Category: English

1 Lied to my wife about working overtime, only to book a hotel room with three of my buddies for a secret poker night. I was just about to rake in a massive straight flush. Suddenly, a woman’s voice drifted in from the room next door. It was that kind of voice. My buddies let out dirty grins, instantly losing interest in the cards. But for me, my entire hand clattered to the floor. Because that voice, the pitch, the exact rhythm of her breathing, sounded identical to my wife. I called her phone. Voicemail. I called her mother. Her mom said she hadn’t even shown up. My three friends stood in a neat line, their faces suddenly turning incredibly grave. “Kick the door down, bro. I’ll film it for you.” So, tell me: do I kick it, or do I not? Planning this hotel poker night with the guys took me a whole week of meticulous preparation. Why a hotel? Because doing it at home was out of the question. My wife, Candy, is affectionately known among our friends as “The Warden.” When it came to any form of gambling, she had absolute, zero tolerance. Last month, I snuck over to our neighbor’s garage for a few rounds of Texas Hold’em, only to get caught red-handed. My monthly allowance was instantly slashed from five hundred dollars to a miserable two hundred. Two hundred dollars. For an entire month. I had to budget carefully just to buy a decent cup of coffee. So, I had to be smart about this. On Friday night, I took the initiative to wash the dishes, vacuum the living room, and hang up the laundry. Before bed, I even gave her a fifteen-minute shoulder massage. Candy leaned back on the sofa, squinting at me with suspicion. “Alright, spill. What do you want?” My chest tightened, but I kept my face entirely neutral. “Well, tomorrow is Saturday, and my manager just dropped a surprise overtime shift on us. I’ll probably be stuck at the office until late.” She opened one eye, scanning me up and down. That gaze was intense enough to make a seasoned detective confess on the spot. But I held my ground. “Fine,” she said, switching off the TV. “I’ll just head out of town to visit my mom then, since you won’t be around anyway.” “Perfect, perfect. You should definitely go do that.” My heart finally settled back into my chest. The next morning, I watched Candy drive out of the neighborhood. The moment her taillights vanished around the corner, I whipped out my phone and dropped a text in our group chat. The eagle has left the nest. Operation is go. Within three seconds, the chat exploded. Zack: I’ve been waiting a whole week! If I don’t take three hundred bucks off you today, I’ll eat my own poker chips! Ben: Told my wife I was heading to your place to help you set up a new router. Even carried a heavy toolbox out the door. Luke: Being single means I didn’t need an excuse, but I’m always ready to support the brotherhood. At precisely 11:00 AM, we checked into Room 408 at the Apex Hotel. It was a standard double room. We pushed the two beds into the corners, set up a folding table in the center, and flipped a luggage rack over with a pillow to serve as an extra chair. The deck was shuffled, the AC was set to a cool sixty-eight degrees, and four cans of beer were lined up on the table. Four grown men rubbed their hands together, their eyes practically gleaming. The sheer joy of secretly playing cards behind your wife’s back is hard to describe. It was more intoxicating than actually winning the money. By the third round, my luck was soaring. A straight flush. I slammed my cards onto the table, raking in a cool three hundred dollars in cash. Ben’s face turned green. “Logan, if you win more than five hundred today, I’m calling Candy.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “Just kidding.” “You better be.” We cracked open can after can of beer, and Luke ordered a massive tray of garlic parmesan wings, filling the room with the rich scent of grease and spices. Outside, the sun was shining. Inside, the sound of plastic chips clinking was pure music. It was a man’s paradise. Until 2:40 PM. I was staring at my hand, calculating my odds, when a sound suddenly cut through the air. It came from right next door. A woman’s voice. It carried a very particular, unmistakable tone. The room went dead silent for two seconds. All four of us looked up at the same time. Zack was the first to react, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Well, well. It’s the middle of the day, and neighbors next door are putting in some serious work.” Ben chuckled, softening his movements as he threw down a chip, his ear tilting toward the wall. Luke was the most dramatic, setting down his wing and pressing his ear directly against the plaster. I let out a chuckle too. But the laugh died in my throat. Because next door, the voice called out again. “Ah… gentler… please, gentler…” The smile froze on my face. That voice. That pitch. The way her breath hitched at the end of the sentence, the exact cadence of her gasp. We had been married for five years. I heard that exact voice every single day. My cards slipped from my fingers, scattering onto the green felt. My head began to throb. 2 “What’s wrong, man?” Ben asked, putting down his cards and staring at me. My lips parted, but no sound came out. I couldn’t exactly tell my three best friends that the intimate sounds next door sounded exactly like my wife. Even to my own ears, the thought was completely absurd. Candy was supposed to be visiting her mother out of town. Why on earth would she be in a local hotel room? It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. I took a deep breath, gathering my fallen cards. “Nothing. Let’s keep playing.” We played two more rounds, but I couldn’t focus on a single card. Because the sounds from the next room hadn’t stopped. In fact, they seemed to be escalating. “Yes… right there… perfect…” My entire body went rigid. That phrase. That tone. Even the little sigh at the end. Every single time I gave Candy a back rub, she said those exact words. Word for word. I threw down a card blindly. Zack stared at me. “Bro, you’re discarding a King? Aren’t you holding a pair of queens?” “Huh?” I looked down, realizing I had just thrown away my winning card. “Logan, you’re acting incredibly weird,” Luke said, chewing on a wing and squinting at me. I waved my hand dismissively. “My hand slipped.” The next room went quiet for about fifteen seconds. Then, a man’s voice carried through the wall. “Just hang in there, we’re almost done.” Low, deep, and slightly amused. The sheer tenderness in his tone made my stomach roll over. And then, the woman’s voice started up again. The throbbing in my head turned into a full-blown migraine. The other three had stopped playing entirely, their eyes darting rapidly between me and the wall. Zack’s smirk had vanished. He knew Candy well, and he had heard her talk plenty of times. His expression told me everything: he thought it sounded like her too. Without another second of hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed Candy’s number. Ring… ring… ring… The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Voicemail. Candy never turned her phone off. Her mother’s health wasn’t great, so she stayed on call twenty-four hours a day, carrying a portable charger everywhere she went. But today, of all days, her phone was off. I dialed again. Voicemail. A third time. Voicemail. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. Luke finally set his wing down. “Logan, who are you trying to call?” “My wife.” “Candy? Isn’t she out of town visiting her mom?” “Her phone is off.” The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly. The guys exchanged a look. I knew that look. It was the classic: Bro, things look incredibly bad, but we don’t want to be the ones to say it. Ben cleared his throat. “Don’t panic yet. Maybe her battery just died. Why don’t you call your mother-in-law and ask if she arrived safely?” Right. Call her mother. That was a rational step. I dialed her mother’s number. After five rings, she answered. “Logan, dear. Is everything okay?” I forced my voice to sound as normal as possible. “Hey, Susan. Did Candy make it to your place yet?” “Oh, no. She didn’t tell me she was coming over today.” “She didn’t?” “No, I haven’t heard from her. Why? Is something wrong?” My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Candy said she was going to visit her mother. Her mother had absolutely no idea. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just checking in. Take care, Susan. Bye.” I hung up, my hands trembling. Another low sound drifted through the wall from next door, muffled but possessing that exact, chilling cadence. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Zack was the first to stand up. “Let’s go. We’re going to check it out.” Ben stood up too. “It’s better to know for sure. If it’s just a misunderstanding, at least you can stop stressing.” Luke already had his phone out, the camera app open. “I’ll handle gathering the evidence.” “Put that away.” “What if we need it in court?” “Shut up, Luke.” I took a deep breath. As I stood up, my folding chair scraped loudly against the floor, sliding back a few feet. My three friends fell into a line behind me, looking like a makeshift tactical squad ready to breach a room. 3 We opened the door of Room 408, stepping into an empty hallway. The lighting was a sterile white, and the thick carpet absorbed our footsteps, creating an eerie, uncomfortable silence. I stood in the middle of the hallway. Room 406 was on my left, and Room 410 was on my right. Which one was making the noise? When we were playing, I was sitting by the window, and the sound had come from my right. So that meant… “Room 410,” I whispered. Zack nodded. “410. Let’s go.” The four of us crept over to the door of Room 410. I pressed my ear flat against the cold wood. Nothing. It was completely silent now. “Hear anything?” Zack whispered, leaning in close. “Shh.” I held my breath. Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds. Just as I was about to give up, a soft sound drifted from inside. A woman’s voice: “Oh… that feels so good…” It wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough. My blood pressure spiked to a dangerous level. Zack gave me a firm shove from behind. “That’s it. That’s the one. What’s the plan?” Ben grabbed my arm. “Wait, calm down. Let’s knock first. What if we have the wrong room?” “There’s no way we’re wrong,” Luke muttered, aiming his phone camera at the door. “Logan, are you going to kick it, or should I do it for you?” I took a deep breath, let it out, and took another. I raised my right leg. Boom! I kicked the door right near the latch. The door wasn’t deadbolted from the inside, and it swung open instantly. I stormed into the room, ready to rage, only to freeze dead in my tracks. There were two people in the room. A man and a woman. The man was shirtless, in his late fifties, with a prominent beer belly and a look of pure relaxation on his face. The woman was in her early forties, wearing a silk robe, her hair permed into tight, bouncy curls. They were propped up against the headboard, watching a tablet screen set up on a stand. On the screen, an influencer was eating a plate of spicy noodles, slurping loudly into the microphone. The sound we had heard earlier, “Oh, that feels so good,” was coming directly from the food video on the tablet. Eight eyes locked onto the four of us standing in the doorway. The air in the room seemed to vanish. The woman with the permed curls let out a piercing shriek. “Ahhh!” That scream was ten times louder than any sound that had drifted through our wall. The beer-bellied man scrambled out of bed like an angry grizzly bear. “Who the hell are you? What do you think you’re doing? Why did you kick my door open?” My mouth opened, but only a squeak came out. “Uh, sorry, sir. I think we have the wrong…” “Wrong? You kick my door down and call it a mistake?” The man grabbed a heavy metal thermos from the nightstand, raising it like a weapon. Zack, whose head was peeking through the doorway, took one look at the situation and made a split-second decision. “That’s not Candy. Run!” I spun around and bolted down the hallway. But the angry man was hot on our heels. “Stop right there! I’m calling the cops!” He was sprinting down the hall in his flimsy hotel slippers, waving his metal thermos in the air, his voice echoing loudly through the entire floor. “Security! Security! We’ve got intruders!” The four of us scrambled back into Room 408, slamming the door shut and throwing the lock. I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as my heart pounded against my ribs like a bass drum. After a few seconds of tense silence, Zack sank to the floor, a snort escaping his lips. Then, he completely lost it. “Hahaha! You kicked the wrong door!” He laughed so hard he was slapping the carpet. “We’re in Room 408! The sound was coming from Room 406 on our left, not Room 410 on our right! You completely got your directions mixed up, you idiot!” I stood there, speechless. Ben leaned against the table, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh my god. That guy was ready to swing that thermos. You almost got a face full of hot water.” Luke silently reviewed his video. The footage was just a blur of ceilings and running shoes, completely useless. “I highly recommend saving this video,” Luke said with a straight face. “You should play this at your next wedding anniversary. It’ll be a hit.” “Delete it, Luke.” Outside, we could hear the security guard talking to the angry man, who was loudly explaining how his room had been breached. The four of us stood frozen, barely daring to breathe. We waited until the commotion outside finally died down before I sank onto the floor, my back drenched in sweat. Zack was still chuckling. Ben was still laughing. Luke was already drafting a social media post about “witnessing history.” But I couldn’t find anything funny about it. Because if the sound hadn’t come from Room 410… It meant it was coming from Room 406. The sound was definitely coming from Room 406. 4 Once we caught our breath, we sat back down around the folding table. But no one touched the cards. We were all listening. Listening to the wall shared with Room 406. After about two minutes, a faint, rustling sound carried over. Then, a voice. “Ouch! You’re pressing too hard!” It was a woman’s voice. Completely clear. The words filtered into my ears, and my entire body went rigid. That sharp intake of breath, the exact way she dragged out the end of the sentence. My friends stopped laughing. The atmosphere in the room instantly turned heavy. Zack lowered his voice. “Logan… are we sure it’s Room 406 this time?” “Yes.” “And… it really sounds like Candy?” I didn’t answer, but my grim expression was more than enough. Ben pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a slow drag. “Look, let’s not rush in this time. Let’s find a way to confirm it first.” “How?” “Go to the front desk. See who checked into Room 406.” We looked at each other. Zack volunteered, slipping out of the room. He returned three minutes later, his face pale. “The receptionist wouldn’t tell me anything. Said it violates guest privacy unless the police ask for it.” “Did you try to smooth-talk her?” “Of course I did. I said my friend was in Room 406 and forgot their key. She asked for the guest’s name, and I said I didn’t know. She looked at me like I was a creep.” I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. Luke suddenly stood up. “I have an idea.” “What?” “Let’s order delivery to Room 406.” We stared at him. “Delivery?” “Yeah. We order a drink, put the address as Room 406, and I’ll wait in the hallway. When the delivery guy knocks and they open the door, I’ll get a clear look inside.” I had to admit, the single guy occasionally had a stroke of genius. I immediately opened my phone and ordered a milk tea, setting the delivery address to Room 406 under a fake name: “Jane.” We waited fifteen minutes. The delivery guy finally arrived on our floor. Luke was already positioned at the corner of the hallway, pretending to look at his phone. The delivery guy knocked on the door of Room 406. “Delivery.” Three seconds. Five seconds. Eight seconds. The door opened slightly. Luke peeked from around the corner. When he slipped back into our room, he looked at me with a serious expression. “Logan, I only saw a hand. A woman’s hand, pretty fair-skinned. The door was barely cracked open. She took the drink and shut the door immediately.” “Did you see her face?” “No, she was too fast.” “Any details on the hand?” “Well… her nails were painted red.” Red? Candy had just gotten her nails done last week, and she chose a dusty rose color. It wasn’t red. My chest loosened slightly, but only for a moment. Changing nail polish wasn’t exactly difficult. Ben stubbed out his cigarette. “Why don’t you just go knock? Say you got the wrong room and see who opens it.” Zack shook his head. “No. If it really is Candy, and she sees Logan standing there, how do you think she’ll react? She’ll lock the door or run. When my mom caught my dad at the card game, he practically passed out from fear.” “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?” “I’ll go,” Zack said, adjusting his collar. “I’ll say I’m doing a guest satisfaction survey for the hotel.” “You’re wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts. Who’s going to believe you work here?” But Zack was already out the door. The three of us took turns looking through the peephole. In the hallway, Zack walked up to Room 406, cleared his throat, and knocked. Knock, knock, knock. “Hello, sorry to bother you…” The door opened slightly. This time, a woman actually appeared in the gap. Zack took one look, his mouth dropping open, and then the door clicked shut. He stood frozen in the hallway for three seconds before walking back to our room. He pushed the door open, closing it behind him. “Who was it?” I asked, my voice tight. Zack’s expression was incredibly complicated. “The woman who opened the door wasn’t Candy.” I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “She was a stranger, short hair, maybe in her early thirties,” Zack continued. “Then we’re good, right? It’s not her,” I said. Zack hesitated. “But…” “But what?” “When the door opened, I managed to catch a glimpse of the bed.” “And?” Zack looked me straight in the eyes. “There was someone else in the room. In those few seconds, I saw someone lying face down on the bed. I couldn’t see her face, but I saw her hair.” “What color?” “Dark brown. Long hair, tied up in a messy bun.” A messy bun. Candy had her hair in a messy bun when she left the house this morning. It was exactly the same.

