechanic, whose leg had been horribly crushed in a piece of heavy machinery, was being wheeled into the resuscitation room. “Prep for immediate surgery!” Chief Harris seamlessly snapped on his gloves, barking orders with practiced precision. The chaotic tension of the ER and the sight of the old man going into shock forced me to blink hard. What was happening? Why was I here? Wasn’t I dead? I looked down at my gloved hands, a violent tremor wracking my body. I had actually been reborn. “Don’t bother saving him, Chief. That old guy is checking out today regardless.” Before I could even process the miracle of my second chance, a cold, indifferent voice echoed through the room. Dylan, our newest intern, stood in the corner with his arms crossed. It was the exact same script, delivered with the exact same arrogant smirk. Chief Harris furrowed his brow, shooting the kid a lethal glare. “Is that how a doctor speaks? Dylan, I do not care what kind of psychic parlor tricks you think you have. This patient still has a pulse, and we do not give up!” Clearly, the rumors of Dylan’s supposed “death countdown” vision had already reached the Chief’s ears. With the Chief setting the tone, the rest of the medical staff chimed in with their own disgust. “Seriously. You just got out of med school and you are peddling this voodoo garbage? We are medical professionals!” “How are you ever going to make it in this field? We rely on evidence-based medicine, not crystal balls!” Dylan proudly lifted his chin, his tone dripping with absolute certainty. “Suit yourselves. Do not say I didn’t warn you when it all turns out to be a waste of time.” “Enough! Prep the OR now!” the Chief snapped, cutting off the intern’s nonsense. At that moment, Christina snapped on her sterile gloves and stepped forward. “Chief, why don’t we let Ben take the lead on this? He specializes in lower extremity amputations. He literally wrote his thesis on it.” The Chief nodded in agreement. I glanced over at Ben, who was already scrubbing in, and a chilling memory flooded my mind. In my previous life, Ben performed this exact surgery. The old man died anyway. The family blamed Ben, jumping him in the parking lot and slashing his hands. His surgical career was permanently destroyed, leaving his family destitute. I was given a second chance for a reason. I couldn’t let history repeat itself. “Chief!” I spoke up, stepping into the light. “Let me take the lead on this. I covered this extensively during my fellowship, and I have successfully led three similar procedures this year. I’ve got this.” Instantly, every eye in the room shifted to me. Christina furrowed her brow, glancing nervously at the fading patient. “Carter, stop messing around! You do not have the seniority for a procedure this delicate!” Christina was my girlfriend. With her leading the charge against me, the rest of the room naturally doubted my abilities too. Chief Harris and Ben both tried to talk me down, reminding me that a man’s life wasn’t a training exercise. But I had stood right beside Ben as his assistant in my past life. I knew exactly which ruptured artery was going to cause the fatal complication. Right now, there was absolutely no one in this hospital more equipped to handle this surgery than me. Dylan looked me up and down, letting out a mocking scoff. “Doesn’t matter who holds the scalpel. He isn’t living past midnight.” I ignored his smug face, pulling rank and addressing him directly. “Is this why you went to medical school? To stand in the corner and watch people die? Dylan, with an attitude like that, you will never be a real doctor.” A flash of genuine anger crossed Dylan’s face, but he quickly masked it. After putting the intern in his place, I stood my ground. Chief Harris studied my face for a long, heavy moment before finally relenting. “Alright, Carter. Do everything you can.” With the Chief’s blessing, the rest of the team had no choice but to fall in line. Once we got into the procedure, however, something felt off. The catastrophic vascular rupture that killed the man in my past life simply never happened. The amputation went incredibly smoothly, and within hours, his vitals had stabilized perfectly. Based on every medical metric available to us, the old man was completely out of the woods. I fell deep into thought, the reality of my past life’s outcome feeling more bizarre by the minute. When we emerged from the grueling surgery, word of our success had already spread. A few nurses openly mocked Dylan in the breakroom. “Oh, look out, here comes the grim reaper! Hey kid, maybe watch a little less sci-fi and read a few more textbooks.” Dylan clenched his fists, his face tight and pale. He didn’t say a word, just packed his bag and clocked out early. The shift ended peacefully, and I finally let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Christina was working the night shift, so I felt comfortable heading home to sleep. The next morning, I walked into the department to find my colleagues staring at me with absolute horror. “Carter, it’s a disaster. That old man with the amputation died last night!” “What?! How is that even possible!” I grabbed my coworker by the shoulders, my mind reeling. “We ran every post-op check! He was perfectly stable when we closed him up. How did he die?” My colleague was completely ashen. He took a shaky breath before answering. “They are saying it was a sudden, massive post-op infection. By the time Dr. Christina got to his room, he was barely breathing. The coroner picked up the body at four in the morning. He is probably already cremated by now.” My grip on his shoulders loosened. All the strength drained from my legs. What was going on? Why did he still die? Dylan stepped out of the shadows, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. “You told me I would never be a good doctor, Carter. You were dead wrong. I am going to be a brilliant doctor precisely because I know exactly who can be saved and who is already a lost cause.” His gloating made my blood boil. I pulled out my phone and dialed Christina’s number immediately. “What happened to that old man last night? Why was his body processed so incredibly fast? The Chief and I didn’t even get to review the chart!” Christina’s tone was eerily smooth, almost detached. “Carter, you need to calm down. You guys haven’t seen what Dylan can do. I get why you’re skeptical, but I believe him. He said the guy wouldn’t make it, and look what happened. The infection took him.” I felt a vein throb in my forehead. “You actually buy into this psychic garbage? Christina, you went to an Ivy League med school! Are you seriously throwing your entire medical education out the window for some parlor trick?” Before I could finish, a chaotic uproar erupted from the waiting room. “You owe us an explanation right now! My father was perfectly fine yesterday! How the hell does he just drop dead in the middle of the night!” “Is this hospital even licensed? You butchered my father!” The old man’s family had arrived, and they were out for blood. A cold spike of terror hit my chest. Remembering the flashing steel of the knife from my past life, I instinctively took a few steps back. I looked down at my phone. Christina had already hung up on me. But to my utter shock, the violent brawl never materialized. The family was loud and profane, cursing our incompetence, but nobody pulled a weapon. Nobody swung a fist. They had clearly coordinated their story beforehand. They only wanted one thing, a massive cash settlement from the hospital. The crisis was resolved with suspicious ease, leaving me entirely perplexed. No one in the department blamed me. The surgery’s success was thoroughly documented. The death was completely out of my hands, chalked up to terrible luck and a freak infection. The family had only come to collect a check. With the terrifying ordeal officially swept under the rug, Chief Harris let out a massive sigh of relief. He called a quick meeting. “We have powered through some brutal surgical rotations these past two months. Everyone is exhausted. I am requesting a budget from the board to take our entire department on a weekend camping retreat. What do you say?” The room instantly lit up. Death was a daily reality in the ER. While we respected life and fought for it, we couldn’t let every tragedy drag us into depression. “I looked up two different charter bus companies for the trip. Which one do you guys prefer?” The Chief held up his