Category: English

I lay on the freezing asphalt, the sheer, blinding agony of a shattered spine pinning me to the earth. Blood pooled in my eyes, turning the world into a red haze, yet my vision locked onto the pristine SUV that had just plowed into me. The door swung open. My sister-in-law stepped out, her hand wrapped tightly around my daughter’s. Eight years ago, Camille came to my apartment in the middle of the night, drenched in rain and shivering violently. Damon, her golden-boy first love, had abandoned her. She had just found out she was pregnant. She fell into my arms, weeping, begging me to give her unborn baby a home. I said yes. I didn’t just marry her; I buried the secret of the child’s paternity so deep it practically ceased to exist. I loved little Ruby as my own flesh and blood. I even gave up my right to ever have biological children—quietly getting a vasectomy so there would never be a sliver of doubt or divided loyalty in our home. Now, my fingers twitched on the wet pavement. I reached out, my voice a wet, trembling rasp. “Get Ruby out of here. Please… don’t let her see this.” Bianca, my sister-in-law, stepped forward and viciously kicked my bleeding hand away. “Do you honestly still think you’re her father?” she spat, her eyes alight with a terrifying malice. “You’re nothing but Camille’s pathetic little lapdog. You will never replace Damon.” A cold dread, far worse than the physical trauma, seized my chest. I turned my head slightly, looking at the little girl I had raised for eight years. “Ruby…” I breathed. But her soft, round face was contorted with a coldness that chilled me to the bone. “Don’t call my name!” Ruby yelled, shrinking away in disgust. “You’re a liar! You stole my real daddy’s place. I want to watch you turn into a cripple, and then Mommy is going to throw you away!” 1 I collapsed back against the pavement. The light drained from the sky. As the blood seeped out of me, carrying my life with it, my heart turned entirely to ash. The darkness pulled me under. When I finally woke, the world was sterile and white. I was tethered to a hospital bed, a labyrinth of tubes running into my veins, an oxygen mask strapped over my face, and a catheter snaking beneath the sheets. The door pushed open. Camille walked in, dragging Ruby by the hand. Ruby dragged her feet, her small face scrunched up in profound annoyance. “Why do we have to be here? I don’t want to look at him! He’s a liar and I hate him!” “He just took a little tumble, he’s not even hurt,” the eight-year-old whined. “He’s just laying in bed trying to trick us again!” “Mommy, he’s faking it! He always lies!” Camille immediately turned her sharp, accusing glare on me. “What exactly did you do to her, Everett?” she demanded. “Why is she suddenly so terrified of you?” “You promised me you would raise her right. You promised you’d be a role model. And here you are, apparently lying to her face? What kind of father does that?” Ruby thrashed against her mother’s grip, her wooden doll swinging wildly and smashing directly into my fresh surgical wounds. A blinding, white-hot pain tore through my torso. “He’s not my daddy! He hits me!” Ruby wailed, burying her face into Camille’s coat, sobbing theatrically. Camille’s eyes darkened with a familiar, terrifying rage. Without a second of hesitation, she leaned over the bed and slapped me across the face. “How dare you ever lay a hand on my daughter!” The force of her palm cracked against my cheekbone, violently dislodging my oxygen mask. Anyone else in the world might have bought Ruby’s lie, but Camille? Camille knew better. I treated that little girl like she was the center of my universe. I had carried her on my shoulders through every zoo and park in the tri-state area. I held her hands when she took her first clumsy steps. I taught her the cadence of her first words. I was the one who showed Camille how to properly test the temperature of her midnight bottles. Once, during a hike in the Adirondacks, Camille lost her grip on Ruby’s hand on a steep descent. To keep the toddler from tumbling down the jagged rocks, I threw my body beneath hers, taking the brunt of the fall. I still had the faded white scar across the bridge of my nose to prove it. I didn’t have the breath to defend myself, and frankly, I no longer had the desire to. I simply turned my head, staring out the window at the bleak, gray sky. Camille huffed, crossing her arms. “Oh, so this is what we’re doing now? The silent treatment? I am speaking to you, Everett. Your daughter is crying, and you can’t even be bothered to comfort her? Are you even human?” The oxygen mask was suffocating me, preventing me from forming a single syllable, yet she stood there demanding a monologue. “When I married you,” Camille kept ranting, her voice rising, “I didn’t ask for your money. I just asked you to be a good father. How did you repay that promise? Look at how you’re acting right now!” She shoved my shoulder, hard. My chest tightened, an agonizing spasm seizing my lungs. I began to gasp, my body convulsing against the sheets as I fought for a sliver of air. Camille watched me struggle with utter indifference, stroking Ruby’s hair and whispering soothing words to the child, while continuing to throw daggers at me with her eyes. Thank God a nurse rushed in for rounds. She immediately shoved past Camille. “What the hell are you doing?” the nurse snapped, adjusting my mask and checking my monitors. “Can’t you see he just got out of major spinal surgery? Try having a conversation with a tube down your throat!” I closed my eyes. The woman I had shared a bed with for nearly a decade possessed less empathy for me than a stranger in scrubs. It was almost funny. “I heard Everett got into a little fender bender. Is he alright?” Bianca’s voice sliced through the tension as she strolled into the room. She walked right up to my bedside. Knowing I couldn’t speak, she leaned over, pretending to smooth out my blankets. Under the guise of adjusting the sheets, her manicured nails dug viciously into my bruised bicep. Her eyes locked onto mine, flashing a lethal warning. “Whoever hit him must have been driving awfully fast,” Bianca purred. “He really needs to be more careful. Thank God little Ruby wasn’t in the car.” Camille pulled her sister back. “Don’t touch him, Bianca, you’ll get your hands dirty. And you’re right. If Ruby had been in that car, I would have killed him myself.” She looked down at my paralyzed, broken body with a disgust so profound it made my stomach turn. “Look at him. A cripple. It’s karma.” I stared back at her, feeling a strange sense of vertigo. Was this really the same woman who had stood on my porch all those years ago, shivering in the rain, begging for sanctuary? And the little girl holding her hand—just days ago, she was a sweet, warm weight in my arms, kissing my cheek and calling me Daddy. Overnight, she had turned to frost. Some dogs, it seems, just bite the hand that feeds them. While the sisters gossiped over my bed, I quietly reached out and slipped my fingers around the nurse’s sleeve, squeezing tight. 2 Three days later, they finally removed the oxygen mask. I could speak. During that agonizing stretch, Bianca practically lived in my hospital room, using the excuse that she was “taking care” of family. But I had already communicated my fears to the nursing staff. Because the nurses were constantly popping in and out, Bianca never got the chance to finish what she started. By the same token, with her hawkish eyes constantly on me, I couldn’t make a phone call or reach out to the outside world. Camille and Ruby never came back. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for my sister,” Bianca sneered one afternoon, painting her nails by the window. “You’re half a man now. A vegetable. You think she’s going to spend her life pushing your wheelchair?” She paused, blowing on her fingers. “And don’t even think about going to the cops. I picked that road carefully. No traffic cams. No witnesses. You have absolutely nothing. Besides, if you try to put me behind bars, do you honestly think you’ll ever have a shot at saving your marriage?” It all clicked into place. The morning of the crash, Ruby had begged me to take a different route to school. A secluded, winding backroad. She claimed she wanted to pick a specific kind of wildflower she heard the other kids talking about. I had thought it was strange, but I never could say no to her. Bianca had orchestrated the whole thing. And she had used an eight-year-old to do it. She had taught my little girl how to lie, how to lead me into a slaughterhouse. But I was too exhausted to fight her right now. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and stared at Bianca with a dead, hollow gaze. “I don’t even know why you hate me this much,” I said, my voice raspy. When Camille and I first married, her family was broke. Bianca was still in college. I paid her out-of-state tuition. I paid her rent. I funded her lifestyle. Looking back, I hadn’t done a single damn thing to wrong them. “But it doesn’t matter anymore,” I continued, turning my head to the ceiling. “If your sister wants a divorce, tell her I’ll sign the papers.” Just as the words left my mouth, I looked up. Camille was standing in the doorway. Throughout our marriage, Camille had always weaponized the threat of divorce. Whenever she felt insecure or threw a tantrum, she’d pack a bag and threaten to leave. And every single time, I was the one who folded. I’d apologize, buy her jewelry, book a trip to Aspen or Paris, and coax her back. This was the first time in eight years I had ever agreed to let her go. She stood frozen in the doorframe, a look of absolute, unadulterated shock washing over her features. She didn’t move for a long time. “You… you want to divorce my daughter? Who the hell do you think you are?” I shifted my gaze. The Pruitts—my mother-in-law and father-in-law—pushed their way into the room. “Are you screwing around with some whore on the side?” Martha, my mother-in-law, marched up to the bed, pointing a trembling finger in my face. Then she grabbed Camille’s arm. “Tell me, sweetie. Did he do something to you?” Because I was three years older than Camille, Martha always acted like I had robbed the cradle, despite the fact that I had paid off their mountain of debt, handed over a million-dollar ring, and bought them a house and a brand-new G-Wagon. It was never enough. Later, when Camille’s brother Tyler got married, I footed the bill for his lavish country club wedding, bought the newlyweds a starter home, and manufactured a cushy job for him at my firm. Back then, Tyler used to throw his arm around me, slurring through expensive scotch, calling me his brother. “You’re blood, man. Forget Camille, whatever happens, I’m in your corner. I’d take a bullet for you, Ev.” Now, Tyler lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my hospital gown and yanking me upward, ignoring the fresh stitches in my spine. “You think you can betray my sister, Everett? You think we’re just going to roll over and die?” Tyler spat in my face. Through the chaos of their screaming and grabbing, I looked at Camille. She just stood there. She watched them suffocate me, watched them tear at a man who couldn’t even feel his own legs, and she didn’t lift a finger to stop it. She didn’t say a word. Finally, Richard, my father-in-law, played the peacemaker. “Alright, that’s enough,” he muttered, pulling Tyler back. “Everett’s in bad shape. He needs his rest. Camille, honey, why don’t you take some time off work and stay home with your husband?” Work. Years ago, Camille claimed she wanted to be an independent woman, so I created a Vice President role for her at my company and handed over fifty percent of my personal equity. It was purely ceremonial. She didn’t have to lift a finger. Her “work” consisted of long lunches, spa days, and charity galas. She barely knew where the corporate office was located. But recently, she had been out of the house constantly. She told me her best friend was going through a brutal breakup and needed a shoulder to cry on. Now I knew exactly who she had been comforting. Hearing her father’s suggestion, Camille finally spoke up, her voice tight. “Fine. I won’t go in this week. I’ll stay at the house with you. I can cook whatever you want, or we can go for drives. Whatever you need.” Martha and Tyler immediately began singing her praises. “Do you know how rare it is to find a woman her age who’s willing to play nursemaid?” Martha huffed. “You better thank your lucky stars, Everett.” Camille stepped forward and unhitched the brakes on my wheelchair. We headed down to the hospital lobby. My car was idling at the curb, but the man behind the wheel wasn’t my usual driver. 3 Noticing my hesitation, Camille offered a tight, overly rehearsed smile. “Stan had a family emergency. I hired a temp to cover for him.” Through the tinted glass of the Mercedes, I caught a glimpse of the new driver. He was looking at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes were cold, mocking, and dripping with a cocky disdain—as if I were the hired help, not him. Furthermore, Stan had been on my payroll for five years. He was fiercely loyal. He would never take a leave of absence without calling me directly. I instinctively reached for my pocket. Then I remembered. My phone had been obliterated in the crash. Camille hadn’t brought me a replacement. For the past week, everyone in my life probably assumed I had dropped off the face of the earth. “Take me to the office,” I commanded the new driver once I was awkwardly hoisted into the backseat. Camille, who was leaning over to buckle my seatbelt, froze. Her fingers hovered over the clasp. “Why do you need to go to the office?” A microscopic flicker of panic crossed her face, her breathing hitching for just a second. I didn’t have the energy for her theatrics. I snatched the belt from her hand and clicked it into place myself. “I’ve been MIA for days. My phone is dead. I’m sure things are piling up. I need to make an appearance.” I raised my voice, directing it at the rearview mirror. “Let’s go. Do you need the address?” The driver didn’t blink. He didn’t acknowledge me at all. “Everett, the office will survive,” Camille said, quickly shutting my door. Instead of sliding into the back with me, she walked around and climbed into the passenger seat. “Take us home,” she told the driver softly. The moment the words left her mouth, the engine purred to life. It was immediately obvious he wasn’t a “temp.” He didn’t punch anything into the GPS. He didn’t ask for directions. He navigated the winding, affluent suburban streets with the muscle memory of a man who had driven this exact route countless times. “We’re here,” the driver grunted as we pulled up the sweeping driveway of my estate. He stepped out and opened my door. He stood there, his face set in a deep scowl, making zero effort to help me into my wheelchair. Finally, Camille walked around and snapped at him. “Give him a hand.” He shot her a look—an intimate, annoyed look—before begrudgingly extending an arm toward me. I pushed myself forward, using my upper body strength, and then abruptly stopped. During the ride, I had kept my eyes closed, fighting the nausea. But now, with the sunlight hitting the interior of the car just right, I saw them. Faint, delicate handprints pressed against the passenger side glass. And just beneath them, violent, desperate crescent-moon scratches etched deep into the leather backrest of the front seat. I certainly didn’t make those marks. So who did? “Everett?” Camille called out, sounding nervous. I was so consumed by the sight of the leather that I didn’t register the pure, venomous jealousy burning in the driver’s eyes as he stared at me. As he hauled me out of the car, his grip magically “slipped.” He let go of my arm completely. My paralyzed legs crumbled beneath me, and I slammed hard into the cobblestone driveway. With my lower body entirely dead to the world, I couldn’t brace myself. I lay sprawled on the stones, forced to crane my neck upward like a helpless animal. “My bad, boss,” the driver sneered. “Hands are a little sweaty.” He didn’t even try to hide the smirk. The blatant disrespect, the sheer humiliation of standing over a crippled man—it was intoxicating for him. I stared up at him. The rage roaring in my veins was deafening, but years of boardroom discipline kept me from screaming. “You’re fired,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Get off my property.” Before the man could even react, Camille rushed to his defense. “Are you insane, Everett? He just slipped! God, why do you always have to be so dramatic? Are you really going to fire a man over an accident when you’re not even hurt?” Not hurt? I could feel the warm blood trickling down my chin where my face had scraped the stone. She didn’t even look at me long enough to notice. “Hey, if the boss doesn’t want me, I’m not gonna beg,” the driver said, tossing the Mercedes keys carelessly onto the front seat. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking down the driveway. “Look what you did! I swear, you are impossible to please!” Camille, who had half-heartedly extended a hand to help me up, instantly dropped her arm. She left me lying on the cobblestone and chased after him. My shoulder throbbed against the hard rock. I hissed through my teeth, the pain sharp and blinding. Camille didn’t look back once. “Damon!” I heard her cry out. The name echoed through the manicured lawns. It was the same name she had murmured in the hospital. The same name Bianca had hurled at me like a weapon. Damon. The deadbeat who had knocked her up and bolted. I lay paralyzed in my own driveway, hating myself. Hating the dead weight of my legs. Hating that my own body had betrayed me, rendering me as helpless as a dog on a chain. Suddenly, the heavy mahogany front door swung open. Ruby bolted out of the house. “Daddy!” she squealed. She ran right past me. She didn’t even glance down at the man lying bleeding on the ground. Instead, she threw herself into Damon’s waiting arms. 4 Camille had only taken a few steps down the driveway when Ruby burst out the door. Hearing her daughter shout “Daddy” and launch herself at Damon made Camille freeze. She had no idea how or when Ruby had learned the truth. Damon caught the little girl effortlessly, hoisting her onto his hip. The way they laughed and clung to each other wasn’t the awkwardness of a first meeting; it was the easy rhythm of a routine. It was a beautiful, picturesque family reunion. Except for the husband bleeding on the pavement ten feet away. Camille panicked, whipping her head around. Everett lay motionless on the ground, his eyes closed. He must have passed out from the pain. Maybe he hadn’t seen. She let out a long, shaky exhale and rushed over to Damon, grabbing his sleeve. “Stop making a scene. Take Ruby to the bakery down the street. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.” She turned back and quickly dialed the estate manager, ordering the staff outside to drag her unconscious husband indoors. “Get him to bed,” Camille instructed the housekeeper as they hauled Everett up the stairs. “Call me if he needs anything. Understood?” A gnawing sense of unease chewed at the edges of her mind, but her phone vibrated. It was Damon, letting Ruby talk. “Mommy, when are you coming? I’m almost done with my cupcake. If you don’t hurry, Daddy and I are gonna leave without you!” Hearing the pure joy in her daughter’s voice washed away any lingering guilt. “Just hold on, sweetie, Mommy’s coming right now.” She had fully accepted Damon’s place in their lives. They were playing house. The housekeeper followed her back to the foyer. “Ma’am… shouldn’t we call a doctor? Mr. Everett looks terrible.” Camille waved her off, irritated. “He literally just came from the hospital. What are they going to do? He’s just sleeping. He’s fine.” With that, she pulled the front door shut with a resounding thud. 5 The moment I heard the click of the heavy deadbolt, I opened my eyes. I waited until I was sure her car had pulled out of the gates. Then I called the housekeeper into the master bedroom. “Give me your phone,” I said quietly. “Don’t tell my wife I’m awake.” She hesitated. I held her gaze, my eyes cold and unyielding. “You do realize whose name is on the bottom of your paychecks, right?” She swallowed hard and quickly handed over the cell phone, nodding furiously. I immediately dialed Clark, my executive assistant. I told him to get over here immediately, and to stop by an AT&T store to buy me a new phone and a clean SIM card on his way. Next, I dialed my attorney. It was time to draft the divorce settlement. But my most pressing priority was the “accident.” Bianca had chosen that winding backroad because it was a dead zone for cameras. And because I had been unconscious, I had no idea who had towed the wreck, which meant I didn’t know where my dashcam footage was. “Clark,” I said when he finally arrived, handing me the sleek new iPhone. “I need you to pull up the traffic cameras on the main intersections at both ends of that backroad. Cross-reference every license plate that entered or exited that street around the time of my crash. Call the owners. See if anyone had a dashcam running.” It was a secluded area, but I vaguely remembered the blur of headlights passing by just before the impact. Someone had to have seen it. Clark scribbled furiously in his notepad, looking pale. “Mr. Everett… my god. What happened to you?” He had absolutely no idea about the crash. According to Clark, Tyler had walked into the executive boardroom last week and announced that I had fallen critically ill and had been flown to Switzerland for experimental treatment, with Camille by my side. Tyler claimed I had granted him temporary executive authority. They had even forged text messages from my phone to prove it. The board had been skeptical, but Camille had dialed into a Zoom meeting to corroborate the story. And since everyone in the city knew I had given her half my shares and worshipped the ground she walked on, they bought it. “Since you’ve been ‘gone,’ sir… Tyler and the VP have ousted half the senior leadership. They went on a hiring spree. And they’ve initiated several massive acquisitions.” Clark handed me a leather-bound folder. I flipped it open, and the blood drained from my face. The new hires were kids fresh out of college with zero corporate experience. Their only unifying qualification seemed to be that they were impossibly attractive. Tyler and Bianca had essentially turned my Fortune 500 company into a taxpayer-funded modeling agency. And the acquisitions? They were dumping millions into obscure, no-name startups. Pure money pits. “Sir, I…” Clark stammered, looking like he was about to vomit. “I did some digging off the books. A lot of those startups… they’re shell companies. Registered just weeks ago.” Embezzlement. It was so brazen it was almost insulting. Clark braced himself, expecting me to fire him on the spot. I just closed the folder and sighed, staring at the ceiling. In two weeks, they had nearly bled the quarterly profits dry. “It’s not your fault, Clark. I’m the one who gave them the keys to the kingdom.” There was no point in screaming. The damage was done. The only thing left to do was burn out the infection. I instructed Clark to hire a private security detail immediately. Ex-military. I wanted them stationed at the estate and the corporate lobby. I wanted all security codes changed, all keycards wiped. “Call an emergency board meeting for tomorrow morning,” I said, my voice hardening to steel. “Terminate Tyler and anyone with the last name Pruitt. And freeze every single corporate and personal account linked to my wife.”

