Category: English

1 I spent seven years building a tech startup from scratch alongside my childhood friend. My self-developed ad-targeting algorithm was the sole engine keeping the entire company afloat. But the moment his new girlfriend joined the firm, she made me her primary target. “Why are we paying eighty thousand a year to a basic data administrator? All she does is run templates and execute simple scripts.” “Starting today, your salary is cut to twenty thousand. You will handle basic data entry, and I will take over the core algorithm.” My co-founder, a friend I had known for over two decades, sat in absolute silence, permitting his girlfriend’s blatant disrespect. I didn’t offer a single word of defense. I simply signed the demotion. A week later, our primary clients saw their conversion rates plunge to zero, bringing the company to the brink of a multi-million dollar breach of contract lawsuit. His girlfriend came to my cubicle, crying over a corrupted database. “How can you just sit there and do nothing?” I smiled, sliding my new employment contract across the desk. “I only make twenty thousand. My job is to run templates.” … The weekly board meeting was a firing squad, and the target was painted directly on my chest. The sales director had just finished presenting a report on our skyrocketing customer acquisition costs, and the atmosphere in the room was freezing. Jimmy rubbed his temples, turning his gaze toward me. “Andrea, what does the data department have to say about this?” Before I could open my mouth, Vanessa cut in. “Jimmy, do you mind if I share a few thoughts?” Jimmy had always spoiled her. “Go ahead.” Vanessa stood up, her eyes locked onto me, filled with unprovoked malice. “Andrea, I’ve reviewed the metrics. Our retention rate for legacy clients relies entirely on a bidding model that promises a thirty percent conversion rate. On paper, that looks impressive.” “But the cost structure of this model is incredibly rigid.” “The optimization is slow, relying entirely on automated scripts while completely ignoring human psychology.” She clicked her remote, bringing up a slide presentation. “This is a digital marketing campaign I ran for a campus organization during my junior year. With a budget of only one hundred dollars, we generated thirty thousand clicks.” She presented the numbers with absolute confidence, as if a small student project could compare to a multi-million dollar corporate campaign. I remained silent, waiting for her to reach her actual point. Sure enough, she pivoted, targeting her real objective. “Jimmy, I’m not questioning Andrea’s expertise.” “I simply believe the company is overpaying for this so-called stability.” She looked around the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention. “Andrea’s salary is eighty thousand. Frankly, a freelance media buyer could handle this entire workload for thirty thousand.” “After all, digital marketing is about creativity and human connection, not writing code.” The meeting room was dead silent. An intern had just openly challenged the chief technical architect of the firm during a company-wide review. I looked at Jimmy. We had known each other for twenty-two years, and we had spent seven of those years building this business. The smart bidding engine I spent six months coding in our early days was the foundation of our success. It was the only reason he could walk into pitch meetings with absolute confidence. Now, he avoided my gaze. The company had been burning cash to expand into new markets, and our capital reserves were dangerously low. Vanessa’s cost-cutting proposal was incredibly tempting to him. Around the table, several department heads began to whisper, nodding in agreement with Vanessa. Jimmy remained silent for a long time before he finally cleared his throat, making his decision. “Andrea, Vanessa makes a valid point. The company is facing significant financial pressure.” “We’re going to adjust your compensation to twenty thousand for the time being.” “Vanessa will take over the management of the core algorithm.” “Since you have more experience, you can head the Content Compliance team. You’ll ensure the ad creatives meet basic regulatory standards.” Twenty thousand. That was even less than the thirty thousand Vanessa had suggested. It was a deliberate attempt to humiliate me. Jimmy added, “We’re all family here, Andrea. Don’t take it personally. Once this expansion phase is over and the revenue starts rolling in, I’ll make it up to you with a generous dividend.” I looked at his familiar face, suddenly feeling as though I was staring at a stranger. I didn’t argue about the complexity of the code, nor did I remind him that eighty percent of our clients signed with us solely because of that engine. I simply looked at him and asked, “Do you have the new contract ready?” My quick capitulation caught both Jimmy and Vanessa off guard. Jimmy recovered quickly, letting out a sigh of relief, and instructed HR to draft the demotion paperwork immediately. Five minutes later, a fresh contract was placed in front of me. Without a moment of hesitation, I picked up the pen and signed my name. Vanessa walked over, her chin tilted up. Leaning down, she whispered so only I could hear, “The data department belongs to me now. I’m going to prove that talent actually matters, not just nepotism.” I offered a polite smile and ignored her. 2 The new contract took effect the following morning. I moved my belongings from the private corner office to a cramped desk in the far corner of the open-plan floor. Vanessa moved into my old room. She worked quickly, calling a department meeting that very afternoon. Without consulting anyone, she threw out the entire streamlined data pipeline I had spent years building, replacing it with abstract theories she had copied straight from college textbooks. The senior data analysts were furious, but they kept their mouths shut, forced to take direction from an amateur. On Wednesday, the company held a kickoff meeting for our major Cyber Monday retail campaign. This was our most critical project of the year, and everyone was on edge. “This campaign is incredibly sensitive,” the sales director warned. “The demographic targeting must be exact. If we miss the mark, we won’t just lose the budget; we’ll destroy the brand’s reputation.” The moment he finished speaking, Vanessa stood up. She looked at Jimmy, her eyes bright with ambition. “Jimmy, let me handle this campaign.” “I guarantee we won’t just hit our targets; I’ll increase the conversion rate by another five percent.” Jimmy was clearly charmed by her confidence. He nodded immediately. “Excellent. Vanessa will take full charge of this campaign. Give her whatever resources she needs.” After the meeting, Vanessa walked straight to my desk. She dropped a heavy stack of folders onto my keyboard. “Andrea, these are the initial ad creatives for our baby-care client, Lullaby and Company. I need you to finish the compliance audit by the end of the day.” Her tone was that of a demanding boss addressing an assistant. Without looking up, I took the top sheet of paper. “I’ll look at it.” My calm demeanor only seemed to irritate her further. She wanted to rub her victory in my face. “I never imagined I’d see the great Andrea doing manual proofreading,” she sneered, crossing her arms. “Checking typos and reviewing images must be very relaxing.” “Unlike us, who have to manage multi-million dollar portfolios. The pressure is immense.” I finally raised my eyes to look at her. “Is the pressure too much for you?” “Of course not.” “Then don’t take on projects you can’t handle,” I said, putting the paper down. “Especially Lullaby and Company.” I spoke slowly, making sure she heard every word. “I spent three years developing that baby-care targeting model. The demographic overlap is incredibly complex.” “I am warning you once: do not touch the core audience tags.” “If you do, you won’t be able to handle the consequences.” Vanessa’s expression hardened, my warning striking a nerve. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?” “Andrea, remember your place. I don’t need advice from a compliance auditor.” “Your outdated model should have been replaced a long time ago.” To prove she was in control, she immediately pulled out her phone and called Jimmy. Her voice turned soft and sweet, dripping with feigned distress. “Jimmy, Andrea hasn’t handed over the administrator password for the algorithm yet. I need to adjust some parameters, but I’m locked out.” Ten minutes later, Jimmy walked over to my desk. “Andrea, give Vanessa the password. We need to keep the project moving.” “The system uses a dynamic security key. I have to log in to transfer the credentials,” I replied quietly. Jimmy stood by as I opened the login portal. I could feel Vanessa’s eyes boring into my keyboard as I typed. I kept my movements quick, but she was watching with intense focus. Once the transfer was complete, I logged out of my account. “It’s done.” “That’s it?” Vanessa frowned. “No special instructions?” “Yes,” I said, looking her in the eye. “One last warning: do not touch the model.” Vanessa let out a sharp laugh, grabbing Jimmy’s arm as they walked away. “Just focus on your typos, Andrea.” I stayed late that evening. As I passed the data room on my way out, I saw Vanessa sitting alone at the terminal. The arrogance on her face was gone, replaced by a feverish intensity. I heard her whispering to herself. “Why is this code so redundant? Pre-pregnancy, first trimester, second trimester, toddler parents… why are there so many specific tags?” “I’m going to simplify all of this. We’ll pool the entire budget and target a single ‘high-value buyer’ segment.” “Once I push the conversion rate to forty percent, let’s see who dares to question me.” I shook my head and walked out of the building. Some people have to fall into the pit themselves before they realize how deep it is. 3 On Cyber Monday, I arrived at nine in the morning and scanned my keycard. Compared to my old routine of staying up all night to monitor live traffic, my new compliance job felt like an early retirement. By ten, a wave of panic swept through the open floor. “What’s happening? Why is the live traffic dropping off a cliff?” “The client is calling! They want to know why our impressions are climbing but we have zero conversions!” I took a sip of my tea, pulling up the company’s public dashboard on my monitor. The red line representing Lullaby and Company, our premier client, was in a near-vertical freefall. The conversion rate sat at 0.1%. Our average was thirty percent. “Vanessa! What did you do?!” Jimmy’s angry shout echoed from his office. A few seconds later, Jimmy stormed out, his face pale with fury. Vanessa followed close behind, her eyes red. “I… I only optimized the demographic tags,” she whimpered. “I merged all those tiny baby-care segments into one ‘high-value buyer’ list. I wanted to focus the budget to get higher conversions. I don’t know why…” The sales director ran over, holding his phone, his face white. “Jimmy, the VP of Lullaby is on the line.” “They spent half a million dollars this morning, and the algorithm served their ads entirely to single men between eighteen and twenty-two!” “The brand’s social media is getting flooded with complaints! Men are asking why they are being targeted with breast pumps and nursing pads!” The director was sweating, his voice shaking. “They are demanding an immediate cancellation of their contract, a full refund of their budget, and three times that amount in damages for brand defacement! We are looking at a two-million-dollar lawsuit!” It didn’t stop there. On the main monitor, red warning lights began to flash for ten other major accounts. Because Vanessa had modified the core model, every campaign sharing that database was crashing. “Lawsuits… damages…” Jimmy stumbled, nearly losing his balance. “Where is Andrea? Find Andrea!” Jimmy’s eyes swept across the room until they landed on me, sitting quietly in my corner. He rushed over to my desk, his breathing ragged. “Andrea, look at the database! The model is bugged. You need to fix it right now!” Vanessa stood behind him, biting her lip, still holding onto her pride. I leaned back in my chair, looking at him. “Jimmy, I think you have the wrong person. I handle content compliance now, not database maintenance.” Jimmy’s voice cracked. “Andrea, this is no time to play games!” “You wrote the code. You’re the only one who can fix it. Get into the system and revert the parameters, quickly!” I didn’t move. Instead, I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a red leather folder. Inside was an official document: United States Patent and Trademark Office. Patent Number: US 10,845,921. Title: Multi-Dimensional Demographic Bidding Engine. Inventor: Andrea Chen. I tapped the folder, looking up at him. “This core engine is my personal patent. I only licensed its use to my previous position.” “As a compliance auditor, I no longer have the authority to access or modify this software.” Jimmy tried to suppress his panic, adopting a commanding tone. “I am authorizing you right now. Go fix it!” “I don’t accept verbal authorization,” I said with a calm smile, sliding the folder back into the drawer. “If you want me to restore the engine, we need to discuss the emergency licensing fee.” Jimmy’s face turned dark. He slammed his hand onto my desk, his voice rising to a shout. “Andrea, you are extorting me!” “The company paid you eighty thousand a year! Now that we are facing a crisis, you’re just going to watch us burn?”

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After discovering I was a fake daughter, I didn’t dare act like a spoiled brat toward my two brothers anymore. No more bossing them around, and no more checking up on where they went to party. My sharp, older brother Jeff was the first to notice the change, asking if something was making me unhappy. My hot-tempered second brother, Hunter, sneered at my sudden quietness before mocking Jeff for having a masochistic streak. Three months later, the true heiress returned. My best friend dragged me to a high-end club to drown my sorrows. There, I overheard our mutual friends teasing my two brothers, joking that they were finally free from acting like their sister’s loyal dogs. They even asked if the two of them would still accept me as their sister now that the truth was out. Jeff’s voice was calm and smooth: “Of course. But then again, the feeling of having someone who actually cares enough to rule over you is something you wouldn’t understand.” Hunter, however, let out a cold snort: “Whether I keep her around depends entirely on her behavior.” Someone in the room even placed a bet on whether I would still have the guts to call and enforce curfew tonight, now that I knew my real background. That night, after a moment of hesitation, I opened my contacts list just like I always did. My finger hovered over the screen for a single second. In the next instant, I only dialed Jeff’s number. 1 For as long as I could remember, I believed I was the center of the universe, an empress whose every whim deserved absolute obedience. Whenever I was displeased, the entire household suffered my wrath. My oldest brother, Jeff, was a quiet, distant man, but he indulged me. My second brother, Hunter, was volatile and had zero patience for my antics. His favorite phrase to throw at me was: “Can you stop being a clingy drama queen for once in your life?” That was until this afternoon, when we went out to the mountain racing tracks. True to form, I had forced them to bring me along. The winding mountain pass was crowded with flashy, multi-million-dollar sports cars, surrounded by a noisy crowd of wealthy trust-fund heirs. Not far from us, a rowdy group had gathered. A young, fragile-looking girl was being pinned against the hood of a car by Greyson Carter, the newly recognized bastard son of a billionaire family. My savior complex flared instantly. Lifting my brand-new Hermès Birkin bag, I swung it with all my might, striking the man hard enough to make him howl in pain. But before my grand heroic act could fully play out, a bizarre stream of glowing holographic text suddenly flashed across my field of vision. Wait, is this fake-heiress antagonist out of her mind? Who asked her to save the girl? She is completely ruining the plot. This scene was supposed to be the moment the two brothers saved the female lead, setting up their eventual reunion. The whole sibling reconciliation arc starts right here at the racetrack. The fake sister needs to back off, or she is going to end up dead. The words flickered in the air before me. Me? A fake sister? And this delicate girl in the white dress, Hailey, was the actual biological daughter of my family? My entire world shattered. The stiff leather corner of my bag had left a tiny scratch on Hailey’s cheek. Greyson spat a curse, but the moment he recognized my face, he swallowed his anger and backed down. Hunter strode over. Seeing the faint mark on Hailey’s face, he immediately turned on me, his voice sharp with accusation. “Gemma, can you go one day without bullying someone?” Usually, a comment like that would trigger a massive tantrum from me. But as I looked up, the glowing warning text flashed vividly in my mind once more. I swallowed my pride. Silently picking up my bag, I stood there and took the lecture without saying a word. Jeff, who had always been softer on me, stepped in to shield me from Hunter’s temper, guiding me away. I felt a sudden, profound wave of gratitude toward him. By the time we got home, my heart was still hammering against my ribs. After dropping Hailey off at the hospital, my brothers returned shortly after. I stepped forward, genuinely wanting to ask how she was doing. Hunter frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What is your game now, Gemma? We rushed back to be with you, isn’t that enough?” I wanted to explain, but the floating text cut in before I could speak. The antagonist is really pushing her luck. Let us see if she still acts this arrogant once her real identity is exposed. She bosses her brothers around constantly, completely unaware of how sick and tired they are of her. I wasn’t trying to be arrogant. Compared to my usual self, I was behaving like a frightened kitten. But looking at the exhaustion and irritation on my brothers’ faces, I shrank back and remained silent. Jeff, sensing my unusual quietness, asked softly, “Are you unhappy, Gemma?” Hunter let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Our little princess just assaulted someone, why on earth would she be unhappy?” If this had happened a week ago, I would have made a scene they would never forget. Today, I simply shook my head and quietly retreated to my room. Before closing my eyes, I made a firm decision: tomorrow, I was getting a DNA test. 2 The next morning, the sky was heavy with dark, low-hanging rain clouds. My heart felt just as heavy. When the lab results were handed to me, the sword of Damocles that had been hovering over my head finally fell. The report was clear: there was no biological connection between