Category: English

Three years into my deployment as a war correspondent in Syria, an artillery shell exploded near me. I lost my memory. I developed severe PTSD and spent the next two years confined to a psychiatric hospital in Germany. It wasn’t until two months ago that I finally remembered who I was. The day I flew back to New York, my best friend, Vicky, and my husband, Ethan, met me at JFK Airport. Vicky cried harder than I did. Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot, but his voice was as gentle as ever. “The new place is all set up, Chloe. Go ahead and settle in. I’ll come over to be with you right after work tonight.” But I didn’t go to the temporary apartment. I took a cab back to our old house in Long Island. The moment I pushed the front door open, I froze. Hanging on the living room wall was a massive wedding portrait. The bride wasn’t me. It was Vicky. Suddenly, I heard the sound of keys jingling at the door. Ethan, the man who was supposed to be swamped with work at his firm, walked in hand-in-hand with Vicky. He was carrying a toddler in his arms. The little boy chirped in a sweet, childish voice, “Daddy!” I stood there like a statue, completely forgetting how to breathe. We had only been apart for two years. How on earth was their child already three years old?

Ethan and Vicky froze. Vicky’s smile stiffened on her face, and Ethan let go of her hand as if he’d been electrocuted. He hurriedly handed the boy over to Vicky, his voice trembling. “Chloe… what are you doing here?” I stared blankly at the three of them, unable to utter a single word. Vicky held the boy tightly, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. “Chloe, please let me explain. It’s not what you think…” “Then what is it?” I pointed at the giant wedding photo on the wall, my fingers shaking uncontrollably. “Ethan, you married Vicky. How come nobody invited me to the wedding?” Ethan stepped forward, looking like he wanted to hug me, but he stopped halfway. “Chloe, it’s complicated. Two years ago, everyone thought you were dead. We only did this because…” “I was only missing for two years!” my voice cracked as I cut him off. “But your child is three! You two were sleeping together long before I went missing, weren’t you?” More than Ethan remarrying, what broke me was the betrayal. He had cheated on me during our marriage, and with my absolute best friend. Faced with my accusation, both Ethan and Vicky fell silent. Vicky kept sobbing, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again. Ethan just stood there, speechless. I looked around the house again. The living room was cluttered with toys. The couch and curtains had been changed. Everywhere I looked, there were framed photos of their little family. In one photo, Vicky was holding the baby, leaning against Ethan’s chest with a radiant smile. That smile felt like a physical blade piercing straight through my eyes. After what felt like an eternity, Ethan finally spoke. “Chloe, let the past go. We are just so glad you’re alive.” “Let it go? Ethan, I went from being your legal wife to a homewrecker in my own home. How do I just let that go?” My raised voice startled the little boy, and he burst into tears. Vicky frantically tried to comfort him. Ethan looked at the crying child, his brow furrowing with annoyance. “Chloe, I know I messed up, but Vicky and Leo are innocent. Don’t throw a tantrum here.” This house was our wedding home. Now, not only was another woman living in it, but he was kicking me out. “I’m not leaving! This is my home!” But Ethan grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the house. “Chloe, calm down! We’ll talk tomorrow. Don’t scare the kid.” The heavy front door slammed shut in my face. A moment later, I heard the faint sound of the boy giggling inside. I heard Ethan whispering, “Let Daddy hold you,” and Vicky calling him “sweetheart.” They were a picture-perfect, happy family. And I was just a crazy, hysterical intruder. A sudden, sharp ringing filled my ears. It felt like I was back on the battlefield from two years ago, with mortar shells raining down on me. Shrapnel felt like it was tearing through my skin again, leaving me in paralyzing pain. When I had first woken up in that German hospital, I couldn’t remember anything. But a voice in my head kept screaming that I had to survive, because someone was waiting for me at home. Relying on that single hope, I dragged myself back from the brink of madness day after day, enduring endless meds, IV drips, and therapy sessions. And when I finally remembered everything—my family, my high school sweetheart, my best friend—I ignored the doctors’ warnings. I dragged my broken body onto a twelve-hour flight back to the States. I never could have imagined this was the “welcome home” waiting for me. I curled up on the porch and cried for a long time. Eventually, I stood up, wiped my face, and drove straight to my parents’ estate. When I arrived, my mother, Eleanor, was sitting on the sofa reading a book. Tears rushed to my eyes again. I ran over and threw my arms around her. “Mom, I’m back.” Before I could say another word, she shoved me away. Then, a sharp slap stung my cheek. “Chloe! You cold-blooded monster! How dare you show your face here?”

I cupped my stinging cheek and looked up at her in shock. “Didn’t you say you wanted to spread your wings? Didn’t you just have to be a war correspondent? What are you back for now?” I took a deep breath. “Mom, Ethan and Vicky got married and had a kid. Did you know about this?” My mother’s expression remained cold and indifferent. “Of course I knew. I helped organize the wedding myself.” “What?” My eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “I am Ethan’s wife. I am your daughter. How could you…” “You still have the nerve to talk!” My father, Robert, stormed out of the study, his face red with anger. “We begged you not to go to Syria! You had a perfect life here, but you just had to go and seek death.” “When you went missing two years ago, we thought you were dead. Your mother cried herself to sleep every night.” “And what did you do? You didn’t even bother to make a single phone call to tell us you were alive. Now you walk in here and start interrogating us?” Before I could explain, the doorbell rang. Ethan and Vicky walked in, holding little Leo’s hands. Vicky gave a sweet smile. “Uncle Robert, Aunt Eleanor.” My mother’s face instantly lit up. “Oh, my sweet girl is here! Come in, come in.” She immediately scooped Leo into her arms. “Is my little angel hungry? Grandma is going to make you something delicious…” My sweet girl? Grandma? Watching this play out felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Vicky caught my gaze and gave a polite, awkward smile. “Oh, Chloe, you’re here too?” “Don’t speak to me,” I snapped. “I don’t have a friend like you.” “Stealing my husband and my family… you must be thrilled.” My mother turned around, her eyes glaring at me with fury. “Chloe, shut up! Are you trying to ruin this family’s peace?” “We watched Vicky grow up. She is ten times more thoughtful and sweet than you’ll ever be. She’s the one who took care of us these past two years while you were gone. Unlike you, she isn’t an ungrateful brat!” I looked at Ethan. He quickly shifted his gaze to the floor, unable to look me in the eye. Years ago, when I decided to go abroad, both of our families were dead against it. It was Ethan who fought everyone to support me. The day I left, he hugged me tightly at the airport. He kissed my forehead and said, “Chloe, do whatever makes you happy. I will always have your back.” But now, as my parents humiliated me, he stood there and said absolutely nothing. Finally, Vicky broke the tension. “Aunt Eleanor, please don’t be mad. Chloe just got back. Let’s have a nice family dinner together.” At the dining table, the five of them sat closely together. I was pushed to the far corner, and no one had even set a plate or fork for me. My mother kept piling food onto Vicky’s plate, worrying she wasn’t eating enough. My father was laughing, playing with Leo and handing him a toy. They talked about their daily lives, Ethan’s company projects, and what preschool they should enroll Leo in. I sat there like a ghost. The food in my mouth tasted like ash. I put my fork down and stood up. “I’m full.” They were too focused on the kid to even glance at me. I walked out of my parents’ house. The night breeze was freezing. My mind raced back to my career. I drove to my temporary apartment, pulled out my old laptop, and booted it up. That laptop contained all my raw footage and interviews from the war zone over the years. I tried to log into my GNN work account to upload them, but a notification popped up: Account Deactivated. The next morning, I went straight to the GNN headquarters. The young receptionist, Amy, stopped me at the desk. “I need to see your ID badge, please.” “My name is Chloe Smith. I was the network’s correspondent in the Middle East. I’m here to apply for reinstatement.” Amy typed something into her computer, then looked up, confused. “Chloe Smith… That name has been taken off the roster. And your position has already been filled.” “Filled? By whom?” Amy smiled warmly. “Vicky Brown. She’s our youngest senior correspondent. She actually just won a major international journalism award for her latest documentary.”

At the mention of Vicky, Amy’s eyes practically sparkled. “Vicky is incredible! Her documentary on the Syrian refugee crisis was absolute genius!” Amy clicked on the video on her screen to show me. There it was. Vicky’s name was plastered in bold letters across the screen: Executive Producer & Director. “See? It’s beautiful. Everyone in the office cried when we watched it.” I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. Every single photo, every interview clip, every frame… was footage I had captured while dodging bullets. They had simply edited my face out and dubbed Vicky’s voiceover on top. Throughout the entire documentary, my name didn’t appear once. And at the top of the sponsors’ list was The Jones Group. Ethan’s company. Only Ethan knew the password to my laptop and cloud storage. I slammed the laptop shut, ran to my car, and drove like a maniac toward Ethan’s corporate office. Suddenly, a loud honk from a semi-truck blared behind me. The noise was deafening. My head began to throb violently, and the sounds of the Syrian explosions echoed in my ears again. I covered my ears in panic, losing control of the steering wheel. My car veered off the road and crashed hard into the guardrail. By the time Ethan arrived at the scene, his face was pale. He looked like he wanted to yell at me, but seeing how white my face was, he pulled me into his arms instead. “It’s okay, Chloe. I’m here…” His embrace was still so warm—so warm it made me want to cry. But I shoved him away, tears streaming down my face. “Ethan, why did you give my footage to Vicky?” “You know I almost died trying to get those shots! You know how much that project meant to me…” I had spent two years planning that documentary. I had run through active crossfire with a heavy camera on my shoulder. I had been hit by shrapnel, blown back by blasts, and danced with death more times than I could count. That footage was paid for with my life. Ethan reached out, gently wiping the tears from my eyes. “Chloe, after your accident, everyone thought you were dead.” “I gave your files to Vicky so she could finish the project for you. What’s wrong with that?” I slapped his hand away. “Then what about my name? Why is my name nowhere on it? Why is she taking credit for my work?” “Because you were dead to the world!” Ethan’s voice turned chillingly pragmatic. “But Vicky is alive. She needed a major project to secure her anchor spot at the network. I invested in her, and her success benefits my company too.” I stared at him, feeling a sudden, terrifying chill. He felt like a complete stranger. The old Ethan would never let me suffer a single scratch or shed a single tear. But now, just days after my return, I felt like I had cried a lifetime of tears. Ethan shoved me into his car and drove me back to the new apartment. Before leaving, he tossed a black credit card onto the table. “Chloe, be reasonable. Stay here and focus on recovering. I’ll give you whatever amount of money you want as compensation.” “Vicky’s career is at a critical stage right now. Don’t ruin it for her. This is what your parents want too.” I sat on the cold floor of the empty living room and let out a bitter laugh. They had teamed up to hand my entire life over to Vicky, all because I wasn’t “obedient.” I opened my laptop, bypassed the deactivated work account, and logged into my personal backup drive. The raw, unedited footage was still there—complete with my face, my voice, and my timestamps. I edited a short comparison video, attached the original metadata, and posted it directly to Twitter and TikTok. Once it uploaded, I collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep. By sunrise, the internet had exploded. My phone was buzzing with thousands of notifications. The video had gained over ten million views. Vicky’s social media pages were flooded with hate comments, and Ethan’s company account was being dragged through the mud. “So Vicky is a thief?” “Wow, what a snake. Stealing from her dead best friend.” “I feel so bad for Chloe…”

Ethan called me dozens of times. I ignored them all. My parents sent furious messages demanding I take down the video. I didn’t reply. Within an hour, Vicky’s name was trending number one. But very quickly, the narrative began to shift. The Jones Group released an official statement claiming that my mental state was unstable due to severe trauma, and that my posts were completely fabricated. My family’s company immediately followed up by holding a live press conference. My parents stood before the cameras and displayed heavily redacted medical records from my time in the psychiatric ward. They painted me as a delusional, mentally ill woman who was maliciously targeting Vicky out of jealousy. At the press conference, my mother wept bitterly. “My daughter has become so bitter. We searched for her for two years, and she didn’t even tell us she was alive. Now she comes back just to destroy Vicky’s life. I don’t know how we raised someone like this…” Vicky sat beside her, her eyes red and tearful. “Chloe is my best friend. I didn’t know she was this sick. I don’t hold a grudge against her…” In an instant, public opinion flipped. “Oh, so she’s literally insane. You can’t trust a crazy person.” “Poor parents, having a daughter like that.” “I feel so bad for Vicky. She’s being harassed by a psycho.” My comment section was suddenly flooded with thousands of hateful slurs. “Psycho,” “Go die,” “Get help”—the notifications filled my screen. Before I could lock my phone, the door to my apartment was burst open. A group of security guards hired by my parents walked in. “Miss Smith, your mother ordered us to bring you home.” Home? Did I even have a home anymore? I threw vases and glasses at them, screaming at them to get out, but they eventually pinned me down, tied my hands, and threw me into the back of an SUV. I was locked in a bedroom on the third floor of my parents’ estate. Through the floorboards, I could hear my mother talking to Vicky downstairs. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve got your back.” “Thank you, Aunt Eleanor. I’m just so worried about Chloe. She…” “She brought this on herself! That’s what she gets for disobeying us and going to that godforsaken place!” I curled up on the floor, burying my face in my knees. Growing up, I had been pampered. I thought I would always be their precious daughter. But my very first act of independence had cost me everything. I was kept locked up for three days. My phone and laptop were confiscated. I was trapped in that suffocating room. On the fourth day, they finally let me down. It was Ethan and Vicky’s wedding anniversary, and my parents were hosting the party at the estate. Vicky wore a stunning burgundy gown, her neck adorned with a glittering diamond necklace. That necklace was the wedding gift Ethan had bought for me. Ethan wrapped his arm around her waist. Under the roaring cheers of the guests, they shared a deep kiss. Suddenly, a massive firework display shot into the night sky, exploding with deafening bangs. I covered my ears, my body shaking violently. The sound of the fireworks merged with the sound of falling mortar shells in my head. Every bang felt like a bomb dropping directly onto my body. “Stop it! Please, make it stop!” I screamed. No one paid attention to me. I tried to run out of the yard, but Ethan grabbed my wrist. “Chloe! What kind of stunt are you pulling now?” “The fireworks… Ethan, please… tell them to stop… I can’t…” I gasped, desperately grabbing his sleeve. He coldly brushed my hands off. “Stop acting, Chloe. I know you’re faking it to ruin Vicky’s night.” “I am not faking!” I screamed, my voice cracking into a desperate plea. “Ethan, please… I’m begging you… stop the fireworks…” Vicky walked over, wrapping her arm around Ethan’s and smiling up at him. “Ethan, the fireworks are beautiful. I love them.” Ethan pinched her cheek affectionately. “Then I’ll have them play all night for you.” He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before signaling the security guards. “Take her back upstairs and lock the door. Do not let her out until the party is over.” I fought and kicked, but it was useless. I was thrown back into the third-floor bedroom, and the door was locked from the outside. Outside, the fireworks grew louder and more frequent. I covered my ears and screamed until my throat bled. In my mind, I saw the blood-slicked ruins of Syria. I saw bodies torn in half. I saw the sky burning with fire. I heard the screams of dying people crying for help, only to be turned into ash a second later. The trauma completely swallowed me. One moment I was on the battlefield, the next I was in the psych ward, and then back in this locked room. I threw myself against the door, slamming my head and hands against the wood until my forehead bled and my fingernails tore off. Still, nobody came to open it. Finally, in a state of complete madness, I dragged myself onto the window sill, closed my eyes, and jumped…

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “436643”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I won a million dollars on a scratch-off ticket Ethan bought me. The moment I saw the winning numbers, I screamed, jumping up and down in pure ecstasy. “Ethan! We have the money to get married now!” He wouldn’t have to stress about our wedding budget, a down payment for a house, or car loans anymore. Our five-year relationship was finally going to end in a beautiful wedding. But he didn’t laugh. He just let out a faint, irritated sigh. “Are you really that desperate to marry me?” I froze. Then, a burst of roaring laughter erupted from his phone on the table. “Ethan, a bet’s a bet! She actually wants to use that money to marry you! You better put a ring on it, bro!” “Your wedding budget is only ten grand? That’s not even enough to buy Chloe a designer bag. She’s so cheap.” Chloe. The rich girl who bullied me throughout high school. I looked down at the scratch-off ticket crumpled in my fist. Then, I tossed it straight into the trash can. “Alright, cut it out, guys,” Ethan said into the phone. “Am I the type to go back on my word? Just get your wedding gifts ready for me.” After another round of teasing from the group, a voice that often haunted my nightmares came through the speaker. It was Chloe. “Ethan, are you insane?!” “We agreed you’d just play her to help me get even. Are you actually going to marry her?” Ethan wiped my tears with one hand while replying carelessly into his phone, “Yeah, why not? Who else would I marry? You, Chloe?” “Did you really think I was your lapdog, doing whatever you told me to do?” The call ended abruptly with a beep. She had hung up. Ethan stared at his phone for a long time before looking up at me with a smile. “Why were you crying just now? Were you just shocked that I actually have money?” Before I could answer, he asked, “Want some pasta? I’ll make it now.” He put on his apron and began boiling the pasta, acting as if that humiliating prank call had never happened. I took a deep breath, my chest aching terribly. I couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you tired?” “What?” “These past five years… aren’t you tired of acting?” Ethan went silent. The only sound in the apartment was the roar of the range hood. It was driving me crazy. I walked over, shut it off, and yanked Ethan’s arm, forcing him to look at me. “Aren’t you going to explain?” “I just did, didn’t I? What else do you want me to say?” He paused, then added, “Chloe is just a childhood friend. Don’t overthink it.” He was brushing it off, completely avoiding the bet they had made, and conveniently ignoring Chloe’s words about “getting even.” I tilted my head back, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. Five years. More than a thousand days and nights. I had given Ethan my whole heart. I truly believed he was the one I would spend the rest of my life with. I didn’t care that we were broke. We could work hard. I didn’t care that we didn’t have a house or a nice car. We could rent, and we could save. But now, I was being told that all of this—our entire relationship—was just a setup to help Chloe get revenge on me? A custom-made trap? I honestly didn’t get it. I was just an ordinary girl. Why did they go to such lengths to mess with me? How could Ethan play the role of the perfect, caring boyfriend for five whole years? When he used to tell me how guilty he felt for not being rich enough to give me a better life, did he want to laugh? When he massaged my cold feet or did my laundry, did he have to hold back his disgust? What an amazing actor. I really put him through a lot, didn’t I? “So, what date should we set for the wedding?” he asked casually, as if asking whether I wanted cheese on my pasta. I clenched my teeth, my voice dripping with bitterness. “We’re not getting married.” He scoffed. “Seriously? Because of a joke? Haven’t you been begging to marry me?” “Yeah, I lied to you, but doesn’t this have a happy ending?” “I can increase the wedding budget to over a hundred thousand dollars. House, car—whichever you want, just name it. What are you still throwing a tantrum about?” “This isn’t about the money…” Ethan stopped what he was doing. Suddenly, he slammed the pasta bowl against the wall. The shards shattered everywhere, scratching my bare leg. Marinara sauce splattered all over the floor. “When we had no money, you wanted security. Now that we have money, you want to talk about something else!” “Ava, are you out of your mind?!” Blood trickled down my leg, and my hands felt numb. Ethan instinctively reached out to grab me, but I pushed him away. “Yes! I am out of my mind!” My voice was barely a whisper. I pulled up my sleeves, revealing the old and new scars lining my forearms. “I have severe depression and PTSD. Are you happy now?” Tears poured down my face. I bit my lip so hard it bled, staring straight into his eyes. “Ethan, I’m asking you—are you happy now?!” “Why the hell would I marry you?!” “Why would I marry the man who helped my bully torment me?!” Ethan’s lips trembled, and a flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. For a split second, I actually thought it was pity. Then, his phone rang. He answered it. A frantic voice yelled from the other end, “Ethan! Chloe’s wasted! She’s screaming your name, saying she needs to see you!” “What does that have to do with me?” Ethan said, pulling out a first-aid kit to clean my cut. “She said… if you don’t show up tonight, she’s going to sleep with some random guy at the bar…” The bottle of antiseptic knocked over, spilling brown liquid all over the floor. Ethan clenched his fists. He gave me a conflicted look, then made his decision. “Clean yourself up. I’ll be right back.” I didn’t say a word. I just stood by the window in silence. I watched him sprint out of the building. He even kicked over my Vespa parked by the entrance because it was in his way. He had bought me that Vespa during our second year of dating. It couldn’t shield me from the rain, but it meant I didn’t have to squeeze onto the subway anymore. The day I got it, I was so happy that I took him on rides around the neighborhood for hours. My definition of love, my definition of happiness… Just like that Vespa, it was now lying knocked over on the pavement, its side mirrors shattered to pieces.