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The night of the network gala, when I was twenty-six, the world I had built shattered in the palm of my hand. I was center stage, the lights blinding, the teleprompter humming. But when I flipped my cue cards to the next segment, the script was gone. In its place was a high-gloss photo of Andrea and her lover. From the first page to the twentieth, it was a curated gallery of betrayal. Every scene, every position, every indignity. The foyer of a boutique hotel, the leather backseat of her SUV, a private balcony overlooking the city… these images didn’t just hurt; they felt like needles driven directly into my retinas. I didn’t stop. Driven by pure muscle memory and a desperate, soaring shot of adrenaline, I finished the broadcast. I didn’t miss a beat. I didn’t stumble. I smiled for the cameras while my soul was being liquidated. The moment the cameras went dark, I bolted. I barely made it to the executive restroom before I collapsed, retching until my lungs burned. In that cold, marble stall, the truth finally crystallized. I was “special” to her, yes. I was the permanent fixture, the anchor. But I would never, ever be her only one. I had fallen for her when I was sixteen. She was seven years my senior, a woman who moved through the world with a terrifying, magnetic grace. I had pursued her with the clumsy, breathless devotion of a boy who didn’t know any better. I remembered the early days—how she’d sigh, peeling my jacket off her shoulders when I tried to look after her, telling me in that patronizing, “big sister” tone to go find a girl my own age. But then, the shift. The night she sat in my lap wearing nothing but one of my button-downs, pulling me into a kiss that tasted like expensive gin and ruined lives. She told me she loved the way I smelled. She said seeing the heartbreak in my eyes that first year had actually hurt her. Ten years had passed since then. In that decade, I watched a rotating door of young, hungry men cycle through her life. I stayed, foolishly believing I was the one she would eventually come home to for good. At sixteen, loving her was like being a moth addicted to the flame. I craved her gaze, her approval, her heat. At twenty-six, in the stinging silence of a bathroom stall, the fire finally went out. After a two-hour closed-door meeting with the station manager, I walked out with my ticket out of the country: a transfer to be a foreign correspondent. … Andrea hadn’t left. She was waiting outside the restroom, leaning against the wall with a practiced elegance, holding a bottle of chilled water. She didn’t apologize. She just slid a black titanium card into my breast pocket. “You were incredible tonight,” she said, her voice like velvet over gravel. “Don’t be too hard on Toby. He’s just a kid.” A few seconds of dead silence stretched between us. I just nodded. I couldn’t trust my voice. She reached up, her long, pale fingers smoothing my hair with a mother’s tenderness. It was the same gesture she used every time she wanted to keep me in line. “Be a good boy,” she whispered. By the time I gathered my dignity and returned to my office, the floor was deserted. The cleaning crew was sweeping up the wreckage of someone’s birthday party. I noticed a sticky note stuck to my monitor: “Hey Adrian! I bought cake for everyone for my birthday. The chocolates are a gift from my girlfriend—she wanted me to thank the team for taking such good care of me. Hope you like them! PS: You were a beast on stage today. A total pro. Andrea says I should learn everything I can from you.” Toby. He was the son of one of Andrea’s biggest investors. He’d slid into a production role six months ago through her influence. She’d asked me to “mentor” him. I lost count of how many fires I’d put out for that boy. And the chocolates—The Nebula Collection. It was a brand Andrea had built for me. A tribute to my late mother’s legacy. Toby wasn’t being oblivious; he was being surgical. He was feeding me my own history to see if I’d choke. When I got home, I stopped at the shoe rack. My slippers were gone. In their place sat a pair of chunky, expensive sneakers that didn’t belong to me. I walked upstairs barefoot, the cold hardwood biting at my soles. I found them in the media room. My mother’s final film was playing on the massive 4K screen. On the sofa, two figures were tangled together, clothes half-discarded, mouths locked in a messy, desperate hunger. “Get out.” My hand was white-knuckled on the door handle, shaking with a rage so cold it felt like ice. Andrea looked up, annoyed by the interruption. She didn’t look guilty; she looked inconvenienced. She reached over and gently straightened Toby’s shirt. “I’ll have the driver take you home,” she told him. Toby pouted, the picture of wounded innocence, but he stood up. “Adrian, man, don’t be mad at Andrea. It’s my fault. I begged her to let me see what a million-dollar sound system felt like.” He looked at the screen, then back at me, a nasty little glint in his eyes. “We got a bit carried away. Your mom, Serena… she was stunning. So much passion in those scenes. I heard she was actually pregnant with you when she filmed this—was it the director’s?” “Toby!” Andrea’s sharp command and my palm connecting with his face happened at the exact same time. Toby staggered back, clutching his cheek. He gave Andrea a watery, pathetic look, then bolted out of the room. Andrea’s face went stone cold. “You shouldn’t have hit him.” Then she turned and chased after him. I walked into the room and picked up the cashmere throw blanket that had been kicked to the floor. It was damp with spilled wine and… other things. After my mother died in that accident, my grandmother used to wrap me in this blanket when the night terrors got too bad. She passed away the morning after she gave it to me. It was the only piece of them I had left. I was in the laundry room trying to scrub the stains out when Andrea walked in. She knelt and slid my slippers onto my feet. “Enough, Adrian. Let the maid handle it tomorrow. Toby didn’t mean it. I’ll make him apologize to you later.” She wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, swaying her body against mine, using that soft, manipulative coo she used when she wanted to play house. “I talked to the station manager. I got you some time off. You said you wanted to go abroad? I’ll go with you.” “Christmas is coming up. The atmosphere in London or Paris will be perfect. We’ll stay as long as you want.” She was being so “sweet,” but I was shivering so hard my teeth rattled. The station manager didn’t waste any time. He knew who signed the checks. I pried her hands off me. I ran downstairs to grab my bag, looking for the divorce papers I’d prepared. They were gone. Andrea stood at the top of the stairs, sighing with the exhaustion of a parent dealing with a toddler. She came down and grabbed my arm. “Adrian, I told you from the start. I’m not wired for traditional romance. I told you that loving me would hurt. You were the one who said you didn’t care.” “I love you. You’re my husband…” She trailed off. The unspoken half of that sentence hung in the air: But I don’t love you enough to be faithful. She pressed my hand against her stomach. “Let’s have a baby on this trip. A fresh start.” It wasn’t a romantic gesture. It was a bribe. Yesterday, those words would have been everything I ever wanted. Now, they made my skin crawl. My stomach was a hollow pit, and my eyes felt like they were bleeding. Andrea’s expression shifted to pity. She rubbed my back. “I’m sorry, honey. If you hate Toby that much, I won’t let him near you again. Okay?” I didn’t say a word. I turned, went into the guest room, and locked the door. The next morning, my phone buzzed with a notification. I had been pulled from the New Year’s Eve Special. My replacement? Toby. My heart dropped into my stomach. A moment later, a string of texts came in from Toby. Apologies first. Then a “vow” to work hard and make me proud. Finally, a request for me to “mentor” him through the script so he wouldn’t let the team down. Andrea walked in with a glass of warm lemon water. I threw the phone at the wall. “Why?” I roared. I scrambled out of bed, trying to find my clothes. “Stop it. You know it’s useless,” she said, pinning me down with a firm hand. “The board already approved the change. It’s done.” All the strength left my body. I felt suddenly, violently ill. “Adrian, you’re burning up.” She pushed me back into the pillows. She made me eat some broth, made me take some pills. Ten minutes later, I threw it all up. I opened the balcony door for air and saw a car pull into the driveway. Toby stepped out, grinning, his arms wide open. Andrea walked down to him. She looked annoyed, but she stepped into his embrace anyway. He wrapped his heavy overcoat around her, pulling her close. Suddenly, he looked up. Straight at the balcony. Our eyes locked. He flashed a brilliant, predatory smile. “It’s freezing out here, Andrea,” he called out, his voice carrying in the crisp air. “You should have worn a coat.” Andrea’s hand disappeared inside his jacket, stroking his chest. “You’re warm enough.” “I’ve got warmer spots. Want to check?” Andrea swiped at him playfully. “Stop being so crude.” Toby laughed, throwing his hands up. “My bad. Punish me later?” She laughed—a genuine, light sound I hadn’t heard in weeks. “Get inside.” That sound hurt worse than the photos. Her heart had moved out years ago; I was just the only one who hadn’t realized the lease was up. I reached for my phone and pulled up a contact with no name—just a string of numbers. My finger hovered over the dial button. A knock at the door. Toby stuck his head in. “Adrian, hey. Sorry to bug you again. Last time, I promise!” “I’m just here to grab the tuxedo for the gala. We’re different sizes, so I need to get it to the tailor ASAP.” I gave him a thin, jagged smile and led him to the walk-in closet. “Wow,” he breathed, looking at the rows of bespoke suits. “These are incredible.” Crrrk— I took a pair of fabric shears and sliced through the shoulder of the tuxedo. His eyes went wide. A split second later, he let out a sharp cry. He grabbed the blade of the shears with his bare hand, a calculated, wicked grin flashing across his face for a heartbeat before he dissolved into tears. Andrea burst in. She saw the shears in my hand, the shredded silk, and Toby’s hand dripping blood onto the white carpet. The fury in her eyes was a physical weight. “Andrea, it’s okay,” Toby sobbed, playing the martyr. “I shouldn’t have come in without asking. Adrian has every right to be pissed.” I laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. I turned back to the suit and began hacking it into ribbons, the bloody shears shredding the fabric with a rhythmic, violent obsession. I didn’t know who I was hitting anymore. When I finally stopped, I sat on the blood-stained rug amidst a heap of black scrap metal and silk. I felt nothing but a cold, empty static. Andrea walked over and picked up the shears. She wiped the blood off the blade with a piece of the ruined suit, her voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet chill. “You really went too far this time.” She looked down at me, touching my feverish forehead with one hand while her eyes remained vacant. “I like a man who’s a little fragile, Adrian. Red rims around the eyes? That’s hot. but once the tears actually fall… it just looks cheap. It’s ugly.” My breath hitched. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the two tracks of salt water from staining my face. She pulled her hand away. “Stay here and cool off. Call me when you’re ready to act like an adult.” She packed a bag and left. The house became a tomb. There were guards at the door. I was in a velvet-lined cage. The last time she’d been this angry was years ago, when I’d broken my leg on a remote shoot and finished the job without telling her. By the time I got home, I couldn’t feel my foot. She’d been angry because she was scared for me. She didn’t speak to me for a week. When she finally thawed, she’d tapped my forehead and said, “Do it again, and I’ll lock you in this house forever. I’ve got enough money to keep you as a pet.” I watched the New Year’s broadcast on my phone. Toby was on screen, holding the mic. He looked like a younger, cheaper version of me. Then he turned toward the camera, and the blood drained from my face. Pinned to his lapel was the Silver Crescent. My mother’s brooch. I wore it at every major event. It was my talisman, my bit of luck. I ran to my jewelry box. It was empty. I sprinted downstairs, but the guards blocked the exit. “Sir, please. Don’t make this difficult.” I started laughing. It finally clicked. She hadn’t locked me in to keep me safe. She’d locked me in so I wouldn’t ruin Toby’s big night. I called Andrea. No answer. I sent a voice note, my voice shaking with pure, unadulterated hate: “Give it back. Give me the brooch back, Andrea!” Nothing. Toby flubbed the broadcast. He messed up the sponsors’ names, then misidentified a major pop star. By the time the show ended, the “Toby is a Disaster” hashtag was trending. Immediately, the network’s PR team started leaking photos of his “heroic” injury—his bandaged hand, the blood on the mic. They framed him as a dedicated professional working through the pain. After the show, Toby posted a photo on Instagram. He was posing with a young fan—a girl from a local charity. The Silver Crescent was pinned to her dress. His text followed seconds later: “Hope you don’t mind me paying it forward, Adrian! The kid loved it. Her eyes lit up. Andrea said she’d buy you a new one. I promise I won’t steal the next one.” The blanket was ruined. The brooch was gone. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a glacier. Two hours later, I logged onto my verified Twitter account and posted a long-form thread. It was a scorched-earth confession. Within ten minutes, it had ten thousand retweets. #TobyTheThief was number one. But within the hour, the thread vanished. My account was suspended. “Violating terms of service regarding harassment.” I called every contact I had in the media. One old friend finally whispered the truth. “Adrian, Andrea made the calls. No one is touching this.” I collapsed onto the sofa. I didn’t even have the energy to be angry. I was a ghost in my own life. The final insult came three hours later on the late-night entertainment news: “Renowned host Adrian Winston is taking an indefinite hiatus due to ongoing mental health struggles. Industry insiders urge fans to respect his privacy as he seeks treatment…” She was erasing me. Late that night, Andrea returned. She held out a box containing an antique brooch—Andrean, rare, worth fifty times what my mother’s was. “Stop sulking,” she said. “Toby was wrong to take it. I’ve dealt with him.” I took the brooch and ran the pin along my thumb until a bead of blood appeared. I kept pushing. I felt nothing. “Adrian!” Andrea grabbed my hand, her voice rising in frustration. “How long are you going to keep this up? Talk to me!” Before I could answer, Toby burst into the room. He threw himself onto his knees. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have pushed it. I won’t cross the line again, Adrian.” “I don’t care about the job. I just want to be near Andrea. Even if it’s just once a week, once a month… I just need her.” I knew Andrea’s face. She looked annoyed, but beneath that, I saw the flicker of ego-stroking pleasure. Toby was crying—the exact “cheap” look she claimed to hate, yet she was reaching out to him. I hauled off and punched Toby square in the jaw. Then, I took the antique brooch and dragged the pin across his cheek. Andrea screamed. “Adrian! You’ve lost your mind!” She slapped me. Hard. I threw the expensive piece of jewelry against the marble floor and let out a scream that had been ten years in the making. “Ten years, Andrea! I went from a boy who would have died for you to a dog in your cage! You think this scrap metal makes us even?” She stared at me, shocked. It was the first time I had ever truly defied her. She looked into my bloodshot eyes and her voice went cold. “You’re not being a good boy anymore.” I flinched. It was a reflex. She signaled the guards. They pinned me to the floor. Andrea walked over to the mahogany display rack and pulled out a golf club—a vintage iron. “Adrian, have I spoiled you so much that you’ve forgotten who owns this house?” The club whistled through the air and slammed into my back. The pain was a white-hot explosion. I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper, but I didn’t give her a sound. “Are you sorry?” I hissed through gritted teeth. “What did I do wrong?” She swung again, catching my shoulder blade. “Why did you cut his face? Why did you go to the press? Your jealousy almost ruined him.” Third strike. My ribs. “Why can’t you learn? You’re twenty-six, not sixteen!” She stopped, breathing hard, waiting for me to beg. I didn’t. “Adrian?” She realized something was wrong. She touched my forehead. “Why are you so hot? Adrian, look at me. Say something!” I looked through her. The silence took me. The last time this happened was when my grandmother died. I ran to the neighbors to get help, but after I said “Grandma,” my voice simply vanished. It stayed gone for three years. In the fourth year, Andrea had a horrific car accident. She was in a coma for a week. I sat by her bed and whispered her name, and the sound finally broke through. She opened her eyes at that exact moment. “There’s my boy,” she’d said. I woke up in a private hospital wing. Andrea was there. She pressed the Silver Crescent into my hand. “I got it back, Adrian. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” “When you’re ready to go back to work, Toby will be gone. I won’t see him again.” I gripped the brooch. I closed my eyes. It didn’t matter. I had already signed my resignation letter. Her phone started ringing—a relentless, demanding buzz. She looked at me, then at the phone, and stepped out into the hall to take it. When she came back, the bed was empty. My wedding ring was sitting alone on the pillow.