the Weston family and me. To make matters worse, the floating text returned to remind me of my insignificance. A fraud is a fraud. Perhaps she will finally give up now. The fake sister gets consumed by jealousy, repeatedly trying to frame the true heiress. But the clever protagonist outsmarts her every time, eventually reuniting with her family. Once the Westons learn the truth, they throw Gemma out on the street. But she doesn’t learn. Completely desperate, she kidnaps the protagonist and eventually falls to her death. My knees went weak at the thought of a high-rise building. Looking back, I realized how much I had taken their love for granted. Because I was the only daughter, I had ruled over my brothers with an iron fist. I forbade them from drinking or smoking at parties, set a strict curfew, and physically sniffed their clothes when they walked through the door, locking them out if I caught even a trace of alcohol. I had demanded luxury bags, designer cosmetics, and the latest jewelry, throwing fits if my deliveries were even slightly delayed. My entire life had revolved around them. But now, the realization hit me: they had only tolerated my behavior because they believed we shared the same blood. Once they discovered I was an imposter, they would hate me. I couldn’t interfere with Hailey’s return, and I certainly didn’t dare to boss my brothers around anymore. My best course of action was to gather what money I could and quietly prepare for my departure. So, I began waking up early to prepare breakfast for them. When they came home late, I didn’t yell; instead, I quietly handed them hangover soup. Hunter looked amused. “How strange. Our little brat has actually become sweet.” I kept my voice soft and meek. “I just don’t want you to find me annoying and leave me behind.” Jeff took the bowl from my hands, gently smoothing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You are my sister, Gemma. I could never find you annoying.” His words only made my heart ache more. Soon, he would realize I wasn’t his sister at all. 3 Now that I had stopped interfering in his life, Hunter seemed to be in a much better mood. Before heading out one evening, he actually asked if I wanted to join him. I shook my head immediately. “Go ahead and have fun. Don’t worry about rushing home.” Hunter looked thoroughly pleased. Later that night, Jeff called to check on me. My chest tightened with a strange mix of sorrow and longing, but I forced my voice to remain steady. Sensing something was off, he coaxed me gently. “Don’t be sad, sweetie. I am on my way back.” “It is fine,” I replied, trying to sound indifferent. “You can stay out as late as you like.” I thought this would prove to them that I was changing. But the moment Jeff walked through the door and saw me holding a fruit knife, his face went pale. He strode over, quickly disarming me and checking my hands. “Do not play with knives, Gemma, it is dangerous. I promise your brother and I will come home earlier from now on.” I tried to explain that I was simply peeling an apple, but he didn’t believe me. “Do not lie to me. You have never done a chore in your life.” He held my wrists, searching for any scratches. A cold laugh sounded from the doorway. Hunter leaned against the frame, his eyes narrowed in disdain. “Jeff, stop coddling her. I would love to see if she actually has the courage to cut herself.” The words stung, but before I could reply, Hunter looked down at his phone. His expression instantly darkened. He walked over and threw the device onto the table in front of me. “Look at what you did.” The screen displayed a scandalous headline. Scrolling down, there was a degrading photo of Hailey with her skirt partially lifted, exposing her skin. Hunter had warned me not to share any details about the incident at the racetrack. Now, he was entirely convinced that I had leaked the photo out of spite. He grabbed my arm, his grip painfully tight. “You are going to apologize to her.” My own temper flared. I pulled back with all my strength, knocking a glass bowl off the counter. It shattered on the floor, and a sharp shard sliced across my calf. A line of bright red blood began to pool on my skin. I gasped at the sharp sting. Jeff immediately shoved Hunter away, stepping between us to shield me. “Enough! You are treating Gemma like this over an outsider?” “Jeff, you are being completely blind!” Hunter snapped. Jeff’s voice remained calm but absolute. “I know Gemma. She would never do something so vile. If you lay another hand on her, I will not hesitate to step in.” My eyes welled with tears as I clung to Jeff. Hunter stared at us, his eyes lingering on how closely I held Jeff. “Fine,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “If you want to play the victim, go ahead. But Gemma, if I find out you had a hand in this, do not expect me to ever acknowledge you as my sister again.” The door slammed shut behind him. Jeff brought over the medical kit, kneeling before me. His warm hands gently held my ankle as he cleaned and dressed the cut, his movements incredibly tender. I stared at him, overwhelmed by his warmth. Sensing my gaze, he looked up, offering a soft, reassuring smile. “Gemma, remember this: whatever happens, you can always come to me. You do not need to change who you are for anyone else.” The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. The terror and loneliness of the past few days completely broke me. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing loudly. “What am I going to do, Jeff? I am not Mom and Dad’s daughter. I am not your sister.” I waited for the rejection, for the cold distance that was sure to follow. But Jeff merely let out a soft, amused chuckle. “Silly girl. Is that what has been making you so miserable?” I stopped sobbing, staring at him in utter confusion. He already knew. “Why are you still being so nice to me then?” I whispered. Jeff wiped a tear from my cheek, his fingers lingering on my skin. “Because, Gemma, a brother’s job is to care for his sister.” I could only stare at him, slowly realizing the weight of his words. No matter what the blood tests said, he still chose to be my brother. 4 From that night on, I completely ignored Hunter. When the fridge ran low, I only prepared meals for Jeff. At my birthday dinner, I kept my arm looped through Jeff’s, treating Hunter as if he were invisible. Our mother noticed the icy atmosphere. “Have you two had another argument?” I simply ignored the question, and Hunter’s expression turned incredibly sour. The truth was inevitable; the protagonist would eventually take her rightful place. Later that night, my phone buzzed. It was a video call from my best friend, Harper. Through the noisy background of a club, she called out frantically, “Gemma! Come quick! Your brother got into a massive fight over some girl, and he is bleeding!” My heart leaped into my throat. “Which brother? Is Jeff hurt? I am coming right now!” If it was Jeff, I would run there barefoot. The line went quiet for a few seconds. “No, it is Hunter.” I let out a breath and sat back down on my bed. “Oh. Tell him to take some aspirin then. I have to go.” I hung up immediately. Hunter hated my interference anyway. This was exactly the freedom he wanted. The next morning, I walked out of my room to find Hunter waiting for me, his face dark. “Gemma, did you not get the call last night?” I kept my voice calm and polite. “I did. But I am behaving now, just like you wanted. I didn’t want to annoy you by showing up.” His face flushed with an anger so intense it looked like he wanted to tear something apart. He opened his mouth to snap at me, but the door behind him opened. Jeff walked out of his room. The moment I saw him, I forgot all about Hunter, rushing over to inspect him. “Jeff, I heard there was a fight last night. Are you hurt? Did you get any scratches?” Seeing my frantic concern, a subtle, pleased smile touched Jeff’s lips. A loud slam echoed through the hallway. Hunter had violently kicked his own door shut, glaring at me with bared teeth. “Am I invisible to you now?” His lip was split and bruised, his knuckles raw. I didn’t care to argue. “You can take care of yourself.” Hunter’s jaw clenched, his voice dripping with venom. “Fine. See if I care. Just do not come crawling back to boss me around tomorrow.” 5 I was glad I hadn’t interfered. Hunter would have only accused me of acting out again. But the truth was, my bossiness had always stemmed from my own deep-seated fears. When I was five, I had been locked in a dark cabinet during a game of hide-and-seek, forgotten for an entire afternoon. Since then, I had been terrified of dark, enclosed spaces. Even now, I couldn’t sleep without a light on. As a child, I would creep into my brothers’ rooms for comfort. As we grew older, we replaced that with a simple nightly routine: a goodnight kiss on the forehead. But Hunter often locked his door to keep me out, so I had learned to rely only on Jeff. Now, I knew I had to break these dependencies. A soft knock sounded on my door. Jeff stood there, dressed in dark silk pajamas that left his collarbones exposed, his damp hair clinging to his neck. He carried the clean, subtle scent of his shower gel. “Are you busy, Gemma?” The scent was intoxicating, making me slightly breathless. “Jeff, is something wrong?” He raised an eyebrow slightly. “You forgot our goodnight kiss.” I hesitated before shaking my head. “I think I should start getting used to being on my own.” I needed to learn to survive without him before Hailey took over. Jeff looked at me for a long moment, then nodded in respect of my choice. As I stepped forward to close the door behind him, my foot caught on a wet patch on the floor. I lost my balance, falling directly into his arms. Before I could pull away, the door was shoved open. Hunter stormed in, pulling us apart with unnecessary force. “Where is my goodnight kiss?” he demanded, his face tight. Jeff stepped between us. Hunter glared at him. “She is my sister too! Whatever you get, I deserve as well!” He looked at me, a strange, tense emotion in his eyes. “It is just a kiss. If he can do it, so can I.” I shook my head. “No more kisses.” Hunter’s eyes widened, and he immediately raised his voice to cover his hurt. “Fine! Who cares anyway? You are too old for this. It is about time you learned some boundaries. Do not come crying to me the next time you are scared of the dark.” I looked at him, completely numb to his words. “Do not worry. I will never bother you again.” 6 The predictions of the text came true. Three months later, Hailey was officially welcomed into the Weston family. Overnight, the news that I was a fake spread like wildfire, and the social circle began to treat me like a fallen princess. Only Harper stood by me. “You will always be my sister, Gemma. If they throw you out, I will take care of you. I have plenty of properties; you can choose whichever one you like.” Moved to tears, I agreed to go out with her to a high-end club to drown my sorrows. Inside our private lounge, the atmosphere was thick with expensive alcohol. I spent the evening drinking with some handsome hosts Harper had hired, the distraction slowly easing the knot in my chest. On my way back from the restroom, I noticed the door to a VIP lounge next to ours was slightly ajar. Inside, a group of familiar faces from our circle were talking. The conversation, predictably, was about me. They were speculating on what the Westons would do with me, and whether my brothers would still keep me around. Jeff was sitting in the center of the plush sofa, looking thoroughly relaxed. “Of course she is staying. Honestly, being wrapped around her finger is a feeling you wouldn’t understand.” A small smile tugged at my lips. Then, someone turned to Hunter. His response was exactly what I expected. He let out a cold snort. “Whether I keep her depends on her behavior. It would be nice to finally have some peace and freedom.” The men laughed, and someone proposed a bet: would Gemma call to demand they come home before curfew tonight? Jeff declined to participate. The others, however, were highly amused. “Come on, don’t be a spoilsport. We are just curious.” Unlike Jeff, Hunter seemed eager to prove a point. He tossed his phone onto the table, silently accepting the challenge. I quietly turned and left the hallway, heading straight back to the villa. Half an hour later, inside the VIP lounge, a phone began to ring. Hunter smirked, reaching for his device, but his smile froze when he realized his screen was dark. It was Jeff’s phone that was ringing. Jeff answered, and my voice carried clearly through the speaker. “Jeff, please come home before nine. The cake I made for you has been in the fridge for two hours, it is ready to eat. I also ordered some hangover smoothies for your friends and left some soup on the stove for you.” The men in the room cheered. “Thanks, Gemma!” I said a brief goodnight and ended the call, leaving the room to sleep. So I had no idea that someone spent the entire night waiting for a call. On the table in that VIP lounge, a phone sat in dead silence all night long.

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1 The night before my wedding, I drove forty miles to bring my fiancé’s mistress to our house. When Patrick pushed the front door open, he was greeted by the sight of the two of us sitting in the living room, sharing a quiet pot of tea. He let out a visible sigh of relief. “Rebecca, since you already know, it’s best if Brooke stays here with us.” He stepped closer, adjusting his collar. “You are still my legal wife, but Brooke is fragile. Let her have tomorrow’s ceremony first. Once she settles down and her emotions are stable, I will come back and marry you.” I took a slow sip of my tea, remaining silent. Taking my silence as agreement, Patrick didn’t waste another second. He grabbed Brooke’s hand and took her upstairs to choose from my wedding wardrobe. I didn’t get angry. I simply unlocked my phone, opened a private group chat, and sent a single message: I’m getting married tomorrow, but I’m missing a groom. Who’s in? Instantly, the thread exploded. Patrick’s closest friends began replying one after another, practically tripping over themselves to claim the spot. I let out a soft laugh. You see, Patrick, if you won’t marry me, there are plenty of men who will. … I muted the group notifications and set my phone down. “Rebecca, Mr. Patrick wants you to bring down tomorrow’s wedding dress.” The housekeeper walked over, pausing uncomfortably before continuing. “He said since you won’t be getting married tomorrow anyway, his bride might as well use it.” That wedding dress. I had spent six months designing it and another year flying across the country, hand-stitching every delicate detail myself. Nobody knew better than Patrick how much of my soul I had poured into that gown. Now, just because Brooke wanted to wear it, I was expected to hand it over? “Tell him,” I said quietly, “if he wants it, he can get on his knees and beg.” Half an hour later, the front door was kicked open. Patrick marched in, followed by a dozen boutique assistants, each holding two different designer gowns. He threw himself onto the sofa, casually reaching over to twirl a strand of my hair between his fingers. “Rebecca, our wedding is still a long way off. The girl took a liking to your dress, so let her have it first.” He gestured to the rows of dresses. “Pick one of these. Do you like any of them?” “If you don’t, that’s fine too. Once Brooke is done with yours, you can just wear it for our ceremony. I don’t mind.” Brooke let out a giggling laugh. She threw herself into Patrick’s lap, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her French-tipped nails. “Patrick, you are so bad. You told everyone in the city that Rebecca was never to wear second-hand goods.” She smirked at me. “Now you’re making her wear a dress I used first. She must absolutely hate me.” Patrick didn’t care. He stroked her hair, his voice dripping with easy confidence. “She isn’t that petty.” “Besides, she’s been with me for ten years. Who else is she going to marry if not me?” I looked down, keeping my eyes on my phone. In the group chat, those very same men were sending photos of their tailored suits, trying to present their best selves to me. Every single one of them had posted on social media, expressing how nervous they were about a wedding tomorrow. Patrick’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the posts, letting out a chuckle. “Look at this. Tomorrow is my wedding, but the guys are ordering custom tuxedos overnight. They are taking this more seriously than I am.” He casually unlocked his phone and sent a voice note to the groomsmen’s thread. “Alright, guys, no need to be so formal tomorrow.” “Just treat it like a regular hangout. Eat, drink, and do whatever you want. Just make sure you all show proper respect and call Brooke the lady of the house.” Patrick didn’t notice that not a single person replied to his message. He pulled Brooke closer, settling into a more comfortable position, and reached his hand out toward me. “Rebecca, where do we keep the protection? You know how clingy Brooke is. She practically drapes herself over me every second, and she throws a fit if she doesn’t get her way.” “But don’t worry, I kept my promise to you. The firstborn of this family will still come from your womb.” A bitter smile touched my lips. The promise he made years ago. He only remembered the second half, entirely forgetting the first. When he was twenty, under a sky lit with fireworks, he had sworn that I would be the only woman he would ever marry. He promised that our wedding would be his first, and our child would be his first. Ten years had passed, and everything had turned to ash. Seeing my smile, Patrick blinked, his tone turning unusually serious. “Rebecca, you should smile more. You used to laugh all the time in your early twenties. Now you’re always so cold. It isn’t flattering.” I pulled my smile back, instructing the housekeeper to order a bulk box of protection for him. Patrick instantly forgot his complaints. He seemed highly satisfied with my compliance. He scooped Brooke up in his arms and headed toward the stairs. “Oh, by the way, Rebecca, sleep in the guest room tonight.” “Tomorrow is the big day, and she wants to celebrate tonight. She has a terrible temper when she doesn’t get enough sleep, so have the makeup artists wait outside her door tomorrow morning. They can start once she wakes up.” “Patrick,” I called out, sitting quietly on the sofa. The man at the top of the stairs paused. He glanced back at me, his brow furrowed in annoyance, prompting me to speak quickly. I looked directly into his eyes, speaking slowly and clearly. “Tomorrow’s wedding is still happening.” “If you won’t be the groom, I will find someone else.” 2 Patrick clearly didn’t believe me. He let out a condescending chuckle, shaking his head. “Stop it, Rebecca. This isn’t the time to vie for my attention.” “I need to go keep Brooke happy. If she’s in a good mood tomorrow, maybe she’ll let you be her maid of honor.” In his arms, Brooke pouted, whispering in his ear. Urged by her, Patrick walked up the stairs without looking back. Soon, muffled sounds began to drift down from the master bedroom. The housekeeper stood near the door, opening her mouth several times before finally speaking. “Rebecca, the position of Mrs. Patrick… he has never considered anyone but you.” I looked at the box of protection still sitting on the counter. I gestured toward the stairs. “Take it up to him.” In the middle of the night, my phone rang. My best friend Hazel’s voice blasted through the receiver, nearly deafening me. “Rebecca! What the hell is going on? Why did Patrick just post that your wedding is canceled?” “You two have been planning this for over a year! The venue alone cost millions, not to mention the custom decorations you stayed up nights designing! How can he just call it off?” I sat up, rubbing my temples, entirely drained of sleep. Just as I was about to tell her that the wedding was still on, Hazel’s voice spiked another octave, trembling with fury. “Wait! Is Patrick insane? He just sent out a new digital invite! The wedding is still on, but the bride’s name has been changed to Brooke! Who the hell is Brooke?” I lowered my eyes. Patrick had always been like this. When he loved you, he would give you the world. But when he stopped caring, he would strip everything away without a second thought. Outside, the headlights of a passing car flickered against the window, casting brief shadows across the dark room. “Hazel, don’t worry about any of that,” I said quietly. “Just show up tomorrow. The wedding is still on.” “If he can change the bride, I can change the groom.