The blood kept dripping. I wrapped my leg up with gauze, feeling completely numb. The bright red blood mixed with my tears. It was sickening. I stared at the bandage. My mind kept drifting back to Chloe’s words: “play her.” Then, I remembered the nights I would wake up sobbing from nightmares, cutting myself because I couldn’t handle the pain, and how Ethan would always hold me and scream— “Ava! If you die, you get to escape! But what about me?!” “What about the people who love you?!” He had held me so tight. He sounded so incredibly sincere. His warm tears had soaked my shoulder, melting the ice around my heart. So, I had opened up to him. I sobbed and told him all my trauma. I told him how Chloe and her friends had spread disgusting rumors about me, accused me of stealing money, and how they had poured ice-cold water over my head in the middle of winter, leaving me with chronic health issues… It had forced me to take a year off from school and spend six months in a hospital. I had broken down countless times because of “Chloe,” yet I kept enduring it. And Ethan had comforted me every single time, holding me from dusk till dawn, whispering, “Don’t worry, I’m here.” Was he really comforting me? Or was he sharing my misery with Chloe as their proud trophy? I didn’t dare to think about it anymore. My laptop screen lit up. The Snapchat icon kept flashing. Ethan had forgotten to log out. With trembling hands, I clicked on it. I saw a group chat where Chloe was the admin. I scrolled all the way to the top and read every single message, word by word. I saw how Ethan’s relentless pursuit of me in college wasn’t because of love at first sight. It was because Chloe had said: [She’s going to the same college as you? She doesn’t deserve to be there.] [Ethan, I hate her so much. Can you pretend to date her, ruin her, and then dump her?] And Ethan had replied casually: [You won’t be my girlfriend, but you’re pushing me to someone else?] [You’re cruel.] I saw how every time I let my guard down around Ethan, the group chat would celebrate, begging him to “take her virginity.” I saw Ethan posting the video of him gifting me the Vespa, and everyone laughing at it: [So cheap. And she actually treats that piece of trash like a treasure.] I saw them calling the watch I bought him—using six months of my savings—cheap garbage… Every single cruel, toxic message pierced through my brain. My tears splattered onto the keyboard. I wiped them away with my sleeve and kept reading. Later on, Ethan’s messages in the group became less frequent. Until recently, when they couldn’t wait to see me break, planning the final blow. I sank back into my chair, my heart pounding violently. The air in the room felt frozen. I could hear my own shallow breathing and the loud noise coming from a video sent in the group chat. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” “Ethan, Chloe is being so obvious. Aren’t you going to show her some love?” I stared blankly at the video. I watched Ethan pick up a drunken Chloe and carry her into a private bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The cheers and wolf whistles in the video almost blew out my speakers. My fingers slowly moved to the keyboard. I typed and hit send: [You disgusting, sick bastards. Why don’t you all just go to hell?] The next second, the account was force-logged out. My stomach churned. I ran to the toilet and threw up until my throat burned. It turned out the storm of my youth had never ended. Ethan had just temporarily held an umbrella over me, making me believe the sun was shining. My phone rang. I picked it up. “You saw it?” Ethan’s voice sounded panicked. “Yeah.” “Wait till I get back. I’ll explain. I…” “No need.” I sat on the cold bathroom floor, looking around the cozy apartment we had decorated together. “You don’t need to explain, and you don’t need to come back.” “Ethan, I don’t want to play your game anymore. Just let me go.” “I can’t fight you guys, but at least I can run away.”

My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Annoyed, I turned it off completely. I packed my bags and found the deed to the apartment. I put it back where it belonged. I used to wonder how Ethan had found such a cheap place so close to my office. It never occurred to me that he was the actual landlord. The bright moon hung outside, shining on my lonely figure. The rolling sound of my suitcase was incredibly loud in the silent night. But even louder was the screech of car tires stopping right in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?” Ethan ran up to me, gasping for breath, grabbing my wrist tightly. “You’re a grown woman and you’re running away? How childish can you get?” “Come on. We’re going home.” I turned my head away, trying not to look at the hickey on his neck. I pulled my wrist back with all my might. “There is no ‘home’ between us.” Ethan stared at me. I tried to walk past him, but he snatched my arm again. “Be rational, okay?!” “Whatever happened between you and Chloe was years ago! How long are you going to keep bringing it up?” “You need to move on. I’ve been good to you for five years, and you know it. If you leave me, where else are you going to find a guy like me?” *How long am I going to keep bringing it up?* Because it still hurts. And he was casually reducing the trauma that gave me sleepless nights to a mere “old grudge.” I looked closely at him. This face that used to bring me so much joy… why did it look so foreign now? I guess I never truly knew him. My head was pounding. I didn’t want to argue anymore. “The keys are under the doormat. I didn’t take anything you bought me, except the clothes I’m wearing. But they’re ripped now.” “Tell me how much they cost. I’ll pay you back.” “You can’t afford it,” Ethan sneered, as if hearing a joke. “Do you really think I buy you cheap mall clothes? This was custom-made, Ava. What are you going to pay me with?” “With your tiny paycheck? Or your sad little pride?” “If you’ve got the guts, then take them off right—” He cut himself off. Because I had already started unbuttoning my shirt. One, two… “Fuck!” He threw his jacket over me, growling, “Ava, you’re literally insane!” He shoved me into his car. The car sped through the night, driving towards Ethan’s real home— A massive luxury mansion I had only ever seen on TV. “You’re sleeping here tonight,” he said, leading me into a bedroom. The closet was filled with clothes in my size. The bathroom had my favorite brands of toiletries. Even the giant plush strawberry bear I had wanted but couldn’t afford was sitting on the bed. What was this? A poisoned apple wrapped in gold? Or a temporary sweet treat before the next cruel prank? My stomach turned again. I dry-heaved, my hair sticking to my tear-stained face. Ethan frowned, looking at me with sudden uncertainty. “Ava, are you…” Are you what? I saw a flash of hope on his face, but it was immediately crushed by the loud clicking of high heels. Chloe stormed in, glared at me with pure hatred, and raised her hand to slap me. Fear shot through my chest. I instinctively flinched and closed my eyes. But the pain never came. Ethan had caught her wrist. “What is your problem?!” Chloe screamed. “I told you to play her, not marry her!” “Ethan, did you actually fall for this bitch?!” “She’s been a manipulative slut since we were kids! Don’t let her trick you!” Ethan didn’t say if he loved me or not. He just paused for a few seconds before saying coldly, “The moment you pushed me to someone else, you lost the right to question me.” I sat on the floor, watching them fight. My head felt heavier and heavier, and my skin felt burning hot. Through the haze, I heard Chloe yell, “This is my room! Why did you give it to her?! You’re just trying to make me jealous!” I couldn’t hear the rest of their argument. I just smiled faintly. I smiled at how pathetic I was. I had actually thought Ethan had a shred of genuine feeling for me. But he was just a liar through and through.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Ethan was sitting beside me, dark circles under his eyes, but a huge smile plastered on his face. “You’re pregnant.” He gently touched my stomach and opened his phone calendar. “I looked up some wedding dates. Which one do you like?” “We can have a beautiful outdoor wedding. I’ll get a custom wedding gown for you. Take a look at these designs.” “And after the wedding, we’ll go on our honeymoon. Didn’t you always want to go to…” He kept talking, planning out our future. I didn’t say anything. I just stared at my phone. My HR manager had messaged me. I was fired. It came from the higher-ups. I didn’t even need to ask. It was either Ethan or Chloe’s doing. Five years. I had worked my ass off at that company for five years. And they ruined my career with a single sentence. A trending notification popped up on my phone. It was about Chloe. I clicked on it. It turned out she was an influencer with millions of followers. Her page was filled with her glamorous life as a rich girl, with tons of people kissing her feet. Why did she get to live such a perfect life? Did she deserve it? The trending video was of her crying about her “doomed love story.” She claimed she and Ethan were childhood sweethearts. She said Ethan rented out venues for her birthday fireworks every year. He had gifted her countless luxury items and jewelry. And I was the “homewrecker” who ruined it all. With a few tears, she painted me as a manipulative gold-digger. Her followers were already doxxing me in the comments. My hands shook. I glanced at Ethan, who was busy talking to a wedding planner on the phone. I slowly began to type, attaching screenshots of our chat logs, and hit post. I watched the likes on my comment shoot up. Some people questioned my mental illness, while others brought up Chloe’s bullying history. Soon, the comment section became a warzone. But within minutes, my post was gone. Chloe had deleted it. Ethan walked back into the room after finishing his call, his brow furrowed. “Ava, you’re being too impulsive.” “Chloe is an influencer. It’s normal for her to exaggerate things online. I won’t let her hurt you anyway.” “We’re all in the same social circle. Don’t make things so ugly.” After a pause, he added, “Go apologize to Chloe. Let’s just put all these years of drama behind us.” I let out a soft laugh, looking at him with hollow eyes. My heart was too dead to feel any anger. I obediently let him lead me to a private room at a high-end restaurant. Ethan pressed a glass of juice into my hand. Across the table sat Chloe, looking perfect and arrogant. She tilted her head. “Apologize. Just like you did in high school. On your knees…” The room was filled with their wealthy friends, all wearing mocking grins. Just like back then. I walked over to her, step by step, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m sorry you’re such a miserable piece of trash—” And then, I threw the juice right in her face. She shrieked in horror as her expensive makeup ran down her neck. I grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and poured it over her head. As the dark liquid soaked her hair, I yelled, “I’m sorry that I was prettier than you! I’m sorry my grades were better than yours!” “I’m sorry the class president liked me instead of you! I’m sorry you had to bully me to feel important!” Someone tried to grab me, but I slammed the wine bottle against the table, shattering it. I pointed the jagged glass at them. “Come near me and I’ll stab you! We can all die tonight!” Chloe was sobbing on the floor. I grabbed her hair, pulled her up, and slapped her face hard, over and over again. “Go to hell! You’re nothing but a spoiled, pathetic dog!”

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A gorgeous new transfer girl arrived at our high school, boldly bragging to everyone that she’d get my childhood sweetheart, Ethan, into her bed within three months. Ethan merely gave her a freezing glare and called her delusional. Then, he grabbed my hand tightly, pulling me close as he whined like a spoiled puppy. “Everyone knows I’ve been yours since we were in diapers, Daisy.” The transfer girl chased him relentlessly all the way until winter break, but Ethan never gave her the time of day. Until the party right before the spring semester started. Ethan got completely wasted, and I had to drive him home. He mumbled my name the entire ride. My heart fluttered. Looking at his handsome, sleeping face, I decided to steal a quick kiss. This was going to be my first kiss. But the second my lips brushed his, his hand shot out, locking around my waist. His voice was incredibly husky. “Babe, why so shy this time?” “No tongue?” I froze instantly. Ethan’s kiss was deep and intense. His movements weren’t clumsy at all. In fact, he kissed like an absolute pro. He said this time. Who was the last time? Before I could even ask, he let me go. Ethan was too drunk to keep his eyes open. He let out a low groan, his brow furrowing slightly. “Silly girl… still haven’t learned how to breathe?” “Did I teach you all those times for nothing?” I took a sharp breath, placing my hand against his cheek to push him back. My fingertips were trembling violently, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Ethan. Look at me. Who am I?” Ethan went quiet, squinting his eyes to look at me. I never expected those few seconds of waiting to be so torturous. An answer was already screaming in my head. But I wanted to hear it from his own mouth. Ethan slapped his own cheeks, then pinched mine, mumbling drunkenly, “Babe… why are you still in my dreams?” “Daisy… you’re so much better in my dreams. You actually let me kiss you whenever I want.” My eyelashes fluttered. Hearing my name, the icy dread in my chest melted away instantly. So, he thought he was dreaming. Ethan cupped my face, his warm, wet lips pressing against mine again. “Babe, breathe. Don’t choke up and blush like you did last time.” He coaxed me gently between kisses, whispering all the pet names he had always used for me. After he finished kissing me, he collapsed back onto the bed, burying his face under the duvet as if he were suddenly shy. “Damn, it felt so real this time.” I sat by his bedside, my lips pressed into a thin line. After a few seconds, I stood up. Whatever. Ethan was an idiot, but he had chased me his entire life. If there was something going on, he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from me anyway. My parents weren’t home today. I pulled out my phone to order some takeout on DoorDash, but the screen flickered and died. Out of battery. Too lazy to grab my charger, I reached for Ethan’s phone instead. His lock screen was still my latest selfie. Ethan always claimed he got bored of things easily. So, he insisted on receiving at least three new, different photos of me every week. Otherwise, he’d throw a tantrum and ignore me. He was incredibly high-maintenance. I used to tease him about it, saying if he got bored so easily, why had he only loved me for so many years? He would just shrug and smile. “Well, I just love loving you.” But when I pressed my thumb against the home button, it read: Fingerprint Try Again. Out of the five registered fingerprints on his phone, one was his, and the other four had always been mine. I tried every single one of my fingers. All failed. Did he delete them by accident? No, Ethan wouldn’t do that. I tried entering his passcode—my birthday. He had used this passcode for years. He would never change it. Incorrect Passcode. Just then, his screen lit up with a notification from Snapchat. It was a photo. Sent by Chloe. The transfer girl who had been chasing him for months.

My grip on the phone tightened. I wondered, when did they even add each other on Snapchat? Didn’t Ethan hate her guts? Honestly, Ethan had always had plenty of admirers. But he was naturally arrogant, sharp-tongued, and his blatant favoritism toward me made most girls give up eventually. Chloe was the only one who had persisted this long. She was also the only one who could genuinely piss Ethan off. Once, after school, Chloe cornered me in the hallway. She looked at me coldly and said: “Daisy, you and Ethan aren’t officially dating, right?” “May the best woman win, then.” She was dripping with hostility. Before I could even open my mouth, Ethan grabbed my backpack, slinging it over his shoulder with practiced ease. He handed me a warm cup of coffee, then wrapped my scarf and beanie securely around me. Usually, Ethan was quite playful, but that evening, the air around him was freezing. He took my hand, his tall frame shielding me completely from Chloe. He said coldly: “She doesn’t need to compete with you. Because I’m the one begging for her attention.” “We aren’t dating yet, but she is my future wife.” On the walk home that night, Ethan didn’t say a word. I couldn’t help but poke his cheek. “What’s… wrong with you?” Ethan’s eyes were slightly red. He pinched my cheek in frustration. “Aren’t you even a little jealous?” “Another girl literally threatened you, and you had zero reaction? Do you even like me at all?” Oh. So that was why. I shook my head. “No. Because I know I’m the only one in your heart.” Ethan’s lips curved up, clearly pleased by my answer. He squeezed my hand tighter. “I can’t wait for us to graduate, Daisy. I want to make you my official girlfriend so bad.” I lowered my gaze, remembering what Ethan’s mother, Mrs. Carter, had told me in secret. “Daisy, Ethan has loved you since you were kids. I don’t object to you two being together, but can you promise me one thing? Don’t officially date him until after graduation.” I squeezed Ethan’s hand back, thinking: Ethan, just wait for me a little longer. We only have one semester left. I put Ethan’s phone down and went downstairs to my bedroom. The room I had lived in for over ten years. When I was three, my parents got a divorce. My mother, Sarah, took me with her and started working as a live-in housekeeper for Ethan’s family. Since Ethan and I were the same age, we basically grew up together. As a kid, Ethan always had this aloof, “do not cross” vibe. I was pretty terrified of him, but I’d still politely call him “Ethan.” He never acknowledged the nickname, but he would always drag me along whenever he played with his friends. I guess I was a cute kid, because one day, one of his friends asked Ethan if he could “have” me as his girlfriend. Normally indifferent, Ethan snapped. He tackled the boy to the ground and snarled, “Fuck off.” That was the first time I saw him angry, and the first time I heard him swear. On the walk back, I timidly trailed behind him, calling his name. His anger hadn’t faded. He turned around and yelled at me for the first time in his life: “Stop calling me like we’re just friends!” I was so scared that I avoided him for days, until he finally cornered me. His voice had softened, and his usual nickname for me was born. “Daisy, are you stupid?” “Friends don’t get married. I want to be your husband.” I had stood there, frozen, my heart pounding wildly. I had thought he tolerated me, maybe even disliked me. I never imagined he loved me. After that confession, Ethan became completely shameless about showing his affection. His love was loud, proud, and passionate. To the point where everyone in our circle knew: Ethan Carter would only ever marry one person. Daisy. But tonight, I couldn’t stop the doubts from creeping in. His natural, practiced kissing skills. The way he called me “babe.” And that Snapchat photo from Chloe that I couldn’t unlock.

The next morning was the first day of the new semester. My mom had taken a month off to visit family, and Ethan’s parents were away on a business trip. Only Ethan and I were left in the house. I had been tossing and turning all night, so I overslept. The moment I rushed out of my room, I bumped straight into Ethan’s chest. A faint scent of sweet citrus washed over me. I sniffed, asking subconsciously: “Did you change your body wash? It smells different.” He had always insisted on using the exact same body wash as me. He hadn’t changed it in years. Even when we went out yesterday, he still smelled like my lavender body wash. Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He gave a quiet, dismissive grunt. He clearly didn’t want to explain. “I made breakfast. Let’s get to school first.” I took the breakfast bag from him, biting my lip. “My mom told me to take care of you…” Ethan grabbed my wrist, letting out a soft laugh. “You? Taking care of me? You literally threw me onto the bed last night and ran away.” I seized the opportunity. “I was going to order food, but my phone died. And you changed your passcode.” Ethan paused for a split second, then explained smoothly, “Some guys at school guessed my passcode was your birthday. It wasn’t safe.” “You know my phone is packed with your photos. I’d go crazy if anyone saw them.” “Oh,” I murmured. He continued, “I changed it to the date I first confessed to you.” I nodded, but a nagging thought lingered. Even so, did he really have to delete my fingerprints? Before I could ask, Ethan tossed his phone into my lap and leaned his head against the car window, closing his eyes. “See for yourself. It’s rare for you to actually check up on me.” “At least it means you finally care a little.” I never used to do things like this, but today, I was consumed by anxiety. I unlocked his phone and opened Snapchat. Chloe’s contact name was gone. I tossed the phone back onto his lap. “I saw Chloe send you a photo yesterday. Now she’s not even on your friend list.” Ethan replied casually, “Oh, yeah. She sent some nude photo. I blocked and deleted her immediately.” …A nude? My throat felt tight. I wanted to ask him why he had even added her in the first place. Didn’t he despise her? But I felt like I had no right to ask. Who was I to him? Everyone else thought I was being dramatic, playing hard to get when Ethan was practically worshiping the ground I walked on. But Ethan’s mother had taken my mom and me in when we had nothing. We owed her everything. Since she asked me to wait until graduation, I was going to keep my promise. Besides, it was only a few more months. We would be together soon anyway. “Daisy, when I accepted her request, I didn’t know it was her account,” Ethan said, showing me his lock screen. His eyes were warm and sincere. “It just disgusted me. She doesn’t have a fraction of my Daisy’s cuteness.” Once we reached the classroom, Ethan sat next to me as usual. He smoothly unpacked my favorite snacks, new stationery, and various little things I might need from his backpack. He had always taken care of me with this level of meticulous detail. Chloe was the last to enter the classroom. Despite the freezing winter weather, she wore a tight, cropped top, a thin jacket, and a tiny miniskirt. Chewing gum loudly, she tossed her backpack onto the desk right across the aisle from Ethan. Ethan’s pen paused. He glanced at me. “Daisy, let’s swap seats.” Chloe raised her chin and scoffed, sliding into her seat. I moved to Ethan’s original seat. The moment I sat down, a strong scent of sweet citrus hit my nose. It was the exact same scent as Ethan’s new body wash. Only, on her, it was much stronger.