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A few days ago, I was reported to the medical board again. And for the exact same absurd reason. It all started with a high-risk, incredibly delicate cardiac repair. Just hours prior, I had been standing under the blinding lights of the OR, successfully pulling a man back from the edge of death. When I walked into the waiting room, I expected his family to be tearful, maybe relieved. I expected gratitude. Instead, they were screaming, pointing a trembling, furious finger at the ID badge clipped to my chest. The one that read: Cardiothoracic Surgical Specialist. “We are paying a hundred grand for this surgery, and this hospital lets some glorified medical tech use my husband for target practice?!” “You just wait! I’m calling the medical board, the police, the news—everyone!” I opened my mouth, ready to calmly explain the chasm of difference between a Surgical Specialist and a medical technician. But before I could get a single syllable out, the Chief of Surgery shoved past me, forcing my head down, demanding I apologize to the family. I thought that would be the end of it. A bitter pill swallowed for the sake of hospital politics. “You honestly think I went to community college?” I stared at the patient’s wife, utterly blindsided by the sheer weight of her ignorance. 1. “Listen to her! Does she sound like a real doctor? They let a community college dropout take a scalpel to my husband’s heart!” Jocelyn Gallagher’s voice echoed like a siren down the pristine linoleum hallway of the cardiology wing. Before I could process her words, she lunged. She closed the distance between us in a single, heavy step and slapped me across the face with everything she had. The metallic tang of blood instantly flooded my mouth. I stumbled back, clutching my rapidly swelling left cheek, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the noise of the ward. Only a few hours ago, I had been on my feet for eight grueling hours in the surgical theater. As the only surgeon in the state board-certified to perform this specific, cutting-edge arterial reconstruction, I had literally wrestled her husband’s life out of the reaper’s grip. I thought she had come to thank me. Instead, she gave me a ringing, violent backhand. Jocelyn grabbed the lapel of my white coat, her knuckles white, her other hand aggressively tapping the laminated plastic of my hospital badge. “Everybody look!” she shrieked to the gathering crowd of nurses and patients. “This hospital is a slaughterhouse! We go into crippling debt for this surgery, and they hand my husband over to some diversity-hire tech who couldn’t even get into a real college!” “No wonder he still looks like a ghost! This quack probably botched the whole thing!” I drew in a sharp, trembling breath, forcing my clinical detachment to override my boiling rage. “Ma’am, you are fundamentally misunderstanding my title,” I said, my voice tight but level. “The ‘Specialist’ on my badge means I am an expert in a highly specific, advanced field of cardiovascular medicine. It does not mean I am a medical assistant. I graduated from—” “Save your bullshit!” Jocelyn spat. A thick glob of saliva landed squarely on the toe of my leather Dansko clog. She threw herself onto the floor, slapping her thighs, launching into a theatrical, dry-heaving sob. “My son warned me! He said all these new ‘specialists’ are just dropouts who bought their way in! You’re a fraud! You used my husband as a guinea pig! I want a refund! I want every damn penny back!” I stared down at the grown woman thrashing on the floor, feeling a profound, chilling sense of absurdity. You cannot reason with someone who is entirely insulated by their own stupidity. I reached into my pocket for my phone, ready to dial hospital security. Suddenly, a damp, heavy hand clamped over mine, forcing the phone back down. Dr. Richard Stanton, the Chief of Cardiology, pushed his way through the crowd, his forehead glistening with nervous sweat. He immediately plastered on a sickeningly sweet, accommodating smile and crouched next to Jocelyn. “Mrs. Gallagher, please, let’s take a breath. There’s no need to escalate things. Let’s not let tempers ruin the day.” Without dropping his smile, Stanton’s fingers dug into my bicep like a vice. He practically dragged me down the hall and shoved me into his private office. The second the heavy oak door clicked shut, Stanton’s obsequious smile vanished. “Vera, have you lost your mind? Are you trying to get us on the evening news?” I pointed a shaking finger at my left cheek, which was now throbbing and hot to the touch. I stared at him, my eyes hard. “Dr. Stanton, she assaulted an attending surgeon in the middle of the ward. She is publicly defaming my credentials. Are you telling me I shouldn’t call the police?” Stanton waved me off with a frantic, irritated gesture. He went to the water cooler, filled a paper cup, and shoved it into my hand. “Vera, you’re brilliant in the OR, but you are painfully naive about how the real world works. Do you have any idea how volatile doctor-patient relations are right now?” He paced behind his desk. “This department is up for the State Center of Excellence grant next month. The Board of Directors explicitly warned me: no PR disasters. No scandals. You bring the cops into this, you drag the hospital’s name through the mud.” I slammed the paper cup down on his desk. Water splashed over the rim, soaking into his blotter. “So what? I’m just supposed to take a physical beating? I’m supposed to let them tell the entire hospital I’m an uneducated fraud doing practice runs on human beings?” Stanton let out a long, patronizing sigh. He walked around the desk and patted my shoulder with heavy, paternalistic condescension. “With great talent comes a little sacrifice. The woman is stressed, Vera. She’s blue-collar, she’s scared, she doesn’t understand our jargon. Why are you, a Johns Hopkins fellow with a post-doc from Munich, picking a fight with an ignorant old woman?” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “Listen to me. Go back out there. Swallow your pride, apologize, and let it go.” I stared at him, the silence stretching tight between us. “You want me… to apologize to the woman who just assaulted me?” 2. Stanton’s eyes instantly hardened. The paternal facade melted away, leaving only a cold, bureaucratic threat. “Don’t forget who fought to bring you to this hospital, Vera.” He crossed his arms. “If you don’t bow your head right now, I will personally see to it that your name is removed from the year-end surgical excellence nominations. For the good of the department, you will take this hit.” Half an hour later, systematically worn down by Stanton’s relentless pressure and quiet threats to my career, I found myself standing back out in the hallway. Jocelyn Gallagher had picked herself up off the floor. She stood with her arms crossed, a look of smug, victorious entitlement radiating from her face. Stanton approached her, rubbing his hands together. “Mrs. Gallagher, Dr. Pierce has realized her mistake. And to show our goodwill, the hospital administration has agreed to waive twenty thousand dollars of your post-op recovery fees.” Jocelyn snatched the waiver form from Stanton’s hand, her eyes raking up and down my body with undisguised contempt. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving woman, or I would’ve sued this place into the ground.” She sneered at me. “Well? Did the tech lose her tongue? I’m waiting for my apology.” Behind my back, Stanton pinched my waist, a sharp, silent command. I ground my molars together. The taste of copper was still heavy on my tongue. “I’m sorry.” Jocelyn let out a loud, theatrical scoff, turned on her heel, and strutted away. Stanton let out a massive exhale, turning to me with a relieved, approving smile. “See? Was that so hard? You take a step back, and the sky opens up.” I truly believed that was the end of it. I had taken the hit, swallowed my pride, and paid the toll. But I had underestimated the bottomless, terrifying depths of human malice. Three days later, during our morning department briefing, Stanton walked into the conference room holding a stiff piece of hospital letterhead. His face was the color of ash. He slammed the paper down on the mahogany table. His eyes locked onto mine, wide and panicked. “Dr. Pierce. You are to hand over all your current patients immediately.” The room went dead silent. A dozen surgeons turned their heads to stare at me. “Effective as of this minute, you are suspended pending a full investigation. You are barred from the OR and all clinical duties.” I stood up so fast my chair scraped violently against the floor. “Suspended? On what grounds?” Stanton didn’t answer. He grabbed the remote and clicked the projector on. A video illuminated the pull-down screen. It was footage from the hallway three days ago. But it had been maliciously, brilliantly edited. There was no footage of Jocelyn slapping me. No footage of her spitting on me or throwing a tantrum on the floor. It was just a tight shot of my face—red, swollen, and humiliated—muttering the words, “I’m sorry.” Superimposed over the video in massive, glaring red text was a caption that made my stomach drop: [CORRUPT HOSPITAL COVERS UP MALPRACTICE! DROPOUT ‘DOCTOR’ BOTCHES SURGERY ON ELDERLY MAN, FORCED TO CONFESS AND PAY HUSH MONEY!] Stanton pointed a trembling finger at the screen, where thousands of vile, hateful comments were scrolling by in real-time. “On what grounds? On the grounds that this family took our twenty grand and immediately filed a formal complaint with the State Medical Board!” His voice cracked. “This video is everywhere. It’s on Twitter, it’s on TikTok. The hospital switchboard has been paralyzed for six hours! The State Board has formed a joint investigative committee, and until they clear you, you are a liability. You are suspended.” I stared at the comments flashing across the screen. My hands began to shake, a cold, sickening dread pooling in my chest. “Did she sleep her way into the OR? Who let a tech hold a scalpel?” “Find out who her daddy is. Burn this hospital down!” I had a dual MD/Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins. I had completed my cardiothoracic fellowship at Munich University Hospital, one of the most rigorous programs on earth. I had turned down lucrative offers in New York and Boston to come back and elevate the cardiac care in my home state. And now, I was being crucified as a fraudulent, uneducated butcher. When my shift ended, I walked to the underground parking garage, my spine stiff under the suffocating, sideways glances of my colleagues. I turned the corner to my parking spot and stopped dead. The heavy, toxic stench of aerosol paint hit me first. My white Audi was dripping with fresh, blood-red paint. Sprawled across the windshield, in jagged, dripping black letters, were the words: DIE QUACK From behind a concrete pillar, three teenagers stepped out. They immediately raised their phones, the camera flashes strobing in the dim garage. “That’s her! The fake doctor!” “Get her face! Make her famous!” My heart hammered against my ribs. Without a word, I unlocked the car, slid into the paint-slicked driver’s seat, and drove out into the blinding daylight. 3. The moment I got to my apartment, I tore through my closet, pulling out the heavy leather portfolios containing my diplomas, my board certifications, and my medical license. The next morning, I bypassed Stanton’s secretary and pushed open his office door. “Dr. Stanton. I want the hospital to publish my full credentials on the main homepage immediately. Every degree, every certification.” I slammed the thick stack of embossed paper onto his desk. “And I am retaining counsel to sue this family for defamation and vandalism.” Stanton didn’t even glance at the diplomas. He held his hands up, shaking his head furiously. “Absolutely not. If we release those now, the internet will just say we faked them! It looks like we’re scrambling to cover our tracks!” “The mob is out for blood, Vera. The harder you fight the current, the worse you’ll drown.” I planted both hands on his desk, leaning in until he was forced to meet my eyes. “So I am just supposed to let them ruin my life? My car was vandalized. My personal cell phone is ringing at 3 AM with death threats. Is this what you meant by ‘the sky opening up’?” Stanton huffed, pushing his chair back. He walked to the window, rubbing his temples. “Vera, you are making this about you, and it’s about the hospital. The investigative committee just needs time. Give it two weeks. The internet has the memory of a goldfish. The news cycle will move on.” He turned around, his eyes cold. “Go home. Keep your mouth shut. Do not escalate this.” The hospital. It was always about the hospital. I looked at this man—a coward who would throw a brilliant surgeon to the wolves just to protect his own administrative bonus—and felt something inside me snap. The dying embers of my respect for him went completely cold. “Fine. If the hospital won’t protect me, I’ll handle it myself.” I snatched my credentials off the desk and walked out. Stanton’s voice chased me down the hall. “If you go rogue on this, Vera, you will never work in this state again!” I didn’t even flinch. I pressed the elevator button for the lobby. If the administration was going to play dead, I would go straight to the source. I drove to the address listed on Frank Gallagher’s intake file. It was a rundown house on the edge of town. I knocked. The door swung open, revealing a man in his late twenties. He had bleach-blonde hair, sleeves of cheap tattoos, and a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. This was Jocelyn’s son, Kyle Gallagher. He looked me up and down, a cruel, mocking grin spreading across his face. “Well, well. Look who it is. The dropout doctor. What, did the hospital fire you? Come to beg for a cut of the settlement?” I kept my face perfectly still. I held up a clear plastic folder containing the color copies of my degrees. “I am giving you one chance to delete that video and issue a public retraction.” I tapped the glass over my Johns Hopkins diploma. “These are my board certifications and my doctoral degrees. What you and your mother are doing is textbook defamation, and it carries severe legal consequences.” Kyle stared at the folder for a second. Then, he threw his head back and let out a barking, ugly laugh. He snatched the folder from my hand, ripped the plastic open, and without even reading the papers, began tearing them into pieces. “You think a fake piece of paper is gonna scare me? I wasn’t born yesterday, bitch.” He threw the shredded pieces of my life’s work directly into my face. “A doctor? Yeah, right. If you’re a doctor, I’m the President of the United States!” Hearing the commotion, Jocelyn materialized from the hallway. When she saw me standing on her porch, her eyes lit up with malicious glee. “You got some nerve showing your face here, you quack!” she yelled, crossing her arms. “If you were any good, my husband wouldn’t be sitting in his recliner complaining about chest pains every five minutes!” “I’m telling you right now, unless we see a million dollars, we are taking you down!” I looked at the two of them. A mother and son, bonded by a toxic mixture of boundless greed and breathtaking ignorance. My voice dropped to an icy whisper. “Frank is having chest pains because he is explicitly violating my post-op orders. I know he’s been smoking and drinking. He started before he even left the ward.” “His reconstructed arteries are fragile. If he keeps this up, his heart is going to hemorrhage.” I looked Jocelyn dead in the eyes. “And when it ruptures, no god in heaven will be able to save him.” Kyle’s face turned violently red. It was as if I had flipped a switch. “You threatening my dad?!” He lunged forward. He hit me like a linebacker, his heavy hands shoving my shoulders with brutal force. I stumbled backward, my spine colliding hard with the brick exterior of the house. “Get the hell off my property before I kill you!” Kyle roared. He stepped back inside and grabbed the heavy wooden front door, rearing back to slam it. Pure instinct took over. Without thinking, I threw my right hand forward, trying to catch the door frame to keep my balance. 4. “You have to take the video down!” I cried out. Kyle saw my hand wrap around the doorframe. For a split second, our eyes met. I saw the flash of pure, unadulterated malice in his pupils. “You want me to delete it? Let’s see you do surgery after this.” He threw his entire body weight into the heavy, solid-oak door. CRUNCH. A sickening, wet, cracking sound echoed across the porch. “AGH!” A scream ripped from my throat. Cold sweat instantly drenched my clothes. My right hand was caught perfectly between the door and the jamb. The pain wasn’t just sharp; it was explosive. It traveled up my arm like a bolt of lightning, short-circuiting my brain. Black spots danced violently at the edges of my vision. From behind the closed door, I heard Kyle laughing. “Let’s see you fake your way into an OR with that, you stupid bitch!” The latch clicked. He released the pressure, and my right arm fell dead against my side. I slid down the brick wall, my knees hitting the concrete porch. I couldn’t breathe. I was a surgeon. I knew exactly what that sound meant. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Shaking uncontrollably, I used my left hand to fish it out and accept the call. “Dr. Stanton,” I gasped, my voice completely shattered by the pain. “The patient’s son… he just attacked me. My hand is broken. I’m calling the police.” There was a two-second pause on the line. Then, Stanton’s voice hissed through the speaker, vibrating with rage. “Vera, did you not hear a damn word I said?!” “The investigative committee is releasing their findings tomorrow! If you bring the cops into this and make this a criminal matter, you will bring the entire hospital down with you!” “Stop being so dramatic about your hand! Get back to your apartment right now. If I see a single police cruiser near this hospital, your medical career is over!” The line went dead. I sat alone on the cold concrete, listening to the dial tone. Between the vicious, feral cruelty of this family, and the soulless, calculating cowardice of my boss, I had nothing left. I drove myself—steering with my knees and my left hand—to a rival hospital’s orthopedic clinic across town. The X-rays confirmed my worst nightmare: a severe, comminuted fracture of the right metacarpals and severe crush trauma to the phalanges. The attending orthopedist wrapped my hand in a heavy fiberglass cast, his eyes filled with profound pity. “It’s a bad crush injury, Dr. Pierce. You are out of the OR for at least six months. As for recovering the fine motor skills required for cardiothoracic work… we’ll have to pray physical therapy does a miracle.” I walked out of the clinic feeling entirely hollowed out. I went back to the hospital. Using only my left hand, I began throwing my personal belongings from my desk into a cardboard box. I paused when I saw Frank Gallagher’s physical chart still sitting in my tray. A dark, bitter smile touched my lips. Frank’s vascular tissue was like wet tissue paper. He needed to pray to every saint in the sky that his heart held together while I was suspended and broken. I picked up my box and walked down to the hospital lobby, ready to walk out of this toxic wasteland for good. Just as I reached the revolving doors, a violent commotion erupted from the direction of the ER. “Help! Someone help him! He’s throwing up blood!” Jocelyn Gallagher’s hysterical, piercing scream echoed off the lobby’s high ceilings.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “434812”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I found myself tracing the silver pendant at my throat, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to break. Adrian had fastened this chain around my neck years ago, on the day he finally cleared his name. Back then, he held me with a desperation that felt like forever, promising he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Looking back, I suppose I was the only one who took those vows as gospel. The usual hum of the post-op ward suddenly died down. Every head turned toward Adrian. A patient had just made a bold joke, nudging Dr. Beckett to “reconsider” his history with Lydia—to finally mend the heartbreak of their college years. Lydia, the woman in the center of the attention, flushed a delicate pink. She stole a shy, sidelong glance at Adrian. Adrian’s gaze flickered toward me for a fraction of a second, but it was hollow. To him, I was just a ghost in a white coat, a piece of irrelevant background noise. “I’ll give it some serious thought,” he said, his voice light, effortless. The room erupted. People were practically tripping over themselves to offer congratulations, whispering that the only reason the brilliant Dr. Beckett had stayed single all these years was because he was waiting for Lydia. They called it fate. They called it a missed connection finally coming home. Lydia made a move to get out of bed, feigning modesty, but she stumbled. Adrian was there in a heartbeat. He caught her, pulling her steady against him in a protective embrace that drew a fresh round of applause from the gallery. I stood at the very edge of the crowd, the wife he’d kept hidden for three years, watching the farce unfold with a heart that had finally gone cold. 01 Satisfied with the answer, the meddling patient pushed further. “So, Dr. Beckett, what actually tore you two apart back then? It seems like such a waste of all those years.” A nurse stepped in, trying to be helpful. “Oh, you know how it is in med school. Probably some trivial argument that got blown out of proportion. People drift, they come back. If they’re meant to be, they find their way.” There was a chorus of agreement. Adrian just smiled—that enigmatic, handsome tilt of the lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Lydia, meanwhile, moved closer, clutching the sleeve of his white lab coat and burying her face against his chest. A bitter taste rose in my throat. They had been broken up for nine years. And for every single one of those nine years, I was the one by his side. I was the one who held him through the night terrors, the one who worked two jobs so he could finish his residency. But to the world, I didn’t exist. Lydia suddenly looked up, her eyes landing on me with a flicker of feigned guilt. “Dr. Whitlock, I heard you’re on the night shift tonight.” She looked back at Adrian, then back at me, her voice dropping into a sweet, pleading honey. “Adrian is worried about me staying alone. He wants me to stay one more night for observation. Would you mind… would you mind swapping shifts with him? I’d really love for him to be the one nearby.” The room went silent, all eyes pivoting to me. Another doctor, a guy from neuro, pointed a finger at me with a grin. “Come on, Nina. You’ve got to swap. Don’t be the one to break up the reunion. If you say no, the karma will hit you with twenty trauma admissions tonight.” The room filled with easy laughter. I didn’t join in. I just looked at Adrian. “Do you want me to swap?” I asked, my voice flat. He finally looked at me, his expression as professional and detached as if he were discussing a lab report with a stranger. “Let’s swap,” he said softly. I felt a sudden, sharp heat behind my eyes. I looked down quickly, adjusting my surgical mask to hide the tremble in my lips. Lydia breathed out a “thank you,” her hand slipping into the crook of Adrian’s arm. He reached out, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and leaned in. I tried to pull my lips into a smile. I failed. By the time I made it back to the breakroom, my head was spinning. A few colleagues were already there, relishing the gossip. They’d all gone to the same medical school and knew the lore. “Did you see them? It’s like watching a movie,” one of them sighed. “They look exactly like they did in the library ten years ago.” I stood by the coffee machine, frozen. “I heard she was a lit major,” another added. “She used to drag Adrian to her poetry seminars. He’d skip his own rounds just to sit in the back of her class. He was so head-over-heels back then. Remember his social media? That pinned quote from Gone with the Wind has been there for nearly a decade.” My hand gripped the counter. Adrian’s pinned quote. I knew it by heart. ‘The fact that someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to, doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.’ I had spent years convinced that quote was about his strained relationship with his parents. Every time I asked, he’d just shrug and say he liked the sentiment of the characters. I was so stupid. It wasn’t about family. It was a lighthouse for the woman who had left him. The fluorescent lights overhead felt too bright, making my eyes itch. Suddenly, one of the doctors turned to me. “Nina, you’re new to the department. We don’t even know your deal. Are you seeing anyone? Married?” The room went quiet again. The door pushed open. Adrian was walking Lydia toward the exit of the ward, but he stopped in the doorway. He looked at me, a warning flash in his eyes. He cleared his throat twice—a low, dry sound. Our signal. In the nine years I’d known him, he did that whenever he was uncomfortable or wanted me to shut down a conversation. The last time he’d done it was at my parents’ funeral, when a distant aunt asked when we were finally going to tie the knot. He hadn’t wanted to answer then, either. I took a deep breath. I didn’t look at him. I looked at my colleagues and forced a small, tight smile. “I am married,” I said. “But I’m actually getting a divorce.” 02 Adrian’s entire body went rigid. Lydia looked up at him, blinking in confusion. “Adrian? Is something wrong?” He waved her off, his hand trembling slightly as he gestured that he was fine. My colleagues shifted uncomfortably, the air in the room turning thick with embarrassment. “Oh, Nina, I’m so sorry,” the nurse from earlier whispered. “We didn’t mean to pry. Marriage is… it’s a big deal. Maybe take some time to think it over? You don’t want to regret it.” I didn’t let them finish. I kept my tone light, almost airy. “I won’t regret it.” I leaned against the doorframe, my voice steady. “We’ve been together for a long time, but I finally realized I never actually made it inside his heart. So no, there won’t be any regrets.” The room went deathly silent. No one dared to pick up that thread. Except Lydia. She leaned into Adrian, her voice carrying that sharp, polished edge of a woman who knows she’s winning. “Dr. Whitlock is so pragmatic. But isn’t that just how love works? Some people can try for years, but if it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be. And then there are those of us tied by fate. No matter how many years pass, we always find our way back. Don’t you agree, Doctor?” The other doctors looked between us, sensing the tension but unable to decode it. “What do you mean?” one asked. Lydia shot me a look that was pure, cold triumph. “Nothing. Just that you can’t force a heart to want what it doesn’t.” Force. That word had been the soundtrack of my life. When I was just a plain medical student who couldn’t stop staring at the brilliant Adrian Beckett, people told me not to force it. When I stayed by his side for six years without a single public acknowledgement, they told me not to force it. And even after three years of marriage, here I was, being told the same thing. Even Adrian believed it. He convinced himself that he was only with me because I had willed it into existence, that our marriage was a debt he was paying. “Anyway, life goes on,” my friend Jordan said, trying to break the ice. “If it’s broken, it’s broken. Don’t worry, Nina. I’ve got a literal catalog of eligible guys. You want a doctor? I’ll find you a better one.” Jordan pulled out her phone to show me a photo, but the sound of Adrian’s knuckles rapping sharply against the desk cut her off. “Enough,” he said. His voice was cold, vibrating with a strange, dark energy. “She isn’t even divorced yet. This is a hospital, not a dating service. Act like professionals.” “He’s right,” someone chimed in, eager to appease the Chief. “At least wait until the papers are signed. You don’t want to give the guy any leverage in court.” “Right, right,” Jordan muttered, giving me a quick, apologetic wink. “But seriously, Nina, I’m keeping my eyes open for you.” I gave her a polite nod and sat down to chart. Beside me, Lydia leaned in and whispered something into Adrian’s ear. They both laughed. Adrian reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a leather-bound notebook, handing it to her with a look of immense softness. I recognized that notebook. In three years of marriage, he had never let me touch it. He’d told me he valued his privacy, his “intellectual boundaries.” I had respected that, thinking it was just part of his process. I realized now it wasn’t about the notebook. It was about who was doing the touching. 03 The office was soon consumed by the sound of typing and hushed medical consultations. Jordan walked me through a new admission from the night before, our heads bent over the chart. Across the room, Lydia had made herself at home in Adrian’s chair. She was “helping” him with some paperwork, their heads leaning so close they were practically touching. It was an eyesore. Watching them, you’d never guess Adrian and I even knew each other outside of these four walls. We were strangers who happened to share an employer. Even at dinner, there was nothing. Adrian had brought Lydia to the staff cafeteria, having gone home to grab her a change of clothes—a soft, cream-colored sweater. As he helped her pull the sweater over her head, the light caught something on her neck. A silver necklace. Exactly like mine. Except hers was better. The craftsmanship was finer, the metal brighter. It was clearly a new, high-end version of the one I wore every day. He led her toward a table, his hand resting naturally on the small of her back. She leaned her head against his shoulder. They looked like a couple in a jewelry commercial. I might as well have been a piece of the furniture. I sat with Jordan and the others. Jordan noticed where I was looking and waved a hand in front of my face. “Forget it, Nina. Beckett never eats with the peasants. Unless, of course, it’s her.” I forced a smile and looked down at my tray. The food tasted like ash. My colleagues were complaining about the mystery meat, asking if I liked it. I just shook my head, my eyes involuntarily drifting back to the table near the window. Seeing them huddled together took me back. Back to the year Adrian was accused of plagiarism. I had spent months traveling to different universities, digging through archives, tracking down witnesses to clear his name. Sometimes we only had enough money for one meal a day. He’d bought me my necklace then. We were waiting for a meeting, eating cold takeout on a curb, when he’d slipped into a cheap silver shop and came out with it. I’ll be like this chain, he’d told me. Always around you. Always holding you. When his name was finally cleared and he got his position at the hospital, he made a vow. “From now on, Nina, I’m going to make sure we always have a proper seat at the table.” And later, when I lost the baby—when the stress of the scandal and the two jobs finally broke my body—he had held me in the hospital bed, sobbing into my hair. “I’m so sorry, Nina. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” Now I saw those vows for what they were: heat-of-the-moment emotions. Empty words from a man who was grateful for the help, but not the woman giving it. As I got up to head back to my shift, my phone buzzed. A text from Adrian. Nice performance today. But next time, try a less pathetic excuse than ‘divorce.’ I sighed, staring at the screen. I didn’t reply. There was nothing left to say that a lawyer couldn’t say better. 04 After my shift, I ordered Thai takeout and went home. Adrian hated takeout. He said the years of struggling and eating out of cardboard boxes had scarred him. Because I loved him, I had spent every evening—no matter how exhausted I was—cooking from scratch, making his favorites. He’d eat it with a shrug, but I kept doing it. Not tonight. Lydia was with him. I’m sure a salad from the hospital vending machine would taste like a five-course meal as long as she was the one feeding it to him. I went into the study and pulled a book off the shelf. On the night we officially started our relationship, Adrian had sat in this room until dawn. He told me he was too nervous, too overwhelmed by his feelings for me to sleep. I’d believed him. Until I found the letter. I had been cleaning months later and a page fell out of his copy of Gone with the Wind. The sycamores have turned brittle and yellow six times now, he had written. And I am still waiting for you. It was a letter to Lydia, never sent, perfectly preserved. I put the letter back. I took off my necklace and placed it in the back of a junk drawer. I opened my laptop and typed out a transfer request to another department, then hit send. That night, I didn’t sleep. My mind was a loop of Adrian’s breath against my skin as he fastened that necklace years ago, contrasted against the way he’d tucked Lydia into her sweater today. I fell asleep just as the sun began to peek through the blinds, my face damp with tears. The next day was my day off. I dressed in a tailored suit and sprayed on a gardenia perfume. It was an old bottle, probably expired. I’d bought it before Adrian and I were together. He hated scents, so I’d buried it in the back of the vanity. As I was grabbing my keys, the front door opened. Adrian walked in. He caught the scent immediately and frowned. “Lydia was scared to be alone in the hospital last night,” he said, skipping any greeting. “That’s why I asked you to swap. Don’t read into it.” I paused, my hand on the doorknob. In three years of marriage, he had never felt the need to explain himself to me. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, his eyes scanning me, landing on the source of the perfume. “Where are you going? And since when do you wear that stuff? You know I hate perfume.” I looked him in the eye, my voice perfectly level. “I never said I didn’t like it. You don’t like it. There’s a difference.” Adrian blinked, finally noticing the coldness in my expression. “Are you really still sulking because I asked you to swap a shift? I didn’t realize you were so petty, Nina.” Petty. I almost laughed. It was a sharp, jagged sound. “Is that what this is to you? Pettiness?” Adrian pressed his lips together. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have asked in front of everyone. Lydia would have been embarrassed if I’d said no. You’re a doctor, Nina. Have some professional compassion. Stop being so dramatic.” He paused, then added, “Tell you what. I’ll take you to that concert tonight. The one Lydia mentioned—” “No.” I cut him off before he could finish. It was the first time I’d ever interrupted him. “Adrian, I’m done playing this part. I’m done pretending we—” Before I could finish, his grip on my wrist tightened. His eyes went wide, fixed on my throat. “Where is the necklace?”