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1 My wife has an avoidant attachment style. So, on our anniversary, when I half-jokingly asked her if she loved me, and she simply placed some food on my plate instead of answering, I finally understood everything. Giselle’s expression was as gentle as it always was. “Luke, I remember this is your favorite dish, right?” For the past five years, whenever things like this happened, I would put on a fake smile and let her get away with it. But this time, I set my chopsticks down, gathering the courage to ask the question I had kept locked in my heart for years. “Giselle, what am I to you, really?” It felt like a century passed before Giselle let out a long, heavy sigh. “Luke, you are my husband, my partner for the rest of my life. I respect you. Please, don’t make things difficult for me.” I wanted to press further, but she suddenly stood up, muttering with a mix of annoyance and anger. “If I knew marriage was going to be this exhausting, I wouldn’t have married you in the first place.” I sat frozen in my seat. I thought of our wedding photo, where she had seamlessly photoshopped her first love’s face over mine and used it as her phone lock screen for five years. A bitter smile crept onto my face. If that was how she felt, then let our marriage end here, in its fifth year. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my director, accepting the three-year overseas transfer. Then, I stood up and began clearing the cluttered dining table. I knew that if I didn’t clean it, the leftovers would sit there until they rotted, and no one else would care. Giselle, who had already retreated to her room, suddenly walked back out. Like a headless chicken, she asked, “Luke, where did you put my blue nightgown?” I shook my head. “I don’t know.” Giselle didn’t say anything, but she shot me a deeply disappointed look. “Don’t forget next time.” She turned back to her room to start her company’s online meeting, leaving me standing there as my dishcloth slipped from my fingers onto the table. Every single chore in this house, from sweeping and mopping to wiping the windows, doing the dishes, and cooking, was my responsibility. She merely enjoyed the results and reminded me to do better next time. But when we first married, she had promised me otherwise. “In the future, I’ll keep the house spotless so you can focus entirely on your career! Luke, your hands are too beautiful, I will never let these gorgeous hands wash a single dish or mop a floor!” I lifted my hands, staring at them. The skin was rough, the knuckles swollen, and my fingerprints had been nearly eroded by harsh cleaning chemicals. Giselle had severe OCD, yet she hated having strangers in the house, so every chore fell on me. The washing machine beeped, signaling that the spin cycle was finished and it was time to hang the clothes. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Luke, oh Luke, how did you let your life turn into this? I stopped cleaning, turned around, and walked into my own bedroom. This life, I didn’t want it anymore. 2 By our third year of marriage, Giselle and I were already sleeping in separate beds. Looking back, the reason was almost laughable. It was because I had discovered that on her phone wallpaper, the face of the groom in our wedding photo had been replaced with someone else’s. It was Chase, her first love, the white moonlight she could never have. Because she couldn’t control her longing, she had quietly pasted his face over mine, pretending that they were the ones who had married. To outsiders, she was praised as a loving wife. She was successful, the youngest branch manager in her company, and every single one of her social media profiles featured sweet wedding photos with her husband. I had once confronted her about it in a rage. But Giselle had simply handed me a glass of water, asking with absolute seriousness, “Luke, taste this. Does it taste strange to you? It tastes off to me.” I had opened my mouth, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind, but I didn’t know where to start. Before we married, Giselle had repeatedly emphasized that she had an avoidant attachment style and that I must never corner her with questions. I took the glass and drank it in one gulp. All the unspoken words went down with the tasteless water. I gave up on pushing her for answers because I knew that if Giselle didn’t want to answer a question, cornering her would yield nothing but silence. I turned off the bedroom lights. My phone buzzed with a message from my director. “Luke, you’ve made the right decision. As a core technical asset of our group, this transfer to Europe is the perfect opportunity for your career.” I turned off the screen and closed my eyes to sleep. Right then, Giselle knocked on my door. “Luke, are you asleep?” I didn’t answer. She continued, “I was too impulsive earlier, and I want to apologize. Didn’t you always say you wanted to visit the theme park? I just booked tickets for this weekend. Let’s celebrate our fifth anniversary properly.” I opened the door and looked into her eyes. “How many tickets did you book?” “Four.” “Why four?” Giselle looked completely puzzled by my question. “Because I’m bringing Paige and Toby with us.” The tiny spark of hope that had just risen in my chest was instantly doused, leaving me entirely cold. “For our fifth anniversary,” I said, pronouncing each word slowly, “you want to bring your younger siblings?” “Yes. Haven’t the four of us always gone out together? Why are you suddenly unhappy about it now?” Giselle was right. For the past five years, every single one of our couple’s activities had been crowded by her siblings. Our romantic candlelit dinners were always tables for four. The beach vacations we spent months saving for were spent in family suites. She claimed that as the eldest daughter, she had a responsibility to her family. Taking care of her siblings was her duty, just as taking care of me was. I suddenly realized. Because she didn’t love me, everything had simply become a duty. “I don’t want to go anymore,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. Giselle let out a sigh, her expression saying here we go again with your tantrums. “Luke, what exactly do you want from me?” She used my full name, her patience clearly at its limit. I stared at her. “Are you deaf? I said I don’t want to go!” “But why?” “Because you have never, not once, treated the two of us as a single unit! You always have to drag a third or fourth person into our lives!” I was hysterical, screaming like a madman, while she watched me with a cold, detached calmness. “Is this really necessary?” Giselle’s voice finally rose. “I just wanted to take my siblings out for some fun. What is so wrong with that?” “And our fifth anniversary?” “How is this not celebrating our anniversary? Going out together is a celebration. Does it only count if we lock ourselves in a room? Why do you have to be so…” Giselle didn’t finish her sentence, but I already knew the word. Selfish. I was too selfish. I always thought too much, cared too much, held onto tiny details, and demanded too many answers. I had been hearing these accusations for five years. “Let me ask you, once we get to the park, who is going to look after those two kids?” Giselle opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She knew the answer, which was why she couldn’t speak. “Didn’t you always say you loved children?” she finally muttered. I froze. I never expected her to throw those words at me. It was like a needle driving straight into my deepest wound, executed with a precision that was far too deliberate to be an accident. Giselle had been pregnant once. Our very first child. But the pregnancy ended almost as soon as it began. When Chase got married, Giselle had locked herself in the house and drank herself into a stupor. In her drunken state, she stumbled against the edge of a table and miscarried. I had never told her that I knew the truth, wanting to shield her from the guilt. I took all the blame, claiming I hadn’t taken proper care of her. And now, she was using that lost child as a weapon to wound me. I forced myself to calm down, asking her with quiet sincerity, “Giselle, the space in your heart was never meant for me, was it?” Giselle’s expression flickered. It wasn’t anger, but a brief, panic-stricken realization of being exposed. The panic lasted less than a second before she masked it with her usual shield of dismissiveness. “You’re starting again,” she said, turning to walk away. I stood in the quiet hallway, a soft laugh escaping my lips. Yes, I was starting again. But this time, everything was going to end. I met with a lawyer the next day to draft the divorce papers. The division of assets was simple: what was hers remained hers, and what was mine remained mine. Our finances had been strictly separate throughout our marriage, which made the split remarkably clean. At work, my director called me into his office. “Luke, the company has booked your ticket. You fly out in three days. Are you all set on your end?” I paused for a fraction of a second before nodding firmly. “Yes, I’m ready.” Before I left, the director stopped me. “Your family supports this move, right? I remember you and your wife always seemed very close.” I remembered when I first received the transfer offer. I hadn’t wanted to go, wanting to use the opportunity to test how much Giselle cared. “Sweetheart, the company wants to send me to Europe for three years. Will you miss me?” I had wrapped my arms around her from behind, but Giselle had peeled my fingers away, one by one. “Let’s go hiking this weekend. I heard the wild flowers on the mountain are beautiful!” She never gave a direct answer to anything involving her feelings for me. At first, I thought she was just shy. Then, I believed it was just her personality. Now, I understood. In a marriage, there is no such thing as an avoidant attachment style. There is only love, or the lack of it. “Don’t worry, Director. I’ve discussed it with my family. It won’t affect my transfer.” In a rare turn of events, Giselle came to pick me up from work that evening. My colleagues noticed her car parked by the curb, with a beautifully decorated cake sitting visibly on the passenger seat. “Luke, your wife is so good to you!” “Yeah, you’ve been married for years and we’ve never heard you complain. Men as blessed as you are hard to find!” Giselle walked toward me with a bouquet of flowers, her expression as gentle as always. She handed me the cake, her voice soft. “I was wrong, Luke. Let’s go home. This is your favorite cake.” The teasing from my colleagues grew louder. Not wanting to cause a scene, I took the cake. Giselle looked visibly relieved when I accepted it, turning to walk back to the car. “That’s not a very sincere apology! You didn’t even hold his hand!” a colleague joked behind us. Giselle’s body stiffened. She turned back, reaching out to grasp my wrist. I thought of the photo album hidden in our house, filled with pictures of her and Chase holding hands, their fingers tightly intertwined in every single shot. I remained silent, wanting only to finish this play. When I opened the passenger door, I found someone already sitting there. Her sister, Paige, waved at me cheerfully. “Hey, Luke!” From the backseat, her brother Toby chimed in, “Hey, Luke!” Both siblings were in their teens, their faces blank of any adult tact. I climbed into the backseat, listening to them chatter endlessly about where their older sister was going to take them next. Through the rearview mirror, my eyes met Giselle’s. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “They’re staying at our place for a couple of days. Mom has some things to take care of this weekend.” I didn’t hold back my anger this time, nor did I force a smile to play the role of the perfect brother-in-law. I simply turned my head, staring out the window at the passing city lights. When we arrived home, the two teenagers bolted inside. Giselle walked over to me, asking cautiously, “Luke, are you angry again?” I shook my head without a word. She smiled, relieved. “Great. I’m glad you’re not mad.” She turned and ran to catch up with her siblings. Someone once said that if your partner walks more than five yards ahead of you, they don’t love you. I watched Giselle, who was ten yards ahead of me, desperately trying to join her siblings’ conversation even though she could barely get a word in. It didn’t matter anymore. If she didn’t love me, so be any. I was leaving anyway. Paige and Toby made themselves right at home, ordering five or six takeout boxes. Giselle said half-seriously, “Takeout is so unhealthy. Why don’t you have Luke whip up something for you guys?” The three siblings turned their gaze to me. But I didn’t offer to cook. Seeing my silence, Paige tried to soften the tension. “Luke always cooks, it’s too much work for him.” Toby, seeing that I still didn’t speak, muttered under his breath, “His cooking isn’t even that good, and he takes forever anyway. Who wants to eat it?” The living room was quiet, and his words carried clearly. Giselle frowned, glaring at Toby before pulling me into the kitchen. She opened the fridge as if nothing had happened. “Kids are picky eaters these days, please bear with him. There are plenty of ingredients here, just whip up a couple of simple dishes.” Her idea of “simple dishes” meant preparing a four-course dinner for four people within two hours, keeping in mind everyone’s individual preferences and allergies. She picked up an apron, her eyes curling into a smile. “Come here, let me put this on you.” The apron had a little rabbit pattern on it. She had bought it, claiming the rabbit reminded her of me. But I remembered clearly that Chase had two slightly prominent front teeth, and his nickname in college had been Bunny. Only those closest to him were allowed to call him that. I grabbed Giselle’s wrist, stopping her. “Have you ever counted how many rabbit-themed items we have in this house?” Giselle froze, a strained smile on her lips. “What’s wrong? Do you think the apron isn’t cute?” She was avoiding the question again. This time, I stared at her, refusing to let her slide. “One hundred and thirty-seven.” “From aprons to tablecloths, ornaments to curtains, even our bedding sets are covered in rabbits! Giselle, do you really need Chase’s memory around you every single second of the day?” A long, heavy silence stretched between us. Finally, Giselle looked down. “Fine. You’re right. This apron is a bit plain anyway. I’ll throw it out and buy a new one.” She turned to walk out of the kitchen, but I grabbed her arm. “Answer my question, Giselle!” Giselle wrenched her arm out of my grip. “Luke! My siblings are right outside! If you don’t want to cook, then don’t! Stop throwing these ridiculous tantrums!” “I am sick and tired of your endless jealousy! Do whatever you want!” Giselle slammed the door as she stormed out. But even in her rage, she had placed the rabbit apron neatly on the kitchen counter. She couldn’t throw it away, and she never would. My phone vibrated with a notification. “Your flight to Paris is scheduled to depart in twelve hours.” At three in the morning, I walked out of the apartment with my packed suitcase. The three siblings were sound asleep. The living room was cluttered with empty takeout boxes and trash, none of which had been cleared. I walked past the mess without a glance, heading straight for the door. Before closing it, I took one last look at the place we had shared. I was the one who had fallen in love with Giselle at first sight, and I had pursued her relentlessly to get this marriage. So, everything that had happened was my own doing. I had foolishly believed that the bond of marriage would slowly erase Chase’s presence in her heart. But in the end, I was the one who had been washed away. I left the signed divorce papers on the coffee table. By the time Giselle woke up, I would already be in the air, flying toward Paris. By eight in the morning, our home security camera showed the three siblings waking up. Paige looked around the apartment, unable to find any trace of me. Brushing her teeth, she mumbled to Giselle, “Sis, you yelled too loud last night. What if you scared Luke away?” Giselle replied indifferently, “If he’s gone, he’s gone. I never loved him that much anyway. If my parents hadn’t been pressuring me so hard, I would have never married him.” Beside them, Toby laughed, exposing her lie. “You’re lying, Sis! You only married him because Chase got engaged and you wanted a rebound!” Giselle’s face flushed red as she defended herself. “What are you talking about? Who told you that?!” Toby shook his head. “You did, when you were drunk.” Giselle froze. She picked up a box of tissues, which was adorned with a rabbit pattern. “Yes, he’s married and has a family now, but I still can’t forget him…” Toby almost tripped over an empty takeout box on the floor. He complained loudly, “Where is Luke anyway? Why hasn’t he cleaned up the living room yet?!” Giselle turned her gaze toward my room. The two of them searched the apartment, finding nothing. Paige stopped brushing her teeth. She cleared away some takeout boxes on the coffee table and picked up a document. She gasped, her mouth still full of foam. “Sis… why is there a divorce agreement here?”

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1 “If you don’t wear this tracker, you are not leaving this house!” I was in the middle of aggressively forcing the device onto my husband when glowing text suddenly materialized in the air right before my eyes. [Is she insane? This villainess’s desire for control is absolutely suffocating!] [Just wait. Once the female lead shows up, the male lead will realize how sweet freedom is. He’ll dump this psycho first thing!] [Once they divorce, she’ll be absolutely nothing. Who does she think she can control then? She’s going to end up freezing to death on the streets like a stray dog!] I swallowed hard, my hand trembling as I tossed the tracking device straight into the trash can. “Actually, never mind. You can go. Have a safe drive.” The moment those words left my mouth, my husband’s expression shifted. He leaned down, stepping into my personal space, a dark, turbulent storm brewing in the depths of his eyes. “Aren’t you going to say that if I don’t wear it, you’ll burn my car and lock me inside? Why are you letting me go, huh?” My shoulders ached under the weight of his intense gaze, and my mind was still spinning from the words freezing to death on the streets flashing in my mind. If this had happened yesterday, I would have blown a fuse. How dare he talk back to me? I would have confiscated his car keys, locked him in the bedroom, and made sure he didn’t even see the front door today. But now, I forced myself to swallow the venomous words rising in my throat. I pushed gently against his chest, trying to soften my voice as much as possible. “I just read an article saying those trackers emit a lot of radiation. It’s bad for your health.” Asher’s brow furrowed even deeper. His eyes locked onto mine, searching. “That’s not what you used to say. You used to demand that I remain within your sight twenty-four hours a day.” I choked on my words, especially as the floating comments started flashing rapidly again. [Oh, look at her pretending to be sweet and caring! She’s definitely plotting something else, just watch!] [Don’t believe her, Asher! The female lead is waiting for you at the office right now, don’t waste your time on this crazy woman!] My chest tightened. I quickly took a step back to put some distance between us. “I was immature before. I won’t do it anymore.” “You should get going. Don’t keep your clients waiting.” With that, I turned and walked toward the bedroom, not daring to look back. Behind me, Asher stood frozen for a long time. As I closed the bedroom door, I caught a glimpse of him picking the tracker out of the trash, his face incredibly dark. I leaned against the door and let out a long, shaky breath. After a few tense moments of silence outside, the heavy sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the apartment. He was finally gone. My marriage to Asher was a business alliance. Having grown up relying on the charity of others, I had learned the hard way that the only way to feel secure was to keep everything under my absolute control. I was ten years old when my mother married into the Gregory family. The relatives called me “the young heiress” to my face, but behind my back, they treated me like useless baggage. My food, clothes, and living space were constantly monitored, and even the house staff looked down on me. Our marriage only happened because the Gregory family business was on the verge of bankruptcy. They needed Asher’s family to bail them out, and only then did they suddenly remember my existence. So, from the first day of our marriage, I did everything I could to hold onto him. For three years, I controlled everything. I managed his clothes, his meals, his social circle, and even who he talked to each day. I genuinely believed that as long as I held on tight enough, this marriage wouldn’t fall apart. If it weren’t for those strange floating comments, I would have died without ever knowing I was just a tragic villainess in a story. The text claimed Asher was the male lead, and his secretary, Isla, was the destined female lead. It warned that once he grew entirely sick of my suffocating control, he would divorce me, leave me penniless, and ruin my family’s business. In the end, I was destined to freeze to death under a bridge on a bitter winter night. The mere thought made me shiver. I sat on the edge of the bed and unlocked my phone. My thumb hovered habitually over the hidden tracking app. I used to check his location every thirty minutes, making sure he wasn’t anywhere he shouldn’t be. But as the map loaded his location at a private dining club on the outskirts of the city, the text flashed again. [Here we go! The control freak is checking up on him! She’s about to call and scream at him, which will only drive him closer to Isla!] My hand shook, and I immediately uninstalled the app. No, I couldn’t look. If I kept doing this, I was going to end up dead. I tossed my phone aside, grabbed a pillow, and forced myself to watch a comedy. Halfway through, my phone vibrated. It was my best friend. “Evelyn, isn’t your husband out tonight? I heard Isla went with him. Aren’t you going to check up on him?” Normally, I would have lost my mind and spammed Asher with a dozen calls. But now, I bit my lip and forced a casual laugh. “Why would I? He’s a grown man. He knows what he’s doing.” My friend’s voice changed instantly, dripping with shock. “Evelyn, do you have a fever? Last week you threw a massive scene at his office just because Isla handed him a cup of coffee!” Before I could think of an explanation, a new notification popped up on my screen. It was an Instagram post from Isla. The photo showed Asher holding a glass of whiskey, his brow slightly furrowed. The caption read: The boss works too hard. He drank almost half a bottle tonight. My heart breaks for him. My fingers trembled with sudden anger. I was about to dial Asher’s number when the floating text flooded my vision. [Haha! I knew she would snap! She’s definitely going to crash the dinner, embarrass him in front of everyone, and he’ll demand a divorce tonight!] [Finally, he can get away from this psycho! Congratulations, Asher!] [Isla, get ready to comfort him! This is your moment!] I took a deep, shuddering breath, closed the app, and sent Asher a simple text instead. Don’t drink too much. Your stomach can’t handle it. I’m going to sleep first, no need to check in. I muted my phone and pulled the covers over my head, but my mind was racing. I tossed and turned, desperately wanting to reinstall the app to see where he was. But the image of my tragic end kept me glued to the mattress. My phone screen lit up again with another notification from Isla’s account. I flipped the phone face down, my chest tight with anxiety. Normally, I would have already driven over there to flip the table. But now, I had to keep telling myself: Evelyn, you can’t go. If you go, you lose everything. Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep. I woke up to the sound of keys jingling at the front door. I checked my phone: 2:00 AM. Normally, I would have been waiting in the entryway, ready to search his pockets, sniff his collar for perfume, and scroll through his entire chat history before forcing him to stand in the living room to sober up. But tonight, I simply pulled the blanket tighter and turned over to go back to sleep. Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open with a loud thud. Asher stood in the doorway, smelling of cold air and expensive whiskey. He marched over and tossed his phone onto my pillow, the screen glowing brightly. I sat up, blinking sleepily. “What’s wrong?” “Why aren’t you checking my phone?” His voice was incredibly hoarse, his eyes slightly bloodshot from the alcohol. “Ask me who I drank with tonight. Ask me if I got too close to Isla. Search my messages. You always do.” My heart did a sudden leap, especially as the text flared up again. [Here it is! She’s going to use this as an excuse to scream at him! Ask for the divorce, Asher!] I quickly pushed his phone back toward him, forcing a reassuring smile. “I trust you. There’s nothing to check.” “Besides, I left some hangover soup warming on the stove. If you’re not feeling well, go have a bowl. I’m going back to sleep.” I pulled the blanket back over my head, facing away from him. For a long time, there was absolute silence. I thought he had left, but then the bedroom door slammed shut so hard the walls vibrated. I stared at the closed door, utterly baffled. Wasn’t he supposed to hate my constant nagging? Now that I was giving him space, why was he furious? Whatever. The text said he was going to dump me anyway. Survival was my only priority. The next morning, I woke up early. As my feet hit the floor, I instinctively walked toward the walk-in closet. Usually, my first task was selecting his outfit for the day: which shirt, which tie, even which pattern of socks. If he wore anything else, I would argue with him all day. Just as I reached the door, the text flashed warningly. [Warning! She’s about to force him to wear that pastel pink shirt again! He absolutely hates pink. This fight is going to trigger the divorce!] I froze, immediately turning on my heel and heading toward the kitchen instead. That was close. Almost stepped on a landmine. While I was frying eggs, I heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen. He stopped right by the door. “What am I supposed to wear today?” Without turning around, I flipped an egg and said casually, “Whatever you want. Wear your favorite. I don’t mind.” “You said I look old in gray, and you insisted I wear the pink one,” Asher said, his voice sounding tight, almost like he was grinding his teeth. My hand slipped, nearly burning the egg. I quickly offered a peace-offering smile. “I had bad taste back then. You actually look incredibly sharp in gray, seriously.” When I looked over, I saw him toss the pink shirt directly into the trash can before pulling on a dark charcoal suit jacket. I let out a soft breath. Thank goodness I didn’t push him, or I would have triggered the bad ending right then and there. 2 For the next week, my behavior was entirely different. When he worked late, I didn’t spam his phone. I simply sent a single text before bed: Don’t work too hard. When he went out to a lounge with his friends, I didn’t ask who was there, nor did I demand photos of the table. Meanwhile, Isla posted photos of him daily on her social media: the side of his face while he worked, his hand holding a document, each caption more suggestive than the last. I pretended not to see any of it. The floating comments kept insisting I was just gathering strength for a massive explosion, waiting for my breaking point. But in reality, I was quietly meeting with a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. I had already decided on the terms. I didn’t want a single penny of the Sinclair estate. I would only keep the small apartment I owned before our marriage. Once we split, he could date Isla, marry her, or do whatever he pleased. No one would smother him ever again. On Friday evening, he texted to say he was meeting clients at a private club. I replied with a simple Okay and curled up on the sofa to watch a reality show. Around ten, my phone rang. It was an employee from the club, saying Mr. Sinclair had had too much to drink and asking if they should arrange a ride. Before I could answer that I would drive over myself, Isla’s voice cut through the background of the call. “No need to bother Mrs. Sinclair. I’m heading that way anyway. I’ll take him home.” I paused for a second, then smiled into the receiver. “Thank you for the help, then.” I hung up, and the screen instantly filled with rapid-fire comments. [Oh my god! The female lead is bringing him home! The psycho wife is going to lose her absolute mind!] [Last time Isla just brushed past him, Evelyn slapped her. This time she’s going to claw her face off!] [Let her rage! Once she causes a scene, Asher will kick her out of the house for good!] I took a deep breath, went to the kitchen, and prepared a warm glass of honey water, waiting calmly for them to arrive. Around eleven, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Isla holding Asher up, her hair slightly messy, her face flushed. When she saw me, she spoke in a sweet, soft voice. “Mrs. Sinclair, he drank quite a bit tonight. He kept calling your name on the ride over.” Normally, I would have slapped her for letting him lean on her like that. But instead, I gently took Asher from her, retrieved his coat, and handed her the warm honey water. “Thank you so much for bringing him back safely. It’s late, so please drive carefully.” Isla’s sweet smile completely froze. She clearly hadn’t expected this reaction. Before she could say another word, I offered a polite nod and shut the door. I helped Asher onto the sofa and poured him a glass of water. “Drink some water. You smell like a distillery. Go take a shower.” The moment the words left my mouth, I worried I sounded too controlling again. I quickly corrected myself. “Or don’t. It’s up to you. Do whatever you want.” As I turned to walk away, my wrist was suddenly grabbed in a tight, firm grip. He stared at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice incredibly hoarse. “You’re not mad?” I blinked. “Why would I be mad?” “Isla brought me home. She was leaning all over me. You’re not angry at all?” He demanded, his grip tightening. “Before, if she even handed me a file, you’d give me the cold shoulder for three days.” My heart hammered against my ribs, and I quickly pulled my hand out of his grasp. “I was immature back then. She’s your employee, there’s no reason for me to get upset over work.” I didn’t dare look at his expression as I quickly made my way toward the study. He had to be completely exhausted by my past behavior. If I brought up the divorce now, he would surely agree. I pulled the draft agreement from the desk drawer just as the study door pushed open. Asher had followed me. He stood in the doorway, watching me. I looked up at him, forcing a gentle smile as I slid the papers across the desk. “Asher, since you’re here, take a look at this. I’ve drafted a divorce agreement.” “I only want my old apartment. Everything else is yours.” “From now on, you’re entirely free. You can be with whoever you want, and no one will ever check up on you again.” The moment the words left my mouth, Asher’s face darkened completely. He gritted his teeth, his voice dripping with anger. “Do you really think I want freedom? Evelyn, I want you!” “What kind of game are you playing lately?” “You stop checking on me, and now you want a divorce? Tell me the truth: is there someone else?”