phone, showing us the options. I leaned in and felt a cold sweat break out on my neck. It was the exact same two buses from my past life. One blue, one green. I instinctively shot a glance at Dylan. He looked completely unbothered. In my previous life, we let the Chief choose. He picked the blue bus. Dylan instantly screamed that the blue bus would crash. Spooked, we switched to the green bus. And sure enough, the blue bus ended up at the bottom of a ravine. My mind raced. This time, I spoke up first, intentionally choosing the green one. “Let’s go with the green one, Chief. It looks like it has a lot more legroom.” Most of the staff favored the blue one for its larger panoramic windows, but since I voiced a preference, nobody really cared enough to argue. “Green it is, then,” the Chief finalized. The second the word left his mouth, Dylan’s head snapped up. His face twisted into a mask of pure, exaggerated horror. “Do not get on the green bus! We will all die!” His sudden scream made half the room jump out of their skin. Given how eerily accurate he had been about the old man just yesterday, seeing him look this genuinely terrified struck a nerve with several nurses. But a dark suspicion was already blooming in my mind. Last time, the Chief picked blue, and Dylan said blue was doomed. This time, I bypassed his trap and picked green, and now suddenly the green one was a death trap. Before I could call him out, Chief Harris shut him down. “Dylan, we talked about this yesterday! We are medical professionals. We do not entertain superstition!” The Chief’s firm reprimand helped ground the room. The others quickly chimed in. “Yeah, Dylan. You are new, so maybe you don’t get it. Post-op infections like that old man’s are rare, but they happen. It’s science, not fate.” “The Chief is booking top-tier corporate transit companies. Nothing is going to happen. Just relax.” Some tried to reassure him, while others were simply annoyed by his constant doom-mongering. “Do you ever stop with this creepy act? We are trying to plan a nice weekend away, and you are acting like a horror movie villain. Drop it.” One particularly blunt resident took a direct shot at Dylan’s competence. “If you have enough free time to curse your coworkers, maybe you should hit the textbooks. You hovered around the OR all day yesterday and couldn’t even hand over a clamp correctly.” Seeing the entire room united against him, Dylan sneered defensively. “Fine! Since you all worship Carter so much, take his stupid green bus! I don’t care if you live or die. I try to save your lives, and you treat me like garbage!” His dramatic outburst cast an awkward silence over the room. When it came down to a matter of life and death, even a completely irrational warning was enough to make people hesitate. Switching to the blue bus was effortless, and it had bigger windows anyway. Sensing the tension, Christina stepped in with her perfect diplomatic smile. “Okay, let’s everyone take a breath. Honestly, why don’t we just book the blue one? If there is even a fraction of a chance the green one is unsafe, why risk it? Let’s just consider it good luck. It’s practically the same price anyway.” She handed them the perfect out. The staff eagerly nodded, agreeing to switch to the blue bus. I stared at Christina, my eyes burning with a cold, analytical scrutiny. Feeling my gaze, Christina’s eyes darted away defensively before she forced a sweet, reassuring smile, acting as if she were just trying to smooth over the argument we had on the phone earlier. With Christina leading the pivot, the rest of the room finalized the blue bus. I crossed my arms and stood my ground. “If none of you are taking it, then I will pay for the green bus myself. I want to see exactly how this thing is supposed to kill me. I do not believe in ghost stories.” “Carter! Stop being so stubborn!” Christina frowned, looking deeply concerned. “I know you are still mad at me about the patient protocols last night, but this is not the time to throw a tantrum.” The other doctors quickly piled on. “Yeah, man. Just ride with us. What if something actually happens?” But my mind was made up. My voice was pure ice. “I appreciate the concern. But I am riding that green bus.” Seeing that I was entirely immune to his manipulation, Dylan’s face darkened into a nasty scowl. “Fine, Carter. If you want to play tough guy, I will start making arrangements to collect your corpse.” My temples throbbed with white-hot rage. I pointed directly at the door. “You do not need to worry about my corpse. Have you rounded on your patients today? Have you updated yesterday’s charts? You have zero medical skills and spend all day wishing death on your superiors. Get back to work!” Dylan gritted his teeth, his face flushed with humiliation, and stormed out of the room. The hatred in his eyes when he glared at me at the end of the shift was unmistakable. I didn’t care. I had zero interest in making peace with a psychopath. The next morning, I walked straight to the parking lot and stood beside the massive green charter bus. A group of my colleagues stood by the blue bus across the lot, watching me with nervous, pitying expressions. I gave them a casual wave. “Ready to hit the road, Mr. Carter?” the driver asked cheerfully, jingling his keys. “Hold on a second,” I stopped him. “When was the last time this rig was thoroughly inspected? The mountain roads are steep today. I want a full mechanical check before we roll.” “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, sir. We inspect the fleet after every run. I checked her out myself yesterday afternoon.” The driver waved off my concern, clearly annoyed by the delay. But I did not budge. “Check it again. Under the chassis. Right now, or I cancel the booking and demand a refund.” Muttering under his breath about paranoid city folks, the driver grabbed a flashlight and slid under the front axle. “Man, I’m telling you, I know my own truck, this is a waste of… Holy shit!” Hearing his panicked shout, I dropped my bag and ducked under the bus. When I saw what he was holding, my entire body began to shake. The sheer, blinding fury almost tore its way out of my chest. Meanwhile, up at the scenic mountain campground, my colleagues were descending into a panic. “Chief, it’s going straight to voicemail!” “He isn’t answering texts either. Chief, do you think something actually happened to Carter on that road?” Chief Harris paced near the picnic tables, his brow deeply furrowed. He looked over at Christina. “Christina, can you reach him?” Christina paused, a perfect look of distressed girlfriend painting her face. “I can’t get through either. Carter is just too damn stubborn! He never listens to anyone.” Dylan let out a sharp, arrogant laugh. “You guys can stop calling. You’ll probably see the news report on your feeds in an hour. Just keep refreshing Twitter.” That was a bridge too far for one of the senior nurses. “What the hell is wrong with you? Carter is strict, but he is a brilliant surgeon who looks out for us! Why are you sitting there actively praying for him to be dead?!” Dylan instantly shrank back, plastering on a pathetic, victimized expression. Christina immediately stepped between them. “Hey, back off! This isn’t Dylan’s fault. Carter made his own choices. If he had just listened to us instead of letting his ego drive, we wouldn’t be standing here worried sick!” Watching her defend him with such righteous indignation, anyone would think she and Dylan were the couple. I stood quietly behind a cluster of pine trees, taking in the entire sickening performance. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Alright, that is enough!” the Chief bellowed. “Our priority is finding Carter! Stop bickering!” Thanks to the Chief, a full-blown screaming match was narrowly avoided. Dylan, however, remained incredibly smug. “Maybe your golden boy is already wrapped around a tree! Why are you all still defending a dead man?” “Who’s dead?” I stepped out from behind the tree line, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Carter!” The relief that washed over the crowd was palpable. Dylan’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. Pure, unadulterated panic flashed across his face before he forced it into a mask of exaggerated confusion. “Y-your death countdown! It’s gone!” I walked right up to him, a mocking smile on my lips. “Yeah. I guess I beat the grim reaper.” As I spoke, I tossed the object in my hand right at his feet.

