Category: English

Michelle said something came up at work and left in the middle of our dinner again. I didn’t try to stop her. I just quietly finished my meal alone. Later that night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw a new post from her childhood friend. It was a picture of her hands, sleeves rolled up, serving a plate of food. The caption read: “Stomach bug from hell. Huge thanks to Soph for being my hero and cooking for me. You’re my rock, always showing up when I need you.” This time, I didn’t call and start a fight like I used to. From that day on, whenever she ditched me to take care of him, I’d just smile and tell her it was okay, acting like the most understanding boyfriend in the world. Until the day he sent me a picture of them playing a game, sharing a single Pocky stick between their lips. I saw the photo and felt nothing at all. That’s when she finally panicked. Her eyes turned red, a mix of desperation and hurt welling up as she asked me, “Why aren’t you angry?” 1 Michelle had barely touched her steak when her phone rang. “Something came up at work,” she said, already grabbing her purse. “I’ve gotta head back.” “Okay. Go on.” I cut off a piece of my own steak and chewed slowly. It was tender, juicy. Perfect. Michelle seemed thrown off by my calmness. She frowned. “I’ll bring you back a gift.” Then she rushed out. I calmly finished the rest of my meal. A small part of me was disappointed. Our last anniversary dinner, and we couldn’t even get through it together. When I got home, I saw the Instagram post from her childhood friend, Alex. The photo showed Michelle’s hands, sleeves rolled up, placing a dish on a table. The caption: Stomach bug from hell. Huge thanks to Soph for being my hero and cooking for me. You’re my rock, always showing up when I need you. I shut off my phone, got into bed, and went to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, I heard the soft beeping of the keypad lock. I registered that it was Michelle, then drifted back into a haze. Just before I fell completely asleep, I felt a presence beside the bed, someone watching me in the dark. The next morning, I showered, made myself a simple breakfast, and was sitting at the table when Michelle came into the dining room. She glanced at the sandwich and glass of orange juice on the table and fell silent for a moment. “You didn’t make me anything?” She hated simple, cold breakfasts. I usually didn’t have the energy to make two different meals, so I’d always made her favorite, a proper hot breakfast for us both. “Yeah, I forgot. You can just order something or grab a bite on your way out.” I finished my food in a few bites, ready to leave for work. When I looked up, I saw her face had darkened. “I know you’re mad that I lied to you yesterday, but you used to get so dramatic, I was afraid to tell you the truth…” “I’m not mad.” “Alex’s stomach flu was acting up again, and he lives alone. I was worried, so I…” “…I’m really not mad.” “Can you please stop this? I told you, I only see Alex as a brother. Why can’t you just understand that?” “I’m really, truly not mad, okay?!” My voice rose without me meaning for it to. Seeing the shock on her face, I took a breath and softened my tone. “I get it, I do. But I have to get to work now. We can talk when I get back.” Without waiting to see her reaction, I walked out the door. 2 At work, my boss, Ms. Davis, called me into her office to talk about the overseas assignment again. “Larry, this is a fantastic opportunity. The location is great, it’s safe, and the career path is exactly what you’ve been looking for. Please, think it over again.” She had tried to convince me for weeks, laying out everything from the salary bump to the long-term benefits. But I’d always hesitated, held back by my relationship with Michelle. But now… I looked up at Ms. Davis, at the hint of ‘I-can’t-believe-you’re-passing-this-up’ in her expression. “I’ve made my decision, Ms. Davis. I’ll take it.” A wide smile spread across her face, and the relief I felt in not letting her down was like a heavy weight lifting from my own shoulders. After work, I grabbed dinner by myself before heading home. To my surprise, Michelle was already there. Now that was a rare sight. “You’re home late,” she said, her expression unreadable. She handed me a small box. “Anniversary gift.” “Oh,” I said, taking it. I felt a flicker of something, but it was closer to embarrassment than guilt. “Thanks. I, uh, I forgot to get you something. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Her face seemed to darken another shade. “Larry, can you please just calm down and listen to me?” “I’ve told you before, Alex and I grew up together. It’s not easy for him, moving to this city all by himself. I promised his parents I’d look out for him.” I could feel the anger rolling off her, but I honestly didn’t understand why. “Don’t get worked up. I know. I understand.” “Just say what’s on your mind! Stop being like this!” she snapped, her voice rising. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s platonic? He’s like a brother! What will it take for you to believe me? And think about it, if I really wanted to be with him, why would I be with you?” I tried to soothe her. “Calm down. I’m not mad. I truly believe you’re just friends.” “You…” She took a few deep, frustrated breaths, her chest rising and falling. “I’m hungry.” “Sorry, I already ate on my way home. Why don’t you order some takeout? Or there’s stuff in the fridge if you want to cook.” The only answer I got was the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut. 3 I was almost asleep when Michelle came into the room. She walked in and just stared at me. “It’s raining outside.” “Huh? Oh. You should probably dry your hair, or maybe just take a hot shower.” She was soaked, but I didn’t get what she was trying to say. Her voice was thick with disbelief. “I didn’t have an umbrella. I was gone for five hours! It’s pouring! Aren’t you worried about me at all?” “You used to be different,” she went on, her voice cracking. “Whenever we fought and I stormed out, you’d call me, or you’d call my friends to see if I was okay.” “At the very least, you’d leave a light on in the living room and wait for me to come back.” “But tonight, I was gone for five hours, and you didn’t even send a single text!” I kept my voice gentle. “I didn’t contact you because you’re a grown woman. I figured you could handle yourself. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass you by calling around to all your friends, asking where you were.” Michelle’s face froze. She must have remembered what she’d screamed at me a long time ago. “Are you ever going to stop?! I’m an adult! I know what I’m doing! Do you have to blow up my phone like a lunatic? And why are you harassing my friends? Do you have any idea how much they make fun of me because of you?!” That time, I had spent hours frantically calling everyone I could think of to find her. The moment I finally heard she was safe, the relief that washed over me was immediately shattered not by her gratitude, but by her rage. But I wasn’t interested in digging up the past. The hand-off for my new assignment was starting, and I was just… tired. “Look, just go take a shower so you don’t catch a cold.” I turned and went into the master bedroom. It took a while to fall asleep, my mind churning with work that needed to be done. In that blurry space between waking and sleeping, I thought I felt a hand gently stroke my face, followed by a soft sigh. Then, the mattress dipped beside me. 4 It seemed Michelle was genuinely angry now. She started leaving early and coming home late, avoiding me completely. No texts, no calls. I was more than happy for the peace and quiet. I certainly wasn’t going to go looking for trouble. But after five days of the silent treatment, she actually texted me. [I’m making dinner tonight. Come home and eat.] Honestly, I was shocked. For our entire relationship, I had been the one who cooked. I remember once, I’d playfully complained that I was tired and asked if she would cook for a change. She had just hugged me and said, “My cooking skills are so bad, I’d probably put you in the hospital. Besides, I love eating my husband’s home-cooked meals every single night.” Blinded by love, I never questioned the glaring contradiction in her words. I’d spent countless hours after work teaching myself to cook, following recipes to get the flavors just right for her, collecting a nice set of burns and knife-cuts along the way. I was still living in that sweet fantasy, proud that my girlfriend got to eat my food every day, right up until Alex casually mentioned how great a cook Michelle was. That led to a massive fight. Michelle’s reaction was, as always, coldly dismissive. “Alex can’t cook, and he’s a really picky eater. We can’t have him ordering takeout all the time, can we?” “He’s not like you, you’ll eat anything. I’m just taking care of my big brother.” “You’re a grown man. Stop expecting people to cook for you all the time.” “If you think cooking for me is such a chore, then just stop. It’s not like I’m forcing you to.” And after that? I think I let her half-hearted apology smooth things over, and I forgave her. What’s that saying? Love really does make you a special kind of stupid. But still, I texted back: [Okay.] We were on the verge of breaking up anyway. If possible, I wanted it to be clean. The moment I opened the front door, I heard Michelle’s cheerful voice from the kitchen. “Larry! You’re home! Go wash up and relax for a minute, dinner’s almost ready.” I sat down at the dining table, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me. I never thought I’d see the day Michelle willingly stepped into the kitchen. If this had happened on any other day, at any other point in our relationship, I would have been overjoyed. Michelle soon brought out a spread of four dishes and a soup. Though they were all fairly simple, one bite was all it took to confirm that she was, indeed, an excellent cook. “Larry,” she began, her voice tinged with a surprising vulnerability, “why have you been ignoring me for so many days?” “Whenever we had a fight before, you’d always come around by the next day at the latest. But this time… it’s been five days and you haven’t reached out once.” “Uh…” I swallowed the food in my mouth. “I was just trying to give you some space.” An awkward silence fell between us. After a moment, she spoke again, her tone cautious. “That night… I ended up getting to Alex’s so late because of his stomach thing that I hadn’t eaten. That’s the only reason I cooked for him. I’m going to teach him how to cook, so I won’t have to go over there so much anymore.” “Oh. Okay, good.” I mumbled a reply, afraid she’d blow up again and accuse me of not understanding, then went back to eating in silence. “Hey,” she said, her voice softer still. “How about you come with me to this month’s get-together?” I was so surprised I looked up. Her eyes were shining with hope. 5 It wasn’t that Michelle had never taken me to hang out with her friends before, but we both knew what she meant: the special monthly gathering for her inner circle. It wasn’t special because of what they did, but who was there. It was a closed group. No partners allowed. I’d asked her to take me before, but she’d always brushed me off. When she saw I wasn’t buying her excuses, she lost her temper. “Larry, can you stop being so damn needy? It’s suffocating! I already told you, this is our one night a month where it’s just us, a time to unwind. Why do you have to interfere with every little bit of personal space I have?!” I’d flipped a table that day, screaming at her. “Then what about Alex? You took him, didn’t you?” Her reply had been ice-cold. “Alex grew up with me. He’s met them all before. He’s not an outsider.” “Besides, he doesn’t have any other friends in this city. I only brought him because I didn’t want him to be lonely.” “Stop being so paranoid. You sound like a psycho.” I never thought she’d be the one to invite me. But the hand-off for the overseas post was genuinely hectic. Thinking of my workload, I had to refuse. Besides, I was never really close with her friends anyway. At this point, there was no reason to try and force it. “I’ve got a lot on my plate at work right now. Maybe some other time.” Michelle slammed her chopsticks down on the table. A deep weariness was etched on her face. “Larry, I know you’re unhappy about Alex. That’s why I’ve been bending over backwards for you these past few days. But I get tired too. I’ve humbled myself enough. What more do you want from me?” “You’re twenty-eight years old,” she said, her voice tight. “Stop throwing tantrums like a child.” “You’ve got it wrong,” I said calmly. “Work really is just busy right now.” “Whatever,” she said, her voice hard as stone. We finished the rest of the meal in total silence.