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1 Five years with Scott, and I finally gave him a daughter. But on the night of her one-month welcoming gala, my world shattered. I had just finished nursing her in the private lounge. As I carried her down the grand staircase into the ballroom, a piercing shriek echoed through the hall. “Somebody help! She stole my baby!” I looked up in shock. A woman I had never seen before was lunging toward me, her face drenched in tears. And my husband, Scott, was standing right beside her. His eyes were cold as ice. He wrapped a protective arm around her waist, glaring at me as he barked orders at the security guards. “Grab her! Don’t let the child trafficker get away!” I screamed. I begged. I yelled his name, crying out that the baby was ours, that I had given birth to her. But every piece of evidence they pulled up—the family portraits on the digital screens, the birth certificates, the recovery center records, the private photographs—listed the mother as Vivian, the stranger sobbing in my husband’s arms. Even my own mother, when called, colder than winter frost, claimed I was a single career woman who had never even had a boyfriend, let alone a child. In the end, branded a delusional kidnapper, I was beaten to death by the furious crowd right there at my own daughter’s celebration. But then, the darkness broke. I opened my eyes to find myself back in the lounge, the warmth of my baby in my arms. Outside the heavy mahogany doors, the laughter and chatter of the guests echoed softly. 2 It was supposed to be my daughter’s welcoming gala. In my past life, the moment I stepped into that ballroom, the world turned on me, calling me a monster, a baby thief. Outside the door, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne. Inside this quiet room, I had just finished nursing my sweet girl, my heart bursting with a mother’s joy, completely unaware of the slaughterhouse waiting for me. For five years, I had loved Scott. To bring this beautiful girl into the world, I had nearly died on the operating table. I still remembered the night my water broke early. The hemorrhage had left my limbs freezing, my vision slipping away. Scott had shoved past the doctors, crashing to his knees beside my hospital bed. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling violently as he squeezed my cold fingers. His tears hot against my skin. “Monica, stay with me! Please, don’t sleep! If you make it through this, I swear on my life I will protect you and our baby. I don’t care about anything else, I just need you both alive!” That promise was the anchor that kept me tethered to life. Yet, on the day of her welcoming gala, that anchor was brutally shattered. In my previous life, the moment I pushed open the heavy ballroom doors, the glare of the massive crystal chandeliers made me squint. Before I could even smile, a woman’s voice cut through the music like a siren. “Somebody help! Grab her! She stole my baby!” I froze. A woman clad in a stunning haute couture gown tore through the crowd, her face twisted in artificial agony. And Scott, the man who had sworn to protect me with his life, was holding her close, his eyes filled with nothing but utter disgust when they landed on me. “Where is security? Are you all useless?” Scott pointed a finger at me. “Pin her down! Don’t let this thief hurt my daughter!” My mind had gone blank. Clutching my crying daughter to my chest, I had screamed until my throat bled. “Scott! Are you insane? Look at me! It’s Monica! I gave birth to her!” But the next thirty minutes were a living nightmare. The baby portraits on the ballroom’s giant screens showed Vivian’s face next to Scott’s. The hospital records listed the mother as Vivian. Even the luxury postpartum retreat where I had spent the last four weeks registered her as their VIP client. In desperation, I had called my mother. Her voice on the line was hostile and distant. “Is this some kind of scam? My daughter Monica is a workaholic. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a baby. Call again and I’m contacting the police!” Just like that, I was labeled a psychotic kidnapper. Furious guests closed in on me. A heavy boot struck my ribs, followed by the brutal strike of a guard’s baton. I had curled into a tight ball on the floor, using my spine to shield my daughter. In the chaos, a leather shoe kicked my temple. My head slammed against the sharp edge of a marble table, and warm blood flooded my eyes, blurring my vision. In my final second of consciousness, I saw Scott gently cradling my daughter, whispering sweet nothings to her, while Vivian rested her chin on his shoulder, smiling as I drew my last breath in a pool of my own blood. Buzz. A sharp ringing in my ears snapped me back to reality. The sudden, soft warmth in my arms made my entire body shudder. I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was sitting on the plush leather sofa of the private suite. My daughter was fast asleep in my arms, her tiny mouth moving in her sleep, sweet with the scent of milk. Outside, the faint sound of clinking glasses and laughter drifted through the door. A cold sweat drenched my back, my fingers trembling so hard I could barely hold her. I was reborn. I was back in the lounge, ten minutes before the gala was set to begin. I bit my lip hard, the copper taste of blood proving this was no dream. This time, I would not walk blindly into their trap. 3 I had to secure undeniable proof. Holding my daughter tight, I forced my racing heart to slow down. I couldn’t panic. Charging out to confront them was suicide. The brass doorknob clicked, turning slowly. My muscles tensed instantly as I stared at the entrance. Scott walked in, looking impeccably handsome in his tailored black tuxedo. The soft lighting caught the sharp angles of his face, his eyes carrying that same tender warmth that had once made me feel like the luckiest woman alive. He stepped over, his movements natural as he reached out to adjust my collar. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on our baby’s forehead. “You’ve worked so hard, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rich with affection. “It’s crowded and chaotic out there. Don’t rush. I’ll head down first to greet the guests. Come down whenever you’re ready.” He walked over to the water dispenser, filling a glass with warm water. He tested the temperature against his palm before bringing it to my lips. “Here, drink some water. Nursing takes a lot out of you. Don’t catch a cold.” Looking at this familiar face, seeing the adoration shining in his eyes, a small part of me wavered. His tenderness felt so real. Could five years of devotion, of warm meals and late-night comfort, truly be nothing but an act? Could this all be some postpartum depression-induced nightmare? But as he turned to grab a tissue, I caught it. A fleeting, icy flash of sheer impatience crossed his features. In that fraction of a second, the phantom pain of my skull fracturing in my past life surged through my body. It wasn’t a dream. Today was the day he planned to destroy me. I forced a weak smile and took the glass. “Thanks, babe. I got up too fast and my head is spinning. Give me five minutes to catch my breath.” Scott suspected nothing. He patted my hair gently. “Of course. I’ll tell the staff not to disturb you. See you downstairs.” The moment the door clicked shut and locked, the weakness vanished from my face. I didn’t trust him anymore. I only trusted solid evidence. I pulled out my phone, switched on the front-facing camera, and framed both myself and my sleeping daughter. “My name is Monica,” I spoke clearly into the camera, fighting the tremor in my voice. “Today is April eighth, 2026. I am in the third-floor VIP lounge at the Grand Regent Hotel. This baby in my arms is my biological daughter, born to me and Scott.” I zoomed in, capturing a crystal-clear shot of the physical birth certificate I had kept in my bag. Once the video was recorded, I didn’t save it locally. Scott was a tech mogul. He had a dozen ways to wipe my phone remotely. Instead, I logged into an alternate email account, attached the video along with a detailed explanation, and set it to send automatically in ten minutes. The recipient was my most trusted childhood friend, Natalie. Next, I grabbed the Polaroid camera left on the table, meant for guests to take commemorative photos. I pressed my cheek against my daughter’s soft face, making sure the background clearly captured the digital clock showing the current time. Click. The camera whirred, spitting out the physical photo. As the colors slowly bled into view, the image of mother and daughter holding each other became undeniable. I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the deep crevice of the leather sofa. I folded the photo tightly and shoved it deep into the hidden gap between the cushions. Finally, I tucked the birth certificate securely into my brassiere, right against my skin, and took a deep breath. With these physical proofs, let’s see how he tries to erase my existence today. I held my daughter close and walked toward the ballroom. The moment my hand touched the brass handle of the double doors, the words I would never forget echoed from the other side. “Grab her! She stole my baby!” 4 I took a deep breath and threw the doors open. Just like in my previous life, Vivian was pointing at me, her face contorted in a theatrical sob. The script of my tragedy was unfolding exactly as before. Scott stepped forward instantly, pulling Vivian into his chest. When he looked at me, the warmth he had shown in the lounge just minutes ago was completely gone. “Security! Lock the exits! Pin her down!” The hum of hundreds of guests silenced instantly. The music stopped, and countless eyes locked onto me. “I stole a baby?” I stood my ground, letting out a cold laugh. Cradling my daughter with one arm, I pulled out my phone with the other. “Scott, watch your mouth. Let’s see what the video says!” I tapped the screen, opening my gallery to play the high-definition video I had just recorded. But the moment my finger touched the screen, the display flickered violently. The video file dissolved into a screen of static. File corrupted. My chest tightened. A localized network jammer. I quickly checked my email app to see if the scheduled message to Natalie had gone through. Sent folder: empty. Drafts: empty. “No proof? Kidnappers these days are getting bolder, crashing a welcoming gala to cause a scene!” Scott’s mother charged forward like a wild animal, pointing a manicured finger at my face. “You crazy, shameless woman! My daughter-in-law Vivian was on stage the whole night! That baby in your arms is our family’s flesh and blood!” I grit my teeth, turning my gaze to Martha, the nanny who had helped me recover at home for the past month. She was currently cowering behind my mother-in-law. “Martha!” I screamed, locking eyes with her. “You made my meals every single day! You helped clean my C-section wounds! Tell everyone the truth! Am I the mother or not?!” Martha flinched, her face turning pale. She shrank back, refusing to look at me, her voice trembling like dry leaves. “Ma’am… I think you have the wrong person. I’ve been taking care of Mrs. Vivian and her baby for the past month.” The hotel manager stepped forward, holding out a thick folder. “Security, take her down! This woman is clearly unstable. All our bookings, payments, and event details were signed by Mr. Scott and Mrs. Vivian. We’ve never seen this woman before.” I watched as my digital safety nets were erased into thin air, and the people I saw daily turned on me without a shred of hesitation. Whispers broke out among the guests, their expressions shifting from curiosity to hostility. The security guards raised their batons, moving in on me. The crushing weight of being erased by the world felt even heavier this time. I shielded my whimpering daughter, biting my tongue until the taste of iron filled my mouth to keep from screaming in panic. “Fine!” I bellowed, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. “You’ve all been paid off, haven’t you? Call the police! Let them run the official check! I dare you to try and fake the federal government and hospital databases!” The wail of police sirens cut through the tense air outside. Ten minutes later, four police officers entered, sealing the exits. I immediately turned to the lead officer. “Officer, this is my husband Scott, and this baby is my biological daughter! They are conspiring to steal my child and have fabricated everything!” Before the officer could speak, Scott stepped forward, presenting an elegant business card. “Officer, I am Scott, CEO of Aether Technologies. I have never seen this woman before. She crashed my daughter’s gala, tried to kidnap her, and is speaking gibberish. I believe she is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis.” The officer frowned. “Ma’am, do you have any official identification or proof of maternity? We need to verify hospital records.” “Check them!” I shouted, staring at Scott. “City Maternity Hospital, Room VIP Three, C-section on the eighth of last month! Check their system!” The lead officer nodded to his partner, who stepped aside to call the database registry. The wait felt like an eternity. When the officer returned, his expression had hardened into suspicion. “How is it, Officer?” I asked desperately. The officer showed me his screen. “The records from City Maternity Hospital show that the patient in VIP Three on the eighth of last month was Vivian. The mother’s name on the birth registry is Vivian, and the spouse’s signature belongs to Scott.” He pointed to the plastic band on my baby’s ankle. “Even the tracking code on the baby’s bracelet matches Vivian. Ma’am, how do you explain this?” In my past life, this was the moment I had lost my mind, screaming in despair. But now, I simply smiled. I reached into my coat, unzipped my inner pocket, and pulled out the physical birth certificate I had kept pressed against my warm skin. Let’s see them lie their way out of this. The officer blinked in surprise, taking the paper. There, in clear black ink, was the mother’s name: Monica. But a second later, the officer let out a sharp hum. “Ma’am, this document is a forgery.” I froze. How could that be? I had obtained that document myself. A dark, icy realization washed over me. I looked at Scott, who had a faint, mocking smirk on his lips. “No, wait! I have other proof!” In my past life, my mother had denied me. This time, my only hope was Natalie. I dialed her number on speaker. But her voice on the other end chilled me to the bone. “Scott? I’ve never heard of any Scott. Monica is single, she’s never had a child.” “Natalie, look at your emails! I sent you the proof! Why are you lying to me?!” Seeing my panic, the officers stepped closer, ready to restrain me. Fear clawed at my chest. Why was this happening? Was my memory truly fractured? No. There was still one thing. “Officer, please! There is one more piece of physical evidence! Come with me to the lounge!” I led the police and a trail of whispering guests back to the private suite. Even if the birth certificate was a fake, that physical Polaroid would prove my connection to my child. The crowd watched as I desperately dug my hand into the sofa cushion. “Still lying. This is terrifying,” a guest muttered. “She’s completely delusional.” “Postpartum psychosis is no joke. To plan all this and fake documents just to steal a baby…” “Get her to an asylum before she hurts the child!” The voices buzzed in my ears, but no matter how deep I reached, my fingers found nothing. The Polaroid was gone. The officers’ patience had run out. An emergency medical crew arrived, two burly male orderlies carrying leather restraints and a sedative syringe, stepping slowly toward me. The memory of being beaten to death on this very floor rose like a dark tide, threatening to drown my sanity. Was I going to die here again? Was my entire existence about to be erased? As my body trembled on the verge of collapse, my eyes caught Scott. He was looking down, calmly adjusting his elegant French cuffs. In that instant, a bolt of lightning seemed to split my mind wide open. I stared at his wrists, and everything clicked. I finally understood why he had spent five years weaving this elaborate web, and exactly why he needed me to give birth to this baby.