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I was scrolling through a trending post online, asking, “Who is the person you regret most?” One reply, in particular, caught my eye, and I couldn’t resist clicking on it. The person said they regretted their best friend the most, but that it was all their friend’s wife’s fault for perfectly matching their aesthetic. They also mentioned that from the moment their friend introduced them to his wife, they fell in love with her at first sight. At a graduation party, he intentionally got both his friend and his wife drunk, then had sex with his friend’s wife. He even smugly stated that his friend, who was typically so discerning in his choices, was a fool. When his wife got pregnant with his child, she lied to his friend, saying she was going on a business trip abroad. In reality, she was secretly carrying the baby in a neighboring state. Even more absurd, he didn’t consider himself a homewrecker because his marriage certificate with the woman was the legitimate one; they just hadn’t had the wedding yet. He concluded by declaring that those who are brave for love shouldn’t be ashamed, and he hoped people wouldn’t give up just because the person they liked was already taken. The reply was accompanied by a photo of a man and woman holding hands, fingers intertwined. And the thin scar on the woman’s wrist immediately told me that the female lead in the story was my own wife, Sophia. 1 I stared fixedly at the intertwined hands in the photo on the screen. The photo didn’t show faces, only two hands clasped together. The man’s hand was sharply jointed, the woman’s slender and fair, her nails neatly trimmed. And on the inner side of the woman’s cool, pale wrist, There was an extremely faint, fine raised scar, like a pale centipede lurking beneath the skin’s texture. Others might not notice this detail, but I couldn’t mistake it. Because that scar was a mark I had personally snatched from the jaws of death. Sophia and I were childhood sweethearts. From elementary to high school, we were always in the same class. Back then, Sophia wasn’t the decisive, professionally dressed executive she is today. She was gloomy, reclusive, timid, like a mushroom growing in a dark corner, Always keeping her head down, bangs obscuring her eyes, never speaking to anyone. The girls in class ostracized and even bullied her, but I was the only one willing to include her. I would retrieve her textbook when it was tossed into the trash. I would share half of my sandwich with her when she was hungry. In eighth grade, her parents were going through a messy divorce. Her volatile mother took all her anger out on Sophia, often resorting to punching and kicking. Sophia developed severe depression. I still remember that stormy afternoon. Worried about her, I climbed over the fence into her yard. Through the window of the first-floor bathroom, I saw a scene that chilled me to the bone. Sophia lay in the bathtub, the water stained a shocking crimson. On her wrist, there was a gash, deep enough to expose bone, made with a utility knife. It was me who smashed the glass, rushed in desperately, Used a towel to tightly bind her wrist, and calmly called 911. By her hospital bedside, She was as pale as paper, her eyes vacant as she looked at me, Asking, “Dan, do you not want me anymore either?” I reached out and pressed her shoulder, swearing with unwavering certainty: “I want you, Sophia. I will never, ever let you go.” From then on, I became the only light in her life. I accompanied her to therapy, gave her medication, and helped her endure countless nights battling suicidal thoughts. That scar was the brand of her depression, and even more, it was the medal of our life-and-death bond. After high school graduation, we naturally started dating. Though our paths diverged in college due to different majors, Attending two different universities in the same city, four years of long distance didn’t dilute our feelings. After graduation, I knelt on one knee with a diamond ring and proposed to her. Her eyes red, she nodded yes. We got married and have been together for four whole years now. She was always so good to me; she’d even personally brew the ginger tea when I had a cold. If I so much as frowned, she’d be anxious for ages. I always thought I was the happiest man in the world. Until tonight, when that familiar scar, In the most absurd and cruel way imaginable, Appeared in a post by a man claiming to have “had a child with his best friend’s wife.” I trembled all over, biting my lower lip until I tasted blood. With shaking hands, I tapped on the poster’s profile picture. The page loaded for a few seconds, then a cold message popped up: “Due to the user’s settings, you cannot view their profile activity.” He had blocked me. Or rather, he had blocked this account. “WindRiver”… Noah White. 2 My best friend, Noah White. We were college roommates, four years of living together, So close we’d wear the same jacket, eat from the same instant noodle cup. I considered him the closest person in this city besides Sophia. In our freshman year, I introduced Sophia to him. How could I have known that was the beginning of letting a wolf into the fold? I forced myself to calm down, exited the app, Switched to a burner account I’d never used, and re-searched to click into his profile. Hundreds of posts, like a meticulously planned, drawn-out torture, rained down on me. [Today, the baby kicked for the first time. She touched her belly, her eyes brimming with tears, and said, “This is the fruit of our love.] Attached image: A woman’s hand resting on a swollen pregnant belly. On that wrist, the faint scar was still visible. “Our first family trip. With her by my side, I fear nothing.” Attached image: A sunny beach, a little boy, perhaps two or three years old, riding on the woman’s shoulders. Only the lower half of the woman’s face was visible, a doting smile on her lips. That jawline, that curve of her smile, I had kissed countless times, familiar enough to be etched into my very bones. Like a masochist, I scrolled down, post by post. Every single photo, every single caption, aligned perfectly with Sophia’s and my memories. Three years ago, during the May Day holiday, Sophia said she was going out of town for a project evaluation. In reality, she was accompanying Noah for a prenatal check-up. Two years ago, on my birthday, Sophia said her flight was delayed and she couldn’t make it back. In reality, their child had a high fever, and she stayed up all night at the hospital. Last month, for our wedding anniversary, she gave me a limited edition watch. Then turned around and bought Noah a Porsche, with the caption: “A reward for my great hero.” What struck me as most absurd and chilling was that line: “Because his wife’s marriage certificate with mine is the real one.” I yanked open my drawer and pulled out my and Sophia’s marriage certificate. A red booklet, the seal clear, our faces in the photo beaming with sweetness. I remembered that graduation party. Everyone was so happy that day. Noah kept pulling me into drinking games. My tolerance for alcohol wasn’t great to begin with, and after a few drinks, I blacked out. When I woke up the next day, I was in a hotel room, my