During the first period of study hall, I forced myself to focus on my math problems, telling myself not to overthink. Suddenly, a folded note landed on my desk. It was from Chloe. I hesitated, then opened it. He smells like me, doesn’t he? My heart sank. I crumpled the note into a ball and threw it angrily at Ethan. Ethan, who was busy compiling my practice mistakes, looked up in surprise. He slowly unfolded the paper. The moment his eyes scanned the words, his knuckles turned white. Muttering a curse, Ethan grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the classroom. The teacher yelled after us, but Ethan ignored him, leaving our names to be written on the board. At the end of the hallway, I yanked my hand away. “What is your problem?” “What lies did she tell you now?” Ethan hissed. I bit my lip. “She didn’t lie. You two smell exactly the same.” Ethan let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t listen to her BS, Daisy. I ran into her at the grocery store two days ago when I went to buy your snacks.” “She probably saw me buying that body wash. She bought the same one just to mess with you.” It felt like too much of a coincidence, but I chose to believe him. Ethan wouldn’t lie to me. “Fine. I didn’t say anything. Let’s go back.” Ethan reached for my hand, but I instinctively flinched away. I was distracted for the rest of the day, making silly mistakes on simple calculus questions. On the ride home, Ethan didn’t hold my hand or speak to me for the first time. Usually, the walk from the classroom to the parking lot was his prime time to whine and cling to me. I actually loved listening to his endless chatter. It was such a contrast to his cold, arrogant persona in public. It was cute. But today, he just kept staring at his phone. With his long legs and wide strides, he completely forgot to slow down for me, leaving me trailing far behind. I clutched my backpack straps and jogged to keep up. That night, Ethan brought a mug of warm milk to my room. He leaned against the doorframe, watching me drink it. Then, tossing his messy hair back, he smiled softly. “Can I have a hug?” I nodded. Since we had already kissed last night, a simple hug didn’t seem like too much. I walked over and stepped into his arms. But the scent that filled my nose wasn’t the citrus from earlier. It was my lavender body wash. Hadn’t he changed his body wash? Suddenly, Ethan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen. Immediately, he let go of me and walked out without looking back. “Sleep well, babe.” I stood frozen in the middle of the room. The mixed scent of lavender and citrus hung heavy in the air, suffocating me. Right before bed, I received a Snapchat friend request. The profile picture was Chloe. [Remember what I said three months ago? I did it.] [I tested him out for you first. Ethan is an absolute beast in bed.]

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After Ethan’s climbing accident, I lost thirty pounds in a single month. I uploaded decades of our chat logs into an AI simulator, desperately hoping to create a digital version of him to keep me company for the rest of my life. But after thirty seconds of deep processing, the AI gave me a cold, calculated reply: The user’s husband has never loved her. Later, they found Ethan’s body. When the avalanche struck, he had used his own body to shield Chloe Miller, protecting her until his very last breath. When they died, there was no fear on their faces—only a peaceful, quiet acceptance. After burying my husband and my best friend, my body finally gave out. I collapsed in the cemetery, coughing up blood, and died right there on the cold grass. But when I opened my eyes again, I was standing right outside the SAT test center. In front of the gates, Ethan and Chloe were sweating profusely. Ethan’s grandmother had just suffered heatstroke on the sidewalk. I took one cold look at them, turned around, and walked away. This time, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. I just wanted to live for myself.

I walked briskly through the crowd, keeping my head down. Just as I was about to step through the school gates, a panicked female voice called out from behind me. “Hazel! Get over here and help! Ethan’s grandma just collapsed from the heat!” My footsteps paused, but I didn’t turn around. The cold wind of the cemetery still seemed to howl in my ears, and the metallic taste of blood still lingered in my mouth. Suddenly, a warm, firm hand grabbed my wrist. “Hazel, please. You’re the only one who can help me.” Eighteen-year-old Ethan stood before me, wearing a faded school hoodie. His eyes were as clear as mountain lakes—the kind of eyes that made you drown in them with just one look. But I wasn’t that gullible eighteen-year-old girl anymore. In my past life, I was so terrified that Ethan’s SATs would be ruined. So, I volunteered to take his grandmother to the ER myself. By the time I rushed back to the test center, I was thirteen minutes late. The doors were locked, and I missed the entire English section. Ultimately, my SAT scores were a disaster, and I ended up at a local community college. Meanwhile, he and Chloe got into top Ivy League universities together. When Ethan proposed to me years later, he said that without the eighteen-year-old me, he would never have become the successful man he was today. Back then, his expression was incredibly complex. Only later did I realize that his look wasn’t just gratitude—it was the suffocating weight of obligation. I shook my head and gently pulled my hand back. “I can’t help you, Ethan.” “If I take her to the hospital, I’ll miss the gate-closing time.” Ethan’s face went pale with disbelief. “That’s exactly why we’re asking you to go!” Chloe chimed in from the side, her voice sharp. “Ethan is at the top of our class. He has a real shot at Harvard! You can’t let his entire future be ruined because of this!” The more Chloe spoke, the more self-righteous she became. I took a deep breath. “I know. That’s why I’m not going.” “Hazel!” Chloe’s voice jumped an octave. “You’re practically a straight-C student who’s probably going to end up at some community college anyway. How can you compare your future to Ethan’s?” I froze, looking directly into Chloe’s eyes. With my actual academic level, if I performed normally, I could easily get into a top-tier UC school. Yet here she was, already labeling me a community college failure. “Ethan is your boyfriend! How can you be so incredibly selfish?” Chloe hissed. Ethan pulled her back, letting out a soft sigh. “Don’t say that, Chloe. This is my responsibility. It’s totally fine if she doesn’t want to help.” “But it’s so unfair to your SATs!” Chloe’s eyes welled with frustrated tears. I looked at Chloe calmly. “If you’re so worried about him, you can take his grandma to the hospital yourself.” Chloe choked on her words, completely speechless. “Alright, Chloe, don’t worry about it,” Ethan said, his tone softening as he patted Chloe’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’ll run his grandma to the clinic down the street and sprint back. Just focus on your test and don’t worry about me.” Chloe suddenly stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck. “You have to run as fast as you can, okay?!” Ethan’s hands hovered in the air for a few seconds. Those hands. I knew them so well. They had tied my shoelaces, held umbrellas over my head in the rain, and slipped a promise ring onto my finger. Slowly, those hands came down and gently patted Chloe’s back. “I will. Now go in and do your best.” Ethan turned his head to look at me. But I had already averted my gaze, walking straight into the exam hall without looking back.

When the proctor started reading the exam rules, my mind was still a bit hazy. But I forced myself to calm down quickly. It didn’t matter who Ethan truly loved anymore. What mattered was that I had successfully bought myself those precious thirteen minutes. It was only after the exam ended that I saw Ethan again, waiting near the gates. Chloe walked up behind him, tapped his shoulder, and as he turned around, she leaned in and kissed him right on the lips. Ethan froze for a second, but he didn’t pull away. Only after a few moments did he seem to regain his senses, whispering, “What if Hazel sees us?” Chloe pouted. “So what if she does? Were you planning on hiding us from her forever?” The passing students all turned to look, whispering. Once they recognized the top two students on the school leaderboard, their gossiping turned into supportive smiles. I walked right past them just as they were reluctantly letting go of each other’s hands. “How’s your grandma?” I asked. Ethan withdrew his hand from Chloe’s, his voice turning cold. “She’s in the hospital. Out of danger.” “That’s good.” I turned to leave, but Ethan quickly grabbed my arm. “Let me drive you home.” I pulled my wrist back. “No need. You should take Chloe home.” Ethan’s eyes darkened. In my past life, our three-way friendship had lasted for over fifty years. Like Ethan, my parents worked out of state, and I grew up with my grandparents. When I got my first period at eleven, I was terrified and locked myself in the bathroom. It was Chloe who knocked on my door with a box of pads, smiling and telling me, “Don’t worry, sweetie. It just means you’re growing up.” And it was Ethan who rode his bike to school with me every day, telling me, “Whenever your stomach hurts, my passenger seat is always reserved for you.” Later, they went to the same elite university, started a tech company together, and made it onto the under-30 Forbes list. And I was just the supportive wife, the loyal best friend, the one clapping for their grand achievements from the shadow of the stage. It was only after they died together in that Everest avalanche that I found out the truth. In our fifty years together, the chat log backup between Ethan and me was barely a hundred megabytes. But his archive with Chloe was over ten gigabytes. His will, locked securely in a safe deposit box, stated he wanted to be buried in the same plot as Chloe. All he left for me was a single, pathetic note: I’m sorry. But what use was a cheap apology for a lifetime of wasted devotion? The morning after the SATs, I put on my backpack and headed out. My grandmother poked her head out from the kitchen. “Are you starting your part-time job today, sweetie?” I paused for a few seconds, then shook my head. “No, Grandma. I’m going to the library.” Grandma let out a relieved smile. “I don’t mind you working, Hazel. I just don’t want you to exhaust yourself.” “I know, Grandma.” Ethan’s family was broke, and with his grandma hospitalized, he could barely afford his daily meals. In my past life, to help him cover his living expenses, I started working three part-time jobs the very next day after the SATs. For two solid months of summer, I worked non-stop without a single day off. Every night when I finished my shift, he and Chloe would walk over from the library to meet me. They were already studying college-level advanced calculus and would debate math formulas all the way home. I would drag my exhausted feet behind them, yawning constantly, unable to join their high-brow conversations. This time, as I sat down in the library with my laptop, I ran straight into Ethan and Chloe. Chloe gasped in surprise when she saw me. “Hazel? Why aren’t you working at the boba shop?” She glanced at the thick programming and web design books piled on my table. “Does your community college really require such heavy reading? I thought you guys just cruised through easy classes to get a degree.” “Honestly, instead of wasting your time on books you won’t understand, you should focus on keeping Ethan happy.” “He’s such an amazing catch. If you don’t lock him down, there’s a line of girls waiting to take your place.” I took a moment to digest her thinly veiled insults, then offered a faint smile. “Ethan is indeed very talented. You should hold onto him tightly then.” Ethan remained silent for a long time before asking, “Since when did we become so distant, Hazel?” I smiled but said nothing. Since when?

Probably since the moment I heard of his death, when I couldn’t eat or sleep, and my hair fell out in clumps. Or maybe when I imported his chat logs and tearfully typed to the AI, Ethan, I miss you so much. And the AI, after analyzing every single message, generated a brutal summary in its hidden thought process: The user’s husband initiated conversations only 1.2% of the time. Average response length: 4.1 words. High-frequency words: ‘Ok’, ‘Sure’, ‘Got it’. This relationship shows severe emotional asymmetry. Ethan didn’t know that I stayed up all night reading that analysis. When dawn broke, I sent one last message to the virtual Ethan: Let’s get a divorce. The AI replied: If that’s what you want. From that moment on, I knew I had to let him go. Because I hadn’t missed those thirteen minutes during the SATs, I scored fifty points higher than in my previous life. My score was more than enough to get into a top-tier university. Ethan didn’t make the cut for Harvard, but his foundation was solid enough to get into UC Berkeley. The day the results came out, Ethan was waiting for me downstairs. “I’m planning to go to UC Berkeley. Tell me your scores, and I’ll help you find a decent college nearby.” I didn’t buy into his helpful act. “I’ve already committed to San Francisco State University. Don’t worry about me.” Ethan’s brows furrowed deeply. “Long-distance is incredibly hard.” He paused, then explained, “I don’t have a scholarship. If we aren’t in the same city, it’s going to be really expensive to see each other.” In my past life, hearing this would have melted my heart. I would have thought he was desperately trying to keep us together. But now, I saw right through him. He was calculating costs. He was weighing whether seeing me was worth the bus fare. In my previous life, Ethan’s business took off right after college. We got married, and I naturally became the housewife managing his home. But by our third year of marriage, he and Chloe went to Europe to establish a branch office. The round-trip flight tickets were pocket change to him by then, yet he didn’t come home once that entire year. During New Year’s, I couldn’t help but ask when he was coming back. He merely replied, “Things are chaotic here. Low-priority matters have to wait.” I smiled at the memory. “You don’t have to worry about the distance,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “Our relationship was never a high priority anyway.” Ethan’s face went completely blank. “Hazel…” “What are you guys talking about?” Chloe interrupted, suddenly appearing and wrapping her arm warmly around mine. “I’ve decided to go to Berkeley with you guys! Aren’t you excited?” “It’s a shame to give up my Ivy League offers, but I just couldn’t bear to be apart from you two.” Chloe giving up her Ivy League spot for Ethan was actually a bit of a surprise to me. “Ethan said that even though your major isn’t great, getting a degree from SFSU is good enough to pad your resume.” I gently pulled my arm out of her grasp. “I’ve already submitted my enrollment. I’m staying in San Francisco.” “San Francisco?” A flash of surprise crossed Chloe’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a smug satisfaction. “Well, look at our Hazel, finally making her own choices! SFSU is fine, the city is beautiful.” She nudged Ethan’s shoulder with her own. “Right, Ethan?” Ethan didn’t answer her. He just kept his eyes on me, his voice dangerously low. “You can still change your college portal submission. There’s still time.” I shook my head. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m not changing it.” Ethan stood frozen for a few seconds, his hands slowly clenching into tight fists at his sides. “Suit yourself.” In my past life, while Ethan was building his empire overseas, I was teaching myself video editing and social media management while raising our kid. When Ethan and Chloe finally returned, a major creator agency in San Francisco actually reached out to sign me. Chloe had brought me a brand-new Gucci bag as a gift. “For our hardworking Hazel! Your social media page is doing so well!” “But… if you sign with an agency in SF, who’s going to take care of Ethan and his parents? You won’t have any time for family.” Ethan had pressed his hand down on the contract I was about to sign, his voice filled with annoyance. “Hazel, why do you always lose sight of what’s actually important?” “The money I make is enough to support us for ten lifetimes. Why do you need to show your face online like some cheap influencer? Taking care of our home is your top priority.” After weighing his words, I gave up the SF opportunity. I spent decades cooking, cleaning, and taking care of his demanding family. And what did I get in return? The strap of my backpack was digging into my shoulder. I shifted it to my other hand and walked straight past them, refusing to waste another breath.