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Hazel quickly pieced together what was happening, her voice cracking with anger. “That absolute bastard! Yes! Change him! Change him immediately!” “He acted so devoted before the wedding, traveling to twenty-eight countries with you to take photos, renting out a fleet of drones to announce the date! And now he does this? Men are truly worthless!” She began to sniffle, her anger turning to tears. “Rebecca, wait for me. I’m going to kick my boyfriend out of bed right now just to vent some of this anger for you!” I let out a helpless laugh. I wanted to tell her that things weren’t as bleak as they seemed. My backup grooms were highly qualified, each better than the last. Before I could speak, a soft knock came at my door. The housekeeper stood outside, looking deeply apologetic. “Rebecca, Mr. Patrick wants you to come to the master bedroom.” I knew that if I didn’t go, Patrick would only take his frustration out on the staff. I told Hazel to put on her bridesmaid dress and wait for me at the venue, then I hung up and walked upstairs. The half-open door revealed a disheveled room, thick with the scent of their intimacy. Patrick had clearly just showered. Water droplets fell from his damp hair, tracing down his neck over a fresh collar of bite marks. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to ignore the sharp, dull ache in my chest. Seeing me enter, Patrick pointed carelessly at the floor. A crumpled, stained bridesmaid dress lay in the corner. “Rebecca, I know you put a lot of effort into this wedding. Wear this tomorrow and stand as Brooke’s maid of honor. Consider it a way to honor all the planning you did this past year.” Brooke lay under the sheets, a malicious grin playing on her lips. She leaned in, whispering seductively against Patrick’s ear. “Patrick, Rebecca is a designer. Her custom wedding ring must be beautiful. I want it.” My face remained entirely blank. The wedding ring, like the dress, was a piece of art I had spent months sketching, molding, and perfecting with my own hands. Patrick knew this better than anyone. Yet, he only shrugged, his tone incredibly casual. “Rebecca, it’s just a ring. If the girl wants it, let her have it.” “Our actual wedding date isn’t set yet. We have plenty of time for you to design a new one.” He spoke with such absolute entitlement that the dull ache in my chest suddenly vanished. I felt absolutely nothing. I looked at Patrick and repeated myself one last time. “I told you, the wedding is still happening tomorrow.” 3 Patrick stared at me, blinking in surprise before letting out a confident laugh. “How? I’m the groom, and I won’t be there. Who are you going to marry?” “Alright, Rebecca, you aren’t the type to throw a tantrum. I promised I would marry you eventually, and I will keep my word. You just need to be patient and wait a little longer, okay?” Wait. Always waiting. I had waited ten years for him, finally reaching the altar, only to discover he had been cheating on me for the last three. And now he wanted me to wait again? To watch him marry another woman and then wait for him to condescend to bring me home? “I’m done waiting, Patrick.” He didn’t hear me. He glanced at his luxury watch, pulling Brooke back under the covers, throwing a careless remark over his shoulder. “It’s still early. We can go another round. Don’t worry, Rebecca, the firstborn of the family will still come from you.” I looked down, my eyes devoid of any warmth. Leaving the ruined bridesmaid dress on the floor, I turned and walked back to the guest room. The next morning, neither of them woke up early. The makeup artists stood awkwardly in the hallway. I walked up to them. “I am the bride. You can start on me.” I had been the only one coordinating with them for months, so they recognized me immediately. By the time my makeup and hair were nearly finished, Patrick and Brooke finally wandered downstairs. The morning sun streamed through the window, reflecting off my gown. Patrick stopped dead in his tracks, staring at me. The stylist secured the veil to my hair. I lifted the heavy skirt, standing up to face him. Patrick finally snapped out of his trance, pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “Rebecca, I told you I would give you a proper wedding later.” “Let Brooke have this one. Be good, take the dress off. She’s going to throw a fit if she sees you in it.” Right on cue, footsteps hurried down the stairs. Brooke ran down, wrapping her arms around Patrick’s. The moment she saw me in the wedding gown, she lost her mind, pointing a finger at me. “Patrick! Today is my wedding! Why is she wearing a wedding dress?” “My mother was a mistress, and I swore I would never be like her. But for you, I threw away my pride! I became the very thing I hated!” Tears welled in her eyes. “For three years, I kept quiet! And now you’re going to make me share my wedding day with another woman?” Patrick immediately leaned down, softly comforting her. His frantic, gentle demeanor looked exactly like the boy from fifteen years ago. The boy who had pulled me from the rubble of a collapsed building, holding my terrified, orphaned self in his arms, swearing he would protect me forever. Memories were a cruel thing. I let out a soft chuckle, tossing a small, palm-sized pink notebook onto the floor. “Patrick, I don’t need this anymore. You can have it back.” If Patrick had bothered to look, he would have recognized the bucket list we had started fifteen years ago. Back then, he said that once we completed all one hundred wishes, we would never be parted. There were still ten wishes left, but I no longer wanted to complete them with him. “Rebecca, thank you. This is perfect timing.” Patrick picked up the notebook, offering a warm smile as he handed it to Brooke. “This is our couples’ journal. Once we complete all one hundred wishes, we will be together forever.” “Be good now. The dress is yours, and the wedding is yours.” Brooke’s tears instantly turned into a smug smile. She leaned against Patrick’s chest, throwing a triumphant look at me. “Patrick, make her take the dress off.” “She’s just a maid of honor. What right does she have to wear a wedding gown?” Patrick gestured with his hand, and several maids began to close in on me. “Rebecca, take it off.” The makeup artist looked around awkwardly. She tried to speak up for me, but the security guards blocked her, escorting her to another room. The gown was heavy, and I wore nothing but my undergarments beneath it. I looked at the crowded room. “Patrick, are you sure you want me to strip right here?” 4 Patrick’s hand twitched, clearly intending to have the maids take me to a private room. But Brooke’s sharp voice cut in first. “Of course! That is my wedding dress! Every second you wear it makes me sick!” Patrick remained silent, offering his silent consent. The maids swarmed me, aggressively pulling the gown from my body, tearing my hair loose in the process. The guards at the door couldn’t help but look, their eyes lingering on my exposed skin. In the next second, Patrick threw his suit jacket over my shoulders. He pulled me tightly against his chest, shielding me from view, and roared at the door. “Housekeeper! Get those guards out of here! Fire them!” I looked up at his furrowed brow, suddenly finding the entire situation hilarious. He was the one who ordered them to strip my dress. And now he was the one trying to protect my modesty. I pulled away from his embrace, letting the jacket slide. “Patrick, are you done acting? You have a wedding to get to, and so do I.” “Let’s not waste each other’s time.” Patrick froze, then let out a lazy, amused chuckle. “Alright, Rebecca, you don’t have to attend the ceremony.” “I know you don’t want to be the maid of honor. How about this? I’ll bring Brooke’s bouquet back to you tonight as an apology.” He reached out to pat my head. “You have such a temper. Who else but me would put up with you?” The wedding was scheduled to begin in an hour. Patrick was in a rush. Afraid that I would show up and cause a scene, he instructed the housekeeper to lock me in the study before he boarded the wedding car and drove away. Through the glass windows, I watched his car disappear down the driveway. My dress was gone, my ring was gone, and my groom was gone. But this wedding was still going to happen. At the main wedding venue, the bride stood at the entrance, complaining loudly. “Patrick, you promised me a perfect wedding! Now I don’t even have a bouquet! What kind of bride doesn’t have a bouquet?” “There was no choice,” Patrick replied, setting the flowers aside. “Rebecca’s wedding has been postponed. If I didn’t at least leave her the bouquet, she would have completely lost her mind.” Brooke pouted, turning her head away. “Then you have to treat me even better from now on.” Patrick looked at her annoyed expression, reaching over to pinch her cheek with a casual smile. “Of course. I’ll spoil you to the ends of the earth.” The officiant was already calling for them to enter. It was only then that Patrick realized his groomsmen had not yet arrived. The group of men seemed to have vanished into thin air. None of them were answering his texts or calls. But the guests were waiting. Suppressing his irritation, Patrick took Brooke’s hand and began to walk toward the main hall. As they passed one of the smaller banquet halls, a wave of cheers and applause drifted through the double doors, catching his attention. Through the half-open door, he saw a newlywed couple kissing. And standing right there in the middle of the crowd, cheering them on, were his own groomsmen… the very friends who had ghosted him. And on the stage, radiant in a breathtaking wedding gown, stood Rebecca. Patrick’s mind went entirely blank.

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1 I’ve always lived in my sister Victoria’s shadow. She was the entertainment industry’s golden girl, praised as a genius, while I was dismissed as the pretty airhead. After she boasted endlessly about her son and sneered that someone like me could only produce another fool, I acted recklessly. First, I spent a wild night with a gorgeous stranger and vanished before dawn. Second, I begged the universe for a genius baby. It worked. Jeremy was born brilliant. The night we brought him home, frustrated by my failed attempts at mixing formula, he invented his own baby sign language to teach me. From then on, Jeremy ruled the house. When Victoria joined The Genius Kid Escape Room Challenge with her son, she dragged us along to play the role of the clueless contrast. Online mockery exploded. Airhead Daisy bringing a newborn to compete in a spit-up contest? Victoria will crush them. The dummy will cry at the first puzzle. When the livestream began, Victoria smirked at the camera. “Try not to fail the first room, Daisy. It lowers the bar for everyone.” Maybe I’m simple, but my son inherited his father’s extraordinary genes. Jeremy isn’t just smart—he’s a prodigy. “Aunt Daisy, don’t cry if you lose!” Harry sneered, copying his mother’s crossed-arms posture and rolling his eyes. I looked down at newborn Jeremy in my arms, who was currently blowing a tiny spit bubble. I held him closer and replied in earnest, “We won’t lose. My baby is very smart.” An awkward silence hung in the air for two seconds. Then, Victoria burst out laughing, her eyes filled with mockery. “Smart? Daisy, fools only raise fools. You can’t even do basic times tables, and that kid is a nameless bastard. He probably takes three business days to process a cry. If I were you, I would have crawled into a hole instead of showing my face on TV.” The live chat instantly flooded with hateful comments. “Daisy is so delusional.” “A one-month-old solving a puzzle? Is he going to spit up code?” “Victoria is an Ivy League graduate, and Harry is a proven prodigy. Get this airhead and her bastard off my screen.” Just as I was about to fire back, Jeremy tapped my chest with his tiny hand. His soft, gurgling thoughts echoed clearly in my mind. Mommy, don’t worry about bad auntie. Jeremy’s got this. Jeremy will make us win. Suddenly, the director’s voice boomed over the speakers. “First challenge: The Starry Constellation. Guests must decipher the passcode from the star map on the wall to unlock the main door.” Victoria raised her hand, casting a disdainful glance my way. “Director, let Harry handle this one alone. We don’t want people saying we’re bullying a dummy and her bastard.” The director coughed lightly. “That is acceptable, as long as it does not violate the rules. Ten minutes on the clock. Begin.” Victoria nudged her son forward, her voice dripping with pride. “Go on, Harry. Show your aunt what a real genius looks like. We need to remind some people that simply having a baby doesn’t make them fit for this show.” Harry stepped onto a small stool with an arrogant smirk, moving blocks on the wall. The chat erupted in praise. “Harry is so cool! He looks like a little professor.” “His IQ is 140. Deciphering a code is child’s play to him.” “Look at the airhead holding her baby. She probably can’t even read the prompt. I bet she is panicking.” I stared at the dizzying array of stars on the wall, my head spinning. Numbers and shapes had always looked like gibberish to me. I looked down at Jeremy, who was staring intently at the wall with his wide, bright eyes. Just then, Harry made a few quick moves on the puzzle. A sharp, grating alarm blared through the room, and red lights flashed violently. Wrong password. Victoria’s smile stiffened, and she quickly knelt down to comfort her son. “It is alright, sweetheart. This one is tricky. Let us try again.” Harry threw his marker to the ground, his face red with frustration. “It is all Aunt Daisy’s fault!” He stamped his foot, pointing a finger at me. “She smells weird, and it distracted me! If she and that little bastard weren’t standing here, I would have solved it already!” Victoria turned on me, her expression sour. “Daisy, can you please take your child and stand back? If you cannot solve it yourself, at least do not ruin things for my Harry.” I trembled with anger. He couldn’t solve it, so he blamed me? Just then, Jeremy waved his little fists. Mommy, don’t be mad. Jeremy already solved it. Go to the wall and press the third blue star on the left. Then, slide the red star on the right to the center. Trust Jeremy, Mommy. I will carry you to the finish line. I nodded vigorously. “Okay! Mommy trusts you!” By the time I carried Jeremy to the wall, Harry was sweating profusely, scrambling the blocks into an even worse mess. His eyes were welling with tears of frustration. Following Jeremy’s mental instructions, I pressed and slid the blocks. A satisfying click echoed through the room. The heavy metal doors slid open, and the bright lights of the next corridor flooded in. The automated broadcast rang out. “Congratulations to Daisy’s team! Clearance time: two minutes and twenty seconds!” “Impossible!” Victoria shrieked, whirling around. “How could you solve that? You must have cheated!” Harry, startled by her scream, burst into tears. The live chat went dead silent for a moment before exploding. “What just happened? Daisy solved it in seconds?” “There is no way. She can’t even do basic math!” “Pure luck! A blind squirrel finding a nut!” “Yeah, she must have just pressed random buttons and gotten lucky.” I blinked innocently at Victoria. “I didn’t cheat. I just slid them around, and the door opened. Is this puzzle really that hard?” I tilted my head, offering her a sweet smile. “How strange. Why couldn’t the genius solve it, but a dummy like me did?” Jeremy giggled in my arms, kicking his tiny feet. Mommy is the best! Auntie looks like she is going to explode. I felt a surge of pride and planted a soft kiss on Jeremy’s warm cheek. Victoria’s face turned purple. “Fine! Let us see if your luck holds up in the next room!” She grabbed the crying Harry and dragged him roughly toward the second challenge. “Stop crying! You useless thing!” The second room was crisscrossed with red laser beams. Having learned her lesson, Victoria rushed forward the moment the door opened and snatched the only clue card hanging on the wall. She shoved it into Harry’s hands, looking at me triumphantly. “Daisy, this room requires music theory and complex logic. Let us see you get lucky this time.” Harry stared at the card, trying to look professional, before pointing at the floor tiles. “Mommy, I got it! Step on C4, then E4, and finally G4!” Victoria beamed, patting his head. “I am so proud of you, my clever boy.” I stood at the entrance, looking at the grid of red lasers, feeling lost. The only clue was in Victoria’s hands, and I knew nothing about musical notes. Jeremy squirmed in my arms, his mental voice filled with amusement. Auntie’s clue is a decoy, Mommy. Don’t look at the floor, look up. There are three small lights on the ceiling: red, yellow, and blue. Just step on the corresponding colored tiles on the floor in that order. I looked up, and indeed, three small bulbs were blinking in a red, yellow, and blue sequence. Without hesitation, I followed Jeremy’s lead and stepped on a red tile, then a yellow one, and finally a blue one. A soft chime sounded. A green light flared, and the exit door swung open. On the other side of the room, Victoria was guiding Harry onto the tile marked C4. “Warning! Incorrect step!” A loud siren blared, and a harmless but intense pulse of air swept across their ankles. The sudden vibration knocked Harry flat on his bottom, and he began to howl. I stepped through the exit door easily, holding my baby. I turned back to the frantic mother and son, offering some sincere advice. “Sister, that clue card is a trap. You just need to look at the lights on the ceiling.” Victoria snapped her head up, staring at the flashing bulbs. Her face flushed a deep crimson. The chat went wild. “She cleared it again? Who is the real genius here?” “Red, yellow, blue? It was that simple? What was Harry calculating all that time?” “Victoria treated a trap card like a prize. This is hilarious. The self-proclaimed prodigy is getting schooled by an airhead.” But soon, a suspicious narrative began to take over the chat. “This feels rigged. How did she know the trick without even looking at the clue?” “Did the production crew leak the answers to Daisy? This is too obvious.” “This is disgusting. Ruining a child’s confidence just to build up a fake persona for a dummy?” Victoria caught on to the shift in public opinion. She looked at the camera, her eyes instantly pooling with tears. “Daisy, I know you have always been jealous of me, but you shouldn’t resort to… to indecent transactions just to win. I didn’t want to say anything about you visiting the director’s room in the middle of the night, but this is too much.” The chat erupted. “What? Sleeping with the director? That is vile!” “No wonder she cleared the rooms so fast. She sold herself for the answers!” “Get this fraud out of the industry!” “I feel so bad for Victoria. She has to share a stage with someone so dirty.” Victoria put on a heartbreaking performance. “Daisy, don’t deny it. I got up last night and saw you leaving the director’s room in your pajamas. I thought you were just lonely, but to think you traded your body for puzzle answers. I cannot stay silent.” Harry chimed in, pointing a finger. “Aunt Daisy is a bad woman! She is a cheater!” I trembled with rage. I spent the entire night in my room putting Jeremy to sleep. I hadn’t even opened my door. “You are lying! I never went there!” Suddenly, the director’s panicked voice came over the speaker system. “Everyone, please calm down! This is a misunderstanding! Miss Daisy did not visit my room last night. The hallway security footage can prove it!” However, his defense only fueled the fire. “Of course the director would deny it. Who would admit to taking bribes like that?” “They can edit security footage however they want. Victoria has an flawless reputation; she would never lie about this.” As the accusations grew worse, a post on social media skyrocketed to the top of the trending charts. It was from my biological father, Charles, the head of the Stone Group’s regional branch. Charles: A family disgrace. Daisy has suffered from cognitive delays since childhood and has never passed a basic math exam. She begged and threw tantrums for a chance to appear on this show. Please be patient with her, and do not hold her poor decisions against her. Attached to the post were high-definition photos of my failing childhood report cards and a medical evaluation indicating a low intelligence score. This post sealed my fate in the eyes of the public. The chat turned into a vicious torrent of abuse. “Even her own father called her out. There is no digging her way out of this.” “Her family must be so embarrassed of her.” “I bet the baby is a bastard from some random hookup too.” Staring at the cruel words, tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t understand why my father would do this. He was the one who promised me a sum of money for Jeremy’s formula if I agreed to join this show. Now, he and Victoria were actively trying to destroy me. A tiny, soft hand reached up, clumsily wiping away my tears. Mommy, don’t cry. Grandpa is a bad man. They are bullying you, so Jeremy is going to teach them a lesson. I sniffled, whispering, “What do we do, Jeremy?” Jeremy let out a small, proud huff in my mind. They don’t believe you? Then we will make them believe. Tell the director to let the viewers submit questions in real-time. A live duel. Whoever answers the most questions correctly wins. I froze. “The viewers? But Mommy doesn’t know any of those things.” Jeremy snuggled his small head against my chest. You have Jeremy. Jeremy is the smartest boy in the universe. Just repeat what I tell you. I took a deep breath, wiping my tears away, and looked directly at the camera. “You claim my answers were bought? Fine. Let the viewers submit the questions in real-time. If you lose, Victoria, you will publicly admit to your lies and apologize to my baby and me on your knees!” Victoria sneered, letting out a sharp laugh. “Deal! You brought this on yourself. Let us see how you survive without your script!” The chat went wild. “She is asking for it! Let us give her the hardest questions we can find!” “Bring out the university-level math and science. Let us expose this fraud!” To maximize ratings, the director immediately agreed. “To ensure complete fairness, we will open a live submission channel. We have also invited three industry experts to act as judges. Viewers can submit questions in the chat, and our judges will display the selected ones on the screen.” As the viewer count hit ten million, the system began to lag. The director was sweating when his private phone rang. The caller ID read: Wolf Stone. The director answered, his voice shaking. “Mr. Stone, to what do I owe the honor?” A cold, smooth voice replied, “Is there still a vacancy on the judging panel?” The director gasped. “Sir, do you mean…” “I will join.” Those three words, caught by the director’s microphone, leaked into the live stream. The entire audience went quiet before exploding into chaos. Victoria immediately smoothed her hair, smiling coyly at the camera. “Wolf praised Harry’s intelligence at a charity gala recently. He must be here to support us after seeing how we were treated.” The chat agreed. “Oh my god, the elusive Wolf Stone is joining the stream for Victoria!” I stiffened, holding Jeremy tightly. Wolf Stone. He was actually here. The live stream turned into a high-level academic examination. The questions submitted by the audience were brutal, ranging from university calculus to quantum mechanics, and even translations of obscure, ancient texts. Victoria’s face turned pale as she stared at the screen. Harry broke down, crying and hiding behind his mother. “Mommy, I don’t know these! What are those letters?” Victoria grit her teeth, glaring at me. “Daisy, do you even understand a single word of this? Stop pretending!” In truth, I didn’t understand a thing. But my baby did. Jeremy sat calmly in his stroller, whispering the answers into my mind, and I simply repeated them. “First question: the limit is the square root of two.” “Second question: the probability of wave function collapse is forty-five point six percent.” “Third question: the ancient text translates to ‘May peace prevail upon the earth.’” I spoke rapidly, barely pausing for breath. I didn’t even know what I was saying, but as fast as Jeremy fed me the answers, my mouth delivered them. While Victoria was still sweating over the very first calculus question, I had already answered a hundred. The chat was flooded with question marks. “Is she chanting gibberish? She must be making it up!” “No computer could calculate those quantum equations that fast!” Victoria grabbed onto this theory like a lifeline. “Yes! She is just making up random words! Director, have the judges verify her answers and expose her!” The three judges finished their calculations. Five minutes later, the final scores appeared on the screen. Daisy’s Team: 100 questions answered, 100% correct. Victoria’s Team: 0 questions answered. The internet went dead silent. Victoria stared at the screen, her body shaking violently. “How… this is impossible! Why?” I patted Jeremy’s head and smiled gently. “Because my baby is a genius.” Victoria snapped, screaming hysterically, “You expect anyone to believe that? He is a newborn! How could a newborn teach you? Besides, a dummy like you could never give birth to a genius!” A deep, commanding voice echoed through the speakers. “She certainly could, because she is my woman.”

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1 My mother was the rightful heiress. Thirty years ago, her own parents conspired with her fiancé to steal her academic records, handing the life she had earned over to an adopted impostor. Armed with my mother’s stolen credentials, the impostor climbed the social ladder to become a celebrated prima ballerina, lecturing on national television about dreams and hard work. My mother, meanwhile, was cast out and abandoned in the rugged hills of Appalachia under the pretense of being too unrefined. She died in a dilapidated trailer, never receiving a single word of apology. Three decades have passed. I carried her unfulfilled dreams out of those mountains and became the lead developer of a groundbreaking medical algorithm. On the day the core data was finalized, a spoiled heiress was parachuted into our lab. She brought a co-authorship agreement, backed by her family’s massive resources, intending to buy out the research I had spent three grueling years building. But when I flipped the agreement open and saw the names of the primary investors, I smiled. I had been waiting for this day for a very long time. … “Are you done staring? If you are, sign it.” Ella’s high heel kicked my computer tower, sending a dull thud through the metal casing. She wore a full face of flawless makeup, holding a Starbucks cup. The diamonds on her manicured nails caught the sterile fluorescent light of the lab, flashing aggressively. “Nora, this agreement is the closest you’ll ever get to real money in your life.” She tossed a thick folder onto my keyboard. “Sign it. I take first author credits on the project, and you can stay on as second author.” She looked down at me, her eyes dripping with condescension. “Fifty thousand dollars. That is more than enough for you to build a nice little house back in whatever swamp you crawled out of.” I didn’t move. My eyes slowly traced the names of the investment firms listed on the paper: Apex Medical Group and Aurora Media. Apex was owned by Randy. Aurora was owned by Vivian. One was the impostor who had stolen my mother’s life. The other was the bastard who had trampled his own fiancée to secure his future. Now, their daughter stood before me, demanding to buy out the source code I had spent three years of sleepless nights writing. “What? Not enough?” Ella let out a sharp scoff at my silence. “Director Briggs told me all about you. Your mother was a backwoods farmhand who didn’t even finish high school, and you only made it this far on student loans.” She tapped my monitor with a long, glittering nail. “Scientific research is a luxury for the wealthy. People like you shouldn’t waste your time dreaming about changing the world. Take the cash and run. It is better for everyone.” The lab was dead silent. My teammates, the very people who had survived on instant ramen and cold coffee beside me for years, kept their heads down, staring intensely at their screens. Director Briggs waddled into the room, his face creased into a slimy grin. “Nora, Ella is offering you a very generous deal.” He stepped up beside her, bowing slightly. “Apex Medical just donated twenty million dollars in equipment to our institute. This project wouldn’t even have a launchpad without her father’s support.” He turned to me, his voice dropping into a thinly veiled threat. “Be smart, Nora. What difference does it make who gets first author? Once the project succeeds, your name will still be on the secondary list. Don’t let your selfishness ruin this.” I raised my head and met his gaze. “This is a federally funded, high-priority medical algorithm,” I said, my voice flat and even. “I wrote every single line of the core logic. First authorship designates the actual controller of the project.” I slid the folder back across the desk. “She doesn’t even understand the basic architecture of the model. If she signs off on this and the clinical data deviates later, who takes the fall?” Ella’s face darkened instantly. “Who do you think you are to question me?” She slammed her Starbucks cup onto the desk. Coffee splashed over the wood, staining my mousepad. “Let me tell you something, Nora.” She leaned down, her shadow falling over me. “Hard work doesn’t win in the real world. My family name is gold. My grandfather retired from the Department of Health, and my father is the chief of surgery at a major hospital. My presence alone is an honor to this project.” “You won’t sign?” She stood up straight, smoothing her designer top with a sneer. “Director Briggs, it seems your lead developer doesn’t understand how the world works.” Briggs broke into a cold sweat. He pointed a trembling, nicotine-stained finger at my face. “Nora! Do not push your luck! Sign the paper right now, or you are off this project entirely!” I stared at his finger. “Are you sure you want to suspend me?” I asked quietly. “The core database is locked in my private cloud. Without me, the data models you’ve run for the past three years are nothing but useless, corrupted junk.” Briggs froze. But Ella merely laughed, pulling out her phone and dialing a number. “Steve, bring your team in.” The heavy lab door pushed open, and three IT specialists in suits walked in. “Crack her private cloud,” Ella commanded, pointing at my terminal. “Copy every piece of data on that system.” She turned back to me, her eyes bright with malicious triumph. “Nora, I am not just taking your work. I am going to make sure you never work in this industry again.” She leaned casually against Briggs’s desk and gave a lazy wave of her hand. “Throw her out.” 2 I didn’t fight the security guards when they escorted me out. I simply powered down my monitor, slipped the small black USB drive next to my mouse into my pocket, and stood up. “Stop!” Ella’s sharp eyes caught my movement. “Search her. She doesn’t leave this building with so much as a scrap of paper!” The two guards hesitated. Briggs frowned. “Nora, play by the rules. Empty your pockets.” I looked at them, pulled the tiny USB drive out, and tossed it onto the desk. “It is a backup of my digital receipts from breakfast,” I said coldly. “Would you like me to open it and show you?” Ella rolled her eyes and waved her hand in dismissive disgust. The guards escorted me out of the building like a criminal. The afternoon sun was blindingly bright. I stood outside the iron gates of the institute, looking up at the facility where I had poured out three years of my life. My phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. Nora, this is called knowing your place. A stray dog can never become royalty. You and your dead mother belong in the dirt. I stared at the screen. My dead mother. The words felt like a rusted needle driving straight into my chest. My mother did die in the dirt, ravaged by late-stage lung cancer. On her deathbed, she was nothing but skin and bones, but her fingers had been wrapped tightly around a faded high school graduation photo. In the center of that photo, she was smiling brightly. Standing right next to her was Vivian, the woman who would later steal her name and her future. And next to Vivian was Randy, the man who had promised to marry my mother, only to push her into an abyss for his own gain. I put my phone away and hailed a cab back to my cramped apartment. But as I reached the entrance of the run-down brick building, I stopped. A sleek, black Maybach was parked along the curb of the dilapidated street, looking entirely out of place. A middle-aged man in a bespoke suit stood beside the car, a cigar clamped between his fingers. He looked every bit the picture of distinguished authority. Randy. Seeing me approach, he stubbed out the cigar and brushed a speck of ash from his lapel. “Nora?” His voice carried the smooth, heavy arrogance of a man used to being obeyed. “Yes,” I said, keeping a distance of two paces. He scanned me from head to toe. His gaze lingered on my worn sneakers and faded jeans, a flicker of pure disdain passing through his eyes. “Ella told me about the incident at the lab.” He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a leather checkbook, and uncapped a fountain pen. “Young people are hot-headed. I understand. You worked hard for three years, and it is natural to feel slighted.” He scribbled a quick string of zeros, tore the check free, and held it out to me. “One hundred thousand dollars.” His tone was so casual it felt like he was tossing scraps to a stray dog. “Take this, give us the password to the cloud, and leave the city. You grew up in the backwoods. You should know that this is more money than your family could make in three lifetimes.” I looked at the slip of paper fluttering slightly in the breeze. I didn’t reach for it. “Dr. Randy,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Are you really that confident that your money can buy everything?” Randy’s brow furrowed. He withdrew the check, his gaze turning icy. “Don’t get greedy, girl.” His voice carried a dark warning. “I don’t like people who don’t know when to submit. In this field, I have a hundred ways to destroy your career. Asking for the password is me giving you a way out.” “A way out?” A laugh escaped my throat, sounding sharp and hollow in the narrow alley. I looked at his manicured face and thought of my mother, coughing up blood onto her threadbare blankets. “Thirty years ago, did you use the exact same speech to give yourself a way out?” I took a step closer, my voice dropping. “Stealing someone else’s achievements, stepping on their bones to climb the ladder. Tell me, Doctor, when you sleep at night, are you ever afraid that the dead will come back to claim what is theirs?” Randy’s pupils contracted. The mask of calm composure cracked, revealing a flash of raw panic. “What did you say?” “Nothing.” I stepped back. “Tell your daughter I won’t hand over the data, and I won’t sign the papers.” “If you want to blackball me, go ahead.” I turned toward the stairwell. Behind me, Randy’s voice exploded in a rare display of fury. “You arrogant little brat! If you want to ruin your own life, don’t blame me for what happens next!” 3 Randy was a man of his word. Within twenty-four hours, I was transformed from a promising young researcher into an academic pariah. By the next morning, coordinated articles flooded every major news outlet and social platform. Young Genius Ella Solves Major Medical Algorithm Breakthrough Rogue Assistant Nora Accused of Attempting to Steal Team Research The Cancer of Academia: The Mountain Girl Who Tried to Sell National Secrets I sat in my dark apartment, watching the notifications cascade across my phone screen. On a live-streamed press conference, Ella sat under the flashing lights of the reporters’ cameras, wearing a pristine white blazer. Her eyes were red, presenting a picture of fragile vulnerability. “For three years, my team and I worked tirelessly to solve the core logic. But…” She bit her lip, looking down. “I never expected that Nora, a