head throbbing. Sophia sat by the bed, her eyes bloodshot, gripping my hand tightly, saying: “Dan, I drank too much last night and didn’t take good care of you. I’m sorry.” At the time, I thought she was just blaming herself for not stopping me from drinking. Now, looking back, her apology wasn’t about my getting drunk at all. It was because, on that night I lost consciousness, She and my best friend were having sex in the room next door! Later, Noah suddenly came to me, red-eyed, and said he’d broken up with his girlfriend and wanted to go abroad to clear his head. I, like an idiot, went to the airport to see him off, Patting his shoulder, comforting him for a long time, telling him to take good care of himself. Turns out he never went abroad! He was just in the next state, waiting for my wife to give him a child, Complacently enjoying Sophia’s care, And openly mocking me, the oblivious husband, on social media! My stomach churned. I rushed into the bathroom and dry-heaved violently into the toilet. Nothing came up, just a mouthful of bitter, sour bile. I looked at myself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, face ashen. I suddenly felt that the past four years of stability and happiness were like a soap bubble. It had looked radiant and dreamlike, but now, popped, there was nothing left but emptiness. I didn’t cry. Tears seemed too cheap in the face of such extreme anger and shock. 3 I picked up my phone again, opened Noah White’s anonymous account, And searched for clues in his photos, despite not showing faces. In one picture, a window was half-open, And faintly visible outside was the spire of a building. It was the iconic Seastar TV Tower, a landmark in H City, the neighboring state. In the corner of another photo, there was a distinctive chain coffee shop sign. In yet another picture, the stone lions at the entrance of a residential complex were vaguely captured. In less than half an hour, I had pinpointed Noah’s exact location: H City, the Cypress Grove Luxury Villa Area. Less than three kilometers from a large amusement park. Without a moment’s hesitation, I got up, changed into comfortable athletic wear, Grabbed my car keys and all my identification, and headed to the garage. The moment I started the engine, my mind was exceptionally clear. I didn’t want to hysterically question her over the phone, nor did I want to listen to her explanations filled with lies. I wanted to see it with my own eyes. To see the woman I had saved with my life, to see the friend I had treated with all my heart. How they secretly trampled my dignity, building their happy little family of three. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the force. Images from the past decade flashed through my mind like a movie. That year, when Sophia was sixteen, her mother beat her until her head bled, and she hid in our guest room, Clutching my shirt like a wounded kitten, saying, “Dan, I only have you.” That year, when I was twenty-two, I knelt with a diamond ring, My eyes glistening with tears: “Sophia, I’ll love you with my life, forever.” Just last week, she was still gently straightening my tie, saying softly: “Honey, let’s have a baby. A handsome little prince, just like you.” And on the other side, there was Noah in our college dorm, patting his chest and telling me: “Dan, if anyone ever dares to bully you, I, Noah White, will be the first to tear them apart!” It was him at the airport before he left, his eyes red, patting my shoulder: “Dan, you must be happy.” These images intertwined, Finally settling on that photo of intertwined hands on the social media post, And that jarring line: “His wife often comes to see us now, and our family of three is very happy.” Sophia, I never knew you were such a skilled actress. I arrived early at the amusement park entrance in H City and rested for a bit. The next morning, Noah’s anonymous account updated. [Good morning! Off to the amusement park! Dressed the little one in the cutest bear outfit today!] The accompanying photo was a selfie of him in the passenger seat, The background showing the interior of Sophia’s familiar black Maybach. I waited by the entrance, like a hunter lying in wait, for them to arrive. “Mommy! Let’s go on the carousel!” A clear, childish voice called out not far behind me. “Okay, okay, whatever you want to ride, Mommy will go with you.” The woman’s gentle, doting voice, Like a poisoned blade, pierced my eardrums with precise accuracy. Sophia. Even in a bustling crowd, Even just a short, coaxing phrase to a child, I could never mistake that voice. I rigidly turned around, About fifteen meters away, through the jostling crowd, I saw them. It was truly a dazzling yet harmonious scene. Sophia wore a casual white shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing that scarred wrist. She was looking down at a little boy, about three years old, dressed in a bear outfit, Her face alight with a mother’s tender smile. Noah stood beside her, Wearing a light blue hooded sweatshirt, his short hair neat, Wiping sweat from the little boy’s face with a tissue. He looked at Sophia with eyes full of love and devotion. They stood together, a handsome couple with an adorable child, Anyone who saw them would exclaim: “What a happy family of three.” I stood rooted to the spot, feeling all the sounds around me fade away in that moment. I thought I had prepared myself mentally, I thought I had already exhausted all my heartache on the drive here. But when this bloody truth, these living people stood before me, I realized that the pain of being betrayed by those closest and dearest to me, Was beyond words. It was like someone had reached into my chest, Crushing my heart into pieces while it was still alive, Then stuffing the mangled flesh back into place. I followed closely behind them, Almost masochistically watching their happy family enjoy the entire day. Until numbness set in. In the afternoon, the child clamored for ice cream, Sophia turned to join the queue. Noah held the child’s hand, waiting for her under the shade of a tree. The little boy had a red rubber toy ball in his hand, idly bouncing it on the ground. Suddenly, the little boy’s hand slipped, The toy ball flew out of his control, Rolling across the ground towards me. Noah was looking down at his phone, Not noticing the child’s ball had gotten away. The red toy ball stopped right at my feet. The little boy ran breathlessly up to me. He was truly a very handsome child, His eyes and eyebrows were so much like Sophia’s, but his nose and mouth resembled Noah’s. The little boy looked up, His clear eyes fixed on me, and he said in a sweet, childish voice: “Uncle, can you give me my ball back?” I took a deep breath, slowly knelt down, Picked up the red ball, and handed it to him. “Thank you, Uncle!” The little boy happily took the ball, And flashed a bright smile. “Leo! Don’t run off!” Not far away, Noah finally realized the child was gone, And anxiously looked up, searching around. When his gaze swept across the crowd, And landed on the little boy holding the ball, He let out a sigh of relief. Then, his eyes followed the little boy, And found me, kneeling in front of him. I slowly stood up, Took off my sunglasses, And calmly met his gaze.