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Payday. I stared at the direct deposit notification on my phone, my mind going completely blank. My salary was supposed to be nine thousand dollars a month. The text said fifty-five hundred. What really sent my blood pressure into the stratosphere was the news that Alex, the culinary school intern who’d only been here a year, got a raise. From seven grand a month to ten-five. What the hell was this? I was the executive chef who had dragged this place up from a greasy-spoon dive to a three-star Michelin restaurant. I hadn’t seen a raise in five years. I’d spent every holiday season practically living in the kitchen, working overtime, training apprentices who were now running their own kitchens at our other locations. And this was my reward? A pay cut, while a kid who wasn’t even a full-time employee got a bonus? The fury built until I couldn’t see straight. I grabbed the resignation letter I’d kept in my locker for a day like this and stormed into the owner’s office. I remember him calling me and Alex in after the New Year. “The restaurant’s gone up another Michelin star,” he’d said, beaming. “Time for a raise for everyone.” I’d actually let myself get excited, thinking, finally, it’s my turn. What a joke. The owner, Mr. Ross, looked up from his desk, a surprised expression on his face when he saw the letter. “Susan, what’s this all about?” A cold laugh escaped my lips as I unleashed all the bitterness I’d been swallowing for years. “I can’t even support my family on this. I’m done.” 1 Mr. Ross slid the resignation letter back across his polished desk, his expression a mask of concerned difficulty. “Susan, I know you might be upset, but we’re adjusting to market trends, making strategic pivots. You’ve been here five years, you’ve seen us through thick and thin. Is this little thing really worth quitting over? Be a team player. Be reasonable.” I laughed again, a harsh, grating sound. “Mr. Ross, it’s precisely because I’ve been here for five years.” “Year one, I slept on the kitchen floor on New Year’s Eve just so I could be up at 5 a.m. to prep for the dinner service.” “Year two, I had a 104-degree fever in the middle of winter. You said a private party had booked the whole place and couldn’t be canceled. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold a knife, but I finished all twelve courses.” “Year three, business was booming. I was working around the clock, so exhausted I could barely stand. I was filleting a sea bass and nearly sliced my finger off. I just wrapped it in plastic wrap and got back to the stove. I didn’t get stitches until after we closed. The doctor said another half hour and I would’ve lost the finger.” “Year four, I was cooking all day and training apprentices all night. I worked endless overtime and never saw a single cent for it.” “Year five, I’ve poured my life into this place, and today, you cut my pay.” I leaned forward, my hands flat on his desk. “All I’m asking for is to be treated fairly. Is that really so hard?” The smile on Mr. Ross’s face finally vanished. He slammed his hand on the table. “Susan! What’s your point? Are you trying to list your accomplishments for me?” “Let me tell you something. The reason you’re standing here today, the reason you get to call yourself a Michelin-star chef, is because of what? Because of this restaurant! Because of the top-tier ingredients I spend a fortune on! Because of the platform I built for you! Without all that, what are you?” My fingers curled into tight fists, my jaw clenched. Five years ago, Savor was nothing more than a hole-in-the-wall diner. When he hired me, he promised me a percentage of the profits if I could turn the place around. I believed him. To perfect my craft, I traveled everywhere, studying under different masters. I used my own savings. I paid for my own travel and lodging. I even bought my own ingredients to practice my knife skills and cooking techniques after my shifts. The second year, I wanted to revamp the signature dish. He refused, said it was too risky. I stood in this very office and swore to him that if we lost a single dollar on it, he could deduct it from my salary. That revamped dish became a sensation. It’s what put this restaurant on the map. “Mr. Ross, let me ask you something. In five years, this restaurant’s profits have increased a hundredfold. Where is the profit-sharing you promised me when I started?” His eyes darted away. “Susan, it’s not that I don’t want to give it to you. We just don’t have it.” He cleared his throat and spread his hands. “Do you have any idea how much it cost to get that third Michelin star? The dinners for the critics, the networking, the kitchen upgrades… that set of imported French copper pots alone cost over twenty thousand dollars. Every penny the restaurant made went right back into it.” I stared at him. “No money?” “Then tell me this. Alex isn’t even a full-time employee. What are you paying him a bonus for?” Mr. Ross was silent for a beat. “Now, Susan, that’s not a fair comparison.” “Alex is a graduate of the Cordon Bleu in Paris. He’s formally trained. Do you know what the hottest trend in the culinary world is right now? International, high-end cuisine. If we want to compete on a global scale, we need a strong foundation in that world.” “And you? You cook traditional food. It’s good, but let’s be honest, it’s outdated. The market is moving on. If this restaurant doesn’t evolve, it dies. You represent the past, Susan. Alex represents the future.” The future of the restaurant who, as far as I knew, still couldn’t properly sear a steak. I looked down, a bitter smile on my face, and walked out of the office. Let’s see how many days Savor can keep its three Michelin stars without me. 2 I went to the staff restroom and splashed cold water on my face. Walking past Mr. Ross’s office again, I saw the door was slightly ajar. I heard Alex’s voice and stopped in my tracks. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Ross. I’ve got all her signature recipes down. The exact cooking temperatures, the sauce ratios, I’ve memorized everything.” Alex’s voice was slick with pride. Mr. Ross chuckled. “Alex, my boy, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” “What’s the real asset of this restaurant? The recipes. As long as we have those, it doesn’t matter who’s cooking. You add your fancy Western plating, your molecular gastronomy tricks… when we take that to the international market, it’ll be a slaughter.” Alex paused, then lowered his voice. “But, Mr. Ross, her attitude in here just now… I think she’s serious about leaving. What about that big banquet next week? Thirty-eight courses. If she really walks out…” Mr. Ross scoffed. “Walk out? She wouldn’t dare.” “Her husband has a bad back, he’s on medication constantly. That’s two grand a month right there. Then there’s the mortgage, I heard her on the phone once, that’s another forty-five hundred. And her son does some kind of martial arts, the training camps are eight grand a quarter.” “You do the math. How much does she need every month? She dares to quit? What’s she going to use to pay her mortgage? To buy her husband’s medicine?” Mr. Ross laughed again. “She’s just throwing a tantrum. In a couple of days, she’ll cool off and come crawling back. I’ll just dangle another carrot, promise her a bonus at the end of the year, and she’ll be back in the kitchen, working like a good little girl.” “I’ve seen her type a million times. With family responsibilities weighing her down, she has no other choice.” The laughter seeping through the crack in the door hit my ears like physical blows. I looked down at the pale scar on my right index finger and shoved my hand deep into my pocket. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out. A connection request on LinkedIn. The message read: Sarah Connolly, Talent Acquisition, Apex Hospitality Group. I accepted. A message popped up immediately. “Chef Susan, my name is Sarah Connolly, and I’m a recruiter with Apex Hospitality Group. We are currently building our flagship restaurant and would be honored to have you as our Executive Head Chef. We’re offering a salary of one million dollars a year, your own dedicated R&D team, and the full backing of the group to innovate within traditional cuisine. If you’re available, I would love to discuss this further.” One million dollars a year. I stared at the number on the screen for a long, long time. From the office, Mr. Ross’s voice drifted out again, clear as day. “She won’t dare leave.” I woke my phone screen and tapped out a reply. “Very interested. I look forward to our conversation.” I put my phone back in my pocket, straightened my back, and walked away without a second glance at that door. 3 That afternoon, I was in the kitchen, preparing for the final handover. I was pointing out a few things to the apprentices, which dishes they still needed to master, which daily details to watch out for. Suddenly, a server from the front-of-house burst in, her face pale. “Susan, we have a problem.” “There’s a food blogger out there, she has like, three million followers. She ordered our signature Matsutake Mushroom Consommé and the Pan-Seared Redfish.” “She took one bite and put her utensils down. Says it tastes wrong. She’s filming a video about it right now in the dining room!” Everyone in the kitchen turned to look at me, the same way they had for the past five years, expecting me to clean up whatever mess they’d made. I glanced over. “Alex made the signature dishes this afternoon. Have him deal with it.” Alex froze. He was standing at his station, his apron splattered with grease, sweat dripping from his forehead. The kitchen door swung open. It was Mr. Ross. He zeroed in on me the second he walked in. “Susan!” “Are you doing this on purpose?” “Did you or did you not teach him the core recipes for your signature dishes? Are you holding back, keeping secrets for yourself?” “That blogger has three million followers! Do you know what will happen if she posts a negative review?!” He pointed a finger at me, his voice full of command. “Susan, you go out there and apologize to her right now. Then you remake the dishes, serve them yourself, and smooth things over.” I gestured to the recipes taped to the wall, the paper yellowed and stained from years of kitchen smoke. “The recipes have been on that wall for years.” “But if your knife skills are sloppy, if you can’t control the heat, if your fundamentals are weak, there’s nothing I can do.” “If I made the mistake, I could fix it. But I can’t fix someone else’s lack of skill.” Mr. Ross’s face flushed red, then went pale. “Susan, are you slacking off on purpose because you’re mad about the pay adjustment?” “When there’s a problem in the restaurant, you, as the head chef, are just going to hide back here? What are you trying to do? Do you want to see this restaurant fail?” I found it hilarious. “The person whose cooking is making the restaurant fail doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. Why should a chef who isn’t skilled enough to earn a high salary be worried?” Mr. Ross took a deep breath, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “Susan, the pay cut… I didn’t think it through.” “Our food costs were too high last year, the budget was tight, so I had to make some adjustments. It wasn’t personal.” “How about this: I’ll restore your salary to nine thousand, same as before. We’ll put this behind us, okay?” Back to nine thousand? Were five years of my life and sacrifice only worth nine thousand a month? I said calmly, “My salary is lower than Alex’s, so I must not be as skilled. In that case, someone of my level certainly can’t give him any pointers or solve this problem.” Mr. Ross’s face tightened. He glanced anxiously towards the dining room, then back at me. After a long moment, he spoke. “Fine.” He squeezed the word out through gritted teeth. “I’ll add another thousand. Ten thousand.” “Susan, ten thousand a month is not a low salary in this industry. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Now go fix this.” “And next month, we have three big private bookings. High-end clients, the cheapest table starts at eighty thousand. You have to personally oversee all three. There can’t be any issues with the food.” “You pull these off, and then we’ll talk about your bonus.” It was always then we’ll talk. And every year, there was a new excuse. “Fine,” I said. Mr. Ross visibly relaxed. He probably thought he’d won again. I turned to go deal with the situation in the dining room. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Sarah Connolly, the recruiter from Apex Hospitality. “Chef Susan, the contract details have been sent to your email. You can sign whenever you’re ready. Just let us know your preferred start date, and we’ll accommodate you.” I glanced at the calendar. The earliest of those three private bookings was on the 12th of next month. The latest start date Apex had offered me was the 10th. I put my phone away, returned to my station, and got back to work. Mr. Ross thought Alex could handle it. So let him.

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1 For five years of marriage, I’d grown accustomed to visiting my mother’s and child’s graves alone each year. Once again, Mark Wallace produced two plane tickets before the spring remembrance festival. One for him. The other, not for me. “Chelsea needs to go back for the ancestral rites. Same old routine,” he said, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. “I’ll book your ticket for October. Hotel’s already taken care of.” I couldn’t help but ask if this year could be an exception. In the frozen silence, the answer was already etched on his face. Christmas was spent with Chelsea and her family. Memorial Day was their son’s birthday. And my own child’s grave? He hadn’t visited it once in five years. Out of 365 days, October was the only time I’d briefly see him. Staring at the ticket that had nothing to do with me, the weariness of five years suddenly pressed down, stealing my breath. “If you walk out that door today, we’re filing for divorce,” I heard myself say, my voice eerily calm. … “When you go back this time, remember to buy the toy Arthur wanted last time…” Mark’s instructions stopped abruptly when I uttered the word “divorce.” He furrowed his brow, his voice stiff. “Divorce? What divorce?” “You’re talking about divorce over something so trivial?” Mark frowned, perplexed, as if I were being utterly unreasonable. “I’ve spent enough money on your sister, haven’t I? Her life is entirely dependent on me now.” “We agreed initially that I’d be staying in Portside for a long time. You consented to that. So what are you trying to do, bringing this up now?” My hands, hanging limply, trembled slightly. I felt a little lost for words. He used to say Arthur was too young, that I should be understanding. He promised that once Arthur was older and more sensible, he’d leave Chelsea. For my sister’s illness, I endured again and again. We got our marriage certificate five years ago, but there was never a wedding. No one even knew we’d been married for five years. We saw each other once a year, separated by two thousand miles. Even during video calls, Chelsea and Arthur were always by his side. I was always the outsider. “Mark, you and Chelsea are already divorced. Arthur is five years old now.” “So what are we? A transaction?” All the resentment and hurt of these years spilled out. But Mark was clearly getting impatient. He waved his hand dismissively. “Isn’t it?” My breath hitched. Mark seemed to realize his mistake a beat too late. A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. The atmosphere grew silent. He abruptly changed the subject. “Fine. I’ll double her medical fees this month.” “Go find a new place to live. How can anyone live in such a cramped space?” He looked at the peeling paint on the walls, the moldy ceiling, with undisguised distaste. He casually pulled a card from his wallet and thrust it into my hand. The cold touch spread from my palm to my heart, a bitter taste rising in my mouth. This house was my sister’s and mine. Our home. After my sister’s accident, I’d stayed here, guarding it. The money he gave me, my own salary, my bonuses—every single penny went into a bank account. Once it was full, I wouldn’t owe him anything. The old iron gate creaked open. A child of four or five ran straight into Mark’s arms. “Daddy! I missed you so much!” The house was small. Chelsea and her son came in, struggling to find a place to stand. “Jamie, you live here?” Chelsea said, feigning surprise. “It’s all Mark’s fault. I told him from the beginning, once you two were married, he should come home.” “But he refused. He can’t leave Arthur and me.” Her face was full of false apology, but her words dripped with sarcasm. “Why don’t you move to Portside with us? The house isn’t huge, but we can clear out a spare room for you.” Mark didn’t seem to have any objection to this absurd suggestion. “Chelsea’s right, it’s unfair that we only see each other once a year.” “Your sister’s condition is just… well, why don’t you just…” Seeing them as a family of three, a sense of powerlessness washed over me. “No, I don’t need to…” Before I could finish, a loud crash made me snap my head up. Arthur’s hands were empty. At his feet lay a shattered crystal ball. My pupils trembled. I lunged forward, pushing Arthur out of the way. The child landed on his bottom and burst into tears. “Who told you to touch that?!” Mark rushed forward, scooped up Arthur, and carefully checked him for injuries. He immediately started accusing me without bothering to understand what happened. “It’s just a broken trinket! Why would you push the child?!” Chelsea’s eyes were also filled with concern for Arthur. “Jamie, Arthur is just a child. How could you do that to him?” I couldn’t bring myself to listen to their accusations. I just crouched down, trying to piece the broken crystal ball back together. It was a gift from my sister on my birthday. That day, she’d been on her way to buy a cake for me, to surprise me, when the car accident happened. She’d been in a coma ever since. Clinging to life in a hospital bed. This was her only, her last, gift to me. I looked up, my eyes bloodshot, glaring at the family. “How are you going to pay for this?” 2 Mark’s face darkened. He pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them onto the floor. “Is that enough? Apologize. If you don’t, you won’t see me this year, or next.” “And your sister’s medical bills? Forget about them.” I slammed the door shut. The living room was so quiet I could only hear my own heartbeat. The floor was a mess. As I bent down to pick up the shards, I tried to put the crystal ball back together. But what’s broken is broken. Just like Mark and me. Five years ago, it was the second year after my sister’s accident. Mark Wallace had forced his way into my life. He took on all of my sister’s medical expenses. He was there for me during my darkest time. I accepted his proposal. But after we signed the marriage certificate, he confessed. “Jamie, I’ve been divorced before.” The marriage certificate was still warm in my hand. I looked up, stunned. “What?” “I have a son with her. He just turned one month old. He needs me.” “So we agreed to divorce but still live together. She’s in Portside. I have to leave tomorrow.” Mark’s calm words made my heart sink. He handed me a card. “Your sister’s medical expenses for this month. I’ll deposit money into this card from now on.” He asked me to understand him, to be considerate. For my sister, and because I clung to the hope of this relationship, I chose to forgive. But it was this forgiveness that allowed Mark to abandon me again and again. When I first found out I was pregnant, my mother was gravely ill, and no one was there to take care of me. I called him, told him the news. At first, he promised he would come home to be with me. But soon after, he called back. “Jamie, Arthur started crying non-stop when he heard I was coming home. I’ll send you some money. You can hire a nurse to look after you.” After that, I went to all my prenatal appointments alone. My belly grew larger day by day, and the neighbors looked at me strangely. “Jamie, your belly is so big now, but I never see your husband.” I forced a smile and brushed them off. “He’s busy with work.” But rumors spread like wildfire that I was some man’s kept woman, an illegitimate mistress. During my pregnancy, emotions overwhelmed me. Every time I called Mark, the call would be rejected before it even connected. It wasn’t until my due date that Mark finally returned from Portside. On the way to the hospital, he drove frantically, talking all the while. “When you go in to give birth, try to push hard and get it over with quickly. Arthur’s birthday is in two days, and I have to rush back.” My water had already broken. I was too weak to speak. When I was rushed into the operating room, I developed amniotic fluid embolism due to fetal malposition. Bag after bag of blood was sent into the operating room. Countless critical condition notices were issued. In the end, I survived, but the baby didn’t. When I opened my eyes, the nurse looked at me with pity. “Ms. Jensen, your husband already left. He paid your medical bills.” “You’ll have other children.” I covered my face, tears streaming down. But I wasn’t given a chance to recover. My mother, who had been ill for years, passed away three days after I lost my child. When he heard the news, he only sent me a text message. Arthur’s sick. You’ll have other kids. I’m just glad you’re okay. Your mom’s passing is a release for her. Don’t be too sad. I’ll be back to handle the funeral arrangements. By the time he returned, it was already after the seventh day of mourning for both my mother and my child. I had a huge fight with him. But he said to me, “Arthur’s illness this time is very serious. Can you understand what’s more important, the living or the dead?” “I know you’ve suffered, but didn’t I give you money?” “I made sure you had the best hospital room, the best nutritionist to recover, and I never missed a payment for your sister’s care. What more do you want from me?” He rubbed his temples, telling me over and over to be reasonable. “Mark, how many times have you said those things? Why are you still living with them?” “Is it because of the child again? Then why did you divorce her? Why did you marry me?!” I screamed, ignoring all decorum. But Mark never once thought he was in the wrong. He remained impassive, bringing up my sister without hesitation. “Jamie, you need to be grateful. Without me, how could your comatose sister be in such a good hospital?” “Before you make a scene next time, know your place.” After I suggested divorce, he cut off my sister’s medical resources. I had lost my child, lost my mother. I couldn’t lose my sister too. In the years that followed, I repeatedly gave in. When Mark was in a good mood, he would try to console me. “We’re married. Do you really think I’d run off?” I wiped away my tears, tidied up the house, and my gaze fell back on the plane ticket on the table. I reached out, tore it to shreds, and threw it in the trash. My phone suddenly rang. It was the hospital. My heart quickened. My sister’s condition had been stable for the past two years. For the hospital to call now… I didn’t dare to think, and quickly answered the phone. “Ms. Jensen, your sister just had a sudden cardiac arrest. She’s in critical condition right now. Please come to the hospital.” 3 My head buzzed. I grabbed my coat and ran out. When I arrived at the hospital, I was handed a critical condition notice by the doctor. That thin piece of paper almost slipped from my grasp. After signing it with trembling hands, the nurse told me to go pay the fees first. I handed over the card Mark had given me. But I was told there was no money in it. “Insufficient funds.” I froze for a moment. This card was given to me by Mark before he left. It contained double the medical fees. How could there be insufficient funds? “Is the machine broken? Try swiping it again.” The person at the payment counter was impatient. “No money means no money. It won’t change no matter how many times you swipe.” People behind me were urging me on. My sister’s life hung over me like a sword. I walked to the corner of the hallway and called Mark. The call took a long time to connect. I heard Mark’s nonchalant voice. “Had a change of heart? Do you know how to apologize?” “Arthur still hasn’t recovered, you—” I cut off his reprimand. “Why is there no money on the card?” He paused, as if recalling something. After a long silence, he spoke calmly. “I forgot. I gave that card to Chelsea before.” “She had a bad investment and needed money to cover the losses.” I tightened my grip on the phone, my knuckles white, my voice tinged with pleading. “My sister is in emergency surgery right now. She had a sudden cardiac arrest…” “What’s that got to do with me?” His voice on the other end of the line grew even more impatient. “Jamie, weren’t you acting so tough earlier?” “Figure out the money yourself. This is your punishment.” I felt my breathing constrict. I looked up at the red light above the operating room. My heart pounded. “Mark, when we got married, you promised me.” “I know, but I want you to remember who’s been bailing you out all these years.” Before I could say anything else, a child’s voice piped up. “Daddy, I’m hungry. I want to eat the food you made for me.” Then came the sounds of Chelsea and Mark laughing. “Mommy’s food isn’t as good? Your daddy was too tired yesterday, let him rest…” The call ended. The busy signal extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart. Payment notifications kept coming in. I clenched my jaw, swallowed my pride, and asked my company for a three-month advance on my salary. I also borrowed money from everyone I knew. Finally, I scraped together enough for the surgery. The operating room light just switched off. I clenched my fists, staring intently at the doctor who emerged. I saw my pale-faced sister being wheeled out of the operating room.