The library’s AC was blasting cold air. I flipped through a massive textbook on interior design, filling half a notebook with study notes. By the time I walked out of the library, the sun had already set. Passing by a familiar boba shop, I remembered that this was where I used to work in my past life. As I stood near the entrance, two familiar voices drifted over from the side alley. “Standing for eight hours straight is literally killing me.” “Ethan, my back hurts so much. Massage it for me, please?” I looked over and saw Chloe leaning against Ethan, whining playfully. Ethan looked startled and took a half-step back. “Why are you dodging? Hazel isn’t even here.” “Seriously, when are you going to break up with her?” Ethan remained silent. Chloe gave him a frustrated push. “I’m a straight-A student who could have gone to an Ivy League, and here I am shaking boba cups for you every day until my wrists ache! And you still won’t give me a proper title!” Ethan sighed, suddenly uttering a completely random sentence. “Back then, Hazel worked three jobs a day. It couldn’t have been easy for her.” I stood in the shadows, unmoving. I remembered that hot summer when I would walk tiredly behind them after a long shift. Once, my shoelaces came untied. By the time I tied them and looked up, they had already vanished down the street. Back then, I thought he walked fast because he was busy. Now I knew the truth—he simply never bothered to look back for me. I pulled my gaze away and walked home. After taking a shower and getting ready for bed, my phone suddenly buzzed. “Hazel, I’m downstairs.” I pulled back the curtains. Ethan was standing under the old oak tree outside my window, looking up at me. “What do you want?” I asked over the phone. The yellow streetlamp cast his long shadow across the pavement. He just stared up at me, silent. Just as I was about to hang up, he suddenly blurted out, “I changed my college choice.” “Five minutes before the portal closed.” I gave a flat, “Okay.” “Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m going?” I echoed flatly, “Where are you going?” I heard him let out a soft, nervous sigh over the receiver. “I’m coming to San Francisco with you.” He looked up expectantly, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen before. I looked away, staring into the dark sky. “What time does the boba shop close? You should be picking up Chloe right about now.” “Hazel… please don’t be like this.” He paused, sounding as if he was making a massive sacrifice. “I don’t know why you refused to come to Berkeley with me. But since you chose San Francisco, I’m coming to you.” I replied calmly, “There is absolutely no need.” The night breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree. I remembered the last time we saw each other at the airport before he and Chloe went to climb Everest. They were laughing and chatting as they disappeared past the security gates. He hadn’t looked back at me once. “Ethan,” I said softly. “Let’s break up.” “What?” His breathing suddenly grew ragged. Under the streetlamp, his fists clenched tightly as he stared up at my window. “Hazel, why?” I looked down at him and spoke in a quiet, steady voice. “After the avalanche, it took me a very long time to crack your phone passcode.” “Do you still remember what that passcode was?” His shoulders began to tremble. Silence fell over the line. “I know what it was. 0924. Chloe’s birthday.” I continued, “The night before the climb, you sent her one last Snapchat.” “If there’s a next life, I’ll choose you.” Under the dim light, he stared up at me. After what felt like an eternity, he whispered, “Hazel, what are you talking about?” His face was filled with confusion, yet his hand was gripping his phone so hard his knuckles turned white. My hand tightened on the curtain.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “436635”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The incubus I bought online was a complete bait and switch. The product page promised a sweet, obedient, and thoroughly domesticated companion. What I actually got was a feral menace. I pictured coming home to a hot meal, a spotless apartment, and someone eager to warm my bed. Instead, I came home to cold leftovers, a wrecked living room, and a shrieking disaster of a demon. Warming my bed? I wouldn’t let this guy near my sheets in a million years. Just as I was about to completely lose my mind, a direct message popped up on my phone from the seller. “So sorry about that, ma’am! We accidentally shipped you the wrong inventory. Would you like to process a return or exchange?” I looked up. Jax was currently tangled up in the living room drapes, dramatically threatening to hurl himself out the second-story window if I didn’t give him my undivided attention. My vision literally went dark with rage. “Return it! Come get him right now!” 1 I was typing my furious reply to the seller single-handedly while trying to pry the feral demon out of my curtains with the other. By the time I dug him out of the expensive fabric, I hit send on my final message. I finally turned my attention to him. His demonic tail was whipping back and forth in a frenzy, and he glared at me with absolute outrage. “Blair, what are you doing? Let me go!” “Are you an idiot?” I snapped. “If you fall and break your neck on my property, I’m the one going to supernatural prison.” Incubi were a rare and heavily regulated species. That legal red tape was the only reason I hadn’t seriously humbled Jax during the absolute hell he had put me through these past few weeks. My words left him sputtering. He choked on his own rage for a second before his face flushed bright red. “Don’t try reverse psychology on me! I have my pride, you know! I would rather die than submit to you!” “Let me go this instant! I don’t want anything to do with you! I hate you!” My phone buzzed in my hand. I caught a glimpse of the seller’s confirmation message on the lock screen. A massive wave of relief washed over me. I didn’t bother arguing. I didn’t even care how hard he was thrashing in my grip. I just opened my hands and dropped him. Jax hit the hardwood floor with a loud, undignified yelp. Ignoring his angry shouts about how I dared to drop him, I turned my back, dragged my exhausted body into my bedroom, and locked the door behind me. But a few minutes later, I stepped back out. Jax looked up, his expression screaming I knew you’d come crawling back. I completely ignored him. Keeping my face deadpan, I walked through the apartment, deadbolting the front door, locking all the windows, securing the cabinets, and packing away every single fragile item I owned. I yanked the half-shredded drapes off the rod and tossed them in the trash. Finally, I flipped the main circuit breaker, plunging the entire apartment into darkness. I clicked on a heavy-duty flashlight, pointing the beam directly at Jax’s bewildered face. “You can stop throwing your little tantrums, Jax. I am officially done playing nice.” I walked back to my bedroom door and delivered my final ultimatum over my shoulder. “I already processed your return. The agency will be here in a few days to collect you.” “Since you hate me so much, you are free to go.” “Pack up whatever garbage you brought with you. You’re moving out.” With that, I slammed the bedroom door shut, locking him out of my sight and my life for good. 2 That night, I had nightmares about that chaotic demon. Looking back, Jax and I hadn’t even lived together for a full three months. It all started when my best friend, Stella, saw how much the corporate grind was destroying my soul. She insisted I look into the paranormal companion market. “Blair, you have to trust me on this. The modern incubi they breed now are incredibly sweet. They are literally domestic perfection. They just want to take care of you.” “They aren’t even that expensive anymore. Just get one. It will take so much stress off your plate.” To prove her point, she practically dragged me over to her condo to meet her own supernatural househusband. Despite her nagging, I was skeptical. Work was absolutely crushing me, but I didn’t see how buying a magical roommate would fix anything. Who could possibly take care of my life better than me? But after spending one evening at Stella’s place, my entire perspective shifted. Her incubus greeted us at the door with a warm smile, handed us silk pajamas, poured us perfectly temperature-controlled water, and drew a steaming, lavender-scented bath. By the time we stepped out of the bathroom, he had a gourmet dinner waiting on the table. During our post-dinner gossip session, his presence was flawless. He chimed in at all the right moments, matching our energy, laughing when we laughed, and validating every complaint we had about our bosses. Right before bed, he gave Stella a gentle, expert shoulder massage. The combination of his magic, the soothing ambient music, and the incense he burned had me sleeping like a rock. The next morning, a hot breakfast was waiting for us. On our way out the door, this absolute saint of a demon wrapped Stella in a tight, affectionate hug. Walking to the subway, my mind was entirely blown. That level of care was intoxicating. Buying one of these guys seemed like the ultimate life hack. Stella nudged my ribs with her elbow, flashing a smug grin. “See? Told you. Order one tonight. You won’t regret it.” That very evening, I used the exclusive referral link Stella sent me and placed an order. The profile I selected featured a stunning, elegant man with soft eyes and a gentle smile. According to the bio, his temperament was top-tier. I messaged the agency for details, and the handler immediately bombarded me with glowing photos and endless praise for this specific incubus. “Just a quick heads-up,” the seller typed. “He can be a little possessive. If you adopt him, you absolutely cannot bring another incubus into your home.” “Not a problem,” I replied. “All sales are final once shipped. No refunds.” “Got it.” The transaction went through seamlessly. In my mind, I had it all mapped out. I would come home to a warm, peaceful house. We would take care of each other and build a quiet life together. He could share my bed if he wanted, but no pressure if he preferred his own space. But I never could have predicted the absolute holy terror that would show up on my doorstep. 3 When Jax first arrived, he was undeniably breathtaking. His features were sharp and striking, matching the agency photos perfectly. The only difference was a tiny notch missing from his right eyebrow, something I assumed happened during transit. His physique was flawless. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and incredibly long legs. He was built like a Greek god, with muscle definition that belonged on a magazine cover. He was definitely broader and more muscular than his pictures suggested, but I didn’t care. I figured it was just the camera angle. I was so excited to welcome him that I actually took a day off work to catch up on sleep, determined to be well-rested and in a great mood for his arrival. After all, this was the creature I planned to spend the rest of my life with. The delivery handlers dropped his enchanted transport crate in my living room. Trying to contain my excitement, I carefully unlocked the heavy iron latch and reached my hand inside to guide him out. “Welcome home. I promise we’re going to have a great life toge…” Before I could finish the sentence, he lunged. His teeth clamped down viciously on my fingers. I screamed in pain, ripping my hand out of his mouth with a violent jerk. Blood dripped down my knuckles. He crouched in the shadows of the crate, his eyes glowing a cold, menacing violet in the dim light. I cradled my throbbing hand against my chest. My heart was pounding, and the pain radiating from my torn skin was intense. But seeing him curled up like a frightened, cornered animal, I swallowed the angry words burning on my tongue. We stayed locked in a tense standoff until I finally backed down. Figuring he was just severely traumatized by the shipping process, I opened the door to the spare bedroom, left him alone, and retreated to the kitchen to bandage my hand. For the next twenty-four hours, I watched him through the security camera I had installed in the hallway. He stayed huddled in the darkest corner of his room, refusing to move. Worried he might be sick, I tried cracking the door open just to talk to him. But the second the hinges creaked, his head snapped up. He glared at me with such intense, suffocating hostility that my stomach dropped. The memory of his teeth sinking into my flesh was still too fresh. I didn’t dare push my luck. I quietly closed the door and backed away. This exhausting dance dragged on until Sunday evening. I was sprawled on the couch, brainstorming a marketing pitch, when I heard the spare bedroom door click open. I instantly leaped to my feet. He flinched, taking a defensive step backward into the shadows. I immediately threw my hands up in surrender. “Don’t panic! I’m not going to hurt you!” Patience won out in the end. That night was the first time he actually spoke to me. He told me his name was Jax. It suited him. We exchanged a few basic words, and I gave him a quick tour of the apartment layout. Sensing that his defensive walls were finally lowering, I pulled a sleek black debit card out of my pocket and placed it on the TV stand right in front of him. I offered him my warmest, most genuine smile. “Jax, from now on, you’re in charge of running this house. Don’t stress about money. That account has plenty of funds for groceries and whatever else you need. I’ll handle the earning.” I took a slight step forward, tentatively opening my arms. “We’re a team now, okay?” Jax was a solid half-head taller than me. I looked up at his handsome face, hoping for a breakthrough. But out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him subtly shifting his weight backward, recoiling from my approach. What was his problem? I frowned, opening my mouth to ask if he was okay. Before I could speak, he snatched the debit card off the console, took three massive steps back to put a solid distance between us, and actively avoided my gaze. “Whatever,” he muttered. 4 For a while, I genuinely believed he was just shy. I convinced myself he needed time to adjust before he felt comfortable with any physical affection. I thought the worst of our friction was behind us. I massively underestimated Jax. I was in the middle of a crucial strategy meeting at work when my phone blew up. It was my frantic next-door neighbor, screaming that my apartment reeked of natural gas. I burned rubber getting home, only to discover that Jax had tried to cook a meal, completely failed, and left the stove burners running on full blast without a flame. He was inches away from suffocating himself. “How is this even possible?” I yelled, ripping every window in the apartment open to air out the toxic fumes. “Your bio literally said you were a master in the kitchen!” I dragged him by the collar into the center of the room, lecturing him at the top of my lungs about basic fire safety. He just stood there in absolute silence, staring at the floor, still clutching a blackened, melted spatula in his hand. When he finally looked up at me, his eyes were brimming with defiant resentment. “I don’t know how to cook,” he mumbled defensively. “Incubi don’t even eat human food. You don’t actually care about me at all.” His voice was so low I barely caught it. “What did you say?” Those words seemed to trigger something volatile inside him. He violently hurled the burnt spatula across the kitchen, didn’t even bother taking off his apron, and stormed down the hall. He slammed his bedroom door so hard the framed pictures on the wall rattled. I stood in the kitchen, completely bewildered. I had zero clue what he was throwing a tantrum over. To make matters worse, my boss was blowing up my phone, demanding I get back to the office immediately to salvage the meeting. Trapped between a furious boss and a sulking demon, I resorted to knocking gently on his door. Because of his “shyness,” we slept in separate rooms, meaning I couldn’t just walk in when he threw the deadbolt. I swallowed my frustration and tried to coax him out. “Jax? Are you mad? I wasn’t trying to yell at you, I was just terrified you were going to get hurt. I’m sorry, I should have controlled my temper better.” Dead silence from the other side of the wood. I kept pleading for a few more minutes, but the notification pings from my boss were becoming increasingly unhinged. Left with no choice, I shouted, “Order some takeout on the card!” before grabbing my purse and sprinting back to the office. That was just the prologue to my misery. From that day forward, a switch flipped in his brain. If I left the apartment for five minutes, he would miraculously cause a disaster that required my immediate return. The second I sat down at my desk, a crisis would unfold, forcing me to hail a cab straight back home. Once, while I was buried in paperwork, he pulled a stunt so ridiculous I refused to leave. I demanded over the phone to know if he genuinely had a death wish. He went dead silent, hung up on me, and then spammed my messages with texts reading: I hate you. All the shy, timid behavior he displayed on his first day completely vanished. He evolved into an absolute tyrant. He refused to communicate like an adult, relying solely on variations of “I hate you!” to express his feelings. I tried sitting him down for a rational conversation. It was utterly useless. My words went in one ear and out the other. He was committed to chaos. It got to the point where I started questioning his motives. Maybe he wasn’t trying to get himself killed. Maybe he was actively trying to put me in an early grave. Whenever I was on the brink of closing a massive deal, my phone would ring with an emergency dispatch notifying me that my incubus was in critical danger. I was legally obligated to drop everything and rush to his side. The authorities warned me that ignoring these calls could result in criminal charges for magical neglect. This exact nightmare scenario played out seven different times. By the time my boss finally pulled me into his office and screamed at me until his face turned purple, I walked out feeling entirely numb. I wasn’t even angry at the demon anymore. I was just questioning my entire existence. Jax was put on this earth to destroy my life. And now, here we were. After finally sleeping peacefully alone in my dark apartment, I woke up feeling refreshed for the first time in months. I grabbed my phone and typed a quick response to the seller: I’ll be ready for the pickup. I stepped out of my bedroom, expecting to deal with more of Jax’s attitude. Instead, the apartment was completely empty. The front door was wide open, swinging back and forth on its hinges in the morning breeze. I stood frozen in the hallway, my jaw dropping. The living room window was shattered. The front door was breached. The console table drawer where I kept the emergency cash? Gone. The entire drawer was ripped out. And stuck to the wall directly across from my bedroom door was a crumpled piece of paper. Stop trying reverse psychology on me. I’m running away. You are the worst! That absolute bastard. I slammed my fist into the doorframe and immediately dialed the paranormal authorities. “Hello?! I need to report a robbery!” 5 Jax and I sat on opposite ends of my ruined living room, covered in drywall dust. To prevent another psychotic episode, I had secured every door in the house and locked all my valuables inside the heavy steel safe in my bedroom. Now, sitting in an apartment that looked like a bomb had gone off, I unscrewed the lid of my thermos, took a slow sip of tea, and stared him down. “Give me my money back.” Jax set his jaw. “No.” “Then pay me for the broken window.” “No.” “Then stop terrorizing my life for the next three days!” “No!” I inhaled a massive, shaky breath. “Then what the hell do you want from me?!” Jax went completely silent. The tension in the living room was suffocating. I forced my racing heart to slow down, pinching the bridge of my nose before trying again. “Jax, let’s just talk about this calmly, like normal friends.” That specific phrase somehow triggered him all over again. His head snapped up, his eyebrows pulling together in a fierce scowl. “What do you mean, ‘friends’?!” I paused mid-sip, my fingers tightening around the metal thermos. I stared at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. “Fine. You’re right. That was a bad choice of words.” Jax’s expression instantly relaxed. “Exactly. You…” “We shouldn’t use the word ‘friends’,” I continued, trying my absolute hardest to view this from his twisted perspective. “Considering how much you despise my existence, ‘friends’ is a massive overstatement.” “How about ‘casual enemies’? Does that work better for you?” Jax looked at me like I had lost my mind. “What?” “Wait, you…” I cut him off, completely out of patience for his semantic games. “Okay, Jax. Let’s talk it out like casual enemies.” “Do you just inherently hate my personality, or did I do something specific to piss you off?” “I’ll admit I don’t know the first thing about taking care of an incubus. If you hate my guts, just say it. You’re getting shipped back to the agency in a few days anyway. We might as well clear the air so we can part ways without wanting to murder each other.” To my absolute shock, Jax panicked. “You’re actually sending me back?! Where am I supposed to go?!” I rubbed my temples, the exhaustion seeping into my bones. “Where are you supposed to go? How is that my problem? You’re a fully grown demon, you’ll figure it out. Besides, if you stay here, I’m the one who’s going to end up dead!” My temper flared, and my words came out infinitely harsher than I intended. Jax’s eyes widened in genuine disbelief. He couldn’t process why the woman who had spent months coddling and appeasing him was suddenly speaking to him like he was garbage. I took another long drink of tea, trying to cool the fire in my chest. I needed a minute to collect my thoughts before trying to reason with him again. Suddenly, the front door creaked open. Jax and I both whipped our heads toward the entryway. The cold, fluorescent light from the hallway spilled into the apartment. Standing right in the doorway was an incubus whose facial features were a near-perfect mirror image of Jax’s. “Blair.” The newcomer’s voice was like warm honey. He wasn’t confined to a shipping crate; he simply carried a sleek leather duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked exhausted from travel, yet his eyes crinkled into a breathtaking, affectionate smile the second he saw me. “I apologize for the intrusion. I simply couldn’t wait to see you, so I caught an earlier flight.” “I picked up some fresh groceries on the way. What are you craving? I’d love to cook for you.” I was still trying to process why my front door was unlocked, completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence. But Jax practically exploded off the sofa. He stared at the newcomer, absolute horror washing over his face. “Silas?!” 6 The second that name left his mouth, combined with the uncanny resemblance between the two demons, all the puzzle pieces clicked perfectly into place. It explained why the product page promised a domestic angel, but the delivery box contained a feral nightmare. It explained why the demon I received was noticeably more muscular than his photos. It even explained the tiny scar missing from the edge of Jax’s right eyebrow. My brain worked in overdrive, finally realizing the massive logistical screw-up that had ruined my life. But the two demons were already locked in a bitter standoff. Silas stepped gracefully into the apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He turned his warm, flawless smile toward Jax. “Hello, little brother,” he said gently, though his words were laced with ice. “I was informed about the shipping error.” Jax was furious. “She bought you too?!” Silas didn’t blink. “No. She requested a return on her defective product. It is time for you to go home.” “Why the hell is she returning me?!” “It’s time for you to go home.” “I was here first! I belong here!” “It is time for you to go home.” “…” I sat on the couch, completely dumbfounded. Were these two actually related? Even though Silas didn’t seem like the most forgiving guy on the planet, his demeanor was already lightyears better than Jax’s. I set my thermos on the coffee table and stood up, ready to formally evict Jax from my property. “Please, allow me. You shouldn’t strain yourself,” Silas said smoothly. Before I could take a step, Silas crossed the room in a blur, clamped his hand around Jax’s bicep, and physically dragged him toward the open door. Jax, despite his massive frame, was hauled several feet across the floor before his brain caught up with his body. He started thrashing wildly. “Silas! Let go of me!” “Jax, be a good boy. Stop making a fool of yourself.” “Let me go! You don’t understand anything!” Silas’s grip was like a steel vise. Panicking, Jax pulled his arm back, balling his hand into a heavy fist, aiming straight for his brother’s face. My instincts kicked in. I cleared the distance between us in three massive strides, pulling my arm back as far as it would go. Smack! The sharp crack of my hand connecting with Jax’s cheek echoed through the silent apartment. The sheer force of the blow sent him stumbling backward. He caught his balance, clutching his rapidly swelling face, staring at me in absolute shock. “Did you… did you just hit me?” he stammered. “I sure did,” I replied, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “And you deserved it.” I had trained in kickboxing for eight years. I wasn’t some fragile pushover. I stepped firmly in front of Silas, shielding him. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tapped the screen and shoved my digital termination certificate right in Jax’s face. “Our legal binding contract has been officially severed. You are trespassing on private property, and you just attempted to assault my incubus. That slap was self-defense, and I am perfectly willing to defend myself again.” I didn’t give him an inch of breathing room. “Now. Drop my money on the floor, and get the hell out of my house before I count to three.” Jax opened his mouth to argue, but I raised my voice, cutting him off like a whip. “Three!” The sheer venom in my tone visibly rattled him. He flinched, taking a half-step backward. For a fleeting second, a flash of genuine hurt crossed his eyes. I didn’t care. “Two!” He gritted his teeth, his jaw trembling. He violently threw my stolen credit cards and cash onto the hardwood floor, spinning on his heel and marching toward the hallway. “One.” I finished the countdown, my expression completely blank. Jax stopped in the doorway, standing exactly where Silas had been moments before. He looked back at us standing shoulder to shoulder, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. The edges of his eyes were rimmed with red. “You’re going to regret this, Blair. My brother isn’t the saint you think he is…” I wasn’t in the mood for any more of his desperate manipulation. I looked over my shoulder at Silas. “Close the door.”