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A year ago, he left me standing alone at City Hall for a girl who scaled fish at the harbor for ten dollars an hour. I can still see the shadow of a smirk in his eyes when he told me, “Erica, you don’t understand. She’s… refreshing. She’s real.” I watched him walk away, a hollow, wintry ache settling behind my ribs. It felt like my entire life had been gutted and left to dry in the sun. It only took him six months to regret it. The girl from the docks was a novelty, a splash of salt air in his curated life, but eventually, the smell of the harbor wouldn’t wash off. The gap in their worlds became a chasm he couldn’t bridge. He crawled back, begging for forgiveness, certain that I would still be there, waiting to be his wife. And I did marry him. For the first six months of our marriage, he was the picture of a perfect husband. Attentive. Gracious. Desperate to atone. But why should I be the only one to know the copper taste of betrayal? Why should I be the only one who had to swallow the glass of a broken heart? Six months into our “happily ever after,” I made sure he caught me with another man. Nathan’s eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of fractured sanity as he demanded to know why. “Are you punishing me? Erica, I’m done with that life! I’ve been home every night. I’ve given you everything. Where did I go wrong?” 1 Clothes were strewn across the hardwood floor in a frantic, tell-tale trail. I sat on the edge of the bed, draped in nothing but a silk robe that revealed far too much, watching Nathan unravel. He stood in the doorway, a dark, suffocating silhouette against the hallway light. “Get out,” he spat at the man behind me. The man didn’t move. He looked at me first, searching my face for a signal. When I kept my gaze fixed forward, cold and unblinking, he finally stood, dressed with a practiced, lethal efficiency, and left. Then, it was just me and Nathan. He was shaking with a suppressed, violent kind of grief. He grabbed a stray shirt from the floor and tried to force it onto me, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. “Erica, I can overlook this. This once. But if you ever—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath hitching as he saw the faint bruises on my collarbone. His grip tightened, his movements turning rough as he shoved my arms into the sleeves. My wrist twisted painfully. I winced, my brow furrowing. “Nathan, stop it! You’re acting like a psychopath!” I shoved him back, my voice echoing in the silent room. He lunged forward, pinning my wrists, his teeth bared. “A psychopath? I walk into my own home and find my wife in bed with a stranger, and I’m supposed to what? Stand here and applaud?” Watching the agony ripple across his face, the sharp pain in my wrist felt like nothing. It felt like a fair trade. I looked up at him, a slow, sharp smile spreading across my lips. “I just wanted to see for myself. I wanted to see if the world outside was really as ‘refreshing’ as you claimed it was.” Nathan recoiled as if I’d slapped him. “You married me… just for revenge?” “I’m done with her, Erica! I haven’t seen her in months!” “Done?” I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. It started in my chest and climbed up my throat until it turned into hot, stinging tears. “You crawled into her bed over and over again. You think ‘ending it’ scrubs that clean? You think I can’t smell the salt on you every time you touch me?” Nathan’s eyes were crimson. He paced the room like a caged predator, gasping for air, before his fist collided with the wall. A streak of blood smeared down the paint. The violence of it seemed to ground him. “Erica,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, terrifyingly calm register. “We’re even now. You’ve had your pound of flesh. From now on, we move past this. We live our lives.” I laughed again, the sound brittle. “You slept with her a thousand times, Nathan. You think one night with someone else balances the scales?” “What do you want from me?” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I. Want. A. Divorce.” “A divorce?” He looked at me with a sudden, cruel flash of derision. “Erica, look at yourself. You aren’t the girl you used to be. Who’s going to take you now? Who’s going to give you this life? You think you can find someone who loves you more than I do?” He reached out, his voice softening into a patronizing silk. “Be a good girl. I’ll forgive you this time. Let’s just forget the past and start over.” In that moment, I felt a profound sense of the absurd. This man, the boy who used to bring me wildflowers and talk about our future under the oak trees—how had he turned into this monster? 2 When did the rot start? I think it was when his startup finally took off, right around the time the “Old Money” of my family’s estate began to crumble. My father’s firm collapsed, a slow-motion car crash that ended in total bankruptcy. My parents moved back to the countryside, leaving me in Nathan’s hands like a precious heirloom. My father had said, “I’m glad I had the foresight not to stand in your way when Nathan was starting out. Now that the family name is gone, you have him to lean on. I can sleep peacefully knowing you’re taken care of.” I had nodded, tears blurring my vision, grateful that I had a rock like Nathan to cling to. But after my parents left, the rock began to erode. He started coming home later and later—midnight, 2:00 AM, sometimes not at all. When I asked if work was really that demanding, he’d give me the same tired script: “We’re breaking into the global market, Erica. I have to be there. I’m the CEO; I have to set the example.” He’d done the same during the early days of the company. I had no reason to doubt him. Until the day of the fender-bender. I was stuck in traffic near the waterfront when I saw his car parked illegally by the pier. I saw Nathan—my Nathan—carrying a young woman in his arms. He looked frantic, his face etched with a desperate worry as he lifted her into the back of an ambulance. The world went ice-cold. In the middle of a sweltering July afternoon, I started to shiver. I called him. Once. Twice. Ten times. He declined every single one. In a meeting, the auto-reply text read. Those three words felt like a death sentence. I drove home in a trance, and halfway there, I got rear-ended. My head hit the steering wheel, and as I felt the warm trickle of blood down my forehead, a sick thought occurred to me: This is good. I would call him, tell him I was hurt, and he would come rushing back. He would leave that girl and hold me. But as the paramedics loaded me into the ambulance, his phone was still off. The nurse handed me an ice pack, her eyes full of a pity that made me want to scream. “Try him again later, sweetie. I’m sure he’s just tied up with something important.” I sat in the sterile silence of the ER, listening to the busy signal, a strange, eerie calm settling over me. I sent him a photo of my injury. He didn’t reply. It wasn’t until I had been sitting in our dark living room for four hours that he finally burst through the door. “Erica! My god, are you okay? Does your head hurt? Do we need to go back to the hospital?” He stumbled over the rug, rushing to gather me in his arms. The terror in his eyes looked so real. After seven years, I knew he still loved me in his own twisted way. But the smell of the hospital—the scent of her crisis—was still clinging to his jacket. It ignited something inside me. “Where were you?” “I’m so sorry, babe. Things at the office are just insane. Once this merger goes through, I promise I’ll make it up to—” I slapped his hand away before he could finish the sentence. I looked at him, my eyes burning with a cold, sharp rage. “You’re lying. Nathan, where were you this afternoon?” He tried to double down. “I told you, I was in a meeting.” I picked up my phone and showed him the photo I’d taken at the pier. There he was, disheveled and frantic, holding a girl in a stained apron. Nathan’s face drained of color. He fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around my waist, his voice thick with a fake, desperate remorse. “I’m sorry, Erica. It was a momentary lapse. I was weak. Please, you have to forgive me.” I broke. I threw my phone, I screamed until my throat was raw, and I smashed every piece of porcelain in that room. “Why, Nathan? Why her?” He just kept apologizing, letting me hit him, letting me vent my fury. “I just felt sorry for her, Erica. She has nothing. It wasn’t… it wasn’t like us. I’ll end it. I swear. You’re the only one who matters.” And I was stupid enough to believe him. I tried to bury the memory. I tried to go back to the way we were. He proposed again—properly this time—and I threw myself into wedding planning, counting down the days until our September 9th date at City Hall. 3 I don’t think I’ll ever be able to scrub that day from my mind. I stood in front of the Marriage Bureau, clutching my paperwork, watching the sun climb to its zenith and then sink below the skyline. The security guard, a man who had clearly seen enough heartbreak for ten lifetimes, finally sighed and told me it was time to go. They were closing. I walked for two hours. I walked until the heel of my Louboutin snapped, until my feet were blistered and bleeding. It felt right. The physical pain was a distraction. When I finally let myself into the house, it was pitch black. Nathan wasn’t there. My phone had died hours ago. I didn’t bother turning on the lights; I just sat on the sofa and watched the shadows stretch across the room until dawn broke. He didn’t walk through the door until 8:00 AM. He looked exhausted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He saw me and asked, “Why are you up so early?” He had completely forgotten. The most important day of our lives had been erased by whatever—or whoever—had kept him out. “Nathan,” I said, my voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. “Where were you yesterday?” There it was again. The question that had become the soundtrack to our relationship. Where were you? Who were you with? I had become the nagging, paranoid wife I always swore I’d never be. Nathan’s face darkened with annoyance. He yanked at his tie. “Something came up at the office. Don’t start, Erica.” I didn’t remind him what day it was. I just nodded and let it go. If he couldn’t let her go, I would do it for him. I hired a private investigator. Her name was Becca. She was a “fishmonger’s girl”—a high school dropout who worked the stalls at the local market, scaling sea bass with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She was young. She was beautiful in a raw, unrefined way. And she had a following. She was a local “blue-collar” influencer, the “Harbor Queen.” People loved her because she was “authentic,” a far cry from the polished socialites Nathan usually dealt with. That was the draw. The extreme contrast. To a man who had everything, she was a trip to the wild side. I made sure the “authenticity” of her brand was ruined. I leaked evidence of her affair with a married man to the local tabloids and her comment sections. Suddenly, the “Harbor Queen” was just another homewrecker. Her live streams were flooded with vitriol. Nathan grew more sullen by the day. Finally, the dam broke. Someone threw a bucket of fish guts at her during her shift, screaming that she was a slut. I was at home, eating lunch while watching the footage on my tablet, when Nathan slammed through the door. “Was this you? Why are you doing this to her? She’s not like you, Erica. She didn’t grow up in a mansion with a silver spoon. She’s just a girl trying to survive, and you’re destroying her!” “Stop it, Erica. Just stop.” I looked into his eyes—eyes full of disappointment and rage—and I actually felt a laugh bubble up. “Have you eaten yet?” I asked, smiling through the tears that were finally starting to fall. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. In the background of the tablet, the crowd’s jeers grew louder. Nathan’s expression hardened. He told me to end the “charade.” I looked at him defiantly. “And if I don’t?” “Then don’t expect me to be kind. Your family is gone, Erica. You have no one else. Where else are you going to go?”