colleague I trusted completely, would lock us out of the database at the final hour. We have reason to believe she was planning to sell the algorithm to foreign corporations.” A reporter thrust a microphone forward, voice dripping with outrage. “Ella, how do you plan to handle such academic betrayal?” Ella took a deep breath, her expression hardening into brave resolve. “We have already contacted the authorities, and a joint blacklist has been issued to all major research facilities. I will not allow anyone to desecrate the sanctity of medical progress.” The comment section went wild. Absolutely disgusting! You can take the girl out of the swamp, but you can’t take the swamp out of the girl. Stealing research to sell abroad? Put her in federal prison! My heart breaks for Ella. She’s so brilliant and kind, yet she had to deal with this parasite. Blacklist her permanently! Someone should investigate how she even got into the institute in the first place. My phone buzzed constantly with notifications from the lab’s group chat. I had already been removed, but before the ban, the screen had been filled with messages from people who used to call me their mentor. You really never know a person. She acted so humble, but she’s just a thief. Thank goodness Ella caught her in time, or our three years of work would have been ruined. Did her mother never teach her not to take things that don’t belong to her? Oh, wait. She doesn’t have a family anymore. The last message was from Zack, a junior developer whose buggy code would have crashed the system last month if I hadn’t stayed up for forty-eight hours straight to rebuild it. I flipped my phone face down. I opened my old laptop and plugged in the small black USB drive, the one I had claimed was a receipt backup. A complex encryption prompt popped up on the screen. They thought that by seizing my workstation and locking my account, they had secured the algorithm. They didn’t know that the core logic bomb had been woven into the deepest architecture of the system since the day I wrote the first line of code. My phone rang. It was Professor Reynolds, my graduate advisor and the mentor who had brought me into the institute. I answered. “Professor.” “Don’t call me that!” Reynolds’s voice was tight with stress and anger. “Nora, what on earth have you done? The entire industry is calling you a fraud!” “Dr. Randy called me personally. He said if you don’t surrender the access keys, even my department will face budget cuts!” I remained quiet for a moment. “Do you believe them, Professor?” “It doesn’t matter what I believe!” Reynolds shouted. “Of all the people to cross, why did you have to anger the Randy family? They have deep roots in this city!” “Give them the data, write a formal apology to Ella, and go back home. Find a quiet job outside of academia and stay out of sight!” The line went dead. I looked at the black screen. I didn’t feel sad; I only felt a cold, sharp amusement. This was how Randy operated. Using money to crush, using power to silence, cutting off every social connection until his target was left helpless, forced to beg for mercy on their knees. Thirty years ago, they had used the exact same methods to drive my mother into exile. A notification popped up in the bottom corner of my laptop screen. It was an email from the committee of the Prometheus Cup, the national medical research competition. Dear Audrey Nora, due to recent allegations of academic misconduct, the committee has decided to revoke your presentation credentials for the upcoming finals. Right on cue, a text from Ella came through. Surprise. The finals are tomorrow morning, and I will be standing on that stage accepting the award with your algorithm. While you watch from the gutter like a sewer rat. This is what happens when you cross me. I stared at the text. My fingers danced across the keyboard, typing the final execution command into the terminal. I hit enter. A green progress bar flashed on the screen, loading to completion in a fraction of a second. “Ella,” I whispered to the empty room. “See you tomorrow.” 4 The next morning. The Metropolitan Convention Center was buzzing. The finals of the Prometheus Cup, the most prestigious medical research award in the country, were about to begin. Reporters and camera crews crowded the entrance. I wore a plain black trench coat and a baseball cap pulled low, blending into the crowd near the marble pillars outside the main hall. Several heavy-set security guards patrolled the doors, checking credentials. “Did you hear? The Randy heiress is presenting the closing project today,” a young intern reporter muttered to his colleague. “Of course. Word is if her project wins, Apex Medical’s stock is going to skyrocket tomorrow morning.” “That girl Nora got what she deserved. Trying to hijack a major medical breakthrough after working as a mere assistant.” “Honestly, she’s lucky the Randy family didn’t press charges. She should be in a cell right now.” I ignored the whispers and checked my watch. It was time. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Dr. Prescott,” I said quietly. “I am outside the entrance.” The deep, gravelly voice of Dr. Alan Prescott answered. “Use the side loading dock. My assistant is waiting there for you. Nora, those anomalies you sent me yesterday, I analyzed them all night. If your claims are correct, this isn’t just plagiarism; it is public endangerment.” Dr. Prescott was the head of the judging panel. He was also famous for his uncompromising ethics. He was a wall that Randy’s money could not penetrate. “I understand,” I replied. “Today, everything comes to light.” Ten minutes later, guided by Dr. Prescott’s assistant, I slipped into the back of the auditorium, taking a seat in the dim shadows of the back row. The stage lights were dazzling. Ella stood before a massive projection screen, dressed in a tailored Chanel suit, holding a laser pointer. She looked confident, radiant, and utterly untouchable. Randy sat in the front row, a proud, satisfied smile on his face. “Our neural-network-based medical algorithm is the result of three years of rigorous development and countless clinical simulations,” Ella announced, clicking to the next slide. The screen displayed a complex data visualization flow. “It increases the accuracy of early tumor detection by thirty-five percent. This is a monumental leap forward for oncology.” The hall erupted into thunderous applause. Several judges in the front row nodded in approval. Ella basked in the adulation, her chin tilting upward. “I want to take this opportunity to thank my father, who gave me the courage to pursue my dreams. And I want to make it clear that true science will never be compromised by those who seek to steal the hard work of others.” The audience murmured in agreement. Everyone knew exactly who she was referencing. As the applause died down, the floor opened for the judges’ questions. Dr. Prescott sat in the center of the panel, flipping through the printed report with a deep frown. “Ella,” he spoke into his microphone, his voice echoing through the speakers. “The performance metrics you presented are impressive. However, I have a question regarding the core architecture. In the event of a sudden embolic mutation, why does your D-7 code segment lack a fail-safe redundancy?” A sudden silence fell over the room. The question was highly technical, striking directly at the heart of the algorithm. Ella’s smile stiffened. Her fingers tightened around the presenter remote. “Well…” She glanced toward her father in the front row. “Dr. Prescott, we optimized the D-7 segment. In our tests, we found that a traditional redundancy wasn’t necessary because we implemented a more advanced filtering protocol.” “What kind of filtering protocol?” Prescott pressed, his eyes narrowing. “Can you explain the basic logic of that segment?” Beads of sweat formed along Ella’s hairline. “Those baseline codes were handled by our junior technicians,” she stammered, trying to maintain her poise. “As the principal investigator, my role was to manage the macro-framework and…” “The macro-framework?” A clear, cold voice cut through the auditorium from the very back. My wireless microphone, which I had patched into the house audio system minutes before, projected my voice perfectly into every corner of the hall. “Ella,” I said, standing up and taking off my cap. Under the collective gaze of hundreds of bewildered spectators, I walked down the center aisle toward the brightly lit stage. “You can’t even see that the D-7 segment is a logic loop designed to fail.” I looked at her pale face. “If you are going to steal my work, you should at least learn how to read it.”

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1 Ten years into the zombie apocalypse, the eighty-odd residents of our town hid inside an abandoned coal mine. We survived day by day, licking moisture off the cave walls. In the end, only seven of us were left alive. After another neighbor mutated and was torn apart, I pressed my hands against the rock face in the deepest part of the mine. My fingers brushed against a piece of hard plastic. Three words were printed on it. Props Department. I stared at the plastic tag in my hand, my fingernails digging so hard into my palm they almost drew blood. On the back of the tag was a pristine barcode sticker. The date of purchase was printed beneath it in crisp, black ink. Purchased October 2032. But the year the virus broke out, the year the world ended, was 2024. We had been down here for a decade. Where the hell did a brand new plastic tag come from? “Mack, come look at this.” I gripped the plastic tag so tightly my knuckles turned white. My voice was a low, breathless whisper, shaking with an emotion I could not quite name. Mack was my childhood best friend. He had just used his pickaxe to smash a mutated rat scurrying through the tunnels, prepping it for our pathetic dinner. His face was smeared with soot and grime. He dragged his bad leg over to me, a permanent limp from a zombie scratch that never healed right. He stared at the tag in my hand. For three seconds, he just blinked. “What the hell is that? Where did you get it?” Mack’s voice spiked, sharp and frantic. “Bottom level, right out of the rock wall in Pit Seven,” I said. “It was sealed behind a thick layer of waterproof cement. I dug it out where the water was leaking through.” Mack snatched the tag from my hand, turning it over and over. When he held it up to the dying yellow light of our emergency lantern and read the 2032 date, his knees gave out. He collapsed onto the jagged gravel, his eyes bulging wide enough to pop out of his skull. “Two thousand thirty-two…” he repeated like a broken record, his lips trembling violently. “The outbreak was twenty twenty-four. We have been rotting in this hole for almost ten years.” I stayed silent, holding his panicked gaze. “So this was made after the world ended?!” Mack suddenly let out a strangled, broken roar. “People are still making plastic tags out there?! And calling them props?! What the hell is going on?!” I crouched down and clamped my hand hard over his mouth, snatching the tag back and shoving it deep into my pocket. “Keep your voice down,” I hissed, staring him dead in the eye. “Go get the others. Get Gary, the Mayor, and Martha. Something is wrong.” This abandoned mine used to be the main coal shaft behind our town. Ten years ago, the zombie horde washed over our homes like a plague of locusts. Limbs were torn apart in the streets. Monsters shrieked in the blood-soaked mud. The Mayor led the surviving eighty people into this mine in a desperate bid for life. A decade later, those eighty people had been reduced to seven. Some mutated. Some starved. Some died of fever. The upper tunnels were piled high with their rotting bones. Just last week, Pete the butcher went out looking for an underground spring and got his throat ripped out by a stray lurker. Now, the only ones breathing were me, Mack, the Mayor, our old town accountant Gary, a widow named Martha, her eight-year-old deformed son Toby who was born in the dark, and a sickly old man coughing his lungs out in the corner. By the time Gary and the Mayor limped over, Martha was huddled in the shadows, holding skin-and-bones Toby tight against her chest. She saw the pale, haunted looks on our faces and squeezed her boy even tighter. “What happened? Are those things banging on the blast doors again?” Martha asked, her voice cracking with terror. I did not answer. I just pulled the tag out and handed it to Gary. Gary was the only guy among us who used to work a desk job. He took the tag, squinting at the front. It did not register. Then he flipped it over. The barcode. The date. His entire body went rigid as if he had been struck by lightning. “Luke, where did you find this?” Gary snapped his head up to look at me, his voice quivering. “Bottom level. Pit Seven. Behind the concrete wall that leaks.” The moment the words “Pit Seven” left my mouth, Gary and the Mayor turned the color of ash. I remembered it perfectly. Pit Seven was completely sealed off eight years ago. That was the year the horde somehow found our ventilation shafts. Monsters poured into the mid-level sector. We lost a dozen people in one night. We were on the verge of being completely wiped out. The Mayor made the call. He took a crew, rigged some old mining explosives, and collapsed the upper tunnels. Then, using tons of rubble and quick-dry cement, they completely sealed off the only deep shaft leading to Pit Seven. He told us it was the only way to stop the monsters from crawling up through the underground river system. “Mayor.” Mack pushed himself off the ground. His eyes, sunken deep into his skull from years of oxygen deprivation and starvation, flared with a terrifying, bloodshot rage. He stalked toward the old man, step by step. “You led the crew to pour that cement eight years ago. Did you hide this tag in there?!” “Did you know something back then?! Did you seal out the zombies, or did you seal our only way out?!” Faced with Mack’s desperate, suffocating interrogation, the Mayor’s wrinkled face twitched violently. He backed up against the freezing rock wall. He stayed silent for a full minute before burying his face in his filthy hands. “I did not know. I swear I did not know what was out there.” The Mayor’s voice broke into a hoarse, jagged sob. “Eight years ago, when I was pouring that concrete. I felt something in the rock fissures. I felt thick, heavy cables.” “They were not the kind of cables you find in an old coal mine. They were brand new. Like fiber optic lines from the big cities.” “I wanted to dig following those lines. But the monsters were already clawing at the barricades! Pete’s wife got half her face bitten off right in front of my eyes!” “What else could I do?! I had to pour the cement. I had to seal the wall!” The Mayor dropped to his knees, tears cutting clean tracks through the soot on his cheeks. “I never told a soul. For ten years, I kept my mouth shut. I convinced myself I was hallucinating. I told myself everyone out there was dead, and those were just leftover mining wires.” “You convinced yourself?!” I let out a cold, venomous laugh, cutting his confession short. “You convinced yourself, and you let eighty people live like rats in a sewer for a decade!” I looked at Toby, huddled in the corner, gnawing on his own dirty fingers just to dull the hunger pains. I looked at the hollow, dead emptiness in Martha’s eyes. A violent, apocalyptic rage ignited in my chest, burning through my veins like wildfire. “Get the picks.” I turned to Mack, my eyes locked in a dead, absolute resolve. “Get the iron picks, the steel bars, every single thing we can use to smash stone.” “I do not care if there are zombies behind that wall. I do not care if it is fiber optic cables, or God himself.” “Even if it costs me my life, I am tearing that wall down today!” Breaking through that concrete was a brutal, soul-crushing ordeal. Eight years ago, fueled by the terror of being eaten alive, the Mayor’s crew had poured three thick layers of quick-dry cement, packing it with solid granite boulders. All we had were a few rusted pickaxes and crowbars. But driven by sheer, rabid desperation and an absolute hunger for the truth, nobody felt the fatigue. Mack and I took turns swinging the heavy pickaxe. Every strike against the rock sent shockwaves up our arms, splitting the skin between our thumbs and index fingers until blood coated the wooden handles. Gary and the Mayor hauled the broken chunks of rock away. Even Martha strapped Toby to her back and smashed at the cement with a heavy stone. Hour one. We broke through the first layer of cement. Hour two. The pickaxe blades curled and dulled. We resorted to using steel bars as chisels. Hour three. Mack raised the pickaxe high above his head, ready to strike, but froze mid-swing. “Luke. Listen.” Mack’s voice was sandpaper dry. He stared unblinking at a crack in the wall. Every single one of us stopped moving. We held our breath. The enclosed cavern was dead silent, save for the ragged, wheezing sound of our own lungs. Then we heard it. Leaking through the two-inch crack we had just hammered open, a faint noise drifted into the dark. It definitely did not belong in an abandoned coal mine. It was a sharp burst of radio static. It sounded exactly like a security guard adjusting the frequency on a walkie-talkie. But that was not all. A draft of air pushed through the crack. It did not smell like rotting corpses, or damp moss, or human waste. It was a rich, warm, intoxicating aroma. I inhaled sharply, my pupils contracting into pinpricks. It was the smell of freshly brewed espresso. And underneath it, the rich, savory scent of roasted meat and hot takeout food. “That is not the smell of the dead.” Martha’s tears broke like a dam. She clamped both hands over her mouth, biting her palms to keep from sobbing out loud. Mack’s hands began to shake violently. The heavy iron pickaxe clattered to the rocky floor. “There are people out there. They are drinking coffee.” If there were walkie-talkies out there. If there were people sipping espresso and eating hot meals. Then what the hell were we doing for the last ten years? What about the neighbors who strangled each other over a single sip of dirty water? What about the family members torn to shreds by those monsters in the dark? What was it all for?! “Smash it!” My eyes went completely red. I snatched the pickaxe off the ground and swung it at the crack like a deranged madman. “Tear this entire damn wall down!!” Mack and the Mayor snapped out of their trance. They let out guttural, animalistic roars, grabbing whatever tools were left and hurling themselves at the barricade. Rocks splintered. Concrete dust and droplets of our own blood flew through the air. The hole grew larger. The light bleeding through became painfully bright. It was the harsh, artificial glare of fluorescent studio lights. “Let me look.” Mack pushed me aside. He pressed his pale, sun-starved face directly against the jagged opening. He peered through. Just one look. Mack’s body went completely rigid.