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On my very first day at the new job, a fellow intern heavily hinted that she was the Chairman’s daughter. Instantly, the whole office was practically kissing her feet. Me? I got dragged through the mud, with rumors flying around that I was some old guy’s sugar baby. Furious, I dialed the Chairman’s number. “Dad, they’re calling you a wrinkly old creep, and saying you’re having an affair…” 1 Right after graduation, my dad waved his hand and tossed me straight into the lowest rung of our corporate ladder. He called it character building. Said it would sharpen my edge. I whined and complained to his face, but deep down, I was actually pretty stoked to finally spread my wings. But barely an hour into my first day, I caught snippets of office gossip in the breakroom. “Did you hear? Chairman Crawford’s daughter is hiding in our batch of interns.” “Seriously? That’s kind of harsh for a billionaire dad. You’d think he’d at least let his little princess start as a regional manager.” I froze, genuinely caught off guard. Who leaked my cover? Luckily, the wild guessing game fizzled out quickly, and the vultures moved on to other topics. That was, until the intern orientation. A girl strolled in fifteen minutes late and offered a sickeningly sweet smile. “Hi everyone, I’m Tessa Crawford.” “Crawford? Wait, are you the Chairman’s daughter?” The girl sitting next to her practically shrieked, slapping a hand over her mouth. The entire conference room erupted. It wasn’t a hard sell. Tessa was dripping in designer labels from head to toe, and a brand new Cartier Ballon Bleu watch rested on her wrist. She looked every inch the trust fund baby. Tessa looked down, offering a coy, perfectly practiced smile that totally dodged the question. “My dad always taught me to keep a low profile. Honestly, I’m just here to fulfill his wishes.” “Wow, you can just tell she was born with a silver spoon. That aura is totally different!” “Tessa, please don’t forget about us little people once the internship is over!” I sat there, literally speechless. Wasn’t I an only child? When the hell did my dad adopt a second daughter? 2 I guess it was an easy mistake for them to make. I took my mother’s maiden name, Bennett, to stay under the radar. Tessa was the only intern in the entire batch with the surname Crawford. And just like that, she was crowned the queen bee of the office. I watched her soak up the adoration, her smile bright and completely fake. I didn’t rush to expose her. The chaotic chatter only died down when the department supervisor walked in. Right off the bat, I noticed something off. The way the supervisor looked at Tessa was noticeably… different. Sweeter. More indulgent. Before the meeting was even over, he appointed her as the intern team lead, giving her full authority to delegate our tasks. I wasn’t about to swallow that kind of blatant favoritism. I stood up, keeping my tone deadpan. “Shouldn’t we keep things fair? A quick vote seems more appropriate.” “The company doesn’t have time to hold elections,” the supervisor snapped back. “Tessa’s resume is the most outstanding out of all of you. It makes perfect sense for her to take the lead.” I practically choked on a laugh. Just last night, my dad had patted my shoulder in his study and told me, “Harper, your portfolio blew the rest of the applicants out of the water. I know you’re going to shine.” Faced with the supervisor’s bold-faced lie, I bit my tongue. Just like I held off on exposing Tessa’s fake heiress routine. Some lies are way more satisfying to watch when the liar finally runs out of runway. I really wanted to see what kind of “outstanding” skills Tessa actually possessed. But before she could show off, I became public enemy number one. A stack of folders halfway up to my chin was slammed onto my desk. Tessa stood over me, looking down her nose. “I need all of these digitized, sorted chronologically, and in my inbox before tomorrow morning.” She turned on her heel, pausing just long enough to throw a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, and grab me a coffee on your way back.” The sheer entitlement in her voice made my skin crawl. “Are your legs broken?” I asked. Not even my own father had the privilege of ordering me to fetch his coffee. “It’s on your way. Why are you being so difficult?” Gwen, another intern who had glued herself to Tessa’s side all morning, instantly jumped to her defense. “Yeah, it’s just a cup of coffee. Don’t be so petty.” Listening to them, you’d think I was the one bullying the poor, defenseless rich girl. I picked up the empty mug and shoved it right into Gwen’s chest. “If it’s no big deal, you do it.” Whoever wanted to play the maid could go right ahead. Gwen’s face flushed an ugly red. “What the hell is your problem, Harper? Are you trying to start a fight on your first day?” Before I could even fire back, Tessa gracefully stepped between us. “It’s okay, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Harper for a favor. Please, let’s not ruin the team spirit over me.” Look at her, playing the martyr. I didn’t actually care about making coffee. I just refused to bow down to her snobby, condescending attitude. Gwen fanned her face, glaring at me like I was a piece of trash. “If you can’t even handle basic teamwork, I have no idea how you passed the interview.” “I got hired to do my job,” I shot back, “not to act as a glorified barista.” “You…” “Tell you what!” Tessa clapped her hands together. “I’ll treat everyone to afternoon tea later. Let’s all just get back to work!” With her audience appeased, Tessa took a step closer to me. “Harper, please don’t be mad at me, okay?” The sugary sweetness in her voice made me want to gag. I brushed past her and walked away, a heavy knot of annoyance tight in my chest. How could someone be this fake? But the real shocker came later. Walking back from the rooftop terrace, I took the stairwell to avoid the elevator crowd. That’s when I stumbled right into Tessa and the supervisor. 3 “That Harper girl is such a bitch. Complaining about me being team lead this morning, and then totally disrespecting me in front of everyone.” “She did that?” The supervisor had Tessa pinned against the concrete wall in the shadowy corner of the landing, his hands roaming dangerously low on her waist. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I promise you, Harper won’t last till the end of this internship.” What followed was a symphony of breathy, explicit noises echoing off the cinderblock walls. My stomach churned in disgust, but at the same time, I almost wanted to laugh. I couldn’t wait to see exactly how they planned to get rid of me. Sure enough, the very next morning, I was summoned to the supervisor’s office. “Where are the digitized files I asked for yesterday? If you can’t even handle the most basic data entry, there is absolutely no reason for you to stick around.” I had expected some sort of corporate mastermind move. Instead, I got this lazy garbage. I stared him down, my expression freezing over. “Did Tessa come crying to you?” “She gave an objective report on your performance, and I am handling this impartially.” Impartially. What an absolute joke. “Those files are case studies from fifteen years ago. They’ve been fully archived on the company’s internal server for a decade. A simple search pulls them up instantly. Digitizing them again is a massive waste of company time.” I leaned forward, resting my hands on his desk. “Tell me, have you ever actually logged into our own intranet?” “I… of course I have!” Clearly not expecting me to have done my homework, his face mottled an embarrassing shade of purple. “I was simply testing your work ethic!” He was desperately trying to save face, and it was pathetic. I didn’t push it further. I still wanted to spend this internship doing real work and proving my worth on paper. The supervisor cleared his throat aggressively. “I also heard you were causing drama in the bullpen yesterday.” “I know you resent my decisions, but in the real corporate world, things don’t always go your way. You are young, Harper. You have a lot to learn about respect.” If I hadn’t literally caught him swallowing Tessa’s face in a stairwell, I might have actually believed his pseudo-mentor act. 4 Walking out of his office, I headed back to the bullpen. A large crowd had gathered right around my desk. The moment Gwen spotted me, she raised her voice so the whole floor could hear. “Some people are just shameless! They act all high and mighty, but behind closed doors, they’re total lowlifes!” Tessa tugged at Gwen’s sleeve, her eyes wide and innocent. “Gwen, don’t be mean. We have to work together. Maybe Harper was just curious and wanted to try it on.” “Curious? She’s a thief, Tessa! Stop defending her.” What fresh hell was this? I frowned and pushed my way through the circle of gossiping interns. Gwen didn’t back down. “You stole Tessa’s Cartier watch, Harper! How do you even have the nerve to show your face right now?” I paused. A Cartier? I had a velvet display case full of those back at my penthouse. Most of them were too flashy for my taste anyway. Why would I steal one? “Which one of your eyes saw me steal anything?” I asked coldly. “Keep your mouth shut if you don’t have proof.” “Then open your drawer and prove us wrong!” Tessa stepped forward, playing the gentle peacemaker. “Harper, look, if you really love the watch that much, I can buy you a brand new one. But that specific one was a gift from my late mother. It holds a lot of sentimental value.” They had rehearsed this perfectly. It was a flawless guilt trip. A cold realization hit me. The watch was definitely inside my drawer. There was no other way Gwen would be screaming with this much confidence. Every intern’s drawer had a lock, but given Tessa’s intimate connection with the supervisor, getting a master key would take her two seconds. Taking my silence as guilt, Gwen crossed her arms triumphantly. “What’s wrong? Scared, you little thief?” I glanced up at the ceiling, making sure the small, black dome of the security camera was angled right at us. I let out a sharp laugh. “Whoever planted it knows exactly what they did.” I unlocked the drawer and pulled it open. Right on top of my notebooks rested a silver and sapphire Cartier Ballon Bleu. But as I looked closer, my breath hitched. Etched right into the side of the metal casing were two tiny letters. H.B. My initials. Before I could even process the coincidence, Gwen snatched the watch right out of the drawer. “Look, Tessa! Is this the one you lost?” “Yes! This is exactly the one my mother gave me.” Tessa’s eyes welled up with perfectly timed tears. She looked at me, a picture of absolute betrayal. “Harper, how could you?” The crowd murmured in sympathy for her. I had to hand it to her. The sheer audacity was almost impressive. “Your mother gave you a watch engraved with my initials?” The office went dead silent. Everyone crowded in closer to look at the side of the watch where Gwen was holding it. Half a month ago, for my birthday, a social-climbing frenemy from college had custom-ordered this exact watch to suck up to me. But since I already owned three variations of it, I tossed it up on Poshmark for a fraction of the retail price. I remembered the buyer vividly. She haggled with me in the DMs for two hours straight. I finally got bored and knocked an extra hundred bucks off just to make her go away. I never in a million years thought the cheapskate on the other end of the screen was Tessa Crawford. “Who says H.B. stands for Harper Bennett? You’re delusional!” Gwen was grasping at straws now. “Stop trying to change the subject! We caught you red-handed with stolen property. You’re done!” “You’re right, I’m done talking,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s just pull the security footage. You guys do realize there are cameras right above us, right?” Judging by their suddenly pale faces, they had absolutely no idea. “Should I call the cops now, or wait until security brings the tape up?” I hovered my thumb over the keypad. Gwen looked like she was going to throw up. “What is going on out here! This is a workplace, not a playground!” The supervisor stormed out of his office right on cue. Tessa immediately pivoted, looking at me with big, apologetic eyes. “Oh my gosh, someone must have just placed it in the wrong desk by mistake! I am so sorry for the misunderstanding, Harper. Please be the bigger person and don’t hold this against us, okay?” She orchestrated a literal frame-up, and now she was asking me to be the bigger person? Buying my second-hand cast-offs and acting like royalty. I scoffed, tossing the watch back onto the desk. I wasn’t going to waste my breath arguing with them right now. But the battle lines were officially drawn. 5 The next evening, the entire department had to work overtime. Tessa took charge of ordering dinner for everyone with the intern budget. But when the takeout bags were passed around, my desk remained empty. “Oh no, I swear I counted thirteen people when I ordered! How could they forget one?” Tessa frowned, her voice dripping with fake concern. My name was right in the middle of the roster. It wasn’t at the top, wasn’t at the bottom. But somehow, mine was the only one skipped? “Tell you what, I’ll just order you a fresh one from my own pocket,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Oh… wait. Delivery won’t get here until seven, and we have the big strategy meeting in ten minutes.” I smirked. This kind of middle-school bullying was genuinely embarrassing. “Simple solution,” I said loudly. “Whoever messed up the order gives up their meal. I’ll take yours.” I didn’t even want her cheap takeout. I just wanted to see her squirm. Before Tessa could say a word, her loyal lapdog Gwen bared her teeth. “Are you insane? First you try to steal her luxury watch, and now you want to steal her dinner?” Gwen’s voice practically echoed through the bullpen. Everyone stopped eating and stared at us. I kept my voice icy and level. “First of all, I didn’t steal anything. The camera footage is sitting right there if you ever want to test that theory. Second, who exactly is stealing food?” Gwen stuttered, clearly not expecting me to push back so hard in front of an audience. Tessa swooped in to play the angel again. “Harper, don’t take it to heart. Gwen just speaks without a filter. She doesn’t mean any harm.” I looked at the two of them, absolutely disgusted by the synchronized routine. I grabbed my notes and walked straight into the conference room. Out of sight, out of mind. But by nine o’clock, my stomach was roaring, and my vision was practically blurring. Under the table, I aggressively texted my mom. [I am starving! I need a massive dry-aged Ribeye, creamy lobster mac and cheese, loaded truffle fries, and a whole chocolate lava cake! Oh, and extra carbs!] By the time we finally dragged ourselves out of the building, it was nearing midnight. Everyone was exhausted, shuffling toward the subway station in dead silence. Suddenly, a sleek, jet-black Bentley idling by the curb caught everyone’s attention. “Oh my god, Tessa, is that your family’s car? Your dad is so sweet, sending a driver to pick you up so late!” Gwen practically drooled over the shiny hood. Tessa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled demurely. “Oh, stop it…” I ignored them. The driver stepped out of the Bentley, locked eyes with me, and gave a small wave. I picked up my pace and walked straight toward the car. “Wait, what is happening? Why is she getting in?” I heard Gwen’s confused shriek right as I closed the heavy car door. I didn’t even bother looking out the window. “Just drive, George,” I told the chauffeur. When I got home to the penthouse, the dining table was covered in a feast fit for a king. I completely forgot about the miserable day and dug in like a wild animal. My dad walked in a few minutes later, loosening his tie. Seeing me inhaling a ribeye, he sat down and asked how my first couple of days were going. I paused, a piece of steak hovering halfway to my mouth. I almost spilled everything. But I swallowed it down. “It’s going great. Just wait, I’m going to blow them all away.” Tessa’s pathetic little parlor tricks weren’t worth my dad’s time. I wanted to wait for the absolute perfect moment. I wanted to watch Tessa’s fragile house of cards collapse while she was standing right inside it. Calling in the airstrike now would ruin the fun.