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1 The system demanded I win over the quiet, penniless scholarship student, but from day one, all I wanted was to – fail. In my old life, I was as ordinary as could be. My looks were average, my family background nothing special. I lived in a cramped studio, agonizing over buying even a simple latte. An orphan, I had no family, no friends, and my days were a monotonous, solitary drone. But now, everything was different. I was in the back of a luxury car, heir to a formidable fortune, with striking, captivating looks. My parents doted on me like a princess, and my bank accounts held more zeroes than I could ever spend in several lifetimes. The cold, grating mechanical voice in my head had vanished. I needed to confirm the system was truly gone, unlinked and out of my life for good. I quickly reined in my exploding joy, furrowed my brows, reddened my eyes, and began my performance. In my mind, I called out to the system, my voice trembling, my fingertips subtly shaking, playing the pitiful host who feared being stranded after failing a mission. “System… are you still there? Don’t leave me… I failed the mission. Can I go back… I don’t want to stay here…” It wasn’t until my mind was completely devoid of any mechanical sound, truly confirming it was gone and would never return, that I could hold back no longer. I clapped a hand over my mouth, laughter bubbling uncontrollably through my fingers, from quiet muffled giggles to bending over double, tears streaming down my face, my whole body shaking. Go back? Who in their right mind would want to go back there? … “Mr. Smith, first, to my usual high-end salon.” I watched the bustling cityscape outside the window, a smile uncontrollably spreading across my face. At the salon, the artistic director himself greeted me. “Miss Evelyn, what can we do for you today?” My fingertip lightly tapped the table as I gazed at my reflection, still bearing traces of a rebellious, ‘scene-kid’ look. “Dye my hair back to natural black, make it sleek and smooth, to collarbone length. For makeup, a clean, ‘no-makeup’ look, naturally shaped brows. Get rid of all the exaggerated stuff.” This outlandish appearance – rebellious, edgy – was something I’d deliberately cultivated to sabotage the mission. Who understood the feeling of going to school every day with yellow streaked hair, heavy smoky eyes, ripped crop tops, and platform combat boots, under the constant scrutiny of judgmental stares? “Understood.” The car had barely pulled up to the mall entrance when the boutique staff immediately rushed forward, bowing respectfully. “Miss Evelyn, welcome!” I offered a faint smile, my eyes sweeping over an entire wall of new arrivals. “All the latest collections that just came in – clothes, dresses, bags, shoes – anything in my size, wrap them all up.” The sales associate paused, then excitedly responded, “Yes, Miss! Preparing them for you right away!” I stepped into the VIP fitting room, trying on one outfit after another. A couture dress hugged my slender waist, exquisite leather shoes graced my feet, a new designer bag casually draped over my arm. The girl in the mirror had innocent eyes, fair skin, and the designer labels made her look dazzling and captivating. I twirled gently in front of the mirror, unable to hold back a soft laugh. I laughed until my eyes curved into crescents, until my heart swelled with pure delight. The sales assistant respectfully called out the tally beside me: “Miss, sixty-eight items in total. They’ve all been loaded into your car.” I picked up my credit card, handed it over without even glancing at the price. “Just swipe it.” Beep— The sound of a successful transaction was sweeter than any music in the world. No more faking anger, faking malice, faking being utterly detestable. But before the smile completely faded, a prickle of caution instantly shot through me. No, I couldn’t be careless. Back then, to cooperate with the system’s mission, I’d specifically transferred to the public high school the male lead attended, acting out and looking hideous right under his nose. All I wanted was for him to thoroughly detest me, to plummet his affection rating into the negative, ensuring the mission crashed and burned. The system was gone now, but what if… what if it suddenly detected an anomaly someday and came back? What if the male lead inexplicably became blind and suddenly didn’t hate my ‘bad girl’ persona anymore, and the affection rating miraculously bounced back? What if the system then forcibly dragged me back to complete the mission, or even worse, threw me back into my old, poor, ordinary world… I couldn’t even bear the thought. I absolutely could not take any risks. The male lead, he had to completely vanish from my life. The further, the better. Ideally, I’d never see him again. I immediately picked up my phone, my fingers rapidly dialing the number of my family’s private education consultant. My voice was sweet and calm, without a trace of hesitation. “Mr. Thompson, please handle my transfer paperwork. Immediately.” “Yes, transfer me out of this public high school. No reason needed, I just don’t want to be there anymore.” “You can arrange any school, as long as it’s as far away from this one as possible. A private boarding school, an international program, even a secluded academy – anything.” “Please make sure it’s done by tomorrow. I don’t want to stay there another day.” The voice on the other end readily agreed, not daring to question my decision. Here, I was a wealthy heiress who could mobilize all resources with a single word, not the ordinary person who had to pinch pennies for tuition. Hanging up the phone, I leaned back into the plush leather seat, letting out a long sigh of relief. The corners of my mouth curved upwards uncontrollably once more. Mission accomplished. Once I transferred, I could completely distance myself from that penniless male lead, severing all ties to the mission. The car smoothly entered the villa district. The ornate iron gates slowly opened, and the fountain splashed with fragmented light in the setting sun. But the moment the car pulled to a stop, the smile on my face abruptly froze. Under the streetlamp by the villa’s front door stood a slender young man in a faded school uniform. It was Harry Miller. The male lead I had meticulously, desperately tried to make detest me, the one I needed to completely fail the mission with. My mind buzzed, and I suddenly remembered something I’d almost forgotten in my wild joy— To trick the system into thinking I was diligently pursuing the mission, I had once forcibly kept him by my side under the guise of private tutoring. It was supposed to be tutoring, but in reality, I spent the entire time deliberately bothering him, deliberately trying to annoy him. I intentionally knocked over water glasses when he was explaining problems, intentionally asked incredibly stupid questions, intentionally threw temper tantrums in front of him like a spoiled brat, intentionally said cutting and mean things, intentionally made all sorts of repulsive gestures… all to make him feel a physiological discomfort just seeing me, to send his affection rating plummeting until the mission utterly failed. The system had only just left. I absolutely couldn’t afford any mistakes. If his attitude towards me softened even slightly right now, if the system suddenly came back from the dead, if his affection rating mysteriously rebounded… all my efforts, all my chances of staying in this world, would go down the drain. I couldn’t take a single risk. The chauffeur was already getting out to open my door. I immediately lowered my voice, my tone colder than my usual innocent facade. “Don’t open the door.” I sat in the shadows, coldly watching the young man outside the window. His brows were slightly furrowed, his gaze distant, clearly still radiating intense dislike for me. Good. I took a deep breath, quickly suppressing the surge of joy and caution in my eyes. I slipped back into my arrogant, annoying ‘bad girl’ persona – even though I’d just removed my smoky eye makeup and changed out of my edgy clothes, I could play the part perfectly in a second. I pushed open the car door, crossed my arms, my voice cutting and impatient. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough for him to hear clearly. “Who told you to come here? Couldn’t teach, and now you want more money?” In fairness, Harry was an excellent tutor, I just never paid attention. Now, it was a perfect excuse. “Don’t bother coming back. Just seeing you irritates me.” “Get lost, quickly. Don’t stand around my house making a nuisance of yourself.” “Or do you want to stick around like a stray dog?” Every word was sharp and unpleasant, perfectly hitting all his sensitive spots. Harry looked up, his voice faint, with a barely perceptible stiffness. “The money paid in advance, I haven’t completed those hours.” I crossed my arms, my chin slightly raised, my eyes full of disgust and impatience, my voice cold and stinging. “The hours aren’t finished, but they won’t be. The money? I don’t even care about that little bit. Consider it a tip.” “I told you, don’t bother me again. Just seeing you brings bad luck.” Harry froze, clearly unprepared for such ruthlessness, such an absolute rejection. Standing under the streetlamp, his fingertips tightened slightly, his voice softer, with a hesitation he didn’t even seem to notice. “…Was my teaching not good enough?” My chest tightened instantly. My face immediately adopted that arrogant and biting ‘bad girl’ expression from before, my eyebrow arched, my tone cold and sharp, leaving no room for politeness. “What else could it be?” Harry stood under the streetlamp, his posture ramrod straight. Though my words had clearly made him pale, he still stubbornly looked up at me, his voice carrying a nearly obstinate seriousness. “Your grades are still very weak. Only I can help you.” A cold, scornful disgust settled on my face. I stared at him as if he were an eyesore, my voice rising a few octaves, sharp and stinging. “Harry Miller, do you really think too highly of yourself?” “Who do you think you are?” I took a step forward, looking down at him, my disdain undisguised. “So what if my grades are weak? Even if I get a zero, even if I never study a day in my life, I can still easily inherit the family business, live a life of luxury, and have more money than I can spend.” “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your fake kindness.” “Stop bothering me, and stop being so presumptuous. Just seeing you annoys me.” He didn’t say another word, just gave me a deep, lingering look. The next second, he turned and quickly disappeared into the night. The next morning, I walked slowly to school, wearing new leather flats and an outfit of clean, gentle white – a stark contrast to the obnoxious, edgy ‘bad girl’ from yesterday. My hair was sleek, black, collarbone-length. My makeup was light and fresh. I wore a French-style dress I’d bought yesterday. I was here today to handle the transfer paperwork and completely sever all ties with the male lead. But as I reached the corner of the academic building, a burst of laughter and shoving suddenly pierced my ears. My steps faltered. I looked up, and my heart instantly jumped into my throat. A few of the guys who usually hung around me were cornering a small girl against the wall. Books were scattered everywhere, their voices arrogant and cruel. “Did you hear us?! Our boss said, you poor trash, stay away from her!” “Look at who you are! Do you even deserve to talk to our boss?” “Quickly, pick up your stuff and get out! Don’t stand there making a nuisance!” The girl trapped in the middle kept her head down, trembling, tears welling in her eyes. My mind buzzed, and I instantly understood everything. Before, to max out Harry’s dislike for me, I’d deliberately staged a “bullying scene” in a corner where he could see – pretending to pick on this girl, pretending to mock her cruelly. All I wanted was for him to see my worst, most detestable side, to send his affection rating plummeting through the earth. And now, someone was actually using my name to corner and bully someone. I stood not far away, my face instantly turning cold. The female lead, Sarah Green, was an orphan, relying on Harry for everything. She was quite pitiable. “What are you doing?” The guys saw me and immediately grinned, crowding around. “Boss! We’re helping you teach her a lesson! You said you hated her the most—” “Shut up.” I cut them off, my eyes chilling. “When did I ever tell you to lay a hand on her?” “Since when do you get to interfere in my business?” “Get out, now. Don’t cause trouble for me here.” The guys froze, probably never having seen me so serious. They muttered an assent and quickly scattered. Only I and the bullied girl remained. I didn’t look at her, nor did I offer comfort, simply stating blandly, “No one will bother you again.” “Thank you,” the girl mumbled. But then, a glance from the corner of my eye – Under the sycamore tree not far away, Harry stood silently, having seen the entire scene unfold. My heart tightened violently. Damn it. What was he doing here? What if he thought me stopping those guys was a sign of softness, a change, a sudden conscience? If his impression of me warmed even a tiny bit, and the system somehow revived, I’d be completely finished. I absolutely could not let him entertain the slightest thought of “she’s not so bad after all.” Almost instantly, I pulled my cafeteria card from my pocket, turned, and walked up to the girl who was still picking up her books. I deliberately kept my chin high, my eyes contemptuous and impatient, and shoved the card hard into her arms. My voice was just loud enough for Harry to hear clearly from a distance. “Take it.” “I’m transferring anyway; this card is useless to me. Here, you pauper can have it.” The girl froze, looking up at me. I didn’t wait for her to speak, adding another remark, cutting and hurtful. “Don’t misunderstand. I just think it’s a waste to throw it away. I’m not pitying you.” With that, I turned and walked away, not sparing her a glance, nor looking at Harry. My steps were light as I walked towards the principal’s office. The teachers’ voices, however, drifted softly into my ears. “That student, Harry Miller… it’s really a shame. His grandmother suddenly had an emergency and needs a large sum for surgery.” “Yes, his family is already struggling. The school plans to organize a fundraiser to help in any way we can…” My steps halted abruptly. Harry. Grandmother’s emergency. Needs money. A strange pang in my chest. A very faint prickle of guilt, like a fine hair, brushed across my heart. I wasn’t a good person. From beginning to end, I had used him, deliberately disgusted him, desperately tried to make him hate me, all to fail the mission, all to stay in this world of luxury. But hearing news of his desperate situation, I couldn’t remain completely unmoved. Guilt aside, I didn’t want to owe him anything. After all, he had “helped” me accomplish the most important thing in this life – staying in this world. I turned, walked around to the side door of the principal’s office, and found the teacher responsible for the fundraiser. My face was expressionless, my voice calm and even. “I want to make an anonymous donation.” The teacher paused. “Student, you…” “No need to record my name, and don’t ask who donated.” I pulled out my black card without hesitation. “Transfer two hundred thousand.” The teacher was utterly stunned, speechless for a long moment. I didn’t wait for his reaction. When signing, I simply wrote “Current Student.” After swiping the card, I turned and left, swift and clean, leaving no trace.

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My heart completely shattered the moment Patrick pushed me aside for another woman. This was the man who had spent ten years relentlessly pursuing me, swearing I was the only woman he would ever love. Yet, on the night before our wedding, he admitted to his friends that I was nothing more than a placeholder. He casually mentioned that if his secret little girlfriend could just behave herself, he’d keep her around. He was absolutely certain that I, his official, broad-minded wife, would eventually forgive him. But on the day of the wedding, his little girlfriend caused a massive scene. She held a jagged piece of shattered glass to her own throat, screaming hysterically, demanding Patrick choose between us. When she violently shoved me off the wedding dais, Patrick didn’t even glance in my direction. He threw himself forward to shield the woman threatening him. As I lay on the floor with a fractured leg, Patrick roared at me to “get the hell away.” He was desperate to rush her to the hospital, screaming that if I delayed her treatment, he would make me pay with my life. That very night, I bought the earliest ticket out of the country. I left, and I never looked back. … “Ana, are you incapable of signing your own damn consent forms? Is that why you’ve called me twenty times?” “Just because Kate got hurt, you have to throw a tantrum and fake a broken leg? I am emotionally exhausted! Stop causing trouble for me!” Patrick’s voice dripped with irritation and barely contained rage through the phone. Ever since Kate crashed the wedding, he had vanished with her for a solid twelve hours. This was the twentieth time I had called him. The previous nineteen had been sent straight to voicemail. His freezing tone made me pause. I pleaded, “Kate pushed me.” “The surgeon says a family member has to sign the consent form. Since you’re already at the hospital, can’t you just walk over for two minutes and sign it?” Patrick’s response was to violently hang up the phone. Expecting exactly this, I sighed heavily. “Nurse, just bring me the consent forms. I’ll sign them myself.” The attending surgeon looked hesitant. “Ma’am, maybe you should try calling Mr. Kensington again? Perhaps he just misunderstood?” “Yesterday, he had the entire surgical team on standby. He told us that if Kate tried to crash the wedding and you got so much as a scratch, we were to treat you immediately.” “In the past, you couldn’t even catch a cold without Mr. Kensington calling for a board consultation and sitting by your bed for three days straight.” “If he finds out you actually fractured your leg, and that Kate caused it, he’ll lose his mind. You’re clearly the most important person to him.” I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. I used to think I was the most important person to him, too. Clearly, that wasn’t the case anymore. At my insistence, the surgeon finally handed over the clipboard, allowing me to sign my own surgical release. Right up until the anesthesia hit, I gave Patrick one last chance. I waited for him to just come check on me. All I got was an Instagram update from Kate. It was a boomerang of Patrick blowing on a steaming bowl of oatmeal, carefully feeding it to her, then gently tucking the blankets around her shoulders. The caption read: “Three years by your side was the greatest luck of my life. Now, you’re using the rest of your life to prove your love to me.” Kate’s smile in the video was sickeningly sweet. It was hard to believe that just a few days ago, she was getting blackout drunk because Patrick had abruptly dumped her. She had shown up at my apartment, reeking of alcohol, pointing her finger in my face and sobbing hysterically. “I was Patrick’s shadow for three years! I gave him everything! But he never touched me. He always said you, Ana, were the only woman he would ever marry. What makes you so special?!” “I tried cooking his favorite meals just like you do. And you know what he did? He slapped me! He told me I was nothing compared to you. He said I wasn’t as pretty as you, I wasn’t as gentle as you, and told me to stop embarrassing myself by trying to be a cheap imitation.” She had screamed, her voice cracking, “He told me I was just a distraction to kill time until you moved back to the States! He said the second you landed, I was out! Why did you have to come back, Ana? Why couldn’t you just die over there?!” Patrick had walked in, furious that she had insulted me. He slapped her across the face and dragged her out the door without a second thought. His eyes were cold and full of absolute disgust as he glared at her. “We are done. Stop stalking me. Did you just curse Ana? Are you insane? If you want to die, go do it somewhere else.” “Ana is my one and only. I will never look at anyone else.” Yet, today, at our own wedding, he ran straight to Kate without a second thought. He held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, panicked and desperate as he rushed her into the ER. My surgery was brief. I woke up as the nerve block wore off. Suddenly, the door to my private room burst open. Patrick stormed in. I thought his conscience had finally kicked in. I thought he was coming to apologize. Instead, the very first thing he did was grab my arm—the one with the IV line—yanking it out from under the blankets and aggressively inspecting my hand. When he didn’t see what he was looking for, he glared at me. “Ana, where is your engagement ring?” “Give it to me right now!” His violent pull yanked the IV needle deep into my vein, sending a sharp spike of pain up my arm. I didn’t answer his question. I just looked at him. “Why do you want my ring?” I had designed that ring myself. I spent months working with a master jeweler to hand-cut the stones. It was the physical proof of our promise. “Kate likes it. She said she wants us to wear matching rings.” “Just give it to her to play with. It’s just a piece of metal. It’s not even a big diamond, it’s basically worthless!” While talking, he spotted the ring sitting on the corner of the nightstand. He snatched it up without hesitation and turned to leave. I lunged forward to grab it, forgetting my leg was in a cast. I barely caught the edge of the ring, refusing to let go. “Give it back!” Patrick looked down at me, his eyes full of profound disappointment. “Ana, I thought you were a mature, forgiving woman. When did you become so petty? You’re going to fight over a cheap piece of jewelry?” I stared at him. “If you take that ring, we are done.” Patrick froze. He dropped to his knees, staring at me in absolute disbelief. “What did you just say?” His voice trembled. “Ten years. Ten years of history, and you’re just going to throw it away over nothing?” “Don’t you know I can’t survive without you?” “I forbid you from leaving me!” I looked at him with dead eyes. “But Patrick, you threw me away first. For Kate.” Patrick buried his face in my chest, hugging me desperately. “No, no, you don’t understand. I just pity Kate! She was having a mental breakdown, she was going to kill herself! I had no choice but to calm her down.” “Once she’s stable, we will re-do the wedding. I promise you! Just trust me!” Looking at his frantic, panicked face, I slowly nodded. “Okay.” He let out a massive sigh of relief and stood up. But he didn’t give the ring back. He walked out the door with it in his pocket. I rubbed my bare ring finger, then picked up my phone and dialed a number in London. “Hey, it’s Ana. Could you ask Professor Sterling if there’s still an opening at the lab? I want to come back and finish my research.” My former colleague sounded thrilled. “Are you serious? Professor Sterling was devastated when you left! He’ll be ecstatic. I’ll go talk to him right now.” “Wait, didn’t you just get married? Won’t the long-distance thing be hard on your husband?” Instinctively, I almost made an excuse for Patrick. Then I realized how pathetic that was. “He passed away,” I said flatly. “He won’t be interfering with my career anymore.” After hanging up, I booked a red-eye flight to London. I checked myself out of the hospital and went home to pack. Over the next few days, Kate was incredibly active on social media. I watched Patrick buy her haute couture gowns and bid on million-dollar necklaces at auctions. I saw photos of their hands intertwined, Kate proudly wearing the diamond ring Patrick had ripped from my hospital room. I saw the professional engagement photos they took. Kate’s caption read: “Three years in the shadows. Finally stepping into the light to claim my love.” Patrick even shared the post on his own page, though he deleted it two minutes later, terrified I would see it. Instead, he tried to cover his tracks by forwarding me an invitation to his mother’s 60th birthday gala. Before the wedding fell apart, Patrick had stressed how important this gala was. He made me promise to attend as his wife to wish his mother well. His mother, Martha, had even held my hand and personally invited me. Even though the wedding never happened, I bought an expensive gift and took a cab to the Kensington estate. When I pushed the mahogany doors open, I froze. The banquet had already started. The entire extended family was seated. Patrick and his mother were sitting together at the head table. Sitting directly between them was Kate. Martha placed a piece of lobster on Kate’s plate. “Kate, dear, you’ve lost weight. You need to eat more.” Patrick gave his mother a playful look. “Mom, she’s so high maintenance. She refuses to crack her own lobster. I have to peel it for her.” Despite his complaint, Patrick cracked the shell, pulled the meat out, and fed it to Kate by hand. I stood alone in the grand entranceway, leaning on a crutch, feeling completely exposed and humiliated. Suddenly, one of his aunts noticed me and gasped. “Ana?” Patrick’s head snapped up. His face immediately turned dark. “What are you doing here? My mother didn’t invite you today.” Before I could say a word, he marched over, grabbed my arm, and started dragging me back out the door. With my broken leg and crutch, I almost lost my balance. I violently yanked my arm free. “Don’t touch me. I can walk.” Patrick’s tone was ice-cold. “Ana, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but nobody invited you to my mother’s birthday.” “If you came here to mark your territory and try to steal Kate’s spotlight, you can leave. You are not welcome here!” I stared at him, genuinely shocked. “What are you talking about? You specifically texted me to come.” Patrick opened his mouth, a flash of pure guilt crossing his eyes. “I don’t remember that. You’re probably just lying.” Martha hurried out into the foyer. “Ana, Kate has been very depressed lately. I told Patrick to bring her so she could get out of the house. Could you please just leave? I don’t want her getting triggered by seeing you.” It seemed everyone had conveniently suffered amnesia regarding all the promises they made to me. Fine. If I wasn’t welcome, I had no reason to stay. I nodded and turned to leave. Just then, Kate walked out of the dining room. She put on a sickeningly sweet display of pity. “Mom, Patrick, don’t be so mean. I’m not that petty.” “Ana is injured. It must have been so hard for her to limp all the way over here. Let her stay! We can all eat together!” I ignored the triumphant smirk in her eyes. “No thanks. I’m leaving.” But Patrick stepped in front of me, blocking the door. “You are staying.” “Kate was gracious enough to overlook your trespassing and offer you a seat at the table. Are you really going to disrespect her like that?” “If you walk out that door, the wedding is permanently canceled. Don’t forget, you threw away your entire career in London for me. If you lose me too, you’ll have absolutely nothing!” I froze. Patrick had spent ten years chasing me. I never intended to date him. But one day, a truck ran a red light. Patrick didn’t hesitate; he tackled me out of the way, taking the brunt of the impact. As they loaded him into the ambulance, bleeding from his head, he gripped my hand. “If it means saving you, I would gladly die. I just hope that in the next life, you’ll finally give me a chance.” That was the moment my walls broke. I dropped my prestigious research position in London and flew back to marry him. And now, he was using the very sacrifice I made out of love as a weapon to control me. I took a deep breath. “Do whatever you want. Cancel it.” I walked out the door without a backward glance. I didn’t see the brief look of total panic that flashed across Patrick’s face. That night, I packed my final two suitcases. My flight was at 6 AM. I didn’t expect Patrick to actually come back to the apartment in the middle of the night. He walked in and stared at the empty living room, stunned. “Where is our photo wall? Where did all our vacation pictures go?” “They fell and the glass shattered,” I lied smoothly. “I threw them in the trash.” Patrick walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Why won’t you even look at me? Are you mad?” He sighed deeply. “You’re so stubborn. Why can’t you just compromise? All my relatives were there today. I had already introduced Kate to them. When you showed up, it made everyone uncomfortable.” “If you had just dropped the gift off and left quietly, none of this would have happened.” I suddenly felt his fingers grabbing my left hand, slipping a ring onto my finger. It was a generic diamond ring. It wasn’t mine.