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1 I returned from a business trip a day early. The fingerprint lock on my own villa had been replaced. After I rang the doorbell, a strange man in my husband’s pajamas opened it. He looked at me with disgust and called me trash, telling me not to dirty his new carpet. Our housekeeper, Brenda, rushed out and pushed me onto the porch. With a fake smile, she said her son and his fiancée were visiting and asked me to stay at a motel instead. She even offered to deduct the days from her salary as a “favor.” I laughed bitterly. “I pay you to work for me, and you act like the lady of the manor?” Seeing I wouldn’t comply, Brenda’s face hardened. She went back inside and loudly called me a crazy beggar, then slammed the door in my face. I heard her son laughing inside, complaining about security. Furious, I stood outside my own home. For three years, my busy job and my husband Marcus’s classified military service kept me away. I’d hired Brenda to make life easier. Now, I realized I’d been nurturing a viper. Without another word, I took out my phone and dialed Marcus’s secure line. … The sound of howling wind crackled on the other end of the line before I heard his voice. “Josie?” he asked, his tone instantly sharp with concern. “Why are you calling this number? What’s wrong?” I fought to keep my voice steady. “Honey, the housekeeper has taken over the house. She changed the locks and locked me out.” The wind on his end seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Then, Marcus’s voice returned, colder than ice. “We’re just wrapping up a mission here. I can be there in ninety minutes, tops. Call the police. And stay safe.” I swallowed my rage. “Okay. You be safe, too.” After hanging up, I dialed 911. “Hello, I’m at Willow Creek Estates, Villa A. Someone has broken into my home and is illegally occupying my property. Please send officers immediately.” Once I was off the phone, I instinctively walked toward the driveway. What I saw sent a fresh wave of fire through my veins. My Porsche Cayenne, worth over a quarter of a million dollars, was parked there. And tied to the hood was a ridiculously huge, tacky red bow. Brenda wasn’t just using my house—she was giving away my assets as a wedding gift for her son. I was constantly flying for business, and Marcus was a ghost, home only a few days a year. I’d hired Brenda through a reputable agency to look after the empty villa, paying her a very generous salary. In all this time, I had never brought Marcus here, nor did I talk about him much. Brenda had tried to pry a few times, but I couldn’t be bothered to explain, simply saying I lived alone. I never thought my privacy would give her the audacity to stage this cuckoo’s nest takeover. Less than five minutes later, two community security guards pulled up in a patrol cart. “What’s going on? Who’s causing a disturbance at a resident’s home?” The head of security, a man named Frank, hopped out. He froze when he saw me. “Mrs. Scott? What are you doing out here? We got a call about a disturbance.” I pointed at the locked door. “Frank, my fingerprint lock has been changed. The people inside won’t let me in.” Frank’s expression turned grim. He marched to the door and pounded on it. “This is community security! Open the door immediately!” The door creaked open, and Brenda’s face appeared. She didn’t even flinch at the sight of the guards. Instead, she started shrieking, “What’s with all the banging! If you break it, can you afford to replace it?” Frank’s face was stony. “Brenda! Mrs. Scott is the legal owner of this villa. What right does a housekeeper have to change the locks? Step aside, now!” Brenda rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “Owner? Frank, are you blind?” she spat. “This house is mine now! Who the hell is Josephine Scott? She’s just a bankrupt tramp!” Frank actually laughed. “Brenda, have you lost your mind? The property records in our system clearly list Mrs. Scott as the owner. Stop this nonsense!” “Who’s talking nonsense!” Brenda sneered, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and shoving it into Frank’s chest. “Read it and weep! This is a property transfer agreement! Josephine’s company went bust, she’s drowning in debt, and she sold the house to me!” My eyes narrowed. I snatched the so-called agreement from Frank’s hand. One glance was all it took for the icy rage in my heart to boil over. The paper was a crudely printed set of transfer terms, but at the bottom, there it was: my authentic signature and my personal seal. It all clicked into place. Over the past three years, to make things convenient while I was away, I had left Brenda a few blank, signed, and sealed power of attorney forms for any urgent property matters. I never imagined that my trust would become her tool for forgery and theft. I stared at her, my voice dangerously low. “Brenda, do you have any idea what the prison sentence is for forgery and fraud? You’ll be rotting in a cell for the rest of your life.” The mention of prison made her flinch, but she quickly recovered, puffing out her chest. “Don’t you try to scare an honest woman! You’re just a jinx, a broke widow trying to shake us down! I’m telling you, today my son is meeting his fiancée Tiffany’s parents. Don’t you dare bring your bad luck here. Get lost!” Just as she finished, her son, Rick, swaggered out, still wearing Marcus’s pajamas. On his arm was a young woman in a strikingly familiar Chanel dress. And slung over her shoulder was my limited-edition Hermès Birkin bag, the one I kept in the display case by the entrance. She rolled her eyes. “Ricky, baby, why is this crazy woman still here? What kind of security does this fancy neighborhood have, letting beggars in?” Rick patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Tiff. This woman used to employ my mom. Then her husband kicked the bucket and her business went belly-up. The shock must’ve fried her brain. My mom’s got a soft heart, so she throws her some scraps now and then. Looks like she’s having an episode today and won’t leave.” Tiffany’s parents, who were standing behind them, exchanged looks of dawning comprehension. Her father, a portly man, cleared his throat officiously. “Ah, so she’s mentally ill. Rick, your family is just too kind. People like that belong in an asylum.” Her mother chimed in, “Exactly. This villa is lovely, great location and all, but having a lunatic camped out on the doorstep… What would our friends and family think? It’s just not a good look.” Brenda scurried over to them, her face beaming. “You’re absolutely right! I’ll have security get rid of her right now!” She turned to Frank and barked, “Frank! What are you and your boys waiting for? Can’t you see this lunatic is bothering us homeowners? Throw her out!” Frank was so angry his face turned purple. He tightened his grip on his baton. “Brenda, you’ve gone too far. We know exactly who the owner is. You think some fake paper is enough to steal a multi-million dollar estate? The law isn’t a joke!” Rick sneered and stepped forward, jabbing a finger in Frank’s face. “You’re just a mall cop, so who do you think you’re kidding? My mom says this house is hers, so it’s hers! You say one more word, and I’ll have the management company fire your ass tomorrow!” I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh at Rick’s pathetic, triumphant face. “Fire him? Rick, do you even know how much the annual HOA fees are for this place?” He stiffened, then blustered, “Like I care about a few bucks? I drive a Porsche, you idiot!” He proudly pointed at the Cayenne with the big red bow. My gaze turned colder. “That’s my car.” That set Tiffany off. She let go of Rick’s arm and stormed up to me, her finger in my face. “Have you no shame, you psycho? Now Rick’s car is yours too? Why don’t you just say you own the whole neighborhood! Look at you, in your cheap clothes. You’re not wearing fifty bucks worth of fabric, and you dare to pretend you’re rich? I’m warning you, get out of here!” As she shrieked, she gave me a hard shove. I was already exhausted from days of travel. The violent push sent me