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1 As the most recognizable face among the new generation of supermodels, every single runway I walked became the center of the fashion world’s attention. But just hours before the most critical show of my career, my boyfriend, Rahm Denton, gave away my custom haute couture dress. He handed the exclusive, first-in-the-world debut piece to his childhood best friend. When I confronted him in the middle of our penthouse, Rahm just looked irritated. “Daisy just entered the industry. Wearing a global debut piece will put her on the map. She wants it, so I am giving it to her.” “You are already an established supermodel. What difference does one dress make to you?” I stared dead into Rahm’s eyes, refusing to take even half a step back. This specific gown was custom-fitted for me by Celestia, the most prestigious lingerie and couture brand on the planet. Tonight’s runway would determine if I became the very first supermodel from our agency to sign an exclusive, multi-million dollar global contract with them. Rahm knew exactly what was at stake. Seeing my absolute refusal, Rahm furrowed his brows. His limited patience was completely gone. “I am an heir to the Denton empire. As long as you are with me, what could you possibly lack?” “Anna, remember your place. Stop screaming at me. Without my backing, you are nothing.” In that exact moment, the ugly truth finally clicked into place. My dreams, the career I had bled for, were nothing more than a childish game in Rahm’s eyes. “I have never relied on your money or your name, Rahm.” “With or without you, I am still Anna. I built myself.” I kept my spine perfectly straight, standing my ground in the center of the living room. Rahm rubbed his temples in aggressive frustration. “Are you seriously going to throw a tantrum over this?” “It is just a piece of fabric. Daisy needs this opportunity infinitely more than you do.” Before I could even open my mouth to fire back, Daisy interrupted with a soft, trembling voice. “Forget it, Rahm. It is totally fine if Anna does not want to share.” “I am already so lucky just to share the same stage with her. How could I ever dream of wearing the global debut piece?” Rahm’s dark expression instantly softened. He looked down at her with undisguised tenderness. “Do not worry about it. The stage, the dress, it is yours.” “As long as you want it, I will give it to you. Trust me.” I watched the two of them with eyes colder than ice. They were casually deciding the fate of a masterpiece that rightfully belonged to me, acting like I was completely invisible. Rahm turned his gaze back to me. “Anna, as long as you marry me, you will have the world at your fingertips. Why be so obsessed with one dress?” “Enough. The decision is made. I will have my assistant deliver the gown to her dressing room tomorrow.” I took a deep, shaky breath, tilting my chin up to glare right through him. “You know exactly what this runway means to me. You know what my dream has been since the day we met.” “This is not just a piece of clothing. It is my golden ticket to becoming a signed Celestia Angel.” A rare flicker of guilt flashed across Rahm’s handsome face. But when he met Daisy’s wide, expectant eyes, he chose to completely crush my dream without hesitation. “Daisy and I grew up together. She wants a shot at the spotlight, and obviously, I am going to help her.” “So what if you don’t walk for Celestia? Does it even matter?” “Once you marry me, you will be the wife of a Denton. A meaningless modeling title is nothing compared to that.” With those words, the very last shred of love I held for Rahm turned to ash. He despised my profession. He looked down on me. When Daisy wanted to be a model, he moved mountains to pave her way. But every agonizing step I had taken over the last six years meant absolutely nothing to him compared to the title of ‘Mrs. Denton’. To him, I was just an accessory. I was completely done talking. I turned on my heel, marched straight to the front door, and yanked it wide open. “I am not an accessory to anyone. I have my own empire and my own ambitions.” “Rahm, with or without you, I will always be Anna. I am in no way inferior to you.” “Now, both of you need to get the hell out of my apartment. I have the most important runway of my life tomorrow, and I need my sleep.” Rahm’s face flushed with anger. He took a step forward to argue, but I shut him down instantly. “Get out!” “Get out of my house, and get out of my life.” This time, I left absolutely no room for negotiation. His ego severely bruised, Rahm grabbed Daisy by the wrist and dragged her out into the hallway. He glared back at me, his jaw clenched tight. “You are going to regret this, Anna.” I stood frozen in the doorway, staring at their retreating backs until they disappeared into the elevator. The tears I had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over, dropping heavily onto the hardwood floor. I had loved him deeply for three years. But if he was going to deny my worth, sabotage my career, and mock my dreams… Then I did not want a man like him. Early the next morning, my assistant Ruby and I arrived perfectly on time at the VIP dressing rooms backstage. But the moment we reached my door, a massive bodyguard stepped in front of us. “Apologies. This room is currently occupied.” “You will need to find another space.” I frowned in pure disbelief, but Ruby was already furious. “What is that supposed to mean? Everyone in this building knows this is Anna’s exclusive suite! Who else would be in there?” “Are you expecting her to do her makeup in the public hallway? Move out of the way!” The bodyguard did not say a single word. He just stood there like a brick wall, making his orders abundantly clear. Ruby was shaking with rage and prepared to scream. I didn’t waste my breath. I reached out, shoved the man hard in the shoulder to unbalance him, and twisted the door handle open. Inside, Daisy was sitting comfortably in my makeup chair. Standing right next to her, gently holding her shoulder, was Rahm. And applying her foundation was my personal, exclusive makeup artist. I walked straight into the room. “Who gave you permission to be in here?” “Was stealing my couture dress not enough? Now you have to steal my artist and my room?” Rahm scowled at me. “Anna, can you drop the toxic attitude for one second?” “Daisy is a rookie. She does not have a private suite assigned to her. What is the big deal about her borrowing yours for an hour?” I ignored his pathetic excuse and looked down at the vanity counter. My premium, custom-ordered cosmetics were scattered everywhere, completely unsealed and used. I pointed a shaking finger at the mess. “Is this what you call borrowing?” “For a high-stakes show like this, you let your artist rip open and contaminate all of my personal products. How am I supposed to use them now? Do you expect me to walk the runway barefaced?” Whether it was a commercial shoot or a global runway, models required heavy, layered theatrical makeup. After six grueling years in the industry, my skin barrier was dangerously sensitive. Whenever I attended major events, my cosmetics were strictly sanitized and reserved only for my face. A single breakout or allergic reaction could destroy a campaign. Rahm knew all of this. The very first time I suffered a severe allergic reaction, he had held my swollen, red face in his hands, his eyes full of heartbreak. He had sworn to me, “From now on, your suite and your products will be totally exclusive. I will never let this happen to you again.” Hearing my furious question, a brief flash of guilt crossed Rahm’s eyes. But he quickly swallowed it down and masked it with arrogance. “She used it once. It is not going to kill you. Your skin is not made of spun glass.” “Stop throwing a fit. Daisy is almost done. She will give you the chair in a minute.” I glanced at the glowing digital clock on the wall, then back at Daisy. They were barely blending her eyeshadow. Her hair had not even been touched. If I waited for her to finish, the show would be over before I even got dressed. I refused to waste another second breathing the same air as Rahm. I unzipped my personal travel bag, pulled out my emergency backup cosmetics, and walked over to the secondary mirror in the corner. I sat down and began aggressively applying my own makeup. I thought that would be the end of the morning drama. But suddenly, Daisy started crying softly. “Rahm, did I make Anna mad again?” “This is all my fault. I should have hired my own team so I wouldn’t have to steal hers.” “But you know this is my very first time on a stage like this. I do not know how any of this works, and now she hates me.” Rahm immediately leaned down, wiping away her tears and whispering sweet, protective comforts into her ear. The sound of their voices made my blood boil. I spun around in my chair. “Borrow? I never agreed to lend you a damn thing. Taking without asking is called stealing.” “Whether you are truly clueless or doing this on purpose, you know the truth better than anyone, Daisy.” “If you want to cry, get out into the hallway and cry. Stop polluting my air and ruining my focus.” My words were razor-sharp. Rahm stepped forward, his fists clenched, ready to defend his precious childhood friend. But Daisy grabbed his sleeve, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled, innocent eyes, slowly shaking her head. I had a strikingly sharp, high-fashion face. It wasn’t traditionally sweet. Daisy, on the other hand, had pale, porcelain skin and soft, youthful features. She looked like a fragile doll. Seeing her bite her lip in silent suffering, even a stranger would feel an urge to protect her. “Let’s go, Rahm. She is right, this is my fault. We shouldn’t disturb her preparation anymore.” Rahm glared at me with absolute venom, but ultimately kept his mouth shut. He wrapped his arm around Daisy and escorted her and the makeup artist out the door. Two hours later, the music started pounding. The show had begun. As the reigning queen of the runway, I was meant to close the segment. I was wearing the heavy, breathtaking global debut piece that Celestia had designed exclusively for my proportions. My spot in the lineup was the undeniable center. I lifted the heavy silk train of my dress and stepped out into the blinding stage lights. But the very second my foot hit the polished glass runway, Daisy, who had been placed directly behind me, completely lost her footing. She slammed violently into my back. I was carrying a massive pair of mechanical wings and wearing six-inch stilettos. My center of gravity vanished. I pitched forward, crashing brutally onto the crystal-clear runway. My bare knees hit the solid glass with a sickening crack. The blinding pain paralyzed me, making it impossible to push myself up immediately. At the exact same moment, the sharp heel of Daisy’s shoe came down hard on my silk train, ripping a massive, jagged hole right up the center of the gown. The heavy wings detached and slammed down hard against the back of my head. A collective gasp of absolute horror echoed through the VIP audience. With the heavy metal frame pressing my head into the glass, I slowly, agonizingly looked up into the crowd. I saw the disappointment, the shock, the pity in their eyes. I knew the brutal reality. This single fall had shattered my reputation as a flawless supermodel. It had also destroyed my golden ticket to signing with Celestia. But the heavy bass of the runway music was still pounding through the speakers. My walk was not over. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, forcing my trembling body to stand. I grabbed the broken mechanical wings and tucked them fiercely under my left arm. I looked down at the shredded, ruined silk of my gown. Without a second thought, I grabbed the torn fabric with my right hand and violently ripped the damaged train clean off. I took a deep, steadying breath and plastered a lethal, breathtaking smile onto my face. Clutching the broken wings to my side, flourishing the ripped silk in my hand, I locked my eyes onto the cameras and stomped down the rest of that runway perfectly on beat. The moment I stepped past the backstage curtain, my adrenaline completely vanished. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the concrete floor, burying my face in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Daisy stood a few feet away, her hands clasped together, trembling like a frightened mouse. “I am so sorry, Anna. I swear I didn’t mean to do it. My ankle just gave out.” “You know this is my first time walking. I don’t have the muscle memory…” I didn’t even have the breath in my lungs to scream at her. My mind was completely consumed by the agonizing realization that my entire career was dead. Ruby dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around me. She glared up at Daisy with absolute hatred, cutting off her pathetic excuses. “You know exactly what you did, Daisy!” “Not on purpose? Does your fake apology fix the fact that you just destroyed her entire life?!” Rahm immediately stepped out of the shadows, pulling the weeping Daisy into his chest, shielding her from our anger. “Watch your mouth! Daisy already said she was sorry. What more do you want?” “If you really want to assign blame, blame yourself. Daisy is a rookie. You are supposed to be the veteran supermodel.” “Your own balance and core strength failed you, and now you are trying to project your incompetence onto a terrified girl? Is this how you handle pressure?” I forced myself to take three deep, shuddering breaths. The oxygen slowly cleared the red haze of pain from my mind. I pushed myself off the floor. I was completely done holding back. I raised my hand and delivered a vicious, echoing slap directly across Daisy’s face. Daisy shrieked in pain, but I did not give her a single second to play the victim. “According to the director’s lineup, you were not supposed to be walking behind me.” “You know exactly what you did, and you know exactly why you did it.” “Keep your pathetic, fragile little innocent act to yourself. It might work on a gullible idiot like Rahm, but it does absolutely nothing for me.” Rahm’s eyes widened in fury. He shoved Daisy behind his back. “Anna!” “She already apologized! What gives you the right to put your hands on her?!” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound, even as hot tears continued to stream down my face. “What gives me the right? She just slaughtered six years of my blood, sweat, and tears.” “Is that a good enough reason for you?” A brief shadow of pity finally crossed Rahm’s eyes as he looked at my bleeding knees. “Anna, calm down. I am here. I will not let your career die.” “I will have my PR team bury the videos and spin the narrative. You just need to…” I did not want to hear another word. I raised my hand high into the air again. This time, my palm connected violently with Rahm’s jaw. “Daisy is a snake, and you are absolute garbage.” “I made myself perfectly clear last night. We are done.” “For six years, I built my own name. I never relied on your money, and I sure as hell won’t start now.” Without waiting for his reaction, I turned my back on both of them, pushing through the crowd of shocked stagehands and walking toward the exit. Rahm’s dark, threatening voice echoed through the concrete hallway behind me. “I am giving you exactly one second to take back what you just said.” “If you drop to your knees and beg me right now, I might still save you.” I didn’t even bother to turn around. I just stood in the hallway and laughed loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. When I finally caught my breath, my voice was raw but steady. “You are not worthy of my apologies.” “I will never bow to you.” The consequences of rejecting the Denton heir were swift and brutal. By nightfall, my name was dominating the top trending spots across every major social media platform. Anna Runway Fall. Anna Incompetence. Those two phrases sat comfortably at number one and number two. Clicking on the hashtags revealed thousands of high-definition clips of me crashing into the glass. Trolls had already edited the footage into humiliating compilations, looping my agonizing fall to comedic background music. The comment sections were a bloodbath. “Celestia is definitely going to drop her. She is a total embarrassment to our fashion industry.” “Right? Her PR team hyped her up for years as our nation’s top model, and she can’t even walk in a straight line. What a joke.” “If this is the standard for supermodels, I could walk the runway in my pajamas.” Thousands of comments ripped my professional abilities to shreds. Simultaneously, my phone began ringing off the hook. Every single luxury brand I represented demanded immediate contract terminations. In a single night, my endorsements, my commercials, and my billboards vanished. I sat on my living room floor, staring blankly at the endless stream of hate. Ruby paced back and forth across the rug, practically hyperventilating with rage. “This is a coordinated smear campaign! Look at the accounts, they are all paid bots!” “Anna, he is trying to permanently bury you so you can never make a comeback.” I let out a tired, hollow laugh. “My career is already in ruins. Does it really matter if he pays people to throw dirt on the ashes?” “Go home, Ruby. Get some sleep. We have to go to the agency tomorrow morning to negotiate my termination.” Early the next morning, I walked through the glass doors of my modeling agency. Standing right in the lobby, wearing oversized designer sunglasses, were Daisy and Rahm. Rahm frowned the moment he saw me. “Anna, what are you doing here?” I actually smiled at the sheer audacity of his question. “Do you really have the nerve to ask me that? Am I not here because of the hit job you ordered?” I walked right past them, heading for the elevators. As I brushed past his shoulder, Rahm reached out and clamped his hand around my wrist. “I am willing to pretend yesterday never happened.” “As long as you lower your head and apologize, I will make all of this go away.” “You know the power I have. I am a Denton…” I ripped my arm free and backhanded him across the face, cutting off his pathetic monologue. “Clearly, I didn’t hit you hard enough yesterday if you are still spewing this garbage in my presence.” “All day long, you hide behind your family name. Without the Denton wealth, what exactly do you have to offer?” “If you leave your family, you are nothing but an empty suit. But I am different. If I leave you, I am still Anna.” I didn’t spare them a second glance as I stepped into the elevator and let the doors slide shut. My physical retaliation completely destroyed the last ounce of Rahm’s patience. That evening, the second wave of coordinated attacks hit the internet. Every single brand that had just terminated my contract released synchronized public statements. They proudly announced Daisy as their brand new global ambassador. The promotional photos flooded the timelines. The comment sections were heavily manipulated, designed specifically to crush me while elevating her. “Oh my god, this new girl is breathtaking. She has that perfect, sweet innocent look. A million times better than that aggressive, washed-up Anna.” “Agreed! I never understood the hype around Anna’s ‘high-fashion’ face. She looks too mean. Daisy is beautiful.” “Watching a toxic model lose everything is the greatest karma ever. We love to see it.” Conspiracy theories began brewing, heavily guided by paid accounts. “Was Anna actually a top model, or did she just sleep her way to the top to block rookies from getting a chance?” “Exactly. The minute Anna gets canceled, this gorgeous new girl instantly gets booked. Anna has definitely been bullying the new talent behind the scenes.” “Isn’t that just workplace abuse?” And right on cue, a leaked video surfaced. It was the footage of me slapping Daisy backstage. The video had no audio. It had no context. It was perfectly cropped to only show me raising my hand and striking the fragile, weeping rookie. Instantly, a tidal wave of death threats and pure venom flooded my personal accounts. My name was dragged through the mud on every single platform. In the midst of the chaos, a text message from Rahm lit up my phone screen. “This is the absolute last chance I am giving you.” “Beg.”

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The boy next door had a vicious tongue, always mocking my weight for laughs. At our high school graduation dinner, someone joked that Cory and I were childhood sweethearts. He slammed his fork down, face twisting in disgust. “Are you insane? Who’d like a whale like Wendy? I hang out with her out of pity.” The table roared. Carter, our class president, frowned. “You’re blind, Cory. Wendy’s bone structure is better than anyone here. If she lost the weight, you wouldn’t be fit to tie her shoes.” Silence flickered, then laughter exploded again. “Serious, Carter? Her?” Cory scoffed, eyeing me mockingly. “If she loses weight and looks half as good as Bella, I’ll kneel and apologize. But we all know that’ll never happen.” More howls of laughter. Under the table, my fists clenched. Eight years of secret feelings shattered in that instant. That night, I stood before my full-length mirror. Five-eight, two hundred pounds. I made two quiet decisions. One: I would lose the weight. Two: I would not follow him to Columbia. … Back at the restaurant, Bella, the reigning prom queen, had laughed the loudest. She deliberately dropped a greasy piece of pork belly onto my plate. “Don’t be sad, Wendy. Eat up. A full stomach makes you forget everything.” Someone else immediately chimed in. “Exactly! Our Wendy doesn’t need a boyfriend. A plate of ribs is all she needs.” The table exploded again. Cory leaned back in his chair, a lingering smirk playing on his lips as he scrolled through his phone. He acted completely detached, like the humiliation he just orchestrated had nothing to do with him. Carter shot him a dark look but chose not to start a fight. Meanwhile, Bella leaned over and whispered something directly into Cory’s ear. Cory let out a low, husky chuckle. It wasn’t loud, but in the chaotic room, I heard it perfectly. I set my chopsticks down on the ceramic rest. “I’m heading out.” Bella instantly plastered on a mask of fake concern. “Wendy, please don’t be mad. We were honestly just joking around…” I ignored her completely. I grabbed my purse and walked toward the exit. As I passed Cory’s chair, he didn’t even bother to look up. He was too busy texting Bella. I stopped right beside him. “Cory.” He finally lifted his head, his eyes laced with heavy impatience. “What?” I just looked at him. My mind flashed back to when we were six years old. He had just moved into the house next door and scraped his knee on the pavement. I was the one who crouched in the dirt, digging desperately through my tiny backpack just to find my only band-aid for him. When he put it on, he gave me a brilliant, toothy smile. I held onto that single smile for eight years. “Every single word you said today.” My voice was eerily quiet. “One day, you are going to regret them.” He raised an eyebrow, letting out a dismissive scoff. “Me? Regret? I guarantee you I will never…” I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I pushed the heavy restaurant doors open and walked out into the night. The street was suffocatingly quiet. My hands were shaking violently, but I refused to let a single tear fall. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel the pain. It was because it hurt so deeply that crying felt completely useless. My best friend Gemma chased after me, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Wendy, I swear to God I will go back in there right now and dump a drink on his…” “Gemma.” I cut her off, my voice raw and scraped hollow. “Just walk with me.” The amber streetlights stretched our shadows out across the pavement. We walked for a long time before I finally spoke again. “He’s right about one thing. I am two hundred pounds.” “But he said I could never lose it.” “I am going to make him eat those words.” Gemma bit her lip hard and didn’t say a word. She just squeezed my hand tighter. When I finally got home, the house was completely dark. My parents were already asleep. I stood alone in the bathroom under the harsh fluorescent lights. I actually had a medium frame, but it was completely buried. My face was dangerously round, my jawline practically non-existent. But as I leaned closer to the glass, I saw the truth. My eye shape was striking. The bridge of my nose was naturally high. And there was a tiny, delicate beauty mark resting right beneath the outer corner of my eye. Carter’s words echoed in my ears. “If she ever lost the weight, you wouldn’t even be fit to tie her shoelaces.” Was it true? I didn’t know. But tonight, my mind was set. First, I was dropping the weight. My goal was one hundred and fifteen pounds. Second, I unlocked my phone and logged straight into the university admission portal. My cursor hovered over Columbia University’s Fine Arts program. I stared at those glowing letters for a long time. I picked that major three years ago solely to stay close to Cory. I spent countless sleepless nights perfecting my portfolio just to make sure we ended up in the same city. Enough. I hit delete. In the search bar, I typed: UCLA. Distance: Three thousand miles away. My thumb hovered over the confirm button. One second. Two seconds. I pressed it. Status: Submitted. I tossed my phone onto the mattress, switched off the lamp, and stared up at the dark ceiling. I didn’t shed a single tear. Instead, an unfamiliar, absolute peace washed over my chest. Wendy, starting tomorrow, you are living for yourself. The alarm dragged me out of bed at five in the morning. The sky outside was still pitch black. I laced up my running shoes, stepped out into the freezing air, and started jogging along the river trail. On the first day, I barely made it a mile before I felt like my lungs were collapsing. By the third day, I pushed it to two miles. My knees throbbed so badly I could barely walk up the stairs. On the fifth day, I finished three miles and immediately threw up in the bushes. But I never skipped a single morning. On the evening of the sixth day, I was stretching against the brick wall outside my apartment building when Cory walked up. He was returning from the basketball court, spinning a ball on his finger. He stopped and looked me up and down. “Why are you dripping in sweat?” I didn’t answer. I just switched legs and kept stretching. He leaned casually against the wall, his tone dripping with his usual careless arrogance. “People in the group chat are saying you’re actually trying to run to lose weight?” I stayed completely silent. He just kept talking, convinced he knew everything. “If you’re serious, just buy a gym membership. Jogging on the street won’t do anything for a baseline like yours. Honestly… just forget it.” He paused, then shifted the topic. “Anyway, Columbia’s orientation is September 3rd. Did you join the freshman group chat yet?” My hands briefly stalled. He fully believed I was still going to Columbia. Everyone did. I stood up straight, keeping my face completely blank, and walked toward the lobby doors. He called out from behind me. “Hey, did you join or not? I can send you the invite link…” The heavy glass door clicked shut, instantly cutting off his voice. As I walked up the stairs, the corners of my mouth curled up into a cold smile. Keep waiting, Cory. When September 3rd rolls around, you’ll figure it out. On the eighth night, someone dropped a video into our high school group chat. It was a clip of me running along the river. Heavy, ragged breathing. A sweat-drenched t-shirt clinging to my back. Everything jiggling violently with every heavy step. Whoever filmed it intentionally zoomed in from the most unflattering angle possible. [I am screaming laughing. Wendy is actually trying to exercise!!] [Cory’s comment at dinner really did a number on her.] [Didn’t Carter say she had potential? I’m using a magnifying glass and I still can’t find a single cheekbone.] Bella chimed in: [Keep it up, Wendy! Columbia’s art department is packed with gorgeous girls. If you don’t slim down before orientation, you’re going to feel so insecure. Smiley face.] Then, Cory’s name popped up. My heart skipped a tiny beat. He wrote: [Stop posting this childish crap.] Someone immediately teased: [Aww, is Cory catching feelings?] He replied instantly: [You guys have way too much free time. Let her do whatever she wants. What she does has absolutely nothing to do with me.] Nothing to do with me. Right. It never had anything to do with him. I secretly loved him for eight years, and he said it had nothing to do with him. I bled over my sketchbooks for three years to get into his dream school, and he said it had nothing to do with him. Fine. From now on, I truly have nothing to do with you. I muted the group chat. I opened Gemma’s messages: [I’m going to my grandma’s cabin in Montana until college starts. Keep it a secret. If anyone asks, you don’t know anything.] Gemma: [My lips are sealed. Just promise me you’ll come back alive.] I smiled and sent an OK emoji. Then, I opened my text thread with Cory. I scrolled through three years of pathetic, one-sided messages. “My mom made your favorite ribs. Want to come over for dinner?” “It started raining. I brought an umbrella to the court for you.” “Goodnight.” Every single message was left on read. Occasionally, he would reply with a cold “Yeah,” “Got it,” or “Stop bothering me.” I took a deep breath. Delete contact. Block number. I didn’t hesitate for a single second. The next morning, I dragged my suitcase out to the sidewalk. I ran straight into Cory’s mother checking her mailbox. “Wendy, honey, where are you off to?” “I’m staying with my grandma for the summer, Mrs. Davis.” “Oh, well, when Cory comes over for dinner next week…” “Mrs. Davis,” I smiled politely, “Cory is eighteen now. I don’t think he needs my mom cooking for him anymore.” As I dragged my luggage toward the waiting taxi, a window slid open on the second floor of the house next door. I knew exactly whose bedroom that was. But I didn’t look back. Not even once. My grandma’s cabin was buried deep in the mountains. Cell service was basically a myth, and Wi-Fi simply did not exist. The moment I arrived, I turned my phone off and locked it in a drawer. Every single morning, I woke up at five and ran the brutal mountain trails. In the afternoons, I swam laps in the freezing lake. By evening, I was chopping firewood and hauling soil for my grandma’s garden. My diet was violently strict. Boiled chicken breast, steamed vegetables, and small portions of complex carbs. Week one, I dropped eight pounds. Down to 192. Week two, another seven. Down to 185. By week three, the weight loss started slowing down. I forced myself to add an extra mile to my morning run and started doing bodyweight strength training in the dirt. Week four, 175. In exactly one month, I had lost twenty-five pounds. The mirror showed progress, but it wasn’t earth-shattering yet. My face wasn’t as bloated, but my jawline was still buried. My clothes hung loosely off my frame, making me look like a deflated balloon. I didn’t let it break my focus. Keep going. Week five, 168. Week six, 160. I turned my phone on for the very first time. Dozens of texts flooded the screen. They were all from Gemma. [Cory texted me! He asked where you went! I played dumb!] [He asked me again today! He even asked if you changed your number!] [LMAO guess what he told the guys. He said, “She’s just throwing a tantrum. Give it a few days and she’ll come running back.”] I let out a harsh laugh. Throwing a tantrum? Cory, you really think you are the center of the universe. I kept scrolling. Gemma sent another update: [He’s getting super close with Bella. Today Bella posted a picture of them getting smoothies after his game. The whole group chat is asking if they’re officially dating.] I stared at the message. I waited for the familiar twist of jealousy in my gut. Surprisingly, there was nothing. It didn’t hurt. It genuinely did not hurt anymore. I powered down the phone and went back to training. Week seven, 150. Week eight, 142. The reflection in the mirror started changing violently. My jawline carved itself out, sharp and defined. My cheekbones surfaced, making it look like my entire face had been re-sculpted from clay. My proportions finally made sense. My collarbones were visible. My legs went from stocky to long and lean. But it wasn’t enough. I knew my absolute best was still hiding underneath. Keep going. Week nine, 135. I drove my grandma’s rusty truck down to the local pharmacy to pick up her medication. When I handed the prescription to the young girl at the counter, she froze. She stared at my face for an uncomfortably long time. “Are you… an actress? You look exactly like that girl from…” My grandma quickly grabbed the bag and pulled me out the door. When we got back to the cabin, my grandma sat on the porch, looking deeply troubled. “Your mother was exactly like this,” she muttered. “Before middle school, she was just a chubby, harmless little thing. Then she lost the baby fat over a single summer, and the entire town went absolutely crazy.” “But you are much more dangerous than your mother.” I laughed it off, thinking she was just being dramatic. Week ten, 128. I turned on my phone for the second time. A fresh text from Gemma: [Cory told me to warn you that if you don’t join the Columbia freshman group soon, you’re going to miss room selections. His exact words: “Is she really still throwing a fit? Tell her I’m not going to babysit her on campus, so she better drop the attitude.”] Reading those words, I couldn’t help but smile. He still fully believed I was heading to New York. He still thought I was going to follow him around like a lost puppy. Cory, what kind of fever dream are you living in? I typed a quick reply to Gemma: [Don’t tell a single soul I’m going to UCLA. Especially him. Let him figure it out the hard way.] Gemma replied with a string of laughing emojis: [Yes ma’am! I cannot wait to see the look on his stupid face!!!] Week eleven, 120. My grandma officially banned me from going into town. “The day before yesterday, when you were reading by the lake, three boys from the neighboring ranch sat in their truck and stared at you for four straight hours. Did you even notice?” “…It’s not that serious, Grandma.” “Go look in the damn mirror!” I did. And then I fell completely silent. The girl staring back at me was a stranger. Five foot eight, one hundred and twenty pounds. The weight loss had unlocked every genetic advantage my bone structure possessed. My features were so sharp they looked completely painted on. My eyes tipped up slightly at the corners, framed by thick lashes. My lips were a natural, soft rose color. My collarbones looked like resting butterfly wings, and my waist was impossibly narrow. And that tiny beauty mark by the corner of my eye was the final, lethal touch that pushed the face from simply “pretty” to absolutely breathtaking. I stood there for a long time. Carter was right all along. Week twelve, 115. My grandma stood behind me in the mirror and let out a heavy sigh. “What a tragedy. Your parents spent a decade feeding you good food, and you ruined it all in three months.” I finally spun around. “What are you even talking about? What happened when I was little?!” My grandma just shook her head and refused to elaborate. She just mumbled, “When you get to campus, wear a hat. Keep your head down. Don’t cause trouble.” I replied with a soft “Okay.” But in my head, I was already picturing it. Cory. On September 3rd, you are going to stand in the massive crowd at Columbia orientation, looking for me. You’re going to scan every single studio in the Fine Arts building. You’re going to search the entire freshman registry. But you will never find Wendy. Because I am gone. And I will never walk in your shadow again. The day before my flight to Los Angeles. Gemma sent me a massive flood of screenshots. They were all from the high school group chat. Bella had posted a photo of her and Cory standing in front of the iconic Columbia University gates. She was leaning heavily against his shoulder, flashing a brilliant smile. The caption read: [Ready for the next four years together! ~] The chat immediately exploded with gossip. [Wait, are you guys officially a couple now?!] [You guys look amazing together! The ultimate power couple of Columbia!] Cory rarely ever engaged in the chat, but this time he replied, his tone arrogant and relaxed: [Chill out, we’re just friends.] Someone else quickly typed: [Hey, where’s Wendy? Didn’t she get into Columbia too? I haven’t seen her in any of the freshman orientation posts.] Bella replied instantly: [She’s probably still busy trying to lose weight LOL. I mean, the art department is packed with models. If she showed up weighing 200 pounds…] She followed it up with a string of crying-laughing emojis. Cory’s reply came seconds later: [She’s still throwing a tantrum. She’ll show up in a day or two.] Someone teased: [You know her so well, Cory~] He replied: [We grew up together. I know exactly how her brain works. Give her two days and she’ll cave.] I stared at that specific message for a very long time. “I know exactly how her brain works.” Cory. You literally know absolutely nothing about me. You don’t know that I dropped eighty-five pounds. You don’t know that I am currently boarding a flight three thousand miles away. And you definitely don’t know that the Wendy who would have died for your attention is already dead. I closed the screenshots and calmly packed my outfit for tomorrow. A crisp white button-down. A flowing black maxi skirt. That was all I needed. September 1st. UCLA’s Freshman Welcome Gala. The massive campus auditorium was packed with three thousand students. The Fashion Design department’s runway show was slotted right before the finale. I was walking as the closing model. The backstage area was absolute chaos. The girls walking before me were sweating through their makeup, shaking with nerves. I felt nothing but absolute, freezing calm. Five foot eight. One hundred and fifteen pounds. I tucked the white silk shirt into the high-waisted black skirt. It made my legs look endless. The senior makeup artist’s hands were literally trembling as she dusted powder over my cheekbones. “Are you… seriously a freshman?” I offered a small smile but didn’t say a word. The last thought that drifted through my mind before the music swelled was that Cory was probably still scrolling through the Columbia group chats, waiting for my name to pop up. Keep waiting. “And our final look, presented by freshman design major… Wendy.” I stepped out onto the runway directly on the heavy bass drop. The exact second the blinding spotlights hit my body. Three thousand people collectively lost their voices. It wasn’t just quiet. It was absolute, suffocating silence. Like the entire room had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. I wore no heavy makeup. No glittering jewelry. Just a clean, flawless face, an effortless ponytail, and that tiny beauty mark resting by my eye. I walked down the center of the runway, my heels clicking rhythmically against the glass floor. The dead silence lasted for three agonizing seconds. And then, the auditorium exploded.