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The day I brought a birthday gift to my fated mate, Alpha Floyd, I witnessed him kissing another woman with my own eyes. I rushed forward to confront him, only to be thrown into the rain and humiliated. Floyd’s sworn enemy, Alpha Isaac, took me away from my pain and kissed my lips, telling me he loved me. He would never hurt me, he said. But on my wedding day, I left the werewolf world behind. Four years later, when the two of them found me, I had become one of the world’s top perfumers. Isaac found me and asked me to come back to him. But I dismissed him with contempt, because I knew the love he showed me all those years ago was nothing but a lie. Caroline POV Seven days. Seven days until I was supposed to marry Isaac, the Alpha of Ironridge Pack. Everyone said I must have received the Moon Goddess’s blessing to go from being Floyd’s rejected mate to Isaac’s beloved. Two powerful pack Alphas both involved with me—many people were envious. Even I believed it myself. These past few years, Isaac had treasured me like a jewel in his palm. He was a noble Alpha, yet he would personally deliver hot soup to me on stormy nights, would cancel all his work to keep me company when I was in a bad mood. He said, “Caroline, I’m going to give you the most magnificent wedding and make everyone shut up.” I believed him. Until ten minutes ago, when I found a woman’s lipstick in his car. To find out who that lipstick belonged to—and more importantly, whether Isaac was cheating—I specifically extracted the dashcam footage. I inserted the card and began reading the data. I quickly found the video. Isaac had finished work and picked up two friends. Just as I was about to adjust the playback time, a mocking laugh came through the speakers. “Isaac, you fooled around with Bethany right there in the car. If Caroline found out, wouldn’t she be angry?” My hand froze on the mouse. I expected to hear Isaac defend me. “Angry?” Isaac’s voice was cold, accompanied by the crisp click of a lighter. “Right now all she’s thinking about is how to be the most beautiful bride. She doesn’t have time to be angry.” My smile froze on my face. The conversation in the car continued, each word cutting like a knife. “Is it really worth spending so much on this wedding just to piss off Floyd? What if Caroline really latches onto you? Are you really going to become her mate? But you haven’t Marked her in four years, so I guess that’s not your plan, right?” On the screen, Isaac exhaled a ring of smoke that blurred his handsome profile. But it didn’t blur the coldness in his eyes. “That small price to see Alpha Floyd’s shitty expression? This deal is worth it.” He chuckled lightly, as if discussing some worthless object. “On the wedding day, I’m going to announce the game is over in front of everyone. Alpha Floyd’s expression will be priceless. After all, no matter what, she was his fated mate. And he still hasn’t found a second one.” Malicious laughter erupted from the men in the car. “What about Caroline after that? So many people know she was abandoned by her fated mate, and then publicly jilted by you. Won’t her life be ruined?” Isaac flicked his cigarette ash, unconcerned. “Adult games—she’s stupid. Who else is to blame?” The video ended abruptly. The study fell into a deathly silence. I sat frozen in my chair, my blood turning to ice. So these four years of deep affection were just an elaborate, calculated lie. This was just a game to him, designed to humiliate Floyd, my former mate and Isaac’s sworn enemy, by humiliating me. My stomach churned violently. I rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet, but nothing came up. Tears hit the floor. I wiped them away viciously. Caroline, don’t cry. A scumbag like this isn’t worth it. My wolf was furious, but she calmly reminded me. I splashed cold water on my face and looked at my pale reflection in the mirror. Since you want to play something exciting, I’ll help you. I returned to the computer, my hands still trembling, but my eyes had gone cold. I clipped that five-minute segment of their car conspiracy, along with the earlier footage of Isaac having sex with his mistress Bethany, and backed it all up to the cloud. Just then, my phone lit up with a message from Isaac: “Dinner tonight? Wear that red dress—you look stunning in it.” I stared at that familiar profile picture, my fingertips white with pressure. Finally, I replied: “Okay.” I put down my phone and walked into the closet. That red dress hung in the most prominent position—he’d had it flown in from Paris last week. He said only my skin tone could do justice to that shade of red. Memory flashed back instantly to that rainy night four years ago. Floyd suddenly rejected me, breaking my heart. But I loved him, so I wanted to win back his heart. But when I brought him a birthday gift, I saw him kissing a woman I didn’t recognize. I tried to confront him, but he threw the birthday gift I gave him into the trash and mocked me in front of everyone: “Caroline, can’t you understand what I’m saying? Just looking at you makes me sick.” Everyone laughed. I was as pathetic as a clown. Isaac emerged from the corner, draped his coat over my shoulders, and blocked those humiliating stares. He also soothed the pain my wolf and I endured. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll take you home.” That night, I thought he was my salvation. Now I know it was all fake.

Caroline POV Seven o’clock that evening, Isaac arrived right on time to pick me up. He’d changed into a dark gray custom suit, wearing the tie I’d knotted for him that morning. As soon as I got in the car, he leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Good evening, darling. You don’t look well.” He took my hand, frowning slightly, his eyes full of concern. “What happened?” If I hadn’t heard that recording. Right now I’d think I was the happiest woman in the world. I withdrew my hand, pretending to adjust my dress. “Probably just hungry.” Isaac didn’t suspect anything, smiling as he started the car. “Then let’s go. Can’t let my fiancée go hungry.” The restaurant was on the top floor. We could overlook the entire city’s nightscape. While cutting my steak, I spoke as if casually: “Isaac.” “Hmm?” He switched the cut meat to my plate, his movements fluid. “I ran into your friend Austin today.” I watched his eyes, not missing a single expression on his face. “He asked if I was nervous.” Isaac’s hand paused while cutting the meat. Just for a second, too fast to catch. Then he looked up, his smile flawless. “Ignore him. You just need to focus on being beautiful.” “He also said…” I gripped my knife and fork, my fingertips straining. “Floyd’s back in the country recently. He asked if you’d feel awkward.” “Caroline.” Isaac set down his knife and fork, reaching out to cover the back of my hand. His palm was warm, but his tone carried undeniable firmness. “Why bring him up? I told you, we’re getting married. Everything from the past is behind us.” He looked at me, his gaze so tender it could drown someone. “I only want you.” If that recording wasn’t still sitting in my cloud storage, I might have believed him again. “Right, it’s behind us.” I lowered my head and forked a piece of beef into my mouth. Medium rare, streaked with blood. Despite being top-quality ingredients, it tasted like sawdust in my mouth. “Oh, right.” Isaac seemed to remember something and pulled out an exquisite velvet box, pushing it toward me. “Almost forgot—this is your pre-wedding gift.” I opened it. A sapphire necklace with rich color and considerable value. “Do you like it?” He looked at me expectantly. I stared at that deep blue and suddenly remembered an Instagram story Bethany had posted last month. The caption read: [I love this deep blue so much, but Isaac said it doesn’t suit me.] So it didn’t suit her, which is why it came to me. Or maybe he bought two, and this was the leftover one? “I love it.” I closed the lid and smiled at him. “It must have been expensive.” “Any amount is worth it to spend on you.” Isaac ruffled my hair, his eyes full of affection. I excused myself to touch up my makeup in the restroom. Standing at the sink, I looked at the woman with perfect makeup in the mirror and forced out a smile uglier than crying. Since you want to play the devoted lover. Then I’ll help you along. I pulled out my phone and called Harlan, my father’s Beta. He answered quickly. “Miss Caroline, have you considered the Alpha’s proposal?” I looked at myself in the mirror, my voice terrifyingly calm. “I won’t become an Alpha. That kind of work doesn’t suit me. But I need you to do something for me.” Over the years, I’d rarely relied on my Alpha father’s influence. After all, my brother was deeply insecure about his position as heir to the Alpha title. He always thought I, his sister who had been more combative than him since childhood, would replace him. What a shame—I never had any such intention. Still, to avoid unnecessary conflicts, I tried not to do things that could be misunderstood. There was another reason: whether it was Floyd’s Frostveil Pack or Isaac’s Ironridge Pack, we couldn’t afford to provoke either. Even if I asked for help, my father couldn’t rescue me. But now, I wasn’t asking them to rescue me. “What do you need me to do?” “Tell my family they don’t need to make a special trip for my wedding. Also, book me a flight for the wedding day. I’ll go back and explain to them myself.” After hanging up, I reapplied my lipstick and stared at that crimson shade, my heart hardening bit by bit. Isaac. I’ll remember this final dinner well. When I returned to the table, Isaac was replying to messages. Seeing me, he quickly darkened his screen and stood up with a smile. “Let’s go home.” I took his arm, feeling his muscles stiffen for an instant. “Okay, home.”

Caroline POV Five days before the wedding, Bethany arrived. Under the guise of helping with preparations, she brazenly moved into Gerald Manor. She was the daughter of the previous Beta. Though she’d only inherited her mother’s Omega bloodline, she’d grown up with Isaac. She was also widely acknowledged within the pack as the woman Isaac loved most. If Isaac’s elders hadn’t strongly opposed him marrying an Omega, the Luna position would have been hers long ago. “Caroline, this evening gown is gorgeous.” Bethany stood before the fitting mirror, wearing what was supposed to be my red reception dress. The waist had been altered extremely tight, accentuating her graceful figure. She twirled around and looked at Isaac, who sat on the sofa. “Isaac, don’t I look better in red than Caroline?” Isaac held a financial magazine, not looking up. “Stop fooling around. Take it off. That’s for Caroline.” Though his tone was reproachful, there wasn’t a trace of anger in it. Bethany pouted and reluctantly headed to the changing room. “Stingy. I was just trying it on.” I sat to the side, holding my tea, watching quietly. In the past, I would have gotten angry and fought with Isaac. Then Isaac would patiently coax me, saying I was petty, that Bethany was like a little sister to him. Looking back now, I really was quite the joke. “Caroline, don’t mind her. I’ve spoiled Bethany.” Isaac set down his magazine and reached for my hand. “If you don’t like it, I’ll have her move out.” “It’s fine.” I avoided his hand and poured him tea. “The more people, the livelier it is. Besides, the house has plenty of rooms.” Isaac froze. Clearly he hadn’t expected me to be so magnanimous. In the past, whenever Bethany appeared, all my defenses would go up. “You’re not angry?” He looked at me tentatively. “Why would I be angry?” I smiled back. “She’s a friend who’ll be around often anyway. Besides, it’s just a dress. If she likes wearing it, let her.” After all, I wasn’t planning to wear that dress anyway. A flash of surprise crossed Isaac’s eyes, which then became relief. “Caroline, you’ve really changed. You’ve become more mature.” Mature? You forced me to mature. Just then, a crisp crash came from the changing room. Followed by Bethany’s cry: “Oh no!” Isaac’s expression changed. He threw down his magazine and rushed over at nearly the speed of a werewolf on the hunt. At the changing room door, Bethany sat collapsed on the floor, surrounded by shattered porcelain. It was a sculpture by a contemporary art master—Isaac had spent a fortune at auction to buy it for me. “Isaac, I didn’t mean to…” Bethany’s eyes reddened, looking pitiful. “I tripped just now and tried to steady myself on the sculpture, but…” Isaac didn’t even glance at the priceless artwork. He crouched down directly, gripping Bethany’s hand to inspect it. “Did you cut yourself? How can you be so careless?” “It hurts…” Bethany whimpered sweetly. I stood several meters away, watching this painfully glaring scene. That sculpture had once been treasured by Isaac, who said it represented our unbreakable love. Now it lay shattered on the floor, and he hadn’t even batted an eye. “Caroline!” Isaac turned around, his tone urgent. “Get the first aid kit. Bethany cut her hand.” I looked at him, unmoving. “What’s wrong?” He frowned, seemingly dissatisfied with my sluggish response. “Nothing.” I turned toward the cabinet, my voice flat. “If it’s broken, it’s broken. It was getting old anyway. Time for something new.” Isaac’s form stiffened. He seemed to hear something in my words, yet also seemed to hear nothing. He simply devoted all his attention to Bethany’s wound, which hadn’t even drawn blood. As if he’d forgotten that while Bethany was just a delicate Omega, she wasn’t that fragile. I returned with the first aid kit and set it on the table. “Take your time. I’m tired. I’ll head upstairs to rest.” As I turned to go upstairs, I heard Bethany say softly, “Isaac, is Caroline angry?” Isaac’s voice sounded irritated. “Don’t worry about her. She’s never been this cold-hearted before.” My steps didn’t falter. Reaching the second-floor landing, I pulled out my phone and sent Harlan a message: [Add one pet transport ticket. I’m taking Buddy with me.]

Caroline POV Three days before the wedding, the jewelry company delivered the rings. Isaac was in the study on a video conference call, so he had me sign for them. I signed and carried the heavy box into the study. He was listening to a subordinate’s report, his expression serious. Seeing me enter, his gaze instantly softened. He pointed to the corner of the desk, indicating I should set it down there. I placed the box on the desk. As I turned, my elbow accidentally knocked over a stack of documents. Papers scattered across the floor, revealing a design sketch that had been pressed underneath. I bent down to pick them up. My movement froze the moment I saw the sketch clearly. It was a ring design draft. The center stone was a rare pink diamond, with the word “only” engraved inside the band. The date in the corner was from half a month ago. And the wedding ring I’d just signed for had a white diamond as the center stone, with our initials engraved inside. Isaac removed his headphones and walked over. “What’s wrong?” Following my line of sight to the sketch, his expression stiffened. He casually pulled it away and tucked it into a folder. “Nothing, just a discarded draft.” His tone was natural as he put his arm around my shoulder. “Did you try the ring? Does it fit?” I looked at him and smiled. “Not yet. I’ll try it tonight.” At two in the morning, the person beside me was breathing evenly. I carefully got up and walked into the study. I opened the safe—the password was my birthday. Inside lay two identical navy blue boxes. I opened the one on the left. Pink diamond, engraved with “only.” Dazzling. I opened the one on the right. White diamond, engraved with our surnames. Conventional. Isaac once said, “Caroline, you are my only.” So this was what “only” truly meant. I took out both rings. And switched the boxes. I placed the pink diamond in the box prepared for the wedding ceremony, and put the white diamond in the box that had originally belonged to Bethany. After finishing this, I closed the safe. Returning to the bedroom, Isaac rolled over, his arm instinctively reaching to hold me. I avoided his hand and lay at the edge of the bed. Moonlight spilled across the floor, illuminating the calendar on the nightstand. The date was circled in red pen. Three more days until I could leave him.

Caroline POV Next, I began clearing out my belongings. The house was filled with gifts Isaac had given me over four years. Hermès bags, complete sets of Cartier jewelry, limited edition heels. Once, these were all proof of his love for me. I contacted luxury goods resellers. Because of the volume, they brought an authenticator directly to the house. “Mrs. Gerald, several of these bags are brand new. Are you sure you want to sell them all?” The authenticator wore gloves, his face full of regret. “Yes.” I sipped my coffee, my tone calm. “Wire transfer. The faster the better.” When Isaac came home, he happened to witness workers carrying out boxes. The house was half empty, seeming somewhat desolate. “What’s going on?” He frowned, looking at the emptied closet. “I want to redecorate.” I walked over and helped him loosen his tie. “Clear out everything from the past. After the wedding, replace it all with new things. I want our home—every corner—to be a fresh start.” Isaac froze. Then a smile appeared in his eyes. He probably thought I was so madly in love with him that I wanted to completely say goodbye to the past and wholeheartedly become his mate. “Alright.” He held my hand and kissed my fingertips, his eyes full of affection. “Whatever you say. As long as you’re happy, you can tear down the whole house.” “Oh, right.” I pointed to the dog bed in the corner. “I sent Buddy to the pet hotel for boarding. The house is chaotic these days—didn’t want to disturb him.” Buddy was the puppy we’d raised together. Isaac usually doted on him most. “Whatever you think is best.” He didn’t suspect a thing, even seeming somewhat moved. “Caroline, you’ve worked so hard for this family.” After Isaac went into the bathroom to shower, my phone vibrated. A bank notification. The number was long—enough to buy a small apartment outright. I deleted the message and opened my private cloud storage. I set that dashcam footage to send on a timer. The recipient was the wedding venue’s main control station. Send time: 10 AM on the wedding day. After finishing this, the sound of water in the bathroom stopped. Isaac emerged wrapped in a towel, water still dripping from his hair. “Darling, grab me some pajamas.” I handed them to him. As he took them, he pulled me into his embrace, his voice somewhat husky. “The wedding’s the day after tomorrow. Are you nervous?” I leaned against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. “Not nervous,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.” I was looking forward to how surprised he’d look when he saw the gift I prepared for him.