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1 My gated community, Havenwood Creek, was kind of out in the middle of nowhere, a dead zone for ride-shares and taxis. To solve the daily commuting nightmare, I bought a used shuttle bus and started the “Neighborhood Express.” The rules were simple: one, it ran on a fixed schedule during the morning and evening rush hours, taking everyone straight downtown. Two, it was completely free. I even covered the gas myself. My neighbors were touched. They pitched in for a little “Community Hero” plaque for me, their gratitude overflowing. But all that changed when Kevin moved in. Kevin was a professional muckraker who ran a ‘gotcha’ livestream, and on his very first day on the bus, he hit me with a barrage of questions. “Does this bus have a commercial operating license? If there’s an accident, will your insurance even pay out? Are you prepared to be responsible for 33 lives?” I tried to explain that I wasn’t charging a dime, that this was just me trying to help out. He just pushed his glasses up his nose. “Help? One accident and you’re talking about ruined lives, families shattered. Can you really bear that weight?” Just one week later, all thirty-three of my neighbors filed a joint complaint with the Department of Transportation, reporting me for “illegal commercial transport.” … It was the peak of the morning rush, and I was just about to pull away from the curb. “Stop! Don’t move the bus!” Kevin stood in front of the shuttle, his eyes locked on mine. In the back, my neighbors blinked sleepily, peering out the windows. “What’s the hold-up, Kev? We’re gonna be late!” someone, Ricky I think, yelled from the back. Kevin ignored him, aiming his phone’s camera right at me. “Folks, I’m doing this for your own safety. I just checked the tire treads, and they’re worn down to the legal limit. But more importantly,” he turned to me, “Mr. Peter, do you have a commercial operating license for this vehicle?” My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Kevin, this is my personal vehicle. I’m helping people get to work, not running a business. There’s no fee, so there’s no need for a commercial license.” “And that’s the problem,” Kevin said, his speech quickening for the camera. “For all my followers watching, a vehicle without the proper commercial license is an illegal shuttle. It doesn’t matter if he’s charging money or not. If there’s a crash, the insurance company can legally refuse to pay out a single cent!” He whipped his head back to me, his eyes wide with feigned horror. “Thirty-three lives, plus your own. Can you carry that burden? Are you willing to be the man who destroys thirty-three families?” The bus went silent. Laura, a young woman who was several months pregnant, hugged her belly and leaned back in her seat. She took my shuttle for her prenatal checkups downtown, saving over a hundred bucks each time. Now, her brow was furrowed, her gaze darting between me and Kevin. “Peter… is he telling the truth? The insurance won’t pay?” “I have a full commercial policy,” I said, patting the dashboard. “A ten-million-dollar liability coverage.” I held up my wallet to show my license. “And a Class-A CDL. You all know I’m a good driver.” “Ignorance of the law is terrifying,” Kevin sneered. “There’s a standard exclusion clause in every commercial policy: no payout for illegal operations. Your so-called ‘free rides’ don’t negate the commercial risk. You’re using your neighbors as guinea pigs!” A murmur rippled through the passengers. “He’s got a point. What if we get hurt and can’t get compensation?” “Free is nice, but is it worth the risk…?” I glanced at the clock. 7:40 AM. Any later and they’d all be late for work. “If you want to ride, stay seated. If you don’t, get off,” I said, turning the key in the ignition. “I’m not forcing anyone.” Usually, someone would have spoken up for me. Today, there was only silence. Finally, Ricky shouted, “Let’s just go! My perfect attendance bonus is on the line!” Kevin hopped on the bus and took the passenger seat next to me, adjusting his posture for his livestream. “To prevent any unfortunate incidents, I will be supervising this entire trip.” No one else spoke. The usual morning chatter and sharing of breakfast was replaced by the drone of Kevin’s voice. “You’re taking that turn too fast, the centrifugal force is excessive! The emergency hammer is stuck in its bracket; you’d never get it out in a fire! A fatal design flaw!” I gritted my teeth and drove them downtown. As they got off, they kept their heads down, scurrying away without a single “thank you.” At noon, a friend sent me a link. It was the number three trending topic in the city: Using Neighbors as Guinea Pigs? The Deadly Risks Behind the ‘Good Samaritan’ Shuttle. The video showed Kevin dramatically measuring my tire treads, set to grim, ominous music. He’d edited in my “I’m not forcing anyone” line, making me sound callous and dismissive. The comment section was a cesspool. “People like this are the worst. If something goes wrong, it’s ‘I was just trying to help!’ If nothing happens, it’s ‘Look how great I am!’” “Illegal transport is illegal transport. You can’t whitewash that.” My fingers trembled as I tried to type a response. My phone buzzed. A private message from Kevin. “I’m doing you a favor, Peter. Public pressure forces you to get your act together and avoid legal trouble. You should thank me. I’m a professional.” I took a deep breath and didn’t reply. Instead, I messaged my lawyer. “How long would it take to rezone a piece of land?” That evening, I drove the bus back to the community. I always parked it in a vacant lot where I’d painted my own lines. The HOA never cared. Tonight, a fresh yellow line was painted on the ground. Kevin stood just outside it, pointing. “Peter, this is now a designated fire lane. Obstructing a fire lane is illegal. Your bus is too wide to park here.” “This lot has been empty for three years!” I yelled. “And I left a ten-foot gap!” “Rules are rules,” Kevin said, pointing towards the paid parking lot. “They have oversized spots over there. Eight hundred a month, but it’s legal. You can’t always be looking for loopholes.” I shifted the bus into reverse and drove toward the paid lot. Fine. You want to play by the rules? Let’s play by the rules. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing the next morning. Kevin had started a new group chat: “The Havenwood Creek Community Shuttle Safety Committee.” He was the admin, with a few of the more zealous older women as moderators. I, the owner of the bus, had been kicked out. Luckily, I had a burner account in the group. The pinned announcement was a “Proposal for the Rectification and Regulation of the Community Shuttle.” It listed more than a dozen demands: The driver must publicly post his blood pressure, heart rate, and results from a breathalyzer test daily. The vehicle must be equipped with a real-time GPS tracker, with the data shared with all residents. Each seat must be equipped with motion sickness pills and emergency heart medication. It was also suggested that passengers purchase supplemental accident insurance, with the driver covering the cost. I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. I was giving them a free ride, not running an ambulance service. When I got down to the bus, everyone was just standing around, no one getting on. Kevin stood at the door, holding a printed-out checklist. “Mr. Peter, for the sake of safety, the community has unanimously agreed that you must fill out this daily pre-trip inspection form.” I stared him in the eyes. “And if I don’t?” Kevin shrugged. “Then I don’t think anyone will feel safe enough to ride. It’s their lives, after all.” Mrs. Gable, an older woman who used to call me a living saint, now eyed me with suspicion. “Oh, just fill it out, dearie,” she coaxed. “Mr. Kevin is just looking out for us. A little professionalism can’t hurt.” Ricky chimed in, “Yeah, Peter, it’s no big deal.” I took the pen and filled out their ridiculous form, curious to see what other nonsense they could dream up. As the bus started, the atmosphere was even heavier than the day before. The AC was taking a minute to kick in. Kevin pulled out a handheld air quality monitor and pointed it at the vent, filming. “As you can see, the filter hasn’t been cleaned in a long time. The PM2.5 levels are rising.” He announced gravely, “In an enclosed space like this, a malfunctioning AC unit could easily lead to oxygen deprivation or even carbon monoxide poisoning.” From the back, an older man clutched his head. “Oh my, no wonder I’m feeling a bit dizzy! Are we running out of air?” Someone else yelled, “Peter, can you open a window? It does smell a bit off in here.” “It’s true, it’s dangerous with so many people packed in.” The bus filled with a chorus of complaints. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The dizzy old man was the same one who, just last week, had told me this bus was more comfortable than the subway. The woman complaining about the smell used to eat onion bagels on her morning ride. One word from Kevin, and I was now the villain trying to poison them all. When we reached their stop, Kevin remained in his seat. “Since the hardware clearly can’t be improved, Mr. Peter should consider offering a heat-hazard stipend or a risk-assumption fee.” “After all,” he added with a smirk, “everyone here is risking their lives just to be your practice dummies.” “He’s right!” someone piped up. “Fifty bucks a day per person seems fair, don’t you think?” I said nothing, my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel. I had a fleeting, insane urge to weld the doors shut and drive straight into the river. But I held it in. Returning to the community that afternoon, the security guard at the main gate stopped me. “Mr. Peter, your vehicle can’t enter.” He frowned and gestured toward the security booth, where Kevin was waiting. Kevin emerged, holding a document. “Mr. Peter, according to the Havenwood Creek Roads & Grounds bylaws, large vehicles can cause damage to the underground pipes and pavement. Our calculations show that the axle weight of your bus exceeds the load-bearing capacity of our community’s roads.” He pointed down the road. “For the safety of all homeowners’ property, please park your vehicle on the undeveloped land two miles away. Do not bring it into the community.” I burst out laughing. “I’ve been driving this bus in here for three years without a problem! How is it suddenly overweight today?” Kevin’s face was a stony mask. “That was before anyone was properly supervising the situation. Now that I have identified the hazard, I cannot, in good conscience, allow it to continue.” I put the bus in reverse and drove the two miles to the barren plot of land. I pulled out the work order I’d gotten for the AC repair and tore it into tiny pieces. That night, I posted a message in the group chat: “The bus is going in for AC maintenance tomorrow. Service will be suspended for the day.” The chat immediately erupted. “What? Suspended? How am I supposed to get to work?” “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Mr. Kevin makes one suggestion and you shut it all down. Who are you trying to get back at?” “I don’t care! If I lose my perfect attendance bonus tomorrow, you’ll have to compensate me for my losses!” Kevin himself weighed in: “One shouldn’t be so selfish. If you’re going to start a service like this, you have a responsibility to see it through. This is malicious cessation of service!” I looked at my phone and laughed until tears streamed down my face. This was human nature. You give them a free lunch, and they complain it’s not salted enough. You take the plate away, and they scream at you for not spoon-feeding them. I turned off my phone and pulled out the development plans for the area around our community. There was a single, direct shortcut connecting our community to the tech campus. It was a private road that had not yet been handed over to the city. I circled it in red on the map and called my assistant. “Pull the deed for that access road. I need it.” At six the next morning, someone was pounding on my door. I opened it to find a crowd of seven or eight neighbors. Mrs. Gable was at the front, with the very pregnant Laura beside her. Kevin stood at the back, phone held high, livestreaming. “Peter, dear, how could you just stop the service like that?” Mrs. Gable slapped her thigh for emphasis. “Do you have any idea how far the subway station is? You’ll be the death of these old bones!” “Peter…” Laura’s eyes were red, one hand on her lower back. “I have my specialist appointment today. I have to be there. What if someone bumps into me on a crowded subway? Please, just this one last time, for me?” “Indeed, Mr. Peter,” Kevin said, pushing up his glasses. “While your vehicle does present certain safety hazards, in an emergency situation such as this, basic human decency dictates that you shouldn’t refuse to help. Or would you rather see a pregnant woman have an accident on public transport? Could you handle the public outcry from that?” It was pure emotional blackmail. If I refused, Laura would become the face of my cruelty online. I stared at Laura’s swollen belly for a long moment, then grabbed my car keys. I would give myself one last chance to see these people for who they truly were. “Fine. I’ll drive you. This is the last time.” My neighbors high-fived each other. Kevin made a V-for-victory sign at his camera. “You see that, followers? This is a victory for the power of the people! Justice may be delayed, but it is never denied!” On the way, no one mentioned the previous day’s drama. It was all “Peter, man” this and “Thanks, Peter” that. The charade continued right up until I slammed on the brakes. A stray dog had darted into the road. I stomped on the brake pedal. We were going less than fifteen miles per hour. The bus lurched slightly. The water bottle on my dashboard didn’t even tip over. “Aargh!” A cry came from the passenger seat. Kevin had launched himself out of his seat and onto the floor, clutching his neck and grimacing. “My neck… my neck!” he screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “The illegal shuttle driver is trying to kill us! This is what happens when you operate an unsafe vehicle! Someone call 911! Call an ambulance!”

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For three years, Sharon was my world. And for three years, she thought my job as a valet driver was a dead end. That night, she told me she was going to a friend’s party and would grab a cab home. I didn’t need to pick her up. At 10:30 PM, a ride request popped up on my phone. I accepted it, just like any other. I arrived at the location, opened the car door, and slid into the driver’s seat. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw them—a man and a woman tangled together in the backseat. The woman was completely wasted, draped over him. The man’s head was down, his hand already inching its way up the hem of her skirt. She tilted her face up, inviting his kiss, her cheeks flushed with a drunken, alluring red. She didn’t recognize me. Her movements caused a silver necklace to slide against her collarbone. The same one I’d fastened around her neck on our third anniversary. She once told me it was the best gift she had ever received. 1 I pulled out my phone and deliberately called her. A ringtone echoed from the backseat. She flinched, glanced at the screen, and immediately flipped the phone face down on the seat. She buried her face back into the man’s neck without even looking up. The phone rang six times, then went to voicemail. I called again. Voicemail again. The third time, she reached out and declined the call. Clean. Decisive. Like swatting away a telemarketer. I slipped the phone back into my pocket, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. The man in the back finally looked up and barked at me, “Hey, driver! The hell are you looking at? Eyes on the road! We’ve been driving for twenty minutes and we’ve only gone two miles. You trying to rip us off by taking the long way?” I said nothing. Sharon giggled, patting his chest. “Honestly, Rick,” she purred, “I don’t know how the app assigns these guys. This one drives like a snail.” She didn’t bother lowering her voice. “And he keeps staring at my chest. So gross.” She said it with a laugh, in a tone I’d heard for three years—the same dismissive, airy tone she used when complaining about delivery boys or incompetent waiters. As if she were talking about a stray dog in her way. “The AC,” Mr. Wallace barked again. “Set it to 78. You deaf? And what’s with the shaking? Did you bribe someone for your license?” I adjusted the temperature to 78 degrees. Still silent. “I’m talking to you! You mute or something? Where’s the customer service?” Sharon chimed in from the back, her voice lazy. “What do you expect from a valet driver? Don’t lower yourself to his level, Rick. These bottom-feeders, they have no class. Just let him drive. Don’t expect him to understand a thing about decency.” Bottom-feeders. The word slipped from her lips, as casual as if she were talking about the weather. Mr. Wallace grinned, satisfied. His arm tightened around her waist, his thumb tracing slow circles on her hip through the fabric of her dress. She didn’t flinch, just leaned into him. I kept my eyes glued to the road ahead, not saying a word, and brought the car to a smooth stop in front of the hotel. Mr. Wallace got out first. He stood there, pulled a few crumpled bills and some coins from his pocket, and flicked them at my face. The bills fluttered off my forehead. The coins clattered against the dashboard, one of them rolling into the crevice of the seat. “Buy yourself a pack of smokes,” he said, dusting off his hands as if he’d touched something filthy. “And think about your life. With skills like yours, you should be delivering pizza. Calling you a professional driver is an insult to the profession.” Sharon stepped out of the car in her high heels. She paused by my window, leaned down, and spat. The saliva landed on my sleeve, blooming into a small, dark stain. Then she took Mr. Wallace’s arm, and together they pushed through the hotel’s glass doors and disappeared inside. I sat there, motionless. Then I leaned down, picking up the crumpled bills from the floor mat, one by one. I dug the last coin out from between the seats and clenched it in my fist. I opened the dashcam app and replayed the footage from the interior camera. The quality wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. Her face. His hands. And that necklace, glinting in the dim light, swinging back and forth. All of it, crystal clear. I saved the video to my phone. Then, I sent a text to my company’s head of legal: Pull every financial record for a Mr. Rick Wallace from the last two years. I want the most detailed report you can find. Three years. From the first time she complained my job had no future, to tonight, when she called me a bottom-feeder in my own rearview mirror. All this time, I had been waiting for her to say something different. I never got it. 2 The legal team got back to me the next day. The tone of the message was cautious. Mr. Wallace had an expense report disbursement flagged for a significant amount, signed off and transferred to a private account. I stared at the name of the account holder for a long time. Sharon. I set the phone down on the table and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was cold, but I couldn’t feel it going down. I sat back down and pulled up her calendar for the past three years, looking at every entry marked “Working Late,” “Company Party,” or “Sleepover at a friend’s.” I cross-referenced them with Mr. Wallace’s travel records. The first one was a match. The second, a match. The third, fourth, fifth—almost every single one lined up, with a time difference of no more than fifteen minutes. It was like clockwork. She used to send me “group photos” from these events. I’d never looked closely at them before. Now, zooming in, I saw one was taken in a hotel hallway. Reflected in a mirror behind her was the partial figure of a man—the tie, the cufflinks, the same suit Mr. Wallace had posted on his social media that day. Three years. I saved all the screenshots into a new folder. My father had been hounding me for days. Our chain of luxury car dealerships was expanding to a third city, and the West Coast division needed someone to take charge. He’d called and launched right in, “How much longer are you going to play around driving cars for other people? Do you have any idea how much work is piling up here waiting for you?” “Just give me a little more time,” I said. He paused. “Is this still about that woman?” I didn’t answer. He sighed, his voice softening. “Your mother told you from the start that girl had shallow eyes. We tried to stop you, but you insisted on learning the hard way. I guess you’ve finally had enough.” “Dad, I’ll head back as soon as I wrap things up here. For now, send Alex over.” He was quiet for another moment before agreeing. “Fine. I’ll have Alex there tomorrow.” After hanging up, I got a text from Sharon. She was “working late” at the office again tonight. She asked if I’d eaten and told me not to wait up, that she’d be very late. She ended it with, “Be good and wait for me at home,” followed by a kissy-face emoji. I texted back, “Okay.” Then I put on my jacket, went outside, and hailed a cab, giving the driver the address of her “office.” When I got there, the entire building was dark. Not a single light on. I found a spot on the curb across the street and sat down. Ten minutes later, Mr. Wallace’s car turned the corner and pulled over. Sharon walked up from the other direction, her steps quick, and slipped into the passenger seat. The windows rolled up. The car just sat there. It didn’t drive away. I turned on my phone’s video camera and aimed it at the car. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. An entire hour. The car remained parked under the streetlight, the engine running, the vehicle shaking. Not violently, but with a steady, unmistakable rhythm. I saved the recording, stood up, dusted myself off, and took a cab home. She got back at one in the morning, sighing about how “exhausting” her work was. She tossed her purse on the couch, changed into her slippers, and went to shower. When she came out, hair still damp, she propped herself up in bed and started scrolling through her phone, a look of deep relaxation on her face. It wasn’t the look of someone tired from work. It was the look of someone utterly satisfied. She looked up and saw I was still awake. “Why are you still up? Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” “Couldn’t sleep,” I said. She just hummed in response, said nothing more, and turned off the light. Within three minutes, her breathing was even and slow. I wondered, how many of her “late nights” over the past three years had been spent in that car? I sent a text to Alex: Get here tomorrow. We need to talk. When Alex arrived the next day, his first words were, “Sir, have you finally come to your senses?” I pushed my phone across the table to him. The screenshots of the financial records from legal. The hour-long video. The dashcam footage. I showed him everything, one piece at a time. He watched it all in silence, then pushed the phone back to me. “What’s your plan?” “The company gala,” I said. “It all ends there.” 3 The week before the gala, Sharon’s behavior toward me changed completely. She was suddenly the perfect, doting girlfriend. I’d wake up to hot coffee and a pastry from my favorite bakery already on the nightstand. I’d come home from work to find the apartment spotless, my clothes folded neatly on the bed, my slippers placed perfectly by the door. At night, she’d lean against my shoulder while we watched TV, tracing circles on my chest with her finger, looking up at me with a soft smile. It was exactly like when we first started dating. I knew what she was doing. She planned to bring me to the gala, and she needed me to play my part. She needed me to be stable, obedient, and to not cause any trouble. She needed me to be the same fool I’d been for the last three years. And so, I played along. I smiled as I took the water she offered, asking, “What’s gotten into you? You’ve been so nice to me lately.” She wrapped her arms around my neck, her face close to mine. “Because I love you, silly.” The necklace hung around her neck, sparkling under the lights. That weekend, she dragged me to the mall and picked out a shirt for me at a department store. It was on sale, but still cost a few hundred bucks. As she paid, she remarked to the cashier, “He just doesn’t care about these things. If I don’t stay on top of him, he’ll wear the same old t-shirts everywhere.” The cashier gave a polite, noncommittal smile, her eyes flicking over to me. I knew that look. It was the look that said she thought I wasn’t worth the money Sharon was spending. On the drive home, she gave me a list of instructions for the gala. Don’t talk too much. Don’t mention my job. If anyone asks, just say I’m “exploring a career change.” Don’t engage with anyone at Mr. Wallace’s table because “they’re on a different level, you won’t keep up.” Don’t offer any toasts, don’t stare around the room, just sit there and be quiet. She delivered these commands matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a discussion; it was a briefing. Like a patient but condescending parent teaching a dim-witted child how to behave in public. I sat in the passenger seat, nodding. “Got it.” Pleased, she patted my hand with a smile, then looked down to reply to a text. She angled the screen away, but I saw the contact name in the reflection of the car window: “Rick,” followed by a red heart emoji. The night before the gala, she went out, claiming she had to help set up the venue. I didn’t follow her this time. I had all the evidence I needed. I called Alex and had him double-check the file he’d prepared: the dashcam video, the hour-long recording of the car, the detailed financial audit from legal, and the transfer agreement signed with Sharon’s name. Everything was compressed into a single presentation file, ready for the big screen. “Sir, are you sure you want to do this at the gala?” Alex asked. “I’m sure.” He was silent for a beat. “Understood. Leave it to me.” Sharon came home after midnight, sighing her usual “I’m so exhausted.” She showered, slipped into bed, and turned to me before falling asleep. “Tomorrow, wear a tie,” she instructed. “No sneakers. And stick close to me. I’ve already given Mr. Wallace a heads-up, so just keep your mouth shut and you’ll be fine.” “Okay,” I said. She turned off the light. Her breathing steadied almost immediately. The morning of the gala, she woke up early. She put on makeup, wore a new dress, and stood by the door waiting for me. As I walked over, she picked up my tie. She stood on her toes, her focus absolute as she looped it around my neck, pulled it tight, then adjusted the knot. “There,” she said, patting my chest with a smile. “Don’t embarrass me.” I looked down at her. I wanted to say, “I won’t.” But in the end, I just nodded. Because the one being embarrassed tonight wasn’t going to be me. 4 As we entered the ballroom, Sharon’s grip on my arm was tight. She walked quickly, as if trying to hide me from view. A female colleague walked toward us, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. “So, this is your boyfriend?” she asked Sharon, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The valet driver?” She wrinkled her nose, not bothering to hide her disgust. “He kind of reeks of cheap.” Before Sharon could answer, someone else chimed in with a laugh. “Come on, Sharon. Mr. Wallace thinks so highly of you. Why would you bring a valet driver to an event like this? You’re just embarrassing yourself.” A few people around them chuckled. Sharon just pulled me forward, her pace quickening, her fingers digging into my arm. She wasn’t protecting me; she was afraid I’d say the wrong thing. After his opening speech, Mr. Wallace made his way through the crowd. His eyes landed on me, and he stopped. In front of everyone, he boomed, “Well, well. This must be Sharon’s boyfriend. The driver, is it?” He looked me up and down, shook his head, and turned to his sales director with a condescending smile. “See this? Sharon has terrible taste in men. A top sales champion dating a valet driver. She’s cheapening her own brand. And here I thought she was a smart woman.” The director forced a laugh and mumbled his agreement. Mr. Wallace turned back to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t a friendly pat; it was a power move. “Listen, kid. What kind of future can you have as a driver? Life’s short. Don’t hold Sharon back. She’ll have a miserable life with you.” I remained silent. Sharon kept her head down, saying nothing. Her brother, Brandon, pushed through the crowd with a drink in his hand. “Hey, future brother-in-law!” he shouted. “Oh, wait. Not sure if that’s gonna happen!” He looked around, making sure he had an audience, and raised his glass. “My sister is this company’s sales champion, right? And she’s with a valet driver. Is she out of her mind or what?” The crowd roared with laughter. Someone muttered, “She could do better,” while others just shook their heads, enjoying the show. Brandon turned to me, his smile gone, replaced by pure contempt. “Look, dude, I’ll be blunt. You don’t deserve her. What do you possibly have to offer? Money? Connections? All you’ve got is a driver’s license. You’re a bottom-feeder, trash from the lowest rung of society, and you’ll never climb out. Don’t you get it?” Another wave of laughter. This time, Sharon spoke. “That’s enough, Brandon.” But her voice was flat, as if commenting on the weather. She then turned away to clink glasses with a colleague. She didn’t even glance at me. I sat there, my hands on my knees, my drink untouched. I thought about every time she’d said, “Can’t you be more ambitious?” I thought about her in the backseat, sneering, “Bottom-feeders do what bottom-feeders do.” I thought about Mr. Wallace throwing loose change at my face. I thought about his car, parked on the street for an hour, engine running. I thought about the screenshot from legal, with the recipient’s name: Sharon. Sharon’s mother stood up then, her voice shrill enough to cut through the chatter. “What can a worthless driver like you give my daughter? A big house? A luxury car? Your entire monthly salary is less than the commission she makes on a single sale!” Her finger was practically in my face. The people around us were laughing openly now. Just then, Alex walked in through a side door. He ignored everyone, calmly walked to the corner of the stage, and plugged a cable into the port for the main projector screen. The screen lit up. The first image: the business license for a chain of luxury car dealerships. In the box for “Owner,” was my name. The second image: the corporate hierarchy chart. Mr. Rick Wallace’s name was listed under “General Manager.” My name was above his. The room fell silent. Rick Wallace’s face, in that one second, went bone-white.

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“Flight 407 to Phuket boarding now.” Ron’s voice, light and dismissive, drifted over the airport din, sounding like he was debating the day’s weather. The thrill of excitement I’d carried all morning dissolved, replaced by a cold dread. I turned to him, bewildered. “What do you mean?” He shrugged, a casual gesture that twisted my gut. “The whole family’s off on a seven-day vacation. To keep an eye on the house, we just… didn’t get you a ticket.” He even managed a chuckle, adding, “They’ve all worked so hard this year, a trip to Phuket is a reward. You, on the other hand, just stay home all day, chilling. No need to make a fuss about it.” His parents, his younger brother Liam, Ron, and even our son, Alex – all six of them simultaneously buried their faces in their phones, a silent, unified front. No one met my gaze. Staring at Ron’s self-righteous expression, a chilling realization dawned: seven years of tireless, round-the-clock homemaking, and in his eyes, it amounted to absolutely nothing. I simply nodded, agreeing to stay and watch the house. Ron actually flinched, clearly surprised by my easy acquiescence. Before they headed through security, I fixed my gaze on each of them, needing one last confirmation. Was this truly how they intended to do this? 1 I picked up the suitcase I’d packed with such hopeful anticipation last night and turned away. The boarding agent’s gentle “Enjoy your trip” became a knife twisting in my heart with every passing traveler. Ron hurried after me, grabbing my arm, his voice a low plea. “Honey, let me explain. This family trip is already costing a fortune. I just had to cut some… unnecessary expenses.” I froze. “Unnecessary?” He squared his shoulders, a hint of defiance in his tone. “Yeah, we talked about this, right? This family vacation is for everyone who’s worked hard all year, a chance to really relax in Phuket for the holidays. You don’t work, you’re home all day. Aren’t you rested enough?” I stared at him, incredulous. “What exactly do you mean by ‘rested’?” “Sleeping in until noon is rest. Waking up at five AM to make breakfast for your entire family is not rest!” “Lounging on the couch, doing nothing but scrolling on your phone, is rest. Washing dishes, scrubbing floors, driving our son to school, and even cleaning your brother-in-law’s sneakers is not rest!” “Ron, I’ve been married to you for seven years. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, tell me, when have I ever truly rested?” I yanked my arm from his grasp. “You all go enjoy your trip. Don’t worry about me.” Ron’s lips parted, as if to speak. His mom, Martha, started to fuss. “Ron, what are you waiting for? Come on, they’re boarding.” Liam, his passport in hand, chimed in. “Bro, just leave her. You know how moody she gets. Just bring her back a souvenir or something when we get back.” Our six-year-old, Alex, ran over, tugging on Ron’s shirt. “Daddy, let’s go! We don’t need Mommy; I want to see the ocean!” My knuckles, gripping the handle of my suitcase, turned white. I looked at Ron and forced a brittle smile. “Didn’t you hear him? Go on.” Ron’s eyes flickered, but he swallowed whatever he was about to say. “Take good care of the house. I’ll bring you back something from the trip.” He let go of my hand, turned his back, and strode towards the family he considered to have “worked hard all year.” I stood there, watching their backs disappear into the security line, a bitter laugh escaping me. I knew then: I still hadn’t woken the man who preferred to pretend he was asleep. But it was fine. By the time he returned, our divorce papers would be ready. 2 Settling into the taxi, I pulled out my phone and saw the family group chat was buzzing. Martha, Ron’s mom, had posted a selfie with one of those silly beauty filters, bragging to the group. [Look at my amazing son, Ron! Taking the whole family on an international vacation for the holidays! And just look at this plane, first class, no less!] Immediately, a flood of replies from aunts and uncles filled the chat. [Martha, you’re so lucky! Both your sons are so good to you.] [Is that Liam next to you? Did he graduate this year? Wow, he’s so tall now!] Liam, wearing the top-of-the-line headphones I’d gifted him last birthday, flashed a peace sign at the camera. [Aunt Carol, my brother gave me fifteen hundred for spending money! I’ll bring you back a present!] Fifteen hundred? I pulled up a flight app on my phone. A one-way economy ticket from Atlanta to Phuket? It was only $89. Eighty-nine dollars. I’d actually thought it would be some astronomical sum. The memory of Ron’s repeated “huge expenses” and “unnecessary costs” at the airport washed over me, and a wave of unprecedented despair made me laugh out loud. Ron and I had been married for seven years. I’d given up a promising career because he’d said, “My parents need someone to look after them.” For seven years, I’d ensured that our six-person household always woke up to a hot breakfast. Clothes tossed on the floor would magically reappear, clean and folded, in the wardrobe the next day. The trash cans were always empty, and the bed linens were changed weekly. When his parents got sick, when Alex had a fever, when Liam was home for summer break – Ron never had to lift a finger. He just woke up naturally, greeted his parents and son, and went to work. And the day was done. I looked at the thick calluses on my palms, a testament to years of relentless housework, and my heart grew colder with each passing moment. Finally, I couldn’t resist. I screenshotted the flight ticket price and posted it in the family chat. [A warning to anyone thinking about getting married: never be a stay-at-home spouse. Otherwise, your worth might not even be $89.] The message landed, and the previously lively family chat went silent, almost visibly freezing. After a long pause, Aunt Carol tentatively tagged Ron. [What’s going on? You all went on vacation without Hailey?] 