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At our college reunion, I lost a Truth or Dare game and had to hand over my unlocked phone. They scrolled straight to my texts with Charles. Years of messages filled the thread. “Classic you two,” Marcus laughed. “In college, you passed ten pages of notes per lecture. Six years married and still obsessed.” “Read the juicy stuff!” someone shouted. Marcus tapped the screen. The past two years showed only one message—from Charles: Need appendix surgery. Come to the hospital? He frowned. “Got a new phone?” “No cloud backup? All those memories gone,” another friend said. I looked across the room. Charles sat in the corner, drinking whiskey in silence. Beside him was Dana, the quiet girl who’d chased him through college. They sat close, shoulders nearly touching. Two years earlier, I’d walked in on them together in bed. “I did replace something,” I said evenly. Not my phone. My husband. The heavy tension in the room instantly evaporated into nervous laughter. People started talking over each other to break the ice. “Oh, I thought it was a software bug.” “Note to self, always back up your iCloud when upgrading.” But a few people stayed dead silent. They glanced at me, then looked over at Charles’s pale, rigid face. They definitely had their suspicions. After all, before everything fell apart, Charles and I were joined at the hip. At every single social gathering, we were practically breathing each other’s air. Since the incident, I hadn’t attended a single reunion for two years. I only agreed to show up tonight because Charles and I had legally remarried this year, and he wired five million dollars to my bank account just to buy my presence. It was a business transaction. He wanted to save face. But I hadn’t spoken a single word to him all night. Looking utterly defeated, he just hid in the shadows, letting the alcohol burn down his throat. “Next round! Let’s go!” The empty beer bottle spun on the mahogany table. Just my luck. It pointed right at me again. “Alright, Serena, your turn for a Truth,” Marcus said, sliding the deck of cards across the table. I picked a card at random and flipped it over. It read: [What is the boldest thing you have ever done?] I pretended to think about it. But the only image that filled my mind was the blinding fluorescent lights of the operating room, and the feeling of the pen in my hand as I signed the abortion consent forms all by myself. That was the baby Charles and I had spent four agonizing years trying to conceive. I just closed my eyes, and when I opened them, the surgical basin was half full of my tears. The baby was gone. To this day, nobody knew I had even been pregnant. “I once ate a raw, beating snake heart on a trip to Mexico,” I said, using a bright smile to bury a pain that had already turned into thick scar tissue. “Does that count?” “Hell yeah, that counts!” The bottle spun again. This time, the glass neck aimed straight at Charles. “Dare time for the golden boy!” Marcus clapped his hands together. “Charles, you have to pick someone in this room right now and sing ‘Perfect’ to them!” Everybody knew the history behind that song. It was the exact acoustic track Charles had played on his guitar when he asked me to be his girlfriend all those years ago. They all knew he had to choose me. Marcus was intentionally trying to play matchmaker. He noticed the freezing atmosphere between Charles and me, and he wanted to throw us a lifeline. “Charles…” Dana reached out and gently tugged at the hem of Charles’s designer shirt. Charles suddenly stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. “Something came up. I need to head home.” He looked at me. “Let’s go, darling.” Out in the dimly lit hallway, I couldn’t resist mocking him. “What, couldn’t bear to see Dana looking so heartbroken?” “You’re paying awfully close attention to her…” Charles suddenly grabbed my wrist and pinned me against the wallpaper. A heavy wave of bourbon washed over my face, and I immediately scrunched my nose in disgust. “Get off me.” “This kind of physical contact costs extra.” His mouth twisted into a bitter, self-deprecating smile. “Is money really the only thing we can talk about anymore?” “What else is there?” I shot back. He had used his massive wealth to force my second husband out of the picture. He had used dirty corporate tactics to back me into a corner until I agreed to remarry him. Did he honestly believe there was an ounce of love left between us? The crushing grip on my wrist instantly loosened. Charles lowered his eyes, trying to hide a flash of sheer devastation. Right then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the notification light up the screen. It was a text from Dana. [Dana: We finally get to see each other tonight. Can’t you stay with me a little longer?] “You should go to her,” I said smoothly. “If you’re worried about getting caught by the paparazzi and causing a PR nightmare, I can book a hotel for you.” “I just got Diamond status at the Hilton, actually.” I pulled out my phone, opened the app, and specifically scrolled until I found their Presidential Suite. “This one looks nice.” “It’s way bigger than that boutique motel you guys used to sneak around in. Better room service, too. If you two get exhausted from screwing all night, they’ll roll a breakfast cart right up to the bed.” With every word that left my mouth, the color drained further from Charles’s face. By the time I looked up at him, his expression was so dark it looked like a storm was about to break. “Are you really that desperate to push me into another woman’s bed?” “Serena, I have explained it to you a thousand times. That night was an accident.” “I had too much to drink, and I just…” I played dumb. “Well, you’ve had plenty to drink tonight, too.” “The alcohol will definitely make things more fun for you guys.” “Go on. I’ll drive over and pick you up in the morning. Half a million dollars for the chauffeur service. Make sure it hits my account by dawn.” I reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the keys to his car, and turned on my heel, walking away without a backward glance. The custom matte-yellow Maybach stood out like a beacon in the underground garage. It was a pathetic gesture. After we remarried, Charles had the entire car wrapped in my favorite color, desperately trying to cater to my tastes. I drove the luxury car out into the freezing night, speeding down the empty avenues. While waiting at a red light, my gaze drifted to a row of sticky residue marks lining the passenger side dashboard. That spot used to be covered in those cheap, ugly little figurines Dana loved so much. The glove compartment used to be overflowing with her lip glosses and trinkets. The passenger seat used to be draped in a fluffy pink lambskin blanket, with her fuzzy slippers resting on the floor mats. And back then, I was probably the one clinging to the outside of the window, screaming like a lunatic, chasing after their car as it drove away. A loud honk from the vehicle behind me ripped me back to reality. When I finally got home, the moment I pushed the front door open, a gust of wind knocked a sticky note off the entryway wall. It fluttered to the ground. It read: Welcome home, $20,000. The entire penthouse was covered in them. On the stainless steel refrigerator: Having dinner together, $50,000. On the flat-screen TV: Watching a movie together, $30,000 an hour. Right on the master bedroom door: Sleeping in the same bed, absolutely no physical contact, $150,000 a night. Sometimes he threw money at me so randomly that I couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Eventually, I just gave him a flat rate. Spending one full day with him cost one million dollars. My phone suddenly chimed with a massive bank transfer notification. It was from Charles. The memo attached read: [You booked the hotel room for me, but you didn’t order the ultra-thin condoms?] A wave of pure nausea hit the back of my throat. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, taking several deep, shaky breaths before I opened an overnight delivery app. I typed in his specific size, added a box to the cart, and hit purchase. Watching the GPS tracker show the delivery driver getting closer to the Hilton, I threw my phone onto the marble counter and sprinted into the bathroom. I pumped handfuls of antibacterial soap, scrubbing my hands raw under the scalding water. I scrubbed until the flesh was bright red. I scrubbed until the skin started peeling off. The stinging pain throbbed all the way up my arms. My brain was trapped in an endless loop, flashing the image of my hand ripping the duvet off their naked bodies that night. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. It felt like I was back in that cramped, suffocating bathroom from two years ago, with Charles pounding frantically on the door from the outside. He was begging for forgiveness. Dana was weeping hysterically. And I was inside, dry-heaving over the toilet, desperately trying to wash my hands in the bowl just to feel clean. Crash. My elbow knocked into the glass display shelf. More than a dozen imported perfume bottles Charles had bought for me shattered across the tiles, the overpowering mixture of floral and musk suffocating the air. I simply stepped out, pulled the bathroom door shut, and left the mess for him to clean up whenever he crawled back. I picked my phone off the counter. The screen showed the delivery was complete. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out the very first text I had sent to Charles all year. [If one box isn’t enough, you can always pay me to order more.] I never in a million years thought Charles would end up sleeping with Dana. Back in college, she was completely invisible. She was painfully introverted, possessed absolutely zero talents, and had totally mediocre grades. She shrank away from everything and everyone, yet she had stubbornly trailed after Charles like a lost puppy for three years. But Charles was secretly in love with me. He found Dana’s relentless pursuing utterly pathetic and even considered it a stain on his reputation. Once, when Charles coldly tossed a homemade breakfast Dana had baked for him straight into the campus trash can, I dragged him aside and tore into him. “You do not treat a girl like that.” “You don’t have to date her, but you can’t just humiliate her in public. It breaks people.” Only then did Charles soften his attitude toward her. Eventually, Charles and I made things official. The night he confessed his feelings to me, Dana stood at the edge of the cheering crowd. She was clutching a stuffed bear she never got the courage to give him, crying so hard she could barely breathe. The very next week, she transferred to another university. What I didn’t know back then was that she and Charles had exchanged private numbers, and they kept in secret contact the entire time. By the time I saw Dana again, eight years had passed. She had already been working at Charles’s corporate headquarters for six months. She was his executive secretary, spending every waking hour glued to his side. “She applied for the job, and I figured I’d help out an old classmate,” he had explained smoothly over dinner. “Plus, I was a real jerk to her back in college. Consider this me making amends.” Charles, a man who was arrogant to his very bones, was actually reflecting on his past mistakes. I didn’t think much of it. Not until I noticed that Charles was taking longer and longer to text me back. I was the kind of person who wanted to share everything with my husband. A blooming flower on the sidewalk, a weirdly shaped cloud, I sent it all to him. Usually, he replied within seconds. We easily sent a hundred texts a day. But then, messages I sent at dawn wouldn’t get a reply until midnight. I sent him eighty texts. He replied with a single, cold “Yeah.” Gradually, it shifted from one reply a day, to one reply every three days. Eventually, our chat log was just a wall of my green speech bubbles crying out into the void. I drove down to his office, only to be told by HR that he and Dana had gone on a ‘business trip.’ It wasn’t a business trip. It was a month-long vacation in the Maldives. He lied to my face, spending thirty days in paradise with her. I later found the hidden, encrypted album on his laptop. It was entirely filled with candid shots of Dana laughing on the beach. And at the bottom, a note he had typed out: If I hadn’t been so cruel to you back then, would everything be different now? When I confronted him with the evidence, we tore the house apart. Charles didn’t even try to deny it. Reeking of expensive scotch, he pointed a shaking finger right at my face and roared, “I am so sick of this!” “Why do I have to spend my whole life bowing down to you?” “Back in college, I followed you around like a dog! You whistled, I came running. You told me to get lost, I vanished! Do you really think you’re some kind of royalty?” “If I hadn’t spent years inflating your massive ego, you wouldn’t have the guts to stand here and scream at me!” After that earth-shattering fight, I locked myself in the house and cried for three days straight. During those three days, he took Dana on a private jet to see the Swiss Alps. So, the second he walked back through the front door, I handed him divorce papers. That was when the reality set in for Charles. He panicked. He dropped to his knees, clutching my legs, sobbing and apologizing. “I was drunk! I was just saying hurtful things to win the fight, I swear!” He slapped himself across the face, over and over, swearing on his life he would cut Dana off completely. “Then fire her,” I demanded. Charles froze. “Darling, I can’t do that to her.” “You were the one who taught me. A ruthless rejection like that… it breaks people. Besides, she hasn’t made any mistakes at work.” The very words I had spoken to protect her all those years ago had turned into a poisoned blade, driving straight into my own heart. Dana was soft. She was yielding. She stayed by Charles’s side, wrapping around him like warm water, pulling him deeper and deeper until he was drowning in her, completely unable to escape. After surviving that first major crisis, Charles just grew bolder. He permanently gave Dana the passenger seat of his car. He bought her diamond necklaces, completely renovated his executive office to match her aesthetic, and even brought her to our house. He would look me dead in the eye, say they had urgent corporate matters to discuss, and then lock the study door right in my face. They became each other’s pinned contacts. He showed her the world. He took her to see the oceans and the mountains. And sitting around a roaring bonfire on a private beach, he sang “Perfect” to her. Yes. The exact same song he used to win my heart. Now, the melody belonged to Dana. I had been standing in the shadows behind the crowd that night. The ultrasound report slipped from my trembling fingers, falling into the sand, where it was trampled to shreds by the passing tourists. Catching them in bed together was only a matter of time. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast. The very next day, he flew back to the city. He took me out for a lavish anniversary dinner, kissed my cheek, and said he had to go back to the office to finish a merger. I felt a sickening knot in my stomach. I secretly followed his car. And I walked right into a nightmare that would brand itself into my brain until the day I died. That night, it felt like I shed every tear my body was capable of producing. My memories warped and twisted into a suffocating loop. One second, it was the teenage Charles promising to love me forever. The next, it was the cold, distant Charles calling me an overbearing bitch. Six years of dating. Six years of marriage. Twelve years of history, slaughtered in a single night. I hated him with every fiber of my being. I swore on my own life I would never, ever forgive Charles. When I woke up the next morning, my muscle memory kicked in. I unlocked my phone to check if Charles had transferred the daily allowance. Instead, I saw forty missed calls from him, all placed between 2 AM and 4 AM. When I didn’t answer, he left one single text: [You’re truly heartless.] Below that were frantic messages from his best friend, Blake. [Blake: Serena, please! You gotta help. Charles locked himself in a hotel room and he’s drinking himself to death. I can’t stop him!] [Blake: He’s got severe alcohol poisoning! I’m sending you the hospital address!] Five hours had already passed since those texts.

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My daughter was only twenty months old when she was murdered. Not a single bone in her tiny body was left intact. The suspect was just a child himself. Because of his age, he faced no prison time. The system sealed his records and protected him. I spent the next ten years waiting for him to grow up. 1 My name is Elena. If you looked at my stark white hair, you would think I was an old woman, but I am only thirty four years old. No one knows how I survived this past decade. I was born in a deeply impoverished, isolated town nestled high in the Appalachian mountains. I was pulled out of school by the time I was fourteen. When I turned eighteen, my father handed me over to a man in a neighboring county to be his wife. In that backwards, off the grid community, a woman had no real standing until she gave a man a son. My husband, Jared, was over a decade older than me. He spent his days reeking of cheap whiskey. Most people in the county had left to find real work in the city, but Jared refused to leave. He kept me trapped on a desolate plot of farmland with his aging parents, living a life of suffocating misery. I was not afraid of hardship. I had grown up with nothing. I was not even afraid of the beatings, because violence was all I had ever known. The following year, I gave birth to a baby girl. That was when Jared’s mother turned on me. Whether it was complications from the birth or sheer exhaustion, I never got pregnant again. Jared grew disgusted with me. The beatings became merciless. One night, after a particularly brutal attack left me bleeding on the floor, my survival instinct took over. In a haze of panic and desperation, I ran. I fled the farmhouse and ran into the pitch black night. But I left my daughter behind. I know it was the greatest sin of my life. But I had less than two dollars to my name. I was starving, bruised, and had absolutely no way to keep a baby alive on the streets. My plan was to make it to a city, find a job, get a roof over my head, and then come back to steal my daughter away in the dead of night. 2 For the next three years, I lived like a ghost. I drifted from city to city, working grueling under the table jobs because I had no formal education. I scrubbed floors, washed dishes, and took the lowest pay imaginable. Yet, I was strangely content. I no longer woke up terrified of a fist. No one screamed at me. Being poor and free was a luxury. I just didn’t have enough to go back for her yet. I pinched every penny, hoarding a meager stash of five hundred dollars in a coffee can. I refused to see a doctor even when I was sick with a fever. That money was my lifeline. Every dollar saved brought me one step closer to my little girl. Terrified that Jared would track me down and drag me back, I cut all ties with anyone from my home state. If I heard a familiar accent on the street, I would turn and walk the other way. 3 Running into my cousin Sarah was a complete accident. I was working at a diner in the city. The kitchen sink had backed up, so I carried a heavy plastic tub of murky dishwater out the back door to dump it in the alley. Sarah happened to be walking past. The dirty water splashed onto her boots, and she immediately started cursing at me. Hearing that specific, thick mountain drawl made my heart drop. I nearly dropped the plastic tub. We locked eyes, and recognition hit us both like a physical blow. I spun around to run, but Sarah lunged forward and grabbed me. She threw her arms around my shoulders and burst into agonizing sobs. “It’s Lily! Something happened to Lily!” “Tell me! What happened? Is she sick?” My throat felt tight, like someone was choking me. I was desperate for it to just be a fever. “Lily is dead.” When those three words registered, all the weight left my body. The alleyway spun wildly around me, and the sky seemed to crash into the pavement. 4 Lily had been thrown to her death. Every single bone in her torso and limbs was shattered. Only her head remained intact. The investigators theorized she had been dropped from a terrifying height dozens of times. Every time she was thrown, the killer had deliberately held her by the head so only her fragile body struck the ground. She was conscious. She felt every single second of that unimaginable agony. The killer was an eight year old boy. And the law could not touch him. “Jared took a payout from the boy’s family. They bought his silence, and the case was closed,” Sarah sobbed, her fingers digging into my coat. “But I can’t let it go, Elena. She was just a baby. There has to be some kind of justice in this world.” I stood frozen in that filthy alley. It felt like invisible ropes were binding my arms while arrows pierced my chest. I could see the arrows flying toward me, but I could not dodge, could not run, could only stand there and bleed. Every bone in her body. How much did that hurt? I could not even fathom it. I remembered fracturing a single finger once and crying for hours from the throbbing pain. How did my sweet, helpless Lily endure that? 5 Sarah choked out the rest of the details. The boy was eight. His mother was the only person from our county to ever graduate from a major university. She had moved to the East Coast, built a massive company, and become incredibly wealthy. Her family had returned to the mountains that summer for a rustic vacation, treating the trip like a royal homecoming. They were the VIP guests of the county. The local women spent their days fawning over the rich mother, playing cards on the porch. Jared’s mother had gone over to join the gossip. Since I was gone, Lily was treated like a stray dog. They tossed her scraps when they remembered, but otherwise, she was completely ignored. Several people later admitted they heard a baby screaming that afternoon. But nobody bothered to check. It wasn’t until the card game ended and Jared’s mother walked back into our silent, empty house that she noticed something on the rotting mattress. It was a bundle. Wrapped in a piece of filthy, faded fabric. It was the old curtain that used to hang in our kitchen. Curious, she walked over and untied the knot. She took one look, let out a bloodcurdling scream, and passed out cold. A state trooper happened to be passing through the county on patrol. He responded to the screams and immediately locked down the area. The wealthy family tried to flee. The trooper blocked their luxury SUV on a narrow dirt road. 6 The eight year old boy was tall and unnervingly thin. When the police questioned him, his face was extremely pale, and he refused to speak a single word. Based on the forensic evidence and the bloodstains on the heavy stone slabs on the ground floor, they determined Lily had been carried up to the second floor of the old barn. And then dropped. Over and over again. But he was eight. Under the law, he lacked the capacity to form criminal intent. His mother wrote Jared a massive check. Jared and his parents were thrilled. To them, my daughter was just a worthless burden, and her death had suddenly made them rich. The matter was swept under the rug. 7 My entire universe collapsed. Lily’s death took the very last shred of my humanity with it. When I finally returned to the cramped apartment I shared with six other women, they went quiet. They had heard the news. I could hear their frantic, pitying whispers in the dark. For three days and three nights, I lay on my thin mattress. I wept until my tear ducts ran completely dry. Then, I sat up and drank a bowl of cold soup someone had left on my nightstand. I needed to live. The monster who murdered my baby was still breathing. I had no right to die. When I finally walked out of that apartment, the people in the hallway stared at me with pure horror. They had never seen a young woman whose hair had turned completely white overnight. 8 Before Sarah left, she slipped me a piece of paper with the name of a wealthy East Coast city. The boy’s family had immense resources. To avoid the local scandal, they relocated immediately. The boy was shielded by juvenile privacy laws. He was given a clean slate and a brand new life. For someone like me, finding them was like trying to pull a needle from the ocean. But I had to do it. I was Lily’s mother. I swore I would spend the rest of my miserable life hunting him down. Even if he was buried under a mountain of bodies, I would dig him out. I was twenty three years old. I realized very quickly that to exact revenge, I needed to evolve. A penniless, uneducated runaway could not touch a family with that kind of wealth. I needed to blend in. I needed access. I moved to the city Sarah had written down and found work as a domestic maid. Being a cleaner or a nanny gave me an invisible pass into the homes of the elite. Whenever I wasn’t scrubbing floors, I was in the public library. I read obsessively. Psychology, sociology, criminology, whatever I could get my hands on. I absorbed knowledge like a starving animal. No one understood why a simple maid was driving herself to the brink of exhaustion. 9 By my ninth year in that city, I had transitioned into working as a high end maternity nurse. This allowed me to float seamlessly through the most affluent neighborhoods across seven different school districts. It gave me endless access to gossip, records, and wealthy networks without raising a single red flag. Yet, for nine years, I found absolutely nothing. Not a single trace of him. But I refused to believe he had vanished into thin air. 10 In my eighth year of searching, I switched tactics again. I stopped maternity work and became a private chef and housekeeper. I specifically targeted the zip code surrounding the city’s most prestigious, elite public high school. I calculated his age. He should have been entering high school right around this time. My maternal instinct told me that his arrogant, ambitious mother would never settle for a mediocre education. She would pull every string to get him into the best academy available. There were dozens of middle schools in the metropolitan area, but only one undisputed crown jewel of a high school. The incoming freshman class had over two thousand students. He had to be one of them. 11 Because my cooking was impeccable and my demeanor was quiet, my reputation grew quickly through word of mouth. I had my pick of clients. I deliberately chose two specific households. One was the home of the high school’s Dean of Students. The other was the home of a very chatty freshman boy. I never expected the first real clue to be handed to me so casually. One afternoon, I was finishing up the lunch prep at the freshman’s house. His mother was leaning against the marble counter, chatting with me. She mentioned that the organic markets had fresh spring produce and asked me to mix up the menu. Without thinking, I let out a specific, regional grunt of agreement from my old mountain town. The boy, who was eating a sandwich at the island, suddenly snorted with laughter. His mother glared at him. “Sorry,” the boy said, turning red. “It’s just that Tristan said that exact same weird country phrase during his valedictorian speech last week.” My heart slammed against my ribs. I gripped the edge of the sink to keep my knees from buckling. That phrase was incredibly specific to our isolated county. Could this Tristan be the monster I was hunting? “Tristan?” his mother asked, pouring a glass of water. “That senior you basically worship? The one applying to all the Ivy Leagues?” “Yeah! He just ranked number one in the state mock exams again.” I turned my back to them, pretending to wipe down the stove. My hands were shaking so violently I nearly dropped the sponge. When the boy finished eating and went upstairs to study, I slipped out the back door. I had miscalculated. That was why I couldn’t find him. He was two grades ahead of where he should be. Lily must have been guiding me from the beyond. If I had waited until next year, he would have graduated and disappeared into a university campus. 12 The next day was Saturday. The Dean and his family were home. I pulled out all the stops, cooking a flawless, elaborate four course meal. The aromas filled the entire house. When the Dean stepped out of his home office, the dining table was set perfectly. “Thank you, Elena. You really outdid yourself. I can take it from here,” he said, offering a polite smile. I kept my head bowed and softly mentioned that times were a bit tough and asked if he needed me to take over the deep cleaning duties for his private study. He agreed instantly. He trusted me implicitly by now. That was how I gained access to his home office. And more importantly, his laptop. Over the years, I had taught myself how to navigate operating systems and bypass basic security. I had a narrow window. The senior class files were already digitized. I pulled up the directory and searched for Tristan. There were three boys with that first name. I had to read through each file carefully. One profile made my blood run cold. This Tristan had a gap in his early childhood records. His elementary enrollment was delayed by exactly two months. There was no transfer record, just a blank two month void. The exact two months immediately following my daughter’s murder. After that, his academic record showed he skipped two grades. I calmly closed the laptop and wiped down the keyboard. I had found him. It was time for the next phase. 13 I visited every elite domestic staffing agency in the district and left my resume specifically requesting afternoon cooking shifts. I just had to pray his family was looking for help. Heaven rewards the patient. His mother walked right into the agency. The recruiter whispered to me beforehand that Eleanor was a nightmare client. She fired maids constantly. No one ever lasted more than a month. When Eleanor looked at me, she saw a quiet, prematurely aged woman who kept her eyes on the floor. She liked that. She hired me on the spot for a trial dinner. I spent an hour in her pristine, modern kitchen preparing a flawless meal. Just as I plated the food, I heard the heavy front door open. Footsteps echoed in the foyer, followed by a woman’s sharp voice and a younger, deeper reply. I could not stop myself. I walked out of the kitchen. Standing in the entryway was a tall, incredibly handsome teenager. He was over six feet tall, lean, with sharp cheekbones and a bright, radiant smile. He looked like the picture of wealthy, suburban perfection. This was completely contrary to the twisted, deformed monster I had pictured in my head for a decade. I froze in the hallway, staring. “What are you staring at?” Eleanor snapped, glaring at me. “I… I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen such a handsome young man before,” I stammered, perfectly playing the part of a naive, uneducated servant. Eleanor scoffed, her ego stroked by the compliment. My rustic ignorance put her completely at ease. I retreated to the kitchen, my legs turning to jelly. Every instinct in my body screamed that this was him. But my mind was reeling. How could a demon who shattered a baby’s bones look like a golden boy? For ten years, I had fantasized about finding him. I imagined tearing his throat out with my bare teeth and drinking his blood. But seeing this bright, polite teenager completely shattered my expectations. I began to doubt myself. 14 After a week working in their home, my doubts only grew heavier. Tristan was brilliant. He wasn’t just top of his class academically; he was a prodigy. He played the violin, dominated on the baseball field, and had a wall covered in swimming medals. But the school records were too specific. It had to be him. How was this possible? Did I have the wrong family? Tristan loved my cooking. He always called me Auntie Elena. Compared to Eleanor’s constant, biting criticism and Richard’s cold, absent demeanor, Tristan was actually the warmest person in the house. He always thanked me. He complimented my stews. He smiled politely when we crossed paths. I lived in a constant state of agonizing conflict. Because my work was flawless, Eleanor eventually approached me. She asked me to move into the house as their full time, live in housekeeper. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then agreed. 15 Living in the house gave me unrestricted hours to observe Tristan. The boy I had hunted for ten years was sleeping just upstairs, yet he acted like a saint. It was deeply unsettling. I knew I could not afford to hurt an innocent person. I needed absolute, undeniable proof before I made my move. The layout was simple. The parents lived on the sprawling ground floor. Tristan had the entire second floor to himself. I was given a converted storage room near the laundry area. Tristan’s bedroom door was always shut. Eleanor explicitly warned me on my first day never to go upstairs and never to touch his room. I simply nodded, playing the obedient servant. One morning, the family left for their respective schedules. I took my cleaning supplies and methodically worked my way through the ground floor. Then, I grabbed a microfiber cloth and slowly walked up the stairs, wiping down the banister. I reached the second floor landing. Tristan’s door was locked. Picking a standard interior lock was child’s play. I had mastered that skill years ago. But just as I reached for the knob, a glint of light from a smoke detector in the hallway caught my eye. I immediately dropped to my knees and started aggressively scrubbing the floorboards, not even brushing against his door. I turned and walked back downstairs. My intuition was screaming. That room hid his true face. But the timing wasn’t right. The house was wired. I had waited ten years. I could wait a few more days. 16 Eleanor was a rigid, neurotic woman. Her words were always dipped in venom. If I wasn’t fueled by pure hatred, I wouldn’t have lasted forty eight hours under her roof. But she was also incredibly meticulous. I used my deep cleaning sessions to tear apart her master bedroom, searching for anything tying them to my hometown. Nothing. She had spent a decade sanitizing their past. I needed to get into Tristan’s room without triggering the cameras or raising suspicion. I formulated a new plan. 17 It was a long holiday weekend, and the family went out to a country club brunch. The suburban neighborhood was full of kids playing outside. A group of boys was kicking a soccer ball in the cul-de-sac. I was standing at the kitchen island, chopping vegetables, when a deafening crash shattered the silence of the house. Glass rained down onto the hardwood upstairs. I sprinted upstairs, acting panicked. The hallway camera caught my frantic reaction. I checked the ground floor windows. Intact. I ran to the second floor landing. Tristan’s door was still locked, but the structural damage was obvious. When the family returned that evening, Tristan walked into the kitchen with his usual bright smile. He handed me a slice of expensive bakery cake. “It’s my birthday today, Auntie Elena. I made sure to save you a piece.” I took the plate, my chest tightening with a sickening mix of emotions. I had never celebrated a birthday in my life. No one had ever offered me cake. And now, the first slice I ever received was being handed to me by the monster who murdered my child. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth. If my Lily had lived, she would be turning twelve this year. She never got to taste birthday cake. The thought made my heart physically ache. I took the cake and walked into the pantry. A second later, a loud, furious shout echoed from upstairs. “What the hell is this?” Tristan yelled. 18 Eleanor and I rushed up the stairs at the same time. Tristan had unlocked his door and stepped inside, in his socks. The floor was covered in jagged shards of thick glass. A leather soccer ball was sitting on his expensive rug. He had stepped on a piece of glass, and blood was soaking through his white sock. “I have no idea what happened! I heard a crash earlier, but the door was locked!” I stammered, perfectly mimicking a terrified maid. Eleanor’s face turned purple with rage. She turned and helped Tristan limp down the stairs so they could drive to the urgent care clinic. I stood in the hallway, wringing my hands, looking helpless. “Clean it up! And make sure you get every single piece!” Eleanor barked over her shoulder. Tristan glanced back at me. His eyes were dark and unreadable. He opened his mouth, but closed it, saying nothing as his mother led him out. 19 I dropped to my knees inside his room, picking up the larger shards by hand. I waited until I heard the heavy thud of the garage door closing. I was finally inside. I paid a neighborhood kid two hundred dollars to kick that ball through the window. The investment was worth every penny. The room was surprisingly neat, but there was a faint, sickening odor lingering in the air. A sweet, rotting smell. And that was with a shattered window letting in the fresh breeze. If the room had been sealed, the stench would have been overwhelming. I grabbed the vacuum to speed up the cleanup. I checked under his bed and swept out several crumpled, stiff wads of tissue paper. Standard teenage boy behavior. But that wasn’t where the smell was coming from. I scanned the room. The bookshelves were packed with dense academic texts. The closet was perfectly organized. I knew I had limited time. My eyes landed on a heavy, vintage steamer trunk shoved in the corner of his walk in closet. The trunk looked old, the leather handle worn and discolored. For a boy who wore pristine designer clothes and threw away anything slightly used, keeping a battered trunk made absolutely no sense. This was his anchor. I dragged it out. It was incredibly heavy. And it was secured with a digital combination padlock. I tried his birthday. Error. I was trying to calculate other significant dates when the landline downstairs started ringing. I ran down to the kitchen. It was Eleanor. She ordered me to start boiling a bone broth for Tristan’s recovery. They would be home in thirty minutes. 20 Time was running out. I sprinted back upstairs. I had to get that trunk open. Luggage locks have a manual reset mechanism. I grabbed a sewing needle from my apron, found the tiny pinhole on the side of the lock, pressed it down, and reset the combination. The latch clicked open. The trunk was filled with pristine, categorized binders. I pulled out the first one and flipped it open. It was full of glossy photographs. At first glance, I couldn’t comprehend what I was looking at. I stared at the images, my brain struggling to process the visual information. Then, I read the meticulous, handwritten captions beneath the photos. A wave of violent nausea hit me. I gagged, clapping a hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting on his rug. I pressed my fist against my chest, forcing my heart to slow down. I grabbed three more binders at random and flipped them open. They were catalogs of pure, unadulterated evil. High resolution photos of grotesque animal mutilations. Stray cats, neighborhood dogs. Some were action shots, others were forensic style post mortems. He was a psychopath practicing his craft. The sound of tires crunching on the driveway gravel snapped me back to reality. I shoved the binders back, locked the trunk, and scrambled the numbers. I practically flew down the stairs and bolted into the kitchen, tossing ingredients into a stockpot just as the front door swung open. Eleanor helped Tristan inside. She peeked into the kitchen, saw the broth simmering, and nodded in approval. But my blood ran cold. I was dead. I had reset the combination on his lock. The next time Tristan tried to open it, his old code wouldn’t work. He would instantly know someone had breached his sanctuary. And I was the only person in the house. 21 I waited in agony for the broth to finish simmering. I poured it into a porcelain bowl and carried it upstairs. Tristan’s door was open. I set the tray on his desk, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. “Thank you,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. As I turned to leave, my peripheral vision swept the closet. The heavy trunk had been moved. It was sitting flat on the rug. He had opened it. A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. I stumbled, my foot catching the edge of the top stair. I nearly plunged face first down the staircase. “Auntie Elena, are you alright?” Tristan’s voice drifted out from the room, laced with feigned concern. “I’m fine! My bad knee just gave out. I’m not used to the stairs,” I called back, gripping the railing and forcing myself to walk down slowly. I could not look back. If I looked back, he would see the sheer terror and rage burning in my eyes. When I reached the ground floor, Eleanor was screaming at someone on her phone. I slipped into the powder room and locked the door. I leaned over the sink and splashed ice cold water on my face. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were completely feral. I was right. It was him. The monster had not changed. When I panicked and reset the lock upstairs, I blindly punched in a random sequence of numbers. Without thinking, my muscle memory had typed the date Lily was murdered. And Tristan had opened it without issue. Because the code he used to secure his trophies… was the exact date he slaughtered my baby. That date meant as much to him as it did to me. So he didn’t realize the lock had been reset. He just assumed the tumblers had stuck. I finally had my proof. This boy was a demon wearing a human skin suit. How was I going to destroy him? 22 Over the past ten years, I had mapped out hundreds of ways to kill him. But killing him quickly felt like a mercy. It was too easy. Lily had been dropped to the stone floor over and over again. She felt the agonizing terror of the fall, the excruciating shatter of her bones, repeated until her tiny heart gave out. He needed to feel that exact same psychological and physical torture. Especially now that I knew what he truly was. A bullet to the head was a gift he didn’t deserve. To truly destroy a narcissist, you have to rip away everything they value most. Their reputation, their future, their facade. I was the cat. He was the mouse trapped under my claws. And the game had just begun.

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