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1 My roommate, Zach, spent three days parading around half-naked in the background of my video calls. He even had the nerve to yell, “Bro, those abs are insane. Where did you get your personal trainer? I’m trying to turn this six-pack into an eight-pack.” Then he secretly tracked down my girlfriend’s Instagram and added her. He started spreading rumors that my private life was a chaotic mess, claiming I was out partying and hooking up every night. What he didn’t know was that my girlfriend, Anna, was one of the top three heiresses of the East Coast elite. And she was hopelessly, obsessively devoted to me. How obsessed? Last semester, a girl at the campus coffee shop gave me a free pastry and a flirty smile, and Anna almost bought out the entire franchise just to get her fired. So, how many rounds do you think Zach is going to survive? It all started last Wednesday. I was FaceTimeing Anna that night. She had just hopped out of the shower, her hair still damp, wearing a simple white tank top and smiling at me through the screen. “Hey, Nate. Did you miss me today?” Before I could even answer, Zach strolled right past my desk behind me. Shirtless. He actually slowed his pace, walking with a bizarre strut that looked like a cross between a runway model and someone dealing with severe constipation. He made his way to the water dispenser, poured himself a glass, and then conveniently turned around to stretch right in front of my camera. “Man, today’s workout was brutal.” On the screen, Anna blinked. “Nate, what is up with your roommate?” Before I could say a word, Zach leaned in close to the camera. “Hey, beautiful!” He grinned like a sketchy salesman. “Your guy here has some insane abs. Where did he get his personal trainer? I’m trying to turn my six-pack into an eight-pack.” I looked down at my chest. Bro, I was wearing a loose hoodie. What abs could you possibly be seeing? Anna let out a soft laugh on the other end. “Really? Yeah, my Nate is pretty amazing.” Zach’s eyes lit up. He actually thought Anna was flirting back. In reality, she just thought he was a complete freak. After we hung up, I lay in bed scrolling through my phone. From the top bunk opposite mine, Harvey poked his head out and lowered his voice. “Nate, that’s the third time.” “Third time what?” “The third time Zach has wandered around shirtless behind you during a call,” Harvey said, rolling his eyes. “And it only happens when you’re FaceTimeing your girl. What a wild coincidence, right?” I quieted down for a second. To be honest, I hadn’t paid much attention to it before. I’m a pretty laid-back guy, and I always assumed roommates didn’t play those kinds of petty games. But now that Harvey mentioned it, I started putting the pieces together. On Monday, Zach went shirtless and asked, “Hey bro, what body wash is that? Smells incredibly good.” On Tuesday, Zach went shirtless, did twenty push-ups right by my desk, and asked, “Do you think my chest is looking wider?” And today, he was suddenly complimenting abs I didn’t even have. “What is he trying to pull?” I asked Harvey. Harvey looked at me like I was the dumbest guy on campus. “Nate, he’s flexing for your girl.” I fell silent. Seriously? It was that blatant? I had lived with Zach for two years. We weren’t best friends, but we were tight enough. Surely he wouldn’t pull something that low. “You’re overthinking it,” I said. Harvey just shook his head and retreated back to his bunk. His expression said everything: You’ll see soon enough. 2 Harvey was right. The very next day, Anna sent me a text. “Nate, your roommate just requested to follow me.” I paused. “Zach?” “Yeah. He said you told him to add me because he had something to pass along.” When did I ever tell him to do that? I didn’t even know his Instagram handle. “I definitely didn’t tell him to do that,” I replied. Anna sent back a simple “Aha,” followed by a screenshot. It was Zach’s request. The message read: Hey, I’m Nate’s roommate. He asked me to add you to tell you something. I stared at the screen for a solid ten seconds. Wow. He was really going for it. “Did you accept?” I asked. “Yeah, I did,” Anna replied. “So, what is this urgent thing he had to tell me?” “What did he say?” Anna sent another screenshot. Zach: Hey, hope you don’t mind me reaching out. Just thought you should know, Nate is a decent guy, but he’s kind of a player. Last week I saw him having lunch with this girl from the linguistics department, looking super cozy. Might be nothing, but I thought you deserved to know. Reading the messages, my blood pressure spiked. The “linguistics girl” I had lunch with last week was my cousin. She was visiting the campus, so I took her to the dining hall for a quick bite. Zach had been sitting at the very next table. He saw us. But he conveniently chose to ignore the part where I introduced her as my cousin. Or maybe he just didn’t hear it because he had his AirPods in. Either way, going behind my back to tell my girlfriend this was incredibly dirty. I took a deep breath. “Anna, that was my cousin. She came to visit last week.” Anna sent a voice note. When I tapped it, her tone was relaxed and amused. “I know, babe. I saw her Instagram post. She uploaded a photo of the two of you with the caption ‘Visiting my favorite little cousin.’” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Then why did you even accept his request?” She sent another voice note, this time giggling. “I just wanted to see what other stories he could cook up.” I had no words. “Don’t worry, Nate. I’m not stupid,” she added. “But your roommate is pretty entertaining. He’s got some serious balls.” I figured that would be the end of it. Anna was smart, and she wasn’t going to fall for such a cheap trick. But I underestimated Zach’s persistence. And I severely underestimated Anna’s obsession with me. Over the next three days, Zach sent her nearly a dozen messages, each one more ridiculous than the last. Hey, Nate didn’t come back to the dorm last night. Just thought you should know. (I was pullng an all-night study session at the library, and Zach literally watched me pack my backpack before I left.) Anna, I accidentally saw some sketchy texts from other girls on Nate’s phone. (My phone has a passcode. How could he have seen anything? Besides, my inbox consists entirely of Anna and my mom.) Anna, I really think you deserve better. Nate just isn’t on your level. When that last message popped up, I was actually sitting right next to Anna. She had driven over to campus to see me. She turned her screen toward me, tapping her manicured nail against Zach’s profile picture. “Look at this, Nate.” I read it. Then I looked at her face. She was smiling. But it wasn’t a sweet, happy smile. It was the kind of smile a cat gives a mouse right before a toy is about to break. “Anna, don’t get worked up. I’ll go talk to him and clear this up.” “Oh, I’m not mad,” she said, tilting her head with bright, glittering eyes. “I actually think it’s fun.” “Fun?” “Yeah.” She slid her phone away and wrapped her arms tightly around mine. “Someone is trying to steal my boyfriend. It’s so exciting.” Looking at her thrilled expression, a cold shiver ran down my spine. I suddenly remembered something. Last semester, a girl from another class spoke to me in the dining hall. It was literally two sentences. “Hey, is anyone sitting here?” “Thanks.” That was it. The very next day, that girl’s course registration system suffered a massive, inexplicable glitch. All of her selected classes were dropped, and by the time she could re-register, every single popular lecture was completely full. At the time, I thought it was just bad university software. But now… I looked at Anna. She was happily sipping her iced matcha latte, looking completely harmless. “Anna.” “Yeah, babe?” “Don’t do anything crazy.” She blinked innocently. “What could I possibly do?” 3 After Anna left, I walked back to the dorm. Zach was sitting at his desk playing games. When he saw me walk in, he flashed a grin. “Hey, Nate. Back from your date?” “Yeah.” “Your girl is gorgeous,” he said, his tone sounding incredibly genuine. “You’re a lucky guy, bro.” Looking at his smiling face, my mind was a mess. You stab me in the back, and then act like my best friend to my face. “Yeah, I am,” I muttered. Zach chuckled and turned back to his monitor. From the top bunk, Harvey shot me a look that said: Told you so. I ignored him, lying down on my bed to figure out how to handle this. Honestly, I didn’t want to make a scene. We were roommates, and we had another year of living together. Ruining the peace wouldn’t do anyone any favors. I figured I’d find a quiet moment to talk to Zach privately and tell him to back off. But then there was Anna. I pulled out my phone and texted her: Anna, just ignore Zach. I’ll handle him. She replied instantly: Okay, Nate! followed by three adorable emojis. It was too sweet. So sweet it made me nervous. Sure enough, the next morning, I realized what a devoted girlfriend’s wrath actually looked like. When I woke up, Zach’s face was completely pale. He was staring at his phone, his brow furrowed deeply. “What’s wrong, man?” Harvey asked. “My internship…” Zach’s voice was trembling. “The HR rep just messaged me. They rescinded the offer.” Harvey gasped. “What? I thought that was a done deal.” “It was!” Zach panicked. “They had me preparing onboarding documents last week. Now they’re saying there’s a sudden department restructure and the position is gone.” I lay in bed, pretending to scroll through my phone while my heart did a sudden drop. No way. I opened Anna’s social media. Her latest post was from 2:00 AM. It was a photo of a glass of red wine with the caption: Feeling great tonight. Took care of a little errand. My fingers started to shake. I opened our chat: Anna, Zach’s internship… was that you? She sent a voice note, her tone sweet and innocent. “What do you mean, Nate? I didn’t do anything.” “Are you sure?” “I swear! I just casually mentioned to my dad that some creep was bothering me, and he made a quick call.” Casually. A quick call. Anna’s dad, Arthur Sinclair. The head of one of the most powerful financial empires on the East Coast. A casual word from him could cause an absolute earthquake in the business world. Zach’s internship was at a major tech firm. A firm whose recent funding round was led by a venture capital fund owned by the Sinclair family. I closed my eyes. He was doomed. “Anna, I told you I would handle it.” “I know, and I didn’t touch him,” she said, her voice sounding slightly pouted. “My dad decided to protect me. That has nothing to do with me.” I sighed. Sure. Whatever you say. 4 Zach spent the next two days completely depressed over the lost internship. But he never linked it to Anna. In his mind, she was just a beautiful college girl from a comfortable background. He assumed he just had terrible luck. And then, he did something even more foolish. On Friday night, he posted a photo on his private story. It was a sneaky photo of me, taken from the side while I was playing games at my desk. The caption read: Some guys look totally innocent, but they’re secretly running a whole harem behind closed doors. The comments from his circle of friends immediately started rolling in. Who is it? Call him out! No way, is that your roommate? Confirmed player? Zach replied: If you know, you know. Keeping it quiet. He didn’t block me from seeing the post. But he had blocked Anna. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know Anna had a burner account. And that burner account was already on his friends list because she had added him with both accounts at the same time. Zach was completely clueless. Anna saw every single word. That night, she called me. “Nate.” “Yeah?” “He’s calling you a player on his story.” Her voice was calm. Unusually calm. “I saw it,” I said. “It’s fine. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” “Nate.” “Yeah?” “I’m not happy.” Those three words coming from Anna were more terrifying than any direct threat. The last time she said she wasn’t happy, a guy on the campus forum had posted anonymous lies about me. A week later, his final thesis was flagged for academic dishonesty, and his graduation was delayed by a full semester. Of course, that might have just been a coincidence too. “Anna, listen to me…” “I’ll listen to you, Nate,” she said softly. “You handle it how you want. But if he does it again, I’m not holding back.” “Deal. Give me three days.” “Okay. I’ll wait.” The line went dead. I took a deep breath. Three days. I had to make Zach back off within three days, or Anna was going to make his life a living hell. The next morning, while Zach was in class, I talked it over with Harvey. “What are you going to do?” Harvey asked. “Just lay the cards on the table and tell him to cut the crap.” Harvey shook his head. “Won’t work. Guys like him only get bolder when you confront them. He’ll just think you’re defensive.” “Then what do you suggest?” Harvey thought for a moment. “Why don’t you just have your girl block him and delete him?” “Anna won’t do it,” I said with a wry smile. “She said she wants to observe him.” Harvey shivered. “The way she says ‘observe’ sounds incredibly creepy.” I agreed. But I still had to try a direct conversation first. That afternoon, Zach returned to the dorm. I closed the door, and Harvey, picking up on the cue, put on his noise-canceling headphones. “Zach, got a second?” He was changing his shirt. Hearing me, he paused, then flashed a grin. “What’s up, Nate?” “About you adding my girlfriend,” I said directly. “And the things you’ve been telling her. I know about all of it.” Zach’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. But he recovered instantly, his grin widening. “Nate, you’re taking it the wrong way. I was just chatting with her, checking in on how you guys were doing.” “Checking in?” I stared at him. “Telling her I was out with other girls and calling me a player is checking in?” Zach shrugged. “I just didn’t want her to be kept in the dark, man. Bro code, you know? Just being honest.” “That girl was my cousin.” “Oh,” Zach feigned surprise. “Seriously? Well, my bad then. Sorry about that, bro.” He apologized, but his eyes told me he didn’t feel a single shred of regret. “And another thing,” I continued. “Take down that post with my photo.” Zach’s expression finally shifted. “Nate, aren’t you being a bit paranoid? I didn’t even name you in that post.” “The photo is literally of me.” “It’s just a casual dorm life pic,” he laughed. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll be more mindful next time.” He didn’t say he would delete it. I took a slow breath. “Zach, I’m saying this one last time. Stay away from my girlfriend.” The room went silent for a moment. Zach looked at me, a slow, condescending smile spreading across his face. “Nate, are you really that insecure? I just had a couple of harmless chats with her and you’re already panicking?” He patted my shoulder. “Relax, bro. I’d never steal a roommate’s girl.” He grabbed his keys and walked out. Harvey took off his headphones and looked at me. “You hear that?” I asked. “Yeah,” Harvey said. “He’s completely delusional.” I sat back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Three days. Day one was already a bust.

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1 The day Bill and I completely fell apart, I unexpectedly received a video call from myself from eight years ago. The girl on the screen was standing right outside City Hall, her face flushed with excitement. When she saw Bill and me together in the frame, she let out a thrilled scream. “Look! We’re still together eight years from now! Bill, don’t you dare give up on her!” Beside her, the younger version of Bill shifted nervously, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and anxiety. “Did I actually make something of myself?” he whispered, staring at the camera. “Did I finally give you the life you wanted?” Eight years ago, Bill was dirt poor. My parents had sneered at his empty pockets and treated him like absolute garbage. To marry him, I had climbed out of my second-story bedroom window, breaking my leg in the fall, just to run away with him. “You worked so hard,” I told him, my voice tight. “Now, thousands of people depend on you for their livelihood. You’re a titan in your industry.” A bright, triumphant smile broke across the young boy’s face. “If my math is right, are you two heading out to celebrate our anniversary?” I slowly shook my head. I angled the camera down, focusing on the official divorce papers in my hand, before panning slowly to the glamorous, delicate woman clinging to Bill’s other side. “Bill. Eight years later, you don’t love me anymore.” Before the young couple could process my words, a hand violently snatched my phone. “Crack!” The screen shattered against the concrete, spiderwebbing into a thousand frozen fractures. The video call abruptly cut to black. “Is this really necessary?” Bill sneered, his voice dripping with impatience. “It’s just a temporary divorce to shield Tessa from the media. Did you seriously hire an AI team to play along with this pathetic drama?” “Rachel, don’t push me!” Last week, on my birthday, Bill hadn’t come home. I had dialed his number dozens of times, only to be met with endless ringing. The very next morning, intimate photos of him and Tessa, his newly signed actress, whispering in a hot spring resort, went viral. When the reporters cornered me, shoving microphones into my face, I didn’t play the dutiful, silent wife as Bill had expected. Instead, I exposed everything. I told the press how Tessa had been chasing wealthy older men since her college days. The public went wild. Tessa was instantly branded a homewrecker and faced a massive online boycott. Bill’s immediate reaction was to punish me. “Tessa is an orphan,” he had argued, his eyes flashing with anger. “She had to take some dark paths just to survive in the past. But that doesn’t give you the right to tear open her wounds in public.” “This divorce is your lesson. Consider it your apology to her.” Bill didn’t even look at me now. He casually handed the divorce papers to Tessa to hold. “I’ll have the PR department draft a statement shortly,” he murmured to her, his voice softening. “We’ll hire some accounts to clear your name. Don’t worry, sweetheart. No one will call you a mistress again.” Tessa snuggled deeper into his chest, her eyes sparkling with the starry-eyed adoration of a twenty-something girl. “You’re so good to me, Bill.” I bent down and picked up my shattered phone, my face expressionless. I simply held out my hand to him. “A screen replacement is three hundred dollars. Plus travel and missed work, make it six hundred.” Bill’s brow furrowed in disgust. I shifted my gaze to the bespoke silk gown Tessa was wearing. “Nice taste. You managed to find the most expensive item in my closet. That makes it twenty thousand and six hundred dollars in total.” Tessa’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A stupid dress is worth twenty grand? From the moment we started talking about divorce yesterday, all you do is bring up money. And you claim you aren’t after Bill’s fortune?” I didn’t bother replying to her. I just stared at Bill. From my knee to my ankle, there was a jagged, raised scar. I had gotten it eight years ago, when I climbed out of that window to run away with him and got snagged on a rusted wire fence. Since that day, I had stopped wearing short skirts. Back then, whenever Bill touched that scar, he would weep, promising to make it up to me. When he made his first million, he commissioned a renowned atelier in Florence to hand-embroider this very gown. It took a team of master tailors half a year to finish. It was too precious. In eight years, I had only worn it once. Bill’s lips twitched. He pulled out his phone and instructed his assistant to wire me one hundred thousand dollars. “Rachel, I know you’re just acting out to spite me. Take the cash and go on a vacation.” “Once Tessa’s scandal blows over, we’ll get remarried.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Tessa and walked away. An hour later, Bill released a fabricated photo of me with a random man, framing me for an affair. He was willing to paint himself as a cuckold just to clear Tessa’s name. “All done, ma’am. Take a look,” the repair technician said, handing back my phone. I looked away from the news on the shop’s tablet and pressed the power button. Before I could even unlock the home screen, a video call request flashed across the display. My eight-years-ago self appeared once more. The joy was completely gone from her face. Next to her, the young Bill hung his head, not daring to look at the lens. “Is it true?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Does Bill… really love someone else now?” I nodded. “Did you still sign those marriage papers?” The two young lovers looked at each other, their faces filled with a complicated, agonizing silence. “No,” she said softly. A wave of relief washed over me. I didn’t look at the young Bill. I kept my eyes fixed on my younger self. “Go home. Mom and Dad have been waiting for you.” The girl’s eyes swelled with tears. She shook her head, clinging to a fading hope. “Is there really no turning back? Does he… love that other girl that much?” I walked into the bathroom in silence. Slowly, I pulled off my shirt. From my collarbone down to my chest lay a massive, horrific burn scar. “Three years ago, when I first caught Bill cheating, I slapped Tessa. He locked me in the basement as punishment. That night, Tessa claimed she wanted to see fireworks. She lit one and threw it through the basement window. It started a fire, and I barely made it out alive.” I lowered the camera to show the long, jagged surgical scar on my abdomen. “Two years ago today, I was eight months pregnant. Bill promised he’d come home for our anniversary. I waited until midnight, but he never showed. I fell down the stairs, and my uterus ruptured. While I was being rushed into emergency surgery for a stillbirth, he was in Milan, watching a fashion show with Tessa.” Every single time, Bill would kneel before me, weeping and swearing he’d cut ties with her. But each time, he only got better at hiding it. For three years, this marriage had been a sick, exhausting game of hide-and-seek. All my endurance and compromises had turned into a tragic joke. I was exhausted. I couldn’t play anymore. So, when Bill suggested a divorce yesterday to save Tessa, I agreed. Hearing this, both of them in the past turned deathly pale. I pulled my clothes back on, stepped out of the shop, and hailed a cab. Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced through the phone. The device must have dropped, leaving the screen pitch-black. I could hear the young Bill’s frantic, trembling voice. “The wound on your leg opened up again. It’s bleeding! Don’t move, let me get the bandages!” “Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” the girl cried out, her voice breaking. “Bill, I regret ever running away with you.” I disconnected the call. When I reached the house, I found Bill busy in the kitchen. For a moment, I stood frozen. He hadn’t cooked a meal in years. When we first arrived in New York eight years ago, he was so consumed by guilt and love that he never let me lift a finger. During the freezing winter months, we huddled together in a drafty, unheated basement. Our breath rose in pale, shivering plumes like tiny clouds drifting toward the ceiling. He would wrap his arms around me, tight and freezing cold. “Rachel, give me three years. I swear I’ll give you the life you deserve.” To secure his very first investment, he had once crawled under a client’s legs and licked alcohol off the man’s shoes. He had told me, “I can take the dirtiest paths, but I will never let you regret choosing me.” But as our houses grew bigger, he grew busier. Eventually, a young, vibrant girl named Tessa appeared by his side. I only found out when a paparazzi sent blackmail photos to my phone. “Rachel, come taste this. How is it?” Bill’s voice snapped me back to reality. He guided me down into a dining chair. In front of me was a bowl of chicken soup with red dates and goji berries. My throat tightened. During my recovery from the stillbirth two years ago, this was all I drank. A wave of intense nausea hit me. “Is she… pregnant?” A flicker of hesitation crossed Bill’s eyes, but it vanished instantly. “Rachel, your uterus was severely damaged back then. You can’t have children anymore.” “Tessa and I talked. Once the baby is born, we’ll raise it under your name. It’ll make up for your regrets, won’t it?” I stood up slowly, my body stiff. “But didn’t you get a vasectomy?” After the stillbirth, I had demanded a divorce. He had begged me on his knees, crying, and dragged me to the clinic to get a vasectomy to prove his devotion. So, the surgery was a lie. Just another trick to soften my heart. Bill frowned. “Do you have to be this bitter? Just because you can’t have kids, does that mean I should never have an heir?” I laughed, a numb, empty sound. I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. The phone rang again with a video call. On the screen, my eight-years-ago self was limping down the street, dragging a heavy suitcase. Bill leaned over my shoulder, locking eyes with her. In the heavy silence, the young girl’s eyes were swollen from crying, but her voice was resolute. “Bill. I’m going home. I’m going to let my parents set me up on those blind dates. I won’t give you another chance to destroy my future.” In the background, the young, heartbroken Bill followed her at a distance, too afraid to even breathe loudly. Beside me, the current Bill let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Where did you hire this AI team? The technology is impressive. Give me their contact info. Tessa is pregnant, but she still has a movie to finish. This tech could come in handy for her double.” “Go to bed early. Don’t wait up for me.” He poured the soup into a thermos, eager to run to Tessa. He didn’t know. Eight years ago, the only reason I had rushed to run away with him was because my parents were indeed arranging a marriage for me. A sharp ache hit my nose. I hadn’t been home in years. With trembling fingers, I dialed my parents’ number. They picked up almost instantly. The roaring sound of wind rushed through the speaker, catching me off guard. “Rachel? Your dad and I are already on our way to New York. Don’t be scared, sweetheart. We’re coming to back you up. No one gets to bully our daughter!” I had forgotten. They would see the news online. The tears finally spilled over, uncontrollable. All these years, my parents must have watched me from afar through those media tabloids, waiting for me to need them. Yet, because of Bill, I had abandoned the only people who truly loved me. After hanging up, I began to pack. I shred every single wedding photo and couple picture we ever took. The luxury items cluttering the rooms were sold off to consignment shops at a massive discount. Finally, I was left with just two suitcases. I could finally leave this prison. But I waited all night, and my parents never arrived. I called them repeatedly, but the line was constantly busy. Then, the hospital called. My parents were involved in a massive pileup on the upstate interstate. When I rushed to the hospital, I found my parents lying on gurneys in the hallway, covered in blood. No one was treating them. The nurse looked at me with helpless pity. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Every surgeon on duty—both trauma and OB-GYN—was called away to the film studio by Mr. Bill.” “You don’t know? His pregnant wife insisted on doing her own stunts, and he couldn’t stop her. He was so terrified of an accident that he cleared out the hospital’s staff…” My mind went entirely blank. I forgot that Bill was the primary investor in this private hospital. With shaking hands, I dialed his number. “Bill! My parents are in a critical car accident! Can you please send the surgeons back? Please!” But the first voice I heard was Tessa’s whining. “This next scene requires me to go into the water. I’m worried about the baby.” “Then we won’t shoot it. I’ll have the director cut the scene.” “No, an actress must serve the script. Why don’t we have Rachel do it? She can be my body double.” Afraid Bill might say no, Tessa purred, “You always say I look just like she did when she was young. There’s no one more perfect for a last-minute double. Please, Bill? I really want to win Best Actress with this film.” Bill sighed affectionately, only then noticing the call had connected. “You heard her. Come to the set as Tessa’s double, and I’ll send the doctors back immediately.” I gripped the phone, screaming in absolute agony. “Bill! Those are my parents! How can you use their lives to blackmail me?!” “Heh. Why don’t you ask them? When they threatened to ruin me eight years ago if I didn’t leave you, did they ever think they’d be begging me for their lives today?” Before I could speak, Bill snapped coldly, “If you aren’t at the studio in twenty minutes, don’t expect a single doctor in New York to touch them. Your choice.” He hung up. I looked at my mother, who had suddenly started vomiting blood. Sobbing, I texted Bill: [Fine. I’m coming. Send the doctors now.] He replied with a single character: [1] For Tessa, Bill would stop at nothing. I could not risk my parents’ lives. A torrential downpour began. Just a mile from the studio, the traffic ground to a halt. I paid the cabbie and threw myself out into the storm. Heavy raindrops pelted my face, cold and painful. Crash! An electric scooter slammed into me from the side, throwing me to the wet pavement. Agony flared through my body. My vision went dark, but I forced myself up. I couldn’t stop. Limping, I dragged myself toward the studio lot. Almost there. Just a little further. Inside the dry studio, Tessa nestled in Bill’s arms. “She’s three minutes late,” she pouted. I leaned weakly against the wall, my legs trembling in intense pain. “The rain… the traffic… I was hit by a scooter…” Suddenly, my phone rang. “Miss Rachel… I’m so sorry. Your parents couldn’t wait any longer. They’ve passed away.” I froze, staring blankly at Bill. It took a long, agonizing moment for my voice to return. “You… you didn’t send the doctors back?” Bill looked at my mud-stained, bloody, and shivering figure. A sudden pang of sharp guilt struck his chest. He opened his mouth to explain. But Tessa stood up, her expression arrogant and smug. “How were we supposed to know if you were actually coming? What if you were lying?” She stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “And by the way, I arranged that little car crash.” “Who told your parents to call and threaten me? They actually thought they could ruin my life and make me pay.” She gently caresses her flat stomach and smirked. “Rachel, look at you now. What do you have left to fight me with?” All sanity evaporated. A primal rage consumed me, and I flung myself at her, wrapping my hands tightly around her neck. Only one thought filled my mind: Kill her. Kill her! Bill lunged forward, kicking me violently in the chest. I crashed to the concrete floor. “Are you insane?! Tessa is pregnant! How could you lay a hand on her?!” Tears mixed with the rainwater on my face. I screamed at him, “Bill, she did this! She planned the crash! She murdered my parents!” “Enough!” Bill barks. He didn’t believe a word. “I already sent the best surgeons back to the hospital. Rachel, I know you’re jealous and angry, but there is a limit! If these ridiculous murder accusations get out, do you have any idea how much it will hurt Tessa’s career?!” Even now, his only concern was her reputation. I looked at him, my eyes hollow with complete despair. “Bill. If I had known you were this heartless, I would have never run away with you eight years ago.” My words pierced a raw nerve. Bill was wealthy and powerful now, and he loathes any reminder of the days when he was dirt under people’s boots. His veins bulged on his forehead as he glared at me. “Fine. Since you love the past so much, let me give you a taste of those miserable days!” “Tessa has a few water scenes today. You’re doing them.” Before I could protest, I was forced into Tessa’s wardrobe and brutally thrown into the deep studio pool. But I didn’t know how to swim. Freezing, filthy water flooded my nose and throat. My body sank. Just as the darkness began to take me, a bodyguard dragged me up by my hair. Before I can even gasp for air, I was thrown back in. The torture repeated over and over, until the director, unable to watch any longer, finally called out, “That’s a wrap. We’re done.” The studio emptied. Silence fell. On the concrete floor, my phone screen lighted up with a familiar video call. I lay there, staring blankly, too numb to care. In the end, even my parents died because of me. Rachel, you are so pathetic. An hour later, Bill returned. He looked around the dark, empty studio. “Rachel? Come out. I’ll take you home.” Only hollow echoes answered him. He walked toward the window, his eyes catching something on the ground floor outside. A splash of brilliant, horrifying red. His breath stopped. He wanted to run down, but his legs felt like lead. Nearby, my phone rang again. A video call. Shaking, he picked it up and pressed accept. On the screen, my eight-years-ago self appeared, wearing a stunning white wedding dress. Standing next to her was a handsome, unfamiliar man. “Rachel, I’m getting married,” she said softly. “But this time, the groom isn’t Bill.” Bill’s hand shook violently. He stared at her youthful, beautiful face, his throat too tight to speak. The girl in the video looked at him, her expression turning into confusion. “Bill? Where is Rachel?”

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1 When the photographer called for us to pose, my graduation cap slipped off. I bent down to pick up the tassel. By the time I stood back up, my boyfriend, Andy, and our professor’s daughter, Molly, were already standing shoulder-to-shoulder dead center in the front row. The camera flash went off, freezing the exact moment they turned to smile at each other. Meanwhile, I was squeezed onto the absolute edge of the frame. It looked as though I was just a random pedestrian who had accidentally wandered into the shot. They were the golden couple of the law school. Andy was a once-in-a-century legal prodigy, and Molly was the heir to a massive legal dynasty. And me? I was just the invisible “nerd” who had barely managed to keep up with the curriculum by organizing Andy’s study notes for the last four years. Molly always loved to hook her arm through mine, her voice dripping with sweet condescension. “You are such a hard worker, Maya. Unlike me. I just rely on my dad for everything.” Then she would take the exact case briefs I had stayed up all night compiling and use them to completely dominate alongside Andy in our mock trials. Staring at that “picture-perfect” graduation photo being passed around the class, a bitter wave of irony washed over me. I was completely exhausted. I was done running on this rugged, miserable path trying to catch up to a genius. The graduation photo dropped into our class group chat, immediately followed by a barrage of exclamation marks. “They look like an actual power couple!” “Andy and Molly are literally the face of the law school!” “So gorgeous together!” I stood a few feet away from the laughing crowd, my fingertips turning ice cold. In the photo, half of my body was practically cropped out of the frame. Andy had his arm casually draped over Molly’s shoulder. She was tilting her head toward him, laughing, the sunlight catching the ends of her hair. It looked like a still from a movie. And there I was, awkwardly gripping my fallen cap, looking like a total outsider. The group chat kept pinging. Someone tagged me. “@Maya, why are you standing all the way out there? Quick, someone photoshop her closer to the middle!” Before I could even type a response, Andy replied in the chat. “Drop it, guys. Maya never really likes taking pictures anyway.” His tone was incredibly casual, as if my exclusion was just a totally normal, everyday fact of life. He was right. I didn’t like taking pictures. Because I didn’t like putting myself in any situation where I would inevitably be compared, because I always ended up looking pathetic and dim next to them. Molly immediately sent a voice memo, her tone deliberately dragged out to sound sweet and entirely innocent. “Yeah, guys! Maya has always preferred to stay out of the spotlight.” “But next time we take photos, we definitely have to stand together. I love Maya so much!” The second her memo ended, Andy sent a thumbs-up emoji in agreement. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then quietly exited the chat. I scrolled through my camera roll. It was completely stuffed with photos of whiteboards, indexed case files, and legal precedent charts. There were even rough drafts of opening statements for mock trials. Over the last four years, I had taken ten times as many photos of legal documents as I had of my own face. I tapped on the top folder, titled Andy’s Criminal Procedure Outline. Inside were hundreds of pages of meticulously organized notes. The handwriting was perfect, every key argument color-coded and clearly annotated. Last semester, Andy had used this exact outline to score the absolute highest grade in the entire department. The senior partner teaching the seminar had praised him in front of the entire lecture hall. “Andy is not just naturally brilliant. His ability to synthesize complex case law is already at a professional level.” Andy had just smiled effortlessly. “I guess I just got lucky and managed to smooth out the logic.” He hadn’t mentioned me once. Not a single syllable. I closed my photo app, opened a delivery service, and ordered a premium eel rice bowl I usually couldn’t justify spending the money on. My phone buzzed. A text from Andy. “Maya, want to grab dinner tonight? Molly booked a table at that French place to celebrate our graduation.” I stared at the text. My mind flashed back to last week, when I was lying on a cot in the campus clinic with acute gastroenteritis, an IV drip in my arm. I had texted him asking if he could bring me a change of clothes. He didn’t reply for hours. “I’m super busy right now. Just go to the pharmacy and get some meds yourself.” While I read that text, I had looked out the clinic window and saw him standing by the library entrance, leaning in close and laughing with Molly. I opened the keyboard and replied to him. “No thanks. I already have plans tonight.” He replied almost instantly. “? Plans with who?” I didn’t answer. I just locked my phone and tossed it onto my bed. By the time my eel bowl arrived, the sky outside my dorm window had turned completely dark. I sat at my tiny desk, taking slow, deliberate bites. The rice was warm, the sauce was the perfect balance of sweet and savory, and the edges of the eel were slightly charred. It had been so long since I just considered myself. For years, every meal was dictated by what he wanted, or making sure the restaurant didn’t use anything he was allergic to. After I finished eating, I grabbed a stack of cardboard boxes and started packing. Four years’ worth of textbooks, legal pads, and reference materials filled several large boxes. The edges of some pages were completely frayed from being flipped so many times. The margins were covered in different colored highlighters. This was the physical manifestation of all my exhaustive effort. I used to stupidly believe that as long as I worked hard enough, I could keep up with his genius. My phone vibrated violently against the desk. Andy was calling. I hit accept. “Maya, where are you? Didn’t I send you the address?” The background noise was loud. I could clearly hear Molly’s bright, sparkling laugh through the receiver. “I already told you, I’m not going.” “What is your problem now?” His tone immediately spiked with impatient annoyance. “We literally agreed to this. Molly went out of her way to book the reservation…” I cut him off completely. “Andy. When are you going to give me back my bar exam prep binder?” The line went dead silent for a second. “What binder?” “My criminal procedure master outline from junior year. The massive one you took to study.” My voice was entirely flat. “Navy blue leather cover. The bottom right corner is slightly bent.” “…Oh, right. That one.” His tone immediately relaxed, returning to his usual casual dismissal. “I left it in my dorm. I’ll bring it to you another day.” “Don’t bother. I’ll come by tomorrow morning to pick it up myself.” “Fine, then just…” “Andy! Hurry up! Molly says the dessert here is amazing!” Someone yelled for him in the background. “Gotta go.” He hung up without another word. I listened to the dial tone for a second before sealing the final moving box with packing tape. That navy blue binder was sitting right on top of his desk, the bent corner worn white from use. Every single page in that binder contained hours of my life, sitting under a desk lamp until 3 AM, stealing glances at his handsome profile, quietly harboring a pathetic, desperate crush. I didn’t need to keep any of it anymore. The next morning, I walked over to Andy’s fraternity house. He wasn’t awake. He didn’t answer his texts, and his phone went straight to voicemail. I stood on the porch for twenty minutes before the heavy oak door swung open. Molly walked out. She was wearing a pale yellow sundress, her makeup absolutely flawless. “Maya! Are you here looking for Andy?” “Oh my gosh, he stayed out drinking with us so late last night. I bet he is still completely passed out.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial, playful whisper. “Don’t be mad at him, okay? You know how he is. He just values his friends so much.” I looked at her, my face entirely blank. I didn’t say a word. “Oh, right! He left this at the restaurant last night. Could you give it back to him for me?” She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a silver cufflink. It was the exact cufflink I had bought him for his birthday last semester. I had worked double shifts at a coffee shop just to afford it. When I gave it to him, he promised he would wear it to every important event. Now, it was casually pinched between Molly’s manicured fingers, the polished silver smudged with dirt. “Thanks.” I took it from her. The metal felt ice cold against my palm. “No problem! Anyway, I have to run to the library. My dad is meeting us to go over our thesis drafts.” Molly flashed me a brilliant, gracious smile and practically skipped down the steps. I stood frozen on the porch, gripping the silver cufflink so hard the sharp edges dug painfully into my skin. It took another ten minutes before Andy finally stumbled down the stairs, aggressively rubbing his eyes. “You’ve been waiting forever, huh? The binder is upstairs. Give me a sec to go grab it.” He let out a massive yawn. He absolutely reeked of stale whiskey. “Don’t bother.” I held out my hand and dropped the cufflink into his palm. “I’m returning this to you.” “As for the binder… I’m not in a rush. Take your time looking for it. When you find it, just leave it with the front desk.” He froze, staring down at the silver cufflink. “Wait, why do you have this?” “Molly gave it to me.” “She…” Andy frowned deeply, then immediately smoothed his expression. “Whatever. It’s nothing.” “Maya, why were you so pissed off last night? Just because we didn’t eat dinner together?” I looked at him. The morning sun hit his face, highlighting the same sharp, handsome features I had memorized over the last four years. But right now, all I could see in his eyes was entitled confusion, mixed with the distinct annoyance of someone whose sleep had been interrupted. “Andy. Over the last four years… what exactly do you think I am to you?” He looked genuinely thrown off by the question. He paused for a long second before answering. “You’re my girlfriend.” “I mean… yeah, you’re a little slower on the uptake than the rest of us, but you work incredibly hard. I really appreciate it.” Appreciate it. The word felt like a sponge soaked in dirty water, slamming heavily into my chest, suffocating and dull. “Well, thanks.” I turned around and started walking down the driveway. “Hey! Maya! What about the binder?!” He shouted after me from the porch, but I didn’t turn back. A week later, I moved out of the dorms. The studio apartment I rented was a little run-down, but it got incredible natural light. I carried the heavy boxes of textbooks and legal pads up the stairs, stacking them neatly in the corner of the room. My phone lit up on the cheap wooden desk. It was a new email. The sender was Sterling & Vance, one of the most ruthless corporate law firms in the city. I opened it and read the text carefully. It was an official offer letter for a junior associate position. It detailed my starting salary and my orientation date for next month. This was the result of three grueling months of secret interviews and brutal assessments. I hadn’t told anyone I was applying. They had hired me based on a twenty-page legal brief I had submitted as my writing sample. I had written every single word of that brief entirely on my own. Andy hadn’t offered a single piece of advice or touched a single comma. I closed the email and walked over to the window. The street below was packed with people rushing to work, the sounds of traffic and coffee shop chatter blending into a chaotic rhythm. My mind drifted back to freshman year. During a brutal outdoor orientation event, I had passed out from heatstroke. Andy was the one who carried me to the shade of an oak tree and pressed a cold bottle of water into my hands. With the sun behind him, his forehead slick with sweat, his smile had been so bright it was almost blinding. After that day, I started clumsily orbiting him. Whatever concept he didn’t understand, I would spend hours in the library researching. Whatever study guides he needed, I would stay up all night compiling. I truly believed that making myself useful was the only way I could ever be close to him. My phone buzzed again. Molly had just updated her social media. It was a massive photo dump from a fancy dinner party. In every picture, Andy was sitting right beside her, leaning in close, his eyes entirely focused on whatever she was saying. The final slide was a picture of Molly holding up a glass of champagne, her smile radiant. The caption read: “So thankful for the best guy ever, Andy! And so proud of us! Here’s to crushing our future goals together!” The comment section was entirely flooded with likes and heart emojis from our classmates. I swiped out of the app and opened my text thread with Andy. The last message from me was from the morning on the porch: “Just leave it at the front desk.” His reply was: “Got it. I’ll find it and give it to you.” Nothing since then. I typed: “Did you find the binder?” A few minutes later, he replied: “Looking for it now. My room is a total mess.” Half an hour passed before another text came through. Another thirty minutes later: “Maya, are you free tonight?” “Molly wants to take you out to dinner. She says she hasn’t seen you in a while and misses you.” I stared at the glowing screen, my fingers moving slowly across the keyboard. “No thanks. Andy, let’s break up.” This time, he didn’t reply for a very long time. It wasn’t until 11 PM that a voice memo finally popped up. I tapped play. His voice was slurred with alcohol and thick with aggressive irritation. “Maya, what the hell is your problem now? Are you throwing a tantrum because I’ve been too busy to hang out with you?” “Or is this about Molly again? She is literally like a little sister to me. Are you seriously this insecure?” I cut the audio off halfway through and typed: “It’s not about her. It’s about us. We were never on the same level.” “What are you even talking about? Maya, stop trying to pick fights out of nowhere!” “Are you doing this just because I don’t baby you and beg for your attention like other guys do?” I suddenly felt deeply, overwhelmingly exhausted. My thumbs hovered over the screen, but ultimately, I just typed four words: “Think whatever you want.” After that, Andy went completely dark. He didn’t reach out once until the night before our final thesis defense. My phone buzzed. It was a text from him, as demanding and entitled as always. “Defense is tomorrow. Send me the final bullet points. You know the drill.” Looking at his absolute sheer audacity, I actually laughed out loud in my empty apartment. The thesis defense was the bloodbath of the law school. Molly’s father, the senior partners from top firms, and recruiters from Sterling & Vance would all be sitting on the panel. It was framed as an academic review, but everyone knew it was an elite drafting ground. Andy was absolutely determined to secure the associate slot at Sterling & Vance. I thought about it for a second, then replied: “Didn’t Molly already rewrite your rough draft for you?” “She is a genius. You definitely don’t need my notes anymore.” He replied in less than a second: “Stop acting like a child! Her draft is just a theoretical reference. Your notes have the core logical framework. Send the file right now!” Seeing his panic, I simply typed: “No. You’re on your own this time.” After that text, he called me frantically. I watched the screen light up over and over again, but I didn’t answer a single one. The next morning, less than thirty minutes before he was scheduled to take the podium, he sent me a massive block of panicked texts. “Maya, I’m sorry! Molly’s draft is complete garbage! It makes no sense!” “The Sterling partners are on the panel today! I cannot bomb this! Please, just send me the final logic framework! I am begging you!” I read his terrified, desperate messages. Then, I opened my laptop and created a brand-new Word document. I typed a single sentence dead center on the page, named the file Final Core Logic Framework, and emailed it to him. The auditorium was packed. I sat quietly in the back row, watching the stage with total detachment. When it was Andy’s turn, he walked up to the podium in a sharp, tailored suit, but his steps were visibly unsteady. He offered a stiff nod to Molly’s father on the panel, shot a nervous glance at Molly in the front row, and cleared his throat. “Good morning. Today, I will be presenting a completely new logical deconstruction of a highly complex corporate litigation case.” He clicked his presentation remote, took a deep breath, and opened the file I had just emailed him.