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1 After driving eight straight hours down the interstate, I safely delivered my son’s family of three to their five-star beachfront resort in Miami. When I went to check us in, the front desk clerk informed me that there was only one reservation on file: a single deluxe oceanfront suite. My son wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and looked me dead in the eye. “Mom, peak season rates are insane right now. You used to work graveyard shifts at the grocery store anyway, so just rough it in the car for a few nights.” My daughter-in-law rolled her eyes, chiming in right on cue. “We’re here to enjoy a romantic getaway. Why are you trying to be a third wheel? You really don’t know how to read the room.” My little grandson even spat at my shoes. “Grandma smells gross! I don’t wanna room with Grandma!” I looked at this pack of ungrateful parasites who were burning through my life savings while treating me like an unpaid chauffeur. Without a single word, I turned around and took the car keys. I drove straight to a used car lot and sold the vehicle for cash. Then, I booked myself a first-class ticket to Paris. If you all love the ocean breeze so much, you can sit on the sand and drink it in for the rest of your lives. My hands were still trembling against the steering wheel. From Atlanta to Miami, the GPS showed over six hundred miles. We had only stopped once at a rest area the entire trip, and not because I needed a break, but because little Tom had to use the bathroom. My son Derek and his wife Ashley lounged in the back seat the whole way. Not once did either of them offer to take a shift behind the wheel. Not once did they hand me a bottle of water. While we were at the rest stop, Tom started whining for ice cream. I pulled out twelve dollars and bought two artisanal bars, handing one to my grandson and the other to my daughter-in-law. Ashley glanced at it, her face twisting in pure disgust. “Take it away! Seriously, Mom? Twelve dollars for this gas station garbage? It’s loaded with artificial dyes and preservatives. What if it gives him a stomachache? Tom, spit that out right now, don’t eat her dirty food.” Derek frowned beside her, shooting me an impatient glare. “Mom, can you look at the brand names before you buy things? Stop being so cheap, it’s embarrassing.” I swallowed my words and kept driving. When we finally pulled up to the resort entrance, Derek pushed the door open and stretched his arms. His very first words to me were, “Mom, go find a parking spot. We’re going inside to check in.” Ashley hooked her two-thousand-dollar designer tote over her shoulder and clicked her high heels toward the grand lobby without looking back. Tom sprinted after her, his shoelaces completely untied. I called out, “Tom, your shoes!” but he didn’t even twitch. It took me twenty minutes of circling the resort’s massive parking garage to find a spot. I hauled three heavy suitcases out of the trunk by myself. Two of them belonged to Ashley, packed to the brim with her vacation dresses and luxury cosmetics. My own luggage was a single canvas duffel bag wedged into the dusty corner of the trunk. By the time I dragged all three suitcases into the air-conditioned lobby, my lower back was screaming in agony. The young receptionist pulled up the booking details, looked up, and said politely, “You have one deluxe oceanfront suite reserved under this name.” I thought I had misheard her and asked her to check again. “Yes, ma’am. Just the one suite.” I turned to look at Derek. He kept his arm snugly around Ashley’s waist, explaining it to me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Mom, peak season rates are killer. This single room was over twelve hundred a night. You’re used to working overnight inventory shifts at the grocery store anyway, so just sleep in the car. Keep the AC running, it’s practically the same thing.” Rough it in the car for a few nights? I am fifty-eight years old. I had just driven eight hours straight down the highway, and my own son was telling me to sleep in the back seat of a sedan. Ashley scoffed. “We’re here for a private couple’s retreat. Why are you trying to tag along and ruin the vibe? Zero self-awareness.” Tom hid behind his mother’s designer skirt, sticking his tongue out at me. “Grandma smells gross! I don’t wanna sleep near Grandma!” I stood frozen in the middle of the polished marble lobby. The young receptionist cast a sympathetic glance my way before quickly lowering her head. I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat felt completely closed off. Not a single sound came out. How did this entire vacation start a month ago? Ashley had been scrolling through her phone at the dinner table when she suddenly shoved the screen into Derek’s face. “Look at this influencer! Her husband booked her a penthouse beachfront suite in Miami! What about you?” Derek chewed the pot roast I had spent hours cooking, mumbling around his food. “No money.” Ashley dropped her fork and turned her sharp gaze toward me. I knew that look intimately. Every single time their household ran out of cash, she looked at me just like that. “Doesn’t Mom get her monthly pension?” The very next day, Derek sat on the edge of my bed, his voice dripping with honeyed persuasion. “Mom, you know how hard Ashley works taking care of Tom all day. She really needs a change of scenery to unwind…” He didn’t even need to finish the sentence. I understood the assignment. I went to the bank and withdrew fifteen thousand dollars. Even the car we drove down in was bought the exact same way. Two years ago, Ashley complained that taking rideshares was beneath her standard of living. She demanded a vehicle. Derek came to me instantly. “Mom, we need your help.” A thirty-thousand-dollar car. The down payment and every single monthly installment came straight out of my bank account. The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. The three of them stepped inside. Not a single one of them looked back. 2 When the metallic elevator doors sealed shut, I was left standing entirely alone in the cavernous resort lobby, holding a plastic bag of leftover road trip snacks they had left behind. That night, I curled up on the leather back seat inside the concrete parking garage. July in South Florida was unforgiving. The air inside the cabin grew thick and suffocating. I rolled the windows down just a fraction, but the humid night breeze only dragged swarms of mosquitoes inside with it. My back was drenched in sweat, sticking painfully to the upholstery, itching and burning. At three in the morning, someone came to pick up a vehicle parked in the adjacent stall. The harsh beam of a flashlight swept across my face. The man froze for two solid seconds, clearly astonished to find a gray-haired woman curled up like a stray dog inside a vehicle parked at a luxury beachfront resort. Daylight finally broke. My phone buzzed against the console. It was a text from Derek: [Mom, call down to the desk and order room service for us. Two steak omelets. Get yourself whatever you want.] I massaged my stiff, aching neck and sat upright in the driver’s seat for ten minutes. After placing their gourmet breakfast order, I sat in a quiet corner of the resort lobby and broke apart two plain wheat rolls I had packed from home. The bread was stale and dense. I forced it down my throat bite by bite, washing it down with bottled tap water. The first day’s itinerary was entirely curated by Ashley. She had spent weeks bookmarking trendy social media spots: a viral seafood establishment, luxury outdoor shopping pavilions, and sunset photography lookouts. Not a single activity involved my input. Around noon, we headed to the seafood restaurant. There was a thirty-minute wait outside the entrance. I was the only one standing in the line. Derek took Ashley and Tom into an air-conditioned boba shop next door. They ordered three iced matcha lattes and never once asked if I was thirsty. I stood baking under the subtropical sun with six groups ahead of me. A younger woman tried to cut in front of me, and when I politely told her the line started at the back, she shot me a filthy look and stormed off. When our number was finally called, I hurried inside the boba shop to get them. Ashley rose from her plush armchair with excruciating slowness. “Stop rushing us. I haven’t even finished my drink.” We sat down at our table. Ashley snatched the menu, flipped past the first two pages, and began rattling off orders to the waiter. Australian lobster, one hundred and fifty dollars. Alaskan king crab, two hundred dollars. Geoduck clams, one hundred and twenty. Two bottles of vintage white wine, two hundred and fifty. I reached out, hoping to check the menu for a simple, affordable stir-fried vegetable dish, but she yanked the leather binder right out of my reach. “Relax, Mom. This is plenty. You don’t know the first thing about fine seafood anyway, so don’t ruin the order.” The dishes arrived, crowding the tabletop. The second I reached my chopsticks toward a piece of shrimp, Tom shrieked at the top of his lungs. “That’s mine! Grandma, don’t touch it!” Ashley immediately backed him up. “Mom, don’t fight a child for food. You don’t even like seafood anyway, remember?” When had I ever uttered the words I don’t like seafood? What I had actually said, years ago, was: It’s too expensive, I can’t bring myself to buy it. Surrounded by a decadent feast, I quietly ate a small bowl of steamed white rice and a few slices of pickled cucumber. Derek sat gorging himself, his chin glistening with butter as he held up his phone to capture the spread for his social media feed: [Treating the wifey and kiddo to a feast! Happy wife, happy life!] Nine carefully filtered photos. I wasn’t in a single one. The bill arrived. One thousand four hundred dollars. Ashley casually picked at her teeth with a wooden toothpick while Derek didn’t even bother lifting his eyes from his screen. “Mom, put it on your card.” My fingers trembled slightly as I placed my debit card onto the silver tray, staring at the line item showing two hundred and fifty dollars spent purely on fermented grape juice. When I accidentally mistyped my PIN on the portable terminal, Ashley sighed loudly. “What’s the holdup, Mom? Does it physically hurt you to spend a little cash? You’re acting like we keep you chained in a basement.” One thousand four hundred dollars. Back when I worked the graveyard security shifts at the distribution warehouse, my entire monthly paycheck was barely nine hundred dollars. That afternoon, we toured a coastal nature preserve. Ashley hung her heavy designer tote over my left arm, strapped Tom’s insulated water jug over my right shoulder, and shoved cans of SPF spray, wet wipes, extra toddler clothes, and snack pouches into both of my hands. I looked like a pack mule carrying half a dozen bags, trailing behind them as they climbed the scenic wooden boardwalks. Derek and Ashley posed by the water for an elaborate family portrait session. The three of them. Just the three of them. I stood ten feet away in the scorching sand, holding four pairs of discarded sandals. “Move slightly left!” “Tilt your chin down!” “Your shadow is ruining the lighting!” Ashley made Derek retake the shots nine times before she was satisfied. She grabbed her device, applied her preferred aesthetic filters, uploaded the post, and walked away without sparing me a glance. Passing a high-end resort boutique, Ashley halted in front of the glass display window. Her eyes locked onto a cultured pearl necklace priced at eight hundred dollars. She stared at the jewelry, then turned her gaze to Derek. Derek checked the price tag, then turned his gaze to me. “Mom, Ashley really loves it. We’re on vacation, don’t be a killjoy.” 3 I pulled out my card again. Ashley fastened the delicate pearls around her neck, admiring her reflection in the gilded store mirror, turning left and right with a satisfied smirk. She didn’t offer me a single syllable of gratitude. By evening, we returned to the resort property. Exhaustion was gnawing at my bones. I finally gathered the courage to ask, “Can we please book a standard double room tonight? My back is locking up, I really cannot sleep in the sedan again.” Ashley cut me off instantly. “Book another room? Do you have any idea how much a basic room costs here? It’s over three hundred bucks!” Derek chimed in to reinforce the boundary. “Mom, it’s just a couple more days. Tough it out. You survived those freezing warehouse floors just fine.” The warehouse again. For ten straight years, I volunteered for the grueling overnight inventory shifts just to earn an extra four hundred dollars a month in hazard pay. Every single cent of that hard-earned money went directly to him. His university tuition, his fraternity dues, his apartment security deposits. And now he weaponized my past sacrifices to shut me up? For dinner, the three of them headed to the resort’s exclusive seafood pavilion. One hundred and twenty dollars per person. Derek sent me a quick payment request on his phone for three hundred and sixty dollars. I authorized the transfer. Alone in the dark parking garage, I tore open a packet of dry instant noodles I had brought from my kitchen pantry. I didn’t even have access to hot water. I simply gnawed on the crunchy, seasoned brick of dehydrated wheat until my stomach stopped growling. Sitting in the back seat, I opened my phone’s photo gallery. I scrolled back to a picture taken when Tom was barely a year old. He was resting peacefully on my chest, drooling and giggling up at the camera. Back then, the moment I walked into the room, he would reach his chubby little arms out, demanding to be held, following me around the house babbling Nana, Nana. Now, he looked at me and said Grandma smells gross. I stared at that digital screen until my eyes burned. Day three. Ashley’s closest college friend, Rachel, happened to be vacationing in Miami as well. She and her husband had rented a sprawling hillside estate overlooking the bay. Rachel extended an invitation for afternoon tea. Before we left the resort, Ashley actually turned to me. “Mom, you can come along.” Surprise flickered in my chest—she was actually including me? I changed into my cleanest blouse and followed them out. The private villa was nestled into the coastal cliffs, boasting white stucco walls, terracotta tiles, and an infinity swimming pool. As we approached the grand entrance, Ashley linked her arm through Derek’s, leading Tom up the stone pathway. Rachel greeted them at the double doors, radiating warmth and hospitality. Then her eyes drifted to me. She paused, smiling politely. “And who is this?” Ashley waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, this is just our live-in nanny. She helps out with Tom.” Nanny. Rachel beamed, immediately reaching out to shake my hand. “Hello there! Wow, your family found such a tidy, reliable helper!” Derek stood right beside them. He glanced at my face. He didn’t utter a single word to correct her. I slowly slid my hand out of Rachel’s grip, my fingernails digging deep into the flesh of my palms. The expansive living room table was laid out with imported pastries, charcuterie, and fresh fruit platters. Ashley ushered Derek and Tom to the plush sectional sofa, the three of them crowding around the coffee table. I stepped forward to pull up an accent chair, but Ashley caught my eye and shot me a sharp warning look. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “You! Go sit out on the patio deck. There really isn’t enough seating around this table.” Not enough seating. There was a perfectly upholstered armchair sitting completely empty right at the edge of the rug. I held my tongue, turned on my heel, and walked out through the sliding glass doors onto the sun-drenched patio. Through the heavy double-paned glass, the sound of their cheerful laughter filtered out in muffled bursts. Rachel knelt down to offer Tom a macaron. “Tom sweetie, do you like your nanny?” Tom’s voice pierced right through the glass, loud and shrill. “She’s just a baby-sitter! Mommy told me she’s super broke!” The living room went dead silent for one heartbeat. Then, the collective laughter erupted louder than before. I sat on a woven wicker patio chair, gripping the armrests until my knuckles turned stark white. Before leaving Georgia, I had specifically visited a local department store to purchase a new top—a fifty-dollar pastel floral blouse that the sales associate promised made me look vibrant. When I tried it on for Ashley back at the hotel, she sneered. “That looks horribly tacky. Don’t wear that out, you’ll embarrass us.” She forced me to change back into my faded, pilled gray cotton tee that I had owned for five years. The heavy glass patio door slid open. Rachel stepped out holding a delicate porcelain teacup, her expression tight and uncomfortable. She hesitated, lowering her voice as she approached my chair. “Ma’am… wait, are you actually Derek’s mother?” I kept my eyes fixed on the distant ocean horizon. She studied my profile, then looked back through the glass at Derek lounging on the sofa. The air turned glacial. Ashley’s face instantly shifted. 4 Ashley stormed out onto the deck. “Mom! What on earth is that facial expression supposed to mean? Are you deliberately trying to make people get the wrong idea?” I looked up calmly. “What expression?” “Sitting out here looking like a martyr! Someone asks you a simple question and you put on this pathetic, victimized act? You are an absolute embarrassment!” I stared at her flushed, indignant face without giving her a single syllable in response. Derek dragged me by the arm into the side hallway, his tone sharp and reprimanding. “Mom, stop being so overly sensitive. Ashley just misspoke in the moment. Look at how you dress yourself—it’s completely natural for people to assume… Why don’t you take any pride in your personal appearance?” Wasn’t she the one who demanded I change my clothes? I looked into my son’s eyes. Thirty years ago, when this creature was kicking inside my womb, I truly believed I was nurturing a human being. Now I realized I had raised a parasite. On the drive back to the resort, I took the wheel. From the back seat, Derek sent a casual voice note. “Hey Rachel, my bad about earlier. My mom is naturally introverted and doesn’t really know how to socialize in polite company. Sorry things got weird.” Ashley leaned over to snatch the device, adding her own commentary. “Yeah girl, my mother-in-law is straight out of the rural backwoods. Don’t take it personally.” The rural backwoods. Fine. At dawn on the fourth day, my phone rang. It was Ashley. [Mom! I just found the most breathtaking beachfront rental property! It’s fifteen hundred a night! Go to the front desk, check us out of this resort, and transfer our luggage over there. There’s actually a bed for you to sleep in this time~] Fifteen hundred dollars a night. But she explicitly promised there’s a bed for you to sleep in. I weighed my options for a moment, then drove over. The rental was a standalone luxury bungalow right on the sand, featuring one master bedroom and an open-concept living space. The moment we unlocked the door, Ashley bypassed the living room and threw herself onto the king-sized mattress. “Oh, this bed is heaven!” I asked quietly, “Where do I sleep?” Derek pointed toward a narrow utility closet tucked behind the front entry corridor. “There’s a folding metal cot in there. Make do.” I pushed the narrow door open. It was barely thirty square feet. The floor was cluttered with commercial mop buckets, dirty cleaning rags, and industrial jugs of floor stripper. The sharp, toxic stench of concentrated bleach assaulted my nostrils. In the corner leaned a rusted metal folding frame covered in a thick layer of drywall dust. A fifteen-hundred-dollar beachfront bungalow. Funded entirely by my bank account. And they relegated me to the janitor’s closet. I stood on the threshold. I did not take a single step inside. Yet, I said nothing. At noon, Ashley went live on her social media feed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “We brought my wonderful mother-in-law down to Miami for a family retreat! I paid for the entire vacation out of my own pocket, aren’t I just the best daughter-in-law?” She spun the camera lens toward me, waving her manicured fingers. “Mom, come say hi to my subscribers~” Yesterday I was the hired help. Today, when she needed props for her digital audience, I was Mom again. That afternoon, they booked a private yacht excursion. Three tickets came out to eighteen hundred dollars. Derek held his smartphone out toward me with practiced indifference. “Mom, double-click for Apple Pay.” I authenticated the charge. Between the rental deposits, the dining bills, and the luxury shopping, I had bled nearly fifteen thousand dollars on this trip alone. That evening, Derek had a few drinks. He and Ashley were lounging on a woven hammock strung across the bungalow’s oceanfront deck, chatting casually into the night. They had no idea that the utility closet shared a paper-thin interior wall with the exterior deck. Every single word vibrated straight into my space. Ashley chuckled. “We’ve burned through almost fifteen grand on this trip, haven’t we?” Derek let out a soft alcoholic hiccup. “Give or take.” “Honestly, her wallet is her only redeeming quality. If it weren’t for her bank account, why on earth would I let her tag along? She’s nearly sixty, her driving is terrifying, she almost rear-ended a truck yesterday and gave me a heart attack.” They both dissolved into quiet, mocking laughter. Why on earth would I let her tag along. Those words hammered into my skull, strike after strike, shattering every remaining illusion. I wasn’t their mother. I was an ATM that doubled as an unpaid chauffeur. I didn’t close my eyes for a single second that night. Long before dawn, while the coastal sky was still a bruised, dusky charcoal, I silently gathered my canvas duffel bag. When I stepped out into the main living corridor, Tom’s soft breathing echoed from the sofa bed. The master bedroom door remained firmly shut. Zero movement. I picked up the car keys from the kitchen island. I turned the ignition, reversed out of the sandy driveway, and merged onto the deserted, pre-dawn streets of coastal Miami. The used car dealership opened its gates at eight o’clock flat. I sat waiting on the curb for forty minutes. The lot manager inspected the vehicle’s clean history and offered fourteen thousand dollars cash. It was a thirty-thousand-dollar sedan with less than twenty thousand miles on the odometer. I told him we had a deal. While signing the title transfer documentation, the manager paused, eyeing my face with genuine concern. “Ma’am, are you absolutely certain about this? This vehicle is practically brand new.” “I am certain,” I replied firmly. Watching the confirmation notification flash across my screen showing fourteen thousand dollars successfully deposited into my checking account, I hailed a taxi straight to Miami International Airport. I stood before the international ticketing counter for ten quiet minutes. The airline agent looked up with a welcoming smile. “Good morning, ma’am. Where are we flying today?” “Do you have any outgoing flights to Paris?” I asked. She clicked through her terminal for a few moments. “I have an itinerary connecting through JFK landing at Charles de Gaulle tomorrow morning. There are two first-class cabin seats still available.” I slid my debit card across the counter. By this point, my own actions felt entirely detached from reality. I felt like I was watching a stranger live my life. Yet, the transaction was approved. Sitting in the sunlit departure concourse, my mobile device began vibrating violently against my palm. Incoming call from Derek. I answered it. “Mom?! Where the hell are you? Where is the car?! Why is my driveway empty?!” “Did you take my car?! Bring it back to the bungalow this instant!” I spoke into the receiver with crystal clarity. “Derek, I paid the down payment and every monthly bill for that vehicle out of my own account. I sold it.” Dead silence stretched over the line for three seconds. Then his voice cracked, skyrocketing an octave into pure panic. “YOU SOLD IT?! Are you out of your mind?! That was my car! You can’t just—” The boarding announcement chimed overhead through the PA system. I ended the call. Gripping the handle of my simple canvas duffel, I stepped onto the jet bridge.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “501390”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At six, my father was brainwashed by his mistress Victoria and threw my mother and me into a brutal reformatory to break us. To escape the endless abuse, my mother grabbed me and fled into the dead of night. Victoria hunted us down in her SUV and released vicious guard dogs into the woods. She shoved me to safety and stayed behind, letting herself be mauled to death so I could survive. Rescued by the revered spiritual guide Madam Agnes, I spent twenty years on her secluded estate. Now I have returned as the ultimate corporate good luck charm. The business world calls me the Midas Touch. My name alone sends stock prices skyrocketing without me working a single day. Today, Victoria arrived at my door to offer me a job, not recognizing the girl she had once tried to kill. Her husband ran Crawford Enterprises, and my apprentice whispered that signing with them would be a jackpot. Victoria slid the contract across the table with a smug smile, claiming her empire was already booming and I was just the finishing touch. The terms were lavish—a seven-figure salary, luxury cars, and a penthouse suite. I picked up the contract and ripped it cleanly down the middle. Your family’s luck is running out. Your business is doomed to fail, and I will take my talents elsewhere. Victoria had brought a swarm of media reporters and rival CEOs to my living room. Snagging the famous Midas Touch was a massive PR stunt she did not want to miss. She thought she had me in the bag. She never expected me to tear up her golden ticket in front of flashing cameras. Her confident smile completely froze. The reporters started murmuring, and the rival executives exchanged gloating looks. Victoria’s face darkened. “Excuse me, Miss Bennett? I do not think I heard you correctly.” Isabella tugged at my sleeve, whispering nervously. “Sera, the Crawfords are top-tier elites. We cannot afford to offend them. Even if you do not sign, at least play nice and give her an out.” I ignored her advice. I locked eyes with Victoria, my mind flooding with the toxic memories of her cruelty. That night, she was behind the wheel, screaming that she was going to run us over. We scrambled into the woods, and she let the dogs loose. My mother was dragged down into the darkness by those massive beasts. She was torn apart, bleeding everywhere, but she did not scream in pain. She only begged me to run, to live. I stumbled blindly into the night, Victoria’s wicked laughter echoing behind me. Those memories made my fists clench so hard my nails dug into my palms. I took a deep breath, enunciating every single word. “Your family is cursed with bad karma. Bankruptcy is knocking at your door, and you cannot handle my blessings. Get out. I will never join your company.” Victoria was absolutely livid. But with the cameras rolling, she forced down her rage and tossed a sleek business card onto the ruined contract. “Miss Bennett, you clearly misunderstand the situation. Do you know who I am?” She tapped a manicured finger against the card. “I am the Vice President of Crawford Enterprises. I am Anderson Crawford’s wife.” She leaned in, dropping her voice to a venomous whisper. “This is your second and final chance. Know when to fold.” “Please leave,” I replied coldly. Without warning, Victoria grabbed the cup of steaming tea from the table and splashed it directly into my face. Isabella shrieked in anger. “What is wrong with you? Get out of my sister’s house!” Isabella frantically grabbed a cold towel, dabbing at my burning skin. Victoria pointed a finger at me, completely dropping her elegant facade. “You think you are magic? When we hype you up, you are a lucky star. When we drop you, you are nothing but trash!” She spun on her heels and stormed out. At the door, she yelled to the crowd. “Are you all blind? Are you really going to worship this con artist? A lucky constitution? It is absolute garbage.” A few people hesitated and scuffled out behind her. But the majority stayed planted in my living room. They watched me with burning curiosity, waiting for my reaction. Isabella looked at my red skin with tears in her eyes. “Sera, she completely ruined the vibe. I think these CEOs are doubting your abilities now. What do we do?” I picked up a hand mirror, examining the red blotches on my cheek. “Turn on the TV. If I am right, there should be some breaking news.” Isabella flicked on the flat screen. Instantly, the entire room gasped. A special news bulletin was flashing across the screen. Crawford Enterprises had just been busted for a massive supply chain failure. Their flagship products were exposed for containing toxic, counterfeit materials. The company’s stock was currently in a terrifying freefall, and class-action lawsuits were already piling up. I spoke without raising my voice. “Victoria attacked a blessed charm. Looks like karma works fast.” What I did not say was this. This is only the beginning. The real show has not even started. The executives remaining in my house looked at me with pure awe. One CEO rushed forward, his eyes burning with desperation. “Miss Bennett, please join my firm. Whatever the Crawfords offered, I will add thirty percent.” The others panicked and started shouting their own bids. “I will add fifty percent!” “Eighty percent!” “I will double it!” I did not accept any of them. I simply waved my hand. “I am tired. We can discuss this another day.” These men were opportunists who swayed with the wind. I had zero affection for them, so I politely kicked them out. Surprisingly, they were not angry. Being dismissed only deepened their reverence. To them, a true Midas Touch was supposed to be cold and untouchable. As they walked out the door, I heard their excited whispers. “She is the real deal. Whoever gets her on their payroll is set for life.” “Anderson Crawford is a blind fool. Sending his arrogant wife to insult the Midas Touch? He is finished.” “Did you hear her prophecy? The Crawfords are cursed. They will be bankrupt before the quarter ends.” Isabella closed the front gate and turned to me, her voice hushed. “Sera, are the Crawfords really going to go bankrupt?” “Their empire was built on rotten foundations,” I said calmly. “The universe always collects its debts. They will not escape this.” Isabella nodded in agreement. Less than ten minutes later, a violent pounding echoed from the front yard. Before we could even unlock the deadbolt, the heavy wooden doors were kicked open. A swarm of men in dark suits stormed into the courtyard. They parted like the red sea, allowing one man to step forward. Anderson Crawford. Seeing that face made my jaw clench. He was the monster who tossed my mother and me into that hellish reformatory. I still remember the day my mother fell to her knees, pressing her forehead against the floor, begging him. “Lock me in here until I die, I do not care. Just take our daughter with you! Do not leave her in this abusive nightmare!” Anderson’s face was made of stone. He kicked my mother squarely in the chest, knocking her to the dirt. I cried, pulling at his tailored suit. “Daddy, do you not love me anymore? Do you not love Mommy?” He looked down at me with pure disgust. “Get off me! I never want to see either of your faces again.” The bitter memory faded as Anderson stopped right in front of me. He stared at me with cold, calculating eyes. “So, you are Seraphina Bennett.” I nodded slowly. After Madam Agnes rescued me, I dropped the Crawford name entirely. I took my mother’s maiden name, Bennett. I even threw away the childhood name Anderson had given me, asking my mentor to bless me with a new identity. Seraphina. Anderson let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He looked me up and down like he was interrogating a criminal. “I built a billion-dollar empire from the ground up, and you dare call me cursed? Tell me, who paid you to short my stock? Who ordered you to spread these rumors?” I narrowed my eyes. “Who said they were rumors?” Anderson raised his voice, his face flushing red. “Answer the question! Who is pulling your strings?” I glanced at Isabella calmly. “Call the police. Tell them we have a home invasion.” Anderson ignored the threat, consumed by his own rage. “Crawford Enterprises is my life’s work! Nobody has the power to destroy it!” “You planted the toxic seeds,” I said smoothly. “Now you are choking on the harvest. You did this to yourself.” Anderson sneered. “I have heard the legends about your little ‘Midas Touch.’ I admit, it is a neat parlor trick. But you need to understand something. A billionaire’s wrath is not something a little girl can survive.” He took a menacing step closer. “It does not matter how magical you are. If you are dead, your constitution is useless.” I smiled. “How exactly do you plan to kill me? Are you going to lock me in an abusive boot camp until I waste away? Or are you going to unleash a pack of dogs to tear my throat out?” Anderson’s face went completely pale. His lips trembled. “Who the hell are you?” “You will find out very soon,” I said coldly. Anderson quickly regained his composure, masking his shock with a sneer. “It does not matter who you are. Going against my family is suicide.” He pulled a crumpled contract from his jacket pocket and slammed it onto the table. “Sign it. We can still play nice, and your compensation stays the same.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Did you honestly think bursting into my home and shouting at me would make me submit? Besides, your company is moments away from filing for Chapter 11. Why would I want a job on a sinking ship?” Anderson exploded. “You ungrateful little bitch!” He raised his hand to strike me across the face. But right at that moment, the wail of police sirens echoed down the street. Anderson froze. He lowered his hand, glaring at me with pure venom. “I will dig up everything about your past, Seraphina. Nobody in this world is perfectly clean. Once I find your dirty secrets, I will wait for you to come crawling to me on your knees.” He turned and marched out with his men. Isabella and I obviously did not let him off the hook. We followed the officers to the precinct and filed a detailed police report for trespassing and assault. By the time we finished giving our statements, the sky was pitch black. I smiled at Isabella. “Come on. Let me treat you to a nice dinner. You earned it today.” Isabella gripped her purse tightly. “Sera, I am a little scared. The people in this city are so vicious. Maybe we should just go back to the sanctuary and stay with Madam Agnes.” I shook my head. “I have unfinished business here.” We hailed a cab and headed toward the downtown restaurant district. But halfway through the ride, headlights flashed aggressively in our rearview mirror. A massive black SUV accelerated out of nowhere, slamming violently into our rear bumper. Our cab spun out of control and flipped. Shattered glass rained down. Blood dripped into my eyes. Before I could process the crash, the doors were pried open. Isabella and I were dragged out of the wreckage like dead weight and thrown onto the asphalt. Someone slapped my face hard. “Are you dead? Open your eyes.” I forced my eyes open, blinking through the blood. A young man with a nasty sneer crouched over me. He grabbed me by the throat, laughing darkly. “Do you know who I am? My father is Anderson Crawford!” It all made sense now. This was Preston. Anderson and Victoria’s precious son. Victoria had secured her place in the Crawford empire by giving Anderson a male heir. Preston was the anchor that gave her the power to exile my mother and me. Preston unscrewed a bottle of cheap liquor and poured it directly over my bleeding face. The alcohol burned my open wounds, forcing tears from my eyes. Preston threw his head back and laughed. “I heard you like playing God! How does the pain feel now?” He snapped his fingers, and a group of thugs stepped out of the shadows. They grabbed my arms and legs, pinning me to the pavement. Rough hands started tearing at my jacket. “What are you doing?!” I screamed, thrashing wildly. Preston smiled, a sick look in his eyes. “My parents tried to negotiate with you nicely, but you were too stupid to listen. So, I am going to teach you a lesson.” “Let us see if your little Midas Touch still works after my guys are done having their fun with you.” He pulled out his phone, holding it up with the flash on, recording the nightmare. The thugs laughed, their hands ripping at my clothes. Just as my shirt collar gave way, a furious voice shattered the darkness. “Get your hands off her! Back off!” A tall silhouette charged out of the shadows. He was swinging a heavy steel baton, bringing it down ruthlessly on the thugs. At first, the gang tried to fight back, assuming it was just one guy. But this stranger fought like a man with absolutely nothing to lose. He cracked ribs and shattered knees, leaving the thugs howling in pain. They scrambled away from me, yelling at Preston. “Hey, man! You paid us five hundred bucks to rough up some girl! You didn’t say we were going to get murdered!” The thugs bolted into the night, and Preston immediately jumped back into his damaged SUV, flooring the gas pedal to escape. The stranger dropped his baton and immediately dialed 911 for an ambulance. Later, in the bright lights of the hospital ward, we finally exchanged names. He was Alec Harrington, the heir to the Harrington Group. He stared at my bandaged face for a long time before speaking. “You look familiar. Are you… the Midas Touch?” I smiled and nodded. Isabella chimed in, exasperated. “Your family runs a major corporation, right? How could you not know my sister? Were you not at the elite networking banquet last week?” Alec rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “My family’s business has been targeted and crushed by the Crawfords for years. We are bleeding money. We could never afford to match the salary demands of a Midas Touch, so we stayed home to avoid the humiliation.” I looked at him warmly, a plan already forming in my mind. Alec had a heart of gold. I could absolutely save his family’s empire. Suddenly, Isabella shot up from her hospital bed, letting out a terrified gasp. “Sera! Oh my god, look at this!” I was startled. “What is wrong?” She handed me her phone, her hands trembling. I looked at the screen, and my vision swam. The internet was completely flooded with smear campaigns against me. The accusations were wild, but coordinated. One post claimed I was a master fraudster, stealing millions from desperate companies under the guise of being a lucky charm. Another viral thread accused me of corporate extortion. It claimed that if CEOs refused to pay my exorbitant fees, I would intentionally spread rumors and tank their stock prices. Predictably, anonymous accounts started defending the Crawfords. They claimed the toxic materials scandal was entirely fabricated by me because Anderson refused to be blackmailed. The gullible public took the bait instantly. “I knew it! That is why she predicted their bankruptcy! The Crawfords are billionaires, why would they risk their reputation over cheap materials?” “So the Midas Touch is just a corporate terrorist. Glad she messed with the wrong family this time.” Then came the final, devastating blow. High-resolution photos flooded the timeline, claiming to expose my “disgusting private life.” They were screenshots from the attack tonight. It showed me pinned to the ground with torn clothes, surrounded by men. But the malicious captions completely warped the reality. They framed it as me participating in twisted, underground orgies. The slut-shaming was instantaneous and brutal. “My name is John. Seraphina was my girlfriend. I dumped her because she could not stop cheating.” “I know her background. Her mother was a notorious homewrecker. She is a bastard child with zero morals.” “I bought her for a night at a shady club. Cheap. Only two hundred bucks. I have no idea how she rebranded herself as a lucky charm.” The comments were incredibly vile. Reading those disgusting lies, I felt a lump form in my throat. My phone buzzed. It was Anderson Crawford. His voice dripped with arrogance. “Miss Bennett, I assume you have seen the news?” “The power of a billionaire is beyond your comprehension. Work with me, or the torment is only going to get worse.” “Is this your idea of extortion?” I asked coldly. Anderson scoffed. “I am offering you a lifeline, and you call it extortion? Talk about biting the hand that feeds.” “I am giving you a warning. In less than a week, your reputation will be radioactive. You will be begging for a janitor job, and nobody will hire you.” “You have thirty minutes to think about it.” Thirty minutes later, my phone rang again. I answered and gave him a one-word reply. “Rot.” Anderson hung up with a vicious click. Ten minutes later, Isabella came into my room, her eyes red from crying. “Sera, they are going too far. People are showing up at our front gate.” A mob of paid actors had gathered outside my residence, holding banners claiming I had scammed them out of their life savings. They were screaming into megaphones. The chaos attracted online streamers and clout-chasers. They turned my home into a circus, filming, cursing, and throwing trash over the walls. The very executives who had begged on their knees to hire me yesterday released public statements completely cutting ties with me. The only family that stood by my side was the Harringtons. Alec quickly arranged for a covert transfer, moving Isabella and me to a private, highly secure hospital owned by his family’s medical branch. Our identities were locked down, shielding us from the mob. Alec’s father, Richard Harrington, personally visited my room with a basket of fruit. He patted his chest, swearing that he would support me with whatever resources I needed. I thanked him genuinely. “I only have one request. I want to leave this hospital, go back into the public eye, and clear my name.” Richard looked shocked. “Miss Bennett, you cannot show your face right now.” “The internet is a vicious, fickle beast. The outrage burns hot, but it fades quickly. The best strategy is silence. If you hide for three months, everyone will forget this ever happened.” “If you speak out now, every single word will be twisted, and the fire will only spread.” I smiled. “I am not afraid of the fire spreading. I want it to burn down the entire forest.” “Some secrets need to be blasted into the spotlight.” Seeing my absolute certainty, Richard finally nodded. Alec looked at me with cautious curiosity. “So what is your plan to clear your name?” I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “I just need a little cooperation from a certain someone.” Alec glanced at the screen, and the color instantly drained from his face. He lunged forward and snatched the phone right out of my hand. “Are you insane? How could you call him?”

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1 During our first year of marriage, he personally wrote on the first aid kit in bold red marker: Audrey’s Emergency Meds: Cat Allergy / Asthma Inhaler. By the second year, the kit had been moved from the entryway to the utility closet. He said we rarely used it and it was just cluttering the hallway. In our third year, Simon stood before me, cradling a fluffy Ragdoll cat in his arms, a warm smile on his face. “I have a severe cat allergy,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Did you forget?” His hand froze mid-stroke. “Wait, aren’t you afraid of dogs?” I had never been afraid of dogs. The one afraid of dogs was not me. But I knew exactly who loved cats. His first love, Fiona. I did not push him further. I just swallowed my antihistamine with practiced ease and slipped on a face mask. He let out a sigh of relief, thinking the matter was settled. Late that night, after he drifted off to sleep, I placed the bottle of allergy medication right next to the black coffee mug he used every single morning. If he saw the bottle while pouring his coffee and asked me about it, it would mean he still cared enough to recognize what it was. But if he just picked up his mug, his gaze sliding right past the bottle as if it were nothing but an annoying piece of clutter, then I suppose I was nothing but clutter to him too. “Simon, what time are you leaving this morning?” He was putting on his shoes in the hallway, not even bothering to look up. His eyes briefly swept over the prescription bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. “Seven-thirty. Why?” “Nothing.” I stood by the kitchen door, clutching the empty bottle. He had rinsed his mug, leaving wet rings on the counter, but the bottle remained exactly where I had placed it, untouched and ignored. I unscrewed the cap and dumped the last few pills down the drain. They rattled softly against the stainless steel sink. Before heading out, he planted a quick kiss on my forehead. “Don’t wait up for me tonight. I have plans.” His gaze had not lingered on my lifeline for even a fraction of a second. I walked over to the utility closet. The first aid kit had been shoved deep into the back, buried beneath a folding stool and an unopened bag of cat litter. He claimed the cat was gone, but the cat litter remained. The bag was neatly tied, looking far from discarded. I set the folding stool aside and dragged the kit out. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but the red lettering on the lid was still visible: Audrey’s Emergency Meds: Cat Allergy / Asthma Inhaler. The year we got married, I accidentally touched a friend’s cat and nearly went into anaphylactic shock. He had rushed downstairs barefoot in the middle of the night to buy me medicine. Once the danger passed, he knelt on the floor with bloodshot eyes, carefully writing those words. “Audrey, just in case. I am not taking a single risk with your life.” Now, the box holding my survival was rotting in a corner, weighed down by unused cat litter. With trembling fingers, I wiped away the dust and popped the lid open. The asthma inhaler had expired eight months ago. The antihistamines were completely empty. The protective sleeve of the EpiPen had yellowed, a clear sign of poor storage conditions. This was a critical issue because these injectors lose potency when exposed to temperatures above seventy-seven degrees. During the summer, the utility closet was a sweltering oven without any air conditioning. Slumping against the wall, I stared at the useless medical waste scattered on the floor, a literal countdown to my own demise. It was almost laughable. He used to have a recurring alarm on his phone every three months to check my meds. It had been silenced long ago, deleted without a trace. I carried the open kit back to the entryway table, arranging the expired medications with their labels facing upward. Then, I went to pack my things. Three years of marriage, and my belongings were shockingly sparse. A few seasonal coats, an inhaler that was about a third full, my ID and passport, and a small notebook containing my financial codes. My twenty inch carry-on suitcase was only half full. I stood by the door for a moment, looking at the open kit on the table, and then at the red handwriting I had just dusted off. It was time to leave. At nine that evening, Simon called. His voice dripped with annoyance. “What are you doing? Why are all the lights off?” “I am not home.” “Where are you?” “Staying somewhere else.” Silence hung on the line for a second before his tone shifted to a mix of worry and exasperation. “What is it this time? Why are you throwing a tantrum in the middle of the night?” “I left the first aid kit on the entryway table. You must have seen it when you walked in.” “What about it?” “The medicine inside is expired, Simon. It has been expired for a very long time.” The line went dead silent for a long five seconds. “Audrey, can you speak like a rational human being? You packed up and left in the middle of the night over a first aid kit?” A rational human being. “Maybe I am not rational, Simon.” 2 My voice trembled with rising emotion. “I have a severe cat allergy. Don’t tell me you forgot. That EpiPen and inhaler in the kit are things I have to carry with me for the rest of my life.” He did not answer. “You used to care. But now, you want a cat, or maybe you want something else entirely.” “Audrey, I…” A long pause stretched over the line before his voice crackled through the speaker again. “I didn’t mean to. I just forgot.” “Save your breath, Simon. You didn’t forget. You just stopped caring. Go back to your cat-loving first love. She doesn’t need a first aid kit.” With that, I hung up. The moment the screen went dark, I blocked his number. On the evening of the third day, I went back to the apartment to retrieve my health insurance card. Judging by his usual schedule, he should not have been home yet. But when I slid my key into the lock, I noticed warm light spilling from beneath the door. Simon was standing in the kitchen, his apron tied slightly askew. Two pots simmered on the stove, one with soup bubbling inside, the other holding a half-cooked stir-fry left to cool. Hearing the door, he turned around, spatula in hand. “You’re back?” His tone was perfectly casual, as if nothing had happened. “I’m just grabbing something and leaving.” I walked straight past him toward the bedroom, refusing to waste another second. By the time I found the card and came back out, he had set the dishes on the dining table and pulled out a chair. “Sit down and eat. It’s warm. I bet you’ve only had instant noodles since yesterday.” Ignoring him, I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door. Suddenly, he rushed up from behind and wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Audrey, I know I messed up. Please stop fighting with me, okay?” Before I could even struggle to free myself, a sharp, familiar irritation invaded my sinuses. My airways constricted instantly. My chest tightened as a suffocating wave of panic rushed up my throat. Summoning every ounce of strength, I shoved him away, clutching my chest as a high-pitched wheeze escaped my throat. Looking down, I saw several long, white hairs clinging to the front of his knit sweater. “You saw Fiona today,” I gasped, staring at him as I struggled to draw breath. His face froze. He took a half-step back, his voice turning raspy. “What are you talking about? I was at the office all day.” “There is Ragdoll fur all over your sweater!” I leaned against the wall, my vision beginning to blur. “What was her cat’s name again? Snowball, right?” “There was a stray cat outside the office. During lunch, I went out and…” “A long-haired stray?” I scoffed, a violent cough ripping through my chest, tearing at my raw airways. “Simon, do you think I don’t know what a purebred Ragdoll looks like?” He fell silent, tugging at the hem of his sweater. His eyes darted to the side, a telltale sign of his dishonesty. He was lying. I did not have the energy to argue. Stumbling into the bathroom, I fumbled through my bag for my backup antihistamines and a newly opened inhaler, swallowing the pills with a mouthful of tap water. “Audrey,” he said, following me to the hallway, his voice tight. “Are you really making this big of a deal out of it?” “My lungs are failing because you are covered in deadly allergens!” I tried to make a break for the door, but a sudden wave of dizziness pinned me to the spot. The heavy sedative effect of the antihistamines, combined with the lack of oxygen and the sheer exhaustion of not eating for a day, drained the remaining strength from my limbs. My knees buckled. I stumbled into the guest room and collapsed onto the bed, too weak to even lock the door behind me. I do not know how much time passed before the door clicked open in my semi-conscious haze. He had changed into fresh pajamas, smelling of soap and the damp warmth of a recent shower. “I showered and changed everything. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.” My body felt like lead. Unable to lift a single finger, I watched helplessly as he climbed into bed beside me, pulling me close and draping a heavy arm over my shoulder. Before long, his breathing evened out, and he drifted off to sleep. Trapped in his embrace, I stared blankly at the ceiling, my eyes wide open. The cat hair was gone from his clothes, and the unfamiliar scent of jasmine perfume had washed away, but a faint red scratch on the side of his right index finger remained highly visible. It was the unmistakable mark of a cat’s claw, left behind when the pampered creature had kicked off from his chest. 3 I turned my head away and shut my eyes. In the hazy quiet of the night, his wedding proposal echoed in my mind. “I will protect you for the rest of our lives. I’ll never let anything hurt you.” The air purifier we bought for our new home sat in the corner of the master bedroom, plugged in with its green indicator light glowing. I could not remember the last time the filter had been changed. He probably did not even know it had one. A week later, my health took a turn for the worse. The lingering allergens had contaminated every square inch of the apartment. I called a cab and headed straight for the emergency room. The attending physician took my medical chart, flipped through the pages, and stared at me for a long moment. “Audrey?” It took me several seconds of peering through the fog of my nebulizer mask to recognize him. Marcus. We had been lab partners in biology class back in college. A faint twitch played at the corner of his mouth, a flash of surprise lighting up his eyes before he quickly composed himself. He did not ask what I was doing there. After adjusting the nebulizer settings, he pulled up a chair beside my bed and opened my allergy history, his tone as professional and detached as ever. “This is your third acute attack this month. I just reviewed the logs from your last two visits.” “Yeah.” “Every single one was triggered by cat dander, yet your residential profile says there are no pets in your home.” He closed the folder. “When did this start?” I thought about it. “About three months ago.” He flipped to my medication sheet and studied it for a moment. “You’re only taking oral antihistamines. What about your emergency plan? Do you have an EpiPen?” “It’s in the kit, but it might be expired.” He looked down and scribbled a few notes. “For cat allergies, we can start you on immunotherapy shots. It won’t cure you completely, but it will raise your tolerance threshold so that daily life isn’t affected. The treatment takes six months to a year. You’ll get shots once a week for the first three months, then once every two weeks. You’ll need to stay for a thirty minute observation after each dose.” He placed a business card next to my hand. “This is my clinic info. Come see me if you want to start.” I held the card, sitting in silence for a moment. “Marcus, how did you end up in allergy and immunology?” “I switched specialties during my residency.” He stood up and slid the chair back into place. “How did things get this bad? Your chart shows you’ve been visiting the ER almost every month lately.” I bit my lip and remained silent. He did not press for answers. He had always been that way in college, knowing when to stop asking when he knew I would not answer. Once, I had an attack in the campus library and could not find my inhaler in my backpack. He had dug it out from the side pocket of my purse. Later, he told me: “You should always make sure someone next to you knows exactly where your medicine is.” On the way home, my best friend, Sienna, came to pick me up. She glanced at me with concern. “How many times has this been this week?” “Four times.” “What about the cat? I thought you said he gave it away.” I kept quiet, leaning against the window and watching the streetlights blur past. Simon was not home that night. I went into the walk-in closet and searched the pockets of the winter coat he wore most often. In one of the pockets, I found a long strand of hair. It was not mine. I placed the strand back, hung up the coat, and went to check the logs of our smart doorbell camera. Someone had visited last Thursday afternoon. Simon was not home, but a long-haired woman was at the door. Before entering, she shook out her coat, cradled the white Ragdoll cat, and paused at the threshold. She deliberately rubbed the cat against my coat hanging in the entryway, then looked directly into the camera lens with a smug, knowing smile before stepping inside. Three hours later, she and Simon walked out of the apartment together. She knew exactly where the camera was, she knew our door code, and she knew my marriage was already dead in the water. 4 When I saw the live feed on my phone later, I stopped dead in my tracks in the hallway. Fiona was lounging on our living room sofa, the Ragdoll cat curled up on her lap. Simon was in the kitchen brewing tea, unable to hide the sheer delight on his face. Standing in the corridor, I unlocked my phone and dialed 911. The dispatcher picked up. “I am a severe asthmatic with a life-threatening cat allergy. Someone has brought a lethal allergen into my home. I am heading inside now, and I need police dispatch to record this call and send officers immediately.” The dispatcher told me officers would arrive in ten to fifteen minutes and instructed me to keep the line open. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Fiona was the first to spot me. She stood up gracefully. The cat leaped from her lap, landing softly on the carpet, and began to saunter toward me with slow, lazy strides. White fur drifted through the sunbeams. Even my double face mask was useless against it. Microscopic dander penetrated my defenses, and in less than a minute, my throat began to constrict violently. “Oh, Audrey. You’re home,” Fiona said. Her voice was sickeningly sweet, though her eyes were sharp and calculated. “I just stopped by for a chat. I hope you don’t mind.” Mind? Of course I minded, but I could not even speak. My brain was running a frantic calculation. How long could my lungs hold out? Where was the kit? Was the EpiPen still functional? As I stumbled toward the entryway, the cat took another step closer, brushing against my ankles. The first aid kit was gone from the entryway table. I had left it there, but someone must have shoved it back into the dark corners of the utility closet. I flung the closet door open, digging through the clutter with fingers that were already going numb from lack of oxygen. An inhaler, an EpiPen, anything to save my life. The scent of jasmine perfume drew closer behind me. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Can’t breathe?” Fiona’s voice was dripping with venomous concern as she hurried over in her high heels. “Let me help you with that. Don’t worry…” “Get away from me,” I wheezed. My voice was a raspy choke, but I gripped the edges of the first aid kit, shielding it with my body. Her hand clamped down on mine, her grip far tighter than anyone trying to help would ever use. Gasping uselessly for air, my fingertips finally brushed against the plastic casing of the auto-injector. In that split second, Fiona made a sudden, violent swiping motion under the guise of steadying me. The first aid kit crashed onto the hard tile floor, the latches popping open. The EpiPen rolled out, spinning across the floor, its casing gleaming under the ceiling light. I lunged forward, throwing my entire weight toward it. Just as my fingers were about to close around it, Fiona shrieked, “Watch out!” Her stiletto heel came down with pinpoint accuracy, stomping directly onto the cylinder. There was a sharp, sickening crunch. It was the sound of shattering glass, and with it, my final lifeline was destroyed. The clear medication mingled with the tiny shards of glass, seeping into the grout lines in a useless puddle. Fiona gasped, instantly covering her mouth as crocodile tears welled up in her eyes. She turned to Simon, who had just rushed out of the kitchen at the noise, her voice trembling with mock terror. “Simon, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I panicked and stepped on it. She won’t hate me, will she?” Simon stood there, looking at Fiona with a deep frown. “How could you be so careless?” He reached out to help me, but I waved him off, stumbling backward. He was covered in the very particles that were killing me. “Meds… Simon…” I slumped against the wall, every attempt to draw breath a violent struggle. “Don’t panic. I’ll look. There has to be more…” He shoved past Fiona to search the apartment. But then his gaze fell on the phone clutched in my trembling hand. The call with the dispatcher was still active, the screen glowing in the dim light. The panic drained from his eyes instantly, replaced by cold disbelief. “Audrey, are you out of your mind? You called the police over this?” A horrific, guttural wheeze tore from my throat. Every desperate breath felt like razor blades shredding my trachea. Staring at them, I used the absolute last bit of oxygen in my lungs to force out a few broken words. “Breaking in with a lethal allergen… destroying emergency medication…” I glared at him, a trace of bloody foam bubbling at the corner of my lips. “Simon… attempted murder… you’re going to prison…” “You’re completely overreacting…” Before he could finish his sentence, the shrill wail of approaching sirens pierced the walls of the apartment. The sound choked the rest of his words back down his throat, freezing the annoyance right on his face.

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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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