3 Martha’s voice messages quickly flooded the chat. “This is just awful! It’s not that we didn’t want Hailey to come; it’s just that Ron thought we’d all worked so hard this year, he wanted to treat us. Hailey stays home every day, she gets plenty of rest, so we didn’t buy her a ticket.” Martha’s voice even cracked with what sounded like tears by the end. “If I’d known Hailey cared so much about that ticket, his dad and I wouldn’t have gone. Now our daughter-in-law is twisting the knife…” Liam snatched the phone, indignant. “Exactly! If Hailey wanted to come, she could’ve just bought a ticket herself. It’s not like my brother wouldn’t give her the money.” “Making a scene and upsetting Mom like this, what kind of behavior is that?” The “money” he referred to… was it the five hundred dollars Ron gave me each month for household expenses? All six of us were squeezed into the two-bedroom apartment Ron and I bought when we got married. The monthly mortgage was $300, utilities $20, and all the food, even Liam’s college living expenses, came out of that $500 Ron gave me. The money was never enough, but Ron always pretended not to notice. Every time I brought up being short on cash, he’d just scroll on his phone and casually scold me: “Not enough again? You don’t work, you don’t know how hard it is to make money these days. You’re home, so just try to save where you can. Stop being so wasteful.” But my clothes hadn’t been updated in three years. My pajamas were threadbare, and I couldn’t justify buying new ones. Skincare? Never touched it. Even my shoes were hand-me-downs from my mom, who, feeling sorry for me, would buy a size up for herself and then pass them on. And Ron’s family? His dad, George, went out with old college buddies every few days. Martha’s dance team outfits cost three to four hundred dollars each. Liam, in college, never missed a concert or a music festival. Ron wouldn’t spend $89 on a flight ticket to Phuket for me, but he willingly gave his brother $1,500 in spending money for the trip. I leaned back against the taxi seat, mentally calculating the figures, one by one. Ron, on the other end, seemed to feel a pang of guilt. [Enough already.] He finally made an appearance, only to shut down the conversation. [Hailey is clearly being unreasonable. It’s the holidays; let’s not make a spectacle of ourselves.] Seeing those words, twisting the truth so blatantly, I felt even a cold laugh would be giving them too much credit. Yet, the relatives in the chat were swayed, jumping in to “speak their minds.” [I knew it! Ron would never do something so heartless, leaving his wife at home while the whole family goes on vacation. Hailey, you really need to look at yourself.] Uncle Frank condescendingly patted my imaginary shoulder. [Exactly! Last month, when your mother-in-law was in the hospital, I saw you taking care of her, cleaning up after her, and I thought you were so devoted. But I guess I was wrong.] Aunt Judy sent a rolling-eyes emoji. Just last month, Martha had twisted her ankle doing Zumba and was hospitalized for nearly two weeks. George needed to walk his dog, Ron had work, and Liam just sat around playing video games. So, I spent my days cleaning the house, preparing meals for everyone, and then my nights at the hospital. I’d rush back before dawn to make breakfast again. When I was truly exhausted, I’d suggest to Ron, “Maybe we should hire a nurse for your mom?” Ron had looked at me, surprised, and flat-out refused. “No way! A nurse wouldn’t take care of her as well as you do, and it costs money.” All those past conversations, ones I hadn’t dwelled on then, now surged through me, threatening to suffocate me. With the last of my strength, I booked a divorce consultation at the best law firm in town. I couldn’t endure this life for another day! 4 The next few days, I was completely consumed by the divorce preparations. Moving, checking bank statements, job hunting – I was a whirlwind of activity. Ron, however, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Martha, his mom, was sharing her Phuket adventures in the family group chat eight times a day. “My son booked us a luxury suite,” her voice practically oozed with pride through the screen. “And a private beach! We can go anytime we want.” Liam, sprawled on the beach playing video games, was wearing the designer headphones I’d given him for his birthday last year. “International travel is awesome! Too bad some people just don’t have the good fortune to experience it.” Liam’s words were laced with venom; he was still nursing a grudge from our earlier argument in the chat. “You, child, what are you talking about?” Martha shot him a glance, but it sounded more like encouragement than a reprimand. Liam sat up and pulled Alex, who was playing in the sand, closer. “Alex, tell me, do you want your mom to come?” Alex, clutching his small shovel, shouted, “No, I don’t want Mommy to come! Daddy said she doesn’t work, and she’d just waste money!” The video abruptly cut off there, but the family chat remained eerily silent. No one replied. It was Ron’s cousin, Chloe, who privately messaged me later. “Hailey, don’t be upset. My parents saw the video in the group chat. We all think Aunt Martha and them are being completely out of line. I’ll talk to them when they get back.” My heart warmed for a moment, then sank deeper into a larger sense of loss. See? Even outsiders recognized how unfair this was. Yet Ron still pretended not to notice. That evening, I was editing the first draft of the divorce agreement the lawyer had sent me. Ron texted. [Honey, Phuket is actually just okay. Nothing special.] [I bought you a present. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Come pick me up at the airport.] The day after tomorrow? I clicked on the lawyer’s chat window. [Can the divorce agreement be finalized by tomorrow night?] The reply was a thumbs-up emoji. I smiled as I typed. [Yes.] The day after tomorrow. Soon. Only two days left until Ron and I were divorced. 5 The days that followed felt like they were on fast-forward. Martha continued to post endless glamorous vacation photos from Phuket in the group chat. Occasionally, a family photo would appear, everyone smiling, looking perfectly harmonious. But the family group chat grew increasingly quiet. Even when Martha tagged someone, people pretended not to see it. Meanwhile, I packed all my belongings from the past seven years. My wedding dress? Gone. Family photos? Torn up. All the small furniture items we’d accumulated over the years? I sold what I could, leaving nothing for Ron’s family. Finally, the day of their return arrived. Ron had messaged me the day before, reminding me to be on time to pick them up, saying they’d bought so many things, and his parents were too old to carry them all. He insisted I come help. Every word implied he still saw me as the same dutiful, long-suffering stay-at-home wife. I didn’t bother arguing, simply texted back a bland “Okay,” then turned off my phone and slept soundly. The next day, their plane landed. Ron’s family emerged from the airport, laden with bags. “Bro, where’s Hailey? Did she oversleep?” Liam complained, kicking a suitcase irritably. Martha tutted. “Hailey’s not that careless. Maybe… maybe she’s still mad at us?” She sighed. “Ron, you really need to talk to her when we get home. A woman with such a temper, didn’t her mother teach her how to be a good wife?” “Mommy bad!” Alex, nestled in Martha’s arms, clapped his hands and declared. Ron’s face darkened. He pulled out his phone and dialed, his voice accusatory from the start. “Where are you? Didn’t I tell you to pick us up?” “I’m right here.” At my voice, Ron’s head snapped up, his eyes scanning the crowd frantically. Finally, he spotted me standing not far away. Unlike my usual bare-faced appearance, today I’d made an effort, wearing a simple, elegant dress and subtle makeup. I looked polished and refined. Ron’s eyes lit up. He dragged his suitcase towards me. “Hailey, you look beautiful today. You even put on makeup?” He pulled a small, palm-sized box from his pocket. Inside was a seashell necklace he’d brought back from Phuket. It was cheap, probably less than twenty dollars. “Honey, this is what I specially brought for you from Phuket. It cost me so much money.” He smiled. “Put it on. Aren’t you happy?” I glanced at the cheap, sand-speckled box, then at the latest model gaming console in Liam’s hand, the brand-new watch on George’s wrist, and the unmistakably flashy gold necklace adorning Martha’s chest. I smiled. “Perfect. I have a gift for you too.” Ron’s eyes widened with surprise. “What is it? Oh, Hailey, you’re so thoughtful. I left you alone at home, and you’re still so good to me. Marrying you was the best decision…” I pulled the prepared document from my bag and opened it. “This gift is – my divorce papers.”

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When I was five years old, holding my mother’s hand, I stepped through the wrought-iron gates of the Brown estate. I, a girl born with a severe stutter, was the newest member of a high-society dynasty. Outsiders whispered that my mother had used dirty tricks to marry into the family. They were all just waiting for the day we got tossed out onto the streets. The wedding day was a massive spectacle. The grand hall was overflowing with elite guests. I, however, found myself backed into a corner of a small sitting room by a group of girls who had come just to watch the drama unfold. They grabbed the collar of my dress, laughing and calling me a mute little burden. At the time, no one thought my new stepfather would care about a kid who wasn’t his blood. But the very next morning, my stepfather stood before the entire household and visiting relatives. His voice left no room for argument. “Lily Brown is my youngest daughter. She is not mute, and from this day forward, she is a rightful heir to the Brown legacy.” 1 “Are you a mute?” Rowan asked. I wasn’t mute. I just had a stutter. When other toddlers were stringing together full sentences, I could barely force out a single syllable. My mother realized something was wrong and took me to countless specialists. The doctors chalked it up to genetics and the fact that I was born premature. Most kids outgrow a stutter with proper speech therapy. I didn’t. It only got worse. By the time I turned five, the anxiety of speaking was so crushing that I refused to make a sound at all. I hated opening my mouth. I hated the pitying, impatient looks people gave me when I stumbled over my words. I wasn’t trying to be rude by not greeting my new stepbrother. I knew I was supposed to say hello, but my throat locked up entirely. The harder I tried, the more panicked I became, until fat tears began rolling down my cheeks. My mother panicked. She pulled me into her arms, pressing soft kisses to my forehead. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Rowan is just joking. Our Lily isn’t mute. She just gets a little anxious, that’s all.” My stepfather, Paul, shot Rowan a freezing glare. “Is that how you speak to your sister? Apologize.” Rowan hadn’t expected a single question to make me cry like this. He froze, his handsome, aristocratic face looking uncharacteristically foolish. His biological sister, Abby, shot him a look of pure schadenfreude. He opened his mouth, his voice barely a mumble. “Sorry. My bad.” Paul wasn’t satisfied. “Louder.” My mother didn’t want to cause a massive rift on her very first day in the house. She gently touched Paul’s arm. “It’s fine, really. Lily heard her brother. Right, sweetheart?” I rubbed my watery eyes and nodded vigorously. That evening, my parents had to entertain a flock of business partners and VIPs, so Paul asked Abby to watch over me. She was older than me by about eight years. Dressed in a pale yellow designer gown with a small pearl tiara resting in her hair, she looked like royalty. I had never seen anyone so pretty. She pulled out a box of imported toys and gently showed me how they worked. Knowing my struggle with words, she didn’t force me into conversation. A little while later, her phone buzzed. She walked over to the farthest window to answer it. Ever since I was a baby, I had incredibly sharp hearing. I could pick up the faint rustle of leaves down the street. It was a secret only my mother knew. Abby clearly didn’t know, otherwise she never would have taken the call in the same room. It was her aunt on the line. Abby and Rowan’s biological mother had passed away from cancer years ago, and they had always remained incredibly close to their maternal aunt, Victoria. “Abby, darling, how is that woman treating you? Is she giving you attitude? She has the face of a home-wrecker. I knew she was bad news the moment I saw her. She completely bewitched your father. Marrying him after only knowing him for a few months.” Victoria scoffed through the speaker. “A divorced woman dragging her brat into a billionaire’s home. She’s playing a dangerous game. I am so worried about you and Rowan.” “She is a snake, and that daughter of hers is no better. Don’t let them butter you up.” Abby had her back to me. I couldn’t see her expression. I only heard her hum in agreement before changing the subject, asking how Victoria’s business trip abroad was going and when she would return. “If I wasn’t buried in paperwork in London, I would have been there today to back you two up. Did anything happen?” Abby hesitated for a second before recounting the crying incident from that morning. Victoria let out a cold, sharp laugh. “They are establishing dominance, Abby. Day one, and they already forced the Brown heir to bow his head and apologize. Just wait until she gives your father a son. You two will be entirely pushed out.” “A new wife means a new father. It’s a tale as old as time. Keep your guard up, and warn your brother.” “Rowan and I will be careful,” Abby replied quietly. 2 My mother would never have another baby. I muttered the words silently in my head. It was an agreement she made with Paul before the wedding. I had heard them talking about it late at night. Abby hung up and walked back to me. The warmth in her eyes had cooled significantly. With a soft sigh, she looked at me. “Lily, play here for a bit. I need to go change my dress.” I nodded, knowing she was actually going to find Rowan. Less than five minutes after she left, the heavy oak door swung open. Three girls, all roughly Abby’s age and dressed in obnoxious, glittering party dresses, strolled into the room. “Where is Abby? I thought they said she was hiding in here.” The girl leading the pack scanned the room and locked eyes on me sitting on the rug. “Who is this kid? Hey, where did Abby go? Do you know?” I sat perfectly still as the three of them surrounded me, looking down at me like I was a stray dog. I pressed my lips together, shook my head, and pointed toward the door Abby had just walked through. “Why aren’t you answering? Whose kid are you?” one of them demanded, her eyes wide with intrusive curiosity. “This is the private family wing. What’s your connection to Abby?” Another girl gasped. “Look at her dress. It’s the same designer collection Abby is wearing.” “Wait, I heard Abby’s new stepmom brought a kid with her. Is that you?” The realization hit them, and all three covered their mouths, giggling as if my existence was the punchline to a hilarious joke. Their laughter made my skin crawl. I dropped my wooden block, hopped off the rug, and headed for the door to find my mother. “Hey, don’t run away, little baggage.” They grabbed the back of my collar, yanking me backward. They didn’t realize their own strength. The stiff lace of my collar tightened like a noose around my windpipe. My eyes rolled back, and an uncontrollable, strangled gasp tore from my throat. Right at that moment, Abby walked back in. Seeing me choking and dangling by my dress, the color drained from her face. She rushed forward, violently shoving the girls away and pulling me into her arms. “Lily! Are you okay?” The three girls panicked, immediately backing up. “We didn’t mean to.” I coughed hard, my chest burning. I patted Abby’s hand to let her know I was breathing. Seeing the physical tears of pain welling in my eyes, Abby’s face twisted in pure rage. “You come into my home as guests, and you attack my little sister? What exactly are you trying to do?” “We just said it was an accident. Stop screaming at us,” the lead girl retorted, crossing her arms. “Is she actually your sister? Why doesn’t she make a sound? Is she a retard?” It was obvious these girls were not Abby’s friends. They were rivals. Abby glared at them. “That is none of your business. You have zero manners. Get out of my room.” Normally, a kid being choked would scream or cry. The fact that I remained completely silent made the girls exchange malicious, knowing looks. They snickered. “Wow, Abby. Sucks to be you. Your dad gets a new wife and forces a disabled freak of a sister onto you. It’s embarrassing.” “Nobody in our circle has a defective sibling.” “You always act so high and mighty at school. Let’s see you try to act superior now.” Abby held me tighter, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Is this the elite upbringing your parents paid for? Let me be clear. Whether my sister has a disability or not, who gave you the right to look down on her?” “There are security cameras in this room. I’m going to have the estate manager pull the footage and send it directly to your parents.” “You better prepare yourselves to come back here and beg my sister for forgiveness.” 3 The very next day, three terrified families dragged their daughters into the Brown foyer to apologize. Paul sat me down on the plush velvet sofa right beside him. His face was a mask of terrifying authority. He looked at the sweating parents and cleared his throat. “Lily Brown is my youngest daughter. Whether she chooses to speak or not is irrelevant. When the time comes, she will receive an equal share of the Brown empire.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. My mother, sitting beside Paul, grabbed his hand in shock. Looking into her wide eyes, I realized he hadn’t discussed this with her at all. “Paul…” she whispered. He just patted her hand, giving her a reassuring nod. Children are terrible at hiding their emotions. The three bullies stared at me in pure horror, then shot desperate, questioning looks at Rowan and Abby, who were standing behind us. I peeked over my shoulder at my new siblings. Their faces were an unreadable mix of shock and conflict. I quickly turned my head back around, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. Paul offered Rowan and Abby a brief, unbothered glance before turning back to the guests. “I suggest you teach your children basic human decency. I refuse to let the future heirs of the Brown family associate with people of such low character.” The parents practically tripped over themselves, apologizing profusely and forcing their daughters to bow to me. I knew these apologies were entirely fake, born out of fear of Paul’s wealth, not genuine remorse. I also didn’t want to push Rowan and Abby’s buttons any further. I looked up at Paul, patted my stomach, and forced out two words. “Hungry. Eat.” The guests and my siblings looked stunned. They really had thought I was entirely mute. Paul gave a final, dismissive wave. “Lily will be attending Edenbridge Academy alongside her brother and sister. I expect her school life to remain peaceful and pleasant.” “See yourselves out.” Edenbridge Academy was the most prestigious prep school on the East Coast. It was an incubator for future CEOs, politicians, and socialites. Because of how ruthlessly I was bullied in my old kindergarten, the thought of going to school terrified me. I sat in the back of the Maybach, completely miserable. But Paul used his billionaire leverage to bypass kindergarten entirely, dropping me straight into the first grade. Standing outside my new classroom, my mother kissed my cheek. “Go on, sweetie. Don’t be scared. Your father and I are right behind you, always.” When the homeroom teacher introduced me, she made a point to mention that I was a “quiet soul who preferred listening.” She seated me next to the class president. The class president was a girl with a sharp bob and massive, calculating eyes. She eagerly stuck her hand out. “Hi, I’m Dania.” I shook her hand and offered a polite, quiet smile. All the teachers had been briefed on my condition. They never called on me to read aloud. During recess, because I was the new kid who didn’t talk, no one really approached me. I survived my first week in total, peaceful silence. My secret was safe. “She is so quiet. She literally hasn’t said a word all week.” “Have you ever even heard her voice?” “I haven’t. But I think Dania talked to her.” The only word I had spoken to Dania was a soft “thanks” when she handed me a pencil. Because the elementary and high school divisions had different schedules, I rarely rode home with Rowan and Abby. But on Friday, they unexpectedly showed up at the elementary wing to pick me up. I had no idea they were basically royalty at Edenbridge until I saw the way my classmates reacted. “Oh my god, Rowan and Abby Brown are your siblings? Lily, why didn’t you tell us?!” “They say Rowan is going to be valedictorian again. And Abby is flying to Vienna next month for an international violin competition.” “They are literally the king and queen of the school. No wonder Lily is so pretty.” I looked exactly like my mother. It was the one thing I was fiercely proud of.