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1 The night of the World Cup final, my fiancé suddenly turned to me with a wager. “If France wins, I will add ten beachfront estates to your bridal gift.” His eyes gleamed with a reckless amusement. “But if they lose, Harper gets to wear the dress and walk down the aisle in your place in three days. Deal?” I barely had time to furrow my brow before Silas’s groomsmen started hyping him up. They laughed, calling him utterly whipped, joking that this was just another extravagant way to spice up our seven-year romance. After all, everyone in our circle firmly believed France was guaranteed to win. The smile on Silas’s lips did not waver. “So? Do we have a bet?” He had no idea that just ten minutes ago, I had accidentally overheard a private conversation between him and his best friend on the balcony. “Come on, man,” Carter had laughed, handing him a drink. “Even if you supposedly time-traveled from three years in the future, are you seriously that sure France is gonna choke?” Silas had simply exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, his tone absolute. “Relax. I know exactly how this plays out.” He had paused, his voice softening into something nostalgic. “Bonnie gets the marriage license, but Harper gets the ceremony. It is the only way to make up for the biggest regret of my past life.” Hearing his voice pull me back to the present, asking for the third time, I finally looked up. “Deal.” My voice was quiet, almost airy. It did not matter anyway. I was already planning to change the groom. Hearing my definitive answer, a visible wave of relief washed over Silas’s face. Right at that moment, the sharp click of a key turning in the front door echoed through the penthouse. I did not need to guess who had a spare key to our home. It was Harper. She was the executive assistant who had been by Silas’s side the longest. And, according to his balcony confession, the ultimate regret he was determined to fix in this second life. The second she walked in, the guys immediately started teasing her about the ridiculous bet. The young girl’s cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson. “Come on, guys. Please stop messing with me.” Despite her shy words, the way she looked at Silas was entirely transparent. Her eyes were bright, soft, and entirely devoted. Silas instinctively shot a nervous glance my way, checking my reaction. If this were the past, my temper would have flared. Hearing a joke with zero boundaries like that would have made my face drop instantly, and I would have demanded everyone leave. But tonight, I just quietly took a sip of my sparkling water. I did not even blink. A tiny, almost imperceptible frown formed between Silas’s brows. Then, the referee’s whistle blew on the massive screen. The match had begun. For the next two hours, the room was consumed by the game. When the final whistle blew, the room went dead silent. Silas was right. France lost. The Netherlands pulled off a massive upset. The result was enough to shatter every sports analyst’s prediction, but no one in this living room seemed genuinely shocked. His friends exchanged knowing, exaggerated looks, flashing Silas discreet thumbs-ups. Silas wore a look of smug satisfaction, though he quickly masked it with a sigh of mock disappointment. He turned to me. “Well, Bonnie. You lost.” Before I could even open my mouth, Carter jumped in from the sofa. “Don’t tell me the bride is a sore loser now? You guys picked a vintage cathedral veil anyway. Once that thick lace drops over her face, nobody in the pews will even know who the bride is. Right, Bonnie?” I looked away from them, my eyes landing on the massive engagement portrait of Silas and me hanging on the wall. Suddenly, the vibrant colors of the photo just looked incredibly cheap. “You are right. I lost.” Every single person in the room smiled, except me. They immediately turned to Harper, their tones dripping with teasing ambiguity, telling her she better go home and get her beauty sleep so she could be a beautiful bride. Silas did not correct them. He did not defend me. He just smiled and walked them out to the elevator. When he came back, he naturally closed the distance between us, reaching out out of habit to pull me into his chest. I took a smooth step back, avoiding his touch entirely. “Are you mad?” He let out an amused breath. “You are going to be Mrs. Montgomery. You have to learn how to lose gracefully. Why are you throwing a child’s tantrum over a game?” He tilted his head, his tone softening into a coaxing purr. “Tell you what. I will personally cook your favorite truffle pasta tonight to make it up to you. Sound good?” Before I could answer, his phone buzzed twice in his pocket. Silas stood up instantly, his entire demeanor shifting. “Harper cannot get a cab. It is pouring out there, and it is not safe for a young girl to be alone this late. I am going to drop her off.” My throat felt tight, lined with sandpaper. I could not hold it in anymore. “Silas. Did you already know the outcome of that match before you made the bet?” His footsteps stopped dead. When he turned back around, his face was flushed with defensive anger. “I am not a psychic! How the hell could I have predicted an upset like that?” “I genuinely wanted to give you those estates. You just have terrible luck. You cannot blame anyone else for that!” He was always like this. Whenever he felt guilty, he overcompensated with volume and aggression. He slammed the door behind him. Perhaps he thought a loud exit would drown out the deafening guilt radiating off him. The impact rattled the walls, and our framed engagement photo slipped from its hook, crashing onto the hardwood floor with a sharp crack of shattered glass. I calmly walked over, picked up a pair of shears from the floral arrangement on the coffee table, and snipped my half of the photo right down the middle. With my free hand, I dialed my father’s number. “Dad. The corporate alliance is still on. But I need you to find me a different groom.” Years ago, Silas was just one of three potential heirs my father had selected for an arranged marriage. Back then, I believed love was more toxic than poison. I had personally watched my mother catch my father in bed with his secretary. I watched her deteriorate from an elegant, soft-spoken socialite into a hysterical, broken shell of a woman. And then, I watched my father ruthlessly commit her to a psychiatric facility to protect his public image. I had built a fortress of solid concrete around my heart. But a younger, relentless Silas had forcefully torn a hole through it with his blatant, undeniable favoritism. He gave me his phone passwords without me asking. He reported his whereabouts constantly. He held my hand at every elite gala, proudly declaring to the world that I was his. He was incredibly wealthy and striking. Naturally, countless women tried to take a shortcut to the top through him. To give me total security, he had fired seventeen different executive assistants. So, I let myself fall. I watched myself sink into the illusion, entirely sober but willing. Everything changed exactly a year ago. My father demanded we finally set a wedding date. But Silas pushed back, claiming he needed to secure his absolute authority on the board of directors first. At first, I genuinely believed him. Until I walked into his office and saw his new assistant. Harper. My internal alarms started screaming instantly. With a single glance, I knew the dynamic between them was tainted. It was not a blatant, messy affair. It was a subtle, suffocating undercurrent of unspoken intimacy. When the three of us were in a room, his eyes would instinctively dart to her first. I caught the fleeting, panicked guilt in his gaze whenever I walked in unannounced. Harper wore a pair of diamond earrings that matched the exact designer collection Silas had bought for my anniversary necklace. Lately, the sickly sweet scent of her vanilla perfume always lingered on his suit jackets. One evening, I finally broke. I tried to gently express how uncomfortable their dynamic made me feel. That was the very first time he looked at me with sheer exhaustion and disdain. “Do you have any idea how many assistants I have fired because of your toxic paranoia?” he had snapped. “Seventeen. Seventeen women.” “Not a single one has lasted more than six months because you see ghosts everywhere. The entire corporate floor is whispering that my fiancée has persecution paranoia.” He rubbed his temples, his voice dripping with pity. “Bonnie, I seriously think you need to see a psychiatrist. Medically speaking, severe mental illness is hereditary…” I stood frozen in the middle of our living room, staring at the man I loved with absolute horror. “Is that… is that really how you see me?” Realizing he had gone too far, Silas let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Bonnie, look. If a wedding ring is the only thing that will finally cure your insecurity, then fine. Let’s just get married.” He made it sound like proposing to me was a charitable concession. An exhausted compromise to calm down a lunatic. I sat by the fireplace, methodically cutting up every single photograph of us. The first time we watched the sunrise on his yacht. The birthday he rented out Central Park for a private firework show. The time he tried to learn how to cook for me and nearly burned the kitchen down. When my hand started to cramp, I gathered the mountain of shredded memories and tossed them straight into the blazing fireplace. I watched them burn to ash. My phone rang violently. It was Silas’s personal driver. “Miss Astor! Mr. Montgomery got into a physical altercation at a bar. We are at the ER. Please come quickly!” By the time I arrived at the private hospital suite, Silas’s right arm was already encased in a plaster cast. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at Harper, who was sobbing by his knees. The young girl’s eyes were red and swollen. “Mr. Montgomery, this is all my fault. You would not have gotten hurt if you were not protecting me from those drunks.” “I was so terrified. What would I do without you?” Silas lifted his uninjured left hand and gently, almost reverently, stroked her hair. “It is not your fault.” His voice was a velvet whisper. “Stop crying. Be good.” Because of his movements, the collar of his hospital gown slipped open. Exposed on his chest was a faded, jagged scar. It was less than an inch from his heart. He got that scar years ago when a rival syndicate kidnapped me for ransom. Silas took a blade to the chest to shield me. Outside the ICU that night, covered in his blood, I swore to whatever God was listening that if he surBonnieed, I would love him unconditionally, just as fiercely as he loved me. Standing in the doorway now, a bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. After all these years, he really had not changed. When he loves a woman, he is perfectly willing to throw his life away for her. It just was not me anymore. I took a deep breath and turned to leave. But the fabric of my silk coat caught on the metal door handle, making a loud, abrupt clicking sound. Both of their heads snapped toward me. The sheer panic that flashed across both of their faces was perfectly synchronized. Silas recovered first. He cleared his throat, nodding briskly at Harper, his tone shifting to formal authority. “You should head home and get some rest. We have a busy week ahead.” Harper nodded obediently, her cheeks flushed, a secret thrill dancing in her eyes. I had zero interest in spying on their twisted little romance. After she scurried out, the VIP suite fell into a suffocating, awkward silence. I stared at the scar on his chest. It looked so foreign now. “Silas. We are done. I am breaking off the engagement.” He froze. The silence stretched for two agonizing seconds before he let out a dry, exasperated chuckle. “Look at you. You are getting paranoid again. Are you really using a breakup to threaten me?” “Alright, fine. I will throw you a massive, private vow renewal the day we sign the marriage papers. Does that make you happy?” I opened my mouth, ready to explain that I was entirely serious. He cut me off, his voice dripping with impatient finality. “The bet stands, Bonnie. You agreed to it in front of all the guys. You need to learn how to lose gracefully, otherwise you are going to make us both look like fools.” I swallowed the heavy truth I was about to give him. “Okay. I accept the loss.” Since the groom was changing, I needed a new fitting for the wedding dress. As I sat in the VIP lounge of the bridal boutique, a painfully familiar voice drifted through the velvet curtains of the adjacent dressing room. “Silly girl, what is the rush? Once the seamstress takes in the waist on the ceremony gown, I will take you to shoot the bridal portraits.” “We will just shoot you from the back. We can display it at the entrance of the ballroom. How does that sound?” It was Silas. And Harper. So this was their unspoken, thrilling little secret from last night. They were going through the exhausting effort of altering my custom couture gown and shooting fake bridal portraits just to fully erase me from my own wedding day. Suddenly, a careless boutique assistant yanked open the velvet curtain dividing the suites. Silas turned and saw me standing on the pedestal, fully zipped into a breathtaking lace gown. He froze. A second later, a cold, mocking smirk spread across his face. “Bonnie, is this your new strategy? Are you planning to crash the venue in that dress just to humiliate Harper?” “Have you lost your mind? If two brides show up on that stage, the Montgomery and Astor families will become the laughingstock of the entire city!” If this had happened a month ago, his cruel words would have shattered me. I would have screamed, cried, and torn the place apart. But right now, I just felt a crushing wave of fatigue. “Relax. I am not wearing this dress for you.” Silas narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does that mean?” Before I could even reply, Harper started violently weeping into her hands. “Mr. Montgomery, Bonnie is furious with me! Is she going to force you to fire me? I cannot lose this job. My family needs the money. I… I should not take the bridal portraits anymore.” Silas did not even bother pressing me for an answer. He immediately wrapped an arm around Harper’s waist, pulling her toward the exit. “She lost the bet. Throwing a tantrum will not change anything. We will go find a different designer for your dress.” Right before he walked out the glass doors, he stopped and threw a dark warning over his shoulder. “If you keep acting like a psychotic child, I am going to delay signing our marriage license.” Once they were gone, I turned back to the towering three-way mirror. It was strange. The woman staring back at me had red, swollen eyes, but the smile on her face looked infinitely more tragic than if she were sobbing. The next afternoon, a phone call hit me like a physical blow. “Miss Astor! Your mother is having a severe violent episode. We need you at the facility immediately!” My fingers clamped around my phone, my whole body shaking. “How is that possible? Her doctors said she has been incredibly stable for months.” The head nurse hesitated for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, her tone was heavy with confusion. “A young woman came to visit your mother this morning. She brought a framed wedding photograph and showed it to her.” “She told your mother that for the last year, you have been maliciously sleeping with her fiancé and trying to destroy their marriage.” When I sprinted into the psychiatric wing, my mother was standing aggressively by the reinforced window. In her trembling hand, she clutched a massive, jagged shard of broken glass. Scattered across the linoleum floor were the shattered remains of a heavy wooden picture frame. I looked down. It was a bridal portrait. Silas and Harper. When my mother’s wild eyes locked onto me, they filled with the kind of pure, visceral hatred usually reserved for murderers. “You knew! You knew exactly what adultery did to me, and you still chose to be a filthy homewrecker!” “Why are you so utterly worthless?! I never gave birth to a cheap, shameless whore! Drop dead!” She lunged forward, wildly slashing the glass shard through the air. I could not dodge in time. The jagged edge sliced deep into my forearm, ripping open a massive six-inch gash. Flesh tore. Blood immediately poured down my wrist, dripping onto the pristine white floor. The orderlies rushed in, tackling her to the bed and securing the leather restraints. Even strapped down, she thrashed violently, her vocal cords tearing as she screamed at me. She used the most vile, venomous words imaginable to curse my existence, calling me an animal, a plague. After a nurse hastily wrapped my bleeding arm in thick gauze, I wiped the cold tears off my face. I bent down, picked up the torn wedding portrait from the glass-covered floor, and walked straight out the door. I drove directly to Silas’s corporate headquarters. When I pushed open the double doors of the executive floor, a crowd of employees was gathered around Harper’s desk. They were laughing, eating imported chocolates from a lavish pink box. “Congratulations on the wedding, Harper! Guess we have to start calling you the boss’s wife now!” “Obviously! She is the one walking down the aisle. As for that other woman, Mr. Montgomery is completely sick of her. Who could possibly tolerate a woman with severe mental illness?” “Right? The boss literally told security to stop letting her up here because she is bad for the company image.” Someone near the edge of the crowd finally noticed me. The group scattered like roaches when the lights turn on. Harper, completely unfazed, strutted toward me in her designer heels, her chin tilted in sheer arrogance. “What brings you to the office, Bonnie? Want me to see if Silas has time in his schedule for you?” She glanced at my pale face and the blood seeping through my sleeve. “You look terrible. A little mentally unstable, actually. I hear there is an empty padded room right next to your mother’s. Want me to make a reservation for you?” The image of my mother screaming in restraints flashed in my mind. I raised my uninjured arm and swung my hand back, aiming a lethal slap directly at her smug face. But a split second before my palm made contact, a massive hand clamped down on my wrist and violently shoved me backward. “Bonnie! Have you completely lost your mind?!” Silas’s grip was brutal. The violent jerk ripped my fresh stitches open. Thick, dark blood immediately bloomed through the white bandages, dripping onto the carpet. Silas froze, his eyes dropping to my bleeding arm. He instantly stepped forward, reaching for me. “How did you get hurt?” I forcefully slapped his hand away. I threw their crumpled wedding portrait squarely at his leather shoes. “Happy wedding, Mr. Montgomery. But I suggest you put your bride on a leash.” Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and walked toward the elevators. Silas instinctively took a step to chase after me, but Harper immediately grabbed his arm, burying her face in his shoulder. “Silas, she scared me so much.” The panic in Silas’s eyes was instantly replaced by protective anger. He wrapped his arm around Harper’s waist and guided her safely into his private office. Early the next morning, Silas’s groomsmen suited up in sharp black tuxedos and accompanied him to the luxury hotel suite to pick up the bride. They laughed and joked, drinking champagne as they went through the traditional morning routines. The atmosphere was electric and celebratory. The only anomaly was Bonnie. No one could reach her phone. Jax nudged Silas in the ribs. “Hey man, do you think Bonnie is actually pissed? What if she genuinely breaks up with you over this?” Silas let out a confident, mocking scoff. “Not a chance. That woman dreams of marrying me every time she closes her eyes.” Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. What if she really did pull a stunt? Feeling a spike of paranoia, he quickly lifted the heavy vintage veil covering the bride’s face. It was Harper. For some inexplicable reason, a fleeting memory flashed through Silas’s mind. A memory from his past life. Bonnie, sitting on a bed in a white dress, looking up at him with shy, glowing eyes under this exact veil. He shook the ghost from his head and let out an exaggerated laugh. “Thank God. The bride has not been swapped. With how completely obsessed Bonnie is, I half expected her to sneak under Harper’s veil just to get to the altar.” The groomsmen erupted into roaring laughter. But right as the laughter peaked, a shocked voice echoed from the end of the grand hallway. “Holy shit. The Kensington heir is getting married today too? Look at this setup, it is insane!” “Wait a second… look at the bride on this poster…”