stumbling backward, my spine slamming hard against the doorframe. A sharp pain shot through me. Frank rushed to steady me. “Hey! What are you doing? You can’t just assault people!” Tiffany tossed her head back defiantly. “So what if I hit her? A broke, crazy widow shows up at my new home causing trouble. I should have done more than just push her!” Brenda clapped her hands in approval. “That’s right, Tiffany! You’ve got to show trash like this who’s boss! Rick, go get that golf club. If she doesn’t leave, we’ll break her legs!” I pushed myself upright, waving Frank away. My eyes, cold as ice, scanned the pathetic circus of clowns before me. “Good,” I said softly. “Excellent. Breaking and entering, forgery, grand theft auto, larceny… and now you can add assault and battery to the list. None of you are going anywhere today.” Just then, the wail of sirens grew closer, and a police car screeched to a halt. Four officers got out. “Who called the police?” I stepped forward. “I did, Officer.” The moment Brenda saw the police, she transformed into a victim. She slapped her thigh and began to wail, tears streaming down her face. “Officers! Thank God you’re here! You have to help us poor, honest folk!” She pointed a trembling finger at me. “This crazy woman, she used to be my boss. But her husband died, her company went bankrupt, and she’s drowning in debt! She sold me this house, and now she’s going back on her word, trying to claim it’s still hers!” Rick quickly handed the forged agreement to the lead officer. “Officer, look, this is the property transfer agreement she signed herself. It’s all there in black and white!” The officer took the paper, his brow furrowing as he read it. He turned to me. “Ma’am, is the signature and seal on this document yours?” I met his gaze without flinching. “The signature and seal are mine. The content of the agreement is a forgery. She used a blank power of attorney form I left with her and printed this herself.” Brenda jumped up and down. “You’re lying! Who in their right mind would leave a blank, signed form with their housekeeper? You’re just jealous because my son found a beautiful fiancée and you want to ruin our happiness and steal the house back!” Tiffany’s parents added their voices to the chorus. “Officer, we saw it with our own eyes! This woman was acting completely unhinged. She’s clearly not stable. You should arrest her!” The officer’s face was grim. He looked at me. “Ma’am, your word against theirs isn’t enough. Can you provide a deed, or any other documents proving you own this house?” I felt my pockets, then remembered. The copies were in the car, and Rick had the keys. “My documents are in the car. They took my keys.” I gestured to the Cayenne in the driveway. Rick immediately clutched his pocket. “Don’t listen to her lies! This car is mine! The registration is in my name!” I froze. How could the registration be in his name? Looking at Brenda’s smug, fearless expression, I understood everything. In these three years, she hadn’t just learned my schedule; she had been systematically plotting this takeover, laying the groundwork piece by piece. I gave her one last, cold look before pulling out my phone and calling my assistant, Lynn. “Bring the original deed for the Willow Creek villa, and the purchase invoice and all the paperwork for the Cayenne. Get here now.” Hanging up, I turned back to the police. “Officer, my assistant is on her way with the original documents. In the meantime, you can check the registration information with the community management office. It will prove who I am.” Frank immediately spoke up. “That’s right, Officer! I can vouch for her. Mrs. Scott is the sole owner of this villa. It’s all on record in the community’s system!” The officer nodded and sent one of his colleagues to verify the information. Seeing this, a flash of panic crossed Brenda’s eyes. She tugged on Rick’s sleeve. He got the message. His eyes darted around, then fixed on my neck. He suddenly shouted, “Officer! She’s not just a con artist, she’s a thief!” His shout drew everyone’s attention. He pointed at me. “That necklace she’s wearing! I bought that for Tiffany as an engagement gift! I left it on the living room table yesterday, and today it was gone. She must have stolen it!” All eyes snapped to my neck. Hanging there was a simple black cord. At its end rested a single, smooth, brass bullet casing. It wasn’t just a trinket. It was the casing from a bullet that had nearly killed Marcus during a mission on the border years ago. He’d pulled it from his own body armor. He had personally polished it until it was smooth, engraving our initials inside. It was my good luck charm, my talisman. It had no monetary value, but to me, it was more precious than this multi-million dollar estate. When Tiffany heard it was supposedly her engagement gift, her eyes lit up. Forgetting the police were even there, she lunged at me like a feral animal, her hands grabbing for the necklace. “You shameless thief! You dare steal my engagement present? Give it back!” Panic seized me. I clutched the bullet casing to my chest, yelling, “Get off me! Don’t touch it!” Her sharp nails dug into my neck, leaving long, burning scratches. When she couldn’t pry my hands away, she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the back of my hand. A searing pain shot through me, and my grip loosened involuntarily. Tiffany seized her chance and yanked with all her might. Snap. The cord broke. The bullet casing fell to the ground, bouncing twice on the stone walkway. Tiffany looked down and saw it was just an old piece of brass. Her face twisted in disgust. “What is this piece of junk?” she shrieked. “Ricky, baby, you told me you were getting me a ten-carat diamond! What is this garbage?” Complaining loudly, she lifted her high-heeled shoe and brought it down hard on the small casing, grinding it into the stone. “Don’t you touch that!” I screamed, a primal fury erupting from deep within me. I shoved Tiffany with all my strength, scrambling for the bullet casing on the ground. She stumbled back with a shriek and fell to the ground. Rick saw this and roared, “You hit my fiancée? You’re dead!” He lunged forward and kicked me, hard, in the shoulder. I collapsed, a sharp, cracking pain exploding from my joint. The police surged forward, slamming Rick against the wall. “Stop! Assaulting someone in front of a police officer? Have you lost your mind?” Rick struggled, still shouting, “You saw it! She hit my fiancée first! She’s a thief and she’s violent! Arrest her! She should be locked up!” Brenda threw herself to the ground, wailing and flailing. “Oh, the injustice! Stealing our house, our car, and now beating people up! Officers, you have to arrest this psycho! My son was just defending his fiancée!” Tiffany’s parents rushed to help their daughter up, pointing at me and screaming, “You lunatic! If our daughter is hurt, we’ll sue you for everything you have!” Slowly, I pushed myself up from the ground, my hand clenched tightly around the bullet casing. The brass was tough, but the heel of her shoe had gouged deep scratches across its surface. The initials Marcus had carved were half-obliterated. My entire body was trembling. My eyes were bloodshot with rage. These people. They occupied my home, drove my car, stole my bag, and now, they had tried to destroy the one thing I held most sacred. I lifted my head, my gaze locking onto Rick and Tiffany. “You,” I said, my voice shaking with a cold, terrifying calm, “are going to pay.” Rick just sneered. “Yeah? You and what army? You’re a broke widow, you think you’re so tough? I could kill you right now and no one would care!” Tiffany smirked from the ground. “That’s right! I stepped on your stupid trash, so what? What are you gonna do about it? Sue me?” And then, a deafening roar tore through the sky. Three sleek, black combat helicopters sliced through the air, circling low over the estate. The powerful downdraft from their rotors whipped the trees in the yard into a frenzy. Following them, a convoy of eight black, armored SUVs came screaming down the road, moving with a brutal, unstoppable force.

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It had been twelve months since my husband and I started our family, but my stepdaughter remained stubbornly distant. At my wit’s end, I posted online, asking for advice: How could I improve my relationship with my stepdaughter? Netizens offered various suggestions, and one with the most likes said: “Try bonding with her over complaining about your husband.” Spurred on by the comments, I impulsively decided to give it a shot. That evening, I walked to my stepdaughter’s door and knocked softly. I told her, “Honestly, your dad’s cooking isn’t really that great.” 1 After that sentence, The air hung heavy for a full ten seconds. I was instantly filled with regret. Ever since Mia’s mom passed away, it had just been her and her dad, leaning on each other. And here I was, complaining about her dad right to her face. Had I lost my mind? My palms were sweating. Just as I was about to apologize, The little girl’s questioning eyes suddenly lit up. “You think it’s bad too?” It was the first time she’d shown such an animated expression around me. Usually, she was so reserved. She pulled the door open and gestured me inside. Truth be told, I hadn’t been this nervous even on my wedding day. This was my first time entering her room. The little girl’s room was impeccably neat. A poster of a female celebrity adorned the wall, and her desk was covered with various standees of her idol. Her dad always said her idol worship was a waste of time. But I didn’t see it that way. As long as the idol was a positive influence and gave her strength, it couldn’t be a bad thing. She was a neat freak, so I didn’t dare sit on her bed. I stood by her desk, recalling the comments under my post. The netizens said the quickest way to bond with someone was to gossip together. I cleared my throat, gathering my courage. “Tell me about it.” “Your dad’s cooking is like a culinary crime scene – taste, smell, and presentation, all forfeited.” “If I didn’t know him better, I’d suspect he was trying to poison me.” I intentionally put on a performance of deep suffering, all while watching my stepdaughter’s reaction. She didn’t get angry. Instead, her eyes widened, as if she’d found a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor, and was thrilled. “Oh? I thought you always ate so happily. I really thought I was the only one who found it inedible.” “Pffft.” I sighed dramatically. “I was faking it. Honestly, I never really felt full.” “Me neither!” She pulled open a drawer, revealing a stash of snacks. Pfft! We looked at each other and shared a laugh. But quickly, her smile faded, and the indifferent expression returned. “I need to do my homework.” Being ushered out of the room didn’t upset me at all. Instead, I felt a little happy. That was the most she’d spoken to me all year. It seemed like you really could learn things online. 2 I quickly opened my post to share the good news with the netizens. [Thanks everyone for the advice! I just tried bonding with my stepdaughter over her dad’s awful cooking, and guess what? Not only did she not get mad, but she invited me into her room and we spoke eight whole sentences! I’m so happy! What should I do next to keep building our relationship, fam?] I hadn’t expected so many people to follow my thread. I immediately received a flood of replies. The netizen who first gave me the advice seemed shocked. [OMG, Auntie, I was just being sarcastic! I didn’t expect you to actually go for it?!] “Sarcastic”? Isn’t that an adjective? I didn’t quite get it. [I thought you meant to imply that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.] Below that, a string of “hahahahas.” But there were also some genuinely helpful suggestions. [From your description, it sounds like your stepdaughter is afraid to give her dad feedback. So why don’t you be the “bad guy” and talk to your husband? That way, you won’t have to eat bad food, and you’ll look good in your stepdaughter’s eyes.] After Mia’s mom passed, my husband, Liam, always felt he owed his daughter something. He’d come home from work every day and cook dinner himself. But his culinary skills were, to put it mildly, questionable. The quality was purely a roll of the dice; the seasoning, a stroke of luck. When I offered to cook, he wouldn’t hear of it. And Mia was such a sweet, considerate kid; she didn’t want to hurt her dad’s feelings, so she never said anything. I didn’t feel comfortable bringing it up either. But now, I had to. I’d noticed the stack of snacks in the little girl’s drawer; they were all high-calorie, low-nutrition junk. She was at an age when she needed proper growth, how could she fill up on that every day? Dinner. Liam had prepared three dishes. Candied Braised Pork. Berry-Stewed Ribs. Kiwi Scrambled Eggs. My eyes nearly rolled back into my head. Mia walked out of her room, saw the dishes on the table, and her face went completely blank. Liam, being the oblivious sweetheart he was, didn’t notice a thing. He happily began to share his “innovative” creations. “Mia, you said this morning you wanted tomato scrambled eggs, right? We were out of tomatoes, but I had a flash of inspiration and used kiwi instead! Try it, tell me if it’s good.” Mia’s lips twitched, as if she was struggling. “Dad, maybe…” The words caught in her throat. She glanced at the few gray hairs at her father’s temples, then quietly picked up a piece of the dish and put it in her mouth. “It’s good.” Liam, taking her at her word, eagerly picked up his chopsticks to add more to Mia’s plate. Seeing the look of sheer dread on her face, my heart ached. But if I spoke plainly, I’d crush Liam’s efforts. After some thought, I decided to be more subtle. “Hahahaha, I feel so bad for this poor pig.” Father and daughter looked up at me in confusion. I picked up a piece of braised pork, coated in crushed cranberries. “Isn’t it tragic? Even after it died, it had to endure this humiliation.” Mia’s pupils dilated. Liam’s face cycled through shades of red and white. “Ava, are you saying my cooking is bad?” “No, no!” I quickly waved my hands. “Your cooking isn’t bad, it just… lacks a certain something in flavor and presentation.” “Honestly, cooking doesn’t need so much ‘inspiration.’ We can just stick to the basics.” Liam’s face grew darker. But for some reason, the more I spoke, the more I wanted to say. I picked up a piece of the green scrambled egg. “Take this dish, for example. If you really don’t have tomatoes, you could just make a plain fried egg or steamed egg, instead of using kiwi.” “And these ribs, I racked my brain and still can’t imagine anyone using berries to stew them.” “Other people cook to win over someone’s stomach; you cook to get rid of ours!” I’d told myself to be tactful, but once I opened my mouth, it was like a machine gun, words just spraying out. I immediately realized my mistake and was about to apologize when Liam, face stormy, stalked back into his room. Then I got mad. Why couldn’t he take criticism when his food was genuinely bad? I summarily dumped all the dishes into the trash. Heading into the kitchen, I grabbed a spatula. 3 Half an hour later. “Mia, I just whipped up a couple of new dishes. Would you like to try some?” “No thanks.” Her voice was flat, her head still buried in her books. But the next second, a telltale rumbling sound echoed in the air. I suppressed a smile. “I accidentally made too much. Could you help me finish some?” After a moment of hesitation, she pushed herself out of her chair. “I just don’t want to waste food.” She was still just a kid. Even her stubbornness was adorable. The honey-glazed chicken wings and sliced beef with peppers on the table were still steaming. She picked up a chicken wing. Honestly, I was a little worried. I had no idea if my cooking would suit her taste. Watching her take a bite, my palms were sweating with anticipation. Her eyes widened slightly. “You… you really made this?” I nodded, my heart practically in my throat. “It’s even better than restaurant food.” My suspended heart finally settled back into place. I couldn’t help but smile, feeling warm and sweet inside. “If it’s good, eat plenty. We’re not leaving any for your stubborn old man.” Speaking of Liam, I couldn’t resist another jab. “Can you believe that big tough guy, so sensitive? Two words and he’s hiding in his room.” “And sensitive isn’t even the worst part, his taste is awful. Every time we go shopping, he drags me along to buy clothes. I’m already well past my prime, and he still tries to get me into pink dresses. How am I supposed to wear that out?” “But you’re even worse off. You’re in high school and still have to wear the Hello Kitty T-shirts he buys.” I prattled on, not noticing the change in the little girl’s expression. “Are you saying… all those ugly clothes in my closet, my dad picked them out?” Unaware of the shift in her tone, I nodded honestly. “Yeah, I told him you’re a big girl now, and wearing such childish things would get you laughed at by your classmates. But he wouldn’t have it, said he knew you best and you’d definitely love them.” The words were barely out of my mouth when she suddenly put down her bowl. “I’m full.” With that, she turned and went back to her room, the door closing with a soft thud. She’d barely touched the food on the table. My heart instantly seized with panic. Did she get upset because I kept complaining about her dad? Ugh, it’s all my fault, I was too eager. I should have taken things step by step. Because of this, my mood was also quite low. That night, Liam thought I was still mad at him. He suddenly put down his phone and solemnly apologized. “I’m sorry.” Seeing me stare blankly, he awkwardly shifted his gaze. “I sent pictures of my cooking to my buddy, and he said it was a ‘culinary crime,’ that no normal person could eat it.” “And you two put up with it for so long.” The more he spoke, the lower his head dropped. “Honestly, today I just had a bit of a bruised ego, that’s why I was intentionally sulking.” “But don’t worry, I’ve adjusted now, and I deeply recognize my mistakes.” “You’re right, cooking just needs to be simple, no need for so much innovation.” “Starting tomorrow, I’ll stick to basic cooking, no more fancy stuff.” Seeing his earnest expression, half of the gloom in my heart dissipated. 4 After my first husband passed away, many people tried to set me up. Liam wasn’t the most eligible bachelor, but he was the easiest to get along with. Some men, despite having been divorced three or four times themselves, still had the nerve to look down on me for being a second wife. Others were even more absurd, demanding I bear him sons right away, with such exaggerated confidence you’d think he had a royal throne to inherit. Then I’d ask about his salary, and it would be less than mine. When my friend first introduced me to Liam, I was a bit hesitant, fearing another oddball. But at our first meeting, he was surprisingly normal. We went to a trendy barbecue spot, popular with young people. Liam said little, spending the whole time grilling meat for me. This reminded me of my previous blind date. He’d declared that men shouldn’t be in the kitchen, so from the moment he sat down, his hands never moved. He just waited for me to cook, all while rambling on and on, his saliva splattering onto the grill. When he demanded three sons, living with his mother after marriage, and me handing over my entire paycheck, I finally couldn’t take it anymore and just asked the waiter for the bill. Of course, I only paid for my half. So, seeing Liam act so normally, I was actually a little unaccustomed to it. After a few more dates, I realized he truly was a good man. He was kind to me, honest, humble, generous, and willing to admit his mistakes and improve. After a year of dating, we got married. Life after marriage was uneventful, but happy. The only fly in the ointment was Mia, who still refused to accept me. I knew Liam had tried hard to bridge the gap behind the scenes. And I knew he was torn between us. But since I’d decided to spend my life with him, I couldn’t just hide and do nothing. We had to face problems together. Before going to bed, I checked my phone for the thread. Many comments were asking for updates. It was late, and I didn’t plan to reply. But I couldn’t figure out what had happened. One moment, she was praising my cooking, the next she slammed her bowl down and left? The netizens were smarter than me; I decided to ask them for their analysis. I typed out everything that happened at the dinner table, recounting it in detail in the comments section. Unexpectedly, I received many replies almost immediately. [From Auntie’s description, it seems like the stepdaughter’s face changed when clothes were mentioned. Could it be related to the clothes?] [There’s a stepmom in my neighborhood who dresses her own daughter beautifully but makes her stepdaughter wear her old, shabby clothes. It’s so bad that the poor kid can’t even hold her head up at school.] [Combining that with Auntie saying her stepdaughter was polite at first, then suddenly became very cold, I have a bold guess: could the stepdaughter think Auntie deliberately bought her ugly clothes to humiliate her, and that’s why she holds a grudge against Auntie?] It hit me like a ton of bricks. Every time Liam gave Mia new clothes, he’d say: “Your Aunt Ava and I bought these for you when we were shopping.” Oh no, Mia wouldn’t actually believe I bought those ugly clothes, would she? The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Looking at Liam, who was sleeping like a log next to me, I couldn’t stand it. I slapped him. Waking with a start, he was utterly bewildered. “Ava, I just dreamt someone hit me.” I pulled the covers over. “There was a mosquito on your face. I shooed it away for you.” The next day after work, I made a huge spread of dishes. I planned to clear up the misunderstanding with Liam and Mia as soon as they got home. The doorbell suddenly rang. It was Mia’s aunt, Diana. I quickly opened the door and welcomed her in. “Diana, you’re here! Dinner’s just ready, would you like to—” “Stop pretending!” Her words cut me off before I could finish. I was a bit taken aback. “Diana, what do you mean by that?” She looked at me coldly, scrutinizing me with disgust. “You’ve got some nerve, you know? A woman who’s been used and discarded, marrying Mia’s dad and living in such a nice house.” “Ever since he married you, Mia’s dad has barely spent any time with us.” “And you’re still not satisfied? You even run to a child to sow discord.” “Are you hoping they cut ties with all their relatives?” “They were right, after all. Stepmoms are never any good!” She was a few years older than me, and Mia’s aunt. Normally, if she said a few harsh words, I’d let it go. But now she was openly slandering me. We’re all just trying to live our lives. Why should I endlessly tolerate her?

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