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I once thought Peyton was the person who loved me most in the world. Five years of marriage. He worshipped the ground I walked on. Even I believed it was real. Until a paternity test told me the truth. The child calling me “Mommy” wasn’t mine. Until I saw him holding Lily, my sponsored student. Their lips locked under fireworks. Until I learned that the baby I nearly died to bring into the world had been suffocated with a handkerchief. Lily burned my baby to ash. They took everything from me. But they didn’t know one thing. I’m the heir to the Summers family. Heartbroken and done with lies, I called my brother. “I was wrong. I’ll take the arranged marriage.” Seraphina’s POV “Is your child adopted?” When I heard the doctor’s question, I instinctively held the child in my arms tighter. “What?” This was the baby I gave birth to myself. How could he possibly be adopted?! The doctor turned the computer screen toward me, pointing at the parental information section. “The child’s blood test results came back. Type B.” “You’re Type O. Your husband Peyton is Type A.” “Type O and Type A cannot produce a Type B child.” The doctor’s words felt like a heavy boulder crashing down on my heart. The child had a slight fever today. Peyton was away on business, and our driver happened to have taken the day off. Worried the baby’s condition might worsen, I quickly hailed a taxi and rushed to the nearest hospital. I’d previously always gone to the Summers family’s private hospital far from home. At that hospital, no doctor had ever raised such doubts. The doctor looked at my pale face and softened her tone. “If you have concerns, I can arrange an expedited paternity test.” “It only takes three hours to get results.” I numbly signed the consent form. Three hours felt as long as a century. I sat on a chair in the hospital corridor, the sleeping child in my arms. The child’s breathing was even, his little face looking innocent and harmless. But looking at him, I suddenly felt like he was a stranger. Five years of marriage. Everyone said Peyton had spoiled me into the happiest wife in San Francisco. He remembered all my preferences, would cancel all social engagements to come home and keep me company, took meticulous care of me during my pregnancy. Everyone envied me. Even I believed it myself. I thought I’d married the man who loved me most. I thought our child was the best proof of our love. But now, it had all become a joke. The paternity test report was finally delivered to my hands. A thin sheet of paper, so hot it burned my fingertips. The sentence at the bottom was painfully clear. “Based on DNA analysis results, Seraphina is not the biological mother of this child.” This wasn’t my child. Then where was my child? Before I could process this information, a familiar voice suddenly reached my ears. I looked toward the sound and actually discovered my husband Peyton. Wasn’t he supposed to be on a business trip? Peyton was steadily supporting a woman. The woman was clutching her lower abdomen, her face flushed with an unnatural redness. “It’s all your fault, honey. Why did you have sex with me in the car? Now the baby in my belly is upset, and you’ve landed me in the hospital.” When I saw that face clearly, my eyes widened instantly. It was actually Lily! Lily was a poverty-stricken student I’d been quietly sponsoring since high school. I gave her the opportunity to study, gave her a job. Now she was Peyton’s chief assistant. I gave her my complete trust, never once guarded against her. But I never imagined that Lily had secretly been sleeping with Peyton! My heart racing in panic, I hid in the stairwell holding the child, then heard Peyton say indulgently. “It’s because you’re too attractive. You’ve already given birth to Harper, yet you’re still so tempting…” I couldn’t believe it, because the child in my arms was Harper! So the child I’d been raising for nearly a year was Lily’s. Lily was even pregnant with Peyton’s second child. My world instantly collapsed. I held the baby that didn’t belong to me and walked out of the hospital step by step. Returning to the empty house, I closed the door and finally couldn’t hold on anymore. I called my brother Ashton. I hadn’t talked to him in years. My voice shook, but it was oddly clear. “I lost the bet. He fell for her.” “I need you to check three things for me.” “Peyton.” “Lily.” “And the day I gave birth at Summers Hospital one year ago. Every camera. Every record. Every nurse present. I want it all.” “I have to know where my baby is.” The wind from the corridor lifted my clothes. I gazed into the distance, my eyes gradually turning cold. Peyton. You lied to me. This time, I won’t trust you again.

Seraphina’s POV Not long after, Peyton came home. “Darling, I’m back.” In the bedroom, as soon as he saw me, he quickly walked toward me, reaching out to pull me into his arms. I quietly shifted to the side, gently avoiding his touch. Peyton’s hand froze in midair. A flash of displeasure swept through his eyes, then was quickly covered by a warm smile. The scene from the hospital replayed repeatedly in my mind. Peyton holding Lily, his tone indulgent. This was the man I’d known for over a decade, with whom I’d shared five years of marriage. He was the boy whose ears would turn red when kissing me, nervous enough to sweat from his palms. How had he become like this? “Darling, what’s wrong?” Peyton softened his voice. “Are you still angry that I’ve been away on business for so long? But I’ve really been busy lately. Forgive me, okay?” He stepped forward, trying to get close again. I took half a step back, keeping my distance. The tenderness on Peyton’s face faded somewhat, a barely perceptible forcefulness suppressed in his eyes. He reached out and gripped my wrist. The force wasn’t great, but carried an inescapable sense of control. “Why are you avoiding me?” Peyton glanced at the suitcase nearby and frowned. That was something I’d packed in advance. I couldn’t stay in a home full of betrayal. I needed to find my own child. Peyton looked down at me, his tone still gentle but hiding an interrogation. “Why did you get out your suitcase? Are you trying to disappear quietly again like last time, making it impossible for me to find you?” My heart ached. I remembered that year in college when we had a fight and I hid in the library, refusing to see him. Peyton searched for me all night like a madman. The next day, he held me with reddened eyes, his voice hoarse, saying he’d never let me leave his side again. Back then, he was clean, innocent, careful. And now, all he had left for me was suffocating possession and control. As if I were one of his possessions. I suppressed the bitterness in my throat, forcing myself to lower my eyes. “I’m not avoiding you. I was just sorting through old things I don’t need anymore. I got dust on myself and was afraid of dirtying your clothes.” I couldn’t expose myself. I couldn’t let him know I already knew the truth about the child, and I couldn’t let him know I was preparing to leave. Peyton’s expression relaxed. He walked over and hugged me tightly, his tone affectionate. “It’s okay. I missed you and the baby.” Once, that sweetness would have moved me. Now it only turns my stomach. And this baby. What a joke. Before I could speak, Peyton’s phone suddenly rang. He glanced at the screen, his eyes flickering, then turned and walked to the balcony to take the call. His voice was extremely low, yet still couldn’t hide its tenderness. “Mm, I’m at home… Don’t move around, I’ll come see you now…” I stood in place, my fingertips ice cold. Peyton hung up the phone. When he turned to speak to me, he was as natural as if nothing had happened. “The company has an urgent matter. I need to go out for a bit. Take good care of the child at home. Don’t overthink things.” He left quickly. The moment the door closed, I could no longer hold on and slowly slid down to the floor. The child in the crib slept peacefully, but I was freezing all over. Not long after, an anonymous text message popped up, with an audio recording attached. My fingers trembling, I clicked play. Peyton’s voice came through, low and husky, with suppressed panting. “Lily…” Lily’s voice was full of grievance. “Who do you really love? I don’t want to keep sneaking around with you like this…” Peyton laughed lowly, his tone casual yet cruel. “Of course I love you. Seraphina is rigid and boring. She’s getting old too. I’ve been tired of her for a long time.” Lily laughed smugly. “But when I think about my son calling her mommy every day, I get so annoyed… Her child died right after being born. Why does she get to keep my child!” “Darling, don’t be angry.” Peyton coaxed her gently. “I just bought a fifty-million-dollar jewelry set. I’ll have it delivered to you tomorrow. Our child will return to your side sooner or later.” He paused, his voice deepening. “For now… let’s enjoy our beautiful time together.” … I was thunderstruck, all the blood in my body instantly freezing. I finally understood. A year ago on the day I gave birth, what I experienced wasn’t an accident, but a long-planned conspiracy. The child I nearly died giving birth to had died long ago. And Lily, whom I supported with all my effort and trusted, had slept with my husband, given birth to my “son,” and was now pregnant with a second child, waiting to take my place. Five years of marriage. Ten years of deep affection. What he gave me wasn’t a home, but an elaborately woven lie. I gripped my phone, tears silently falling onto the screen. I slowly stood up, my eyes gradually changing from shattered to desolate, then from desolate to coldly resolute. Peyton. Lily. Everything you owe me and my child, I will take it all back!

Seraphina’s POV I stood in the center of the living room, my fingertips still carrying a slight tremor. I’d cried, broken down, despaired. But now, I was terrifyingly clearheaded. What use was crying? My child had already been taken from me, murdered. I didn’t even know where my child was buried. I slowly lowered my head, looking at Harper sleeping peacefully in the crib. I loved the wrong person and raised the wrong child. I took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging emotions in my chest, picked up my phone, and dialed a number. “Hello.” Ashton on the other end seemed to have been waiting for me. His voice was low. “I found the information you wanted.” My fingers tightened sharply. “Tell me.” Ashton was silent for a second, his tone very low. “The day you gave birth a year ago, the surveillance at the Summers private hospital was deliberately deleted.” “But I recovered part of it.” “The child you gave birth to was alive.” This sentence struck like thunder, crashing violently into my mind. My breath caught. I could barely stand. Alive. The child I gave birth to was alive. My child wasn’t stillborn. “Then where is my child?” My voice became urgent. Ashton sighed heavily, somewhat reluctant. “What comes next, you might not be able to handle.” “Your child still died.” “The specific cause of death was hidden.” “The delivery nurses were forcibly transferred. One has already left the country, the other… died in an accident three months ago.” Ashton’s voice contained suppressed anger. “But I found that on that day, there was an extra ‘medical waste disposal record.’” “That record was personally signed and taken away by Peyton. The male infant was directly cremated afterward.” My pupils constricted sharply. My child died just like that. In their eyes, my child was just “waste.” My nails dug deeply into my palm. “What about the ashes? Where are the ashes now?” Ashton paused, slowly speaking. “The funeral home records show the ashes were sent to the basement of the Summers family’s abandoned villa…” A buzzing suddenly filled my ears. My child had been burned to ashes. He was in a dark place. He had no name and no identity. I suddenly laughed, a laugh that sent chills. “Good.” After that, I didn’t hesitate and immediately went to the Summers family’s former villa. The basement was cold and damp. I searched every corner but couldn’t find the urn. My hands began to tremble. The emotions I’d barely suppressed in my chest instantly surged up. Just then, my phone rang. I opened it to a text message: “Are you looking for your son’s ashes?” The next second, another message popped up. “I have them.” “Do you want them?” Immediately after came a photo. In the photo was a small, somewhat dirty white urn. The box was just casually placed on a vanity. Next to the urn was Lily’s hand, looking arrogant and malicious. My fingertips dug viciously into my palm. The piercing pain in my flesh couldn’t match one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. The phone vibrated again. “Actually, I didn’t want it to be this way.” “But who told you to cling to the position of Mrs. Summers?” “Tell me, what’s the point of keeping a dead child?” “Might as well exchange it for something valuable?” My eyes completely turned cold. I slowly typed a reply. “What do you want?” The other party’s response came almost instantly. “Very simple.” “Just divorce Peyton, and I’ll return the ashes to you.” I didn’t want that rotten man anyway. I sent Ashton a text. “I want to divorce Peyton. And the day I leave, immediately withdraw all investments in the Summers Corporation.” Peyton had always thought I was a weak woman who could only depend on him to survive. He never knew I was the heir to the New York Summers family. Back when he was starting his business and on the verge of bankruptcy, I begged my family to quietly invest, pulling him out of the mire. Now that I was divorcing him, it was time to let him lose everything again.

Seraphina’s POV Ashton’s message came quickly. “I support your divorce. After you divorce, I’ll come get you. Mom and Dad miss you too.” I looked at the screen, my heart suddenly tightening. Years ago, my parents firmly opposed my marriage to Peyton. They said he wasn’t a good man. I didn’t believe them, so I severed ties with my family and suffered alongside him, betting my entire youth to prove I hadn’t chosen wrong. I didn’t want a wedding. He and I only registered our marriage. But in just five years, I’d lost that bet. I gave up my family, my pride, my way out, and in return got a switched child, betrayal, and the pain of losing my child. It turned out I was the stupidest one all along. Early the next morning, I went directly to a private law firm and calmly drafted divorce papers. Property division, liability statements. I reviewed everything carefully. I had no lingering feelings for him. I put the agreement in a document folder and took a car to the Summers Corporation, wanting to divorce Peyton immediately. On the way, I casually opened social media. A trending post suddenly popped up on the homepage. The poster was Lily. The caption was just one sentence that stabbed my eyes: “Thank you to my love for giving me this wedding~” The wedding location was at a delicate small chapel in the suburbs. Wedding. This was the regret I’d hidden for five years. I remembered when I was twenty-two, Peyton knelt before me proposing, his eyes full of sincerity. “Seraphina, I don’t have money now. I can’t give you a grand wedding. But wait for me. When I succeed, I’ll definitely make it up to you with the best wedding.” I smiled and said it didn’t matter. Having him was enough. Later we registered our marriage. No wedding dress, no chapel. I cooked two plates of pasta in our rental apartment as our wedding ceremony. I thought we’d continue happily like this, but now he’d given another woman the ceremony I once longed for. I had the driver turn around and head to that small chapel. The chapel wasn’t large, but was decorated warmly and romantically. The wedding setting was exactly what I’d secretly fantasized about countless times. I didn’t go forward, just sat silently in the shadows of the back row. On stage, Lily wore a pure white wedding dress. Her lower abdomen was slightly rounded. She nestled happily in Peyton’s arms. The way he looked at her held a tenderness and adoration I’d never seen. When the officiant finished speaking, Peyton leaned down, cupped the back of Lily’s neck, and kissed her deeply. Applause and congratulations rose around them. Each blessing felt like a needle piercing my ears. After Peyton’s career succeeded, it wasn’t that I hadn’t asked him when we’d have our makeup wedding. But the answer I got was always “wait a bit longer.” So he didn’t refuse to have one. He just didn’t want to have one for me. An invisible hand viciously squeezed my heart. The pain made it nearly impossible to breathe. Just as the applause reached its peak, Peyton suddenly looked up. Our eyes met. His gaze froze abruptly, the tenderness and smile on his face instantly solidifying. Time seemed to stop in this moment. He saw me sitting in the corner, his pupils contracting violently. I quietly gazed back at him. Peyton called out my name in a low voice. “Seraphina…” The entire venue fell deathly silent.

Seraphina’s POV The sweetness on Lily’s face instantly froze. The malice in her eyes almost overflowed. Suddenly, she immediately put on an innocent, frightened expression, clutching her lower abdomen and hiding slightly behind Peyton. The guests’ gazes all turned toward me. Peyton’s expression changed drastically. He almost instinctively pushed Lily away and strode quickly toward me. He forcibly maintained his composure, his tone urgent yet carrying his usual deception. “Seraphina, let me explain. Lily is the girl you sponsored. I’ve always seen her as a sister. Today we’re just… just wearing a wedding dress to take some photos.” He reached out to pull me, his eyes certain yet false. “The person I love has always only been you. Only you for this entire lifetime.” I recoiled as if burned, the corners of my mouth curving into an icy smile. “Sister?” “Then whose child is in her belly?” Peyton’s expression cracked. “You got her pregnant, and you still dare tell me she’s just your sister?” My gaze fell on his lips, where Lily’s lipstick mark still remained. “Your sister wears a wedding dress and makes out with you for three minutes?” My words were all like knives, precisely cutting through all his pale excuses. Peyton’s mouth opened and closed. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he couldn’t refute me. The entire venue erupted. Lily’s face went pale. She immediately rushed over, dropping to her knees with a “thud” in front of me, her hands desperately clutching my legs, crying pitifully. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault… I seduced him. Don’t blame Peyton. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Please forgive me…” She cried until her whole body shook, looking extremely wronged. The friends around immediately couldn’t stand it and came forward to accuse me. “Seraphina, what’s wrong with you? They’re just acting!” “So what if a man has a mistress on the side? As long as Peyton has you in his heart, that’s enough!” “Lily is so pitiful. Do you have to drive her to death to be happy?” One accusation after another, like icy rain pouring on my heart. So in these people’s eyes, betrayal could be forgiven, harm could be forgotten. And I, the victim, had become the villain instead. My heart completely died. Seeing I still had no reaction, Lily cried harder. She suddenly released her hands and staggered backward. “Since you won’t forgive me… then I’ll just die. I shouldn’t exist. I shouldn’t disturb you two!” Before her words finished, she suddenly stood up, lifting her wedding dress hem and rushed straight out of the chapel, running directly into the middle of the road. The sharp sound of brakes suddenly rang out. Bang! A muffled thud. Lily was violently thrown by the car. “Lily!” Peyton rushed over like a madman, kneeling on the ground and cradling Lily’s head. His hands were covered in blood, his voice trembling. “Ambulance! Quick, call an ambulance!” I walked to the doorway, watching the chaos before me. Peyton suddenly lifted his head. Seeing me standing on the steps, his eyes held only cold disgust and accusation. “Seraphina! When did you become so vicious?!” Vicious. This word hit me like a slap across the face. I stood on the steps, wind blowing through my hair. I looked at Lily in Peyton’s arms, at the shocked or accusing faces around me, at this world I once thought would be my home, and suddenly laughed. I laughed until tears came out. “I’m vicious?” My voice was very soft. “Peyton, you’re the one who made me this way.” You personally forced the me who once had only you in her heart into what I am today.