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1 A week before my wedding, my best friend told me she had accidentally scraped my car and caught a minor traffic ticket that I needed to clear up. I logged into the portal to check the violation. The footage buffered for a second before revealing my best friend and my fiancé, locked in a passionate kiss at a red light. My hands shook as I pulled up the full dashcam video from that afternoon. “Jeff, are we really doing the right thing keeping Serena in the dark? You know how long she’s been dreaming of this wedding. She even dragged me along to pick out the venue. If she finds out we already got our marriage license, and that this whole ceremony is actually for me…” “Danielle, you’ve stayed by my side for years without a title just to protect her feelings. She’s the one who owes you.” Jeff’s voice was casual, completely devoid of guilt. “She gets the love, you get the legal title. I’d say that’s more than fair.” “Just coax her a little when the time comes. She’s an orphan. It’s not like she can survive without us.” My throat constricted, tight and burning. The tears I tried to hold back spilled over, dripping onto the keyboard. I sat frozen in the dead silence of the room for what felt like hours. Finally, I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Dad. I’m ready to come home. Let’s go ahead with the family reunion banquet next week.” The man on the other end gasped in pure joy. “Sweetheart, are you absolutely sure? Weren’t you worried it would make Jeff look bad? Even though he’ll still call me Dad after you two get married, you are my flesh and blood. He is just my adopted son. He could never outrank you.” He let out a hearty laugh. “This is perfect. We’ll announce your return, and then throw you the wedding of the century.” I choked back a sob. “I’m not marrying Jeff anymore.” “What?” My dad’s voice spiked in alarm. “Why? Sweetheart, I thought you loved him.” Before I could get another word out, a heavy hand snatched the phone from my grip. The device was hurled violently against the hardwood floor, the screen shattering instantly. The call went dead. I looked up to see Jeff glaring down at me, his face twisted in annoyance. Danielle hovered right behind him. “Serena, why the hell were you late for the dress fitting? Could you pretend to care about your own wedding? Danielle has been waiting for you all afternoon.” I slowly got to my feet, staring dead into his eyes. “Is the wedding really for me?” He froze. A flicker of panic crossed his face before he quickly masked it with irritation. “What kind of crazy talk is that? Have you been listening to stupid gossip again?” Watching him instinctively curl his lips into a lie, I simply closed my eyes and tapped the spacebar on my laptop. The dashcam audio filled the room. Jeff’s face drained of color. But Danielle reacted first. She stepped forward, her eyes brimming with sudden, perfectly timed tears. “I am so sorry, Serena. If you’re going to hate someone, hate me. I just loved Jeff too much.” The panic on Jeff’s face instantly melted into deep sympathy for her. He pulled Danielle into his chest, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “Serena, couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t know? When the day comes, you can still stand in the crowd wearing a gown. Just think of it as the three of us getting married together.” I slapped his hand away. “I’m not a prop in your sick little fantasy, Jeff. We are done. You can have her.” Jeff grabbed my wrist, twisting me back to face him. His grip was brutal, the pressure digging into my bone. He let out a mocking scoff. “What exactly are you throwing a tantrum for, Serena? You’re an orphan. If you leave me, who else is going to love you? You’ve had my heart for years. What’s the big deal about giving Danielle the legal title? She doesn’t even mind sharing, so why are you being such a brat?” Danielle looked up from his chest, her face the picture of victimhood. “Serena, I know I wronged you, but I can’t live without him. Just let me have this, please? I swear I won’t get in the way of your relationship.” Looking at her pitiful, trembling act, a wave of pure nausea washed over me. “Danielle, weren’t you the one who conveniently reminded me to check the dashcam?” She gasped, stepping closer to grab my hand, her voice cracking. “I didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was completely exhausted by their cheap theatricals. I yanked my arm back to get away from her. But as I pulled away, Danielle’s perfectly manicured acrylic nails dug viciously into my forearm. The sharp sting made me flinch and pull back harder. Taking advantage of the momentum, she threw herself backward, hitting the floor with a loud, theatrical yelp of pain. “Serena, I know this is all my fault. Hit me if you need to, just please forgive us.” Jeff’s expression turned lethal. He shoved me back so hard I lost my footing, then dropped to his knees to gently help Danielle up. “What is actually wrong with you?” he roared. I hit the floor hard. Pinpricks of blood began to seep through the fabric over my scraped knees, and my palms throbbed. “I already told you, Jeff. I don’t want you anymore. Have a nice life together. You can stop performing now.” I held up my arm, exposing the fresh, purple crescent-shaped marks left by Danielle’s nails. “Or are you completely blind to the injuries on my body?” Jeff opened his mouth, a brief flash of hesitation in his eyes. Danielle immediately sagged against him, sobbing softly. “You know you’ve always bruised like a peach, Serena. A slight bump and you turn purple. I know you hate me right now, but please don’t use your condition to frame me.” The hesitation in Jeff’s eyes vanished, replaced by disgust. “Danielle has swallowed so much pride and suffered in silence for years just so you wouldn’t get hurt, and you actually have the nerve to frame her?” A bone-deep exhaustion settled into my chest. I turned around and headed for the door. “Like I said. Have a nice life.” Danielle’s tearful voice chased after me. “Jeff, she’s never going to forgive me. Let’s just give the wedding back to her. I can take it.” “Serena, stop right there!” Jeff barked. I paused and looked back at Danielle. “What exactly do you want from me?” Hidden behind Jeff’s back, Danielle flashed me a smug, venomous smirk, though her voice remained sweet and broken. “I just want your genuine blessing. Come with us to the bridal boutique.” Jeff stared at me with ice in his eyes. “Your buddy from the orphanage finally got a donor match for his kidney. He’s currently resting in the VIP suite at the Sinclair Holdings private hospital. As long as I say the word…” “Fine.” I cut him off. On the way to the boutique, Jeff clearly wanted to teach me a lesson. He carried Danielle in his arms, walking briskly ahead, leaving me to limp behind them on my bleeding knees. Their sickeningly sweet banter drifted back to me. “Put me down, Jeff. Serena is going to be jealous.” “You’ve been forced to walk in the shadows for years. My heart breaks for you. It’s time she learned a lesson so she stops acting like a spoiled brat.” My calves throbbed with every step, and a bitter ache spread through my chest as old memories crashed over me. Back in college, I had slightly twisted my ankle during a track event. Jeff had been out of his mind with worry, carrying me on his back all the way to the campus clinic. Danielle had sighed and said she was jealous. Jeff had laughed and told her to go find a man of her own. It turned out she did. She found mine. The bridal boutique appointment was booked under my and Jeff’s names. But when we walked in, Jeff was carrying Danielle. The sales associates froze. “Mr. Sinclair, which of these ladies is trying on the gown?” Danielle stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s pick something out. It will be so wonderful when you stand in the crowd wearing a gown while Jeff and I say our vows.” The moment the words left her mouth, the associates shot me looks of thinly veiled mockery. My cheeks burned. “What kind of twisted drama is this? The main girl bringing the side piece to buy a dress?” “The main girl is way too soft. The mistress is basically marking her territory.” They weren’t whispering. Every word echoed in the lavish showroom. Danielle put on a pained expression like she felt so bad for me, but she didn’t say a single word to defend me. Jeff stood with his arms crossed, watching me intently. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to beg. But I didn’t say a word. He let out a cold chuckle, grabbed Danielle’s hand, and led her toward the grand fitting pedestal, leaving me entirely alone in the crossfire of judgmental stares. I just stood there. I didn’t cry. It felt like I had completely run out of tears. A few minutes later, Jeff walked out. He looked at me with the absolute indifference one might reserve for a stranger. “I’m going to run to the pharmacy to get you both some ointment. Go in there and keep Danielle company. And drop the attitude.” The second the heavy velvet door clicked shut behind him, the fragile victim act vanished from Danielle’s face. She leaned back against the mirrored wall, crossing her arms, her eyes dripping with contempt. “What are you acting so high and mighty for, Serena?” “Yeah, I let you see that video on purpose. Jeff letting you stay on as his sidekick is a privilege. You should really learn your place in the pecking order.” I stared at her. This was the same face that once claimed she would take a bullet for me. “Why?” My voice was barely a whisper, though my knuckles were white. “Why steal your best friend’s fiancé?” She scoffed. “Steal? What do you mean, steal? He loves me more. That’s just a fact.” “You want to know the truth? I was so sick of watching you breeze through life. You never fight for anything, but you always get it all. The top grades, the center of attention, and Jeff.” “I even let you wear the horns while I sleep with your man, and you still act like you’re morally superior. Am I not a good enough friend to you?” Looking at the pure hatred in her eyes, I felt completely disoriented. When we first started college, she was this radiant, fierce energy that barged into my life. When girls in our dorm mocked me for not having parents, she was the one who stood in front of me. “If anyone says another word about her, I’ll ruin your life,” she had threatened them. When her cramps were so severe she couldn’t walk, I had carried her across campus in the freezing rain to the infirmary. She had rested her chin on my shoulder and mumbled, “I think I’m in love with you, Serena. Whoever you marry one day has to get past me first.” When she was failing her senior seminar, I dragged her into my project and did the work of two people just so she could graduate. All those memories. To her, they were nothing but garbage. I took a deep, shaky breath. My eyes stung. “Believe it or not, Danielle, you can have him. Keep the trash.” She burst out laughing. “Wow, I’ve known you for years and I never realized you were such a good actress.” “But it doesn’t matter. I always get what I want.” Before I could process her words, she grabbed my hand, forcefully yanked it toward her own face, and slapped herself hard. A sharp, violent smack echoed in the room. Five bright red finger marks immediately bloomed across her cheek. Tears streamed down her face in an instant, like she had rehearsed it a thousand times. The door swung open. Jeff walked in with a pharmacy bag just in time to see Danielle collapse to the floor, clutching her cheek and weakly grabbing the hem of my shirt like she was begging for mercy. He didn’t ask a single question. He just stepped forward and viciously kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to crash down onto the hard marble floor. “I can’t believe you,” he snarled. “You still don’t know your place, do you?” I curled in on myself, gasping for air as the pain radiated through my legs. I watched as Jeff tenderly lifted Danielle off the ground, opening the ointment he bought to carefully treat her cheek. Those same hands had wiped my tears. They had put bandages on my cuts. They had fastened the diamond necklace around my neck when he promised me forever. The absolute last shred of love I had for him popped like a cheap balloon, dissolving into dead, hollow ash. A moment later, his voice cut through the air, cold and authoritative. He pulled out his phone and waved it in my face. “Get on your knees and apologize to Danielle right now. If you don’t, I guarantee your precious brother gets thrown out of that hospital bed onto the street before you can even blink.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new message popped up on the lock screen. It was from my dad. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. I’ve already sent my private team to transfer your friend to a better facility.” I slowly pushed myself off the floor. Blood trickled down my shins, but I didn’t bother wiping it. I reached behind my neck, unclasped the rose pendant necklace, and tossed it right at his chest. When he gave it to me, he had said the rose symbolized a lifetime of loyalty, that I was the only one he would ever love. “Do whatever you want, Jeff.” His eyes flashed red with rage. Without breaking eye contact, he dialed a number on his phone. A few seconds later, his assistant’s panicked voice spilled from the speaker. “Mr. Sinclair! The patient… he was just transferred out. We have no idea where he went!” “What?!” Jeff roared. “Find him! Who the hell dares to mess with me in my own hospital?” He hung up and lunged at me, gripping my wrist like a vice. His tone shifted, suddenly dark and intrigued. “Well, well. I didn’t know you had it in you.” “If this is your sick way of getting my attention, congratulations. It worked.” “Now apologize to Danielle, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” Looking at his dead-serious face, a dry laugh slipped past my lips. “Let me make this crystal clear for you, Jeff. You disgust me. I don’t want you.” I ripped my hand out of his grip and walked toward the exit. He instinctively took a step to chase after me, but Danielle quickly grabbed his arm. “Let her go. She’s just throwing a tantrum. The more you chase her, the more she’ll act out. Give her a few days. She’ll realize we’re doing this for her own good.” I went back to the apartment we shared and threw everything with his DNA on it into the dumpster. Love letters, hoodies, gifts, the matching coffee mugs we bought on our first anniversary. Every single piece of garbage. Without a second of hesitation. Then I packed my own bags and checked into a luxury hotel. Day one, he didn’t reach out. Day two, nothing. On day three, I was jolted awake by my phone ringing off the hook. Jeff had called me twenty times, mixed in with a few missed calls from Danielle. I debated for a second, then finally hit accept. “Who gave you permission to move out?” His furious voice blasted through the speaker. “Get your ass back here right now before I really lose my temper.” “We broke up. Where I live is none of your business.” My cold response was met with the loud sound of glass shattering on his end. “I know exactly who’s backing you now! You think you’re so smart hooking up with some old sugar daddy?” “Don’t be naive. You think whoever he is can go toe-to-toe with the Sinclair family? I’m giving you one last chance. Three seconds. Are you coming back or not?” I froze. Did he think… my biological dad was my sugar daddy? Before I could even process the sheer stupidity of his assumption, he angrily hung up. A text pinged a second later. “You are going to crawl back and beg me. You’re going to realize that without me, you are absolutely nothing.” Thirty minutes later, an explosive anonymous post skyrocketed to the top of trending topics across every social media platform. The headline read: Columbia University Valedictorian Exposed as Serial Gold Digger, Playing Both Sinclair Father and Son. Attached were candid photos of me and Jeff from our college days, side by side with paparazzi-style shots of my dad’s private butler helping me arrange the hospital transfer for my friend. I stared at the screen, my fingers slowly curling into fists. A dark, quiet anticipation started brewing in my chest. The internet descended on me like a pack of rabid wolves. [Holy shit, this is wild. The hustle is real. If she put this energy into an actual job, she’d be CEO by now.] [This is just pure trash behavior. I bet the Sinclair men don’t even know she’s playing both of them yet.] [A valedictorian? Guess they don’t teach morals in the Ivy League.] The outrage snowballed. Hordes of trolls flooded my university’s official pages, demanding action. A few hours later, I received an email from the dean’s office. My valedictorian status was suspended, and my diploma was being withheld pending an investigation. Then, they doxxed my background. Once the internet found out I grew up in the foster system, the comments turned vicious. [No wonder she’s a sociopath. Trash origins make trash people.] [Stop donating to that foster home! If they’re raising girls to be homewreckers, who knows what else goes on in there.] I scrolled through the comments, one by one. Every word was designed to be a dagger, but strangely enough, I didn’t feel a thing. My dad texted me, his messages frantic with worry. “Princess, do you want me to release a statement? I will destroy that little punk.” I typed back calmly. “It’s okay, Dad. Just make sure the foster home gets extra security. The real show is about to start.” My phone rang. It was Jeff. His tone was dripping with arrogant triumph. “Well? Have you thought it through? Are you coming to my wedding tomorrow or not?” “Don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The day of the wedding. Backstage. Danielle leaned against Jeff’s chest, her voice perfectly pitched to sound like a fragile little bird. “Do you really think she’ll come? What if she actually hates me now?” Jeff stroked her hair affectionately. “Relax. Look at how miserable she is without us protecting her. Stop stressing, you are the most beautiful bride in the world today.” “If she doesn’t drop to her knees and apologize to you today, the internet will tear her apart.” The music swelled, and the ceremony began. Danielle walked down the aisle, her arm looped through Jeff’s. He looked like the perfect gentleman; she looked stunning. I stood in the shadows and looked around. This was the exact wedding I had spent months planning. The vintage lace gown was the one I had pinned to my vision board. The floral arrangements, the string quartet, the lighting—every single detail was mine. It was all mine. Except the man standing at the altar. Right as they exchanged rings, I stepped out into the light and began a slow walk down the aisle. The entire grand ballroom erupted into furious whispers. “Is that her? The audacity to actually show her face!” “Shameless. Look at her walking in here like she owns the place.” Standing on the altar, Jeff looked down at me with a lazy, victorious smirk. “I thought you actually had a spine,” he mocked into the microphone. “Glad you finally snapped out of it. Now hurry up and apologize.” I stopped at the base of the steps, looked him dead in the eye, and spoke clearly enough for the entire room to hear. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have delayed this inevitable union.” I smiled brightly. “A man who cheats on his fiancée, and a woman who stabs her best friend in the back—you two are truly a match made in hell. I realize my mistake now.” The crowd gasped in shock. Jeff’s face turned violently purple. He opened his mouth to scream for security— “That is enough.” A deep, commanding voice boomed through the speakers. The ballroom went dead silent. My dad stepped out from the VIP section, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. He walked slowly, his presence suffocatingly powerful, straight toward me. Someone in the front row aggressively whispered, “Oh man, Mr. Sinclair is about to destroy her. She slept with him to get to his son, and now she’s ruining the wedding? He’s gonna bury her.” My dad stopped right in front of me. He raised his hand. The same guest hissed excitedly, “Here it comes! He’s gonna slap her!” Instead, my dad gently wrapped his warm, steady hand around mine. He turned to face the hundreds of elite guests, the cameras, and the sheer silence. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of an empire. “Allow me to introduce Ms. Serena Sinclair. She is my biological daughter, who went missing eighteen years ago.” He slowly turned his gaze toward the altar, looking at Jeff like he was a piece of trash stuck to his shoe. “As for the boy on the stage…” “He is simply the charity case I adopted years ago.”