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1 It had been exactly six years since I died a miserable death in a cold prison cell, taking the fall for my older brother’s adopted sister. Today, my brother Grant actually came looking for me again. He wanted me to confess to a crime committed by Roselyn’s younger brother, a kid they had sent away years ago. He claimed the boy was too young and couldn’t handle the harshness of being locked up. Grant said it so casually. He told me I already had experience behind bars, so going back in wouldn’t feel foreign to me. But he waited and waited, and I never walked out of those prison gates. Assuming I had been released early for good behavior and was just hiding from him out of spite, Grant stormed back to our family estate to demand answers. Instead of finding me, he walked right into my best friend Jenny. She was standing in the middle of the old living room, setting up a memorial for the sixth anniversary of my death. Faced with Grant’s relentless interrogations, Jenny stared at the flickering vigil candle on the altar. Her eyes were rimmed with a furious, bloodshot red. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. She screamed at him. She has been dead for years! She was beaten to death in her second year serving time for your precious little Roselyn! Grant scoffed, crossing his arms. “Wow, you really put on a good show.” His eyes were dripping with mockery. “How long did you two spend planning this little theatrical performance?” “It’s just seven years in a cell. Roselyn bribed half the guards in there. Hazel had the best food, the best supplies. What is she playing the victim for now?” Jenny glared at him, her chest heaving. “Every time I visited Hazel, her face and body were covered in fresh cuts and bruises. Why don’t you go ask your sweet Roselyn exactly who she was paying off!” Hearing that, Grant’s face instantly frosted over. “At the end of the day, she’s just jealous of Roselyn. That’s why she’s hiding.” The moment the words left his mouth, he lifted his expensive leather shoe. Smash. The vigil candle that had been burning for six years was crushed under his foot. The wick let out a pathetic little hiss, and the flame died instantly. “What the hell are you doing!” Jenny’s face drained of color. She threw herself onto the hardwood floor. My heart clenched. I instinctively rushed forward to grab her, but my hands phased right through her trembling shoulders. I could only watch helplessly as she ignored the searing heat, desperately trying to scoop up the spilled hot wax with her bare hands. “Don’t touch that, Jenny! You’re burning your skin, please, none of this matters!” I hovered around her in an absolute panic, crying out. But Jenny’s desperation only seemed to piss Grant off even more. “How long are you going to keep up this pathetic act? I don’t have time for your bullshit!” Like a madman letting off steam, he swept his arm across the altar. Offerings, the incense burner, my few remaining belongings. He smashed them all to pieces. “Hazel is just hiding to watch Roselyn suffer, isn’t she? She is absolutely vicious!” As he ranted, Grant’s gaze suddenly caught the wooden casket sitting behind the ruined altar. For a fraction of a second, his eyes faltered. It was a flicker of nervousness, something he would never admit to feeling. “Let’s see if it’s actually Hazel in this box.” “Don’t you dare touch her!” Jenny shrieked, lunging at him, but Grant shoved her hard to the ground. He flipped the casket lid open. His pupils shrank. No body. No ashes. Just my favorite white dress folded neatly inside. “Tch. I knew it. All a lie.” “That’s because you didn’t even leave her a body! I had to make a cenotaph just to give her a place to rest!” Jenny sobbed, her voice tearing at the seams. “Pure nonsense,” Grant sneered, his eyes as cold as a blade. “Oh, by the way. Your husband should be getting his termination email right about now.” Jenny’s head snapped up. “With your family’s income cut off, I imagine your mother in the ICU won’t last long before the hospital kicks her out. Are you absolutely sure you want to keep lying to me?” No. Grant couldn’t do this. I screamed into his ear with everything I had. “Did you forget that after Mom and Dad died, it was Jenny’s mother who fed us? She knitted your winter sweaters by hand! Have you lost your mind!” Grant’s face was twisted with hostility. “I really don’t get it. You are both pregnant. How can you sit there and watch Roselyn stress out, running around with a baby bump just because Hazel refuses to show her face?” “Hand Hazel over right now. Otherwise, dead or alive, I will dig her up and make sure she never finds peace.” Jenny was shaking from head to toe with pure rage. “You are an animal! She’s dead and you still won’t let her go.” “If you don’t believe me, go to the damn prison and check the records yourself. Do you think I have the power to make the whole world lie to you!” 2 I wanted to stay by Jenny’s side to comfort her, but my ghostly form was pulled against my will, tethered to Grant as he drove to the prison. “Hazel? Oh, her. She died six years ago.” Grant’s face darkened dangerously. “Look at you. Bribing state officials now.” “No wonder Jenny dared me to come here and ask. You guys had this perfectly rehearsed!” Looking at Grant’s furious expression, I actually found it laughable. If I had that kind of power, how would he have forced me into prison in the first place? Seven years ago, on the night of my birthday, Grant stormed into the house. He used Jenny’s sick mother as leverage to force me to take the fall for a hit-and-run Roselyn committed. He promised Roselyn had only made a mistake and swore he would get me the minimum sentence. But standing in court as my defense attorney, Grant completely waived the right to argue my case. I desperately tried to hire another lawyer to appeal, but Grant froze every single cent in my bank accounts. When I confronted him, screaming until my lungs gave out, he just looked at me like I was being unreasonable. “If a lawyer actually defends you, the prosecutors will dig deeper. They’ll find out you weren’t the one behind the wheel.” “You’re going to prison anyway. What does a few extra years matter? I’ve handled everything. Inside, you’ll live just as comfortably as you do on the outside.” But from my very first day as an inmate, I was at the absolute bottom of the food chain. Anyone could use me as a punching bag. Scars, both visible and hidden, mapped my entire body. I begged the guards over and over to call my brother. The only answer I ever got was, “Your brother says he’s too busy. Stop bothering him.” Back in the present, the guard on duty took a deep breath, trying to handle Grant’s arrogant attitude. “Look buddy, the system logs are crystal clear. Six years ago, Hazel died from a fatal puncture wound to the throat with a sharp object.” Grant paused for a second, then actually laughed. “This fake database page you guys coded is pretty impressive. But if you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. Where would someone get a sharp weapon inside a maximum security facility?” “Besides, Roselyn comes here every year to drop off money and gifts for Hazel. If she’s dead, why haven’t we ever received a single notice?” The guard finally lost his temper. “I don’t know any Roselyn. Hazel is dead! Deceased! Do you speak English?” Grant’s face turned ugly. “You really won’t drop the act until it ruins you. The warden and I go way back. Keep lying for her, and I’ll have him fire you before lunch.” The guard crossed his arms, stepping up to the glass. “Wow, you are a piece of work. If you’re so sure, go ahead. Call the warden. Have him run the search himself.” “If he finds anything different, I’ll hand over my badge and walk out myself!” Seeing the guard’s unwavering confidence, a flicker of doubt finally crossed Grant’s eyes. Right then, his phone buzzed. [Grant, come home quickly. Roselyn is having bad cramps.] Forgetting the guard completely, Grant spun around and practically sprinted to his car. The moment we walked through the front door of his penthouse, I saw my fiancé, Tristan. The man I hadn’t seen in seven years. 3 This was the man who once promised to love me until the end of time. Now, he was gently rubbing Roselyn’s swollen pregnant belly, treating her like she was made of fragile glass. “Grant, did Hazel agree to take the charge?” Looking at Roselyn’s pale, tear-stained face, Grant swallowed hard, overcome with guilt. He couldn’t speak. Roselyn’s eyes immediately welled up. “Why wouldn’t she agree? That is my baby brother! He had such a hard life growing up in foster care. He’s only nineteen. His life is just starting!” In that moment, I felt a bitter sting of envy. As a sister, she was far more devoted to her brother than my own flesh and blood ever was to me. “Don’t cry, Roselyn. I swear to you, I will find Hazel.” My phone buzzed in my memory. [Hazel, you need to confess for Roselyn’s brother right now. If the stress hurts Roselyn or the baby, I will never forgive you.] For seven years, I dreamed of Tristan coming to find me. I never imagined the first message he’d send me would be that. Roselyn suddenly bit her lip, leaning heavily on the couch to stand up. “Forget it. If Hazel really hates us that much, I’ll just go to prison for Toby.” She cradled her bump with one hand. “I’m pregnant. It’s not like they can give me the death penalty.” Tristan panicked, pulling her securely into his arms. “Hazel is so sick and twisted. You are carrying a child. How could she possibly let you go to a place like that.” I looked at them, a hollow, tragic smile forming on my lips. When I took the fall for Roselyn all those years ago, I was pregnant too. Did anyone ever care about my pain? “Relax. I’ve already sent my best investigator to track down her rat hole. Even if I have to tear this city apart brick by brick, I will drag her out.” Grant turned to look at Tristan. “Roselyn’s due date is coming up. Do you have everything ready?” At the mention of the baby, Tristan’s entire demeanor softened. “Absolutely. The trust fund my parents left behind, and that beachfront villa down the coast. Everything is secured for the baby.” My chest tightened. [Hazel, this trust fund and the beach house… even if you two don’t make it, my parents wanted you to have them.] Those things were supposed to be for our child. Watching Tristan give them away felt like a rusted knife carving out my soul. “With an uncle like you looking out for us, we don’t have to worry about a thing,” Roselyn cooed, leaning into Grant. Grant stayed silent for a moment. “Once we find Hazel and sort out your brother’s case, I’m going to step back. I won’t visit you as much anymore. Tristan will take good care of you.” Roselyn froze. “I owe Hazel too much for these past years. Moving forward, I want to properly compensate her. I want to finally be a real brother to her.” How rare. Grant was actually willing to distance himself from his precious adopted sister. Back then, when Roselyn offended one of his highest-paying corporate clients, Grant didn’t scold her once. Instead, he ordered me to go apologize, forcing me to drink with the client until my stomach bled to save his contract. It was a shame his guilt came far too late. I couldn’t accept his compensation from the grave. “What is there to compensate? She brought this all on herself. Hazel actually committed a hit-and-run and fled the scene. To this day, I can’t believe I was blind enough to think she was the kindest girl in the world.” Hearing Tristan’s words, Roselyn’s eyes darted away shiftily. Grant cleared his throat, staring at the floor. “Back then, she actually had the nerve to run to my place, crying that you guys were trying to frame her. Thank God I didn’t fall for her lies. I called you secretly so you could drag her away. If she had escaped, she would have forced Roselyn to take the blame.” I snapped my head toward Tristan, my phantom heart ripping into shreds. That night, Jenny told me she was close to finding security footage proving I wasn’t at the scene of the crash. She told me to hide. The only person I trusted to keep me safe was Tristan. All these years, I thought I just had bad luck when Grant found me. I never knew it was the love of my life who personally handed me over to hell. Grant’s phone rang. [Boss, I can’t find a single credit card transaction or digital footprint for Hazel. It’s like she vanished off the face of the earth. I’m starting to think… maybe something really did happen to her?] “Grant, Hazel is hiding so well. She must be really angry and refusing to help us.” The tiny shred of worry that had just sprouted in Grant’s eyes vanished the second he saw Roselyn’s tears. “Prison taught her a few tricks. She knows how to commit to a bit. But a living, breathing person has to eat and drink.” Grant’s eyes turned venomous. “I know exactly where to find her. There is only one person in this world who would go to these lengths for her.” When Jenny opened her front door, she thought it was Ryan coming home from work. The moment she saw Grant, her face twisted with pure disgust. “What the hell do you want? Here to repent to Hazel? Let me tell you, you are way too late.” She tried to slam the heavy oak door in his face, but Grant forced his way in with a cold shove. Locking the deadbolt behind him, he started kicking open bedroom doors. “Come out! Stop hiding, Hazel! Get your ass out here right now!” Finding nothing, Grant turned into a rabid beast. “Jenny, where the fuck are you keeping her.” Jenny’s knuckles turned white. “You really want to know? If you’re so desperate to see her, go to hell!” Grant spun around, his cold gaze locking onto Jenny’s massive, nine-month pregnant belly. “I heard you begged the heavens for this baby. Walked up ten thousand temple steps on your knees just to get pregnant, right?”

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