Seraphina’s POV At the hospital under the Summers Corporation. The red light of the emergency room glared harshly. Peyton leaned against the corridor wall, his white shirt cuffs stained with blood. Lily’s blood. His gaze emptily fixed on the emergency room door, his whole being like someone whose soul had been extracted. I stood at the end of the corridor, watching that man pace anxiously, a dense pain spreading through my chest. Once when I had a fever and was hospitalized, he guarded my bedside just like this, eyes red, saying he was afraid something would happen to me. Once when I casually mentioned feeling unwell, he could cancel all meetings and spend the entire night accompanying me through every examination. Now none of this belonged to me anymore. The emergency room’s red light went out. A doctor walked out, removed his mask, and shook his head. “Mr. Summers, Miss Lily’s injuries were too severe. The baby couldn’t be saved.” Peyton’s body swayed. His eyes instantly filled with bloodshot veins. He rushed into the hospital room. Through the glass window, I clearly heard his choked voice, full of heartache and love. “Lily, don’t be afraid. I’m here. It’s my fault for not protecting you and the baby.” “We’ll have another child in the future. I’ll stay with you for the rest of my life.” I closed my eyes. The last trace of hope completely extinguished. He made promises to the woman who killed my child. While my biological son received nothing. I didn’t want to watch anymore, didn’t want to wait anymore. I just wanted to completely escape this place full of lies and blood. I turned around. Just as I took one step, two dark figures suddenly blocked my path. They were Peyton’s personal bodyguards. “Mrs. Summers, Mr. Summers instructed you to come with us.” “I’m not going.” I forcefully pushed them away, trying to break free, my heart full of resistance. I knew Peyton’s personality too well. If I stayed now, all that awaited me was endless torment. The bodyguards’ faces were cold and hard, showing no mercy whatsoever. One of them raised his hand and struck hard at the back of my neck. A sharp, blunt pain hit me. My vision went black, and I completely lost consciousness. When I woke again, a pungent moldy smell and cold atmosphere enveloped me. Pitch darkness surrounded me. Only one dim yellow light bulb swayed and flickered. This was the basement of the Summers family’s old mansion. The place where my child’s urn had been hidden before. I struggled to sit up. My whole body was sore and weak, my wrists painfully chafed by rope. Footsteps approached from far to near. Peyton walked in, his face devoid of its usual tenderness, leaving only coldness and forcefulness. “You’re awake?” I looked up at him, my eyes desolate, without a trace of emotion. “Peyton, you actually dare treat me like this?” “You and Lily conspired to switch my child, kill him, burn him as medical waste. Doesn’t your heart hurt?” My voice wasn’t loud, but carried bone-deep hatred. I bit down hard on every word. Peyton frowned deeply, his face full of impatience. His tone was light and dismissive. “What lies are you telling? Wasn’t your child dead when he was born?” “Lily even painfully gave you her own child to raise, and you’re still not satisfied?” Ashton said the child was alive when born. How could he say my child was dead at birth? Just as I was about to question him, I heard Peyton say. “In a moment, apologize to Lily, and this matter will be over. I’ll still consider you my wife. I won’t pursue what happened before.” I turned my head away, forcefully avoiding his touch, my eyes cold. “I did nothing wrong. I absolutely will not apologize.” The ones who killed my child were them. The ones who betrayed our marriage were them. What right did they have to demand I apologize? The smile on Peyton’s face instantly vanished. His expression darkened terrifyingly as he sternly rebuked me. “Seraphina!” He turned to look at the bodyguards outside the door, coldly ordering. “Watch her. Without my orders, don’t let her step out of here!” With that, Peyton turned and left. He was clearly anxious to go care for Lily. The basement’s iron door was slammed shut, locked, completely cutting off the outside light. I curled up in the corner, freezing all over. Not long after, several thin black shadows suddenly slid through the gap in the iron door, slowly crawling toward me. Snakes! Peyton clearly knew I was most afraid of snakes. My face went deathly pale. Trembling all over in fright, I desperately shrank back, pounding on the iron door with all my might, screaming for help. “Open the door! Let me out! Is anyone there!” From outside the door came the bodyguards’ cold mocking laughter, completely devoid of warmth. “Just accept all this.” “You caused Miss Lily to lose her child and nearly cost her life. Mr. Summers is very angry and told us to punish you severely!” “No one will come save you.” My hand pounding on the door gradually weakened. Watching the snakes get closer and closer, only despair remained in my eyes. So my life was this cheap in their eyes.

Seraphina’s POV The rustling sound of snakes crawling rang in my ears. I curled up in the corner, making myself as small as possible. My nails dug deeply into my palms, trying to use pain to fight fear. I didn’t know how long I’d been locked up. A few hours, or a few days? The bodyguards’ cold mockery still seemed to echo in my ears. Before my eyes kept flashing the small urn, and Peyton’s heartless face. But I kept persisting. Apologize? Apologize to the woman who killed my child? I’d rather die. When my consciousness began to blur, I hazily heard the sound of the iron door opening. Someone picked me up. That person’s chest was very warm, their scent very familiar. It was Peyton. I wanted to push him away, but my body no longer obeyed. I completely fell into darkness. When I opened my eyes again, the pungent smell of disinfectant filled my nose. I slowly moved my eyes and found myself lying in a hospital bed. In the chair beside the bed sat Peyton. He was looking down, slowly peeling an apple. His movements appeared extremely gentle, completely different from his coldness in the basement. Noticing I’d woken up, Peyton looked up, his tone carrying some reproach yet wrapped in deliberately performed affection. “Finally awake? Why are you so unreasonable?” “It’s just asking you to apologize to Lily and the matter would be over. Why did you have to torment yourself into this condition?” He cut the peeled apple into small pieces, speared them with a small fork, and brought them to my lips. His eyes were gentle, his tone soft. “Seraphina, I love you. I always have.” “I know you suffered, but Lily lost her baby too. Why can’t you understand?” “Just accept me, and I’ll make it up to you. We’ll be like before. Okay?” Love? The love that chained me in a basement. That let snakes torment me. That murdered my baby. I couldn’t bear that kind of love. His devotion was just a show he put on for himself, so false it made me sick. Before I could speak, the hospital room door was violently pushed open. A bodyguard rushed in looking flustered, followed by a male doctor who kept his head down, looking equally panicked. The tenderness on Peyton’s face instantly vanished. He frowned deeply, his tone darkening. “What happened?” The bodyguard hurried forward, lowering his voice to report, his tone full of urgency. “Mr. Summers, something happened to Lily. Someone switched her medication with ingredients she’s allergic to. She’s having a severe allergic reaction now and is being resuscitated!” Peyton’s expression changed drastically. The fruit knife in his hand clattered onto the plate as his eyes instantly turned sinister. He immediately demanded harshly, “What’s going on? Have you found out who did it?” The bodyguard pushed the doctor forward. The doctor dropped to his knees with a thud, looked up and pointed at me on the hospital bed, his eyes evasive. “Mr. Summers, it was Miss Seraphina! She secretly gave me two hundred thousand dollars to switch Miss Lily’s medication!” I lay in bed without even the strength to refute. I just felt it was absurd. I’d been controlled by Peyton the entire time. First imprisoned in the basement, then waking up in the hospital. I’d never even been to Lily’s hospital room. How could I possibly have bribed a doctor to switch medication? But Peyton didn’t listen. The look in his eyes as he stared at me was instantly filled with fury and hatred. He abruptly stood up, grabbed my collar, and yanked me from the hospital bed. The IV needle tore from the back of my hand, bringing out a string of blood droplets. The stinging pain spread from my hand through my entire arm. He lifted me up. My toes barely touched the ground. My breathing became difficult as my collar strangled me. “Seraphina, I’m warning you. If anything happens to Lily, I’ll make you die.” He released his grip. I fell heavily back onto the bed, my head hitting the bed rail. My vision went black. Peyton turned to the doctor, his voice as cold as ice. “Give her penicillin.” My pupils constricted sharply. “No…” I desperately tried to shrink back. “Peyton, I’m allergic to penicillin! You know that!” I was indeed allergic to penicillin. This was the most basic fact from our ten years together. Every time I got sick, Peyton specifically instructed doctors to avoid penicillin-based medications. Peyton looked at my terrified face, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “I know.” “I want you to suffer the same pain as Lily.” The doctor hesitated, not daring to move. Peyton shot him a glare. “What are you waiting for? If anything happens to her, I’ll take full responsibility.” The doctor ran out, grabbed a syringe of penicillin, and rushed back to the bedside. “Don’t come near me…” I tried to pull away, but my body was too weak. I couldn’t even turn over. The cold liquid entered my veins and spread instantly through my body. Within seconds, my skin started itching, and I couldn’t breathe. My vision blurred. Peyton’s furious face faded away. Just then, I heard a familiar voice.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “391780”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

For ten years, I was just a stand-in for Ethan Reid and Adrian Cross. When Isabella came back, she stole my design drafts and put her name on them. They said they’d love me forever. Then I found them in bed with her. They were calling her “baby” while she moaned beneath them.” That’s when I knew. Isabella was the one they’d really loved all along. I packed my bags. Burned every photo we’d taken. Left for Milan. Later, they knelt in the rain, begging me to come back. But I held my fiancé’s arm and looked down at them. I tossed them a check. “Go back to where you came from. Don’t ever show up in front of me again.” Stella Hart POV After confirming my acceptance of the Milan Design Academy’s offer, I exited the group chat called “Stella’s Exclusive Knights.” The group originally had only three people: me, Ethan, and Adrian. But six months ago, a fourth person was added. Isabella. The name also changed to “One Happy Family.” The moment I left the chat, I didn’t hesitate for a second. It felt like finally cutting away a piece of rotting flesh. On my desk sat a photo of the three of us. In it, Ethan’s cold, sharp features were uncharacteristically gentle as he looked down adjusting my scarf. Adrian smiled brightly, his arm around my shoulders from behind, like he was protecting some priceless treasure. I picked up the frame, pulled out the photo, and tore it into pieces without expression, tossing them into the trash bin at my feet. “Ethan, Adrian, these ten years of entanglement end here.” My phone screen lit up with a private message from Adrian. “Stella, are you coming to Isabella’s welcome dinner tonight or not? Can you stop making a scene? Everyone’s waiting for you.” Immediately after, Ethan sent one too. “She just got to New York and doesn’t have many friends. As an investor in the studio, can’t you help her out?” I smiled bitterly and didn’t reply. Instead, I opened the Instagram post Isabella had made half an hour ago. In the photo, Isabella wore a haute couture gown with a dazzling sapphire necklace around her neck, smiling sweetly as she stood between Ethan and Adrian. The caption: “Thank you to my beloved brothers for this surprise. I feel like a little princess.” My gaze locked onto that sapphire necklace. It was my mother’s keepsake, locked away in the studio safe. Only the three of us knew the password. I took a deep breath and called Ethan. “Why is my necklace on Isabella’s neck?” My voice was surprisingly calm. There was a pause on the other end, then Ethan’s unconcerned voice came through. “Isabella didn’t have suitable jewelry for tonight. I saw that necklace wasn’t being worn, so I let her borrow it. Don’t be so petty. It’s just a necklace. If you want it, I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.” Adrian’s voice came from nearby, tinged with impatience. “Stella Hart, can you stop making a scene? Isabella’s had such a hard life. She finally has one happy evening, and you have to ruin it right now? What we did was wrong, but we’re the ones who opened the safe. If you want to blame someone, blame us.” I heard the background music from the party and Isabella’s delicate laughter through the phone, and felt my stomach turn. Before, if anyone so much as looked at me the wrong way, Ethan and Adrian would gouge their eyes out. When I was sixteen, at a gala, some tycoon said disrespectful things to me and tried to touch my hand. Ethan smashed a bottle on the spot and ground the man’s face into the broken glass. Adrian went further, using his family’s power to bankrupt the tycoon’s family and run them out of New York overnight. They used to spoil me endlessly, creating the strictest “protection circle” around me, not allowing anyone to hurt me. But now, they’d handed the knife to someone else themselves. “Don’t bother replacing it,” I interrupted them. “Since she likes it, give it to her.” With that, I hung up and blocked both their numbers. Seven days until my flight to Milan.

Stella Hart POV Early the next morning, I went to the studio. I didn’t go to my private office. Instead, I walked straight to the storage room, pulled out a large cardboard box, and started clearing out my things. Ethan and Adrian pushed through the door just as I was tossing a pair of custom baby’s breath couple rings into the trash. They had pooled their money at an auction when they turned eighteen to buy the raw stones, then spent three months polishing them themselves before giving them to me. Back then, they’d knelt on one knee and declared domineeringly, “Stella Hart, you can only wear rings we give you for the rest of your life. If you dare take them off, we’ll break your legs.” “What are you doing?” Ethan strode over and grabbed my wrist, staring darkly at the rings in the trash. Adrian’s expression turned equally grim. “Stella Hart, have you made enough of a scene? Fine, you didn’t come to the dinner last night, but now you show up and start throwing things away? What are you trying to do?” I yanked my hand free from Ethan’s grip, my tone indifferent. “Just clearing out garbage. These things take up space. Might as well throw them away.” “Garbage?” Ethan’s jaw clenched, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “Do you know what these rings-” “I know,” I cut him off. “But I don’t need them anymore.” Just then, Isabella walked in carrying two cups of coffee. Seeing this scene, her eyes immediately reddened and she said timidly, “Stella, are you still mad at me? I already took off the necklace from last night-I’ll return it to you right now. Don’t be angry with them, it’s all my fault…” She reached out to tug at my sleeve. I instinctively stepped back, and Isabella suddenly cried out. The coffee cup in her hand dropped to the floor, and scalding coffee splashed all over her leg. “Ah! It hurts!” Isabella fell to the ground, tears streaming down her face instantly. “Isabella!” Ethan and Adrian rushed over simultaneously. Ethan scooped Isabella into his arms, nervously checking her leg. Adrian spun around, glaring at me with vicious eyes. “Are you insane?! She was just trying to return the necklace to you. Why did you push her!” I stood there, watching their panicked reactions, and suddenly found it somewhat funny. “I didn’t push her.” “I saw it with my own eyes, and you’re still denying it!” Adrian roared. “Stella Hart, when did you become so vicious? Isabella has depression. She can’t handle stress. Are you trying to drive her to death?” Depression. This illness had become Isabella’s free pass in this studio. Because of depression, Isabella could freely take my design drafts and put her name on them. Because of depression, Isabella could monopolize Ethan and Adrian’s time whenever she wanted. I looked at them coldly. “Since she’s so fragile, you two take good care of her. I have things to do. I’m leaving.” I stepped around the coffee spill and walked out of the office without looking back. Behind me came Ethan’s voice, suppressing his rage. “Stella Hart, if you dare walk out that door today, don’t expect us to ever speak to you again!” My steps didn’t falter. Want to speak to me? You lost that right long ago.

Stella Hart POV I went to a law firm. I placed the studio equity transfer agreement in front of the lawyer. “Help me draft a free transfer agreement. I want to split all my shares in the studio equally between Ethan Reid and Adrian Cross.” The lawyer was stunned. “Miss Hart, you founded this studio. All the core design patents are under your name. If you transfer them for free now, you’re essentially leaving with nothing!” “I know,” my tone was calm. “Do as I say. The sooner the better.” This studio was something we founded together after graduating from college. Back then, to secure investment for me, Ethan and Adrian drank until they had bleeding ulcers and ended up in the hospital. From their hospital beds, they held my hand and said, “Stella, this will be your business empire. We’re just knights working for you.” But now, the knights had found a new princess. Walking out of the law firm, the sky opened up with heavy rain. I didn’t have an umbrella and stood under an awning waiting for my car. A black Maybach stopped in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Adrian’s cold, sharp face. “Get in.” His tone was curt, commanding. I didn’t move. “No need. I called a car.” Adrian pushed open the door and yanked me into the vehicle, his movements so rough they hurt my wrist. The cabin had the heat on, but it felt suffocating. “How long are you going to keep this up?” Adrian lit a cigarette and took an irritated drag. “Isabella’s leg got burned. The doctor said it might scar. She’s a girl. Do you know how devastating this is for her?” I looked out at the rain, my voice completely flat. “So what?” “You!” Adrian was infuriated by my cold demeanor. “Stella Hart, you weren’t like this before! You used to be kind and understanding. You’d cry over an injured stray cat. How did you become so heartless?” Kind? Understanding? I found it ironic. When I was twenty, I broke my shin protecting Adrian. Back then, Adrian held me and cried, swearing he’d never let me suffer any grievance for the rest of his life. Now, just because I didn’t help Isabella, who fell on her own, I’d become a heartless villain. “Adrian,” I turned to look at him, my gaze calm, “my main show spot at Paris Fashion Week next month. You gave it to Isabella, didn’t you?” Adrian’s hand holding the cigarette paused, his eyes shifting away. “Isabella needs a chance to prove herself. You’re already a top designer in the industry. You don’t need this one opportunity. Just consider it… compensation for pushing her today.” Compensation. The design drafts I stayed up three nights to create, the show I’d been preparing for an entire year. It all became a casual “compensation.” “Fine.” I didn’t argue, didn’t even show a trace of anger. “Give it to her.” Adrian froze, seemingly not expecting me to agree so easily. He looked at me suspiciously, trying to find some sign of anger or grievance on my face, but there was nothing. Just calm like a stagnant pool of water.

Stella Hart POV The Paris Fashion Week lineup was announced. Isabella’s name replaced mine as the studio’s featured designer. The industry was in an uproar, everyone speculating whether I’d been replaced. I ignored the outside rumors, clocking in and out on time every day, quietly handing off my work. Five days until leaving the country. In the afternoon, the studio held a general meeting. Isabella sat in the main seat that used to be mine, holding my design drafts and offering opinions. “I think this gown’s waistline design is too rigid. It should be changed to cutouts, adding some sexy elements.” Isabella pointed at the blueprints, looking at Ethan delicately. “What do you think?” Ethan smiled indulgently. “Whatever you think is good. Change it according to your ideas.” I sat in the corner, looking down at flight information on my phone, as if none of this concerned me. That gown’s theme was “Salvation of the Deep Sea.” The waistline design was meant to echo the embracing sensation of ocean waves. Changing it to cutouts would destroy the entire concept. But I said nothing. After the meeting ended, Isabella called out to me. “Stella, can you stay and help me modify the blueprints? I’m not very good with that software.” Isabella looked at me with an innocent expression. Ethan frowned and said to me, “Help her out. Don’t let her get too tired.” I raised my head, looked at Ethan’s expression, and said flatly, “I’m off the clock.” “Stella Hart!” Ethan’s voice darkened. “Do you have to be so petty? Isabella is the main show designer now. Her work affects the entire studio’s interests. As an investor, don’t you have any sense of the bigger picture?” “Bigger picture?” I stood up, looking Ethan straight in the eyes. “My sense of the bigger picture is not interfering with the main show designer’s ‘great creations.’ Since she thinks my design is rigid, let her change it herself.” With that, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. Isabella suddenly rushed over and grabbed my bag, crying. “Stella, don’t go. I know you hate me for taking your position, but I really didn’t mean to. I just want to prove myself…” As we struggled, Isabella suddenly let go, and her whole body fell backward, hitting the glass display case behind her hard. Crash. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the entire office. Isabella’s arm was cut by the broken glass, blood flowing freely. “Isabella!” Ethan and Adrian rushed over like madmen. Adrian shoved me aside, causing me to crash into the sharp corner of the desk. Sharp pain shot through my waist. I grunted, my face turning deathly pale. But Adrian didn’t even glance at me. His eyes red, he picked up Isabella and roared at me, “Stella Hart! If anything happens to Isabella’s hand, I will never forgive you!” Ethan walked last. He stopped, looking down at me clutching my waist and breaking into a cold sweat, his eyes as cold as ice. “You’ve disappointed me too much. Starting today, you don’t need to come to work. Come back when you realize your mistakes.” The office door slammed shut. I leaned against the desk, the pain making even breathing difficult. I slowly rolled up my shirt. My side was already bruised purple over a large area. I didn’t cry. I just took out my phone and sent the lawyer a message. “Is the agreement ready? I’ll come sign it tomorrow.”

Stella Hart POV I went to the hospital alone. After examining me, the doctor said it was severe soft tissue contusion and I needed bed rest. He also prescribed me a pile of medication. Walking out of the hospital entrance, the cold wind hit me and I couldn’t help shivering. My phone vibrated. It was a text from Adrian. He wasn’t asking about my injury. He sent me a bill. “Isabella’s hand needed three stitches. The doctor said she can’t get it wet. Her medical expenses, nutrition costs, and other losses from this injury during this period will be deducted from your salary. Also, publicly apologize to Isabella in the group chat.” Looking at the words on the screen, I found it absurd beyond belief. I opened the group chat that had become “One Happy Family.” Ethan had sent a voice message in it. “Isabella, don’t be afraid. With us here, no one can bully you. Whatever compensation you want, just ask.” Isabella replied with a wronged emoji. “I don’t want anything. I just want Stella to stop hating me.” Adrian immediately transferred her money. “Take this and buy something you like to eat.” I quietly watched them perform in the group, my fingers typing out a sentence on the screen. “I’ll pay the medical expenses. But I will never apologize.” After sending this message, I muted the group chat. Returning home, I started packing. Actually, there wasn’t much to pack. This house was filled with traces left by Ethan and Adrian everywhere. The painting on the wall was something Adrian bought at a high price at an auction. The carpet was specially air-freighted from Turkey by Ethan. Even the mugs in the kitchen were ones the three of us made together at a pottery studio. I found a large garbage bag and threw these things in one by one. At the very end, I found a velvet box in the deepest part of the drawer. Inside were two wills. They were written when they were twenty-two, after they encountered an avalanche in Switzerland and narrowly escaped death. Ethan and Adrian wrote clearly in the wills: If anything happened to them, all their property and shares would unconditionally be inherited by me. “We are Stella’s knights. Even if we die, we’ll be Stella’s guardian angels.” I still remembered those vows. Now they’d become the most ridiculous joke. I took out a lighter and set those two wills on fire. The flames lit up my face. I watched the paper turn to ash, along with my ten years of youth and feelings, burning completely clean. Three days until leaving the country. The next day, I went to the law firm and signed the equity transfer agreement. The lawyer looked at my pale face and couldn’t help advising, “Miss Hart, won’t you reconsider? Once this agreement takes effect, you’ll truly have nothing left at the studio.” “Nothing to reconsider.” I put down the pen, my tone as light as discussing the weather. “Please help me mail this agreement to Ethan Reid and Adrian Cross three days from now.” Three days from now was the day I’d fly to Milan, and also the opening day of the Paris Fashion Week main show. Leaving the law firm, I received a call from Ethan. “What was that you posted in the group last night?” Ethan’s voice was thick with exhaustion and displeasure. “Stella Hart, do you think we won’t actually hurt you? Because of what you said, Isabella cried all night. She couldn’t even take her sleeping pills!” I stood on the street, watching the passing vehicles, my voice cold. “How is her crying related to me?” “You-” Ethan took a deep breath, seemingly forcing down his anger. “Fine, you won’t apologize? Then starting today, the studio is cutting off all your resources and access. You think you’re so great? Let’s see how you survive in this industry without the studio!” I laughed. “Fine.” I hung up and blocked Ethan’s number too. Returning to my apartment, I found the door lock password had been changed. I tried three times. All incorrect. Just then, the door opened from inside. Isabella, wearing my pajamas, held a glass of red wine and smiled at me. “Stella, you’re back.” Isabella swirled her wine glass. “Ethan said you’ve been emotionally unstable lately and was worried something might happen if you lived alone, so he had me move in to keep you company. I changed the password to my birthday. You don’t mind, do you?” I looked at Isabella wearing that limited edition pajama set I’d never worn, my eyes cold to the extreme. “Take it off.” Isabella froze, then bit her lip pitifully. “Stella, don’t be so mean. Adrian got this from your closet for me. He said you never wear it anyway…” “I said take it off!” I stepped forward, my eyes as sharp as knives. Isabella stepped back in fear, deliberately tilting her wine glass so the red liquid instantly splashed onto my white shirt. “Oh no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Isabella cried out. Just then, the elevator doors opened. Adrian came out carrying a bunch of things. He dropped everything and rushed over. He pushed Isabella behind him and slapped me. Smack! The crisp sound of the slap echoed through the hallway. My head snapped to the side. Blood trickled from my lip. “Stella, what the hell is wrong with you?” Adrian’s eyes were wild, like an animal backed into a corner. “Isabella just came to check on you, and you hurt her? You really think I won’t hit you?”

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My fiancé Coran is the Alpha heir of Bronzefang pack. The night before the wedding, Coran took me to meet his friends. Throughout the evening, he was attentive to me in every way. His friends all praised him: “Cinnia is so innocent. You really hit the jackpot.” He smiled smugly: “Of course Cinnia is the best. She’s not like those shallow, frivolous women out there.” But when I went to the restroom, I overheard him bragging in a lowered voice outside the door: “Innocent? What’s the use of that? When we have sex, she’s like a dead fish. She can’t compare to Vivian’s passion at all. If she and Vivian weren’t twins who look exactly alike, I wouldn’t even bother touching her.” The next day at the wedding, my sister Vivian showed up with a pregnant belly, and he actually asked me to step aside for them. I laughed coldly, tore off my veil, and walked over to Cedric, who was sitting in a wheelchair below the stage. “Everyone says you like me. I’m single now. Do you dare marry me?” “Hahaha, Cinnia’s lost her mind!” “Choosing a cripple—she’s really desperate!” “Sure, Cedric’s father is the Alpha of Vexmoor pack, but everyone knows he’s never been valued because of his disabled legs. His father doesn’t even acknowledge him as a son. He’s nowhere near Coran’s level!” “How embarrassing! She’s completely humiliated Silthowl pack!” Harsh laughter erupted from the guests at the venue. Each word pierced my heart like a needle. My father’s face turned the color of liver, and my mother rushed onto the stage, gripping my arm tightly. “Are you insane?! Ruining yourself out of spite?!” Below the stage, Coran had his arm around Vivian, a smirk of amusement on his face. “Well, well. I underestimated her. Turns out she’s got some guts.” Vivian giggled mockingly: “Guts? I think she’s lost her mind. Cinnia, are you sure you want to spend your life with a waste of space?” She deliberately caressed her swollen belly, her eyes full of provocation and triumph. My heart felt like it was being viciously torn apart. I thought tearing off the wedding dress would give me freedom, but instead it brought me even greater humiliation. Cedric stood up and limped toward me. Compared to the polished and glamorous Coran, the difference was night and day. I suddenly regretted it. Impulse is the devil. Why did I choose a cripple? Did I really want to spend my life with him? Cedric stopped in front of me and pulled a ring from his pocket. The surface was set with tiny diamonds, dull and lifeless, not even a carat. The diamond ring Coran gave Vivian was a full three carats, sparkling brilliantly. In comparison, this ring looked pitifully shabby. The mocking laughter below grew louder. “Hahaha, even the ring is pathetic!” “Cinnia, are you really willing to settle for this?” Tears nearly fell from my eyes. When had I ever suffered such humiliation in my entire life? But when Cedric took my hand, I froze. His hand was warm and steady. “I dare.” Two words, spoken with certainty. Not like Coran’s honeyed lies, not like the guests’ cold mockery. Just two simple words, yet they made my heart tremble. “Are you sure? I might bring you trouble.” “I’m not afraid.” He didn’t hesitate for a second. The mocking laughter below grew even louder. “Two losers make a perfect pair!” “A cripple and a crazy woman—perfect match!” Coran called out loudly: “Cinnia, stop being childish. Come back. The baby in Vivian’s belly needs a father, and you need a whole man.” A whole man? I laughed coldly. What kind of whole man was Coran? Betrayal, deception, playing with sisters’ feelings—was that his version of being whole? Coran and I were fated mates. We fell in love shortly after meeting, and because we were both descendants of Alphas, marriage would benefit the cooperation between our packs, so we quickly confirmed our engagement. When our families got engaged, I introduced him to my sister Vivian. Coran was very interested in Vivian at the time. Coran said: “I’ve never seen twin sisters before, so I’m curious.” Later, during several dates with Coran, he kept asking me to bring Vivian along. Now that I think about it, the two of them must have hooked up back then. I looked at Cedric. His legs might be disabled, but his werewolf bloodline wasn’t, and his heart certainly wasn’t. “Alright. I’m willing.” I extended my hand and let him place that dull ring on my finger. The ring was small and fit perfectly, as if it had been custom-made for me. The crowd below erupted in uproar.

The contempt on Coran’s face instantly turned to fury. He strode over and grabbed my wrist. The force felt like it could crush my bones. “Cinnia, you’d rather choose a cripple to disgust me than beg me?” Before I could react, my father rushed over. I thought he was going to stop Coran and protect me. Instead, he raised his hand and delivered a resounding slap. “Smack!” The crisp sound exploded throughout the entire wedding venue. My cheek instantly swelled red and burned with pain. Blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. The mocking laughter in the hall came to an abrupt halt, then erupted into even more piercing whispers. “Cinnia! You’ve humiliated all of Silthowl pack! Get back here right now!” There wasn’t a trace of heartache in my father’s eyes, only anger and disgust. I covered my face, tears threatening to spill. Not because of the pain, but because of the icy coldness in my heart. This man was my father, the Alpha of Silthowl pack. At this moment, Vivian stepped forward with false concern. “Dad, Cinnia was just being impulsive. Don’t get too upset…” As she spoke, she “accidentally” stepped hard on my foot with her high heel. The piercing pain made me instantly lose my balance. She then pretended to lose her footing and slammed her shoulder hard into me. I stumbled and fell to the ground. The pristine white wedding dress was instantly stained with blood from my mouth. The guests below began pointing and whispering. “The older daughter is a lunatic. At least the younger one is sensible.” “Good thing Coran chose the right person.” Vivian smugly caressed her belly, her eyes full of provocation. Cedric tried to help me, but Coran’s friends held him back firmly. “What are you? You think you’re worthy of touching her?” Coran sneered. I lay on the floor, looking at his anxious but powerless face. A despair worse than physical pain surged through my heart. Was this the man I chose? He couldn’t even protect me. Coran looked down at me from above, his eyes full of triumph. “Cinnia, see clearly now? This is your choice. A waste who can’t even stand steady—how can he protect you?” He crouched down and reached out to pull me up. “Be good. Come back. I can let bygones be bygones and pretend none of this happened.” This man had called me a dead fish to his friends just last night. Now he was putting on a show of deep affection. Disgusting. I used all my strength to violently shake off his hand. “Get lost!” Coran’s face instantly darkened. “You don’t know what’s good for you.” He stood up and kicked the wedding dress beside me. “Since you’re so cheap, go ahead and be with your cripple. But don’t regret it!”

Seeing this, my father stepped forward again. “Cinnia, apologize right now!” My mother also rushed over, crying. “Cinnia, have you lost your mind? Ruining your whole life out of spite?” The guests below watched the show, pointing and whispering. “Cinnia has really gone crazy.” “Choosing a cripple out of spite—how desperate do you have to be?” “What did Silthowl pack do to deserve such a daughter?” Vivian walked over at just the right moment, her belly prominent. “Cinnia, calm down. Even though we have our misunderstandings, Coran truly loves you. Look at Cedric—he can’t even protect you. Is he really suitable for you to entrust your life to?” Her words were cutting, each one aimed at the heart. I lay on the ground, feeling malice coming at me from all directions. My parents’ disappointment. My ex-boyfriend’s mockery. My sister’s provocation. The guests’ ridicule. And… the powerlessness of the man I had chosen. Did I really make the wrong choice? At that moment, Cedric finally broke free from those who were blocking him. He limped toward me, each step difficult. He crouched down and gently helped me up. “I’m sorry for letting you suffer.” Then he turned his head and looked at Coran. “You’re right. I really can’t protect you.” My heart instantly sank to the bottom. Was even he going to give up on me? But the next second, he said: “But at least, I won’t hurt you.” He looked at everyone below the stage. “You mock her for going crazy, for choosing me out of spite. But have you considered what would drive a woman to make such a choice on her wedding day?” The entire hall fell silent. “It’s betrayal. It’s deception. It’s harm from those closest to her.” “My legs may be crippled, but my character is upright. I may not be able to give her the best material life, but I can give her the truest feelings.” Coran’s face turned ashen. “Stop with the emotional manipulation! You’re just a waste. What right do you have…” “What right do I have?” Cedric interrupted him. “I have the right to love her. What about you?” “Enough with the sappy talk. Friends, throw him out.” With that, Coran and his friends kicked Cedric out of the wedding venue. My mother finally moved. Not to help me up, but to yank me from the ground. Before I could react, Vivian had already grabbed my other arm. “Mom, what are you doing!” I struggled, but the two of them were stronger than me. “Shut up! You’ve embarrassed us enough already!” They dragged me toward the back of the stage. The guests below watched this scene, some pulling out their phones to record. “Let me go! Are you crazy!” I struggled hard, but Vivian took the opportunity to viciously pinch my waist. The sharp pain instantly robbed me of the strength to resist. They dragged me to a storage room backstage filled with clutter. “Bang!” The door slammed shut heavily, followed by the sound of a key turning.

I rushed to the door like a madwoman, pounding on it hard. “Open the door! What right do you have to lock me up! Open the door!” Outside, Coran’s amplified voice came through. He held a microphone, his voice spreading throughout the hall via the speakers. “Dear guests, I apologize for that little episode earlier.” “Now, my former fiancée who rejected me is in the storage room backstage reflecting. What do you all think—when will she come to her senses?” Raucous laughter erupted from below. “Coran is so funny!” “This is more exciting than watching a movie!” “That woman deserves it!” I had become the openly displayed joke of this wedding. My phone vibrated. I took it out and saw a message from my mother. “Cinnia, stop making a scene. Your sister’s happiness is what matters most. Just apologize to Coran and this whole thing will be over.” I stared at the words on the screen. My sister’s happiness is what matters most. What about me? Doesn’t my happiness matter? Doesn’t my dignity matter? Do I deserve to be humiliated, locked up, treated as a joke? The music outside grew louder. Coran and Vivian began to dance. The guests’ applause and cheers grew wave after wave. And I, like garbage, was locked in this dark corner. My phone vibrated again. This time it was from Vivian. “Cinnia, I know you’re angry right now. But think about it—Coran is so excellent, he deserves better. Just stop being stubborn, okay?” I slid down along the door and curled up into a ball. The physical pain, my family’s betrayal, my lover’s humiliation, and the departure of the person who said he would protect me—all of it pushed me into a bottomless abyss. I didn’t even have the strength to cry anymore. So be it. Let them mock me. Let them gloat. I have nothing left anyway. Coran’s voice came from outside: “Everyone, now for the most exciting part. Let’s go see if our former fiancée has come to her senses yet!” Footsteps drew closer. The sound of the key turning rang out. The door opened, and blinding light flooded in. Coran stood in the doorway, followed by a crowd of guests, all holding up their phones to record. “Cinnia, how’s your thinking going? Ready to apologize?” I raised my head, about to speak. Suddenly, the main door of the wedding venue was violently pushed open. A group of people burst in. Cedric stood at the entrance, followed by dozens of imposing bodyguards in black. The entire hall instantly fell silent. Everyone froze, including Coran. Cedric took off his suit jacket and strode toward me. His leg was still crippled. He draped the jacket over me, then without a word, scooped me up in his arms. “What are you doing! Put her down!” Coran finally snapped out of it. Cedric didn’t even glance at him. In that moment, I felt like I had come back to life. “Cedric, you think you can turn the tables with a crippled leg and a few men?” Coran was furious with humiliation. At that moment, a well-dressed middle-aged man stepped forward. He held a document in his hand and threw it directly in Coran’s face. “Mr. Coran, from this moment on, 35% of Bronzefang pack’s resources belong to Cedric. Your company has gone bankrupt, and you have been stripped of your position as Alpha heir by your father.”

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