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1 For three grueling months, I trained my voice for a state network audition. When I finally taped a reel I was proud of, I rushed to Lucas, the broadcasting department president. He paused it after ten seconds, tone flat. “You lack natural talent. All this effort is wasted.” Instantly, his voice softened for Hailey, a struggling junior butchering a tongue twister nearby. “Don’t worry. We’ll go line by line until it feels right.” I stood frozen. I’d won the university hosting championship while she ranked dead last. Yet he gave her patience and me only scorn. Noticing my glare, Lucas frowned. He tossed a crumpled flyer for a senior poetry recital at me like spare change. Hailey turned, offering an innocent, pitying smile. I clutched the paper and walked out without a word. Half an hour later, I pushed into a community room smelling of joint patches. A young man in a crisp white shirt was teaching seniors vocal basics. The moment he spoke, a jolt ran down my spine. Lucas always bragged about being top of his class. But hearing this man speak was my first actual encounter with what pure, terrifying professional dominance sounded like. An elderly woman in the front row slapped her thigh in sheer excitement. “Mr. Vance! With a voice like yours, you belong on the national broadcast!” The man offered a faint, polite smile but didn’t respond. His eyes swept across the room, landing directly on me hovering in the doorway. “Are you going to grab a seat, or just stand there listening?” I blinked, my grip tightening on the crumpled flyer, and hurried to an empty chair in the back corner. For the entire hour, his lecture focused strictly on the connection between breath control and emotional resonance. There was zero pretentious academic jargon. Every single sentence he spoke was a direct hit to the core of broadcasting. When Lucas taught at the university, he obsessed over the “standard”—standard pronunciation, standard pacing, standard inflection. This man was teaching the “why.” When the class ended, the seniors slowly shuffled out. I gathered my courage, walked up to the podium, and pulled out my phone. “Excuse me. Could you possibly listen to my audition tape?” He took the phone and hit play. He didn’t kill it after ten seconds like Lucas did. He listened to the entire track. Then he handed the phone back, delivering a single sentence that completely shattered my worldview. “Your technique is flawless. Your breath is stable, your enunciation is precise, and your pacing is fully controlled.” “But you aren’t confident.” I froze. “Your vocal foundation is incredibly strong. But you are missing exactly one thing—you don’t believe you are actually capable.” He looked at me. His gaze was incredibly calm, yet sharp as a razor. “Someone who doesn’t believe in their own voice will never convince an audience to believe a word they say.” I opened my mouth, but my throat was totally paralyzed. Because he was absolutely, terrifyingly right. For three entire years, right before I spoke, Lucas’s voice would echo in my skull. You have zero talent. Your voice is totally flat. You have no emotional range. Over time, I had stopped trusting my own ears. “My name is Sebastian.” He slid a printed schedule across the podium. “Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at seven. If you decide to show up, remember one thing.” “Before you step foot through that door, you strip off every single voice out there that has ever told you no.” “In this room, the only thing that matters is what you are actually made of.” I took the paper and gave him a sharp nod. As I walked out of the community center, my phone buzzed. A text from Lucas. [I was just being honest about your tape.] [The state network audition is packed with heavy hitters. You’d just be a placeholder. I was doing you a favor by giving you a reality check.] A second text immediately followed. [Oh, by the way. I already talked to the department head about the internal campus qualifiers this Saturday. Don’t bother registering.] [We have a limited quota. We need to save the slots for people who are actually a good fit.] I stared at the screen, the blood draining from my fingers. The campus qualifiers? The university was only given a limited number of recommendation letters to send students to the state network auditions. To get a letter, you had to pass the internal campus qualifiers. And I had just discovered that the registration deadline was today. I frantically opened the university portal. The registration portal was already locked. Deadline: 5:00 PM today. It was currently 8:40 PM. I shot a text back to Lucas: [When exactly did you talk to the department? Why wasn’t I informed?] He replied instantly. [I told them last week. I knew you’d humiliate yourself up there, so I made the executive decision for you.] [Stop throwing a tantrum. Just be a good girl and listen to me.] My knuckles turned white around the glass of my phone. He had forfeited my spot an entire week ago. And he waited until the deadline passed to tell me. I took a deep, shaking breath and dialed the department head, Professor Harris. “Professor Harris, it’s Aria. I just wanted to ask… is there any possible way to late-register for the campus qualifiers?” The line was dead silent for two seconds. “Aria? Lucas specifically told me you voluntarily withdrew. Honestly, I was totally confused.” “You won the university hosting championship. Technically speaking, you’re our seeded competitor.” “I never withdrew.” “…Alright. I’ll manually add your name to the roster tomorrow morning.” “But the list has already been publicly posted. You’re registering after the deadline. People are probably going to complain.” “I don’t care. Thank you, Professor.” I hung up the phone, leaned my back against the brick wall of the alley, and closed my eyes. Lucas. What the hell are you so terrified of? The next morning, the news of my late registration spread like wildfire. The broadcasting department group chat exploded. Hailey was the first to chime in. [Wait? Didn’t Aria say she was dropping out?] Lucas immediately followed. [That was a miscommunication on my end. The department manually added her back in.] His tone was incredibly casual, acting like making executive decisions about my career behind my back was perfectly normal. Someone else replied. [But isn’t the quota three out of six? Adding another competitor makes the pressure insane.] Hailey sent a crying emoji. [Ughhh, I was already so nervous, now I’m practically having a panic attack.] Lucas instantly replied to her. [Don’t panic. I’ll give you a private coaching session tonight. We’ll run through the impromptu commentary section again.] I stared at the chat log, completely silent. At seven o’clock sharp, I walked into the senior activity room. Sebastian wasn’t wearing a dress shirt today. He had on a black crewneck sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, writing on the chalkboard. When he heard me walk in, he didn’t even turn around. “When are the qualifiers?” “The day after tomorrow.” “Timeline is tight. No group lecture today. I’m running you through a private simulation.” He turned around, leaning against the edge of the podium, crossing his arms. “Impromptu commentary. I give you a prompt. You have thirty seconds to prep, two minutes to speak.” “Clock starts now. Prompt: ‘Should young people sacrifice stability to pursue their dreams?’” I inhaled sharply, my brain spinning at a million miles an hour. Thirty seconds later, I opened my mouth. Halfway through my first point, Sebastian cut me off. “Stop.” I stared at him, my heart pounding. He was frowning, but it wasn’t a frown of disgust. “Right when you hit your third sentence, your tempo suddenly spiked.” “Why?” I thought about it for a second. “Because… I was terrified I sounded stupid, so I just wanted to get it over with.” Sebastian looked at me, his eyes growing dark and heavy. “Aria, your content is flawless. Your logic is tight, your arguments are aggressive.” “But the second you panic, you subconsciously speed up. It sounds like you are running away.” “The judges don’t give a damn how many words you cram in. They care about how absolutely certain you sound when you say them.” He picked up a piece of chalk and dragged a thick, solid line across the blackboard. “Reset.” “Drop your voice into the ground. Do not let it float in the air.” I started from the top. This time, I forced myself to leave a deliberate beat of breath between every single sentence. When I finished, Sebastian didn’t immediately critique me. He hit play on a digital voice recorder sitting on the podium. My voice drifted out of the tiny speaker. It was heavy, crystal clear, and carried a terrifying, unshakeable power. It sounded like a completely different human being. “Do you hear that?” Sebastian handed the recorder to me. “That is your voice. Trust it.” I took the cold metal recorder from his hand, the back of my throat burning. When I walked out of the community center and reached the sidewalk, I ran straight into someone who absolutely did not belong here. Lucas. He was leaning against a streetlamp, holding a cardboard tray with two coffees. When he saw me walking out of the senior center, genuine shock crossed his face. It quickly morphed into a very subtle, deeply arrogant displeasure. “Aria, have you seriously been coming here every single night?” I stopped walking. “What are you doing here?” “Dropping off coffee for Hailey. She’s in the study hall across the street running her impromptu drills.” He answered casually, but his eyes were locked onto the brass plaque mounted on the brick wall behind me. The words Senior Poetry Recitation practically glowed under the streetlights. Lucas stared at it for two seconds before letting out a soft, highly condescending laugh. “Aria, you can’t be serious.” “You’re actually taking classes here?” He shook his head, his tone dripping with the kind of patience you’d use on a stupid child. “I know your ego is bruised, but you really shouldn’t be resorting to this kind of absolute garbage out of desperation.” “Who the hell even is the guy teaching in there? Has he won a single state-level award? Does he hold any actual professional certifications?” I didn’t answer him. He let out a heavy sigh, took a step closer, and lowered his voice. “I’m just looking out for you.” “You’ve been icing me out, you refuse to let me coach you, and instead you’re coming here to hang out with a bunch of geriatrics?” Under the arrogance, there was a faint, undetectable trace of bitter jealousy. I took a step back, maintaining my physical distance. “Who I train with is none of your business.” Lucas stared at me for two solid seconds. The smirk on his face completely vanished. “Fine. Qualifiers are the day after tomorrow. When you humiliate yourself on that stage, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned and jaywalked across the street. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study hall, Hailey was already looking up, watching us. When she saw Lucas approaching, she jumped up and ran to the door to greet him. She took the coffee from his hand, whispering something softly. Lucas tilted his head down, leaning right next to her ear. They were standing so close that, from my angle, their foreheads were practically touching. Hailey giggled, raising her hand to playfully push his shoulder. It was incredibly intimate. I stood completely still under the streetlamp, my fingers wrapped tightly around the voice recorder in my pocket. See you the day after tomorrow. 2 On the day of the qualifiers, the broadcasting department’s black box theater was packed to the walls. The judging panel consisted of Professor Harris, two senior broadcasting faculty members, and a special guest: Sarah, an executive producer from the state network. Six candidates. Three recommendation letters. I drew slot number four. Hailey was number three. While we waited backstage, Lucas sat in the observer’s chair right next to the judges’ table, officially representing his title as “Broadcasting Department President.” He didn’t have voting power, but he was authorized to “provide professional insight” after each candidate’s performance. Candidates one and two were perfectly average. Then it was Hailey’s turn. She was visibly shaking when she took the stage. She stumbled over the second paragraph of her mandatory read, and her impromptu commentary was totally disorganized. But she was gorgeous, she had great stage presence, and even though her voice was incredibly shaky, her tone was naturally sweet. When she finished, Lucas was the very first person to grab the mic. “Although Hailey is still a bit raw, her vocal tone is absolutely stunning, and she is incredibly moldable.” “This is exactly the demographic the state network is currently desperate for—young, fresh, and highly approachable.” “Personally, I believe her ceiling is incredibly high.” Professor Harris nodded slowly, writing something down on his clipboard. As Hailey walked off the stage, she shot Lucas a sickeningly sweet smile. It was my turn. I walked to the center of the stage and planted my feet. The spotlight hit my face. Dozens of eyes stared at me from the dark theater. I could see Lucas leaning back in his chair, his face a mask of total apathy, looking like he was settling in to watch a guaranteed trainwreck. Mandatory manuscript reading. I took a deep breath. Following Sebastian’s technique, I dropped my breath straight into my diaphragm, pulling my voice from the most stable, grounded place in my body. “Good evening, viewers. Welcome to tonight’s Evening News Broadcast—” The exact second the first sentence left my mouth, several people in the audience visibly straightened their spines. I delivered the entire manuscript with aggressive fluency. It was heavy, razor-sharp, and the pacing was flawless. Sarah, the state network producer, snapped her head up to look at me, immediately scribbling something onto her scorecard. For the impromptu commentary, my prompt was “Should anchors maintain a personal brand?” I prepped for thirty seconds. When I spoke, I ruthlessly controlled my tempo, ensuring every single sentence hit the floor like a brick. Sebastian’s words echoed in my skull. Don’t run away. Make your voice stand its ground. When my two minutes were up, the theater was completely silent. Professor Harris finally nodded. “Excellent. Incredibly stable.” I let out a quiet breath of relief and prepared to step off the stage. Lucas leaned forward and hit his mic. “I have a counterpoint to add.” He sat perfectly straight, his face an expertly crafted mask of professional objectivity. “Aria’s fundamentals are certainly passable, but as her primary coach for the last three years, I am ethically obligated to point out a severe issue.” “Her current vocal mechanics deviate drastically from the standardized curriculum we teach here.” “The state network demands absolute uniformity. If her vocal foundation is corrupted, it poses a massive liability for live broadcast disasters.” “I strongly urge the panel to reconsider her viability.” The entire theater went dead silent. I stood frozen under the spotlight, my fingertips turning to ice. He had just weaponized his position, in front of the state network producer, to publicly brand me as an untrained, rogue liability. Professor Harris frowned deeply. “Lucas, what exactly are you claiming is deviated?” Lucas stood up, radiating pure confidence. “For instance, her breath placement today was significantly lower than standard broadcasting protocol. In the short term, it sounds rich. But long-term application will permanently shred her vocal cords.” “Furthermore, this technique has not been academically vetted. It is a completely unregulated training method.” He sounded incredibly professional. He perfectly played the role of a concerned mentor looking out for my safety. The judges began whispering frantically among themselves. Sarah looked down at her scorecard, then looked back at me, her expression twisting into heavy hesitation. I stood on the stage, my throat closing up. I desperately wanted to defend myself, but I didn’t even know where to start. Sitting in the front row, Hailey tilted her head slightly, shooting me a deeply sympathetic smile. The judges debated for five agonizing minutes. Professor Harris cleared his throat. “Given the concerns raised by Lucas, we have decided to implement a sudden-death stress test.” “Aria, we are going to ask you to perform a three-minute live breaking news simulation, including an unscripted emergency interruption.” “If you can execute this flawlessly, we will dismiss the prior allegations.” I took a deep breath. “Understood.” Professor Harris handed me a freshly printed sheet of paper. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess of bullet points regarding an emergency flash flood—road closures, evacuation statistics, weather warnings. The volume of data was insane, and I was given exactly zero prep time. I scanned the numbers, my brain kicking into overdrive. “Whenever you’re ready.” I walked back to the center mark and looked up. “Viewers, we are interrupting our broadcast to bring you breaking news. At exactly 3:15 PM today, the eastern district was hit by a catastrophic flash flood. Multiple arterial roadways are currently submerged…” As I spoke, I was mentally restructuring the bullet points into fluid, broadcast-ready language in real-time. My tempo was ironclad. The data was hyper-accurate. I didn’t stutter a single time. By the two-minute mark, I hit the zone. Everything Sebastian had drilled into my body took over automatically. Breath, tempo, dramatic pauses, emotional restraint. In the final thirty seconds, I deliberately decelerated my tempo to deliver a heavy, authoritative sign-off. “This concludes our initial coverage of this developing emergency. We will remain on air to provide continuous updates.” The theater was silent for two full seconds. Sarah was the first to start clapping. “Outstanding. Your on-the-fly cognitive processing and data synthesis are exceptional.” Professor Harris nodded in absolute relief. “No issues whatsoever.” I finally let my shoulders drop. But Lucas’s face turned completely black. He never expected me to survive that test. Right as I turned to leave, he stood up again. “Professors, I have one final piece of evidence to submit.” Professor Harris scowled. “Lucas, what now?” “I need the panel to see exactly where Aria has been sourcing her training.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held up a photo. “This is the facility she has been attending for the last several weeks. A local community center for the elderly.” The photo clearly showed the tacky paper window decorations and Mrs. Wang’s knitting basket sitting in the corner. “Her so-called ‘coach’ is an absolute nobody teaching poetry to retirees. He holds absolutely zero state-level certifications.” “I am not targeting Aria personally. But as department president, it is my ethical duty to ensure we do not send fraudulent candidates to the state network.” “If her entire training ecosystem is a joke, then passing one stress test does not guarantee long-term stability.” The theater erupted. The gossip hit the walls like a tsunami. “A senior center? Are you kidding me?” “Who the hell is she even training with?” “She probably got scammed by some con artist…” I stood on the stage, the blood rushing violently to my head. He was standing in front of the entire university, systematically stripping away every last shred of my dignity. Sarah’s face hardened, her initial approval morphing into deep skepticism. Professor Harris looked at me, his voice tight with frustration. “Aria, who exactly is your vocal coach?” I opened my mouth. His name was Sebastian. But who was he really? What were his credentials? I had absolutely no idea. In that exact moment, I had zero proof to defend myself. Watching me choke on my own silence, the corners of Lucas’s mouth curled into a victorious smirk. “Professors, I formally recommend that Aria’s candidacy be permanently revoked.” “A candidate who cannot even verify the identity of their own instructor has no right representing this university at the state level.” From the front row, Hailey chimed in softly. “He’s right… if she causes a disaster on live television, it’s the university’s reputation that burns…” I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. Just as Professor Harris opened his mouth to deliver the final verdict— The heavy double doors at the back of the theater were violently shoved open. A low, heavy voice, radiating absolute, terrifying dominance, hit the room like a sledgehammer. “I’ll tell you exactly who her coach is.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499824”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel